#I kept struggling with the lighting and setup

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[kathaelipwse]

Worlds Apart | C.Seungcheol

Popular!Seungcheol x Scholar!Reader Trope: Angsty Lovers | Second Chances (kinda) | Push-and-Pull Romance Warnings: Heavy Angst | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Intense Feelings | Mentions of Self-Worth Issues | NO PROOF READING WAS DONE Synopsis: You tried to walk away. You told yourself it was for the best. That Seungcheol’s world was too bright, too untouchable for someone like you. But when he kneels before you, hands trembling, eyes filled with a love you don’t think you deserve—you start to wonder if you’ve been running from the wrong thing all along. Word count: 4.2k Reading Time: 15-ish mins Author’s note: This is a heavy, emotion-driven piece that explores love, self-worth, and the struggle of letting yourself be loved. Hope you enjoy the angst- (I cried while typing- Got no idea WHY i am writing so much angst- It scares me haha) Have an amazing day/night y'll!!

--

You were fine being invisible. It was safer that way. No attention, no judgment, no cruel words whispered behind your back.

A quiet existence, a solitary path, a refuge from the harsh realities of a world that didn’t seem to have a place for you. You learned to blend into the background, to become a shadow, a whisper, a footnote in the grand narrative of the university.

And then Seungcheol noticed you.

He didn’t just see you; he saw you. He dragged you into the light, not with a forceful hand, but with a gentle persistence that chipped away at the walls you had so carefully built. He sat next to you in the bustling cafeteria, his presence a shield against the judging eyes, his laughter a melody that drowned out the whispers.

He fought for you, not in grand, dramatic gestures, but in subtle, unwavering ways—a quiet defense against the casual cruelty of his peers, a silent promise that you weren’t alone. He walked you home after your late-night shifts, filling the silence with laughter and stories, making you feel like you weren’t just a scholarship student working two jobs to survive in a private university full of people who would never know what it meant to struggle. He saw the fire in your eyes, the resilience in your spirit, the quiet strength that you kept hidden from the world.

He made you feel like you belonged. Like you were seen, valued, cherished. He made you feel like you were worthy.

But people like you? You don’t get happy endings. The world doesn't allow it. The universe doesn't permit it. You were a realist, after all. You understood the rules of the game.

Because someone—one of his rich, entitled friends—hurts you. Maybe it’s words, sharp and cutting, designed to wound. Maybe it’s something worse, a subtle act of sabotage, a calculated humiliation. Either way, it’s enough to break you, to shatter the fragile hope that Seungcheol had ignited within you.

It happened after the game. The roar of the crowd, the blinding lights, the electric energy of victory—it was a world you had only ever observed from the periphery, a spectacle you watched from the shadows. Seungcheol, the star, the hero, the center of everyone's attention, had led the team to another championship win. The arena was a sea of adoring faces, chanting his name, their voices a symphony of praise.

You stayed at the very back, a shadow in the corner, a silent observer. You were the stagehand, the unseen hand that ensured the show went on, the unsung hero who worked tirelessly behind the scenes. You were only here because you were in charge of managing the after-party setup, a duty assigned to you as part of your scholarship work, a constant reminder of your place in this world. You were just the nobody scholarship student working behind the scenes, running around with a clipboard while the real students—the ones who actually belonged here—partied like they ruled the world.

Seungcheol caught your eyes right before he was hoisted onto shoulders. For a fleeting moment, a foolish, reckless hope sparked in your chest, a dangerous flicker of belief. That maybe, just maybe, he would see you, would choose you, would break through the sea of adoring faces and come to you first. That maybe, just maybe, you were something more than a fleeting interest, a passing fancy.

But then a voice shattered that fragile illusion, a voice laced with venom and disdain, a cruel reminder of your place.

“You really thought he’d run to you?”

You turned, your heart sinking, your breath catching in your throat. A group of students stood there, their designer clothes and arrogant expressions a stark contrast to your worn uniform, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and contempt. Seungcheol’s friends, the ones who always looked at you like you were an unwelcome guest, a stain on their perfect world.

One of them, a girl named Mina, with perfect hair and cruel eyes, stepped forward, her voice dripping with false pity, her words laced with venom.

“God, you really are delusional. You think he actually cares about you? You’re just a novelty, a distraction.”

You opened your mouth, but another voice cut in, sharp and dismissive, a cruel echo of your deepest fears.

“You’re embarrassing him.”

That one hit different, because this time, it was one of the guys from the basketball team, Jaehyun, one of Seungcheol’s closest friends, someone you had thought might understand.

“Hanging around like a lost puppy, acting like you actually have a chance with him,” he scoffed, arms crossed, his eyes filled with disdain. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you know what you look like? Pathetic.”

You felt your stomach drop, the air thick with humiliation, the weight of their judgment crushing you.

“I—”

“Do you know what people say about you?” Mina interrupted, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with malice, her voice laced with poison. “That you’re his little charity case. His pet project. Something to amuse him.”

Laughter rippled through the group, a cruel, mocking sound that echoed in the vast arena, a chorus of disdain.

“Poor Seungcheol,” someone else mocked, a tall, lanky guy named Junho. “Always looking out for the underprivileged. Such a saint. So noble.”

You couldn’t breathe. The whispers, the glances, the subtle rejections—you had endured them all. But hearing it from his closest friends, from the people he shared his life with, was a different kind of pain. It was a betrayal, a confirmation of your deepest fears, a stark reminder that you didn’t belong.

“You should just disappear already,” Mina sighed, her voice laced with false concern, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Save yourself the humiliation. Do him a favor. Just go away.”

That was the moment something inside you snapped, a fragile thread breaking under the weight of years of insecurity and self-doubt. You shouldn’t have let it get this far. You shouldn’t have let yourself believe, even for a second, that you and Seungcheol were anything more than a fleeting moment, a mistake waiting to happen.

So when you finally found him in the crowd, his eyes searching for you, a flicker of concern in their depths, you turned away. You walked past him like he was a ghost, a phantom, a figment of your imagination, a dream you had foolishly dared to believe in.

And when he grabbed your wrist, his touch warm and insistent, when he looked at you with nothing but pure concern, you ripped your hand free and whispered, your voice barely audible, a broken echo of your shattered hope,

“I just want to be invisible again.”

And the way his face shattered right in front of you, the way his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own, almost made you stay. Almost. But people like you? You don’t get happy endings.

So you left, disappearing into the shadows, and you didn’t look back, your heart a heavy weight in your chest.

You disappeared after that night.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

A ghost in the machine.

Winter break feels endless. Cold. Empty. A barren landscape devoid of warmth.

Seungcheol spends weeks staring at his phone, waiting for your name to pop up, a desperate vigil.

It never does.

The silence is deafening, a constant reminder of your absence.

His friends try to cheer him up, but he’s not the same.

The laughter, the confidence—it’s all forced now, a hollow echo of his former self.

The joy has been leached from his eyes.

The basketball court doesn’t feel the same.

The thrill of the game, the camaraderie of the team—it’s all muted, a pale imitation of what it once was.

Nothing feels the same without you.

Every time he sees something you would’ve liked—a worn paperback, a cheap cup of coffee, a little trinket from a street vendor—his chest aches, a sharp, stabbing pain.

It’s a constant reminder of what he’s lost.

And at night, when it’s quiet, he hears your voice, a haunting melody in the silence.

"We don’t belong together, Seungcheol."

But he still refuses to believe that.

He clings to the hope that you’ll come back, that you’ll see that you belong with him.

The moment classes start again, you avoid him.

A master of evasion.

You’re a ghost, a whisper in the wind.

You change routes, take the long way around campus just so you won’t run into him.

A desperate attempt to erase yourself from his life.

He notices.

Of course, he notices.

He sees the way you duck your head, the way you pretend he doesn’t exist—

It destroys him.

A slow, agonizing erosion of his spirit.

Every time he gets close, you slip away, a phantom in the crowd.

Every time he calls your name, you pretend you don’t hear, a cruel denial of his existence.

The team notices.

His friends notice.

"Dude, what the hell happened over break?" they ask, their voices filled with concern.

But Seungcheol doesn’t talk about it.

He just clenches his jaw and keeps chasing after the girl who doesn’t want to be found.

A relentless pursuit fueled by love and desperation.

One night, you’re walking home, the streetlights casting long shadows.

And he finally catches you.

His heart pounds in his chest as he reaches for your wrist.

Not hard, not forceful—just enough to make you stop running.

A gentle but firm hold.

"Stop."

His voice is raw, broken, filled with a pain he can no longer contain.

You freeze, your back to him, shoulders tense.

You don’t turn around.

Your heart hammers against your ribs.

"Look at me."

His voice cracks—pleading, desperate.

"Please, just look at me. Give me a reason."

You swallow hard, trying to regain control.

But you don’t move, your feet rooted to the spot.

And that’s when he breaks.

"I spent the entire break waiting for you."

His voice shakes, trembling with emotion.

"Do you know how fucking empty everything felt without you? It was like the world had lost its color."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to cry.

Trying to block out his words.

"You left, and I—"

He exhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

"I haven’t been okay since. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. All I can think about is you."

Silence hangs in the air.

Thick with unspoken emotions.

Then, barely above a whisper—

"You weren’t supposed to wait for me, Cheol."

Your voice is filled with a sadness that mirrors his own.

That’s when he turns you around, his hands trembling slightly.

When he cups your face with both hands.

Forcing you to see just how wrecked he is.

To witness the depth of his pain.

"You think I had a choice?"

His eyes are filled with tears.

His voice is full of pain.

Full of love.

"I’ll always wait for you."

It’s a promise.

A vow.

A declaration of his unwavering devotion.

Your breath is shaky, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

His hands are warm against your skin.

His grip is so gentle, so careful.

Like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again.

Like he’s holding onto something precious.

And you should.

You should pull away.

You should tell him it’s over.

That he needs to move on.

That you’re not worth his pain.

But when you look into his eyes—

God, his eyes.

You see everything you’ve ever wanted.

Everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

And it terrifies you.

"Cheol…"

Your voice wavers, barely holding on.

A fragile whisper.

His thumb brushes over your cheek.

A tender caress.

"Don’t do this."

His voice is a plea.

A desperate attempt to hold onto you.

"We don’t belong together," you whisper.

Even though it hurts like hell to say it.

Even though every fiber of your being screams in protest.

His jaw clenches.

His eyes darken with a mixture of anger and pain.

But he doesn’t move.

His gaze unwavering.

"Why do you keep saying that? Why are you so determined to push me away?"

You force yourself to stay strong, to ignore the way your heart is screaming for him, to suppress the longing that threatens to consume you.

"Because it’s the truth."

A lie that tastes like ashes in your mouth. LIE.

You try to step back, to create some distance between you, but he doesn’t let you. He doesn’t tighten his hold—he just refuses to let go, his grip gentle but unyielding.

"Bullshit." His voice is rough, desperate, filled with a raw emotion that mirrors your own. "You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to tell me what I feel."

You exhale sharply, trying to regain your composure, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"You don’t understand, Cheol—"

"Then make me understand!" His voice cracks, frustration mixing with heartbreak, a desperate plea for clarity. "I’ve been chasing after you, waiting for you, and you won’t even tell me why you’re running! Just tell me what I did wrong."

Your throat tightens, the words caught in a knot of pain and fear, the truth too heavy to bear.

"Because I don’t belong in your world!" you finally snap, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. "Because people like me—people who have to fight just to exist—don’t get to have things like this! We’re not meant for happy endings."

Seungcheol stares at you, his expression unreadable, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with something you can’t bear to face—a reflection of your own pain.

Then—he lets go.

Your breath stutters, your heart skips a beat. He steps back, creating a space between you, a chasm that threatens to swallow you whole.

For a second, you think—this is it. He’s giving up. He’s finally realized that you’re not worth the effort.

But then—he kneels.

Right there, in the middle of the dimly lit sidewalk, in the cold night air, he kneels in front of you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, a gesture of humility and devotion.

And when he looks up at you, his eyes filled with a love that transcends words, you’re ruined.

Your carefully constructed walls crumble around you.

"I would leave everything for you." His voice is quiet, but it hits like a sledgehammer to your chest, a declaration of his unwavering commitment.

"Because you are the only one who has ever seen the real me. The me that I keep hidden from everyone else."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out, your voice lost in a sea of emotion.

"Where my money didn’t matter. Where my status didn’t matter." His eyes never leave yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "All that mattered was us. Just you and me."

His hands find yours again, gently, carefully, his touch a lifeline in the storm of your emotions.

"Tell me that wasn’t real." His voice is a whisper, a desperate plea for reassurance.

Silence.

"Tell me you didn’t feel it too." His eyes search yours, seeking confirmation, seeking a glimmer of hope.

Your throat closes up, the words caught in a knot of longing and fear.

Because you did.

Of course, you did.

You felt it with every fiber of your being.

And Seungcheol sees it.

Sees the way you tremble, the way your fingers clutch his, the way your eyes betray your carefully constructed facade.

He has you.

Now all you have to do—is stop fighting.

Your pulse is hammering, a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

This is too much. Too intense. Too real.

Seungcheol, kneeling in front of you, holding your hands like you’re his entire world, his eyes filled with a love that both terrifies and exhilarates you.

His words replay in your mind, over and over—I would leave everything for you.

You can’t breathe.

You rip your hands away, breaking the connection, creating a space between you.

"You’re a fool, Seungcheol." Your voice is barely a whisper, filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.

His brows knit together, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt, but he doesn’t move, his gaze unwavering.

"You don’t know what you’re saying," you whisper, your voice shaking, your eyes pleading with him to understand.

"You have everything. A future, a reputation, a life people would kill for. Why would you throw that away for me? I have nothing to offer you."

He stares at you, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrors your own, his expression a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

Like you’re breaking his heart right in front of him.

"Because none of it matters without you." His voice is firm, unwavering, a declaration of his love.

No.

No, no, no.

Your vision blurs, tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

You take a step back, trying to create some distance, trying to escape the intensity of his gaze.

Then another.

You have to go.

You have to leave before you crumble, before you succumb to the longing that threatens to consume you.

Your body screams run, but the moment you turn away—

He moves.

And then—his arms are around you. Warm. Solid. Unyielding. And just like that—

You shatter.

A choked sob escapes your lips, and suddenly, you can’t stop. The dam breaks, and years of pent-up emotion flood out. Your hands clutch his jacket, holding on for dear life.

You hate him for not letting you go.

You hate him for holding you together when all you wanted was to fall apart alone.

"Why—why are you doing this?" you gasp against his chest, your whole body trembling, your voice choked with tears.

His arms tighten around you, his lips pressing to your hair—a silent promise of comfort and support.

"Because I love you, idiot."

His voice is thick with emotion, a raw declaration of his feelings.

Your breath hitches. Your heart skips a beat.

"And I’m not letting you go."

His words are a vow, a commitment, a refusal to give up on you.

Tears pour down your face, a torrent of emotion. Your knees go weak, but Seungcheol just holds you closer, keeps you steady—a human anchor in the storm of your emotions.

For the first time in forever—

You let yourself break.

You allow yourself to be vulnerable, to let go of the walls you've built around your heart. And for the first time in forever—

You're not alone.

You have someone to share your pain, someone to hold you through the darkness.

You cry until you have nothing left, until the tears run dry and your sobs subside into soft whimpers. Your sobs start sharp, gut-wrenching, a release of years of bottled-up pain. Your body shakes in his arms, fingers clenching into his jacket like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And maybe he is.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just holds you. Arms tight, steady, unshaken—like he’s anchoring you to this world, a constant presence in your life.

And you let him.

For the first time in your life, you let yourself be held. You surrender to his embrace, finding solace in his strength.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Time doesn’t exist in this moment—only the two of you, wrapped in a shared space of vulnerability and connection.

Your breathing slows, chest still hitching with the remnants of your breakdown, the storm gradually subsiding. Your face is buried against him, and his heartbeat is the only sound you hear.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

A steady rhythm. Strong. Safe. A comforting reminder of his presence.

When you finally shift, pulling back slightly, he still doesn’t let go. His grip remains firm, a silent reassurance.

Instead, he exhales softly—warm breath against your hair—and then tilts his head down, his eyes filled with tenderness.

And then—a kiss.

Soft. Gentle. Right on your forehead. A gesture of comfort and affection.

Your breath stutters. Your heart flutters.

Then—your nose.

You blink up at him, eyes still red, still glassy, but now filled with a glimmer of hope.

He’s watching you like you’re something fragile. Something precious. Something to be cherished.

Then—your cheeks.

One.

Then the other.

Then—your closed eyelids.

Like he’s kissing away the tears that remain, erasing the traces of your pain.

You don’t move.

Can’t.

You're lost in the moment, captivated by his tenderness.

His fingers slide against yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles—before he leans down and presses a kiss there too, a gesture of reverence.

And then—finally.

Your lips.

A whisper of a touch at first. Like he’s asking for permission, seeking your consent.

Then—

You press back.

And everything shatters.

The kiss deepens. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking the skin, a gentle caress. You tilt your head, open up to him, let him pull you in, surrendering to the moment.

And then it’s not soft anymore.

It’s raw.

Hungry.

Desperate.

A release of pent-up longing.

Because this isn’t just a kiss—

This is a confession.

This is Seungcheol showing you everything he can’t say in words, a language of touch and emotion.

And this time—

You don’t push him away.

You embrace his love, allowing yourself to be loved.

When you finally pull apart, breathing hard, lips swollen, a tangible reminder of your connection, Seungcheol still doesn’t let you go.

Instead, he rests his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm—like he’s scared you might slip away again. Like he never wants to lose you. A silent promise of his unwavering devotion.

And then—

He smiles.

Not the cocky, teasing smirk he flashes on the court, a mask he wears for the world.

Not the polite, practiced grin he gives to the rich kids at school, a facade he presents to his peers.

No.

This one is soft.

Real.

Just for you.

"I am yours," he murmurs, voice low, steady, filled with a certainty that resonates deep within you.

"Since the day I saw you working at the café with your hair up and that adorable white and blue dress."

You suck in a breath, your heart swelling with emotion. Your eyes flicker up to meet his—deep brown, burning, full of something you can’t quite believe is meant for you, a love that seems too good to be true.

"You—"

Your voice catches, your words failing you.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, a tender caress. "You don’t have to believe me yet." His lips twitch, a hint of his playful side returning. "But I’ll prove it to you, baby. Every damn day if I have to."

And for the first time… you think maybe—just maybe—you’re ready to let him. To trust him. To believe in his love.

You don’t pull away. You stay in his arms, finding comfort and solace in his embrace.

And Seungcheol? He notices.

A slow grin tugs at his lips, a little smug, a little too self-satisfied, a hint of his playful arrogance.

"You know, baby," he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to make you shiver, a seductive whisper. "If I’d known all it took to get you in my arms was making you cry, I would’ve done it sooner."

You gasp and smack his chest, a playful rebuke. "Cheol!"

His chuckle vibrates against your skin, a warm and comforting sound. "Too soon?"

Your glare is weak at best, your lips twitching despite your efforts to remain stern. "You think?"

But Seungcheol just tilts his head, still smiling, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "At least I made you forget about crying, huh?"

You huff, but he catches it—the way your lips twitch, the way your eyes aren’t as clouded anymore, the glimmer of a smile that threatens to break through.

So he leans in, just a little, lips brushing your ear, his voice a low and intimate whisper.

"And for the record, you looked hot as hell in that dress, but you look even prettier like this."

Your breath stutters, your cheeks flush. "Like what?"

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his embrace a comforting haven.

"In my arms."

His voice is filled with tenderness and love, a promise of safety and belonging.

Seungcheol barely has time to react before—

Flick.

His head jerks back slightly as your finger snaps against his forehead, a playful act of defiance.

"Ow—hey!" He pouts, rubbing the spot like you actually hurt him, his expression comical.

You just smirk, a genuine smile gracing your lips for the first time in what feels like forever.

"You are such a flirt."

His grin starts creeping back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You love it."

You tilt your head, pretending to think, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Mmm… maybe."

Then—

You lean in just a little, just enough to make his breath hitch, a playful challenge.

"But you’re my flirt."

Your voice is soft, intimate, a declaration of your feelings.

Seungcheol? Absolutely wrecked.

His ears go pink, a blush creeping up his neck. His smile falters for a split second, his usual composure momentarily shattered.

Then—

He groans, throwing his head back, overwhelmed by your words.

"Baby, you can’t just say stuff like that!"

You laugh—light, breathless. And it hits you.

You haven’t laughed like this in a long time.

And Seungcheol? He’s looking at you like he knows. Like he’s the reason why.

Like he’s gonna make sure you never stop being happy after all of the troubles you went through alone.

[merrybloomwrites]

A Podcast Love Story

Summary: The story of Shayne & Y/N, as told through a series of podcasts

AN: This story was inspired by a request from someone that tumblr isn't letting me tag, so that's dumb lol

Also, I tried to follow the actual timeline of when these podcasts were posted but I did take some creative liberty, so some things might not match up with when the were really posted irl

Wordcount: 3.4K

CW: very light mention of smut, talk about pregnancy

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SmoshCast #75 – How Shayne and Courtney Feel About Being Shipped Together

Dating someone who’s in the public eye was not entirely unexpected. You live in Los Angeles after all. When you and Shayne started dating in 2019 you decided to keep it a secret for a while. Neither of you were ready to share your relationship with the Smosh viewers yet.

This became more difficult when you decided to quarantine together in 2020 during the pandemic. Two weeks after he returned from Australia, when you were sure that neither of you had Covid, you packed your necessities and headed to Shayne’s. It was nice being together, but it did get complicated when he needed to film videos.

Sometimes you would go for a walk while he was filming. Other times you would hide in the other room. He’d triple check all his footage before submitting it to make sure you, and any of your belongings, weren’t in frame.

One day, a few months in, he and Courtney are recording an episode of the SmoshCast. He sets up at the small dining table in the corner of the living room. You’re on the couch, meaning you can’t be seen on the camera, but you are in Shayne’s view. It might not have been the smartest decision since you’re now stuck there for the entire time they record, but you have a book and a snack, so you get cozy.

You can only hear Shayne’s side of the conversation, so you’re not fully paying attention. That is, until you hear Shayne say, “If we so much as say hi to each other, Shartney fans poop themselves.” The mention of this ship between him and his castmate has you more focused on the conversation. Not because you’re jealous, because that would be ridiculous, but because all of you find it quite funny how hard the two of them are shipped.

He can’t stop looking over to you for the entire ten-minute segment. It’s subtle, but there’s definitely a connection between the two of you. It’s obvious that he’s reassuring you that there’s nothing to worry about. You especially like when he says, “You can ship me with anything. Ship me with bananas.” And you nearly lose it when he says, “I am begging you, please, make a ship edit of me and Kathy Bates.”

They continue to talk and the conversation steers towards how fans make assumptions based on what they see in videos. Shayne brings up how people were concerned about him for a few weeks at the beginning of quarantine. He starts to explain, “I was very quiet in those early podcasts, but the reason was, one, I was not getting enough sleep. I kept staying up late,” here he looks at you before quickly saying, “playing video games.” You again struggle to keep quiet, knowing that was not the truth. Unless “playing video games” has now become code for “having intimate moments with my girlfriend”.

He continues to talk about how his setup for recording was less than ideal and finishes by saying, “I wasn’t sad at all, I was actually having great days.” Again, you share a quick look, showing that you agree with him about how wonderful it’s been since you started living together.

They wrap up the podcast a little while later and Shayne is officially done with work for the day.

“Playing video games, huh?” you say teasingly.

“Oh yea, totally a pro gamer now,” he replies.

“You think so?” you say with a laugh.

“I mean, I could always use more practice,” he answers as he lifts you from the couch, carrying you to the bedroom.

SmoshCast #85 – American Horror Story: Adulting

A few months later and things are looking better in the world. This means a return to the office for everyone. You’d landed a job at Smosh, working in post-production, so now you and Shayne work together. You were nervous about being around each other all the time, but luckily there’s still a fair amount of the day when you’re apart. Shayne is often filming or in meetings or busy writing, and you spend most of the time at your desk working on the next video.

But sometimes, you get a break to see him. Shayne, Damien, and Coutney are filming a new SmoshCast episode, and you sneak in to watch from the back. The theme is “Adulting”, and they somehow start by talking about how they interact with the younger generation. You can’t help but smile as Shayne talks about his niece, endeared by the relationship he has with her. He also mentions grandchildren, which makes your imagination run away thinking about your future together.

You stay for a little while and just watch your boyfriend. He’s not saying anything crazy, or doing anything special, but you love listening to him give advice. You also love how attentive he is to his friends, how closely he listens to everything they say. When you do go back to your desk you take a moment to think about how lucky you are that this man, with a solid head on his shoulders and more emotional maturity than you’ve ever seen before, is your other half.

Smosh Mouth #5 – Shayne and Y/N Share Their Love Story

“Welcome back to Smosh Mouth, I’m Shayne.”

“And I’m Amanda.”

“And today we have a very special guest. We have my lovely wife, Y/N Topp,” Shayne says, smiling at you as he finished the introduction.

“Hello everyone,” you say into the microphone.

It’s weird being in front of the camera. It’s only happened a few times in the years that you’ve been with Shayne. Even though you also work at Smosh, you’re always behind the scenes. You’ve only really been in videos that highlight the crew, so the focus has rarely been on you.

But today you’re finally sitting down to do a podcast for the channel. They’d just revived the podcast after a nearly three-year hiatus.

So much has happened in your personal life since then. At the time that SmoshCast was airing, your relationship with Shayne was fairly new, and you weren’t ready to share it yet. Within a year of that last episode going live, you two had gotten engaged. This led to you guys getting married, and as of 22 weeks ago, you being pregnant with your first child.

“Well, I for one am very excited to have you here today,” Amanda says. “I cannot wait to grill you on every last detail of your relationship.” You all laugh at that, knowing that while you’re sharing more personal information than you ever have before, no one is going to push you or Shayne too much.

“So,” Amanda continues. “Tell me, how did you meet?”

You look to Shayne, encouraging him to start the story.

“We met in 2019,” he begins. “Someone had recommended a book to me, so I was at the library to pick it up. While I was looking through the shelf Y/N came over and started looking through the section as well. We kind of started at opposite ends and moved to meet in the middle. Turns out we were both looking for the same book.”

“No you were not!” Amanda interjects.

“We really were,” you say to confirm. “We basically have the most cliché meet-cute story.”

“Ya, no kidding! So, what happened next?” she asks.

“Well, I had picked up the book first and noticed Y/N glance at it. So we started talking and I told her she should take the book first and I’d read it when she’s done.”

“And then he very smoothly said he could give me his number so I could tell him when I was returning the book,” you add.

“Look at you,” Amanda says. “Making the bold moves.”

“I had to give it a try,” Shayne says with a laugh.

“And it worked. I texted him a couple weeks later, the day before I returned the book.”

“I didn’t have her number,” Shayne says. “And I was kicking myself for not getting it because waiting to hear from her was pretty torturous I’m not gonna lie. So as soon as she texted about the book I asked her on a date.”

“Which actually shocked me at first. I really though he only was interested in the book.”

“Did you know who he was?” Amanda asks. “Like, had you watched Smosh or seen him on TV before you met?”

“I did know who he was. I had just started watching Smosh, so I recognized him but really didn’t know much about him.”

“Did you start watching old videos and try to get to know more about him after you met? Or after he asked you out?”

“I tried not to. I wanted to get to know him naturally, not through videos online. But there was a video posted after he asked me out but before our date called ‘Why We’re Bad at Dating’ and I couldn’t resist. And I truly think it helped us hit it off on that first date.”

“How so?” Amanda inquires.

Shayne takes that question, saying, “In the episode I talked about what I do on dates that kind of lead to there not being a second date. And Y/N/N called me out on that.”

You chime in, adding, “He said he puts on a ‘CW’ version of himself. I told him not to do that. And I admitted to being just as anxious about the date as he was so we should just forget the pressure and hang out and get to know each other.”

“Well, that’s adorable,” Amanda says. “So obviously you started dating and kept dating. When did you take the next step?”

Shayne takes this question and says, “I asked her to be my girlfriend a couple months later. And then we moved in together shortly after the start of the pandemic. Which was slightly challenging when it came to filming at home for Smosh since we wanted to keep the relationship a secret for a while.”

“Yea, how in the world did you make that work?”

“We were very, very careful,” you say. “I definitely hid in the bathroom more than once to stay out of frame.” At this you all laugh, and you add, “Totally worth it, though.”

“Ok, next juicy question. Shayne, how did you propose?”

“So, I hired a sky writer,” he says before laughing and continuing, “No, just kidding. We’d been dating for a year and a half, living together for almost a year at the time. We rented a cabin in Colorado for a few days and on the second day we went on a hike. Packed a picnic, did the whole thing. And I uh, I proposed at the top of the mountain.”

“You guys are literally a romcom,” Amanda quips.

“Would a romcom do a hike proposal? I feel like they’re always at fancy restaurant or the beach. Or like, yelling ‘Will you marry me?’ As the girl walks away down a street in the pouring rain,” you say.

“Oh, a hike proposal is very Lifetime or Hallmark.”

“Good point, it’s totally been in at least one of those movies.”

“Did you like that it was on a hike?” Amanda asks.

“Yea, Y/N/N, did you like it?” Shayne says, pretending to be truly concerned and worried about your answer.

“Hated it,” you say jokingly. “No, honestly, I loved it. Shayne and I always bonded over how much we love nature, so it was perfect for us. I can’t imagine it being any other way. I know a lot of girls want to make sure their nails are done so they get that perfect ring picture, which totally fine, not judging at all. But it definitely felt right that I literally had dirt under my nails and scrapes on my palms from slipping up the hill. Much more authentic that way.”

“And the wedding, anything you want to share about it?” Amanda asks.

“We actually got married in New Mexico,” you say. “It was the central spot for both our families. It was last April, so, beautiful weather during the day. And we lucked out that the temperature didn’t drop too much at night.”

“Very nice,” Amanda replies. “Shayne, anything to add?”

“We kept it pretty small, just family, and close friends. I feel like it was a very typical wedding, but it was ours, you know? So, it was special.” Shayne blushes and you know that your wedding day means more to him than he’s letting on. And that’s fine with you. It was a private event, and even though you’re sharing your relationship now, neither of you want to give away too much about your wedding.

“Aw, he’s getting red,” Amanda jokes. “Did you go on a honeymoon?”

“We did. We went to Hawaii. Neither of us had been before so we knew it would be special for us. We wanted to experience something new together,” you answer.

“Cute!” she replies. “Now, dedicated fans know you guys are together, know you’re married and all that. But there is some news you two have to share that no one knows, is that correct?”

“That’s right,” Shayne says. He looks at you, silently asking if you want to say it. But you can tell he’s bursting to tell everyone, so you give him a nod to continue.

“Y/N and I are having a baby,” he says.

“Hell yea you are! Smosh baby!” Amanda cheers. “Congratulations to you both! Y/N, how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good right now. I’m in the second trimester so my morning sickness is mostly gone, thank god. We’re very excited, got some classes we’re planning to take and we’re reading all the books so I’m sure we will still be extremely unprepared,” you say with a laugh.

“If there’s anyone I trust to figure it out and be great parents, it’s the two of you,” Amanda replies earnestly.

“Thank you, Amanda,” Shayne says.

The podcast continues with Amanda continuing to ask questions and you and Shayne sharing more stories about your time together.

You wrap up recording by mid-afternoon. You have an appointment with your doctor scheduled and since it’s so close to the end of the day, Shayne was also given time off to join you. Everything goes well and as he drives you both home you can’t help but be grateful that the two of you were brought together.

Smosh Reads Reddit Stories: Office Nightmares

It’s been a month and a half since recording your episode of SmoshMouth, and three weeks since it aired. The news that you and Shayne are expecting a baby spread faster than anything you’d experienced before. You’d both received messages of congratulations from more people than you had ever expected: from Smosh fans to Disney fans, and even Goldbergs fans. You never imagined the amount of support you’d receive.

You had the morning off for yet another checkup with your doctor. You get back to the office early, but technically you’re still scheduled to be off, so you opt to sit in as they record the next Reddit Story video/podcast. It’s one of your favorite series currently, and you love listening to Shayne read all the stories.

He begins the third story, reading the title, “Am I the asshole for telling my wife that I’m not taking off of work to be present at our daughters’ birth?”

They joke around for a bit, and then he dives into the story, reading how the man explains that he couldn’t take off work cause there’s a project and they need him there. The wife finds out that’s a lie, and it mad that he didn’t take time off. He says he wants to work more so they’d have more money after the birth, and that the baby wouldn’t even remember him being there. He finishes by saying he doesn’t know why it’s such a big deal to be there at the birth, and even blames the wife’s hormones for her being upset about it.

Shayne, along with Spencer and Tommy begin to share their thoughts on the story. You smile and nod as Shayne makes the point of, “He keeps saying the baby’s not gonna remember, but you’re fucking wife will!”

They even give reasons why they’d understand him not being there, with Tommy saying, “If they were really desperate for cash then I’d get it,” and Spencer saying he’d understand if he were terrified of being around childbirth.

The boys then look over to you and Spencer says, “Y/N, you’re pregnant, how do you feel about this story?”

“Yea,” Tommy adds, “would you kill Shayne if he did this?”

“Oh, for sure!” you call out.

“C’mere,” Shayne says. “You’re probably the one most qualified to give an opinion here.”

You look to Kiana who’s directing the video and she gives you a nod, so you walk onto the set and stand behind Shayne, leaning down so your face is next to his and your voice will get picked up on his microphone.

“What are you’re thoughts on this?” Tommy asks.

“You guys definitely made a lot of great points. I mean, childbirth is terrifying, and I keep trying to ignore the fact that I do have to actually, you know, birth a human. But I know that Shayne will be there and is studying to be the best support person. I mean, he’s read enough books about it, I think he could deliver the baby himself if necessary,” you say with a laugh.

“I will add, if this was the father of my child, I’d wonder what he actually deems important. Because this is arguably one of the biggest days of everyone’s life. First of all, it should be important to him. It’s literally his child entering the world. It’s a privilege to be one of the first people that baby will ever meet. And then, what will be a big enough deal for him to take off work in the future? Baby’s not gonna remember her first birthday, is he gonna go to that? She has a dance recital at three years old, is he going to think that’s silly and not go?”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that, but it makes sense,” Spencer replies. “He definitely seems to have his priorities and being there for his family isn’t one.”

“I truly cannot imagine not being there when our kid is born,” Shayne says. “My worst fear would be if something kept me from being there.”

“Because you’re a good person,” Tommy says bluntly, and everyone laughs.

You head back off camera as they continue on.

After a few more stories Shayne begins another entry, titled, “And I the asshole for eating the last doughnut before my pregnant coworker could have one?” He looks at you once he reads it and laughs before saying, “Y/N’s face says, yes absolutely you are.”

He reads the story which explains that the young employee ate his allotted two doughnuts, and when the pregnant coworker didn’t show up after half an hour, he ate her two as well. She gets there shortly after and explains she had car trouble and is upset to see everyone had a treat but didn’t save her any. Later, the boss pulls aside the employee to tell him he’d been rude to his coworker.

After he finishes the post the boys discuss the etiquette of eating communal snacks in the office before Shayne says, “Also, if there is one thing I know, it’s that you never mess with a pregnant woman’s food unless you want to die.” You laugh so loudly at this that you know for sure the mics picked it up from across the room.

“Y/N, anything to add?” Spencer says.

You walk over again and state, “Listen, all I’m say is that I’m mad you guys are just talking about doughnuts when we don’t have any. Cause cravings are a bitch and now I am literally not going to stop thinking about doughnuts until I get one.”

After moving offscreen you realize you need to pee, again, so you leave the studio to head to the bathroom. Once you’re out of the room Shayne says, “Hey Kiana, can I have my phone a second?”

“Why do you need your phone?” Spencer asks.

“I gotta doordash some doughnuts.”

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AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know if you have any requests for Shayne stories!

Taglist: @american-girl001 @tatumrileyslover @queenofcaradelle @1nkm0nster

[mummyemmatojames]

40. A Hard Day: Struggling with the Dynamic in Public

Hello, dear community. Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with a tough update on our MDLB and FLR journey. Yesterday was a real challenge—while our dynamic feels natural and solid at home, James is struggling to accept me as his Mummy out of the house, and it came to a head during a night away at a friend’s wedding. It’s left me feeling off-balance, and I’d really appreciate your wisdom on finding the right approach in public.

The Setup: A Night Away

We were invited to a friend’s wedding a few hours away, so we booked a hotel room for the night. James assumed it’d be a “night off” from our dynamic—maybe because it’s a big event, or because we’d be around others all day. But I had no intention of pausing things entirely; this is who we are, and consistency matters to me. I packed his bottles and formula (no surprises there), along with his train-themed pajamas and a spare dummy, just in case. When he saw me packing, his face fell—“Seriously, Mummy?”—but I brushed it off, saying, “We’re still us, even at a wedding, sweetheart.” I thought he’d adjust once we got there.

The day started fine—he was charming with my friends, sticking close to me, and I kept things subtle: holding his hand, ordering his drink (juice, no alcohol). At one point I made him sit at the kids table “to entertain them”. The problem? It was all toddlers—3- and 4-year-olds—no one even close to his 10-year-old headspace. He wasn’t happy, shifting uncomfortably as they babbled and spilled juice. I let him have an adult meal instead of a kids’ portion because I couldn’t work out how to justify it, but he still grumbled under his breath, clearly feeling out of place.

The Bedtime Battle

The real trouble hit at 8:30 PM. I’d already stretched his bedtime as a treat—normally it’s 7:30 routine, 8:30 lights out, but I let him stay up an extra hour since it was a wedding. The ceremony and dinner were done, the dancing had started, and I figured it was a good time to wind down. I leaned over and said quietly, “James, it’s time to head up and get into bed.” He fumed instantly—his jaw tightened, and he hissed, “Everyone’s still here including the toddlers, Mummy, I’m not going!” I stayed calm, reminding him, “You’ve had an extra hour, the main events are over, and little boys need their sleep.” But he wasn’t having it—he crossed his arms and glared, drawing a few curious looks from nearby guests.

I tried to comfort him the usual way, offering to nurse him for a few minutes to settle him. Normally, my boobs are his reset button, but tonight, he wasn’t interested, “Not here, this is stupid.” He was too worked up, too humiliated by the idea of bedtime while the party went on. I didn’t push it—so I took him up to the room, tucked him in with a bottle of formula instead, and turned off the light. “Mummy’s going back down for a bit,” I said. “I’ll check on you.” He just rolled over, silent but seething.

Back at the Party—and Checking In

I went back to the reception, danced a little, and caught up with friends, but I couldn’t fully relax—I kept picturing James upstairs, upset. I checked on him a few times during the night, slipping up to the room with the baby monitor app on my phone. He was asleep each time, bottle half-finished, looking small and sulky even in his sleep. I got back around 11:00 PM, and he didn’t stir when I climbed into bed. This morning, he’s been quiet—eating his breakfast (on his safari plate I’d packed) but not really talking, still processing last night.

Why It’s So Hard in Public

At home, our dynamic is second nature—bedtime, bottles, my role as Mummy all flow effortlessly, and James thrives in it. But out of the house, he’s struggling to accept me as his Mummy in the same way. The wedding highlighted it—he thought a night away meant a break, and when I held the line, it clashed with his expectations. Sitting with toddlers, going to bed early while adults partied—it made him feel exposed, not cared for. I get it; public settings are trickier, and he’s sensitive about others noticing. But I hate the idea of switching it off entirely—it’s not a costume we put on and take off; it’s us.

I let him have that extra hour and an adult meal, thinking it’d ease the sting, but it wasn’t enough. Not even nursing worked, and the bottle felt like a weak substitute when he was that mad. I’m wondering if I pushed too hard—maybe I should’ve let him stay up until 9:30, or skipped the kids’ table gig. But then I think, if I bend too much, where’s the consistency? It’s so hard to get the balance right in public.

What Do You Think?

I’d really love some guidance from the community—how do you handle your dynamic at events like weddings when the public setting throws it off? Have you had pushback on bedtime or little roles in front of others, and how did you settle it? For those whose partners struggle with Mummy out of the house, did they come around, or did you scale back? And if you’ve got tips for softening these moments—maybe a compromise that still feels like care—I’m all ears. I want James to feel safe, not furious, but I don’t want to lose what we’ve built.

Thank you for being here as I wrestle with this. Today was hard, and I’m still figuring out how to bridge the gap between home and away for my little boy.

With all my love (and some weariness), Emma (aka Mummy) ❤️

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Beyond The Screen: Chapter 14 - masterlist

Chapter Word Count: 3k words.

Chapter Summary: The bond between you and the boys deepens as emotional intimacy grows. After weeks of sharing more personal parts of yourselves, they decide to reveal their faces to you. You welcome the gesture, and the connection between all of you shifts—becoming more real, more grounded. With masks dropped, your conversations take on a new tone: honest, casual, and full of quiet anticipation for what might come next.

Tags: Themes of emotional vulnerability and intimacy, discussion of personal boundaries, anxiety around physical appearance and self-revelation, navigation of parasocial-to-mutual relationship dynamics, tension around online identity vs real self

Taglist: @alohastitch0626, @jspidey5, @laceandsuch, @kneelforloki, @fionaapplelover2010, @nubigenouss, @padlockedheartsreading, @ilovesugurugeto69, @weed-loving-loser, @simpingreader

The apartment is quiet save for the soft hum of electronics and the occasional rustle of fabric as they shift in their seats. They are three figures cast in the warm glow of a single phone screen, huddled together on the couch, each waiting for your reply with bated breath. It's become a routine now, this strange dance of words unfolding across continents and time zones, a connection that has deepened with each passing day.

James holds the phone between them, eyes scanning the screen for any sign of your response. His fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to tap out a reply at a moment's notice. Sirius and Remus lean in, their faces illuminated by the pale light, expressions focused yet somehow relaxed. They've grown used to this setup, comfortable with the rhythm and flow of conversation that sometimes stretches into the early hours of the morning.

There's a sense of anticipation in the air, a tension that wasn't there before. This isn't just about the game anymore—it's about something more, something intangible that's been growing between them since that first message all those weeks ago.

James glances up from his phone, a small smile playing on his lips as he reads out your latest message.

You: I’ve been thinking about what you all said the other day about things feeling more real. It’s strange because I’ve always kept this part of my life separate, but with you all, it’s different. I feel like I can be myself with you, and that’s new for me.

He pauses for a moment, letting the words sink in. They've felt it too, the shift in dynamic, the way you've let your guard down bit by bit. It's no longer just about the videos and photos, the tantalising glimpses into a world they've only dreamt about. You've begun sharing snippets of your life outside the camera lens—small things, like how you've been struggling with your health, or your feelings of isolation amplified by the nature of your work.

Sirius shifts beside James, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. "She's letting us in, isn't she?" he murmurs, almost to himself.

Remus sits back, fingers steepled as he considers Sirius's words. His brow furrows slightly, a sign of the gears turning within his sharp mind. "It seems that way," he agrees, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "And it's not just any information—it's personal, intimate even. She's showing us parts of herself she doesn't reveal to just anyone."

James reclines against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling as if it holds the answers they seek. He lets out a long breath, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of thought. "It's strange, isn't it? We've never met her, yet it feels like we know her better than some people we've been around for years."

The air between them hums with a shared understanding, each man lost in his own thoughts. It's not just the difference in their relationship with you that they're grappling with—it's the potential for something more than mere fans and content creators. The lines have been blurring for some time, and this moment feels like an acknowledgment of the shift.

"Do you think she's waiting for us to do the same?" Remus finally breaks the silence, his voice low but carrying in the quiet room.

James turns to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Remus sighs, one hand absentmindedly raking through his hair. "She's opened up to us, hasn't she? Told us things she probably doesn't tell most people. But we've kept so much of ourselves hidden from her. Our faces, our real names, who we are when we're not behind these screens. Maybe it's time we share a bit more, too."

Sirius' eyebrow arches nearly to the line of his hair as he straightens, a spark kindling in his dark eyes. "You're suggesting we show her our faces?"

Remus nods, the usual lines of mirth around his mouth replaced by the firm set of deep contemplation. "She trusts us, has revealed more than we could ever have asked for. It doesn't feel right for us to remain faceless."

James rubs at his chin, his gaze distant as he wrestles with their predicament. He's been entertaining the same thought, particularly since you've started sharing fragments of your life outside the game. The four of them have always kept their faces concealed from you—not out of mistrust, but because that was the nature of their platform. Their faces are public on their paid account, but they know you don't subscribe there and they've never pushed you to.

Still, now that the dynamics have shifted, this veil between you feels less like a boundary and more like deliberate obfuscation. And it chafes, especially when they can feel you drawing nearer despite the distance.

"But what if it changes things?" James's voice is a murmur, uncertain. "What if she doesn't like what she sees?"

Sirius snorts, but there's a hint of anxiety beneath the bravado. "If she's bothered by our faces after all this, then we're in deeper shit than I thought."

A soft chuckle escapes Remus, though the tension doesn't completely lift. It's not about appearances—not really—and they all know it. To reveal themselves to you is to step into uncharted territory, one where trust takes on a new dimension. It's more than just being seen; it's offering up a piece of vulnerability they have yet to share, and with it comes the inherent risk of exposure.

"We should consider it," Remus says finally, his voice low and thoughtful. "No decision needs to be made right now, but if we're serious about... about exploring this connection with her, we need to be willing to reveal more of ourselves. Anything less wouldn't be fair."

James nods, though the knot in his stomach tightens. He knows Remus is right—they can't ask you to bare your soul while they remain shrouded in shadows. But it's a significant step, one that must be taken with care, together.

Sirius is the first to break the silence, his grin returning as he leans back against the plush cushions. "I'm not worried about that part. She'll like what she sees. After all, we're quite the sight."

James rolls his eyes at Sirius's comment, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice when he responds, "Speak for yourself, Pads." The tension in the room eases slightly, replaced by the familiar banter they've always shared.

Later, when the rain has ceased its relentless patter against your window and the night has settled in, James returns to your earlier message.

ProngsPlayground_free: We feel the same way. You've let us into your world more than most people would dare, and for that, we're grateful. There's something different about this connection, isn't there? It feels... real. Like we're building something together here.

The flirtation is there, a playful undercurrent, but now it's tempered with depth, with shared experiences and unspoken understandings. You ask about their day, and they tell you of filming schedules, of scenes captured and moments immortalised. You tell them of your own day, of how the fog is lifting, and you're beginning to feel more like yourself again. And they listen, always there, always responding, a constant presence in a world that so often feels unpredictable.

The more you share, the more the boys feel compelled to do the same. It's a dance of words and emotions across the chat screen—James with his teasing banter, Remus with his quiet wisdom, Sirius with his unabashed enthusiasm. Each message is a step closer, a thread pulling tighter in a tapestry of friendship that grows richer with every shared moment.

One afternoon, as the conversation flows like water over stones, smoothing sharp edges into something soft and comforting, Sirius sends a different kind of message.

ProngsPlayground_free: Anyway, we've been talking... about what you said the other day, about feeling like you're really yourself with us. And we thought, maybe it's time we showed you a bit more of who we are too. What do you think? 😘

It's a bold move, even for Sirius. But then again, he's never been one to shy away from taking risks. Across the room, James catches Remus' eye, both of them holding their breaths as they wait for your response. The suggestion hangs in the air between them, heavy with anticipation and the promise of something more. This has been a long time coming, this tentative reaching out, but now that the words are on the screen, there's no taking them back.

You: I’m definitely curious. I feel like there’s a lot I still don’t know about you guys. But if you’re ready to show me... I’d love to see more. 💕

James can hardly contain his excitement as he reads your message out loud to the others—not only do you seem open to them, but you're also asking them to reveal more. It's as close to an invitation as they've received thus far, and while it isn't explicit, the implication thrills them.

"See?" Sirius grins, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. "I told you she'd be intrigued. She wants to know more, just like we want to know her."

"Yeah," James admits, although he doesn't share Sirius's bravado. His eyes flicker back to the screen, rereading your words as if trying to decipher a hidden code. "But this is... this is big, Sirius. If we show her our faces, there's no going back. Everything changes."

Remus, ever the diplomat, takes a sip from his mug before setting it down with a gentle thud. His voice, when he finally speaks, carries the same measured tone that has seen them through countless arguments and impulsive plans. "She's been cautious, yes, but she's also shown us a great deal of trust. Perhaps... it's time we extend the same courtesy."

The silence that descends upon them then is thick with thought, with the gravity of what tomorrow might bring. This isn't merely about stepping out from behind the veil and revealing their faces—it's about shattering the barrier between fiction and reality. Should they choose to let you see them as they truly are, the relationship will shift, likely for the better, but undoubtedly into something altogether different. More tangible.

Sirius stretches, his limbs long and lean against the worn fabric of the couch. "If we're going to do this, then I say we do it right. No pretences, no grand gestures. We've already invited her into parts of our lives we never shared with anyone else. A photo isn't much more, is it? But it has to be real—just us, as we are."

James's gaze flickers between them, a silent observer trying to gauge their reactions. Remus is still, his expression unreadable, but there's a sense of deep contemplation in his silence. Sirius's enthusiasm is palpable, even if tempered by caution. And James...he's caught somewhere in between, understanding the gravity of what they're considering.

"I agree," Remus says at last, breaking the silence that has settled over the room. His voice is low, thoughtful. "But before we take any steps, we need to ensure she's ready for this. If we're going to cross this line, we should know she's comfortable with this."

The words hang in the air, heavy with implications. James nods, appreciating the steadiness in Remus's approach even as his own heart races with possibilities. "Agreed. We tread carefully, but let's give her the choice. If she wants to see us, she'll tell us."

There's a silent consensus, an understanding forged in shared history and the promise of an uncertain future. James picks up his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen. A tap here, a swipe there, and he composes a message that could alter everything.

ProngsPlayground_free: So... we've been thinking about maybe showing you what we look like, for real. What do you think?

The message is sent, and the three of them wait in a silence that is heavy with anticipation. The tension is palpable, not just from the thought of revealing their faces but from the implications that follow. They've formed a bond with you, a connection that has grown stronger with each passing day. Now, they stand on the precipice of something more tangible, something real.

A few minutes pass, and then your reply arrives. They all lean in closer as James opens it.

You: I'm ready. I've been curious about you guys for a while now. I trust you, and I think we’re both comfortable enough to share more at this point. 💕

There it is—your acceptance, your trust. It's like a balm to their anxieties, a confirmation that they're not alone in this. Sirius lets out a small whoop of joy, and even Remus can't suppress a smile. This is what they've been waiting for, the assurance that you want to know them too, wholly and without reservation.

James' grin is infectious, yet there's a nervous energy about him that wasn't there before. "Alright," he says, his voice steadier than he feels. "Let's do this."

Sirius reaches for his phone, angles it to capture the three of them. The frame fills with their faces—unmasked, unguarded. Just as they are. Remus shifts closer while James leans in from the other side, their shoulders pressing together.

"No funny business this time," Sirius warns, though his eyes sparkle with mischief. "Just us."

And with a click, the moment is immortalised—a snapshot of their lives beyond the screen. The image is raw and unfiltered: James's hair more tousled than ever, Sirius's grin daring and direct, and Remus, his expression softer, contemplative.

"Done," Sirius announces, lowering the phone. They share a glance, an unspoken agreement passing between them. James takes the phone next, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen.

ProngsPlayground_free: Here we are. No more hiding. This is us. 😊

The photo is attached—a promise kept—and then it's sent, traversing miles and screens to reach you.

They wait, the silence of the flat heavy with anticipation. It's different, this unveiling. More intimate than any livestream or post they've shared with their subscribers before. There's a thrill to it, a vulnerability that comes with showing themselves to you, just one person, rather than a crowd.

Seconds trickle into minutes. The notification chime slices through the tension, and all three heads turn towards the sound. James's hand hovers over the phone, then he taps the screen, revealing your message.

You: Wow... you guys look even better than I imagined. I didn't know what to expect, but this... this feels real now. Thanks for trusting me with this. 💖

Sirius' grin widens as he lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding. "See? Told you she wouldn't be disappointed."

James sinks a little deeper into the couch, his shoulders finally free from the weight they've been carrying. "Yeah, well, it's not about whether she'd like what she sees. It's about being honest. And we have been."

Remus, ever the steady presence, nods with soft satisfaction. "She's right, though. It does feel reel now."

And for the first time since this conversation began, there is a sense of completeness in the air—a circle drawn that encompasses each of you, binding you together in ways you're only just beginning to understand.

Over the ensuing days, your exchanges with the guys take on a different tone—more casual, more personal. The pretences have fallen away; there's no need for them now. You're no longer strangers hiding behind usernames and anonymous chats. Instead, you begin to share snippets of your daily lives, recent stories that paint pictures of the world beyond your screens.

James is the first to break down those walls further, sharing insights into their work, the delicate balance of keeping up appearances while staying true to themselves and their relationship. Sirius, ever bold, teases you about finally seeing "the big picture," but even his messages carry an undercurrent of sincerity that wasn't there before. And Remus—always thoughtful, always steady—probes deeper, asking questions that make you pause and reflect, checking in when your replies become sparse or distracted.

The connection between you deepens, solidifying into something tangible. The banter and flirtation are still there, but they've evolved, carrying a weight of shared experiences and mutual understanding. Each message feels less like a teasing challenge and more like an invitation to know and be known.

One evening, James sets his phone aside, rubbing his temples as he looks at Sirius and Remus with a grim expression.

"So," he starts, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room, "she knows what we look like now. That's...that's something." He runs a hand through his already messy hair, exhaling slowly. "What do we do next?"

Sirius shrugs, slumping further into the worn-out couch. His eyes are distant, lost in thought. "We move at her pace. No need to rush anything."

Remus nods, leaning back in his chair, the firelight casting shadows across his tired face. "Exactly. We've made our move, and she's made hers. Now we wait. Let her decide how much she wants to reveal."

It's not the answer James wants—he's eager to push forward, to unravel the mystery that's kept them on edge for so long—but he knows they're right. They've reached a new phase, one that feels real and tangible in a way nothing else has before.

As the evening stretches on, the three men sink deeper into their thoughts, each nursing a glass of Firewhisky and the weight of shared history. This is how it's always been—them against the world, shoulder to shoulder, ready to face whatever comes next. And now, you're part of it, too.

[lgbtqwriting]

recently I had to get a major but non-urgent surgery done. here are some things I wouldn’t know - and as a result wouldn’t know to write about when working with a character in that position - unless I got to experience them firsthand

chances are you’ll have to get up early. like, really early. I had to leave the house by 5:30am so that I could be there by 6

most of the people in the waiting room with you will probably be older than you are, assuming you’re not in your 70s or 80s

surgery prep time (for you) will take at least half an hour. this mostly consists of you getting out of your clothes and into a hospital gown/pair of grippy socks as the nursing staff and surgical assistants periodically check in on you and get your information

depending on the length and intensity of your surgery, you may need to be intravenously hydrated. if this is the case, you’ll be asked to give a urine sample beforehand

from what I remember, hydrating IVs work a little differently than general anesthesia (for those of you who’ve had wisdom teeth removed or molars extracted while under anesthesia) — rather than wrapping a tourniquet around your arm and sticking the IV in your forearm near the inside of your elbow, they instead stick it in a vein on the back of your hand. for me, when the IV drip started to work, it felt like a cool buzzing sensation was thrumming through my hand and traveling up my arm; mildly unpleasant and hard to ignore, but bearable

if your doctors and specialists are nice, they’ll pay you a quick visit before the surgery to make sure you’re feeling okay. if they’re really nice, you’ll be given a sedative a few minutes before they take you into the operating room. for me, it felt like suddenly being submerged under water — I struggled to pay attention to what people were saying, and then it was lights out

a lot of hospital equipment is very mobile, from IVs to desks and computers. one of the few things that kept me distracted from my anxiety was how bewildered I felt at watching person after person roll up to my bed with an entire office setup, then roll away once they were content with the information I gave them

there are three well known reactions to anesthesia: you become loopy, emotional, or constantly fall asleep. but some people wake up from surgery fully lucid and in control of their faculties. after my dad’s colonoscopy, he felt so normal that he wanted to drive himself home. (I inherited that reaction, which is both a blessing and a curse)

and a little something extra for the hurt/comfort enjoyers —

when you finish the prep stage, you’re allowed to ask the nurses to invite one of the people you arrived with to sit with you and hold your hand until it’s time for surgery. this is typically the person they will give a bag of your things to hold onto during the procedure

that’s all I can really think of but I’m open to answering questions if anyone has them.

[passengerprincessblog]

“Off Track” ~ Pt. 5 Franco x Reader

WARNINGS: NSFW, angst, arguments, sexting, cheating.

Summary: As tensions flare between Y/N and Lewis after a heated argument, Y/N finds unexpected solace in a late-night text exchange with Franco, her forbidden feelings reigniting despite her guilt. Torn between loyalty and the thrill of something new, Y/N struggles to navigate the boundaries of her emotions as her connection with Franco deepens.

(Note: this is lowkey a filler part, just trying to move the story along and plant some lore, if you will, for later. Thanks for liking and reading.)

The evening was winding down, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses signaling that the gala was coming to a close. People lingered, exchanging goodbyes and quiet laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave just yet. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through me from earlier, or the way Franco’s presence seemed to tether me to the room. Whatever it was, I wasn’t ready to go.

Lewis, however, seemed to have other ideas. His arm had found its way around my waist, his hand resting possessively on my hip as he kept me close to his side. It wasn’t unusual for him to be affectionate, but tonight, there was a different energy about him—an almost territorial vibe that made my heart skip, especially with Franco so close.

As we stood near the bar, Lewis’s fingers dipped slightly, brushing the small of my back in a way that felt almost like a reminder. He leaned close, his voice a soft murmur, “Ready to head home yet?”

I managed a small smile, trying to sound casual as I replied, “Maybe in a minute…”

Lewis’s hand tightened on my hip, pulling me just a bit closer, and I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and expectant. But I kept my eyes on Franco, who stood nearby, nursing a glass of champagne. There was a slight flush to his cheeks, his gaze flicking between Lewis and me, as if he was caught between his admiration for his idol and… something else. Something unspoken.

We struck up a conversation about the gala, the elegance of the setup, the cause it supported. Lewis seemed content enough to let me speak, but every now and then, his hand would drift lower, brushing over the curve of my hip, edging dangerously close to my ass. It sent a shiver through me, not entirely pleasant, because every touch reminded me of the guilt twisting in my stomach. I should be here for Lewis. But I just fucked Franco in the closet.

“Franco,” I said, my voice a little too bright, “it must be exciting, being part of f1? All the fans, the money.”

He chuckled, looking a bit bashful, his eyes darting between Lewis and me. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that kind of thing. It still feels a bit surreal. Besides, compared to you two, I’m just a rookie, tagging along.”

Lewis laughed, pulling me closer, his hand slipping lower until it rested on the curve of my ass, claiming me in a way that was impossible to ignore. “You’ll get there, Franco,” he said, his voice warm and encouraging. “Work hard enough, and maybe one day, you’ll be hosting your own events like this.”

I could see the admiration in Franco’s eyes, but there was something else too—a flicker of discomfort, or maybe jealousy, that he couldn’t quite hide. He took a sip of his champagne, his gaze shifting to me, a small, strained smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone light, but I could hear the underlying tension. “Maybe one day.”

The three of us stood there, a triangle of complicated feelings, each of us playing our parts but somehow teetering on the edge of something unspeakable. I could feel Lewis’s fingers press slightly against me, his silent message clear: I’m yours, and you’re mine. But my heart betrayed me, fluttering at the sight of Franco’s shy, slightly flushed face.

“Speaking of traveling,” Franco continued, trying to keep the conversation flowing, “You said you two might be going to Monaco soon?”

Lewis nodded, his smile proud. “That’s the plan. Got some events lined up, and it’s always nice to go back there. It’s the perfect place to relax.”

Franco nodded, but his gaze lingered on me, his eyes softening in a way that made my heart ache. “Sounds amazing,” he said quietly, and for a moment, it felt as though his words were meant for me alone, as if he wanted me to know he wished he were going, too.

The guilt clawed its way back, twisting in my stomach as I forced myself to look away. Lewis leaned close again, his breath warm against my ear. “We’re leaving. Now,” he murmured, his tone leaving no room for argument. I looked at him, slightly annoyed but he didn’t notice.

I swallowed, casting one last glance at Franco, who was watching us with a mix of longing and resignation. “Goodnight, Franco,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “Goodnight, Y/N. Lewis.”

I could feel the weight of his gaze as we turned to leave, and every step away from him felt like a thread being stretched thin, holding us together by the faintest of connections. As much as I knew I should be relieved to go, the ache in my chest only grew, a reminder of the forbidden feelings I couldn’t seem to let go of.

Back at Lewis’s luxurious flat, the silence wrapped around us. I quickly made my way upstairs, into his huge bedroom. As I began taking off my jewelry, one piece at a time, the remnants of the night still swirling in my mind. Franco… me.. I felt a twist of excitement and couldn’t help but smile. Lewis watched me, his gaze soft but expectant, like he was waiting for something.

“So,” he said after a moment, breaking the quiet, “what did you think of the gala? It was nice, right?” He said, watching my face.

I smiled, nodding. “It was beautiful. You did an amazing job. Your speech was…” I paused, searching for the right words, “…inspiring.” I say as I put the earrings down on the dresser.

A smile crept across his face, his chest puffing slightly, pleased with my answer. I know exactly what to say. But as I slipped off my rings, my thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to Franco.

“I really hope Franco has a seat next year,” I said, almost absentmindedly. “He’s so talented, and… he deserves it.”

The softness in Lewis’s expression shifted, his gaze sharpening slightly as he looked at me. “Yeah,” he replied, his tone neutral. “He’s a good kid. But tonight wasn’t really about him.”

The subtle annoyance in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, and I bit my lip, realizing how my words must have sounded. “Of course, I know,” I said quickly. “Your gala was incredible, Lewis. You put so much into it, and I’m so proud of you.”

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to gently rest on my shoulders, his gaze softening once more. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You have no idea how much it means to have you here with me.”

His hands trailed down my arms, his fingers brushing against my skin, sending a familiar warmth through me. He leaned down, pressing his lips softly to my neck, lingering as he kissed a gentle path across my skin.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on him, to let myself sink into his touch and forget everything else. This was Lewis, the man I loved, the one who had always been there for me, who had shared his world with me. But even as I leaned into him, I couldn’t shake the faint pull, the thought of Franco’s hands, the lingering touch that had marked me in ways I didn’t understand.

Lewis’s hands slid around my waist, pulling me close, his lips trailing down to my collarbone. “Tonight was perfect,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “But it would be even better if I reminded you how much I love you...”

I forced a smile, nodding, letting him guide me, his affection a steady presence I didn’t deserve yet couldn’t resist. But deep inside, beneath the guilt and the thrill, a part of me lingered elsewhere, caught in a quiet moment with someone I couldn’t have.

And though I knew I should be fully present with Lewis, the shadow of my feelings for Franco remained, a quiet, forbidden ache I couldn’t quite let go of.

Lewis’s kisses grew more intense, his hands tightening around my waist, pulling me closer as he moved hungrily against me. His tongue swirling with mine, sending soft shivers down my spine. His desire was palpable, the urgency in his touch unmistakable.

But as much as I wanted to reciprocate, to lose myself in him, my heart wasn’t in it. My mind was a mess, my emotions tangled and conflicted, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t muster the same energy he was pouring into this moment.

He pulled back, his forehead creased in confusion, searching my face for some sign of reassurance. “What’s going on, Y/N?” he asked, his voice quiet but tinged with frustration. “You’ve been… distant. This isn’t like you.”

I looked away, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m fine, Lewis. You’re overthinking it.”

He let out a humorless laugh, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Overthinking it? Really? You think I don’t notice when something’s wrong with you? It’s insulting that you’d even say that to me.”

I took a deep breath, feeling defensive, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on me. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long week, that’s all.”

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “No, it’s more than that. You’re not yourself, Y/N. You don’t call me ‘lovie’ anymore. You barely respond to my texts, and when you do, it’s like… it’s like you’re somewhere else entirely.” He paused, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not affectionate, you’re distant… like you’re just going through the motions.”

I felt my frustration rising, the guilt twisting in my stomach, and before I could stop myself, I snapped, “Maybe you’re just imagining things, Lewis. Not everything is about you.”

His face hardened, his expression darkening. “Imagining things?” he repeated, his voice cold. “You think I don’t notice when my girlfriend is slipping away from me? When she’s acting like she’d rather be anywhere else but with me?”

The argument escalated quickly, our voices rising as the tension between us reached a breaking point. The words tumbled out, sharp and angry, the resentment bubbling to the surface.

“You think everything’s about you,” I retorted, my voice shaking with anger. “Every conversation, every moment—it’s always centered around you, your career, your achievements. You don’t even see what’s happening around you.”

He looked at me, his jaw clenched, and I could see the hurt flash in his eyes. “You know what?” he said, his voice dangerously low. “I may be a lot of things, but don’t you dare call me selfish. I’ve done everything for you. I’ve paid for everything. I bought you the best of everything, paid off your $80,000 student debt without even blinking, and you have the audacity to call me selfish?”

His words cut through me, a bitter reminder of the life he’d given me, the things he’d provided without ever asking for anything in return. And as much as I wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, I couldn’t. The truth was, he had done so much for me, more than I could ever repay.

I felt a hot flush of embarrassment, my anger fading as the weight of his words settled over me. “I… I know, Lewis,” I said quietly, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m grateful, I am.”

He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Grateful? It doesn’t feel like it. You act like everything I do means nothing to you. I give you everything, and you treat me like I’m just… some guy.”

I huffed, too overwhelmed to say anything that would make things better. I turned, storming out of his bedroom, my steps echoing down the hallway as I tried to put distance between us, to escape the guilt and shame that clung to me.

As I reached the door, his voice followed me, sharp and accusing. “You can be so childish, Y/N! I give you everything, and you act cold and distant with me?”

I spun around, my face flushed with anger. “I do not!”

He took a step toward me, his eyes dark and filled with something I couldn’t quite place. “Then prove it,” he said, his voice low and intense, the challenge in his words unmistakable.

The silence stretched between us, thick and charged, and I felt my heart pounding, the weight of his demand pressing down on me, leaving me torn between loyalty and the confusing mess of emotions swirling inside me.

“I don’t need to prove it!” I whined, sounding more like a petulant teenager than I cared to admit.

Without waiting for his response, I turned and marched down the long hall, my footsteps echoing in the quiet flat. I reached the guest bedroom, the room he’d told me was mine back when we’d first started dating, and slammed the door behind me, letting the sound reverberate through the walls. My chest heaved as I fought back tears, the mix of anger, guilt, and frustration bubbling over until I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

I spent the next hour sulking, feeling the sting of our argument replay in my mind. The things he’d said, the accusations… they all settled in like weights on my chest. I tried to brush it off, to convince myself that I’d been justified, but the guilt lingered, gnawing at me in a way that wouldn’t go away. Eventually, I dragged myself into the shower, hoping the warm water would wash away some of the tension, and changed into some old clothes I’d left here, remnants of the days when I used to spend more time in London with him.

As I curled up on the bed, my phone buzzed, and I looked down to see a new message from Franco.

“Hey, hermosa.”

My eyes lit up, a flutter of excitement rising in my stomach that I tried to ignore. I quickly typed back, my fingers moving almost instinctively.

“Hi, Franco.”

He responded almost instantly, and I could practically hear his teasing tone.

“Why are you up so late?”

I froze for a moment, hesitation prickling in my mind. Should I tell him? Should I let him in on what had just happened? After a beat, I decided to go for it.

“Lewis…”

A pause. I watched the typing dots appear, then disappear. Finally, his response came.

“Lewis?”

The single word hung on the screen, and I stared at it, my heart pounding as I wondered what he was thinking. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, maybe I was crossing a line. But before I could second-guess myself, my fingers moved again.

“Nothing.”

I hoped he’d let it go, but Franco was persistent.

“Come on. What’s wrong?”

The concern in his words made my heart ache, and suddenly, I found myself pouring out a little more than I intended.

“Just argued…”

I hesitated, watching the screen as he typed, the anticipation building.

“Are you okay, hermosa?”

His words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, and before I knew it, the truth spilled out.

“I wish you were here.”

A pause, and then his response came, as bold and honest as ever.

“I wish you were with me.”

My stomach flipped, and I felt the thrill building, the tension between us reawakening despite everything that had happened with Lewis. The guilty thoughts from earlier seemed to melt away, replaced by the excitement that only Franco could bring out in me.

“Where are you?” I typed, my heart pounding.

There was a slight delay before his answer came, as if he were weighing his response carefully.

“My hotel.”

My fingers trembled as I typed, feeling the forbidden nature of the question.

“Where?”

His answer came quickly, but his words made me smile, a soft laugh escaping my lips.

“Hermosa… Don’t ask me that. I’m going to need you to come.”

“Fine,” I replied, smiling to myself as I felt the thrill of our conversation overpowering the guilt that had been hanging over me.

He replied almost immediately, teasingly pushing the conversation forward.

“What are you doing?”

I smirked, typing out my response.

“I’m just in bed. Giving Lewis the silent treatment.”

“Poor Lewis,” he replied with a hint of mischief. “You should be nicer to him.”

“Glazer.” I text back.

“Says you,” he shot back. I’m unable to stop myself from smiling.

“I don’t glaze him.” I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at his attempt to tease me.

“Sure.”

A laugh slipped past my lips, and I could feel my mood lifting, the heaviness of the evening melting away in the warmth of Franco’s messages.

“So you are just in bed?” he texted, and I felt my heart race at the subtle implication.

“Yes,” I replied, biting my lip as I waited for his response.

A moment later, his next message appeared, sending a thrill through me that I couldn’t deny.

“I would love a picture.”

My stomach twisted with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Should I send him a selfie? This was already dangerous territory, pushing boundaries I shouldn’t be touching… and yet, the thrill was undeniable, a pull I couldn’t resist.

I glanced at the mirror across the room, debating with myself. My heart pounded as I weighed the options, the rational part of me screaming to stop, while the reckless side urged me to go for it. After all, it was just a picture, right? Just a small, innocent picture…

My fingers trembled slightly as I picked up my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Just a picture, I told myself, nothing more.

I stood up and walked over to the mirror, taking a moment to adjust my appearance. My tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of my waist. I tugged it down, but not before taking a quick selfie, capturing the tantalizing glimpse of skin.

Too much? Maybe it’s not enough…I wondered, biting my lip as I debated. But then again, Franco had asked for a picture...

With a flush creeping up my neck, I decided to take another photo, this time angling the camera to show off my cleavage. My breasts strained against the thin fabric of my top, the outline of my nipples visible through the material.

I hesitated for a moment, my finger hovering over the send button. What am I doing? I thought, panic rising in my throat. But then I remembered the thrill of Franco's earlier messages, the way his words had made me feel desired, wanted.

Before I could second-guess myself, I hit send, the picture winging its way to Franco's phone. I immediately felt guilty, my stomach twisting with a mixture of excitement and shame.

Oh god, what if he shows someone? What if Lewis finds out? My mind raced with worst-case scenarios, even as a part of me thrilled at the danger, the taboo nature of what I had just done.

I paced the room, my heart pounding as I waited for Franco's response. Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Maybe he didn't like it, I thought, panic rising in my chest. Maybe I went too far...

But then, my phone buzzed with a new message, and I nearly dropped it in my haste to read it.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous. You’re going to give me this while I can’t be near you? Evil." Franco had written.

I felt a rush of heat flood through me at Franco's words, my cheeks flushing with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. I know I am doing.. and I hate that I’m enjoying this..

A thrill of excitement coursed through me, and before I could second-guess myself, I typed out a response.

"Your turn," I wrote, my fingers trembling slightly as I hit send. "I want to see you too."

Oh god, what am I doing? I thought, my stomach twisting with a heady mix of anticipation and anxiety. But I couldn't deny the thrill that shot through me at the thought of seeing Franco, of having something tangible to fantasize about.

After a few seconds, I get a notification.

It’s a picture of Franco, in the big hotel bed. His abs on full display. My stomach twirls.

I feel myself grow with need. Need for him.

I can’t respond.. what am I doing?! But my fingers are doing something else entirely, typing out another message.

“I didn’t get to see that tonight.” I text back. Even in the throes of our rushed closet moment, I didn’t get to see all of him.

“Well, I didn’t get to see it all either.”

My face heats up. Fuck….

“Would you like to pretty boy?” I hit send. I turn my phone off and throw it at the edge of the bed. What’s wrong with me?! Lewis is literally done the hall.

I felt a rush of panic as I threw my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. What the hell am I doing? I thought, my mind reeling. Lewis is right down the hall, and I'm sexting with Franco?

But even as I tried to talk myself down, I couldn't ignore the heat that still pulsed through my body, the ache that had settled low in my belly. God, I want him, I admitted to myself, biting my lip hard enough to hurt. I want to see more of him, to feel his hands on my skin...

I paced the room, my mind racing with possibilities. We could sneak away, I thought, my heart rate picking up at the idea. Meet up somewhere private, somewhere where no one would catch us...

I shook my head, trying to clear it. No, I can't, I told myself firmly. I can't do this to Lewis, can't betray him like this. Even if he did hurt me tonight, even if he is an asshole sometimes... I love him. I can't throw that away.

But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn't deny the way my body reacted at the thought of Franco, the way my skin tingled with anticipation. Fuck, I thought, running a hand through my hair in frustration. What the hell do I do?

I glanced at my phone, sitting innocently on the bed. I should just leave it, I thought, my resolve wavering. Should just ignore his messages and try to forget this ever happened...

But even as I thought it, I found myself walking towards the bed, my hand reaching out for the phone. Just one more look, I told myself, my fingers closing around the device. Just one more peek, and then I'll put it away. I swear.

I unlocked the phone, my heart pounding as I saw the unread message from Franco. Don't open it, I told myself, my finger hovering over the screen. Don't do it, Y/N. Just put the phone down and walk away...

I stared at the screen, my finger trembling as I hovered over Franco's message. Don't open it, I told myself, my heart pounding in my chest. Just put the phone down and walk away...

With a shaky breath, I opened the message, my eyes widening as I read Franco's words.

“Please, baby.”

I hesitated for a moment, torn between my desire for Franco and my loyalty to Lewis. But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn't deny the way my body responded to Franco's messages, the way my heart raced at the thought of sending more to him. Just one more picture, I told myself, my resolve crumbling. Just one more peek, and then I'll stop. I promise.

I pull my shirt up and over my head, letting it gently fall to the ground. I pick my phone up as I take a few tantalizing photos of my bare chest.

I hesitated for a moment, my finger hovering over the send button. This is crazy, I thought, my heart pounding in my chest. I'm really going to send him a topless picture?

I sat on the bed, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at the screen, waiting for Franco's response. I can't believe I just sent him a topless picture, I thought, my cheeks flushing with a mixture of excitement and shame. What if he shows someone? What if Lewis finds out?

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Hey, sweetheart," Lewis called softly, his voice muffled through the wood. "Can we please talk?"

I froze, my eyes widening in panic. Oh god, he's here, I thought, my stomach twisting with dread. He's going to see me like this, topless and waiting for Franco's reply...

I scrambled to grab my tank top from the floor, my hands shaking as I tried to grab it. But it was too late. The door swung open, and Lewis stepped into the room, his eyes going wide at the sight of me. My hands drop the shirt, on the end of the bed on accident.

"Y/N, what..." he started, but his voice trailed off as he took in my state of undress. I could feel his gaze on my bare breasts.

I quickly covered my chest with my hands, my face burning with embarrassment and shame. I fully expected Lewis to be furious, to demand an explanation for why I was half-naked.

But instead, he just smiled and laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "What, you couldn't find a shirt in here?" he teased, his tone light and playful.

I blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his reaction. "I... um..." I stammered, my mind racing to come up with an excuse. "I was just hot," I finally managed, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears.

Lewis's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. "Hot, huh?" he said, his voice tight. "Funny, I just turned the AC up."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. He knows, I thought, panic rising in my throat. He knows I was doing something, something wrong...

I could feel Lewis's eyes boring into me, his gaze intense and searching. I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, my hands still covering my chest. He knows something's up, I thought, my heart hammering in my chest. He just doesn't know what.

"Come on, babe," Lewis said finally, his voice tight. "Let's go back to our room and talk, okay?"

I nodded numbly, my mind racing. Should I tell him the truth? I wondered, my stomach churning with guilt and fear. Should I confess to sexting with Franco, to sending him topless pictures?

But even as I thought it, I knew I couldn't. I couldn't hurt Lewis like that, couldn't betray him with the truth of what I had done.

"Okay," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

I reached for my tank top, my hands still shaking as I pulled it over my head. Lewis watched me, his expression unreadable. He knows, I thought again, my heart sinking.

I followed Lewis out of the room, my steps heavy and slow.

As we walked down the hall, I could feel the weight of my guilt pressing down on me, threatening to crush me beneath its heavy burden. I'm a terrible person, I thought, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I'm a liar and a cheat, and I don't deserve Lewis's love or trust.

————————————————-

🙈😅 yikes. Lewis LEWIS HE KNOWS AHHHHHH … or does he? Hehe.

Next time Franco will be getting involved into some online drama 🙈

Please like and follow to let me know you want more!

I appreciate all of you! 💜

[paus-princesa]

A/N: part 4 of the collaboration with my soulmate @paucubarsisimp <3

⚘ A Walk Down Memory Lane ⚘

Fermín was exhausted.

The kind of exhaustion that settled deep into his bones, the kind that even a hot shower and eight hours of sleep couldn’t shake off. Training had been intense, the pressure unrelenting, and the season demanded more from him with each passing day.

So when he pushed open the front door that evening, all he wanted was to collapse on the couch and maybe—if he had the energy—scroll mindlessly on his phone for a bit before knocking out.

What he didn’t expect was to walk into a dimly lit living room, fairy lights twinkling softly, and the scent of something warm and familiar filling the air.

His brows furrowed as he stepped inside, immediately greeted by the sight of the space completely transformed. The coffee table had been pushed back to make room for a cozy setup on the floor—blankets and pillows neatly arranged, candles flickering gently, and a string of photos clipped onto a makeshift memory line hanging across the room.

He blinked in surprise, his tired mind struggling to catch up.

And then he saw you, standing in the middle of it all with that smile of yours—the one that made his heart race no matter how many times he saw it.

“What’s all this?” His voice was hoarse from the long day, but there was a lilt of warmth in it.

You walked up to him, gently taking his bag from his shoulder and setting it aside before wrapping your arms around his waist. He melted into the embrace almost instantly, his own arms coming up to hold you close.

“A surprise,” you murmured against his chest. “I figured you could use a night where you don’t have to think about football, or training, or anything stressful.”

Fermín let out a soft laugh, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You’re spoiling me, aren’t you?”

You grinned, leading him towards the cozy setup. “Absolutely.”

He let you guide him, his body relaxing into the warmth of your presence as you motioned towards the memory line.

“Tonight,” you said, eyes glimmering with excitement, “we’re going on a trip down memory lane.”

His gaze followed the string of photos, and that’s when he really took them in.

Each picture was a moment—a piece of your story together.

There was the first selfie you ever took, his arm slung around your shoulders as you both grinned like idiots. The blurry picture from that amusement park date where he had won you a stuffed bear. A candid shot of him laughing at something you had said, completely unaware that you had snapped the picture.

Fermín’s lips parted slightly, his expression softening as he moved closer, fingertips grazing the edges of the photos.

“You kept all of these?” His voice was quieter now, like he was afraid of breaking the moment.

“Of course,” you said, watching his reaction closely. “Every single one of them means something.”

He swallowed, an unmistakable warmth blooming in his chest as he turned back to you. “You’re unbelievable.”

You chuckled, nudging him towards the blankets. “Come on, let’s get comfortable. There’s more.”

Fermín didn’t need to be told twice. He settled into the nest of pillows, sighing in relief as his body relaxed for the first time all day. You joined him, tucking yourself against his side as you reached for a small box on the table.

“I made this for you,” you said, handing it to him.

He raised a brow in curiosity before carefully opening the lid. Inside was a collection of handwritten notes, each folded neatly. Fermín picked one up and unfolded it, his lips curving into a smile as he read aloud.

"Reasons Why I Love You #4: The way you scrunch your nose when you’re trying not to laugh."

His head snapped up, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You made a whole list?”

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling a little shy. “Maybe.”

His grin widened as he pulled out another.

"Reasons Why I Love You #17: How you always pull me closer in your sleep, even when you’re half-conscious."

He let out a soft chuckle, reaching for another, but you stopped him, laughing. “Hey, slow down! You can read them throughout the night.”

Fermín shook his head in disbelief, setting the box aside before wrapping an arm around you, pulling you closer until your foreheads nearly touched.

“You really went all out for this.”

You nodded, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “Because you deserve it.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything—just looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

And then, without warning, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate, just soft and full of unspoken gratitude. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the small smile on his lips.

“You’re gonna make me fall in love with you all over again,” he murmured.

You laughed, nudging his nose with yours. “That was the plan.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, tightening his hold on you before shifting his gaze back to the memory line.

“Tell me about these,” he said, pointing to a few of the photos.

So you did.

You told him the stories behind each one, the little moments that led up to them, the silly things you both said or did. And Fermín, for the first time in weeks, let himself completely relax.

The stress, the exhaustion, the pressure—it all faded into the background.

Because right here, in this moment, all that mattered was you.

~ princesa 🦋

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭— 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐅𝐅

Note: Check Description and other chapters first to understand the story ^^♡

Chapter 19

Bang Chan

"Fabulous! Everything is flawless," I clapped Han's back, the two of us were at Nexus Court, where he organised and had everything set for my pre-launch party for tomorrow.

The venue was stunning, a perfect blend of elegance and modernity. High ceilings adorned with chandeliers, casting a warm, golden light over the marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, the lights twinkling like stars against the evening sky. Every detail, from the meticulously arranged floral displays to the sleek, minimalist furniture, exuded sophistication.

"I got you, Chris. May I say, this might be my best event yet," Han replied, a proud grin spreading across his face.

I nodded, scanning the room, taking in the flawless setup. "It certainly looks that way. You've outdone yourself."

The pre-launch party for my new sustainable luxury line was a significant milestone. Months of hard work, planning, and innovation had gone into creating a brand that not only epitomized elegance but also championed sustainability. This event was the first step in unveiling it to the world.

"Everything's set for tomorrow," Han continued, his voice breaking through my thoughts. "We've got the press, influencers, and industry leaders all confirmed. It's going to be a night to remember."

I nodded again, my mind racing. "It has to be. This line... it's more than just business. It's about setting a new standard, showing that luxury and sustainability can coexist."

Han's expression softened, sensing the weight of the moment. "And you will, Chris. This is your vision coming to life."

I took a deep breath, letting Han's words sink in. My mind wandered back to a thought of a certain guy would have brought this vision to life if I hadn't gotten him fired but I pushed it away.

Aurelius is my legacy. My future. And I'd be dammed to let him ruin it.

"You're right. Tomorrow is just the beginning."

As we made our way around the venue, checking final details, my eyes briefly drifted to Aria. I thought to bring her with me to check the venue, I.N was also here with Han.

Aria and I.N were chatting in a corner, their laughter occasionally drifting over to where I stood.

Aria and I made some progress into our newfound relationship the past month. I began to grow to like her company even though a part of me kept warning me about getting too attached to her. The evident deadline kept reworking its way back to my mind any chance it had, but I shoved it back.

When time comes I'll deal with it.

I still struggled, well, sucked at communicating with her since she makes my heart run fucking laps in my chest, the way it beats around her could put a cardiologist in concern. I hated it. But it gave a different level of satisfaction when she surrendered herself to me.

"Yo, give me a sec, I gotta take this," Han gave a quick pat to my shoulder and walked away answering the call, I looked around the venue for a second and walked towards Aria.

"Hey sweetheart," The words felt easy, almost too easy, but I didn't pull them back. I couldn't help it around her. She looked at me with a hint of curiosity and a small smile tugging her lips.

"Hey," she said almost breathlessly, and every time her voice managed to make something flutter in my chest.

"All set for the party?" I.N asked, his tone light and cheerful, who recently signed to be the brand ambassador for Aurelius. I envied how he could always stay so positive, like nothing ever fazed him.

I nodded, trying to keep my focus on the conversation. "Yeah, everything's in place. Should be smooth."

"It's gonna be awesome," He gave a quick nod toward Aria and me.

"But well, I have to go now. We'll see each other tomorrow?" His tone was casual, but there was warmth in it, he genuinely looked forward to it.

I nodded again, trying to shake off the lingering haze Aria's presence always seemed to wrap me in. "Yeah, see you tomorrow."

We spotted Han walking back to us, finishing his call, slipping his phone into his pocket and looking for his keys.

"Chris, everything's set," Han said, his tone confident as he fumbled for his keys. "I'll be here before the party starts. I guess we can call it a day."

The words should have brought me some relief—confirmation that everything was under control—but instead, I felt that familiar knot tightening in my chest. It wasn't about the party. That was the easy part.

It was everything else that made my pulse race: the delicate balancing act between business, my growing connection with Aria, and the impending future that kept knocking at the back of my mind, threatening to unravel it all.

I forced myself to nod. "Yeah, good call." My voice sounded distant even to me, as if part of my brain was somewhere else—likely with her.

Han gave me a quick, knowing glance, one that said he could read the room better than I'd like to admit. He didn't push, though. Instead, he turned his attention to Aria, flashing her a warm smile. "It was nice to see you again, Aria. I'll catch you both tomorrow."

Aria returned his smile, though it was softer, a little more reserved. "You too. See you guys tomorrow."

"Let's go," He said to I.N, patting his shoulder. I.N gave a quick nod to us and left with him showing something on his phone to Han as they walked out of the venue, leaving me along with Aria.

I found myself standing there, with nothing but her presence to ground me. The weight of what I was feeling started to creep up again, that familiar sense of unease, of not knowing what the hell to say or do.

I glanced at Aria, and for a moment, everything else fell away. She was just beautiful, standing there under the dim lights of the venue, but there was something more unspoken that seemed to pass between us. Her eyes held mine, and it was like the world had narrowed down to just the two of us.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" She asked, her voice steady, almost casual.

"Yeah. Just a little nervous I guess."

"Nervous?" she asked, her voice soft. "You? I can't picture that."

A dry laugh escaped me. "Yeah, well, it happens."

She smiled, that soft, knowing smile that seemed to disarm me every time, but there was something deeper in her eyes tonight. A hint of uncertainty, maybe even vulnerability.

I leaned down and kissed her cheek, "But I guess I won't be nervous when I'm around you."

A deep blush bloomed her face that made my heart flutter. It unsettled me yet gave me a certain satisfaction.

After one last glance around the venue, the two of us made our way to the entrance, the cool night air brushed against us, a relief after the intensity of the evening. Aria walked a little closer to me than usual, and I didn't mind. It was like she found comfort in my presence, and that made the chaotic mess inside me settle, even if just for a moment.

But then, we stepped outside—everything shifted.

Standing just outside the venue, leaning casually against a black car, was that one face I wanted feel against my fist.

My muscles tensed immediately, every sense going on high alert. I didn't need to hear him speak to know why he was here. His presence alone, the smug expression on his face, was enough to ruin the moment.

Aria stiffened beside me, and without even thinking, my fingers immediately locked with hers. She took a step closer, seeking the protection of my arm.

Victor pushed off the car, his lips curling into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Chris," he greeted, his tone sickly sweet, " Gorgeous Aria. What a surprise."

I didn't move, my eyes locked on him, the tension between us like a drawn wire ready to snap. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His smile widened. "Oh, just enjoying the view. You know how it is—catching up on old times."

"Old times?" I scoffed, stepping slightly in front of Aria, my body shielding her from him. "There's nothing left to catch up on. You've got no business here."

Victor's eyes flicked to Aria for a brief second, a look that made my blood boil. He chuckled, his voice low and mocking. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Chris. I'm not here to cause trouble. Not yet, anyway."

Aria's grip tightened on my fingers. The way she shifted behind me told me all I needed to know. That Victor had left his mark on her before, and she was unsettled. I could feel her discomfort, even if she was trying to hide it.

"I don't have time for your games." I growled, my voice colder than I intended. "Stay away from us, or I'll make sure you regret it."

Victor's smile faltered for a moment, but then he recovered, his eyes gleaming with something dark and dangerous. "Oh, Chris, you don't get it, do you? This isn't about you. It's about taking back what's mine. And trust me," he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, "I'm just getting started."

A chill ran down my spine, but I refused to let it show. Instead, I squared my shoulders, standing firm between Victor and Aria.

"You already lost everything," I said, my tone steady, filled with controlled anger. "You're not getting it back. Not now or ever."

Victor's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two of us. "We'll see about that," he muttered, the threat clear in his voice.

Without another word, he turned on his heel, walking toward his car. The tension didn't leave my body until I heard the car engine roar to life and watched it speed off into the distance.

I've known Victor since my childhood. He was as stubborn as I could get and I knew he won't back down until he gets what he wants. I'll be damned if he gets it and I'm not Bang Christopher Chan if I let my enemies win against me.

I glanced down at Aria. She looked shaken, but she was trying to hold herself together. I turned to her and softly caressed my thumb against her cheek.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," She nodded, though her eyes betrayed the fear she still felt. "He's just, unsettling."

"Don't worry about him," I took her lips in mine, hoping to brush away whatever fear that was clawing her. "He's after me, and I'm not letting him get anywhere near you."

I said against her lips. She smiled and ran her fingers through my hair, pulling me closer for another long, tender kiss. I could never get enough of how she tasted, how she fit perfectly in my arms.

As I pulled away, I could see a flicker of something more than just comfort in Aria’s gaze. There was a softness, a warmth that made my chest tighten in the best way.

"What do you wanna do?" I asked, hoping to distract her from the tension Victor left behind.

"Don't you have work?" She asked tilting her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "I can get back to it later. I want to spend the evening with you."

My voice was genuine, because it was true. I wanted to savor every moment with her. The deadline looming over us was still there, ticking closer every day, but tonight, I wanted it to fade into the background.

Her eyes lit up, and she thought for a moment before her lips curled into a smile. "Well, then Ice cream. I want ice cream."

I chuckled, at how simple her desires were, my hand still resting on her cheek. "Okay then you want to go to L'Étoile? We could grab some ice cream there."

She looked at me in shock and burst into laughter, her whole face brightening. "You want to eat ice cream at a Michelin star restaurant?" She raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes.

My gaze was fixed on her, trying to understand why would she be surprised about that. I couldn’t help but smile as she looked at me with that playful glint in her eyes, shaking her head as if I had just said the most dumbest thing.

“Why not? They’d probably drizzle it with gold flakes or something,” I said, almost serious.

She shook her head, still smiling. “You’re ridiculous, Chris,” she said, still grinning.

“No. I want real ice cream. Down the street over there. You know, from an actual ice cream stand. The kind that melts all over your hands if you’re not fast enough.”

I paused for a second, considering it. The idea of eating from somewhere not fancy was a bit foreign to me. I was used to dining in some of the best restaurants around the world, where the plates were more expensive than an average person’s weekly groceries.

I thought for second then agreed half hesitantly. "Alright then, you lead the way."

We left the venue hand in hand, walking down the bustling streets illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights and neon signs. The city was alive tonight, with people laughing, chatting, and moving through the streets. I felt self conscious for a second for being quite over dressed for the setting, walking the bustling streets in my luxury suit.

Yet it was like we were in our own bubble, where only the two of us existed.

As we approached a cluster of food stalls, the smells of street food hit me. Sweet, savory, smoky. It wasn’t the high-end cuisine I was used to, it was chaotic but in a way that felt real and authentic.

"Here we are," Aria said, gesturing to the colorful row of vendors selling everything from ice cream to skewers to noodles. She squeezed my hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"What do you think?"

I glanced around, a little skeptical. "Are we sure about this? What if we get sick?" I was hoping to not regret whatever decision I was going to take tonight.

“Live a little, Chris. You’re not gonna die from street food. Trust me.” She laughed again, a sound that was music to my ears.

We ordered, and soon enough, I was holding a cone of brightly colored sorbet. Aria got a classic vanilla cone with chocolate chips. She took a bite, her eyes fluttering shut as she savored it. I couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how at ease she seemed in this simple moment.

She caught me watching and grinned. “You gonna eat, or just stare at me?”

"Okay alright," with a small chuckle, I took a hesitant bite of my sorbet, my eyes widened as the sorbet melted on my tongue, surprised by how refreshing it was. “It's...not bad actually.”

"Not bad?" she teased. "Admit it, it's better than your fancy desserts."

I raised an eyebrow, still unsure. “It’s not my usual. But…yeah, it’s nice.”

We found a nearby bench to sit on, surrounded by a few other people who seemed to be enjoying the lively, casual atmosphere. I looked around at the food trucks, the people laughing and chatting, and the simplicity of it all. For once, it felt nice not to be wrapped up in meetings or worrying about business deals.

Aria noticed my gaze and smiled knowingly. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said after a moment. “It feels... different. But good.”

She leaned her head against my shoulder as we finished our ice cream. “You’re allowed to have fun too, you know. Not everything has to be about work.”

I nodded, letting her words sink in. “I know. It’s just... I’ve always been so focused on everything else. It’s hard to turn it off sometimes.”

“I get that,” she murmured. “But you don’t have to turn it off completely. Just... take moments like these when you can.”

I looked at her, the soft breeze of the evening brushing against her skin. Aria's thumb came up to my lip, wiping away a stray bit of sorbet that had apparently stuck there. Her touch was gentle, lingering a little longer than necessary, and I felt the warmth of it seep through me.

“Thanks,” I muttered, feeling my heartbeat pick up.

She smiled softly, her eyes meeting mine in that way that always seemed to unravel me. “You looked too serious for a second. Can’t have that, not when you’re eating sorbet.”

I chuckled, shaking my head.

We sat there for a while, just the two of us, watching the world go by. And for once, I felt like I could breathe, like I didn’t have to worry about what was waiting for me tomorrow.

After the ice cream, Aria stood up, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “How about some street tacos now?”

I raised an eyebrow, half-joking. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

She laughed and pulled me toward the taco stand. “Come on, please," she gave me a puppy eye look that almost felt like I got shot with an arrow by Cupid himself.

"Fine." I said, and we walked towards the stand.

Her smile never left her face and I could just keep looking at her like that forever. As we ordered, I found myself enjoying the ease of the evening even more. The tacos were incredible, bursting with flavor in a way that no five-star chef could replicate.

The atmosphere was lively, people chatting, the sizzling of grills, and the distant hum of traffic. I was skeptical at first, but this was something different and real.

When we finished eating, I felt like I was seeing the world through new eyes. It wasn’t about the luxury or the price tag, it was about the experience, the company, the simplicity.

Aria turned to me, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and satisfaction. “So, how was it?”

I smiled, unable to hide the truth. “It was... surprisingly good. Better than I expected.”

Aria tilted her head, her expression softening. “You’ve been too busy keeping the world on your shoulders, Chris. It’s okay to let go sometimes.”

Her words struck deeper than I expected, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. She was right. I had developed on spending so long trying to keep everything under control, managing every detail, that I’d forgotten how to just live.

Even back in Europe all I did was spend my nights in clubs and yachts and drinks, never stepping out of luxury.

But being with Aria, in this moment, I realized how much I needed this—needed her.

“I could get used to this,” I said, my voice low, almost more to myself than to her.

Aria looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. “Maybe you don’t have to choose between this and everything else. You can have both.”

Her words hung in the air, filled with possibility. For the first time in a long while, I felt like maybe she was right. I didn’t have to live in extremes. Either high-end luxury or nothing at all. Maybe there was room for both. For moments like this, tucked in between the chaos.

There was a pause. The kind that felt comfortable, like the world could wait while we stood there, wrapped in the moment. The cool breeze carried the scent of grilled food, laughter from nearby conversations, and the distant hum of the city, but none of it felt overwhelming. It was just life happening around us.

Aria leaned into me, her head resting against my shoulder as we began walking again. I slipped my arm around her, pulling her a little closer, content to let the night stretch on as long as it wanted to.

For now, I was happy—really, genuinely happy. And that was enough.

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

Taglist: @bowsnbang @bangchannie97lov @hwasmints @laurenalpha123 @mrs-hwangh @greyyeti @sociallyawkward18 @stephanieeeyang @piscesrising01 @jaquisos @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @princess-sunshyn @my-neurodivergent-world @ladyeagle @nchhuhi

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know <3 (If I missed someone please lmk)

Thank you for reading!

xx,Ivyy

Next Chapter

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi! so according to my close friend who’s also my beta reader, i apparently have amazing descriptions when it comes to character movement and dialogue but what i lack is describing my surroundings, and according to her it makes her only able to imagine the characters ‘in a void’. how do i make my writing more immersive without constantly breaking character action to describe the surroundings (which seems to be all that i can do to avoid that effect)?

i know i’m probably struggling with this because i myself am the author so i can imagine my character surroundings perfectly fine, so how can i still spot and avoid this in the future?

Incorporating Surroundings Into Description

There are three tricks you can use to help you incorporate your character's surroundings into the scene:

1 - Incorporate description of the setting into the beginning of the scene to set the stage for where everything is about to unfold. For example:

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, 2nd paragraph of chapter three, after Katniss describes being led into the Justice Building:

Once inside, I'm conducted to a room and left alone. It's the richest place I've ever been in, with thick, deep carpets and a velvet couch and chairs...

Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon, beginning of scene two, chapter five:

The laird received me in a room at the top of a flight of stone steps. It was a tower room, round, and rich with paintings and tapestries hung against the sloping walls...

2 - Have the characters interact with the environment throughout the scene. For example, your character could:

-- sit on furniture, peek inside a door, or look out a window -- notice decor items like photographs or paintings -- touch or fidget with an object, like skipping a rock on a lake

3 - Have the environment interact with your character throughout the scene:

-- change in weather or lighting and its effect on environment -- sounds or smells related to the environment -- movement or action related to the environment

So, using all three of these techniques... let's say this is a couple paragraphs in, after some exposition:

Andrea stepped onto the patio and marveled at the yard setup. Twenty-four chairs--twelve on each side of a white-carpeted aisle--were positioned in an arch facing the three-part trellis. Bright pink and deep purple flowers stood out against the white trellis, their green leafy tendrils and delicate petals draped daintily over the top of the arch. White fairy lights twinkled from the trellis and surrounding trees, and even in the golden sunlight of late afternoon, the effect was magical. At sunset, it would be breathtaking.

While the bridal party finished their own preparations, Andrea went to the bedroom where her child was putting on their wedding outfit. Outside, the low din of voices was beginning to build as the string quartet played soft music.

While Zen's best friend fussed with their hair, Andrea peeked outside to catch a glimpse of the spouse-to-be. They had chosen to wear a tuxedo with a short black skirt, and although they looked nervous, their eyes kept flickering to the house, and Andrea smiled, knowing their eyes would light up when they saw Zen in their amazing outfit.

So... this scene is going to be a wedding, and we set the stage early by describing the setup of the backyard wedding. In the next paragraph, we have the environment interact with our character by creating sound (string quartet, din of voices) which reminds the reader about the yard setup just beyond the bedroom. Finally, in the last paragraph, we have the POV character interact with the immediate environment (the bedroom) to peek outside and make observations that again root the reader in the outside environment (the wedding setup) but also reminds the reader that the character is currently inside the house, and the wedding will be outside the house.

By using all three of these tricks, you can avoid having your character exist in a void, because the setting is setup initially and actively exists for the reader throughout the scene.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[starset21]

Wild Card

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may currently be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under the name @.itswildflower. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. Individual warnings will be put with each chapter.

Warnings: Feelings of imposter syndrome, anxiety

WC: 3.8k

Summery: Casey Winters, a rookie driver for Red Bull Racing, delivers a stunning performance amidst self doubt at the Miami Grand Prix. As the race unfolds, it’s clear that Casey isn’t just a rookie—she’s a wild card, an unexpected force on the track.

Looking for more? Chasing the Line series masterlist

The air hummed with excitement in Miami. People bustling in and out of the paddock. Max Verstappen—calm, composed, and confident—was already suited up and talking with GP, his focus shifting to the car. Everything was routine for him; a champion with years of experience. Meanwhile, Casey Winters, the newest rookie to the team, movements were measured, almost stiff as she went over her notes in silence, her own race suit tied around her waist. Today’s practice session was going to be crucial. The team was relying on both drivers to push the car to its limits, to extract everything from the new setup. Max, with his steady hands and unwavering confidence, was expected to set the pace. But Casey... she was the wild card. The sim racer turned formula one driver. The confidence she exuded in the virtual world was not the same in the real world. Kenneth Warren, her race engineer approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder, bringing her back to reality. “You’ve got this. Just get out there and get us the data,” he tells her and she looks up nodding. It was almost time for them to get in the cars anyway. She headed over to the shelf that held her gloves, balaclava, and helmet, untying her race suit arms and pulling them up. She goes through the motions of getting into the car, strapping in, connecting radios and soon enough she’s lining up with the others in the pit lane. “Radio check,” Ken’s voice came over the radio. “I hear you,” she replied. “Show the world what you’ve got,” he tells her before it’s just her and the car. She breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of fuel and rubber. 

The light went out, and they were set off. Max made quick work of the track, setting up fast sector times. As always, he was cool and calculated, his mind already thinking three moves ahead, and the car’s performance was perfectly tuned to his driving style. But Casey? She struggled to find the right rhythm. The car felt heavier than it had in testing. She wasn't getting the grip the tires needed. Every corner felt like a gamble. She probably backed off a little too much in the braking zones because of it. Meanwhile Max was already two seconds faster on the first lap. “You need to commit more. Don’t hold back,” Ken tells her. Casey clenched her jaw, feeling the familiar knot in her stomach tighten. She pushed harder, but it didn’t feel right. Her line through the corners was still too tentative, her throttle input too cautious. Every lap was an attempt to prove she was capable, but the gap between her and Max kept growing. Another lap and she was nearly five seconds behind. By the time the session ended she was a mear P17. Casey sighed to herself, that was nowhere near her best. Back in the garage, Max had already removed his helmet and was discussing tire wear with the engineers when Casey entered, head down, still processing the frustration building inside her. Max gave her a glance, barely hiding the impatience. 

“What’s going on? You’re too slow today,” Max tells her, voice clipped, as he looked at the timing screens. He didn’t mean to be harsh, but the frustration was clear. They were 4 races in and she hadn’t finished in the points once yet. He expected more from his teammate—especially given the car they were in. Casey was supposed to be the next big thing, but at the moment, she seemed to be struggling to even keep up. He told Christian from the start this was an insane idea, and while she had seemed to do decently in testing that didn’t mean she was cut out for formula one. Casey flinched, her stomach sinking even further. She knew she wasn't fast enough, but hearing it out loud stung. “I don’t know, the car doesn’t feel... right. I think I’ve got some issues with the rear end, and I—” she tried to keep her voice steady but was cut off. “You’re overthinking it. You’re holding back. You have to push. Just drive.” The words came out sharper than intended.

Casey swallowed hard, her throat tightening. Drive. Just drive. It was easy for Max to say. He had years of experience, track records. He knew what he was doing. Casey didn’t even know if she had what it took to keep up, to actually belong at this level. It felt like a command—a demand. Not a suggestion. It wasn’t like Max cared about the little things, about how the car felt for her, or about the mistakes that had been made that she knew she could learn from. “You don’t get it,” Casey shook her head and mumbled, almost under her breath, but the words hung in the air. Max stopped, looking at her with narrowed eyes. “What did you say?” He asked, irritation creeping into his voice. “I said, you don’t get it. You can’t just... tell me to push. It’s not that simple.” Casey’s voice was quiet but raw, a mix of frustration and vulnerability bleeding through. She bit her lip, realizing too late she’d said more than she’d meant to. Shit, she thought. Why did I say that?

Max raised an eyebrow, completely thrown off. He stared at her for a beat. “I don’t get it? What’s that supposed to mean? What do you think I’m doing every time I get in the car?” His tone was defensive. He wasn't used to any kind of pushback. Usually, everyone respected his experience, or at the very least, kept quiet. But Casey wasn’t holding back anymore. The frustration had built too high, and now it spilled out in a way she couldn’t take back. “I think it means that maybe you don’t understand what it’s like to not know if you even belong here,” she said, voice quieter but sharper now. “I want to push, but I… I’m not like you. I don’t have the same experiences and I’m not sure of myself.” For a moment, the garage went silent. Max’s jaw clenched as the words hit harder than they expected. She was right. Max hadn’t had to deal with the same doubts, at least not in a long time. He’d learned early on in his racing career he had to have the belief that he belonged. But now, staring at Casey’s face—so vulnerable, so unsure—he couldn’t dismiss it as easily.

“Look... I didn’t mean to...” Max started, but his voice faltered. She’s only a year younger than him but he’d been in formula one for nearly 10 years. She’s a rookie. He hadn’t even considered what it might feel like to be in her shoes. He was almost ashamed of snapping the way he did. He hadn’t considered the weight of trying to prove yourself when you were new to this level of competition. “I know you didn’t,” Casey replied softly, looking away. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m trying, and it feels like it’s never good enough.” Her voice cracked at the end, and Max saw something he hadn’t expected: pain. A raw, aching vulnerability in his teammate that, up until now, had been hidden behind silence. He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. Saying nothing else she walked off. She needed a break, to get her thoughts together. 

Tired, frustrated, and with a knot of anxiety in her stomach, she leaned against the side of the team's hospitality building before sliding down so she was sitting on the ground. The noise of the paddock feels distant, muted, as she fell into the trap of her own thoughts. She knows the media is watching, the pressure to prove herself weighing heavily. But the media wasn’t the only one watching her. Fernando Alonso was too. He notices her, the exhaustion in her posture too familiar. He’s had his own struggles, too. The ups and downs, the expectations that never seemed to let up. And now, with well over a decade of experience between him and his early career, he understands how valuable it is to have someone guide you through these moments—especially when you’re feeling like everything is slipping through your fingers. “Long day?” he asks as he approaches. Casey jumps, startled out of her thoughts. She straightens up quickly, moving to stand. She forces a tight smile, but it’s weak. “Yeah. I just... I don’t know what’s going wrong. I can feel the car is off, but maybe it’s just me, I just don’t know. I feel like I’m letting the team down.”

He looks at her with a knowing expression. He’s been where she is now, that feeling of the walls closing in, the pressure mounting. He knows the feeling of thinking that every mistake will be the one that ruins your career. “Don’t worry about the team right now. They’ll figure out the car. It’s you I’m worried about.” Casey frowns, confused. “Me? Why would you be worried about me?” He shakes his head, smiling a little. “Kid, to put it simply, the car’s not right for you at the moment. But that’s okay. You’re not going to solve all of the team's problems in this one session. It’s okay to not have all the answers. I’ve been in your shoes. I still am, sometimes.” Casey looks at him a bit skeptically. “You think I’ve never had a season where I couldn’t get the car to work? Where I felt like I didn’t belong? Where I wanted to just scream? I’ve had plenty. Every driver goes through it. The key is what you do with it.” Fernando takes a step closer, speaking with more intensity now. He’s not just giving her advice. He’s offering a lifeline. “I know what it’s like to feel like you're under a microscope, like every little mistake is magnified. It’s brutal. You feel like you’re not good enough, like everyone is waiting for you to fail. But here’s the thing: No one in this sport, not even the ones at the top, has everything figured out. The difference is, the ones who make it through are the ones who don’t quit when it gets hard. And they’re the ones who know when to lean on others.”

Casey meets his eyes, the weight of her frustration evident in her face. She feels like she’s drowning in expectations, but his words—so simple, yet so profound—offer her a small sense of relief. “How do you do it? How do you keep going when everything feels like it’s falling apart?” she asks. “You think I’ve got it all figured out? Nah. I take it one corner at a time. One race at a time. And I’m not afraid to admit when I need help. You don’t have to do this alone,” he tells her. "Look, I know the team is depending on you. But they’re not expecting perfection. What they want is someone who’s willing to learn, to fight. And you’ve got that in spades, I can see it. Don’t let one, or even a few, bad sessions make you forget why you’re here. You earned your seat just like everyone else." There’s a beat of silence. The tightness in her chest calms, even if just for a moment. The tension that had been clawing at her all day begins to ease, and she feels a little less alone. “Thanks. I... I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s good to hear someone say that.” 

He winks at her. “You’re welcome. But don’t think for a second that I’m not going to be keeping an eye on you. If you need anything—advice, a pep talk, or just someone to listen to you complain about the team—I’m here. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you in the races.” Casey laughs, the first genuine smile she’s shown all day. It feels real, like maybe she can make it through this. “I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll do my best to keep up with you out there.” He grins back at her, “I expect nothing less.” As he walks off, leaving her to think, Casey stands a little taller. The weight of the world doesn’t lift entirely, but for the first time in a while, the pressure feels more manageable. Maybe she doesn’t have to carry it all on her own. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a way forward—one step, one lap at a time. 

The next day, right before qualifying, Max decides he needed to talk to Casey. He’s not great at talking about emotions, but he’s also not one to let things fester. He walked over to her side of the garage and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey. I looked at the data from yesterday. The setup changes you were making—some of them were actually quite good. But you need to trust your instincts more.” Casey nods. “Thanks. I just... I’m still trying to figure it out, you know?” she says quietly. “I get it. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t good enough. You are good enough. You just have to believe it, and the rest will follow,” Max tells her. 

“Good afternoon race fans! The sun is blazing over the Hard Rock Stadium as the 2023 Miami Grand Prix qualifying session gets underway. With a weekend that has already seen plenty of surprises, the pressure is on for teams and drivers to nail their final laps around the brand-new layout, featuring long straights and tight corners. After a few practice sessions that revealed just how close the field was, it was clear that the battle for pole position would be fierce. Max Verstappen looked imperious all weekend, while Ferrari’s Charles Leclerc and a few others are poised to make their mark. But there is one name that stands out in the paddock — Casey Winters. The only other American on the grid beside Logan Sargeant and a sim racer turned Formula 1 driver, now racing for Red Bull Racing, with a lot to prove. As the first woman to join Red Bull in F1 history, expectations are high, and all eyes are on her. She hasn’t delivered yet but will she do it here in Miami?” 

Casey took a deep breath, tightening and loosening her grip on the steering wheel as she waited for her turn to leave the garage. As the opening minutes of Q1 ticked down, Casey was focused, but her heart was racing. The roar of the engines around her reminded her that this was no longer the practice sessions—this was the real deal. Every driver was aiming for perfection. Max was setting blistering times, his pace untouchable. She’d studied his every move, trying to understand how he could extract so much from the car. She wasn’t there yet, but today was about finding her limits. The tight Miami streets offered little room for error. Every corner required absolute precision, and the slightest misstep could see her slip down the order. She knew that the field was close, and every tenth of a second would count. But as the chequered flag waved at the end of Q1, she’d made it. P12, through to Q2. There was no time to celebrate. Not yet. I just need to keep calm, keep focused. Stay smooth, stay confident. With only the top 10 advancing to Q3, she knew she couldn’t afford to make a mistake. She had to put together the perfect lap. As the team radio crackled to life, Ken’s voice came through, “Casey, good job. Keep it steady, you’re in the fight for Q3. We know you’ve got more in the tank.”

“Copy that,” she responded, her hands gripping the steering wheel just a little tighter. The moment she left the pits, she could feel the difference in the car. The track had evolved, the temperature rising, and with it, the balance of the Red Bull was shifting. It was a delicate balance between attacking the corners and keeping the rear from stepping out. She was pushing hard, but she knew that one wrong move could cost her a spot in Q3. She attacked Turn 1, hard on the brakes but smooth through the apex. The car responded beautifully, a controlled slide at the exit of Turn 3. As she powered down the back straight, she could see the speed on the data screen climbing, but her heart was still thumping in her chest. Max had already set a scorching lap to take pole, and the time sheets were filling up with familiar names: Leclerc, Hamilton, Alonso, and others. She had one final shot to secure her place on the grid. As she lined up for her final lap in Q3, she took a deep breath. “Stay calm, stay smooth,” she whispered to herself. The car felt like an extension of her body now—every shift, every flick of the steering wheel was second nature. She was fully in tune with the Red Bull, and this lap would be her best yet. Through the final sector, she attacked the corners with precision, her eyes fixed on the track ahead. There was no room for mistakes. The chequered flag waved, and as the times flashed up on the screen, there it was: P9. She had done it. The emotion was overwhelming. She couldn’t help but smile to herself, despite the exhaustion in her body. The cheers from her engineer over the radio were the first signs of the pride they’d felt in her achievement. It wasn’t pole, but it was a statement. Now all she needs to do is place in the points during the race tomorrow. 

The atmosphere at the track on Sunday is electric. Teams bustling around their garages, finalizing last-minute adjustments, while strategists huddle over their screens, analyzing every detail. As the clock ticks down, the grandstands are a sea of color, with fans waving flags and wearing team merchandise. Opening ceremonies are held, the national anthem is played. Soon enough Casey is being ushered into the car. With moments to go, the tension built. The lights above the track illuminate one by one. It’s just her and the car. Breathe. The crowd roared as the cars launched off the grid, their engines screaming and tires screeching as they hurtled into Turn 1. She held her breath as she fought to maintain her position, weaving through the tight first corners, her heart pounding in her chest. The start was chaotic. A few cars jostled for position, and there was a tense moment when Casey saw a Mercedes slide wide ahead of her. She kept her foot in it, moving up to P8, a quick but cautious gain. The field was packed, and the race was still young. She knew better than to get too overzealous—there were still 50 laps to go. By the end of the first lap, she’d settled into a rhythm, her Red Bull car feeling more responsive than it had in ages. There was a new confidence in her steering, a steadiness in her braking. It was like she was finally beginning to sync with the car, like she and the machine had become one—an extension of her own body.

As she entered the second lap, Ken came over the radio: “Casey, keep your pace, stay steady.” A sense of calm washed over her, but the pressure never let up. The Miami circuit was unforgiving—tight walls, high-speed straights, and challenging braking zones. But she wasn’t thinking about the walls anymore. She wasn’t even thinking about the pressure. She was just driving, focused on each corner, each turn, each gear shift. This was what she’d been training for—what she’d dreamed of since she was a kid. By the 15th lap, Casey was still holding P8, just behind Lando Norris in the McLaren. She could see the gap closing between them as they approached the end of the lap. Lando was struggling with his tires—his car was visibly sliding in the corners, his braking points becoming inconsistent. Casey felt her opportunity slip into view. As they reached the long back straight, she pulled out of the slipstream, inching closer to Norris. Her foot was heavy on the throttle, the roar of her engine filling her ears. She made her move into Turn 11, braking later than Norris, diving down the inside. The gap was tight, but she committed—her car nestled perfectly against the apex. Her heart skipped a beat as she powered through the corner, her Red Bull sliding ever so slightly but under control. Lando Norris had no choice but to back off, leaving her room to accelerate out of the corner and take the position. The adrenaline rush was immense but there was no time to celebrate. The race was far from over, and the cars behind her were just as hungry. Esteban Ocon, who had started just behind her, was closing the gap fast. Her tires were starting to wear, but she wasn’t about to let up. By the time the race hit the halfway point, Casey’s battle for P7 had intensified. Ocon was right behind her, hounding her down every straight, trying to find an opening. She knew that the smallest mistake would cost her this precious position. She gritted her teeth, focusing on the braking zones. No mistakes, no errors. This was her chance to score points. As they approached the tricky Turn 7-8 chicane, Ocon pulled alongside, trying to squeeze through. It was tight, but Casey didn’t flinch—she held her line, forcing Ocon to back out. As they crossed the start/finish line again, she could hear her race engineer’s voice crackling in her ear. “Good job, Casey. Hold position. You’re doing great.” With just a few laps to go, the race began to take on an all-or-nothing feel. Ocon was still right behind her. As the laps ticked down, Casey’s hands began to cramp from the intense focus. Her foot on the throttle was relentless, and every gear change seemed to bring her closer to the finish line. The Red Bull felt alive under her, dancing through the corners as if it understood the stakes. As she crossed the line, her car was still in P7. She had done it—Casey Winters, the sim racer turned F1 rookie, had just secured her first-ever points finish in her debut season. P7 in the Miami Grand Prix. The radio crackled to life: “Casey, fantastic job. P7! First points in F1. You earned that one.” She felt a mix of exhaustion and elation flood her as she did her in lap. She’d done it. She’d earned it. After all the doubt, being unable to progress after karting, all the years had been spent racing in virtual worlds, today, she had proven to herself—and to everyone else—that she belonged here. This wasn’t luck. This was skill. Her heart was racing, but this time it wasn’t from fear or doubt—it was from pure joy.

“That's the thing about being a wild card in Formula 1—you can either taking an unknown chance that blows up spectacularly or a surprise success. Casey Winters is on track to be the latter. P7 today is an incredible result for any rookie, but for someone with her background, it’s nothing short of impressive.”

Taglist:

@dreadity 

[physalian]

“Endings are the hardest!” / “No, beginnings are the worst!”

I’ve never had a problem figuring out the way I want my stories to end but starting them? Yeash, that’s so much pressure. Both carry the same weight for different reasons while you have writers in both camps with legitimate arguments. One may be harder than the other on a writer-by-writer basis, but they are equally daunting.

—

So. Beginnings:

You have sometimes as little as three sentences to hook readers, at most the first chapter. I don’t even give fanfic more than the opening line sometimes (mostly because fanfic takes opening en media res to wild new heights). I’ve been working on a system of “I have one sentence to give you the setting, the protagonist, and the hook that makes this book different, go” and while it might not be perfect, it’s a starting point.

For example! The opening sentence to ENNS is:

Beneath the snowdrift of the longest blizzard Elias has ever endured, the last vampire in the dungeons has finally succeeded in taking their own life.

As someone who struggles with beginnings, I have given you five pieces of information in 25 words:

The setting, that concerns long and repeat blizzards and snow

Protagonist’s name

Establishing the existence of vampires

Establishing that those vampires are kept in dungeons

Establishing that those presumed prisoners are in such bad conditions, that they’re restoring to suicide, something vampires don’t tend to do

I think I did a pretty good job.

So much of the burden of your book is given to so few words. You can’t make it cliché, but try too hard to be unique and you risk looking pretentious. You have to establish the setting, the narrator, the initial setup and inciting incident and convince readers to pick your book out of hundreds of thousands of other options. I hate beginnings.

Best advice among an avalanche of others? Write a placeholder and come back later if it’s too daunting and frustrating because there is no writing advice that is one size fits all.

It’s entirely dependent on your genre, your demographic, the age of your protagonist and how self-aware they are, the tone of your story, your own personal writing style.

“First sentences should include THIS!”

Yeah, okay, but what if I have a better idea? Beyond that your sentence should have a hook that sets your book up as something apart from its genre neighbors, just go look at the most famous opening lines. They’re all different.

There is nothing in common between

Call me Ishmael.

and

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

And that’s the point.

—

Endings though?

Endings bear the burden of providing catharsis, or robbing you of it. Endings have to answer ‘but what does it all mean?’ and stick the landing, or they don’t. Endings can turn a TV show that took the world by storm for four magnificent seasons and drag it limping across the finish line in a finale that sucks the life out of the fandom forever.

Endings either leave you in an existential lurch staring at the ceiling, or in tears of joy or anguish, or frothing at the mouth at yet another cliffhanger. If you can’t answer ‘what does it all mean’ you have bigger problems than just your final lines.

People don’t have fan theories about your first page, they have fan theories about what comes after your last page. There are no rules to writing an ending and sometimes by its nature of being unfulfilling you become infamous.

Example: The ending of Mark of Athena, that prompted this dedication in its sequel House of Hades.

“We’re staying together,” he promised. “You’re not getting away from me. Never again.” Only then did she understand what would happen. A one-way trip. A very hard fall. “As long as we’re together,” she said. She heard Nico and Hazel still screaming for help. She saw the sunlight far, far above—maybe the last sunlight she would ever see. Then Percy let go of his tiny ledge, and together, holding hands, he and Annabeth fell into the endless darkness.

(one short Leo POV later)

Nemesis wanted him to wreak vengeance on Gaea? Leo would be happy to oblige. He was going to make Gaea sorry she had ever messed with Leo Valdez. “Yeah.” He took one last look at the cityscape of Rome, turning bloodred in the sunset. “Festus, raise the sails. We’ve got some friends to save.”

If you weren’t in this fandom when this book came out and ended with the protagonist falling into Greek Super Hell, to wait a whole year to find out what happens next—We lost our collective minds.

And then the next book opened like this:

Gettin’ a bit big for your britches there, ey, Riordan?

How you write your ending should reflect the kind of feeling you want to leave your reader with. In this case, it was anguish and despair and the pinnacle of “always leave them wanting more”. Maybe you’ve written a character who’s suffered constant setbacks to reaching their goal, and the final line is them at peace with, or without achieving it. Or it’s the final plot twist/reveal no one saw coming. Or it’s ambiguous, leaving it up to reader interpretation.

My favorite classical book ending comes from The Great Gatsby and while I had to crack open my copies of the PJO books, I know this line by heart:

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

There’s just something so melancholy and tragic about it, as it should be: Gatsby is not a happy story. That line is the answer to the thesis, that trying to live in the past and not embrace the future, not allowing yourself to move on, can only end in tragedy, and yet, so many of us do exactly that.

The image of a dinky little rowboat is always what I’ve pictured, as opposed to a ship or something more formidable. A rowboat bobbing around the thrashing waves, pitted against a force of nature it can’t ever hope to overcome, yet it endures.

The book opens on an equally melancholy note, “In my younger years…” as the protagonist reflects back on their life gone by. It’s an American classic for a reason.

Even if your final line is unspectacular, the line isn’t as important as how the narrator feels about the book being over. Quotable hashtags are great, but if the ending doesn’t feel like a proper fit, you’re going to leave readers disappointed.

—

Endings are so fricken fun though, no matter what’s at stake. It’s as cathartic for me to finish as I hope it is for the reader to read. There’s plenty of advice out there on the perfect opener or the perfect closer, the endless arguments over which is harder, and it’s all up to you in the end. They just come easy to me, I have no advice. I can picture them well before I get to the final pages and they just click into place. Beginnings, though? Ugh.

—

Thank you for 300 Followers!!!

[diavolo-is-babygirl]

Diavolo & Mammon Fic: Happy Birthday Diavolo!

—————-

Mammon had spent weeks planning Diavolo’s birthday present. It had to be perfect, a gift that would stand out, that would show Diavolo just how much he was appreciated—something unforgettable. He might have gone overboard with it, but for Diavolo? Nothing was too much.

So when the big day finally came, Mammon pulled Diavolo aside after all the formal festivities, away from the crowds and the clamor of celebration, and led him to a quiet courtyard lit only by the soft glow of string lights. In the center of it stood the gift: a sleek, limited-edition motorcycle with black and gold details, glinting under the lights. Alongside it was a custom leather jacket embroidered with Diavolo’s crest, as well as a helmet with intricate gold designs matching the bike. The setup was nothing short of regal.

Diavolo’s eyes went wide when he saw it, his mouth slightly open as he struggled for words. “Mammon… this is…” he began, his voice catching in his throat.

“Yeah, yeah, I know! It’s awesome, right?” Mammon grinned, practically bouncing on his heels. “Figured a guy like you deserves somethin’ with style, something big! Thought maybe we could take a ride sometime, just the two of us, y’know?”

Diavolo’s gaze softened as he looked at Mammon, but as he reached out to touch the bike, his hand faltered, and Mammon noticed the faint tremor in his fingers. He was about to brush it off, but then Diavolo’s shoulders started to shake, and he drew in a shallow, unsteady breath.

“I… I don’t deserve this,” Diavolo whispered, his voice barely audible. His fingers curled back, pulling away from the gift as if he were afraid to touch it. “I can’t even live up to half of what everyone expects of me. I’ve been failing, making mistake after mistake, and you’re here giving me something so… so grand, as if I’m actually worthy of it.”

Mammon’s heart clenched as Diavolo’s hand went to his chest, his breathing becoming ragged, eyes unfocused and full of pain. Without thinking, Mammon stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Diavolo and pulling him close. Diavolo tensed for a moment, as if caught off guard, but Mammon held firm, refusing to let him pull away.

“Hey… hey, listen to me, alright?” Mammon said softly, his usual brashness melting away. “Ya don’t have to be perfect, Diavolo. Ya don’t have to carry all that by yourself. You’ve got people around ya for a reason. It ain’t all on you.”

Diavolo’s breaths were still shallow, his heart racing as he clung to Mammon’s jacket, as if grounding himself in the touch. “I feel like… I can’t show weakness. Not as the future king. I’m supposed to be everything they need, everything the Devildom needs. But sometimes… I just don’t know if I’m enough.”

Mammon shook his head, his voice gentle yet firm. “Ya know what I see when I look at you? I see someone who’s given everything he’s got to make life better for others. I see someone who worries more ‘bout his people than he does ‘bout himself. And yeah, ya might screw up sometimes. But that’s what makes ya worth admiring, Diavolo. Ya don’t give up, no matter how tough it gets.”

Diavolo looked up, his gaze meeting Mammon’s, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “Mammon, I… thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Mammon felt his own cheeks warm, but he kept his expression steady, squeezing Diavolo’s shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for, right? You’re always there for everyone else, so let me be here for ya.”

Slowly, Diavolo’s breathing steadied, and his grip on Mammon relaxed. He took a deep breath, letting the last of the tension slip away, his hands still resting lightly on Mammon’s shoulders. “I don’t say it enough, but… you mean so much to me, Mammon. More than I can put into words.”

Mammon grinned, nudging him playfully. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy on me now, alright? Just… promise me you’ll remember this. When things get rough, when ya feel like ya can’t handle it, ya come to me. We’ll get through it together, ‘cause I ain’t lettin’ ya face it alone.”

A small smile broke through Diavolo’s troubled expression, and he nodded. “I promise.”

And as they stood there, the courtyard quiet around them, Diavolo finally allowed himself to reach out, running his fingers along the motorcycle’s polished surface. The weight of the crown felt a little lighter that night, and as long as he had Mammon by his side, he knew he could keep moving forward—one step at a time.

[moonchild505]

Vivid shadows 2024 Day 2

It's finally time today is the day I leave. I was done with the insults from my peers and the constant jabs from potential people to apprentice under. It drove me crazy I knew I never fit in with the other men of the village, I was just sick and tired of my differences being brought to light so I'd made plans to leave.

I was going to make my way to a nearby city to work as a scribe for a lower ranking nobleman, I was always praised for my writing abilities and simply sending a message to this noble was a decent interview it seemed.

My bags were packed for the week long walk ahead of me. Managing to get some travel clothes and some supplies to keep myself fed and moving during the long trek. With a goodbye to my parents my mother giving me a small wooden idol, shaped like a fox. My father rather quiet seemingly coming to terms with my decision the time up to this point he kept questioning where this came from. I appreciated the quiet I knew we didn't agree but I'm an adult I can make my own choices.

As I turned to leave the village my mother called out, "Keep that figure close it's meant to keep you safe from forest spirits."

I was more than happy to keep the gift close though more as a reminder of home than anything supernatural, I may not have the best memories here but it's still home.

The first day was relatively quiet didn't run into anybody on the road as expected I knew getting closer to the city I'd probably start bumping into travelers and merchants.

It felt like just a few short hours before the sun began to crest the horizon it was unfortunate I couldn't make it to the first village in my stop to rest there. I had planned for this however using my pack to rest my head on and using a loose piece of fabric to cover myself for some protection in the unlikely event it started to rain. Patting the ground down I sat and prepared to eat some travel food.

During my short meal I noticed something or at least thought I did, a rush of white out in the treeline. I panicked a bit at first but calmed myself brushing it off as either a small animal or just my eyes playing tricks on me. I definitely appreciated the presence of the idol that night placing it close to me facing out into the woods.

I woke up the next morning a little sore but otherwise fine. I began to pack up but froze when I came to pick up the idol, it wasn't facing into the woods anymore, it had turned to face exactly where I had slept. I decided to just pack it up and make my way to the next village. My pace was definitely much quicker than the day before.

Reaching the small village I had planned to stop by was quite the relief I found my lodging and just decided to rest for the rest of the day, some anxiety building around the turning of my wooden figure and that white flash I saw at night.

Once I was settled down for bed once more I left the idol on the floor facing the door. It took a bit longer to go to sleep that night, struggling to shake the feeling I was being watched. Eventually the exhaustion of travel took me to sleep.

I woke up in the morning and I felt incredibly sore which was odd for having just slept in a proper bed. It felt like my body was almost pressing against itself. Some morning stretches lessened the pain that was a boon I was thankful for. I went to pack up freezing again at the idol it was once again turned to face me. It even left an unusual dent in the flooring. That was definitely a concerning omen.

I tried not to think about it the rest of the day and it worked somewhat but before I knew it night fell. I cussed myself out for not making it to my next stop in time but had no option to settle down before I couldn't see and broke my foot on a stray tree root in the dark. I setup and when I went to fetch the idol, I couldn't find it. I panicked and began to stare back on the rapidly darkening trail hopeful I dropped it just a short ways back.

I didn't see it. I stared into the woods in a panic too filled with fear to eat that night. I kept spying that same white flash that night and some small part of me desperately didn't want to sleep tonight. Eventually I passed out the exact time of when was a blur.

I woke up with a start, thrashing to escape a nightmare but found that I was pinned down under the moon by a pale woman. I was confused as to what was happening. It all became clear as a set of white tails flicked into view behind her nude body.

I tried to break free but found a great deal of resistance the moonlight catching on her body enough for me to get a proper view of her. She was gorgeous, she had an incredibly soft looking body ,a slight pang of jealousy and desire attempted but failed to cut into my panic.

She called out where my eyes had gone,"There will be time for that later little kit. First I need to free you, I've been following you for days and watched you struggle to break free of that prison you think is your body."

I gave her a confused expression that feeling cutting through the panic, the feeling only exploding further as she leaned in to kiss me. After the kiss I felt my body go limp she let me go but I could just raise my arms off the ground.

The panic resurfaced as I watched what I can only describe as steel claws grow out from the tips of her fingers. She lowered her one hand with a slash, I see the massive splash of blood, seeing tatters of my clothes sent flying drops of flesh blood tinting them red. I wanted to scream but felt no pain to scream for even just calling for help brought only a whimper from my lips.

She continued to cut at my body with careful slices. I thought that this was the night I die. I kept waiting and waiting for the blackness of death to take me but it never happened. The more she cut the more of my blood covered the floor the less constrained I felt. Feeling returning to my hands but I couldn't bring myself to stop her. Some deep part of me kept me still some part wanted her to finish.

I don't know how long I was on the ground in that meadow but eventually the kitsune stopped cutting at me. She offered me her hand and I took it. My mind a bit of a blur as she guided me to a small stream and we went into it together. I felt yet more blood and even bits of flesh get dragged away by the stream. I arched as I suddenly felt a sudden extreme pang of pain in my spine. She held me tight as it happened the pain intense enough I collapsed fully into her arms, those terrifying claws now gentle hands to hold me close.

The pain subsided very suddenly but I couldn't shake a new odd sensation I had felt. She lifted me out of the water and placed me beside it. I looked into her eyes her ears twitching almost showing some tinge of excitement. She gestured for me to look into the water. I did and while the stream wasn't a perfect mirror I could see something was off. The face that stared back at me was much softer, my black hair was still there but now a pair of black fox ears sat at the top. Twitching and turning at every little sound. Even the darkness of night was more manageable as I could just barely see that my eyes had changed as well.

I crawled back from the stream unsure about what had happened only to notice that my own figure had changed. All the flesh cut off me yet I had no scratches on my skin, not even old scars from my youth. Though what caused the biggest shock was the pair of breasts that now adorned my chest. I quickly gazed between my legs to see that that too had changed.

I was panicked again but not out of fear just overwhelming confusion. This should feel all wrong but I felt free and like this is what was inside me the whole time. I didn't even question as a jet black fox tail wrapped around me and I instinctively grabbed it. The other kitsune sat beside me now. That same gentle demeanor as she brought comfort to this confusing event. I ended up dozing off in her arms.

[drewsbuzzcut]

This Feeling Is Deeply Profound

Jeremy Swayman x Lyla Blair

A ‘The Masterminds’ fic

Warnings: smut smut smut and slight alcohol consumption

Takes place February 2024

“I fear you’re better at this than I am,” Lyla breaks the comfortable silence that settled over her and Jeremy as they worked through the recipe.

It’s their third date which consists of a private cooking class, so making and eating food with a nice glass of wine. As of late, Jeremy is proving to be a better cook than herself.

“I don’t know. The sauce you made tastes really good,” he compliments which brings a small, appreciative smile to Lyla’s features.

“Well yeah. That was really easy. I’m struggling with this dough kneading,” she says through a giggle.

Her eyes squint up and her cheeks get rosy. It’s a sight Jeremy adores.

“I think I need your strong muscles for this,” she winks at him, her smirk peeking out although she tries to hide it.

She didn’t care how dumb it sounded, she wanted him surrounding her in every way possible.

Jeremy quickly stands from his chair, making his way behind her sitting form and easily slotting his fingers through hers to guide her with kneading the dough. The smell of his cologne invades her senses, and the warmth emanating from his torso ironically makes goosebumps attack her skin.

“Is this better?” He asks, voice deep and sweet.

She tilts her head back, looking up into his eyes that somehow appear shiny in the dim lighting. Lyla feels her heartbeat race and hears the blood pumping in her ears. He’s so close and it kills her to not be able to have him the way she wants to. As if he’s not close enough, he brings his chair around and sits directly behind her. His hands are still laced and helping her, but it’s hard to focus on anything when she can feel his breath of the shell of her ear.

“Yes. See, you’re better at this,” Lyla says in a whisper, too afraid her voice will betray her.

He presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder, making Lyla take a minute to calm herself. This was going to be a long night if he kept doing little things like that.

After the bread comes out of the oven, hot and smelling heavenly, Jeremy helps set their little table setup. Lyla lights the candles, pours the drinks, and Jeremy plates the food.

“This looks so yummy. I got to say we actually did a really good job!” Lyla comes up behind Jeremy, a hand softly resting in the middle of his back.

“We have to taste it first,” Jeremy teases, earning a playful scoff and eye roll.

Though his playful demeanor hides it, Jeremy is trying not to get weak at the knees from her touch. It’s proving to be a challenge.

“Here’s your seat, babe,” he pulls out Lyla’s chair and she almost does at double take at the pet name that slipped from his lips.

“Thank you, babe,” she tests the name, enjoying the way it rolls off her tongue.

They both don’t draw too much attention to the new addition, both just deciding to start eating.

“This is really good, J. We did a good job,” Lyla hums.

“Oh yeah. Told you you’re good in the kitchen.”

“No way, that’s you! You already know how to cook! Yeah, I remember the couple stories you told me about you cooking- which is how we ended up picking this for our date. You were just blessed with better skills than I was,” Lyla rambles, giggles falling between each sentence.

“Well, that means we have to spend more time together, so I can teach you those said skills,” he lowers his voice, pulling her chair closer to his.

Lyla extends her arm out, setting it over his shoulder as they continue their conversation, now facing toward each other. After many laughs and various conversations about many topics, they finally move onto dessert. The decadent chocolate cheesecake wasn’t prepared by them, but made by the cooks who actually work there.

“You have to try this,” Lyla says, eyes closed as she lets out a moan around her fork.

“I can’t have that. Not during the season,” he says, trying not to focus on the sounds coming from her mouth.

“Please. One bite. I promise it won’t do anything bad to you,” Lyla tries to convince him, but he pulls her into a kiss instead.

Jeremy places a hand on the hollow of her throat, pulling her closer to him. Lyla lets the fork clatter down to the plate, desperately holding in the moans she wants to let out. He’s in the same predicament. He can taste the chocolate when his tongue tangles with hers. Lyla’s hands go straight to his hair, gripping lightly so she wouldn’t float away.

“Yeah, I think I want a bite. It tasted really good,” his lips move to her jaw, pressing wet kisses to her skin.

Lyla starts to feel her resolve crumbling. His lips feel too good on her skin for her to continue to act like she didn’t want him. No, not want. Need. She needs him.

“Then take a bite.” A bite of me.

He pulls away, leaving Lyla to blink back to reality. He brings a piece of their dessert to his mouth and lets out similar sounds that Lyla let out. He holds out the fork to her, a piece waiting for her mouth.

She surrounds her mouth around the fork, maintaining eye contact with the goalie. She’s testing him, seeing how much he can handle before he finally makes a move. Maybe she’ll have to make the first move, but she didn’t care because she still loved to see him get riled up. He tries to hide it, but Lyla knows how to pinpoint his feelings. They are the same as hers after all.

The last of their night passes in a blur for Lyla. She’s so focused on the feeling of his hand wrapped around her waist to even pay attention on their walk back to his car. She doesn’t want to come off too strong, but at the same time she wants to get her point across. Hopefully he’ll invite her inside of his place.

“Did you enjoy tonight?” Jeremy asks once they’re settled in his car.

“I really did. It was nice to do something I’ve never tried before- even if it was just something as simple as a cooking class. I’m really glad we did it together,” she responds, reaching her hand out to place his free hand on her thigh.

She watches Jeremy relax into the driver’s seat, looking awfully calm and collected. His eyes are on the road and his hand squeezes at her thigh. She doesn’t know how he manages to look so cool. She’s trying not to combust at the seams from his gentle touch.

“I had a great time, too. It’s nice to step out of being a hockey player for a minute, especially after a loss,” he admits, taking a glance at her when he stops at the red light.

“You and the team will get back on track soon,” Lyla rubs the back of his neck, feeling quite smug when she sees him shiver.

“Thank you, baby,” Jeremy grabs her wrist and kisses her palm.

Lyla has a hard time not reacting viscerally to the second new pet name of the night. She unbuckles her seatbelt, alarming Jeremy, but she starts pressing kisses to his neck and that gets him silent real quick. She holds onto his face, hands on his jaw as she kisses him from his cheek down to his shoulder. It isn’t anything fast or rough, just small pecks to where she can reach without straddling him.

When the light turns green, she retreats back to her seat and buckles her seatbelt once again.

“Do you want to come over to my place? We don’t have to do anything. I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want to leave you,” he rambles and Lyla lets out a shy giggle, accepting his offer quickly after.

The rest of the car ride is silent except for the radio. However, Jeremy does turn up the volume when her song starts playing. It was a nice, unexpected moment of laughter. She’d pay anything to see Jeremy poorly sing one of her songs again.

“Do you have something I can change into? These pants are starting to get uncomfortable,” Lyla whispers in his ear.

If someone were to see them right now, they’d probably get weirded out stares. Lyla is attached to his front, arms thrown around him as he walks up to his front door. They’re whispering in each other’s ears as if they had to be silent.

“Of course. You can have a pair of my sweatpants, might have to roll them up, but they should work. You could also use one of my shirts if you’re not feeling the sweatpants.”

“Perfect!”

“Here’s my room. You wait here and I’ll go get you some clothes,” he walks into his closet while Lyla is left to look around his room.

It’s homey, quite organized for a guy. It also smells like him. There are so many scattered picture frames and they make her smile. She loves that he loves his family.

“I got you a shirt and some pants,” he snaps her out of her thoughts.

“Thank you,” she tries to undo the zipper of her blouse, but for some reason she can’t get a good grip.

“J? Can you help me unzip my top?”

She feels his hands land softly on her shoulders before she hears his response. Her breathing slows at the gentleness of his hands as he pulls the zipper down.

She pulls the sleeves off her arms, her bare nipples hardening as they come in contact with the cool air. She’s still facing away from him, but she can feel the tension grow palpable. After one more phrase of encouragement, she turns around. Her breasts are on full display for him. He tries not to stare, but when Lyla places his hands on her ribcage, he finally takes a look. It’s like every thought and breath exits his body. He doesn’t even know how to react when she presses her chest to his.

He tightens his hold on her, though. He needed to ground himself.

The warmth of her back against his hands is nice, but nothing compares to the heat pooling in her eyes and her core. He presses a bruising kiss onto her mouth, his lips lingering. A burning desire flickers through her entire body.

“I know you said that you didn’t want me to come over for sex, but I wouldn’t mind,” she whispers, and puts his hands on her cheeks.

“Are you sure?” Jeremy feels hesitant. It’s only their third date and he doesn’t want to force her to go through with anything she isn’t comfortable with.

“Yes. Touch me,” Lyla pleads.

A hand on her throat and the other moving towards her nipple, Jeremy pulls her in for another kiss. This time it’s softer, but it still makes Lyla feel lightheaded.

He picks her up and softly lays her on his bed. The neutral colored bedspread looks perfect underneath her. They continue to stare into each other’s eyes as they pull off their clothing. Jeremy’s eyes are beautiful pools of vulnerability, but they’re also laced with lust.

They take a moment to just take each other in. This is new for them, them being naked in front of the other. Lyla feels herself grow wet just looking at his body and all that he has to offer, and he has a lot to offer.

Jeremy’s eyes hone in on the small butterfly tattoo on Lyla’s hip and travel along her curves. Her naked body easily becomes his favorite color palette.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with a tone that’s a mix of astonishment and something that’s akin to love.

He lets a lone finger trace from her collarbones down to her abdomen, and there’s a trail of chills left in its wake. He gets on his knees, leaning over her lower half. His lips press onto the inked skin of her hip and Lyla shoots up, seeking for friction. He never thought someone could be so intrigued with a small tattoo, but he is as he sucks the skin into his mouth to create a hickey.

“Jeremy, I want to touch you,” she reaches out for him.

He crawls in between her legs, hands pressing into the mattress above her head and leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

Lyla lets her hands wander all over his body. She loves the way his muscles flex under her touch. He loves the way her soft skin grazes each scar and bruise he’s ever had because of hockey.

All too soon, he leaves her touch, deciding to travel down her body. A quick stop at her breasts leads to her nipples becoming so sensitive and hard as he sucks on them.

Slowly but surely he gets to the apex of her thighs, moving her legs apart to spread her open. He gets the perfect view of her dripping folds.

“Look at you. My girl is so wet,” he whispers, opening Lyla up before sucking her clit into his mouth.

Despite the moan that rips through her throat, Lyla tries to stay quiet. Jeremy doesn’t allow her the chance to silence herself, though. His tongue flicks over her clit, mouth closing to create the perfect suction around her. Lyla’s hips shoot off the bed, her hands gripping onto his curls. The taste of her arousal coats his tongue, brain going hazy and moaning wildly around her.

“J! Fuck. More, please more,” she cries.

Deciding to tease her, he rips his mouth away. His beard shines with her wetness and Lyla swears she could cum at the sight. He dips two of his fingers inside of her, slowly pumping them in and out of her.

“I need to get you ready for me, baby,” he mutters into the skin of her abdomen, lips moving to kiss her tattoo.

“No. I want you now. Baby, please. Please fuck me,” she begs, voice barely comprehensible.

Hearing Lyla call him baby and in her sexy voice makes him want to make her scream. He wants the only thing he hears for the rest of his life to be her voice.

“I can feel you squeezing my fingers, baby. Do you think you’re ready for me?” His lips ghost over her mound.

“Yes! Please,” she whines.

Jeremy rises to his knees, fisting his cock and guiding it to her opening. Lyla watches with a meaningful gaze as he spreads her wetness around her fluttering hole. She just wants to be full of him.

“Shit. I don’t think I have any condoms,” Jeremy states, getting off the bed to dig around in his bedside drawer.

That’s not what Lyla wanted to hear. That’s not what anyone wants to hear as they’re about to have their world rocked.

She thinks for a while why Jeremy is looking in his restroom. She doesn’t usually have unprotected sex with people she’s getting to know. Not even people she’s been in long relationships with, but this relationship with Jeremy feels different. She trusts him so much and she feels safe with him.

“Jeremy,” the call for him comes out weak, her voice starting to tremble because she’s more nervous than to begin with.

“Jeremy,” it’s a lot more clear now.

He walks out of his restroom, a wince painted on his face and his eyes cast down.

“I’m sorry. I forgot that I didn’t have any condoms. That sounds so bad. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting for us to have sex tonight,” he whispers

“It’s okay. I’m on birth control and I trust you,” she stares into his eyes, waiting for his reaction.

“No. I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I swear we can wait, or I can go buy condoms right now,” he rambles, words getting trampled by each other.

Before he can continue, she gets on her knees and pulls him into a kiss. A whimper being transferred to his mouth when she tastes herself on his tongue.

“I trust you. Do you trust me?” She asks, eyes glossy and hands glued to his cheeks.

“I do.”

“Then we can continue,” she nods her head in reassurance.

He presses his lips to hers, hands going to her back and softly lowering her onto the bed.

He lines himself up with her entrance, slowly pushing in so she can adjust.

“Oh my god,” she breathes out.

“Are you okay?”

“Yup. I just need a minute to adjust,” he complies, pecking her face until it’s safe to move again.

Once given the green light, he starts to rock his hips into hers, feeding off her low moans. She fits perfectly around him.

The pull of his hips is slow, deep, and it makes Lyla feel every single part of him. However, she can tell he’s holding back. She can sense it in the way he’s shaking from trying to stop his movements from being overpowering. She can hear it in the way he tries to control his breathing.

Lyla wraps her legs around his waist, pulling his body closer to hers. Her hands roam up his back, fingernails lightly scratching at his skin. He fucks her like he cares and that sets something feral off inside of her.

“You can be rough with me. I promise I won’t break. I can be your good girl,” she wraps her hand around the back of his neck, lifting her head up so she can whisper in his ear.

He lets out the raspiest moan. Lyla grows wetter at the noise and Jeremy can feel it drip down to his balls. His hips start rocking with more force and a faster pace. Deciding to rest on his knees again, he opens Lyla’s legs wider. He presses on her lower stomach and he angles his hips up.

“Oh my god. That feels so good, baby. Fuck. Keep going,” she moans, head tilting back and fingers clutching onto the sheets.

He can feel himself deep inside of her, but when he sees his cock bulge in her stomach, he feels his cock start to pulse. It’s too soon to bust his load inside of her, though.

Suddenly pulling out of her warmth and smirking at Lyla’s grunts, he flips her over onto her stomach. He grips her hips, making her back arch so that she’s face down, ass up. He pulls her back, cock thrusting into her at a lethal pace.

Lyla screams his name, tears already lining her eyes and blurring her vision.

His balls slap against her clit, sending flames throughout her entire body. He pulls her arms behind her back, holding her wrists together in one of his hands. His eyes are glued to the way her wet walls wrap around him. The way she sucks him back in because she’s so tight. The way she makes his cock glisten.

“You like that, baby? You like my cock splitting you open?” He leans down to whisper in her ear.

“Yes!” She shouts.

He lets go of her hands , enjoying the way she immediately fists the blankets. The tip of his length hits her velvety spot and makes her clench around his shaft. Lyla tries to move, the pleasure starting to get to her, but Jeremy pins her hips in place. His thumbs fit perfectly in the dimples on her back, and his cock continues to drill into her.

“More. More.”

Sweat is already starting to gather in the dips and valleys of their bodies, and Jeremy starts to feel his balls tighten. Knowing that they won’t last much longer, he lifts her body so that her back is to his chest.

Lyla rests her head back on his shoulder, throwing her arms around his neck the best she can. Somehow he hits so much deeper inside of her. She lets out the most sultry gasps each time he ruts into her. She turns her head towards his, eyes connecting in their haze of passion. She can see the lust swimming in them. She presses her lips to his hungrily. Their teeth clash and their tongues dance together. Her breathless moans sound perfect right next to his ear.

She bounces her hips up and down, walls caving in and dragging him closer to his orgasm. Both of their bodies move in tandem. It’s crazy how they’re perfectly in sync.

His grunts echo in her head. His noises are smooth and hot. They are the best thing Lyla has ever heard. She wants to place his sounds in the background vocals of all her songs.

Lyla’s breath hitches when he wraps a hand around her throat and lets his other fingers circle her clit. She feels the heat coiling in her tummy, her body quivering against him as she feels her orgasm coming on strong.

“I’m gonna cum. Please let me cum,” she begs, lips glued to his cheek and she kisses his skin hotly as if he needs convincing.

“Cum for me, baby. Make a mess on my cock,” he gives her permission, pounding his hips into hers.

She lets go with a silent scream, pleasure too much for there to be sound. Her eyes roll to the back of her head, but her vision would be blurred by white, hot starbursts anyway.

Her pussy holds onto him with a vice like grip, and he can feel her muscles contract around him. She pulls his orgasm out of his body. His cock exploding deep inside of her while he moans like it’s the best thing ever. And for him, it is. He’s never known pleasure to be so riveting.

He keeps her pressed to his body, hips slowly working them both through their releases.

“Kiss me,” his husky voice whispers in her ear.

Her lips lock with his, but with each movement of his hips her mouth opens and a whimper spills.

He pushes her body forward, guiding her to lay back down. She turns on her back, eyes boring into his. She needs more of him. Although her body still shakes and feels sore, she needed more of him. She’s addicted.

He hovers over her, eyes making a path down to her spent cunt. He leaves a trail of ghost kisses from her breast to her belly button. She watches with bated breath when Jeremy’s hands go back to her hips, his touch sending electricity through her. He lifts her bottom half up, leaning down to let his tongue explore her further.

“I love the way you taste. I love the way you whimper when I do this,” he sucks her clit into his mouth. Lyla whines and writhes underneath him.

He moans at the sight of her leaking his cum. His tongue creeps down to collect their expense, lapping and making the most obscene noises. Lyla’s legs tremble as they try to close around his head, but he quickly pulls her legs apart.

“J, I can’t. Fuck, I want more,” Lyla mewls, body arching up off the bed.

He keeps lapping at her pussy, warm fingers sinking into her. The continuous press of his fingertips into her sweet spot makes her delirious. The familiar burning sensation churns deep inside of her. She quickly feels a second orgasm pounding on her body. Lyla’s body stills before all her muscles release and a loud cry falls for her lips.

She pushes at Jeremy’s head, way too sensitive for him to keep going. Lyla’s chest heaves as she catches her breath. Her previously curled hair is now a mess and matted to her skin by her sweat. Her head is spinning and all she can feel is her heart beating fast. She doesn’t even release Jeremy left until he reappears with a warm, wet cloth to clean her up.

“You did so well,” he whispers as he softly wipes her body clean.

Lyla stays quiet, getting out of bed to use the restroom. The whole time she’s thinking about what’s next. Does she pick up her clothes from his floor, get dressed then leave? Does she get back into his bed? Does he do aftercare? The walk back into the room feels awkward, which is crazy with how intimate they just were. She decides to get in under the covers. Jeremy is still seated at the end of the bed, feeling confused. He didn’t know why she felt so far away.

After he cleans himself up and uses the restroom, he finds her still tucked under the comforters. He lies down next to her, eyebrows furrowing in worry when he sees her visibly shaking.

“Baby, come here. Please be close to me,” he requests, voice soft.

Lyla immediately turns to him, shimmying her way into his arms. She throws an arm over his chest and a leg over his hips. She focuses on his warmth and how softly he holds her.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks into the skin of her forehead.

“Perfect. You’re perfect. I really love sex with you,” Lyla tilts his head down so he’s looking at her.

She leans in, chastely kissing his lips. Jeremy’s hand finds its rightful place on her throat.

“I really like you, Lyla. There’s no one else like you, and I don’t mean that in the way that everyone else means when they tell someone that. I mean, I truly have never meant someone like you. You’re changing my life in the best way possible,” he stares so deeply into her soul.

“Yeah, well you’re changing mine, too,” she whispers, kissing his chest and cuddling into him.

His hands caress her body, subconsciously finding their way to her hip tattoo. Even though Jeremy’s touch is gentle, her body jerks. The red bruise left behind by his mouth is sensitive.

“Stay the night?” Hands that are soft, but rough around the edges continue to stroke her skin. Lyla finds herself melting into his body.

“As long as you cuddle me the entire night,” the girl counters, lips attacking his neck.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jeremy holds her tight, falling into a peaceful sleep.

a/n: This is a little rough, but the smut will be better once I start writing more for this pairing! Otherwise, I hope y’all enjoy!

[broadwayfromtheblock]

“A Clever, Colorful Pirates! That Knows Exactly What It Is”

Show: Pirates! The Penzance Musical at the Todd Haimes Theatre

I didn’t expect to enjoy Pirates! The Penzance Musical as much as I did. Typically, pun-heavy humor sails right past me—Shucked felt like torture, and Spamalot left me unexcited. But this production of Pirates! won me over with its sharp wordplay and unexpectedly clever charm. It delivers the kind of breezy, self-aware comedy I had hoped for in other punny shows that I had not enjoyed.

The production bursts with color and energy, from the gorgeously vibrant costumes to the big, Broadway-caliber dance numbers—complete with some tap that feels delightfully retro in all the right ways. There’s a sense of joy baked into every moment, and the show leans into its own absurdity with refreshing confidence.

Ramin Karimloo (the “Pirate King”) is a standout (when is he not?) bringing his signature vocal power and magnetic stage presence to the role. His voice adds a rich texture that elevates the show’s silliness with just the right touch of sincerity.

David Hyde Pierce (“Major-General Stanley”) is effective, though I struggled to make out some of his lyrics—an issue that felt more rooted in the fast-paced speed of the underlying material than in his performance. Jinkx Monsoon (“Ruth”) delivered a strong performance as well, but I felt as though the role’s more limited presence in the show kept me from seeing the full range of Jinkx’s talent.

The story itself is admittedly thin. The setup takes a while to get going, and the ending comes too abruptly to feel fully earned. But this is a musical that knows exactly what it is: light, silly, and built for fun, not depth. Running gags—like spoiler alert: the Pirate King’s refusal to attack anyone who claims to be an orphan (because he’s an orphan too)—give the show a charming, almost vaudevillian rhythm.

This won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. The humor is fast-paced and occasionally lost under a booming orchestra. If the style doesn’t click for you early on, it may never fully land. But for me, it did. And I left smiling.

Verdict: 4 out of 5 Blocks