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willowser · 1 year ago

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really what prompted my double boy dad bakugou post was the idea of his older son — who is six, nearing seven — coming out of his room with messy, sleep-mussed hair and wandering into the kitchen on an early morning when katsuki's getting ready for work.

and your youngest is a little terror. spoiled rotten, katsuki thinks, was too babied and that's why he doesn't listen and has temper tantrums in the middle of the floor and is already throwing punches at three. katsuki's old witch of a mother thinks he'll be bulkier than his older son and twice as mean, prone to pinning his brother to the ground until he's declared the greatest.

(katsuki feels both horror and pride, at the very thought.)

it hasn't always been easy for your oldest; becoming a big brother never is. not that katsuki would know what that's like, but he hated to even share a playground with deku, much less share his one and only mommy, so he can only imagine what his own son went through when his brother arrived.

but he's been great about it, which comes as no surprise because his oldest has always been great about everything. gets his little brother out of bed and reminds him of his manners—even as he's getting whacked—gives up his toys just so the baby won't cry. he's too smart for his own good, acting like a big boy now—and it makes katsuki nostalgic in a way that hurts.

there hasn't been a lot of time for just the two of them. not like there used to be.

so when his firstborn comes to stand beside him in the kitchen, to lean his head against his dad's hip and rub at his sleepy eyes—katsuki just ruffles his already messy hair, before giving his ear a little tug.

"should be asleep," he grumbles to him, "sun's not even up yet."

his son only shrugs, yawns hard; despite this, he says, "'m not tired."

katsuki snorts and continues with his routine: finishes his protein shake, gives the kid a sip when he thinks he wants one (he doesn't really, though he tries not to make a face at the taste as he nods, as if he likes it), makes sure he's got all his work shit in his bag for patrol later. and his son is mostly quiet, content to share in the morning just between the two of them after katsuki sits him on the counter.

and then he asks, "can i come to work with you?"

on instinct, katsuki glances at his shut bedroom door, where you're still fast asleep, on the other side, and then down the hallway to where his youngest is sleeping, too.

technically, the kid probably could because you're off work today, and you could come pick him up later before katsuki has to head out, but—

"your brother won't be happy if i take you and not him."

and your oldest is a good big brother. has more patience than katsuki ever did, knows how to share—but on this morning that the two of them are indulging in, he only shrugs.

"well," he sighs—and he sounds so grown up, sounds like you when you're leveling with katsuki. "if he wanted to go then he should have got up, too."

"that why you're awake?" katsuki frowns, though his son only shrugs again. the idea that he's gotten up way too early, at the ass-crack of dawn just to have some extra time with his dad is too—

"yeah," katsuki murmurs, nodding at him to hop off the counter. "get your socks on so we can go."

there won't be anything for him to do in the agency office, besides get an endless amount of cups of water from the dispenser and all the candy in the receptionist's bowl and attention from the older ladies that thinks he's just so stinking cute.

but at least they'll be together, just the two of them. like old times.

#idk !! i just had this picture in my head of katsuki feeling bad bc he doesnt get enough time with his oldest son 🥺#enough time with his kids at all but 🥺 definitely less with his firstborn after his brother comes along 🥺#and so sometimes they do little things like this #take a quick run to the grocery store together or he'll walk around the neighborhood with his dad #or he'll take him to work just to have some extra quality time 🥺 just the two of them 🥺#and it seemed so sweet !! so here it is hehe #cw children #✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: bakugou #✿ theme: dad bakugou #✿ theme: domestic bakugou

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mamawasatesttube · 2 months ago

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the comic book reading experience...

#rimi talks #my personal one is always the top. i can take bad art but i can't take bad writing. ough #SOMETIMES you land in the middle during an ongoing but that only lasts for so long and then they make you look at eric luke.#and SOMETIMES you in fact pick one (tt03 is Just the right side)#(it sure is a hundred issues!)#(the writing is................... hm. at least theres things to dig into about it.)#(the art is like more heavily rendered wikihow. i dont know man. and they did THAT to kon and cassie.)

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lost-in-fandoms · 5 months ago

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This is inspired by my own post. Don't even look at me.

It's a long shot, and Daniel is perfectly aware of it as he rides the elevator up to Max's room, but he refuses to think too hard about it, afraid he will reconsider the sanity of it and turn back.

You see, they used to have this...thing, back in the day. It didn't happen often enough to give a name to it, but when Daniel got pole or won a race, Max would find him and get on his knees for him.

It had started in 2016, Max fresh faced and wide eyed, pulling him into the bathroom of the club they were in. Not in Monaco, not even Max was bold enough for that, but in Malaysia. It had been hot and wet, and Daniel had tangled his fingers in Max's sweaty hair, pulling hard enough to make tears spring in his blue eyes, before coming down his throat.

Their thing had always been one way only. Max had been the one getting on his knees, and Daniel had never offered to get him back. It had been a relief, when Max had started winning more than him, he didn't want to owe blowjobs that often. Not that Max would have hold him to that if Daniel didn't want to, but it would have been a matter of pride, and justice, or whatever.

Daniel has spent a lot of time in the last couple of years thinking about it. Not much about the act itself, even if he has gotten off to the memories of Max's mouth more times than he can count, but about the whole concept of it. He had started wondering if it had been Max's first (debatable, kid had been too sure of himself, but again Max always was), if Max had wanted more (probably, he had seen the looks he would get on his face sometimes), why Max had never tried to talk to him about it. Why Daniel, arguably the more mature of the two, hadn't done it. If Max still thought about it too. If he thought about it as much as Daniel did.

The last time they had done this it had been Monza, in 2021. Max had shoved in his motorhome, flushed and furious, and had sucked Daniel off with such a passionate drive it had felt like maybe he was trying to get Daniel's soul too. Or like maybe he was trying to suck Daniel's P1 out of him through his dick. It had been one of the best blowjobs of his life, had left him dazed and panting on the couch while Max had bit out a congratulations and stormed out again, his shoulders just marginally less stiff.

And now Daniel is in front of Max's door, with a P5 that feels like a P1, feeling like he's going to be taking a step right out of a plane.

He hears shuffling when he finally knocks, and it's only when he hears Max open the door that the uncertainty hits him in full force. He has not thought this through at all. Or well, he has, just not further than this. How do you ask someone "hey it's been almost three years but I would like to cash in a blowjob"??

Max looks...soft. He has a pair of sweats on, one of his white tshirts, hair freshly washed and unstyled. The blank expression and small polite smile he's sporting when he opens the door, as if he was expecting to have to send someone away, immediately morph into a blinding smile when he spots Daniel. It's always been so easy, at least for Daniel, to make Max smile like that.

"Daniel!" he says, eyes crinkling, moving to the side to let Daniel in without having to be asked.

"Hello, Max."

His room is fairly tidy, his luggage open in a corner with a few team shirts spilling out just as it had always been, but the blankets on the bed are all askew, a comfy little nest around Max's open laptop.

"Am I interrupting something?" Daniel asks, motioning towards it. He never knows when Max is working, watching something, or playing with his friends, but he hopes it's nothing important. If it's something important and Max sends him away, Daniel knows he will never find the guts to do this ever again.

"No," Max starts, then turns, smiling more, "well, yes. I was watching Lando's onboards. But they are not important now."

It hits him unexpectedly hard, the casual acknowledgement that Daniel's presence is more important than whatever Max was already planning for his evening. It's nothing new, but it's been a while since Daniel has felt it, the way Max loves him so simply. Since he has felt deserving of it.

Something must show on his face, because Max's smile turns soft as he sits down on the couch near the window, patting the space next to him for Daniel to join him.

"Why are you here?" From anyone else, it would sound rude, but Daniel has been used to Max's bluntness since day one, misses it sometimes these days, now that he's a little more careful with it, so he knows Max only means exactly what he's asking.

Daniel also knows this could be the moment to bring it up, his request, but it feels wrong to just barge in on Max's evening, get an orgasm and leave. Back then he would have done it, but they're both different people now.

"I wanted to see you, Maxy," he says, aiming for joke and hitting fond instead. It's not a lie, but the way Max goes all pink and pleased feels too dangerous for his heart, so Daniel redirects. "P2, yeah?"

It's enough to set Max off, talking about corners and turns and steering and this car. Not my car, Daniel notes. He's not surprised by the difference, but he wonders if Max means to make it so obvious, how he feels about this year's car. Or maybe Daniel is just really versed in Max-speak.

He also notices the tension around his eyes a couple of times, when Max mentions the team, and if it was another night he maybe would have asked; it never took much for Max to tell Daniel things, especially when he was unhappy about something. But today he got P5, and something about the blush growing on Max's cheeks as he gets more and more animated, making his eyes looks even more blue, firmly sets him back on jumping off the plane and send it plans.

He waits for Max to slow down a little, then nudges his calf with his foot, enjoying the way Max immediately reacts by jabbing a finger into Daniel's side, tension disappearing from his face.

"P5 is not P2, but it's still pretty good, right?"

Max's smile is his best one yet, all bright and proud as he nods, reaching for Daniel again to squeeze his shoulder.

"Of course, you have been very good today, Daniel! I am glad you are again feeling the car right."

Always so sweet and earnest. If he hadn't already teared up a little before press, face hidden in Blake's shoulder, Daniel would have probably done it now. As it is, he just smiles back, lets Max talk through his lap, quietly pleased by the knowledge that Max had obviously watched his onboard already, before Lando's. Maybe, if he dares to hope it, even before George's.

It's probably that, feeling like he's still important to Max, what gives him the confidence to throw things into motion.

"Feels like a P1, mate."

For a split second, he doesn't know what to expect. Will Max understand what he means? Maybe Max has not been thinking about their past times together, maybe saying P1 will mean nothing to him, maybe he will just go on another rant on how different P1 is of course from P5. Or maybe he will understand Daniel, and he will just slide off the couch and onto his knees, and Daniel won't have to say anything else.

Max, obviously, because he's Max, does neither thing.

His expression changes, something focused and pinched, as he tilts his head a little and stares at Daniel, lips slightly pursed.

"You want to feel like P1?" he asks. To someone else it would sound like a perfectly normal question, but Daniel knows that Max has understood, because somehow Max always gets him, even now. He also knows that he will not get out of this without talking about it at least a little. They're both different people, he has to remind himself. He's not the only one who's changed.

He nods, because he's not one to go back on his steps when he's already decided to send it, but he doesn't say anything else.

Max still looks deep in thought.

"We..." he starts, then immediately changes trajectory, "I can. If that is what you want."

As if Daniel might have walked all the way over without wanting this, without wanting Max. He nods again, watches as Max shifts a little, eyes flicking down to Daniel's lap, then to his own hands. His ears are red.

"Why now?" he blurts out, fingers twisting together. "You have of course got P5 before, but you have never come to me."

For a second, Daniel feels breathless with the knowledge that this whole time, Max would have been willing. This whole time, he could have asked and Max would have said yes, even after all these years, even after his championships, even after 2022.

"It didn't feel the same," he answers, before adding in a whisper, a belated confession, "I missed you."

He sees the way Max's shoulders jolt, his head snapping up again, eyes wide and surprised. Daniel doesn't get it, they have said it before, but he doesn't get time to dwell on it before Max is smiling again, grabbing a pillow and gracelessly following it on the floor.

Suddenly, just from seeing Max on his knees, Daniel is half hard. No wanking memory could hold a light to the real thing, to Max, broad and solid and real.

He lets Max get his hands on his legs, spreading them gently and shuffling forward, fingers sliding up to his thighs. It's hard to swallow now, the air in the room suddenly heavy with anticipation.

"I have missed you," Max rasps, kneading at Daniel's legs, not even reaching for his waistband yet. "I have missed doing this for you."

Daniel closes his eyes, lets his head fall back, but he regrets it immediately when he realizes it means not looking at Max anymore. Max, who's now looking up at him, pupils blown and lips red. For a moment, Daniel wishes things were different, wishes this thing was one where they kissed too, where he got to drag Max in his lap and get to touch him, feel all the way he's different now.

"Up," is all Max says, breaking his dangerous train of thought, and Daniel just obeys, lifting his hips and letting Max take down his pants, leaving them pooled at his ankles.

He's sure he's imagining the sigh Max lets out, the way his fingers are trembling a little when they reach just barely inside his underwear, grazing the top of his thigh.

And then Max leans forward and licks over one of Daniel's tattoos.

The sound Daniel lets out is a mix of a yelp and a moan. He can feel the little shit smiling against his skin, right before he does it again, adding a bite at the end, followed by an apology kiss, and this too is different from how they used to do it, quick and dirty, straight to the prize. Daniel is not going to complain.

Max takes his time, kissing and licking his way up his tattoos, until his nose hits the side of Daniel's clothed dick, now well on its way to fully hard.

"Hello," Max whispers, like a nerd, flashing a cheeky smile up at Daniel, who's tempted to swat at him until Max opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the head of his cock, underwear and all.

Daniel barely has time to squeak out a curse, hips bucking up in surprise, before Max steps back, smile gone. When he looks up again, he looks so intensely hungry Daniel struggles to swallow, and for his next revelation of the day, he understands that the gangly and overenthusiastic teenager who had drooled all over his dick in a club in Malaysia must have gained quite a lot of experience since then.

He refuses to analyze how that makes him feel, at least for now.

Max doesn't waste any more time, luckily, since Daniel is now hot and straining, making quick work of Daniel's boxers and of putting his mouth on him. For a second, with Max's lips around his tip, Daniel gets thrown back in time, and maybe things are not so different after all. Then Max takes a breath and sinks all the way down.

"What the...shit!" Daniel swears, scrambling for something to hold onto and finding Max's shoulders, as his brain goes completely blank, fuzzy with static and pleasure.

Yes, Max has definitely gotten more experience, because what the fuck is this. He's still enthusiastic, moaning and drooling around Daniel, tongue swirling as if his dick is some sort of delicacy, but the technique is different now. It's like he graduated in cock sucking or something, like he's trying to prove he's not only a racing champion, but a sex champion, or maybe like he's trying to kill Daniel. Or all three together.

Daniel knows he's being loud, moans and swears tumbling from his lips without hope of being restrained, but it seems to only spur Max on, as he fucking deepthroats him again with no sign of gagging. What the fuck.

"Max, Maxy, babe," Daniel tugs at Max's hair, struggling to string enough words together to let him know that, embarrassingly, he's already close, but all that does is make Max moan, the vibration of it feeling like sparks up Daniel's back.

Luckily, Max seems to still get the message though, because he lets up a little, gently suckling at Daniel's tip, pressing a kiss to it before pulling back completely to look up at Daniel.

He's like a vision, cheeks red and eyes bright, mouth spit slicked and a bit swollen, hair falling on his forehead, and Daniel's desire to kiss him comes back in full force. Again, almost as if he was reading it on Daniel's face, Max stops that particular train of though.

"Can I swallow?" Max asks, voice rough, as if it is a totally normal question and not a way to make Daniel feel like he's going to die on the spot.

"Do you want to?" Somehow, Daniel's voice is worse than Max's, all breathy and fucked up, and he can see Max being pleased about it. Menace.

"I always want to."

Max always used to, even back then, but Daniel had never questioned if it was because he thought that was how it was supposed to be or because he wanted to. Having the answer now is devastating. He groans, letting his head fall back and nodding weakly, hoping Max will just have mercy on him and finally kill him, but it doesn't seem good enough for the other, who reaches up to grab Daniel's chin, gently but firmly pulling his head back down.

"Yes?"

Daniel is acutely aware he had never explicitly asked for consent before, and neither had Max.

Things are different now.

"Yes."

It doesn't take long after that, Max throwing himself back into it like a man starved, and Daniel falling apart under him, unable to control his hands, his hips or the volume of his voice. He swears Max moans when Daniel finally comes down his throat, shaking and twitching as Max sucks him through it. He's still dazed and out of it while Max helps him back into his clothes, fondly patting his dick before tucking it in, and he can only watch as Max hauls himself to his feet again, wincing slightly, and dropping back on the couch next to Daniel.

"Good?" Max asks, because he's a nerd and a little shit.

Daniel limply hits him with his eyes still closed, feeling himself smile in response to Max's laugh.

This is different too, he distantly thinks. Usually it was Max coming to him, and he would always leave immediately after, never hanging out for Daniel's comedown. Now, when he finally opens his eyes, Max is curled up next to him, still looking flushed and happy. Still obviously hard.

Things are different now, Daniel reminds himself, checking with himself for a second as he reaches forward to tap on Max's knee.

"Want help with that?"

#i KNOW this is not great but if i dont post bad smut then how am i supposed to get to the good smut???#and i am also deeply sorry this is almost 3k it was meant to be like half of that but i do not have the gift of brevity #if this is really bad let me know and i will delete and die in shame <3 please and thank you!#one day i will learn how to write i promise!#also i know the pacing of the sentences is weird sometimes but i have read it over once and i dont know how to fix it #and i don't want to do it again i just want to post it and get rid of it godbless #if there are typos no there aren't #my writing #maxiel

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whumblr · 7 days ago

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Home alone

Prev chapter: Taken- pt 1 here

“I know you’re awake,” Roman’s voice sounded, too close. “Why don’t you open your eyes.”

Dani shifted under the covers, nestled further in and mumbled: “Because I’d have to see things I don’t like.” It was too early to see Roman’s fucking face first thing in the morning.

Roman hummed in understanding. “Like this knife,” he said after a beat.

She didn’t move yet but her eyes shot open.

A chuckle followed. His hands were empty. Fingers laced, resting on his stomach, legs crossed, sitting in her chair at the end of her bed, crumpling up her jeans. He opened his hands, fingers still laced turning his palms up, showing he wasn’t hiding anything.

Dani groaned and rolled onto her back. Yeah, she sure was awake now.

“I brought you breakfast,” he said, noticing her side-eye towards the plate spying what he’d brought her. “I’m going to leave in a bit. Out for some business. I’ll get some groceries on the way back, anything you want?”

Yeah, a gun, but she didn’t say as much. “Chocolate,” she said instead, voice still hoarse with sleep, just to say anything really though she did crave it. And to her surprise he nodded when he got up from the chair. She’d figured she’d have to earn such things.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said in a playful tone and closed the door behind him. The key rattled against the lock, the doorknob twisted as he tested to make sure she was locked in, and his footsteps retreated down the stairs.

Dani waited under the covers until she heard the front door slam shut in a somewhat more distant part of the house, then she threw the covers aside and sat up.

She shot into her jeans, pulled on a t-shirt over her tank top and put her hair up into a neater, less bed-heady high pony tail.

And as she did, she pulled a bobby pin from her hair.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she repeated sarcastically and sat cross-legged in front of the door.

The bobby pin alone had been useless for lockpicking, she’d already found out. Days of prodding and tickling the lock with nothing to show for it. But with the combined forces of the large paperclip she had stolen from Roman’s desk – she pulled it free from the loop of the bobby pin, both hiding in her thick hair – now there was a winning combo.

It had surprised her, actually, the first time she tried it and the lock sprang open. She’d done a small victory lap around the house, but hadn’t dared to try his office yet. She needed a plan first.

She had been waiting for Roman to leave her alone for a day and now she finally had her chance.

As she worked she nibbled on the toast he’d brought her. With the literal electric device around her ankle, she didn’t really have any hopes of getting out of the house yet, but still... If there was going to be an opportunity, say, she found the remote for the blasted thing, she’d be out of here in no time. And judging by the view from the library, she would have a long forest trek ahead of her, civilization miles away.

The lock clicked and she almost literally inhaled the last piece of bread dangling between her teeth, sucking it into her mouth, chewing vigorously as she pushed the door open in triumph.

She sprang to her feet, out the door, leaned over the banister to look down into the main hall to make sure Roman wasn’t glaring up at her, silently ordering her to go back into her room. But the house was silent. And she had it all to herself. She dipped back into the room for a minute, munching down the rest of her breakfast, quickly washing it down with the orange juice he brought.

Back on the landing she had a range of options.

Oh, how she wanted to comb through the file cabinet in the library. Or see if his computer was protected as well as this house.

But first things first. An opportunity like this may not come again and getting out had more priority than sketchy information. If Roman kept the stupid remote in his pocket at all times, she was pretty screwed. Maybe she could cut the ankle band with a bolt cutter or look for a saw somewhere if push came to shove, but looking for the remote came with the option of rummaging through his office. Who knew what else she could find. Or maybe call for help. If there was nothing, she could always go for the library again.

The door to Roman’s office clicked open just as easily as her own door.

Everything on his desk was neatly tidied up. No files strewn around for him to get back to later, all papers and notebooks meticulously put away. He’d probably turned it into a habit now that she was often allowed to stroll around in the house, on the off chance the door was open and he wasn’t there. He just kept some books on the one corner, a desk lamp, and some office supplies, with of course a fucking hunting knife as a glorified paper knife. All electronics were turned off, laptop closed, no phone.

Maybe a burner in one of the drawers. And the remote could be hiding in there too. But as she rounded the desk, something moved.

“Well, well, w—”

“Jesus!” Dani all but screamed and literally jumped a few feet back.

The office chair on the other side of the desk slowly spun around. Roman beamed at her, legs crossed, hands in his lap, slowly twirling into view, looking like a fucking B-movie villain.

Dani huffed out an indignant scoff, her heart still in her throat from the unexpected twist.

“Figured you’d come here,” Roman said, pushing his fingertips together, leering at her like she was prey caught in a trap.

She fought the impulse to just bolt. She wouldn’t get far anyway. And the glint of the knife on the desk drew her attention.

“How did you know?” she said after a long exhale to steady her nerves, and she took a step towards the desk.

“Motion sensor camera’s. Your first escapade didn’t go unnoticed. Wanna see?” He opened his laptop, tapped it back to life and turned the monitor towards her, showing a notification of ‘motion detected’ and a still of her sneaking over the landing like a thief in the night. “I knew you’d take the first opportunity to try again. But you couldn’t just leave the house.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the little remote. “You’d need this.”

Her expression soured. Of course he kept it on him. Still, kind of him to show her that. And to her, his words couldn’t sound more like an unsaid ‘you’ll get that remote over my dead body’ and she’d gladly oblige.

“Yes, I do.”

She lunged forward. Her hand closed around the handle of the knife, but the brief sense of victory was squashed when his hand immediately clamped around her wrist and pressed it into the wood. She glared up. He smiled back. She pulled at the grip but he only replied by squeezing her wrist harder. And harder. Until she yelped in pain, but she didn’t let go yet. Only when he pulled her wrist up and slammed her fist into the desk, once, twice, the knife slipped from her hand.

“Thank you.” Roman casually took it from her. Twirled it in his hand into a backhanded grip.

The twirl had effect, it caught her full attention and she was sure he was about to drive the blade into her fist. But instead, a hand slithered to her neck, his grip turned bruising, and all of a sudden forced her forward and he slammed her face-down into the desk.

Her head exploded in pain. Her vision went white. And her body went limp.

Muscles turned to strings of goo and she slowly sank to her knees, sliding from the desk to the floor.

Roman let her. He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a coil of thin silver wire.

As she was still trying to expel the tiny flashes in her vision, Roman took the opportunity, ripping her hand away from her brow, pressed her wrists together, and he looped the wire several times around her wrists.

She hissed when the razor sharp wire immediately snagged against her skin and her light struggle only made it dig in deeper. A drop of blood already welled up.

“Don’t fight it now, dear. You’d just cut off your own hands.” He tied the end on the whirl of silver in-between her wrists and lightly tugged at it, making sure it held and pulled at it to get her to get up. “Now come along.”

She had no choice but to let him drag her along to the basement.

He deposited her to the floor, right under a pair of chains dangling from the ceiling.

Her stomach churned when she looked up, a foreboding sensation tingling all over her body, freezing her muscles and she didn’t dare even get up.

Lighter metal jingled and Roman advanced on her, a pair of handcuffs in his hand. He cuffed it to the wire around her wrists, pulled her arms up and attached the other end to the chain dangling above her.

Again she hissed, the wire pulling at her skin, tightening around her wrists. She aimed a glare at Roman but he already walked away from her. He stopped near one of the support beams, slowly unrolled the rope looped around the hook there. Dani followed the rope with her eyes, over the ceiling beams, tied to a metal bolt, linking it with those chains right above her—

“No…”

She scrambled to get her feet under her. Just in time as Roman pulled hard at the rope. It yanked mercilessly against the chains, against the cuffs, against her skin and she couldn’t help a cry of pain as it pulled her faster to her feet.

He stopped when she was on tip-toes, struggling to keep balance. Then he firmly grasped the rope, braced himself, looked her straight in the eyes, and gave a final heave.

Her feet left the ground and she kicked out in panic, only making things worse. The wire dug into her skin and she cried out in surprise. “No. No! Let me down!”

“Very well.”

The tips of her toes brushed over the floor again and she breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, he didn’t lower her any further.

She tapped a few tiny steps back and forth. With her arms in the air, though nowhere as graceful, she almost looked like a ballerina. She nearly twirled on the spot and only managed to prevent doing so by pulling hard against the rope. She grit her teeth, lost and let out a whine as her head fell back. It worked though. It hurt, but it worked. She managed to get back into position, maintaining her balance and lessening the strain against her wrists and she stood stock still on tip-toes.

Roman simply watched her strain, nodded in approval and looped the rope back against the hook. It mercilessly kept her up. He walked back towards her, stopped right in front of her.

Helpless, she had to allow him into her bubble. Couldn’t fight or flinch back, couldn’t buck against him to get him to back the fuck off. The only thing she could do was glare at him, but with her trembling like a leaf – and she was sure he could fucking feel it so close as he was – and her face twisted in a grimace, the glare surely looked more like a plea of mercy.

Without a word he reached up, lightly closed his hands around her forearms and slowly stroked down the length of her arms, tenderly, his eyes not leaving hers. His hands came to a rest on her shoulders, gave a small reassuring squeeze, pressed down for a bit just to see her wince, and then he finally stepped back.

He looked at his fingers, hummed, and wiped the streak of blood off on her shirt. His hand dipped down, stroked her hip, and slipped into her pocket. He fished out the bobby pin and paper clip. “I knew I didn’t lose this,” he murmured and put it in his own pocket, backing away towards the stairs.

“Now, then. This time I am going for some groceries. It might take a while.” He stopped near the stairs, hand on the railing, turned towards her with a smile, and again said in an even more patronizing voice: “Don’t go anywhere.”

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