#and some more that I want to read this year | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eu-nicola · 1 day ago

Text

one night

summary: one night with Max left a problem that you didn't talk to him about

warnings: pregnancy, and idk you tell me

word counter: 8005

author’s note: english is not my first language

The night was charged with a strange electricity that you didn't know how to explain. It was one of those improvised meetings in the house of a mutual friend, where laughter and talk mixed with the low sound of the music. You had known Max all your life, shared years of friendship, confidences and mutual support. He had always been your refuge, the kind of person who could read you with a single look.

That night, however, everything felt different.

Max was sitting next to you on the couch, closer than usual, and you couldn't help but notice every detail of his presence. The way his fingers played with the edge of his glass, the sound of his deep laughter when someone told an absurd joke, and how his eyes seemed to look for yours more than necessary. You tried to ignore it, attributing everything to your imagination, but it was useless. There was something there, something that both seemed to feel but did not want to admit.

The night advanced and the hours became more blurry. Most of the guests had left, leaving only a small group of close friends. But even they began to disappear, until you found yourself alone with Max in the dimly lit room.

"Another glass?" he offered you, getting up to fill your glass of wine.

"I don't know if I should," you replied, laughing softly, but you accepted anyway.

The conversation became more intimate, the topics more personal. They talked about the moments they had shared, how they had changed on time. At some point, Max leaned towards you, his expression more serious than usual.

"Have you ever wondered...?" he began, but left the phrase in the air.

"What?" you asked, feeling how your heart was racing.

He shook his head, as if he had decided not to say it. But his eyes told you something he couldn't put into words. Then it happened. A moment of courage - or madness - led you to close the distance between the two. The kiss was unexpected, intense, full of years of repressed feelings that finally found a way out.

The night continued between caresses and whispers, the outside world disappearing completely. For a few hours, everything felt like it was fine, as if this was what both had been waiting for without knowing it.

But the next morning, reality struck like a bucket of cold water. Max was in the kitchen when you woke up, his movements tense, avoiding your gaze. They barely spoke, an uncomfortable silence that looked nothing like the dynamics they had had for years.

"Last night..." he began, scratching the back of his neck, "it was... unexpected.

"Yes, it was," you admitted, pretending to feel a tranquility that you didn't feel.

They both knew that something had changed, something they couldn't ignore, but they didn't know how to handle it either. So, slowly, they began to move away. Messages that were previously constant became sporadic, and then non-existent. The calls stopped. His absence hurt, but you didn't know what to do about it.

Weeks later, while trying to move on with your life, you realized that something was not right. Morning sickness, constant fatigue, and the absence of your period led you to buy a pregnancy test at the pharmacy, your hands shaking while you waited for the result.

Two lines. Positive.

Your mind was filled with questions, fears and doubts, but one thing was clear: the baby was Max's. And although your first instinct was to call him, reason prevailed. Max had been in a serious relationship with Kelly for a while, a woman who had a little daughter whom he had accepted as his own. You knew he was committed to that life, and you couldn't ruin it all.

You decided to keep quiet. You would raise your baby alone, without complicating anyone else's life. But deep down, you knew that this secret would not be easy to carry. The life you had shared with Max felt like a distant memory, a "and if" that would never have a response.

You refused to think too much about what it implied. The more you thought about it, the more you sank into a whirlwind of contradictory emotions: fear, sadness, pride, and a kind of determination that you didn't know you had. You knew that your life would change drastically, but you also knew that you didn't want Max to be part of this new chapter. Not because you didn't trust him, but because his life was already defined, and you didn't want to be the person who broke it to pieces.

The decision was clear to you: you needed space, distance, something that would help you start again without Max's shadow and his responsibilities. So, little by little, you began to prepare your escape.

First, you stopped frequenting the places where you knew you might meet him. You changed your phone number, blocked almost all mutual friends on your social networks and pretended that you needed "time for yourself" when someone asked about your disappearance. Weeks passed, and your pregnancy began to be harder to hide. You looked in the mirror every morning, noticing the changes in your body and reminding yourself why you were doing it.

One day, after a visit to the doctor, you sat in your car and made the final decision. You looked at the familiar streets around you, the places that had always been your home, and you knew it was time to leave them behind.

London. You had always wanted to live there, and now it seemed like the perfect opportunity to start over. Without telling anyone but your boss, you submitted your resignation, packed your things and booked a plane ticket. The plan was simple: you would settle in an apartment, work in your family's company as they had wanted so long, and raise your baby away from any possibility of Max discovering the truth.

When you arrived in London, the city greeted you with a cold and humid air, typical of early autumn. You moved to an apartment in a quiet area, with enough cafes and parks nearby to keep you busy.

Then you had disappeared from the digital radar for months. Your social networks, which used to be full of spontaneous photos, updates and everyday moments, had been left in absolute silence. You hadn't posted anything for a long time, and although you kept looking from time to time, reviewing the stories and publications of others, you made sure not to leave any traces of your presence. It was as if you had become a ghost that I watched from a distance.

People began to notice your absence. You knew it because, when reviewing your old posts, you found endless comments asking you where you were. "Everything okay?", "We miss you", "Why haven't you uploaded anything?" some said. Others simply left emojis, hearts, or words of support. But even when nostalgia for your previous life invaded you, you still didn't respond.

It wasn't exactly fear, but a feeling of wanting to protect this very personal stage. The pregnancy had been a roller coaster of emotions: illusion, uncertainty, and moments of loneliness that you fought remembering why you were doing this. Your little world in London had become your refuge, and sharing it with the rest of the world still didn't seem necessary to you.

But everything changed when the month came in which you decided to know the gender of your baby. The doctor's appointment was marked on your calendar, and you couldn't deny that you were excited and a little nervous. It was a strange feeling, as if knowing the gender made everything even more real, as if the baby that grew inside you began to take the form of a person you would soon meet.

The doctor's room was lit with a warm light, and the constant sound of the monitor filled the air. You lay back on the stretcher, taking a deep breath while the doctor applied the cold gel to your belly. The screen in front of you showed the blurred silhouette of your baby, and you felt that knot in your chest that always invaded you when you saw it.

"Do you want to know the gender?" the doctor asked, with a smile.

"Yes, please," you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

The moment they told you was unforgettable. A child. A child who would soon become the center of your world. You smiled as tears accumulated in your eyes. For an instant, all the doubts, fears and difficult decisions vanished, replaced by pure and simple happiness.

That same afternoon, while you were walking back to your apartment, you decided it was time. For the first time in months, you felt the impulse to share this part of your life with others. It wasn't out of pressure, or to please anyone, but because you wanted to celebrate this little miracle you were waiting for.

You took a couple of pictures, wearing a white dress that highlighted your belly. The brightness of your skin, the pride in your eyes and the shy smile on your face were more than evident. You weren't the type to plan great revelations, but you knew you wanted to do something special.

You sat on the edge of your bed, carefully selecting the images and writing a description that reflected how you felt:

"After months of silence, I finally want to share the reason why my world changed. I'm expecting a beautiful baby, a boy who will arrive soon to light up my life. I can't explain in words the joy and love I feel knowing that I will be a mom. Thank you to everyone who has been asking about me and worrying in silence. I'm fine, better than I've been in a long time. 💙”

You took a breath before publishing it, hesitating for a moment. What would happen if this reached Max's ears? You knew I would do it but you pushed those thoughts away from your mind and pressed the publish button.

Within minutes, notifications began to flood your phone. Comments of surprise, love and congratulations appeared one after another. "Congratulations!", "You're going to be an amazing mom!", "A child? What a thrill!". The answer was overwhelming, and as you read them, you felt a warmth that enveloped you.

You allowed yoursellelless to smile again. For the first time in a long time, you let the world know a part of your new reality.

You didn't expect all that to go so far. After posting the news on your social networks, you felt a mixture of relief and vulnerability. You had shared your truth with the world, but you couldn't control who could see it, how they would react or what they would say behind your back.

Then Max's message arrived.

It was almost ten o'clock at night and you were on your couch, with your legs crossed and a bowl of ice cream in your hands, responding to the hundreds of comments that kept coming. Your phone vibrated, and when you looked at the notification, you felt how the air left your lungs.

It was a message from Max.

"Congratulations to you and the baby's father. I hope you are well. Really, I'm glad to know that you're happy."

You were frozen, reading and rereading the message as if you were unable to process it. How did he get your number? Who had told him? Why had I decided to write to you after so long? All these questions crowded into your mind, but none had an immediate answer.

You didn't know what to do. The most instinctive part of you wanted to ignore it, as if you had never seen the message. But another part, more emotional, I knew that would not be fair. He had been kind, had respected the distance, and had not hinted at anything that could complicate things.

You put the phone aside, squeezing your eyes as you took a deep breath. You had to answer, but what to say? You couldn't reveal the truth, that was clear. But you didn't want to sound cold or distant either. So you took your time, thinking about every word, every semicomon, before writing:

"Thank you, Max. I'm fine and so is the baby. I'm glad to hear from you."

You hit "send" before you could regret it, your heart beating hard while you waited, not knowing if he would answer. Every vibration of your phone made you jump, but the minutes passed, then the hours, and nothing else arrived.

Silence was a relief and torture at the same time. On the one hand, you were grateful that he didn't insist, that he didn't ask questions that you couldn't or didn't want to answer. But on the other hand, you wondered what he would be thinking, if he had really believed your version.

That night, before going to sleep, you thought about his message over and over again. It was so typical of Max: courteous, respectful, but letting out that closeness that had always existed between you. You knew him well enough to know that he must be curious, even if he didn't say it.

Max didn't write to you again. There were no more messages, calls or contact attempts. And although one part of you hoped it wasn't like that, another, more practical, deeply thanked him. The conversation had been at a neutral point, without complications or confrontations, exactly as you wanted.

The days passed with a strange tranquility. Since Max's message, you had not heard from him again, and life in London was on course. Your daily routines had become a kind of comfort: working from home, walking through nearby parks and mentally preparing for the arrival of your baby. But that calm was suddenly broken when your family called you with news that you did not expect.

You were lying on the couch, reviewing a list of things for the baby, when your mother called you. Her voice sounded excited, almost as if she was holding herst out so as not to scream with joy.

"We have something to tell you," he said, without even saying hello first.

"What happened?" you asked, anticipating that something important was coming.

“Your father and I have decided to go back to Monaco. The company is doing better than ever, and we believe it is the perfect time to return home. We've been away too long.”

The news hit you like a gust of cold air. Monaco Your lifelong home, the place where you had grown up, where you knew everyone and everyone knew you. But also the place you had left behind when you moved to London, in search of a new beginning.

"When do you plan to move?" you asked, trying to sound calmer than you felt.

"In a few weeks." We want you to come with us, of course. It's time for us to get back together, especially now that you're expecting a baby.

The proposal left you silent. You knew that your mother didn't say it with bad intentions; she was excited about the idea of having her first grandson around. But for you, the decision was not so simple. London had become your refuge, the place where you had managed to rebuild your life away from everything that tied you to your past. Returning would mean facing everything you had been avoiding, starting with Max.

Monaco was not a place where you could easily hide. Your family was well known, with important connections in the business and social circles of the city. If you came back, everyone would be behind you with questions. And even worse, there was a high probability that you would cross paths with Max during the Formula 1 break.

The following days were a storm of thoughts and emotions. On the one hand, the idea of being alone in London terrified you. With the baby on the way, you knew you would need support, and your family had always been by your side in important moments. But on the other hand, returning to Monaco meant opening a door that you had closed with so much effort.

You sat in front of the window of your small apartment one night, looking at the city lights while reflecting. You were mature enough not to worry about what people would say, but facing Max was something else. You knew each other, and you knew that his presence had an effect on you that you had never been able to fully control.

Finally, after days of thinking and rethinking, you made a decision.

You would return to Monaco.

It wouldn't be easy, but you were tired of living in fear. You didn't want your child to be born in a place where you felt isolated and vulnerable. Your family was important to you, and you knew you could trust them to support you, even if they didn't fully understand why you had made certain decisions.

The next day, you called your mother to give her the news.

"I'm going back with you," you said, your voice firm but with a touch of nervousness.

She couldn't hide her joy. He started talking about the plans for the trip, how they would organize everything so that you were comfortable. His enthusiasm made you smile, although a part of you was still restless.

The weeks passed in the blink of an eye. You packed your things, silently saying goodbye to London and the small shelter you had built there. When the day of your departure came, you looked for the last time at the streets that had become your temporary home, promising yourself that, whatever happens in Monaco, you would be strong.

The plane landed in Monaco at sunset, and the view of the city filled you with a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness. It was as if a part of you had never really left. But you knew the real test was yet to come. Max was there, somewhere, and sooner or later, you would have to face him.

It didn't take long for that, "The event" as your family used to say was something typical: a great meeting in one of the most exclusive lounges in Monaco, where the closest families could live together. Your parents had organized it as a kind of welcome to resume old connections after returning to the city. From the invitation, you knew that it would be inevitable to cross paths with people from the past, but you didn't think too much about who might be. There were so many names, so many familiar faces, that you assumed you could stay on the sidelines without drawing too much attention.

You dressed up with care that night, choosing a simple white dress that enhanced your figure. The fabric flowed gently over your growing belly, marking it delicately without being too flashy. You left your hair loose, with natural waves, and applied light makeup. You wanted to see yourself well, but without trying too hard.

When we arrived at the event, the room was already full. Laughter and conversations filled the air, and the children ran back and forth while the adults met in small groups. There was something familiar in the atmosphere, something that transported you to the years when you had also been a girl in those meetings. It was at one of these parties where you met Max.

Years ago...

You were a restless girl, full of curiosity and not afraid to talk to anyone, even if they were older than you. Max, on the other hand, was more reserved, even a little grumpy for his age. However, somehow, you found a way to break his serious facade. With your energetic personality, you managed to let my guard down. To everyone's surprise, he, who always seemed uncomfortable in these meetings, got along with you from the beginning. In those days, both became inseparable, exploring together every corner of these events while the adults chatted.

Returning to the present...

That memory made you smile a little, but it also made you feel a knot in your stomach. You tried to shake the nostalgia and focus on the night. You walked among the guests, chatting with those who approached you, most of them congratulating you on the pregnancy. Although you felt out of place, you tried to stay calm.

That's when you saw it.

Max was standing near one of the tables, dressed in a dark suit that sat him spotlessly. He was accompanied by Kelly, and her little daughter. The air seemed to disappear from your lungs instantly.

He also saw you.

For a second, your eyes met, and his expression changed. He seemed surprised, maybe even uncomfortable, but he immediately regained his composure. You, on the other hand, felt that your heart was beating so hard that it was hard for you to breathe. Instinctively, you turned on your heels, looking for a way out. You weren't ready to face him, even less with Kelly by his side.

But Max was faster.

Before you could disappear into the crowd, he and Kelly approached you. His every step made the panic inside you increase. You wanted to run, excuse yourself, anything to avoid that moment, but there was no escape.

"Hey!" Max said, with a smile that seemed contained, as if he was also dealing with something internal. His voice was warm, as if the months of silence between you had not existed. He pointed at Kelly and said—: “This is Kelly, my girlfriend.”

Kelly smiled politely and held out her hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said. Max has told me that you two have been friends since you were little.

Your mind was going a thousand per hour, but you managed to force a smile and shake his hand.

"Yes, that's right. For... many years” you replied, striving to keep your voice stable.

Max, as if he wanted to relieve the tension, added with a more relaxed smile:

"It's amazing to see you here, and congratulations again, both for you and for the baby's father.”

The words "baby's father" echoed in your mind like an echo. Kelly also congratulated you, and although there was nothing in his words that sounded malicious, you felt that your whole body tensed up.

"Thank you," you managed to say, nodding with a shy smile.

You couldn't take it anymore. You made up the first excuse you could think of.

"Excuse me, I need to go get something to drink." It has been a pleasure to see you.

Before they could say anything else, you walked away with quick steps, feeling the eyes of both of them fixed on your back. You didn't stop until you were far away, in a corner of the living room where you could catch your breath.

Your heart kept beating hard, and your hands were shaking. You had managed to get out of that conversation, but the meeting had removed all the emotions you had tried to bury. Max was there, and although you hadn't admitted it out loud, seeing him had made everything feel real again.

The night continued as a blur of superficial conversations and forced laughter. Every time Max and his little family appeared in your line of sight, you found a way to dodge them, pretending that someone else required your attention. You kept busy talking to acquaintances, checking your phone and serving yourself lemon water in an attempt to distract yourself. All in vain. His presence weighed like a cloud on you, a constant that you could not ignore even if you tried.

As soon as you finished pretending to be interested in a business conversation, you decided you needed a break. The bustle of the living room began to suffocate you, and the fresh air outside seemed like the perfect solution. You walked towards the gardens, feeling the relief of the silence as you left the music and laughter behind.

The sky of Monaco was clear, and the city lights were reflected in the nearby water. You recharged against a railing, closing your eyes and letting the breeze caress your face. For a moment, the world seemed calmer, less complicated.

Until you heard his voice behind you.

"It's not very typical of you to escape from the party."

You turned quickly, with your heart racing. Max was there, with his hands in his pockets and an expression that you didn't know how to interpret. He seemed relaxed, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel that he had come with a purpose.

"I didn't escape. I just needed a little air” you replied, trying to sound casual while your hands fiddled with the railing.

Max approached, leaving enough space between you, but enough to make his presence impossible to ignore.

"It was nice to see you today. I didn't expect to find you here," he said, his words loaded with something you couldn't define.

"I say the same," you replied, looking at the horizon instead of him.

There was an awkward silence before he spoke again.

"Your family must be excited about the baby and his father too. I'm sure they're spoiling you a lot.”

You smiled slightly, although his tone made you feel a pang in your chest. You decided it was better to be honest before he continued to assume things.

"They are happy, yes. But my baby doesn't have a father.”

Max seemed to stop in his tracks. His expression changed, and for a moment he seemed to be looking for the right words.

"I'm sorry... I didn't know."

You looked at him then, meeting his look that seemed sincerely hurt.

"Don't do it," you told him, your tone firm but without hardness. “Don't be regretted. I'm happy, Max. My family is happy. I can't ask for more. This child will be surrounded by love, and that's all that matters.”

Max nodded slowly, but his eyes continued to reflect something else, something he didn't say out loud.

"I always thought you would be an incredible mom," he said after a moment, with a small smile.

You forced yourself to smile too, although his comment stirred you inside. You wanted to change the subject, prevent the conversation from taking a more emotional turn, but Max was the one who spoke first.

"I want to be in your life again."

His words were like a direct blow to the chest. You looked at him, stunned, trying to understand exactly what he meant.

"Max..." you started, but he raised a hand, interrupting you.

"I'm not saying that I'm going to get into something that doesn't belong to me. I just... I want to be part of your life again, as we were before. I could be a good uncle for that little one," he added, with a smile that seemed sincere, although also somewhat sad.

That was too much for you. His words, his tone, the way he seemed so sure of wanting to be close but at the same time setting limits... It was a reminder of what had been and what it could not be. You felt your heart tighten, as if the air became denser.

"I would love to have you back in my life, Max. You've always been a good friend” you managed to say, although it was hard for you to keep your voice stable.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on yours for an eternal second. Then he looked towards the house, as if something was calling him back.

"I'm glad to hear it. See you inside," he said softly, before turning around and walking towards the living room.

You stayed there, watching how his figure disappeared between the lights of the party. You felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn't fully decipher. There was something reassuring in knowing that he wanted to be in your life, but also something deeply painful in hearing the words "good friend" come out of his lips.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the lump in your throat. You knew that the best thing was to return too, but before you needed a few more minutes to pull yourself together.

When the night finally came to an end, and while you were helping your mother say goodbye to the last guests, you felt the exhaustion creep into every fiber of your body. Between smiles, short conversations and the unexpected meeting with Max, everything had been a whirlwind of emotions. You went up to your room, closing the door behind you and letting out a long sigh. You had succeeded. You had survived that night without collapsing, although the cracks in your facade were deeper than you wanted to admit.

You took off your dress carefully, letting the fresh air ease your skin. You put on a comfortable nightgown and got rid of the makeup with slow movements. Every step of your nightly routine was an attempt to distract you from the only thing that really occupied your mind: Max. The conversation outside, his insistence on wanting to be back in your life, his words loaded with a meaning that you refused to interpret... Everything kept spinning in your head.

When you got into bed, you took your phone out of habit, checking notifications and messages before going to sleep. That's when you saw it. A message from Max.

Max: "Good night. I liked seeing you tonight."

Your heart skipped a beat when you read it. You didn't expect me to write to you, not after what they had talked about. You thought about ignoring him, but you knew you couldn't. Something inside you drove you to respond.

You: "Simely. It was nice to see you."

You sent the message before your mind could stop you, and just a few seconds later his answer came.

Max: "I don't know if this sounds weird, but I feel like I've missed you more than I thought."

You bit your lip, your fingers floating on the screen as you decided what to say. Finally you wrote:

You: "It doesn't sound weird. I've missed you too."

The conversation flowed with a naturalness that baffled you. Talking to him was like returning to something comfortable and familiar, as if the months of distance had not existed. They talked about trivial things at the beginning: how he was, how you were, small anecdotes of the event that had occurred while you were escaping to the garden. But then he wrote something that made you stop.

Max: "We should have a coffee or something. Really catch up."

Your first reaction was to doubt. You knew it wasn't a good idea. Seeing him was to risk letting your guard down, saying something you shouldn't have, opening doors that you had closed for a reason. But, at the same time, the idea excited you. You wanted to see it. I wanted to see it.

"I'd love to," you finally wrote, almost with fear.

Almost instantly came his answer:

Max: "Tomorrow? I have something in the afternoon, but I'm free at night."

You bit the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. You knew you shouldn't accept, but your fingers were already writing.

You: "It's okay. Tomorrow night."

They quickly confirmed it, deciding the place and time, and after a few more messages, he wrote:

Max: "Sleep well. See you tomorrow."

"You too," you replied, even though you knew that sleeping was the last thing you would do. You put the phone aside, but your mind was still at full speed.

As you settled in bed, you looked at the ceiling with a sigh. You had done something you knew you shouldn't have done, and the anxiety of what could happen consumed you. But, at the same time, a small spark of emotion lit up inside you.

The idea of seeing him, of talking to him face to face after all, made you feel like you were playing with fire. And yet, you found yourself counting the hours for the next day.

The next morning the day began in a rather routine way, although you felt a slight tingling in your stomach when you remembered your plan for later. After a light breakfast, you made sure to review your to-do list, and among them was the doctor's appointment. Although all the previous reviews had gone well, it always gave you a little anxiety to attend. You wanted to make sure that your baby was perfect, that everything went as it should.

You put on a loose and comfortable dress, choosing a pastel shade that highlighted the shine that lately your pregnancy had given to your skin. You looked in the mirror quickly before leaving, noticing your already noticeably rounded belly. You had reached that point in pregnancy where it was impossible to hide it, and although you felt proud, there were times when that reality made you think about everything that was to come.

The clinic was calm when you arrived. After signing some papers and waiting a few minutes in the room, they called you to go to the doctor. She was a kind woman, someone you fully trusted and with whom you had developed a good relationship since you arrived in Monaco.

You lay down on the stretcher while they did the routine ultrasound. The screen lit up with the image of your baby, and as always, your eyes filled with tears of pure emotion when you saw it.

"Everything looks perfect," said the doctor, smiling as she checked the measurements and heartbeat of the little one. “He is growing well and has a lot of energy, as always. Have you felt good?”

You nodded.

"Yes, although he's been a little restless today. I don't know if it's me or him.”

The doctor laughed softly.

"Probably a little bit of both. They feel our emotions, did you know? If you're anxious or nervous, he feels it too.”

You were thoughtful with that comment. It was true that you had been nervous since you woke up. The idea of seeing Max again, of sitting in front of him after so long, had you in a constant state of anticipation.

"I guess he's right. Today I have... an important day.”

You didn't go into details, but she gave you an understanding look.

"Well, try to relax." He's fine, you're fine. Enjoy your day and make sure you rest.

When you left the clinic, the mid-morning sun greeted you warmly, but you still felt some restlessness in your chest. You knew there was no reason to worry about the baby, but the conversation with the doctor left you thinking. Your little one was connected to you in a way that no one else could be, and his well-being was completely up to you.

The rest of the day was spent in a blur of domestic activities and small errands, but your mind always returned to Max. You wondered what it would be like to see him again, this time in a more intimate environment. Would he be nervous like you? Would it still be as easy to talk to him as it had been last night?

As the afternoon progressed, you noticed that your baby kept moving. Every time you tried to sit down for a moment to breathe, he kicked or settled down, as if trying to get your attention.

"What's wrong, little one?" you murmured, placing a hand on your belly. “Are you also nervous about tonight?”

The thought made you smile, although you felt a knot in your stomach. You caressed your belly with gentle movements, trying to calm it down and calm yourself down in the process.

You sighed as you looked at the clock. Every minute that passed brought you closer to the meeting, and although you were nervous, a part of you couldn't wait.

The afternoon was sliding into the night, and with each passing minute, you felt how anxiety was taking over you. You repeated to yourself over and over again that everything would be fine, that there was nothing to fear, that it was only Max. Max, your lifelong friend. Max, who was now much more complicated than you had ever imagined.

When it was time to get ready, you went into the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. There was something different about you, a mixture of emotion and tension that made you feel like you were about to cross an invisible line. The dress you chose was simple but elegant, a dark blue tone that highlighted your skin and concealed your belly. You left your hair loose, falling in soft waves on your shoulders. The makeup, just enough to give a touch of color to your cheeks and highlight your eyes. You wanted to look good, but without looking like you had tried too hard.

While you were putting on the last touches, your phone vibrated on the table. You took it with slightly trembling hands and read the message.

"I'm outside. I'll wait for you."

You toom a deep breath before answering.

"Ok."

You picked up your bag, taking one last look at your reflection before leaving the room. You went down the stairs calmly, although your heart was beating hard in your chest. When he opened the front door, there he was. Max Verstappen, waiting for you next to his car with a smile that, despite all the time that had passed, was still the same you remembered.

"Hello," he said softly, his eyes running over you for a moment before returning to your face. “You look... good.”

You smiled a little shyly.

"Thank you. You too”

Max was dressed casually but flawlessly, a dark shirt and jeans that fit him perfectly. I had always had that ability to look good without much effort. He opened the car door for you and, once you were inside, he circled the car and sat behind the wheel.

The journey was comfortable, although full of silences that spoke more than words. Through the reflection in the window, you watched him sideways. His firm hands on the steering wheel, the way he concentrated on the road, everything was so familiar and at the same time so distant.

Finally, they arrived at a small secluded, discreet and cozy restaurant, a place that Max had chosen carefully to avoid curious glances. Upon entering, you were greeted by a warm atmosphere, dim lights and tables separated enough to ensure privacy.

"It's a quiet place," he said while helping you sit down. “I thought we would be more comfortable here.”

You nodded, grateful for your consideration.

"It's perfect."

You both asked for dinner, and for a few minutes, the sound of the cutlery and the soft background music filled the space. But soon, the conversation began to flow.

"So..." you said, breaking the ice. “How is everything? Life, the team, your relationship?”

Max took a sip from his glass before answering.

"Life... is fine. Busy, as always. The team is doing well, although this year has been more complicated than I expected. And Kelly...” he paused briefly. “We're fine. Things are stable, which is good for me, for P.”

He mentioned his girlfriend and stepdaughter naturally, but you couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. You forced yoursellsel on your smile.

"I'm glad to hear that. You know I've always wanted you to be happy.”

Max looked at you with an expression that seemed to contain more than he was willing to say.

"And you?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. “Why did you disappear like that? One day you were here, and the next, you were gone. Without a word.”

You tensed up a little in your chair, fiddling with the edge of your glass. You had known that question would come, but you were not completely prepared to answer it.

"It was something... I needed to do," you finally said, choosing your words carefully. “London was an opportunity to start again. And... I didn't want to complicate anyone's life.”

Max frowned slightly, his eyes looking for yours.

"Complicate life for whom? To me?”

The air seemed to become denser between you. You avoided his gaze, concentrating on the napkin that you now held between your fingers.

"You already had many things in your life. You didn't need... more complications.”

Max was silent for a moment, but his eyes didn't turn away from you.

"We were always friends, remember? No matter what happened... that doesn't change.”

The sincerity in his voice disarmed you, and for a moment, you felt that the weight of the last few months was about to collapse on you. But you stood firm, smiling softly.

"I know. And I'm glad we can talk like this, like before.”

The conversation continued, returning to lighter topics: childhood memories, career anecdotes, moments they shared before everything got complicated. But, deep down, they both knew that there were things that remained unsaid.

When dinner ended, they both left the restaurant, the night in Monaco unfolded calm and cool, with a gentle breeze that caressed your skin. You felt strangely light, despite everything that dinner had moved in you. You thought the night had come to an end, but Max, standing next to you in front of the car, seemed to hesitate before saying goodbye.

"Are you tired?" he asked, with a look that contained more than what his words said. “Because... if you're not, we could go for a walk.”

You were surprised by the invitation, but a part of you, the one that was still looking for any excuse to prolong the moment, did not hesitate to answer.

"No, I'm not tired. I would love to walk a little.”

Max smiled, a soft smile that lit up his face for a moment. He walked by your side, and soon they both left the restaurant behind and went into the quietest streets of the city. The night in Monaco was a spectacle in itself, with the lights reflected in the sea, the distant sound of laughter and music, and the constant murmur of the nightlife that unfolded around it. But at that moment, nothing seemed to matter more than the presence of the other.

The silence between you was not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt almost like a conversation in itself, a pause that allowed both of them to think about everything that had been left unsaid for so long. They walked at the same pace, their steps synchronized, and from time to time your fingers brushed his, which caused a small chill that ran through your body.

Finally, it was Max who broke the silence. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if he feared to alter the stillness of the night.

"I like walking with you at night," he said, with a sincerity that took you by surprise. His eyes looked at you sideways, looking for your reaction.

Your heart turned upside down, and you bit your lip before answering, allowing a soft smile to form on your lips.

"I like it too. I enjoy it.”

And you meant it. There was something intimate at that moment, a connection that didn't need words. The world seemed to have reduced to you two, walking together under the dim lights of Monaco. The breeze was fiddling with your hair, and Max noticed it, because his eyes stopped a second longer on you, before looking away.

Both continued walking in silence for a few more minutes, until both of you reached a small viewpoint that overlooked the port. The lights of the yachts and the soft waves of the water created an almost magical atmosphere. You leaned on the railing, contemplating the landscape, but aware that Max had come closer, until he was a few centimeters from you.

"It's beautiful," you commented, trying to stay calm, although your heart was beating hard.

"It is..." he replied, but when you looked up, you realized that he was not looking at the landscape. He was looking at you.

The atmosphere became denser, loaded with electricity that seemed to envelop them. You felt trapped between the desire to maintain that closeness and the need to step back, to protect yourself from what that moment could mean. But you didn't move.

Max leaned slightly forward, resting his arms on the railing next to yours. His fingers brushed yours, and this time he didn't move away. Neither do you.

"I missed this," he murmured, with a voice so low that you barely heard him. “I missed being with you.”

His words disarmed you. You felt a lump in your throat, but you tried to stay calm.

"Me too..." you admitted, almost in a whisper. I missed this, you.

Both stayed like this, in silence, letting the moment last, feeling the closeness of the other. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you had saved for months, but you held in. You didn't want to ruin it. Not yet.

Max turned his face towards you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. His blue eyes, intense and full of contained emotions, met yours. The world around him disappeared, and all that existed was that look, that instant in which the past, the present and the future seemed to collide.

"I'm glad you're here," he said, with a softness that almost made you lose your balance.

Your breathing quickened slightly, and without looking away, you replied:

"To me too."

The silence that followed was different. It wasn't uncomfortable or empty.

But before either of them could do or say anything else, Max took a step back, breaking the spell.

"We should go back," he said, his voice a little more controlled. “I don't want you to get too tired.”

You nodded, grateful and at the same time disappointed. Both began to walk back, this time more slowly, as if prolonging that walk could change something.

When both got to the car, Max stopped before opening the door for you. For a moment, he seemed to doubt, as if he was about to say something important. But instead, he just smiled.

"Thank you for tonight. I needed.”

"Yeah. Me too..." you murmured. “Thank u.”

He leaned slightly, as if he was going to say goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, but he stopped halfway. Instead, his fingers gently brushed your hand before opening the door. You got into the car, still feeling the warmth of his touch, and when he left you at home, they both said goodbye with a smile that said more than words could express.

That night, while you were lying in your bed, with the breeze of Monaco coming in through the window, you thought about every detail of that walk. In his gaze, in his words, in the touch of his fingers. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to dream about what could have been... and what it could still be.

#fanfic #oneshot #imagine #x reader #max verstappen x yn #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max x reader #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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annasellheim · 1 day ago

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So this was on the @writing-prompt-s site- so I'm treating it as a writing prompt. (I can't fucking draw right now due to a busted shoulder, so I'm doing a bunch of them because I'm alone, hurt, and sad, and they're fun).

Anyway, the story:

I sat down next to him. I looked at my former student, now an adult. A brilliant engineer. I remembered him. I had really liked this kid. The man in front of me was impressive as hell too. It didn't surprise me at all.

"I'm really, really sorry this hurt you. That I hurt you. What I was trying to do was show you some techniques. My goal was that, later, after you learned them, you could deviate from them and make your own thing.

We have a set of guidelines of things we need to teach. It's a mandatory curriculum, with national guidelines, just like math or science or whatever. But it varies from state to state. And who the hell knows what they do in private school. And the curriculum isn't focused on self expression as much as teaching you how to use fine motor skills and..."

Shit, stop it Anna. You don't need to keep justifying yourself.

I try to remember when he had moved away during the school year. I wonder if I hadn't gotten to the point in the spring semester where I gave my students more lee way, to experiment and deviate from the techniques I showed them. To let them decorate their dishes any way they wanted. To make trees and flowers for different seasons. I wondered if he had been part of one of my first classes, before I figured out how to create a really solid curriculum.

Regardless, I could have been clearer about it. I was new to teaching when I had him as a student, I know that much. I was overwhelmed, and honestly, barely keeping it together for the first, like, 4 years I taught. And there were 20-30 students in my classes. It took me a a while to figure out what works and what doesn't in the classroom.

The most important thing was this man in front of me. He was way quieter and more hesitant than the kid I remembered. I hope I didn't do that to him, but I'm was probably reading too much into it.

I took a sip of my coffee.

"You know what's cool tho? The shit you've been doing at work-"

He looked surprised and snorted.

"What?"

"You swore."

It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, to be fair I'm not in classroom mode right now.

Anyway, the stuff you've been doing at work, it all sounds like it takes a ton of creativity to accomplish."

"I never thought of it that way..."

"Well, you've been on the forefront of a bunch of stuff because you think outside the box. I'm glad I didn't rob you of that."

We sat next to each other on the bench. He was thinking it over. I was trying to not dwell on the fact that he brought this up, that he had carried this pain with him for 20 years.

"Do you still make art?"

"No, not since elementary school, since my last-"

"Your last required art class. Got it."

I gave him a side eyed glance.

"You know you can get back into it at any time, right?"

He was taken aback, he obviously had never considered it.

I smiled. I've had this conversation before, many many times.

"It's not like a sport or something. You can start at literally any point in your life, you don't need to be young and in peak physical condition. Art ain't basketball.

The cool thing too is that you can choose what you want to make, you're an adult. Nothing in art is required for you to learn. You can pick any class you want, or no class at all."

I gave him my business card.

"If you shoot me an email, I can give you some books to read for you to get started. Not to teach techniques, but exercises that help get you back to the point where you just make stuff. I think a LOT of people stop making art for all kinds of reasons, not just because of a novice teacher. There's been a bunch of stuff that's come out recently to try to help adults make art again. y'know, to recapture the joy of it."

We said our goodbyes. I really hope he thinks it over and reaches out.

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn��t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

#autobio #the books are by lynda barry btw

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bogleech · 3 days ago

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I've probably seen or read ten thousand hundred interviews in my life where a financially successful U.S. born gallery artist says some variation on "everyone always wants to know why I don't make 'pretty' things, but I just have to be myself"

Like not to be mean buddy but if you mean your own immediate childhood social circle or puritan parents just say that. Otherwise it can't be that many people outside stuffier boomer art critics. Don't get me wrong I truly like your giant vantablack beetle with the doll heads for eyes* but your pieces are selling for thousands or millions in a new york city gallery full of pieces like "toilet full of blood representing poverty" or "real human skulls painted happy colors" whereas your pieces are just goth in a country that makes 500 horror movies a year and now spends more on Halloween than on Christmas. There's places in this world where you might have been censored or even persecuted for making art that isn't church or government approved and the artists who claw their way out of that are goddamn heroes but you're from philadelphia. Heck I'm a middle aged man drawing rotten monsters since I was a silly little baby and nobody has ever said anything about them but "neat!" Have you heard of the internet in fact, we've got places where you could share an oil painting of a godzilla sized big titty baphomet impaling every pope in history on one of multiple giant dicks and get 50k likes before you hear one breath of disapproval.

#*I made up this example so if it resembles anyone's actual art I apologize and I really do mean I like the sound of that #I specified U.S. born because there's countries where an artist really will have to fight to express anything that isnt safe and whole

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dadbodbuck · 1 day ago

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could it shine down here with you?

Rating: G | WC: 1.7k | Pairing: BuckTommy

Loosely based on this post by @loulovingho!

Summary:

Tommy doesn't realize until later that he already asked for Thanksgiving off.

Read it here on Ao3 or continue below!

Tommy is five, or maybe six, and he doesn’t like Thanksgiving. His dad is screaming at his mom because the turkey isn’t thawed. He’s calling her a lot of words that Tommy thinks are really mean. Tommy’s dad yells a lot, but it’s rarely this bad. Tommy’s mom usually waits for it to blow over, but this time, Tommy watches from the living room entry as her face crumbles and she shoulders past Tommy’s dad, breezes by Tommy, and flees into their bedroom.

Tommy wants to follow her, but his dad grabs his arm, too-tight, and tugs Tommy away towards where the half-thawed turkey is laying on the ground, cold and slimy. When they get there, Tommy’s dad hands him a garbage bag and a roll of paper towels and says “Your mom needs some time alone to think about what she’s done. Clean up this mess.”

It’s okay, because later his mom comes out of the bedroom and kneels down, her eyes red and puffy, and she tells him, “I’m so sorry you had to see that, honey. You did a good job cleaning the kitchen. It’s okay, we can still have dinner, even if I messed up the turkey,” and she makes Stovetop stuffing, and takes cranberry sauce out of a can, dishing them up on a plastic plate for Tommy, and a glass plate for her.

Tommy’s not sure where his dad went, but he’s glad it’s just him and his mom for a little while.

Tommy is twelve, and he hates Thanksgiving. He hates most holidays centered around football, actually. It’s a double-edged sword—his dad gets drunk, and his dad gets riled up, and he’s either too loud and happy, or too loud and mad. The Superbowl is Tommy’s least favorite time of the year. Especially when the Rams are playing.

The Rams aren’t playing this year, but that doesn’t mean Tommy’s off the hook. Tommy brings his dad beers when his dad calls for them, doesn’t say a word to his old man, carefully doesn’t flinch when his dad yells angrily at the screen.

For the most part, Tommy sits alone in his room and looks at the picture of his mom. It’s her high school graduation, she’s gleaming in her cap and gown. Tommy misses her.

Tommy knows that his family isn’t normal. That it’s fucked up. But he also knows how to deal with his dad, especially now that his mom isn’t around to instigate anymore. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen if he gets sent to foster care. He doesn’t want to know.

Tommy also knows, somewhere, that it’s partially his own fault. Maybe if he was a better kid—someone his dad could be proud of, this wouldn’t happen. He was always doing something to incur his father’s wrath. Plus, it’s not like his dad doesn’t love him, in his own way. Tommy loves his dad, too.

Tommy makes his own Stovetop stuffing and cranberry sauce from a can. His dad doesn’t eat it, but Tommy doesn’t care, because at least he survived Thanksgiving without any more bruises.

Tommy is eighteen, and twenty-three, and thirty-one. Thanksgiving is in a shitty barracks at the base, a tiny studio in downtown LA, and the 118 firehouse. It’s spent wolfing down an MRE, trying to figure out how to get his horrible stove to work, and eating Stovetop stuffing and cranberry sauce and praying that the alarm doesn’t go off. There are the other soldiers, and Tommy’s rescue cat Teddy, and Howie.

The MRE is as it always is. You get used to the weird textures and instant coffee and chemical heat smell of the food warmer. The funny thing about Iraq, the thing that will keep Tommy awake for years and years, is that it gets cold during the winter. Tommy knew before he shipped out that he didn’t know what much about the country, but now that he’s here, he’s stuck with sick realization after sick realization. The people here are scared, and the Army isn’t helping. Tommy looks at the other soldiers in a way he shouldn’t. Civilians are dying. War is messy in a way that allows people to excuse inexcusable violence. Tommy cannot speak the language, of either the Iraqi citizens or the people he was told would be his brothers. Iraq gets cold during the winter.

Teddy is an orange beauty, with long fluffy fur and a penchant for mischief. Tommy didn’t ask for Thanksgiving off, but it’s a holiday at the Academy, apparently. So, he’s here, listening to the click of the gas range as it tries to light. Teddy watches from the tiny countertop with uncharacteristic judgment in his eyes. When the flame finally catches, Tommy laughs victoriously, and gets to work making stuffing and cranberry sauce for the first time in years. It’s not gourmet by any means, just the Stovetop and the canned stuff, but it feels like his mom. It feels like he’s talking to her again. Tommy wonders if there’s a universe out there where his mom got help before it was too late. He eats his food in the camp chair that furnishes his pathetic living room, with Teddy invading his personal space and trying to sneak a bite for himself.

Tommy keeps the tradition of making himself Stovetop and canned cranberry sauce. He keeps it the year Howie shows up at the 118 and immediately proves himself braver and stronger than Tommy ever could be. While everyone else is busy whining about missing their grandma’s mashed potatoes, Tommy scrapes together his sacred traditional Thanksgiving feast. While Tommy’s not looking, Howie steals half of it.

“Mm!” Howie sighs, “That childhood nostalgia fakeness.”

“Hey! That was mine,” Tommy says, without any real heat. He hasn’t been able to muster anything beyond mild irritation for Howie since he saved his life.

“Oh, because you were going to eat all of that in one sitting,” Howie scoffs, “I’ll pay you back your dollar for my half if you really want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tommy huffs, scraping out the other half for his own portion. They sit at the table and eat together, and it’s the closest Tommy’s ever had to spending Thanksgiving with someone.

It’s not until they finish eating and the bell rings that Tommy realizes Howie’s the only one who hasn’t asked Tommy if he’s sad he’s missing out on the holidays.

For the most part, his Thanksgivings after the 118 are spent much the same way, but at Harbor, and alone. He gets to put his leftovers in the fridge and eat off them for a few days. Thanksgiving (save for deep fried turkey incidents) is a relatively tame holiday. No fireworks, at least.

Then, Evan.

A lot of things change for Tommy when Evan crashes into his life, all legs and a blinding smile. Evan is a whirlwind and the most beautiful man Tommy has ever seen. Evan is kind of everything.

When Tommy realizes he’s falling in love, it makes him sick to his stomach. He remembers loving his dad enough to excuse his anger, loving his mom enough to let her slip away, loving a country enough to enact its violence, loving the sense of belonging at the 118 enough to allow the kindest people he’s ever met to suffer. Tommy doesn’t love right. He can’t let Evan get tired of him and leave. He can’t poison Evan until he turns into something cruel. So Tommy breaks up with him. Evan asks him to move in, and he can feel the iron jaws of a bear trap closing around his throat, so he breaks up with him.

Tommy doesn’t realize until later that he already asked for Thanksgiving off.

(Thanksgiving came up between them for the first time when Evan asked if he wanted to do their own thing or go over to the grand 118 Thanksgiving Feast.

“I don’t know,” Evan has shrugged, “I mean, I want to spend it with you. I don’t want to pressure you into a big thing if you don’t want to, or if—if you’re used to smaller Thanksgivings. What does your family do for Thanksgiving?”

“Um,” Tommy had said, a little caught off-guard like he was every time they brushed up against the topic of family, “We didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving. I usually just get a box of Stovetop stuffing and a can of cranberry sauce and call it a day.”

Evan had scoffed, mock-offended. “Well! In that case, we’re going. Mark your calendar. You’re going to cream your pants when you try Bobby’s turkey.”

Tommy had smiled and thought maybe. Maybe this will be the year.)

Tommy sighs and opens the box of Stovetop stuffing. His water and butter are already boiling, so he pours the mix in and watches it saturate. He stirs it and takes it off the heat to sit. A strange, painful sadness claws at the inside of his throat. It hurts. It hurts worse than it usually does.

He doesn’t think about Evan and Bobby’s allegedly orgasm-worthy turkey and Howie introducing Tommy to Jee-yun and how close they had all seemed at the hospital for Denny. He walks over to the mantle above his fireplace, with a small, framed pawprint inside, and Teddy 2021 written underneath.

Five minutes passes slowly without anyone to distract him. Tommy tries and fails not to think about every holiday he’s spent alone, or wishing he was alone. This is the first holiday he’s wished for someone in particular who wasn’t his mom or Teddy.

Tommy eats stuffing and canned cranberry sauce at his kitchen table. Somewhere, Evan is in a house warm with love. Somewhere, Evan is loved, wholly and unconditionally. Tommy’s glad people love him. He deserves to be loved.

Tommy doesn’t like watching football on Thanksgiving, so instead he puts on Mean Girls. After his stomach settles, he’s too tired to do anything but crawl into bed and sleep until his shift in the morning.

When Tommy gets to work, he’s surprised when Lucy says, “Delivery for you in the fridge, Kinard, you better eat it before I can get my hands on it.”

Inside the fridge is a glass Tupperware container wrapped in a plastic Chinese takeout bag. There’s a sticky note attached to it that says Bobby’s turkey is even better the next day.

Tommy texts Evan and asks about it. Evan doesn’t say anything back.

But he does get a text from Howie, and the timing is too quick to be coincidence. When you’re reheating it, remember to put half a teaspoon of water in the dish so it doesn’t dry everything out in the microwave.

#bucktommy #tevan #kinley #kinkley

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livingsurreal · 2 days ago

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More thoughts and theories about our favorite Necromancer

My darlings, I have too many thoughts and my obsession is running wild. (How I missed you, hyperfocus). If you have read my last meta post about our Emmrich, here it is: First Meta Post

That is not a required read however. I am still wondering why anyone is reading my word vomit U_U

Anyway, I love reading other peoples theories, so please, send me yours. <3 And a lot of thanks and love for all you darlings who make this fandom such a beautiful and nice place. Especially to @jaal-ama-daravv - who makes the most beautiful videos, and writes such wonderful character studies.

Warning, from here on there will be spoilers as well as mentions of sex. If you don't want to read about any of that, do not read the rest.

Also pictures and way too many words. This is a ten page word document, save yourself while you can. I tend to go off on a tangent once I start writing. I am also well aware that not everyone will agree. This is just my personal read on Emmrich.

Now, after my first essay I have some more thoughts on Emmrich and Rook and specifically their intimate relationship.

Emmrich is such an interesting and baffling contradiction. On the one hand he is confident, self-assured, all manners and poise. He is smart, and he knows it. He has special gifts, and he knows it. He is confident without being proud. He likes to teach others without being arrogant. He still likes to learn about new things and is, as far as I’ve seen, never judgmental about different beliefs and ways of life. (Unless someone treats him with disdain or bully him)

He is a man who is confident speaking of his thoughts and feelings and fears. How he just casually drops his thanatophobia is just astonishing. He is honest and open-minded in the best ways.

And then there is the other side of him. The wet kitten side of him. As open and honest as he is about his emotions, when we get to the meat of it, to the scary bit, the real feely bit, he locks up completely. As long as it is surface level (or he can pretend its surface level), everything is up for discussion. But once we reach deeper and touch *love* he gets so scared and refuses to admit and commit to his feelings. And as much *death* scares him, love scares him more.

So how does that influence his intimate relationship with Rook?

According to the banter with Lace “everyone knows about it”. He was rather surprised by that.

That tells us two things:

They were trying to be sneaky or at least keep their private business private.

They failed, massively.

Add to that Laces comment about them moving rather fast (when, where? I would have loved to have seen that. Comments like that just give me the feeling that we should have had some more cutscenes after the dinner date, to show us those two besotted fools).

But back to them moving rather fast. I would guess that they both did a lot of gazing lovingly at each other, blushing, spacing out while watching their darling, stollen kisses in the hallway when they thought no one was watching, stuff like that. Just being to besotted fools.

But moving fast usually includes sex. Lots of needy, sweaty sex. The inability to keep their hands of each other.

That moves us to the question of the day – did they have sex before their coffin time?

Let’s look at what we know about Emmrich. Emmrich is no virgin. That man has experience. He had past lovers. But what he tells us at that sweet diner date – “nothing serious for years.” We know not much else besides his crush on a boy in his youth and his fling with the Orlesian Art Lady. He is not someone to kiss and tell and that is appreciated. That man has class, and we love him for it.

So - nothing SERIOUS for years. If he hadn’t had ANY relationships in the past years, he would have said so. But what he says is that he did, in fact, have UNSERIOUS relationships in the last few years.

I would read that to be somewhere along the “fwb, lovers, affairs, paramours, companions, a fling, a little romance” line. Something not purely, but mainly physically driven. Someone you like and respect, you can go out and have a good time with, have lots of amazing sex with (b/c he is a living being and has his needs). Spending time with people he liked, was sexually attracted too, but nothing as serious as love. A physical relationship. A little thrill, some fluttering, but never that deep.

Not to say that those situationships would not have been romantic. He is (buried under all that resignation) a deeply romantic man. I am pretty sure he went on nice romantic dates with his previous paramours too. That this is something he just enjoys too much. Treating a companion with some quality time, not just in, but also out of the bedroom.

But after he’d given up on his dreams, he did not have any notion of those flings being more than a “enjoy the moment”. There was never the expectation of deeper feelings, beyond friendship, attraction and/or respect. All those romantic gestures were nothing more than a little bit of “play pretend”. To give himself the illusion of true romance, just for a little time.

Take the fact that you can go a “everything you do is creepy but I still flirt with you and I want you to throw me over that tombstone” and his comment on “the attraction of the forbidden”? This is not a relationship born of mutual respect and deeper feelings but out of purely physical attraction. And he is OK with that.

I want to repeat – Emmrich is very much okay with a casual, sexual affair. He does not require love to have a relationship with someone.

And then think about that Johanna calls Rook specifically his “paramour”. Which is a lover, especially an illicit one. This word was very specifically chosen by Johanna. For various reasons, I would think.

For one, I do believe that it is a dig at his dreams of the eternal flame. It’s a dig at him, that Rook is not his love, but his paramour. A lover for a time. To be parted from soon enough. B/c that silly dream of his, as if it ever would become reality.

Second, I think it is a comment on the way his relationships often went, especially in the past years. Those unserious flings of his. Never to amount to anything substantial.

Did he try to have something serious in the past? Oh yes, for sure. But it never worked out. Then he gave up his dream and just let himself have a good time with people he found to be nice and attractive.

To pick up my point of self-sabotage from my last meta post – I’ve come to a point where I believe Emmrich is a kind of chaser. I know someone like that and it’s so fucking tragic.

Emmrich feels deeply and strongly. When he falls in love with someone it’s a lot of emotion. But at that point it’s all dream, want, wish. As soon as someone returns these feelings - those dreams, wants and wishes become reality. And reality is scary. In this wishful dream about the eternal flame, there is no fear. No fights. No loss. But that is not reality. As soon as it becomes reality, he gets scared. Before, his feelings were no threat, because you can’t lose what you don’t have. Once those feelings are returned, there is a clear possibility of losing, of being lost, of being left behind.

Emmrich is not a chaser because he enjoys the hunt. He is a chaser because being loved by someone is scary. So damn scary. So, he starts to pick fights and is looking for excuses. From being the chaser, he becomes the chased. He is hunted by his fears, and his fight or flight instincts go all flight.

After years of this cycle he gives up. Resigns himself to flings and little romances without even thinking of more. Or so he thinks. Dreams like that don’t die, they just get buried.

And I’d think that there was not many, even of those short term flings, lately. His life revolves around work and Manfred.

Now remember he comments on Rook “showing unexpected interest in a new companion”.

First of all – unexpected.

They are a daring adventurer. He thinks of himself clearly as the more boring one, compared to Rook. He never expected any of those flirts. But he is clearly flattered.

Second – companion.

That was such a weird way of saying “hey do you like me?”. This whole “companion” thing does not scream “I have FEELZ for you/you have FEELZ for me” but rather, “I think you might want to spend some quality time with me”.

The possible answers - dashing good looks, kindness, his way of words.

He feels he is fortunate if Rook thinks him good looking. Hallo, Mr. Professor, sir… Have you looked in the mirror lately? Consider that he is meticulously grooming himself, takes his exercises daily in the morning. That man does not like himself aging. I think it is a reminder of how his pending death is a step closer every day. But it shows, to him, that his efforts of taking care of himself are not in vain. Or maybe it shows him that his age does not matter. Rook finds him attractive despite (or because) of his physical age.

Rooks comment on his very charming way of putting things makes him hope his years behind the lectern have proved useful. Hey *years* behind the lectern. Again, this is a way of saying his age is NOT a problem but a benefit.

If Rook remarks his kindness, he answers “you humble me”. It’s the one answer that does not touch his age/experience/looks. It’s a remark on an innate character trait he possesses. Kindness. His whole demeanor in this option shows he is actually touched. And maybe a bit baffled. He did not expect this, at all. Its like he sees his kindness not as an attractive trait. Which he should. He is nice without TM and its sexy as hell.

The next part is his statement “If your attentions go beyond charming flattery… that would interest me, indeed”. This reads to me not necessarily as “do you have feelings for me” but as “do you just enjoy the flirting, or do you want to do more than flirting?”

And oh boy, does he want to do more than flirting. I want to repeat my earlier statement – this man has given up on love. But some little fling with an exiting young adventure who was constantly, awkwardly flirting with him? Hell, yeah.

(I want to remind you that we were able to have mutually enjoyed flirts with Dorian as fem!Inky. You can flirt with someone and still never want to fuck them. And you are also perfectly able to want more than flirting without having deeper feelings. Like sweet, dump Shepaloo said it so eloquently “Lets bang, okay?”)

Again, I want to pick up a point of my last post, that this is all surface level thoughts. I do believe that their emotional attraction and depth of feelings go deeper, from the start. But how often does it take quite a bit of time to realize one’s own feelings. Especially this wonderful, silly man whose modus operandi is running away.

Now, an interested Rook can answer in an open “lets see where this goes” way. Mirroring his rather open idea of a little romance, a fling, some quality time. Something that does not have to end in an eternal flame, but a simple enjoyment and exploration of the moment.

Rook can also reply with a “I think they do.” – What Rook actually says is “I think they already…”

And conveniently Rooks answer here is cut short by our sweet boy Manfred. They get cut short, no matter what answer you choose, but in this specific case, I am convinced this was very much on purpose. What would the whole sentence have been?

“I think they already go way beyond flattery.” (?!?) Something along those lines. But that goes into danger zone. WAY into danger zone.

If Rook had finished that sentence, at that point in their budding romance? It would have been over before is all started. Too much, too soon. Too much for him, period.

Now we have the hard lock – their sweet romantic moment in the Memorial Gardens. And he is smitten. He fell hook, line, and sinker for his own play pretend. Just a little romance, but that man is falling, fast. (Not that he would admit that to himself).

A beautiful date, all arranged by Emmrich, to spend time with Rook. Because a couple should have a quite moment to get to know each other. I mean there were menu cards with gilded edges, ffs. And, oh yes, they were “lets dig into the feelings”, he said couple. He is falling, falling, falling fast. But it still hasn’t hit him, how deep he has fallen for his darling Rook. Poor Emmrich.

Then a fight, where we really see the wet kitten side of him for the first time. A little wet, feral kitten, hissing at the hand that’s trying to feed it.

Emmrich is lashing out for no good reason (or no good reason for anyone but himself). There is no real confidence there but a desperate act of pretending. An iron (slipping) grip, trying to control himself and the narrative. Shoulders squared, back straight, an arrogant stance, raised chin, turned half-away from Rook, and a condescending way of talking to Rook.

Like I said in my last post – he is working his way up to breaking up with them. And he tells himself it’s like ripping off a bandaid. Be strong and confident and say what you have to say, and they will see the wisdom of that.

It’s only that, they don’t. Because there IS NO wisdom in what he is doing right now. They don’t take his bullshit but throw it back at him. They don’t accept his mock excuses.

Look at him here, how he looks down ON them. I can’t recall any other time he looks down on Rook, despite him being a tall king.

Especially the route where Rook throws it in his face that he DOES in fact love them. Speak what he can’t even think.

“I can’t… At my…”

“I can’t love you. At my age…” Why not? Does he not deserve love, just because he is a bit older? It’s just heartbreaking how he views himself.

And again, he lashes out.

“I am perfectly serious.” So is Rook.

“One of us has to pay attention to these things.” As if Rook is not paying attention. They got to the meat and bones of his problem in just a few seconds.

No matter what route you go here, the gist is the same. He is scared shitless, treats Rook like a child, and goes on how the is the only one thinking the important thoughts.

When Rook in reality way ahead of him. They thought about it and came to the conclusion that being with Emmrich is a really good idea.

Rook knew they were falling for someone older than them. (Even if that age difference is just a decade, with a mid-40s Rook.) They knew it, and still went with it. They are not a child who is too inexperienced and stupid to make decisions about their (love) life.

But now, here, at this moment? Emmrich treats them with disdain. Like a silly little person, who does not think things through. He holds himself above them. Physically and mentally. They are too young, he knows better.

And not once has he done that before. He always treated them as an equal. He follows them into the most dangerous situations ffs. He trusts them with his life in a fight against would-be gods.

All that fear and anger at himself that reaches a new high get redirected at Rook.

The next day they are off to Tearstone Island. That night must have been hell. For both of them. But its going to get much much worse.

In any case, Emmrich seems to have come to some conclusion or realization, because on that island? He apologizes.

They both did react very emotionally, but he came at Rook with superiority and, to a certain degree, dishonesty. All fueled by his fear. So that he is the one to take the first step and apologize to Rook instead of doubling down? An important step. As I said in my last post – he NEEDED to be called out. A sweet and nice counterargument would not have had the impact Rooks raw an honest emotion hat on him.

Emmrich “Rook? Darling? I wanted to say-“

Rook “Yeah, about that argument…”

Emmrich “(Sighs) It’s no time to apologize, is it?”

And here we have the most heartbreaking line, in hindsight. “We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.”

(Narrator: but they would, in fact, not talk about it back home. Because someone would not go home.)

One fight and weeks of horror later, they find themselves in a private crypt and finally they do more than share a kiss.

Now - to the point I originally wanted to explore with this post – is this in fact their first time? (I am sorry, but my brain is a circle and nothing makes sense)

Let’s look at what evidence we have from the cut-scene.

Rook did not know he is an early riser.

That leaves two possibilities:

They never had sex up until that point.

They did have sex, but never spent the night together.

Now what does that mean?

This depends a lot on your personal Rook and how they feel about sex in general. If Rook wants to wait, or is not ready, he will absolutely accept and respect that.

But for the sake of this analysis lets go with the idea that Rook is not opposed to sex at an earlier date.

They never slept with each other

Why? He clearly was not opposed to casual relationships in the past. What would hold him back now? Especially if you recall Laces comment about them moving fast. Why not jump into the bedroom?

Now my first crack theory is that they get interrupted, like every time. (Rook interrupted The Dread Wolf, and now he cursed them to always be interrupted when they want to have some private time)

But now, in all seriousness, maybe it’s just that part of him DOES realize that this goes beyond a very unserious relationship. That they both have deeper feelings, that spark of something greater, something beautiful.

So, he holds back. He does not give his all. He is charming, he is flirty, he takes Rook on dates. But it’s all very technical. Very performative. Yes, he is a very romantic man, yes he enjoys those moments. But there is always a feeling of control.

Those moments when you see him let go a bit (that kiss beneath the eternal lovers, “I think, sometimes you indulge me”), are so beautiful and you glimpse a bit of the man behind those walls.

He has a tell, you see. (I am telling you about it further down)

But generally, he feels very much in control of himself. And to lie with Rook? To go all the way? Too dangerous. Who knows what happens in that sweet moment after la petit mort? What secrets would his lips spill?

2. They slept together, but did not spent the night together.

They do have sex, but sleep alone in their own beds. Casual sex is fine, but to fall asleep in each other’s arms? Too much. Too real. Sex okay, but sleepy post coitus cuddly? Woah, slow down your horses.

So, they have sex, preferably in Rooks bed. First, does he even have a bed? Second, it’s way easier to leave Rooks bed after the act, than throwing them out afterwards.

Oh, and how many reasons he has. Rook needs their uninterrupted sleep; they are stressed and must have proper rest. He wants to get some reading done before he retires. He needs to look after Manfred.

Oh, he is a bad liar, for sure. He is lying more to himself than to Rook. I would think that (if this is the build up to their fight) Rook realizes that he is giving poor excuses.

And the sex itself? A technical 10/10. He knows his anatomy, after all. But his heart is not really in it. He can’t allow himself to. He holds back, keeps a tight lid on his emotions. They both are well spent afterwards, but like so much else, it’s performative. Technically very well executed, but rarely do you see HIM, the real him, behind all that performance. Whenever something slips through, he reels back and closes up.

And then we are in that crypt. Rook was gone for weeks. The last thing they said that night before were words of anger. Rook called him out on his feelings and from that point on there was no possible way of lying to himself anymore. Those feelings were there. They were real. Rooks feelings were real. And those weeks spent in desperation, trying to get them back? Those walls came crashing down.

His true face, when all the walls are gone? You see that face when Rook leads him to the coffin. There is no pretense anymore. No performance. Just him, and all his love for Rook. The amount of emotion the animation team packed into those short moments in the cutscene? Mindblowing. Who ever crafted that expression on his face? They are the GOAT. I watch this part of that scene on repeat, and it never gets old.

So, I told you about how he has a tell, yes? Okay, two actually, but we all know surprised pikachu Emmrich. In that last scene it is resolved in the most beautiful way.

He looks down, when something touches him deeply, when he goes into his feels.

A few (way to many) examples:

And the worst wet kitten look? After the fight, when Rook leaves.

Its a look of shame. Of hurt. This man is hurting so badly.

Now here at the end we have that moment when Rook leads him to the coffin. His face turns down, like before. But here he looks up at Rook. He does not turn his eyes away but looks directly at them. Ahhh my heart.

Now, think about the fact that ROOK is leading in that moment?

In those moments where Rook leads or startles him (or is simply annoying enough so that the truth slips out), you see the most emotion from him.

Rooks flirting startles him, and he has a pikachu face reaction every time.

Their first kiss? Rook leans against the monument, and leans up, telling him without words that NOW is the time for a kiss. How can he not go for a second kiss?

That moment when Rook calls Manfred “our son”? He very conveniently ignores the word “OUR” and goes in defense mode over the word “son”. But called out on his feelings for Manfred? How can he deny them? He has tears in his voice when he says how he would not exchange this moment for anything? A real, deep emotion.

In their fight Emmrich is again all technical, all performance, so logical (or what he sells himself as logic). But Rook wrestles that moment from him and takes lead, calls him out on his bullshit.

In the crypt Rook pulls him up into a kiss and then leads him to the coffin, guiding him, taking him with them.

Most of the other times he takes the lead, very much in control. But the most emotions you get from him, are those times Rooks leads, when he lets go of this tight control over himself, or he is startled in to a reaction. For all the age difference that is played up in their relationship, in the important moments Rook is the one who guides. And he follows where they lead.

Those little moans he makes? If they did have sex before, I bet he did not make those sounds then. Where they did have some incredible sex, now they are making love. Open, vulnerable. He gives in.

And then they fall asleep together. Skin to skin, arms and legs intertwined. Their hands caressing, no sound but that of their heartbeats and soft breaths. Pure and utter contentment. In that moment nothing exists but them. Can you imagine that moment he woke up? The amount of emotions he must have felt then? This need to speak those little words? Those huge little words. He does not say them, not yet. But he is almost ready.

Finally, they stand there, on the battlefield of Elgar’nans madness. And he tells Rook. The last wall falls. Gives the most precious thing he can give to anyone.

“I love you.”

#emmrich #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrook #emmrich meta post #meta post #character study #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #da #datv #dav

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tossawary · 23 hours ago

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I revised one of my older fics and, in doing so, pushed my "Scum Villain Stories" series over 1,500,000 words! That's the series that is just SVSSS fics, 28 of them now, no art collections or other fandoms.

It's been a little over 4 years now since starting, and it's funny to think that about 500,000 words of that was the first year, mostly PINTWILF. I had a lot more free time and drive then, I think! It's also funny to look back to when SVSSS was a more obscure series, with neither a donghua nor an official English translation, and I genuinely had no idea whether or not anyone would read a story mostly focused on a minor character within those less popular books and his friendship with an OC.

I do wonder sometimes how I've influenced fandom! I don't think that I have a Word of God Big Name Fan setup (I hope not, that sounds terrifying, I do not want to be on a pedestal), but after I've written so much that has been relatively popular, I don't think it's unreasonable to wonder how my personal interpretations and/or specific choices for certain AUs have helped (helped!!! not alone by any means!!!) to shape various fanon perceptions over the years, for better or worse. I've had a few people tell me that they've read SVSSS because of my fics, which is cool, or that they've read my fics but not SVSSS, which is also cool, though I hope any potential fic authors do check out the original books rather than rely solely on my characterizations in particular AUs.

When I first started writing for SVSSS, a lot of Shang Qinghua additional tags such as "Shang Qinghua centric" or "POV Shang Qinghua" didn't really officially exist yet, so I guess I feel part of an early wave of SQH-focused fics (there were others! Lots of them before me! It was not just me!) and that's neat. It's cool to think that I had so much fun playing in a sandbox that I might have convinced other people to climb in to have their own fun.

It's fun to see fandom posts like: "Finding an story you like and then discovering the author has a bunch of other fics just like it is like finding the Holy Grail." I kind of get to go: "Hey, that's me for some people! 😄♥️"

#tossawary svsss #tossawary updates #it was “horns” that was revised -> it's “crowns” now and about 6k words longer

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occamstfs · 21 hours ago

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Talismen: Beginnings

Nicky emerges with an arcane artifact after a bewildering trip through an impossible shop. In wishing his boyfriend was more confident in himself Nicky performs irrevocable and accidental magic upon the world, building his new form and dulling his mind.

And I'm back! Here's the first story of my planned CYOA series, a little long but I love how it turned out! I'll be posting the poll for Part two on Sunday, the 1st of December, the planned options are at the end of the story and it'll only last a day so if you want to take part be on the lookout! At any rate, hope you enjoy and happy to write for you once more! -Occam

It was barbarian weekend at the renaissance festival. Nicky was dressed as a wizard and his boyfriend, Simon, had long planned to go on theme and dress as a barbarian. Though as the day neared and Simon anxiously stared at his decidedly standard figure in the mirror, he instead opted to just throw on a cloak and call it a day. Arriving at the fair the pair, as expected of the theme, find themselves surrounded by burly men clad in kilts with faux fur draped atop chests beyond impressive.

Gawking at hot men is of course par for the course of this kinda event but Nicky can’t help but read the shame and embarrassment creeping into Simon’s expression as he takes in the festivities. When they eventually step into a tavern for a breather Nicky checks in, “Heyyy babe? Everything good? Seem kinda down-” Simon shakes his head and forces a smile, “Don’t worry about me B, I’m aces!” He tosses a wink out for good measure before pointedly changing the topic, “So what was it you said you’re looking to grab this year?”

Nicky narrows his eyes for half a moment wondering if he should push or challenge his clearly sulking boyfriend before deciding to let the sleeping dog lie for now, “Mmmm, I don’t know actually? Probably just an accessory for the costume? Oh! Or maybe some dice?” Simon’s expression changes into a more genuine smile as he grabs at Nicky’s arm and massages it, “Well here’s an idea. We’re right by the dice shop yeah? Howsabout we split up. I’ll grab us some beers and you go check out the offerings. Meet back here?”

Wordlessly agreeing, Nicky leans in for a kiss and relaxes at Simon seemingly perking up. Heading off with a nod, Nicky exits the tavern, preventing him from seeing his boyfriend’s facade fade once more as he contemplates getting a drink or two ahead of his partner before his return from the shops.

Under the impression that Simon has cheered back up, Nick is off to the races. Dice shop just across the way he begins his short trek when suddenly there’s a buzzing in the back of his mind. The sounds of the crowd around him eerily fade as if his ears are waterlogged, he shakes his head from the sudden discomfort and takes a moment to see if anyone else seems to be affected. Before he’s able to inspect his fellow festival-goers he is shocked to see a strange shop he’s never seen before.

Nestled in between a printing press and some soap store Nicky furrows his brow and wonders how he’s possibly missed the shop before now. He’s been coming for years and knows the layout of the festival like the back of his hand. After waiting a few seconds to see if anyone else is entering he takes a cautious step forward and trips as his body tries to take another without his intent. Nicky blushes as he bumps into a brawny barbarian who laughs him off and ruffles his hair, “Watch where yer -urp goin dude huhuh!” Nicky nods an apology and reflexively takes another backwards step towards the apparently new shop. In a sudden need for an expedited retreat from embarrassment, Nicky quickly rushes towards the door and away from the man bumped who eyes him taking a large swig from a tankard.

He hasn’t the chance to notice that each step towards the shop that should not be there is quicker than the one that came before. In no time at all he tears open the door and is inside the quaint cluttered shop. While his eyes adjust from the bright fall day behind him, he takes in the scene as well as he can. The small space is filled with some bitter herbal scent and the air seems to crackle with something similar to static. Nicky of course attributes the strange prickle on his skin to nerves and continues browsing the curious shop.

There’s no real discernible theme to the shop, really it seems to be more of an antique store than anything else. In any normal situation Nicky would have already dipped back out, but something in the back of his mind keeps pulling him in deeper. Walking past strange dolls and stranger bottled liquids, the almost ticklish sensation continues to assail him with unconscious step forward. His spacial awareness tells him he has wandered further than should be possible but it’s almost as if he has no option to continue forward. Coming up on a curtained doorway Nicky’s hands move as if possessed to part the blinds and his eyes finally lay upon what supernatural, impossible thing must be drawing him inward.

It would be the perfect accessory for his costume. It would be the perfect accessory to put on and never take off again. It will be perfect. It will be his. He needs it more than anything. His eyes shine with the ruby tinges reflecting off the talisman as he inches towards the pedestal it lies upon. His hand reaches towards the object of his desires and burns as the prickling sensation comes to a head. He grimaces as it turns to an almost boiling heat before his fingers touch it and the impossibly intense sensation instantly disappears. Nicky jumps due to the sudden almost atmospheric change and before recovering he almost has a heart attack as who must be the shopkeep shouts from behind him, “HELLO HELLO YOUNG NICHOLAS!”

Nicky scrambles to hide behind the pedestal and inspect the mystery man, his vision momentarily tinged scarlet. As the twinges of whatever static sensation filled him moments ago begin to fade totally, he finds himself suddenly able to realize how strange everything about this is. He gulps as he sees a man dressed as a campy wizard adjusting his glasses, “Well it seems you found what you were looking for eh old sport?” Nicky looks down at the still shimmering necklace in his hands, stuttering incoherently as his mind races to understand.

In the half second his eyes were off the wizardly shopkeep, the man has crept up behind once more. Now throwing an arm around Nicky he helps him to his feet and begins leading away from the curtained room, “Hup hup- Now you must be very careful with your words now young Nicholas. Do tell Simon I said hello hm?” Nicky again looks at the necklace in hand and, hanging to the rational world by a thread, inquires, “P- Pay? Did I pay for this?” The wizardly man laughs and pats him on the back, “Oh don’t you worry ah ha ha! Hah.” The wizardly man winks, though even doing so there is an after image of a red eye staring into and through Nicky. The younger man opens his mouth to question the clearly mystic magus of the artifact and his intentions though before he gets a chance the wizard shouts.

“Do have fun at the festival my boy!” with that he brusquely pushes Nicky forward and he finds himself outdoors by a printing press and soap shop. Fearful of turning around to see there is no store there Nicky looks down to find himself wearing the talisman. Grabbing at it he finds the same sensation that filled him minutes ago, though muted. Pleasant. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he is again bumped into, this time by someone whose vision is clearly obscured by a mask, “Sho- Shorry!” Nicky sighs and apologizes, though the physical sensation and awkwardness brings him back to reality. Shaking off anxiety and pushing down whatever it is just happened he heads off to meet his boyfriend at the tavern.

Returning to find Simon housing his third ale, Nicky quickly downs his own to distract from the strange anxiety that remains persuasive in spite of their reunion. Wishing for distraction, it comes swiftly and in short order the pair are out and about enjoying all the festivities that the faire has to offer, various sloppy meats on a stick, bird shows and jesters, and a firework show to cap it all off. The day soars by in short order and Nicky, wanting to forget about his encounter in that place that wasn't, does just that with shocking, almost supernatural, ease. In fact anything Nicky seems to desire almost falls at his feet. With but an imperceptible red shine in his eyes Nicky finds himself wanting for nothing. The same could not be said for his boyfriend.

After sobering up, his dour jealousy for the superior male form returns and as much as Simon tries to hide it from Nicky, the long day has dulled his ability to disguise anything from his boyfriend. On the long walk back to the car Nicky initially avoids bringing it up, but after an eventful day of getting just about everything he desires, he can’t help but try and get to the root of Simon’s sour attitude. “Can you just tell me what’s up babe?” Groaning as he unlocks the car door the weary man answers, “It’s nothing Nick. I’m just- UGH! I wish I wasn’t so self-concious or had actually gone to the gym or-” turning to see Nicky’s puppy dog eyes for not realzing his discomfort Simon groans and apologies, “Don’t worry it’s fine, I um, I had fun!”

Mind flashing back to the barbarian costume that Simon ultimately decided not to wear, love for his boyfriend overwhelms him and he reaches out to hold his lover’s free hand. Hidden underneath his own cloak, Nicky’s talisman flashes red as the sticky staticky sensation returns stronger than it had been even in the shop. He doesn’t whisper or even coherently think the words as he immediately drifts off to sleep in the passenger seat, but the intention is more than enough for the die to be cast. I wish Nicky had more confidence. I wish he was less self-conscious. I wish he was proud of his body.

Subconscious wish made Nicky’s ruby red eyes remain closed as he falls into an incredibly deep sleep, leaving Simon alone with his thoughts. He squirms slightly behind the wheel as he suddenly feels warm. Mind too muddled to wallow he feels every inch of his body suddenly buzzing with energy, as if an espresso was being dripped into his veins. Looking at his sleeping boyfriend his thoughts shift immediately from self-criticism and body dysmorphia to a lustful, almost primal hunger for his mate. Nicky’s hand still burning hot on his own despite the blaring aircon, he fights the urge to bring the sleeping man’s hand to his cock as it begins to stir.

Before they’ve even left the parking lot Simon is overwhelmed with a lust for his partner stronger than anything he has felt in some time. Hitting the open road he chews his lip to distract from his cock doing its best to pop the seam in his pants, constantly he’s choking down horny grunts and groans to prevent the sleeping Nicky from waking up. Arriving at their shared home, he struggles to gracefully exit the car with his rod standing firmer than he assumed it could. Eventually making it out, he goes to pick up his still sleepy passenger.

With a great deal of effort, Simon successfully stills his hips and quiets his lusts to pick up his sleeping suitor. Baring the urges of his body he realizes that the task is far easier than it should be, Nicky’s not heavy but- Any further inquisition is stilled as he reflexively takes a deep breath of his sleeping lover and is promptly overwhelmed. Nicky’s floral shampoo and deodorant mix with b.o. from an unseasonably warm day in the sun and Simon doesn’t have the strength to quiet the grunt that erupts from him as his cock throbs and prods Nicky in the back.

Eyes blearily open as the sleeping wizard stirs and stretches in the arms of his lover. “Wha? Si?” The self-conscious Simon, embarrassed at waking up his boyfriend quickly puts him down. He blushes as Nicky steadies himself on his arms, still yawning he chastises his boyfriend for letting him fall asleep, “You didn’t *ahwn* didn haf to do tha babe, *awh*” Rubbing his ruby-tinged eyes he can’t quite make out the finer details of his boyfriend, but he would swear he’s looking further up than he usually does to make eye contact. Simon waves him off, “It’s fine, I’m not even tired really.”

Leaning down to give him a hug, Simon angles his head into Nicky’s nape he takes another deep breath, this time not even trying to mute the groan that spills forth, “MMmhm, y’know now that you’re up the night’s still young…” Nicky tilts his head before understanding as Simon’s cock throbs once more into his abdomen, shaking off the sleep Nicky’s own package begins to stir as he leads his partner into their home, “Well now that you mention it~”

Nicky starts disrobing when Simon grabs his hand, some small amount of discomfort hiding in his expression as he asks, “Would you mind if I, um, topped? This time?” Nicky tilts his head before nodding cheerily, “feeling frisky huh?” Nicky performatively poses before seemingly doing some mental math and continuing, “it’s been a minute haha! Let me just hop in the shower real quick and then we’ll have some fun!”

Already feeling like he’s overstepping Simon doesn’t mention his desire for Nicky to not shower. Something feral need within him forces forward an urge to tackle and fuck then and there but he pushes such thoughts down and waits as patiently as he can. Preparing to bottom on such a short notice, Nicky quickly strips and his eyes land upon the talisman hanging from his neck once more. Pursing his lips he goes to take the necklace off, though as his fingers clasp the chain he shivers as it sends a sensitive pang searing through him. Why would he take it off. Feeling immediately more alert and needy, Nicky swiftly hops in the shower to prepare for some fun.

Outside the bathroom his boyfriend taps his foot anxiously, sending a deep, impatient echo through the room. Irritated at the sound he stands and quickly disrobes himself. After getting the cloak off, the room is filled with slight groans of effort as he struggles to get off his shirt. It’s almost stuck to his skin? Probably from sweat he thinks but each time he wrenches it up it only frees about an inch more room. His irritation prevents him from noticing how it decidedly hugs new weight on his chest or cuts into apparently thicker biceps.

The sound of the shirt straining fills the room and he grinds his teeth as the prospect of being stuck in the top any longer is unbearable. His hands stretch longer and strain shifts to tearing as he rips the tunic off with a grunt. Exposed to the open air is a sweaty body far more impressive than when the man struggled to get ready that morning. Looking at the torn shirt in his hand he blushes as his eyes trail up his forearms and stare at a bicep that’s begging to be flexed.

Stepping out wearing only a towel and his talisman, Nicky smiles as he stares at Simon appreciating his arms, “Couldn’t have waited for me to put on the show huh?” Simon turns to see his boyfriend drop the towel and he loses control. Any sign of intelligence in his eyes vacates as he manhandles the man onto the bed. For his part Nicky assumes this to be roleplay, almost giggling from delight as the typically meek man ragdolls him onto the bed. Drool leaks from Simon's maw as he grunts and groans, struggling to free the throbbing package still trapped in his shorts.

Being straddled, Nick takes the chance to carefully observe his boyfriend’s body, appreciating the view that he seldom gets. For the life of him he doesn’t understand why Si got so worked up, with arms like that and a chest- or? When did he start working out actually? Nicky frees a hand to touch the man’s powerful torso and Simon shivers, reflexively rutting into him as his cock growing even harder sends the sound of fabric straining through the room. He’s decidedly firmer, heavier. Nicky sees hair begin to grow on the man’s chest and his mind for half a second hears the echoing laughter of a man he wished to forget. Though there’s no time to think as Simon goes for the tried and true method of just ripping his clothes off.

Eyes wide with wonder, Nicky watches as biceps bulge larger with each tug, shoulder span expanding as his hands yank and tear. His mouth falls open as he sees a cock clearly larger than the one that he knows Simon to have. Gulping as he realizes he’s agreed to take this dick that stretches up to his sternum, Nicky blushes and Simon smirks as he leans down to snarl or whisper something in his lover’s ear.

Nicky feels pre dripping onto his chest as the larger man leans down, his arms land to either side of the man exposing pits dripping with sweat and just before he speaks or growls, the talisman flashes red. Eyes focused on each other neither man sees some shard of light go from the charm into Simon. His eyes roll back and close before he falls down onto Nicky. Immediately concerned for his love, Nicky struggles to shift the man off him and call for help before he hears Simon begin to snore. His body feels like a furnace atop Nicky’s, a cock still erect continues to throb into his stomach and gush pre in between the two of them. He feels patches of hairs thicker than Simon typically carries scratching him. Nicky tries to force the sleeping oaf off him before quickly tuckering himself out.

It was a long day after all. Nicky yawns as he sees the back of the man lying atop him. It’s not right, too wide, too heavy. His ass is not that large his- ughh. With another shove to wake or move Simon, Nicky feels weariness truly overtake him and his scarlet eyes flutter. The sleeping man moves his arms to hug Nicky tight and the seemingly smaller man has no recourse but to give way, his sides tickled by patches of pit hair dripping with sweat. Nick’s head tips forward a few times as he struggles to stay awake though the sound of his lover’s new snores lull him to sleep.

In the morning Nicky wakes to find himself free from Simon’s grasp, though the man’s sweat stains leave a clear outline around him on the bed and his torso remains sticky from pre. His head aches with a hangover though after the faintest wish that it end, so it does. Groaning he gets to his feet and heads off to shower once more, en route he finds a note from Si: “heyyy babe woke up w so much energy!!! gonna go for a run or to the gym idk :) c u soon thooooo<3” Nicky rubs sleep from his eyes and reads the short note a few times over, “hmmm. Weird.” Shrugging he goes about his day as usual, cleaning up, brewing coffee, doing the crossword. Something in the back of his mind says he usually does this with Simon, but that can’t be right? He’d never want to do that. His eye twitches as unbeknownst to him, with each step further away his love has truly begun to change from his unintentional intentions into a man who will never feel shame again.

Simon doesn’t know why he feels so compelled to get up and at ‘em. For years he has given himself ultimatums, scheduled gym sessions, dieted and done his best, but there has not been a moment in his life where he has felt more drive, more purpose than his flight from their shared bed. It’s like he’s a new man with nothing on his mind but getting some meat on his bones. He barely had the wherewithal to leave a note for his lover, as is clear by the lack of eloquence.

Nor is that the only aspect askew from Simon’s typical self. As his anxiety at being perceived shirtless may suggest, the man is always conscious of how he looks. Rarely does a day go by without Simon giving himself a painstaking once over in front of the mirror, be it applying makeup or designing an outfit. To simply throw on a tshirt and leave without even rinsing his face is anathema, and yet after doing just that and throwing on his boyfriend’s sneakers, finding his own far too tight, he’s out the door well before the sun begins to rise.

His feet fall heavy on the sidewalk as his shabby outfit soon enough finds itself straining. Grimacing at the constriction it becomes clear that these clothes are far too tight and getting tighter with each step it seems. Nevertheless he presses onward until there is stinging pain from his feet struggling against their binds. While he’s been content to ignore or misinterpret the sounds of his own tshirt beginning to fray, as well as the pain that such constriction entails, he doesn’t want to ruin Nicky’s shoes. And so scrambling for somewhere to sit down he hops on a bench and begins to struggle with the laces.

Simon’s toes struggle against frontal fabric while the shoes’ tongues press into laces that simply must be cutting into the tops of his feet. Simon’s mind is clearly slowing down as he takes a few seconds too long to simply watch his feet expand beyond containment before, with a gasp, pain jogs him into action. At first he goes to untie them before he’s unable to recall precisely how to do that. Immediately switching to the task already begun by his growing feet he reaches in and simply tears each shoe in two.

His arms bulge with the effort involved in splitting them in twain, biceps that never were begin to appear and push his short sleeves to their limit as new muscle presses onto his chest. Looking down at his hands, decidedly more masc, the man can do nothing but observe his new form as it begins to extol an untenable price on his mind. With each new manly aspect so too will the cogs of his mind continue to slow.

Looking at his boyfriend's shredded shoes, Simon is immediately guilty though he releases a contented sigh as his feet flex free from their confines. His newly one track mind is then thrown off-course and his eyes narrow at the feet bare on cold concrete. They were not simply chafing or something reasonable of the sort, they are too big. They’re larger than his shoes and seem to still be growing larger. And wait- Why did he leave the house without wearing socks!?

Simon shakes his head to try and focus on one question at a time, though before peace comes there is a searing pain from his legs as his changes continue upward. Calves burst from his bony legs while athletic shorts are clearly strained by thighs that any man would kill for. Thick, perhaps barbarous, curls begin to issue forth from any pore exposed as he clutches with his newly thicker hands into muscle still hardening, still pumping larger.

Grunting loudly, Simon falls off the bench as ever spreading changes spread towards his glutes. His pert ass hardens and grows to a size that would attract attention no matter what he wears to try and hide it under. His whole lower body cramps with growth as his legs extend, wider feet scratching into dirt as calves and thighs lengthen while his pulse continues to race from the shock of this impossible transformation. Struggling with the new weight of self, his rougher hands pressed into the ground his duller mind is unable to reconcile what is happening to him with reality. The sound of blood rushing through his ears mutes the world around him and at the slightest lapse he simply forgets.

“Why am I on my hands?” Through bleary eyes he stares at hands too wide, fingers longer and thicker. He trails upward and almost scoffs as he sees forearms and biceps not nearly as defined as they should be, after another moment mouth agog he guffaws as he presumes to have put one and one together, “Oh ahuhuh- I must be workin’ out here?” Licking his lips as he is filled with an otherworldly surge of energy, Simon gets started following one of the most common impulses that is to evermore make itself at home in his mind. He starts doing some push ups.

Immediately do his biceps burn with effort as they put on weight at an impossible rate. Simon grunts with the effort of taking the wheel and commanding his body to be more powerful. His heart pounds in his chest as, just like every piece of fabric before, his shirt quickly gives way outright to the progress of growth. To the strengthening of self. With each dip towards the earth his pecs come closer to touching the cold soil before bouncing as his powerful arms rocket him back upwards with precision.

Simon continues exercising until his arms burn as numb as his new, slower mind. Not only does muscle continue to pack on with every punch upwards, but his impressive form is just as quickly patterned with burgeoning body hair. Sweat drips down onto a chest rapidly peppered with curls and steams off a back which holds hair slowly rising from his lightly furred ass. Sweaty steam trails upwards from widening shoulders and bulky traps into the cold autumn air as heavy breath mists from behind gnashing teeth. Nowhere does the hair grow thicker than under his powerful arms as a jungle of hair grows outward from his pits and sends distinct trails of sweat down his trunk like biceps and across his hulking pecs.

Body hair and brawn are not the only decidedly improved aspects of the man either. Just as he continues to pack on muscle with each thrust upwards, so too is his crotch pulled closer to the ground with every descent. His briefs struggle against a package rapidly growing beyond any tenable containment. Balls bulge larger to supply his impressive form with the hormones required for the growth he demands of it, pubes cascading upward and outward as they strive to assert that Simon’s masculinity shall never be in question.

So too does his cock throb and push against the confines of his underwear enough to be plainly visible. Not only from growing erect as his heart races, but from expanding to be the most impressive rod either he or his lover have ever seen. With the slightest glance down to see his new cock, he smirks and shivers as he imagines topping Nicky with that beast.

This of course sends such a powerful surge of lust through him that the bulging cock immediately bursts free from the briefs outright, leaving him clad in nothing. His cock, now free, drips pre onto the earth as he continues working out a few moments longer in the buff, plain for anyone to see were the streets not thankfully empty. Guffawing to himself after thrusting his new cock into the ground a few times in the process of pushing up, Simon’s new bovine mind eventually realizes he’s fully nude and public and quickly stumbles to his feet. “Oh shit huhuh-” He stands and scratches the back of his head and tries to plan some form of escape, in the process he flexes his bicep and can’t help but smirk as he sees the veins bulging along its impressive length.

Feeling his still turgid cock bounce with every slight movement, he continues laughing before looking down to see shredded clothes scattered at his colossal feet. Seeing the pile of clothes outgrown, Simon does everything short of drooling as he for the first time takes in his new form. Massive hands trail across padded muscle as the urgency of covering his dick fades from his mind.

When his sweaty pecs begin to glimmer from the rising sun he is immediately thrown back into awareness of his active criminal behavior. Checking the coast is clear once more, he pauses for a moment wondering what the big deal is about public nudity before being chastised by some internal Nicky. Simon turns back to the bench and laughs dumbly as he sees his gym bag lying discarded.

Pouncing like an animal, he quickly tears into and retrieves shorts that will surely leave nothing to the imagination. Nevertheless he throws them on and grimaces as they tightly hug his ass and package. Seeing shirts thrown to the side he scratches his face and his face quivers as he feels stubble grace it for the first time. He purses his lips just to feel a moustache scratch his nose and absolutely disregards the idea that he needs a shirt. Why would he cover up anything beyond what is necessary. Surely the world would be more than grateful at the chance to see his form he asserts, bouncing his pecs and chuckling as he does so.

Finding himself with nothing to do besides appreciate how built he truly is now, Simon uses his phone as a mirror to inspect every angle and uses whatever sparing space in his mind to keep track of the best ones. The massive man shivers as the sweaty steam rising from him briefly glimmers red, making it clear that Nicky’s will has been enacted on his lover and announcing the fulfillment of his will. Nevermore will he be self-conscious, quite the opposite in fact. As morning commuters begin their grind many offer a passing glance to the by all accounts himbo drooling at his own reflection, and never does one escape without receiving a wink or flex from the man.

When a pair of jocks eye him with jealousy on the way to class he holds back laughter, the idea that not twenty-four hours ago he was just like them, smaller even, is inconceivable to the new man. Though to be fair, much now lies beyond the realm of conceivability for the man. He thinks about offering some tips to the pair though refrains as something needles him far, far in the back of his simple mind. There was something he was supposed to do yeah?

Furrowing his brow in as deep a concentration as he can muster, Simon’s eyes close and his hands clench at his head as he tries to think. Laundry? Huhuh as if- Meal prep? Then why would he be out here? Simon starts groaning in frustration and tapping his larger, still bare, foot on the sidewalk. Ephemeral ideas he might have latched onto in a life before this one drift past before he gives up and sits down, crossing his arms. The bench creaks under his new weight as he almost petulantly reclines, head back and eyes blank.

Suddenly he jolts up and almost hits himself for not doing the obvious straight away. Obviously Nicky’ll know what to do! His clumsy hands struggle to get his phone from the pocket of his shorts and he smiles at the lock screen, a picture of Nicky being smothered by his massive arms. Simon then squints and bites his tongue in concentration as now even this requires some degree of effort. Quickly enough he dials up his beau and almost vibrates from the excitement of hearing his voice.

Back at home Nicky is playing a game though squeezes the phone in his headset as he sees Simon calling, “Hey baby? What’s up, early start today huh?” Would that he had a tail to wag, Simon laughs and answers, “ha uhhh, yeah somethin’ like that- uhhhhh. Yo did you uh, know what I was plannin’ on doing this morning?” Nicky tilts his head, for a moment he swears something is off with his boyfriend’s voice. Then his eyes go blank and his vision flickers red before, no it’s always been like that? Nicky swears something about his long hours at the gym over the years made him drop a few octaves but that’s neither here nor there.

Nicky shakes off this small stupor, “Yeah Si, you said you were going to the gym no?” an eye twitches, “y’know, like usual?” Excitement once more sets fire in Simon’s veins as he nods and laughs at himself for forgetting such a simple routine, “Ahhh what would I do without you babe huhuh!” He kisses his cellphone and winks at a woman walking her dog who was giving him a side-eye. “Well you have fun dude! Gonna go get a MASSIVE pump in!” Nicky wryly grins and rolls his eyes, “you too, you too b, see you later-” With that he gets back to the game, intentionally ignoring the crimson buzzing at the back of his mind as both men set off to tackle the obstacles of the day, totally unaware of the lives they are to unintentionally change evermore.

Potentialities: (Poll on Sunday the First at 12 AM CST)

Gonna keep this one limited as a test run! If you have any suggestions or ideas for the next poll please shout! Happy to get real wacky with it if there’s an interest!

Nicky Routes:

Grow up you asshole: Getting flamed in game Nicky’s clapback teaches a gamer to be a real man (Bear/Dilf TF)

Man you always play him: Well intentioned words bring his gamer friend far closer in mind, body, and spirit to his favorite character- Fictional character TF (Would prompt another poll for sure, haven’t done one of these before but if there’s a demand we’ll see!)

Simon Routes: (More standard faire jock/himbo tfs)

Sorry for the backwash bro: Accidentally sharing a drink causes his himbofication to spread

Let’s get pumped: Simon finds work as a personal trainer and is far more effective than he has any right to be

#male tf #muscle tf #mental change #dumber #reality change #hair growth #jockification #male transformation #masculinization

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sinofwriting · 23 hours ago

Text

Present - Pierre Gasly

Words: 681 Summary: Pierre has some thoughts about her buying herself a necklace.

Masterlist | Support Me!

She claps her hands together as she looks at her phone. The device perfectly angled to capture her, the kitchen counter where an unopened box was, and Pierre who was lounging on the couch answering some emails.

“So, in honor of hitting two hundred and fifty thousand followers and my birthday happening in a few weeks, I decided to get myself a present.” Her eyes are alight with excitement and she bounces a bit, fingers itching to open the box. Meanwhile, Pierre’s head jerks up, eyes wide as he stares at his girlfriend.

“I was a little nervous about getting this.” She starts to say as her fingers open the box. “But y’know it’s like a combined gift for myself and I’ve been really good at not touching my savings for the past few months, so I didn’t feel too bad about dipping in.”

Pierre makes a strangled sound.

Lifting her present out of the box, she presents it to the camera before opening the box. “Isn't it gorgeous?” She moves it a bit closer before continuing to talk.

“This from Cartier, it’s the Galanterie de Cartier necklace, which is nearly thirty thousand dollars and this is only my second time seeing it in person and I’m just even more in love with it. I’ve been looking at this necklace for a few years now and while I love my pink Les Berlingots de Cartier necklace.” As she says it, she gestures to the necklace she’s currently wearing. “It was time to give it a nice little sibling in the Cartier family.”

“Mon bébé,” Pierre starts, finally able to speak. “You didn’t actually buy that did you?”

She turns to face him with a confused look. “Yeah, I did.”

“With your money?”

“Yeah, with my money.”

He covers his face for a second. “Baby, I leave my card for you all the time to get things for yourself. You should have used my card, it's what it’s meant for.”

“I didn’t need to, it was a gift for myself.”

“Your gift for yourself, is something I’m supposed to pay for.” He argues, nearly pouting. “I was also going to buy that for you for your birthday. I was planning on going to the store tomorrow.”

Her face softens at his admission. While her buying it had been a present to herself, she also knew it would rile her boyfriend up and she didn’t often share things like this with her fans as they were more there for her talking about books, but she had thought it’d be a fun little thing to film, to let his and her fans see.

“You knew I wanted this?”

“Of course, I do. You’ve shown me pictures before and talked about it. I know you also like the 1895 necklace that Cartier does, but not just any 1895 necklace, only the one from that collection. You want that birthstone bracelet from Tiffany’s and a large collection of collectors edition books when we finally have a house and you can have your own library and reading place. I know everything you want.”

Her heart melts at his words. Pierre was sweeter than most people gave him credit for and he often showed that side of himself to her, but she had no idea how much he paid attention to things she wanted.

“C’mere.” She murmurs, setting her necklace on the counter, arms outstretched.

He easily swings his body over the back of the couch and grabs at her hips as soon as she’s in arms reach before kissing her.

“Is this close enough for you?” He asks when they break away to breathe.

Her teeth find her bottom lip as she shakes her head slowly. “I think you can get closer.”

Pierre smirks at the response, capturing her lips in another kiss as he moves one of his legs between hers. “How about you stop recording for tiktok and we record something else?”

A laugh leaves her at his words, but she’s already reaching for her phone. “Only if I get to be on top.”

“Deal.”

#pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #sins fics

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ilikeyoshi · 2 days ago

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"#yes yes yes!!!! #and ngl it makes me want to read or engage with it more too!"

i hope it's ok to point out these tags bc this is SUCH a huge mood i think deserves a little more explanation!!!! (at least from my perspective as both a creator (writer) and fan (of artists))

i used to have a ton of anxiety when creating and especially sharing my works, and my impulse was always to talk down on it, because a) i* (*my anxiety) believed it to be bad, and b) because i had this idea in my head that if i lowered people's expectations, they wouldn't be as disappointed when reading it.

i want to tell you what i've learned in my years of both being a writer and being a fan of artists, and it's that this is a terrible, terrible anxiety fallacy (like so many ideas/misconceptions borne of anxiety are) that ONLY hurts you, your work, and your potential readers(/fans/etc). it SOUNDS like a good idea when you have really bad anxiety, i know, i used to DEPEND upon this idea just to have the courage to SHARE my writing—and i want to emphasize that it's OKAY if you've done this before, it's an easy, easy trap to fall into, but i also want you to try and stop doing it because there are a lot of reasons you would feel better and do better for doing so.

you are what you practice! if you only ever focus on or speak about the flaws in your art, you WILL feel negatively about your art. my very first therapist explained it in a way that still really resonates with me: you have created a well-beaten, highly trafficked "road" in your brain. it is very easy to take this road because even though it's longer to your destination, it winds and bends, it's walked on so much it's flat and easy to traverse. when you try to build a NEW path—in this case, a path where you focus on what you like about your art—you're starting with no path at all. it's all undergrowth and vines and thorns and it hurts and it's tiring and you feel like this will NEVER be easier or feel better than the old path. but you have to keep taking the new one. you have to beat down the undergrowth until it recedes, cut down the low-hanging branches until you can walk with your back straight, and if you keep at it, if you keep at this thing that feels so pointless and stupid and hard, eventually, the path will be clear, and easy to walk, and you'll make great time getting to your destination because it cuts straight through; no winding or bending. and the old path? it will overgrow, and it will become hard and stupid to take. you have to beat the new path because once it's beaten, it'll be the far superior path in every way, including ways the old path was never superior even when it WAS the one you were always taking.

further—as these tags point out, and as i agree with wholeheartedly—by disparaging your art, you DO lower people's expectations. people don't want to be sad, frustrated, disappointed when they look at art—at least, not unless the art itself is trying to tell a story about that. you get what i mean, i hope—they don't want to go INTO something they already HAVE negative reviews on—your reviews! you, the creator, have already told this person the story/art/whatever is going to be bad, and i know, i KNOW it's not your intention, you're hoping someone will see through what you can't and tell you no, no, this is good, i liked this! and some people do! but you make it a lot harder for them TO do that when you tell them right at the beginning, "this is going to be bad, i don't like it," because what you're unintentionally telling them is, "and you probably won't like it either." the first way i learned this was in people always saying in their fanfic summaries, before you even open the fic, "the summary is bad, i'm bad at writing summaries, the story is better trust me bro." because what this does—again, so unintentionally, i KNOW what you're trying to do because i've been you—is you're telling the reader, "here's my pitch, here's the hook to my entire story, it's the worst part, it's bad, but the rest will be better," and what they KNOW is they've already put the time in reading the summary, and it's hard to commit MORE time to something when you've already told them it's bad, even if you promise the rest is better. it's like biting into a fruit and you hate the taste of the skin; it's harder to try the rest of the fruit when, so far, it's been bad (or you've been made to believe it's bad).

so what's the solution? how do you begin beating that new path? well, it depends on you. everyone's a little different in how they navigate stuff like this. but what worked for me, and what might be a good place to start (and by all means adapt as you figure out what works and what doesn't), is start by just NOT saying anything negative. no, "i don't like this," or "the summary's bad, sorry," or anything. write your artist's comment, author's note, whatever as normal, and REMOVE anything that depicts your art/writing/etc in a bad light. just don't give people any opinion whatsoever on what experiencing your creation is going to be like. this, for me, was easier than jumping straight to, "i'm pretty proud of this," or "i enjoyed working on this," because it wasn't withholding AND replacing, it was JUST withholding. going back to the roads and paths metaphor, i think of this part as the "taking a breather before i get to work on this monumental task of beating this new path" stage.

then, overtime, i started "stretching" my positive comments about my works. if i liked, say, TWO LINES out of a whole piece of writing, i'd say, "i'm really proud of this work!" because i AM proud of ANYTHING AT ALL, NO MATTER HOW SMALL, within the work. it's not a LIE, to anyone including yourself, but it is, perhaps, an EXAGGERATION. that's OKAY. we're trying to teach our brain to look on the bright side, to take the new path, and i've found that treating it a little bit like a dog—giving it a treat for ANY TINY BIT OF PROGRESS, was a good way to encourage myself to start making MORE progress. ESPECIALLY because the tags i reposted above are RIGHT: LOTS of people are MORE interested in a work when their very first impression (YOUR impression!!!) is positive. 'the artist/writer/etc is proud of this? oh, i'm so glad they had a good time creating, let's take a look!" it probably sounds too easy if you're still taking that anxiety-beaten road, i know, but try to think of how you've felt when someone disparages their creations versus uplifts them. were you put off by the negativity? were you sad that your friend worked so hard on something and didn't even like it? conversely, doesn't it make you a little excited when an artist says they really feel good about something they made, especially in a world where so many artists ARE feeling inadequate? i hope you see what i mean.

it's not an overnight thing, of course, this took me YEARS. this took a miracle that doesn't happen to most people: i wrote something i felt SO TERRIFIED people wouldn't like, even though i was secretly very proud of it (but too scared to dare suggest i was proud of it), so i indicated all kinds of things like "i hope you like it, i dunno if it's any good, it's just a little thing i'm chipping away at in my spare time" (it was not, it was a full-blown passion project) and, against the odds, a LOT OF PEOPLE told me they really really really liked it. a couple of friends who were decently popular in the fandom it was for liked and shared it and i got A LOT of encouragement. i basically got to beat my new path with a HORDE of helpers, and it was more like THEY beat the path for me and i chased along like, "what is happening, oh my god, what are you doing???"

i got really lucky. that doesn't always, or even usually happen. in most other areas of my life, i've had to beat the path myself. and it takes a long time if you're doing it on your own. but you should anyway, because it's so fucking worth it dude. yeah, it was awesome to get so much help with my writing confidence specifically, but it's been just as worth it every time i've had to do it alone too. and i have good news! there ARE ways to tell people you're on this journey of making yourself a new path. here are some suggestions:

"i'm new/rusty at this, so please let me know what you think!" - informs potential readers/viewers/etc you are learning and gives them an opportunity to HELP you learn. this is a positive interaction! this allows people to find a GOOD experience EVEN if they didn't enjoy the story much, because they can help, and people DO, MOSTLY, like to help.

"i want to improve at [dialogue]" or "i'd appreciate advice on [lighting]." - similar to the first example, but does 2 things: gives viewers specific instructions that can be really helpful for those that aren't sure how/what to critique (surprisingly common thing; the more specific you are about what you want advice on, the more likely you are to GET advice), AND allows you to, neutrally and non-disparagingly, ask for help in areas you don't feel confident about.

"leave a comment if you liked it!" or "let me know what you liked best!" - listen. i don't think 'fishing for compliments' is bad as long as you're not being manipulative about it. these examples are very clear in what they're asking for, which is compliments, positive reviews, etc. and that's okay!!! first of all, lots of people LOVE praising works they like, i promise, and asking them to DOES make them feel like they have "permission" to (i know that sounds silly but i also know if you have anxiety about creating, you have anxiety about commenting, i see you, i was you). secondly, i have gotten the MOST encouraging, confidence-boosting comments this way, especially with the latter example. there is NOTHING more immediately anxiety-curing than a comment that says "i liked [scene/dialogue/character/etc] specifically." it's AMAZING. (also, if you're looking for advice on commenting, this is a GREAT thing to do. imo, this and "speculating/interpreting the work" are the two coolest comments i get they make me feel AWESOME.)

remind yourself, as many times as you have to, CONSTANTLY if you have to: likes/kudos mean someone enjoyed your work enough to press a button. views mean someone liked your work enough to click through for more. these are POSITIVE interactions, they are not "less positive" than comments or reblogs/reshares. i know those last two things are more obviously gratifying, and depending on if you NEED your work to spread (for exposure/commision prospects/etc), very good, awesome ways to support you, and i don't mean to say you shouldn't WANT comments and reblogs/reshares. but for me, it's helped me a lot to recognize that any bit of effort whatsoever means someone LIKED my work. it's also helped me to think of all the times i've shared a link to an artwork in a discord or something, and know that there is an entire, untangible metric i can't and will never see that, sure, i can choose to believe doesn't exist or isn't very high, but i can ALSO choose to believe it happens quite a lot, and the latter makes me FEEL better about my work and makes me want to create MORE, so i think that's the more productive mindset personally. it doesn't matter what the truth is, you know? we'll never know it and it doesn't harm us to never know it. but it DOES harm us to assume no one quietly, unseen by us, likes our work, and it DOES ENCOURAGE US to assume lots of people do.

here's the thing: anxiety disorders fuck you up by making you believe extremely negative, scary, depressing things. the disorder gets worse the more you allow it to make you believe these things, and the only way out, as stupid and hard and at times impossible as it feels, is to say, "no, i don't like that interpretation, i'm going to replace it with a positive one." anxiety is making paths all throughout your brain, and you have to just, make paths too. anxiety needs YOU to make paths, but YOU don't need anxiety to make paths. your paths WILL be better, safer, easier and happier. you just—and i know that is the biggest "just" ever—have to make them.

but i believe in you. i don't need to know you or your circumstances to believe in you. i believe in the sheer amount of control you have over how you face the world. and it's so much more than anxiety would lead you to believe.

i looooove seeing artists & writers proud of their work!!!!! i looooove captions & authors notes that say things like “i’m quite happy with this” “i love how this turned out” “i had so much fun making this”!!!!!! i loooooove when the act of creation is joyful & we take pride in what we make!!!!!!!!!!

#yoshi talks #this is so important to me and those tags really resonated with me and reminded me of my own journey into getting to that point a lot #most of all: keep creating. and keep beating paths.#<3

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p0orbaby · 3 days ago

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Why Do I Give You the Worst of Me (1)

summary: love and bad decisions collide as you struggle to balance a tour and a relationship that’s spiraling out of control

warnings: 18+ adult themes throughout

a/n: another series i’m hoping i don’t regret committing myself to… not sure how many parts it’ll be, i don’t plan anything

word count: 3.1k

You wake up face-first on a sofa that smells like cigarettes, spilled beer, and faintly, vomit. Not yours, you think. The synthetic fabric is scratchy against your cheek, and when you open your eyes, it takes a moment to realise it’s morning—sunlight cutting through the cracked blinds, striping the floor with dusty light. The sofa is mustard yellow, ugly in a deliberate, trying-too-hard-to-be-retro way. It doesn’t belong to you. Nothing in this flat belongs to you.

There’s a girl in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she pours cereal into a bowl. You don’t know her name, but you know she wears Chanel No. 5 because it’s all you could smell last night when she leaned too close, whispering something you didn’t quite catch. Her hair’s a mess now—like spun gold caught in a tangle of barbed wire—but her makeup is still pristine. She’s the kind who sets her eyeliner with setting spray before going out, even if it’s just to the pub. You admire the commitment, if not the execution.

Your head throbs—a deep, insistent ache behind your eyes that reminds you of last night in bits and pieces: the gig (decent, though the sound guy fucked up your monitor levels), the afterparty (loud, sweaty, a haze of bodies and smoke), the lines of coke on a chipped coffee table, the bartender who kept giving you free shots because he recognised you from that NME interview last month. At some point, someone tried to fight you, though you’re not sure why. You vaguely remember smashing a bottle of tequila against a wall and laughing as glass shards rained down like confetti.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling, which is peeling in a way that suggests years of neglect, a building held together more by stubbornness than actual structural integrity. There’s a stain in the corner that looks suspiciously like mould, but you don’t care enough to investigate. The flat isn’t yours, after all. You were invited here by someone whose name escapes you now—a bassist from another band, or maybe it was their girlfriend? They’re gone this morning, anyway, leaving behind only the detritus of a night well-lived: empty bottles, crushed cigarette packets, a single black stiletto abandoned near the door like a fairy-tale gone wrong.

You light a cigarette, despite the pounding in your head and the fact that you’re pretty sure it’s technically illegal to smoke indoors here. The girl in the kitchen glances at you but doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure if she’s annoyed or indifferent; you don’t care. The smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the quiet. Mornings like this are rare—where everything is still and soft, where the chaos of your life is temporarily held at bay by the thin walls of someone else’s flat.

Your bass is propped up against the armchair, scratched and battered in a way that tells a story if you care to look closely enough. It’s a Fender Precision, black with a white pickguard, the same model Sid Vicious used to play—not that you’d ever admit that’s why you bought it. The neck has a gouge near the third fret from when you threw it at a sound tech who deserved it (and missed). The strap is leather, worn smooth where it rests on your shoulder, and the bridge still has flecks of blood from the time you played so hard your fingers split open mid-song. You keep meaning to clean it, but you never do.

You check your phone, which is cracked and sticky with something you don’t want to identify. No new messages, except for a text from your drummer that reads: “u alive?” You don’t bother replying.

You’ve been in the band for five years now, though it feels longer. It started as a joke—a group of friends fucking around in someone’s garage, trying to see who could play the loudest, the fastest, the most obnoxious. Somewhere along the way, it became serious. There was a DIY EP, recorded in one manic weekend on borrowed gear, and a string of gigs in dingy pubs where the audiences were more interested in drinking than listening. Then came the break—a slot supporting a bigger band, one of those industry darlings who’d already started to hate themselves for selling out. The kind of band that wears matching outfits ironically, even though everyone knows it’s not ironic at all.

Now, you play sold-out shows to crowds who scream your lyrics back at you, though most of them probably couldn’t name your second album. Your face has been on the cover of Kerrang! twice, though you didn’t bother reading the articles. You hate interviews, but you do them anyway because your manager insists. You’re better at the photoshoots—smirking at the camera in a way that suggests you don’t care (you do).

The band is your life, though you wouldn’t call it that. Calling it your life makes it sound like you have some sort of plan, and you don’t. You’re just here, playing gigs and writing songs and doing whatever it takes to keep the wheels from falling off.

Your bandmates are a mixed bag of personalities, each one a walking caricature in their own way. There’s Matt, the drummer, who swears he’s been abducted by aliens and won’t shut up about it. Alex, the lead guitarist, is constantly high and insists on bringing his cat on tour, which you find deeply annoying. And then there’s Holly, the singer, who somehow manages to be both the most chaotic and the most responsible member of the group. She’s the one who organises rehearsals, books the studio time, and keeps you all from self-destructing entirely. You love her for it, even if you’d never say it out loud.

The girl in the kitchen finishes her cereal, rinses the bowl, and leaves without saying goodbye. You watch her go, not because you care but because there’s nothing else to do. When the door slams shut, the flat feels even smaller, like the walls are pressing in on you. You stub out your cigarette, grab your bass, and leave too.

Outside, London is already alive, though you wouldn’t call it awake. The streets are sticky from last night—spilled pints and kebab wrappers crushed into the pavement, cigarette butts floating in puddles of something that smells suspiciously like piss. The air has that distinct urban flavour: exhaust fumes mingling with fryer grease and the faint tang of wet concrete. You pull your leather jacket tighter around you, not because it’s cold (it is), but because it completes the look.

The jacket is vintage—or at least you tell people it is. In reality, you bought it at a high-street shop three years ago, and it’s held up surprisingly well, considering the abuse it’s endured. The lining is torn, the cuffs are frayed, and there’s a mysterious stain on the back you can’t quite place. But it’s yours, and it feels like armour. The boots, on the other hand, are real vintage: a pair of Dr Martens from the ‘90s you found in a thrift shop in Brighton. They’re scuffed to hell, and the left one squeaks when you walk, but you refuse to replace them because they’re authentic.

You head toward the Tube station, your bass slung over one shoulder like a soldier carrying a rifle. People stare, but only briefly. In London, no one has the energy to care for long. The morning commuters are a mix of suits and students, their faces blank, their eyes glazed over as they clutch takeaway coffees in one hand and their phones in the other. You feel out of place but also weirdly superior, like you’ve cracked some code they haven’t even realised exists yet.

You hop on the Northern line, ignoring the signs that politely request passengers to “refrain from eating or drinking.” You’re not eating or drinking, but you do pull out a cigarette, which is arguably worse. It’s a roll-up, so you convince yourself it doesn’t count. An old woman glares at you, clutching her handbag like she thinks you’re about to mug her. You offer her a crooked smile, which she does not return, and you put the cigarette back in your pocket because she reminds you of your nan.

The train screeches into motion, and you pull out your phone. The lock screen is a photo of your bass, which says a lot about you. There are a few notifications—mostly spam emails and an unread message from Holly: Rehearsal at 2. Don’t be late, dickhead.

You glance at the time. 11:47 a.m. Plenty of time.

The rehearsal space is in Camden, a dingy basement that smells of mildew and unwashed socks. The walls are lined with egg cartons painted black in a half-hearted attempt at soundproofing, and the floor is sticky for reasons you’d rather not think about. The room has seen better days—probably in the ‘80s, when it was still a nightclub and not a haven for struggling musicians. There’s a single fluorescent bulb overhead that flickers ominously, and a space heater in the corner that’s never worked.

Holly is already there when you arrive, tuning her guitar with the precision of someone who takes this far more seriously than you do. She’s wearing a denim jacket covered in patches for bands you’ve never heard of, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She looks up as you walk in, her expression equal parts exasperation and relief.

“Christ, you smell like an ashtray,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s called branding,” you reply, dropping your bass onto the floor with a thud.

Matt and Alex show up ten minutes later, looking even worse than you do. Matt has the kind of face that always looks slightly hungover, even when he’s not, and Alex is wearing the same shirt he wore yesterday, now with an impressive new stain across the front.

The rehearsal starts late, as it always does, and quickly descends into chaos. Matt insists on playing a drum solo during every song, despite the fact that no one asked for it. Alex keeps stopping mid-riff to check his phone, claiming he’s “waiting for an important call,” though everyone knows it’s just his dealer. Holly shouts at both of them until her voice cracks, then turns her frustration on you for being “completely fucking useless.” You take it in stride, plucking random notes on your bass and pretending to care.

At some point, Holly storms out, leaving the three of you to your own devices. Matt immediately pulls out a joint, which Alex lights with a lighter shaped like a naked woman. You lean back against the wall, your bass resting against your thigh, and watch as they argue over which fast-food place to hit up after rehearsal.

“McDonald’s is closer,” Alex says, taking a drag.

“But KFC’s got the gravy,” Matt counters, waving his arms for emphasis.

“It’s not even real gravy,” Alex snaps.

“None of it’s real,” you interject, flicking ash onto the floor. “We’re all just cogs in the capitalist machine.”

They stare at you for a moment, then go back to arguing.

By the time rehearsal ends, it’s dark outside. You pack up your gear, ignoring Holly’s death glare as she reminds you for the millionth time that you need to take this more seriously. You nod, mumble something about “artistic integrity,” and leave before she can yell at you again.

Back on the street, the air is crisp, the kind of cold that bites at your skin and makes you wish you’d brought a scarf. You light another cigarette, even though you’ve already smoked half a pack today, and head toward the pub.

The pub is your sanctuary, a place where time slows down and the only thing that matters is the next round. It’s a dive, the kind of place where the carpet sticks to your shoes and the jukebox is permanently stuck on a rotation of The Clash and The Smiths. You know the bartender by name, though you’re not sure if he knows yours.

You order a pint and settle into a corner booth, your bass case propped up beside you. The first sip is like a warm hug, washing away the stress of the day. You’re halfway through your second pint when you see her.

You don’t notice her at first. Not properly. She’s part of the blur—the dim bar lights catching on glasses, the low hum of half-drunken conversation, the vague sense that you’ve been here before even if you haven’t. She’s leaning against the counter, waiting for her drink, and it’s not until the bartender—a man whose name might be Pete but who you’re pretty sure is just “Oi, mate” to everyone who comes in—hands her a gin and tonic that you actually see her.

And it’s a gin and tonic. Not a lager, not a rum and coke, not something ironic like a snakebite or one of those craft beers with names like Hops and Robbers. It’s a G&T, clean and crisp, with a slice of lime balanced on the rim like it’s posing for a stock photo. The glass is crystal clear, and so are her nails—short, practical, painted the sort of soft pink that suggests she doesn’t chew them during stressful moments (unlike you). She takes the drink with both hands, like she’s steadying herself, and there’s something about that—the deliberateness of it—that hooks you.

You tell yourself you’re just looking because she’s there. Because it’s either her or the guy at the next table who’s been droning on about Bitcoin for twenty minutes straight. But it’s more than that. There’s a stillness to her, an odd kind of clarity that doesn’t fit in a place like this, like she’s wandered in from a parallel universe.

She turns slightly, and you catch her profile: sharp nose, strong jawline, cheekbones that could cut glass but probably wouldn’t because she seems far too polite. Her hair is blonde—not platinum, not peroxide, but the kind of natural gold that makes you think of expensive shampoo and childhood summers. It’s tied back loosely, wisps framing her face in a way that seems accidental but probably isn’t.

She’s not wearing makeup. Or maybe she is, but it’s the invisible kind—the kind that takes forty-five minutes to apply but looks like you’ve just rolled out of bed looking flawless. Her jumper is navy, oversized enough to suggest she might have nicked it from someone else’s wardrobe, paired with jeans that sit perfectly at her hips without being skinny. On her feet are white trainers—clean, like freshly ironed bedsheets—Adidas, the classic three stripes in black, laces tied neatly, no fraying ends.

You’re staring. You know you are. But she hasn’t noticed, so it doesn’t count.

The bartender mutters something to her, and she laughs. Not the loud, performative laugh you hear from most people in bars, but something softer, like it’s meant for her and her alone. The sound is so out of place in this dingy pub that it feels almost sacrilegious, like someone’s brought a cathedral choir to sing in a nightclub.

You tell yourself to look away. You don’t.

Instead, you light a cigarette, even though the pub is strictly non-smoking. You do it for the aesthetic, the same way you do most things. There’s a half-empty pint in front of you—lager, flat and warm, probably with someone else’s fingerprints on the glass—but you take a sip anyway, because what else are you going to do?

She turns then, her gaze sweeping the room, and you’re caught like a deer in headlights. For a second, you think she’s looking at you, but she’s not. She’s looking past you, at the dartboard on the wall behind your head. Her expression is curious, like she’s trying to figure out why anyone would bother playing darts in a place like this.

Then her eyes meet yours, and the world tilts.

It’s not love at first sight, not really. Love at first sight is for Disney films and Hallmark cards and people who shop at Waitrose without looking at the prices. This is something else. Recognition, maybe. Like you’ve seen her before in a dream or a half-remembered story someone told you once. Like you’ve spent your whole life waiting for this moment without knowing it.

She holds your gaze for a second longer than is polite. Then she looks away, back at her gin and tonic, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath.

You don’t approach her right away. That would be too obvious, too predictable. Instead, you wait, watching her out of the corner of your eye while pretending to scroll through your phone. It’s a shitty phone, cracked and outdated, but you’ve never bothered upgrading because you secretly enjoy the low expectations it sets. No one looks at you and expects success when your phone screen is held together with Sellotape.

She moves to a table in the corner, near the radiator, and sits down alone. No book, no laptop, no visible excuse to be here other than the gin and tonic in her hand. She sips it slowly, methodically, like she’s savouring it. Like she’s savouring this.

You wonder what her story is.

Is she waiting for someone? A friend, a boyfriend, a clandestine meeting with a lover? Or is she just one of those people who can sit alone in public without feeling like a target? You’ve never understood that kind of confidence—the kind that lets you exist without an audience, without a role to play.

You take another sip of your pint, then decide, fuck it.

You stand, grab your bass (because leaving it behind would feel like abandoning a child), and make your way across the room. Your boots squeak against the sticky floor, and you curse them under your breath. She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable.

“Mind if I join you?” you ask, gesturing vaguely at the empty chair across from her.

She hesitates, just for a moment, then nods.

“Sure.”

Her voice is soft, but not shy. Measured. Like she’s weighing every word before she says it.

You sit, placing your bass case carefully against the table leg. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You’re not sure what to say, and she seems content to let the silence stretch. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but it’s not easy, either.

Finally, she breaks it.

“You’re in a band,” she says, nodding toward the bass. It’s not a question.

You smile. “Yeah. What gave it away?”

She raises an eyebrow, and you realise it’s a stupid question.

“What’s the band called?”

You tell her, and she nods, like she’s vaguely heard of it but couldn’t name a single song.

“I’m Alessia,” she says, holding out her hand. Her grip is firm, her skin warm.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, and for the first time in a long time, you actually mean it.

#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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woniverse-writes · 16 hours ago

Text

Dancing with ENHA as their Secret-Girlfriend!Idol!Reader

summary: enha dancing with their secret significant other

word count: 4.2k

warnings: suggestive at times, not proofread, fem reader

Lee Hee Seung:

It was public knowledge that you and Heeseung were friends since you had trained together at one point

However it was NOT public knowledge that you two actually ended up becoming a couple after you both debuted

With that being said, fans were overjoyed any time you were seen together, always thinking your interactions were so cute and wholesome

One day a video of the two of you pre-debut got leaked

It was a clip of a practice video of you dancing to “Bonnie & Clyde” by DEAN

The choreography was good and you both danced well, but anyone watching could tell that the two young trainees were nervous to be dancing with each other

Fans of both groups thought the video was pure gold though since it showcased how much you’d both grown as performers, and the fact that it was another interaction between their favs

The video trended on social media for about a week or so before the chatter and excitement was redirected to a NEW dance practice video…

which just so happened to be of you and Heeseung recreating the choreography from so many years in full

It was a well filmed, high quality performance

The two of you had even gone the extra mile and re-recorded the song as a duet, making it a full cover

Any trace of the awkwardness from your trainees days had been nowhere to be found

You and heeseung were dripping confidence and sex appeal as you danced together

A majority of the dance was spent with the the two of you in close contact- his arms around your waist, your palms trailing down his chest, him hands tracing the outline of your body

you were practically in your own little bubble and that shit read very clearly on camera

Of course your fans went even more feral

Twitter was full of praise for your growth and everyone was saying how you and heeseung must be so much closer now than back then

(if only they knew just how close👀)

And of course there were some smart fans (that unfortunately probably got called delusional) who could sense the thick sexual tension between the two of you

✪ ‘Y’all- there is absolutely NO WAY these two aren’t fucking😭’ ✪ ‘I genuinely feel like i’m interrupting something’ ✪ ‘Heeseung… if you’re not gonna get to work please step aside so i can have my turn with y/n’

It definitely was added to every single “top kpop moments of 20XX” video and thread

And since you’re both evil-

You each had made casual posts on sns about the process after

‘Did engene enjoy our little throwback collab?’ and the bitch posted a mirror selfie of the two of you sweaty and half dressed🧍‍♀️

Park Jong Seong:

Jay always loved watching you dance

Tbh jay loved to watch you do anything- but dancing was one of his favorites

Any time you had a comeback, he always wanted you to teach him the choreography as soon as possible- whether it was cute, sexy, or fierce- that boy was gonna learn it

Which meant when the song actually dropped he’d be the first to make a tik tok with you every time

And of course the opposite rang true as well-

Whenever enhypen had a comeback you were the first to learn the new choreo

The tik toks are always so cute too-

Like- that’s your man so of course you’re gonna be cute with him lmao

It’s mostly because you know he gets flustered so easily when you tease him or flirt with him in front of the other members or staff

It’s especially hectic when your comeback schedules overlap because trust their will be new tik toks every other day

You guys got especially brave when enha was promoting “bite me”...

Instead of just doing the pre-chorus together and posting that like the others, you did the whole pre-chorus AND chorus… WITH THE PARTNER WORK

If fans weren’t already going feral over the boys dancing with partners before, they definitely lost their shit at your mini collab

✪ ‘Oh my god… there’s no way this is real’ ✪ ‘Jay… your hands are a little low there buddy😅’ ✪ ‘So they just casually covered half of ‘Bite Me’ on a random Thursday? Okay cool’ ✪ ‘THE WAY JAY LOOKS AT Y/N OMFG’

It actually took fans longer than expected to realize you were filming together even when your promotional schedules didn’t lineup, so of course rumors started eventually

However it seemed like your fans were just rolling with it since your interactions were fun an cute (they’ve been praying for a collab stage between your groups since debut)

There was one time you filmed with heeseung instead of Jay and it lowkey threw everyone for a loop

Was it intentional? Absolutely not! Well- maybe slightly

You and your members were curious to see if anyone would react- had your fans even noticed that you only ever film with Jay? (yes, they noticed it right away)

So you can imagine the comments when you posted of you and Heeseung doing the choreo for “brought the heat back”

✪ ‘Uhmmm?? What happened to your man???’ ✪ ‘Omg no mom and dad are fighting‘ ✪ ‘HEESEUNG PLZ TELL ME YOU CAN FIGHT BRO’ ✪ ‘Peace and love but where is Jay…”

Yeah… it gave y’all a good laugh

There have also been plenty of time where you’ve posted your own little dance covers without Jay, or even just danced to his songs casually on live while jamming out, which always excited fans of both groups

Basically his fans and yours know SOMETHING is going on between you two and for some reason no one really talks about it like you’d expect them to…

Sim Jae Yun:

You and jake had been invited to be part of an end-of-the-year collab stage

It was supposed to be a fun little performance between a few different male and female idols

At the time- the only people who knew about your relationship were your groupmates, meaning it was especially hard to see each other without getting caught

However when your manager gave you the news that you’d be collaborating with a few different idols, and that your boyfriend just so happened to be one of them, your heart started to race

You attended a meeting with your manager in which you were informed that you’d be working with Lee Isa, Kim Gaeul, Kang Minhee, Park Jisung, and of course Jake

The stage would have three parts- a section for the girls, a section for the boys, and then one where you all came together

The overall vibe was fun and flirty, and you’d each be partnered with someone

The second the idea of “partners” was introduced, you and jake immediately made (what you thought was subtle, but was definitely not) eye-contact

The meeting wrapped up and you were immediately conversing with you were manager, trying to subtly convey how you thought it would make most sense for you and Jake to be partners

Unbeknownst to you, Jake was doing the exact same thing

Luckily, it worked and both of your managers were able to get the two of you to be partners

You all began preparing immediately, and since some of the partner work was different for each pair you’d all broken off to learn separate bits of choreography

You and Jake had begun working on a few different combinations, since the song decisions hadn’t been entirely finalized yet

The first one you worked on was to “Invitation” by JUNNY and Gaeko, which totally fit the vibe of the overall stage concept

Except it was maybe a bit TOO flirty (or perhaps that was just you and Jake)

You were easily able to connect and play into the each other’s artistry

Your relationship had always been full of playful energy and putting a smile on the other person’s face, so dancing together just felt like another extension of that

The choreography was intense and fast, hitting every accent and ad-lib, requiring a lot of texture and groove

but after learning the steps and running it once or twice to get the moves down it felt like second nature, especially since all your charisma and stage presence was really just you having fun with your boyfriend

Lots of behind the scenes content was filmed and unfortunately… some got leaked to the public

Somehow yours and jake’s first dance practice got leaked, as well as Jisung and Isa’s and the video of yours, Gaeul, and Isa’s section

This was before anything was announced to let the public know a collab was even happening so fans were shocked on so many levels

✪ ‘We’ve got (your group), enhypen, ive, nct, stayc, and cravity members doing a collab?? Where did this even come from???’ ✪ ‘Gaeul, Y/n, and Isa dancing to “greedy” by Ariana Grande was not something i knew i needed- welcome back “wow thing” collab group’ ✪ ‘Jake and Y/n look like they’re having so much fun together i love them :(‘ ✪ ‘I feel like I've never seen Jake have this much fun while dancing! You can tell he really feels comfortable dancing with Y/n’ ✪ ‘The way they look at each other, oh i feel sick’

Unfortunately after that all the songs and choreography had to be changed :/

Park Sung Hoon:

Close by Nick Jonas

As the main dancer of your group, your company loves to highlight you any chance they get

This resulted in you doing frequent dance videos, collabing with other idols in order to reach outside your normal audience and hopefully attract some new fans

Sunghoon, ever the supportive boyfriend, makes sure you tell him every time a new video is going to be released so that he can have youtube open and ready for when it drops

texts you immediately after about how talented you are and how proud he is of you for taking on the challenges of choreographing and coming up with new ways to showcase your skills as a performer

Sometimes will just randomly pull up your videos and start watching them while y’all are hanging out

You had always told him beforehand who you’d be dancing with and he never expressed being bothered by any of your idol partners-

until he realized you yourself were picking them

You were sitting in his bed one day (watching one of your recent videos lol) when he suddenly looked up at you with the saddest puppy eyes ever

“How come you’ve never asked me to dance with you☹️”

Oh he’d be so pouty and sulky omg

You’d been expecting that question for a while honestly

“Baby I’d love to dance with you, but would your company let us?”

sunghoon hated that you had to be logical all the time, so he just rolled over to bury his face in your stomach, and groaned in despair

(This drama queen)

He eventually just wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted his head to rest his chin on your tummy, peering up at you

“Can we ask them tomorrow…”

You couldn’t stop the affectionate giggle that left you as you played with his hair and nodded softly

The next day, you talked to your manager first- proposing your next idea

Now you see- your manager loves sunghoon, your whole staff does really

They all think the two of you are perfect together, and would honestly probably announce you were official right this second if hybe let them

So it wasn’t a problem convincing your team to let you dance with your boyfriend

Of course that wasn’t exactly the case for Sunghoon’s team

It definitely made sense why they weren’t totally onboard with the idea- being worried about dating rumors and such- but you and hoon hadn’t had a single rumor involving each other up to that point!

They eventually caved and agreed, realizing it would be a good opportunity since all the other idols you had invited so far were all known as well-respected dancers in the industry

You ended up decided on going for a more intimate and contemporary vibe than you had done so far

“Close” by Nick Jonas and Tove Lo was the song you had agreed on using, having had already talked about choreographing to this song together just for fun at some point

You had worked with a choreographer from hybe, expressing your vision and showing some of the ideas you had, and the process went extremely smooth

The dance ended up being sensual and emotional, highlighting both of your skills as contemporary dancers

A good chunk of the choreography was spent with the two of you having very little physical contact, but being so close to each other that it delivered such a feeling a yearning

However, the last chorus totally changed the vibe

You two walked backward, facing away from each other, and right as you were about to bump into each other sunghoon abruptly turned around gripping your shoulder and whirling you to face him- leading to a sequence of quick spins and paired movements, finally breaking the pattern of avoiding physical contact

And the rest of the dance spent with you two practically glued together

The performance continued with sunghoon pulling you in toward him, you running your hands up his chest and neck and landing softly on his face before pulling him down to almost meet your lips

The two of you slowly walked together to the beat of the music until sunghoon’s back was hitting the wall

It came to an end with hoon sliding down into a seated position on the floor, leaning against the wall- you sliding down in sync, landing on his lap- his face still in your hands, his hands on your hips, foreheads leaned against each other’s

The choreography was so intimate that unfortunately hybe’s fears came true

The dating rumors were instantaneous…

✪ ‘This is such an unexpected pairing but it makes so much sense’ ✪ ‘Oh! My bad y’all i’ll just- i can just- uhm- lemme just leave the room and come back later’ ✪ ‘I know y/n said this performance was gonna be a bit different from her other’s but i didn’t think THIS is what she meant😭’ ✪ ‘Soooo, is this a safe space to say I wholeheartedly believe Y/nHoon is real?’ ✪ ‘Girl Y/nHoon BETTER be real after THAT’ ✪ 'the thoughts i'm thinking... i feel like my account would get suspended if i shared them👀'

And if that wasn’t enough to get them going, there was all the behind the scenes material as well

Both your company and hybe had released behind the scenes videos of the project, except they couldn’t have been more different

While the one posted to enhypen’s channel was mostly sunghoon being interviewed and shots of him practicing individually, with the occasional partner shot or interaction between you two

Your behind the scenes video had plenty of shots of you and hoon laughing and playfully bickering together

Clips of you finishing the choreography and falling against him, with him wrapping his arms around you and swaying back and forth circulated twitter immediately

There were plenty of other moments that had fans fawning over your relationship

Such as when you wrapped up filming and sunghoon slid his hands from your hips to fully wrap his arms around your waist and pull you down to lay on top of him on the ground

Let’s just say hybe had to release a statement pretty soon after that

Kim Seon Woo:

Sunoo and you always post together

vlogs, lives, story posts- you name it

Most fans never really thought anything of it since a majority of the time it was just you two shopping, trying new snacks, or talking about skincare

But there was also so much content you didn’t post

Like the countless couples tik tok trends that are sitting in your drafts (his favorite is the one where you put on lipstick and accidentally smudged it, then the camera turns to him covered in lipstick kiss marks)

But there are also surprisingly a lot of random dance videos you have of the two of you

Sometimes when you’re hanging out at one of your company’s studios you’ll just turn on a song and come up with fun random choreography

One of Sunoo’s favorites that you guys have come up with was to “Wildflower” by 5 seconds of summer

It was sensual and flirty, but still fun and cute- and the video conveys that perfectly with how much the two of you are giggling and clinging to each other

It started off really well! Both of you were locked in, hitting the snaps and beats perfectly, your expressions nothing short of perfect and professional

But the second it got to the chorus your smiles were overtaking your faces as you tried to stay focused on the choreography and not burst out laughing

You still danced the routine perfectly! There just came a point in the dance where neither of you could stop smiling at each other

By the final chorus you were fully teasing your giggly boyfriend by mouthing the words with an overly flirtatious expression while running your hands down his neck and chest, causing him to squeeze your waist and teasingly pull you into him making you burst out laughing, before finishing out the dance with the biggest smiles anyone has ever seen

You both often rewatch the video and your smiles end up being almost as big as the ones you had in the video

You were sitting with Sunoo one day and asked him if it was okay to post it to your personal account, and he excitedly agreed

However- for some reason you didn’t check to make sure you were on your private account instead of your groups account before you hit post, and without realizing, uploaded your choreography to your groups official instagram with the caption ‘me and my wildflower sunny baby☀️🌺’

It was only about 15 minutes later when sunoo was scrolling through his own instagram when he turned to you panicked

“Baby… you posted it on the wrong account”

“WHAT?????”

You immediately called your manager crying and freaking out, while sunoo called jungwon trying to explain the situation

Both your management teams came to the agreement that no one would say anything about the video unless it got severely out of hand

They thought it would be best to keep the video up to avoid suspicion, However, you did have to change the caption

Aside from the crazies, most fans were eating it up!

✪ ‘I love that they’re so comfortable with each other, this is so cute’ ✪ ‘Their smiles and giggles🥺’ ✪ ‘I feel like we never get to see sunoo’s dance abilities highlighted, so i’m honestly grateful that y/n shared this’ ✪ ‘Oh they’re so in love don’t even try to deny it’

Yang Jung Won:

You had been hinting to your fans about doing more dance content, but the last thing they expected was for a video of you and jungwon dancing to “two hands” by Tate McCrae to randomly show up on your groups youtube channel one day

The video was professionally recorded in a cool location and the two of you had on cool but comfortable outfits

Basically y’all looked cunty asf and everyone was losing their shit over it but we’ll come back to that

The choreography involved the two of you being in some sort of physical contact for almost the entire thing

And when you weren’t touching, you were face to face staring into each other’s soul

It was lowkey like you were leading the dance at times and jungwon was hypnotized by your movements (which let’s be honest, he totally was)

By the last chorus, you and your boyfriend were in full contact

Jungwon’s hands had pulled you in closely, your hands resting on his chest with his low on your back

There was a moment where you just sensually gazed into to each other’s eyes, caressing each other while you mouthed the words to the song

Jungwon leaned in closing his eyes, fully preparing to kiss you, but you teasingly turned your head back toward the camera right as your lips were about to meet, giving a flirtatious wink and smile

The turn caused jungwon’s lips to brush your neck, but the way it was captured by the camera made it hard to tell if he actually made contact with your skin

The rest of the dance consisted of one or both of you having your hands on the other without a break, never breaking the connection

There was even a part where you had your hand on your boyfriend’s face and he followed your movement, seemingly hypnotized by your touch

Jungwon’s hands quickly found their place on your hips shortly after

The dance finished with two posing- you in front of him, reaching behind to place your hand on the back of his neck, as he placed his hands on your hips

Won gently rubbed your hip as he waited for the director to call cut, ad when they did he collapsed against you, fully wrapping his arms around your waist and tucking his face into your neck

(That cute moment was captured and posted on your instagram story after the official video dropped)

Speaking of social media…

The thing is, both you and your boyfriend are chaotic and slightly evil, so the second the video dropped y’all were refreshing twitter to see people’s reactions

✪ ‘Oh okay so they’re a thing’ ✪ ‘Yang Jungwon and L/n Y/n… WHAT IS THIS????’ ✪ ‘So like- do y’all need a third or…’ ✪ ‘HIS LIPS WERE LITERALLY ON HER NECK I’M NOT CRAZY’ ✪ ‘Need whatever they’ve got goin on real bad’ ✪ ‘Jungwon heard the lyrics “your two hands on me at all times” and took that shit literally wow’ ✪ ‘Y/n turning to look at the camera right as won is about to kiss her… GIRL MOVE IF YOU’RE NOT GONNA KISS THAT BOY’ ✪ ‘The hand placement, oh i’m so fucked’ ✪ ‘L/n Y/n the woman you are…’ ✪ ‘The way Jungwon’s movements get obviously more desperate at the end of the choreography when Y/n has her hands on his face… WALK HIM LIKE A DOG MAMA😛’

You and Jungwon were giggling and saving posts were a good two hours

Nishimura Riki:

It wasn’t unusual for you and ni-ki to hang out in a practice room and just jam, coming up with random choreography combinations for fun

It also wasn’t a secret that the two of you knew each other and hung out, but most just assumed you were friends since you had also hung out with other members of enhypen before

However neither of you had ever posted anything together aside from mayne a couple of tik toks

So it came as a shock to his fans (and yours) when Ni-Ki went live, only for everyone to see him cozied up in one of hybe’s practice rooms with you

The live started with the two of you laying on the floor with the phone propped up against the mirror wall at the front of the room, just chatting and giggling over random stuff (losers in love)

In fact Riki was so chatty that fans were even starting to comment on it

‘The only time Riki has stopped giggling or yapping has been to listen intently to y/n..’

‘I swear these two are so chatty together, what's going on??’

Eventually you guys started getting antsy and decided to turn on some music and jam again

It was just some ciphering back and forth for a while until “pour up” by DEAN came on and you froze and made eye contact

“Should we do it?” Ni-Ki asked in regard to the choreography the two of you had come up with to the song earlier that week

“I mean… why not?” you shrugged with a mischievous smile

“It’s a little… risky- don’t you think?” he giggled while unconsciously moving closer to you, but you just giggled in return before starting the choreography while holding eye contact

He laughed a bit in shock, watching you dance for a few more seconds before joining in

By the time the chorus arrived the two of you were locked in, facing forward again toward the camera

It seemed like pretty tame choreography at first with a slightly sensual

Until the second verse came

You and Riki started crossing paths and interacting more within the choreography, showing off just how much chemistry you have together as dance partners

There were plenty of little moments with little flirtatious touches here and there but the connection was on full display by the last few seconds of the song, with Riki’s arm draped casually around your waist as the two of you swayed side to side

You pretended to walk off as the song ended, still feeling the vibe, but as soon as the next song started playing you screamed dramatically and fell to floor in a heap of embarrassment, leaving your boyfriend to laugh at you from behind

Ni-Ki walked past you back to the phone to check the comments and he noticed the viewer count has tripled since before you started dancing

✪ ‘They way they just casually match each others vibe like it’s nothing’ ✪ ‘So can we all agree we need more Y/n and Riki dance content??’ ✪ ‘I would 100% be asking “what are we?” after this…' ✪ ‘Y/n falling to the ground and screaming after, she’s so real’ ✪ ‘OMG LOOK AT HOW RED THEY ARE NOW AWWWW BABIES’

Neither of you could look at each other without giggling for the rest of the live

notes: hey y'all... i'm back (kinda)

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stevesgother · 3 days ago

Text

Let's Hear It For The Boy!

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, oral (f receiving), emotional sex, aftercare, tooth rotting fluff bc i love them, latter half as usual is not proofread bc i can't bring myself to read my own smut. maybe someday!

AN: here’s a little Dress bonus chapter bc so many people loved that series! I know i didn’t let them bang in the final part, so here ya go. I hope it scratches the itch :)

The sounds of a specially curated mixtape drift and settle over the room. Steve has you underneath him, his entire weight crushing you like your own personal safety blanket. He peppers kisses over every inch of exposed skin and then some, giving you a brief reprieve from the steamy makeout session you were previously engaged in.

It had been 3 weeks since New Year's Eve. In that time, Steve has managed to spend every waking second with you that he could. He’d taken you on lavish dates to the only fancy restaurant in this dying town– Enzo’s, and you’ve spent countless days snowed in, watching “borrowed” tapes from Family Video. He takes you grocery shopping and puts your favorite cereal in the cart before you get the chance to grab it yourself. To be loved by Steve, is to be seen. You think he knows you better than you know yourself, in every way except for one.

You had decided to take things slow, for the fear of risking everything the two of you had worked so hard to build over the length of your entire friendship thus far. Steve loved you, and you loved Steve. He had a reputation, or he did at one point, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel taken advantage of. More importantly, he wanted to take his time with you.

In the midst of a sweet, languid kiss, you hear the beginnings of Deniece Williams’ ‘Let’s Hear It For The Boy’ and break away from him with an excited gasp.

“Stevie Baby, this one’s for you!” You brace yourself against him enough to flip him onto his back, reversing your previous position and straddling his hips. He giggles when you grab your hairbrush from your nightstand to use as a makeshift microphone, and sing pitchily to the verse.

“‘Cause everytime he pulls me near, I just wanna cheer, let’s hear it for the boy!”

You give a seated performance as you sing and wriggle on his lap. He rolls his eyes in an attempt to pretend like he doesn’t find your theatrics the most endearing thing he’s ever seen.

“Let’s hear it for my baby!” You shake both his shoulders and give him a smacking kiss on the cheek, “You know you gotta understand!”

Steve didn’t know it was possible to be more in love with you than he already was. The adoration he felt for you was insurmountable; the blood in his veins seemingly replaced by pure sunlight that seeped from him wherever you touched. He wanted to marry you, he was sure he was going to marry you.

When the song finally hummed its last notes, you flopped dramatically against his chest. Hair mussed and chest heaving with the exertion of singing him all four minutes of the song. He deserved it, after all.

“Have I ever told you you’re a horrible singer?” he asks playfully.

You swat his chest and laugh, “Rude!”. Forget the other five, teasing was Steve’s love language.

“I still love you, though,”

“Yeah I don’t know, the juries still out,”

“Alright, I think that’s enough out of you,” he says as he flips you over in one sweeping motion to lay on your back again. You’re a fit of laughter as he presses open mouthed kisses down your neck and over your collarbone.

Your giggling starts to subside when your senses clock how good his lips feel against your skin. You exhale a breathy sigh when one of his large hands presses firmly up your side, his other hand cupping your cheek. He grins up at you before returning to passionately collide his mouth with your own. You moan into it, presenting him with the opportunity to slide his tongue eagerly against yours.

“Nothin’ else to say, huh?” He smirks down at you. You can only respond with a blissful shake of your head ‘No’.

Your legs are hugging either side of his torso, and he gives an experimental grind of his hips against your clothed core. You can feel the hard outline of him and it elicits a groan from you, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck that you have woven through your fingers.

“That feel good?" You’re embarrassed to be panting slightly already, it's just the effect he seems to have on you.

“Yes– Steve,”

The most the two of you had done until this point was hand stuff, and even then it was few and far between. That’s not to say you haven't thought about doing more; lately it actually seems to be all you can think about. You feel like a horndog teenager again.

Steve continues to kiss you as he slips a hand beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts, and he can feel the wet spot already forming on your cotton panties. You let out a breathy whine at the sensation.

“Pussy feels so good baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, “wonder how she tastes,”

Your eyes turn to saucers at his implication, but he only smirks at you as he shuffles slowly down your body, pressing kisses all the way down your torso and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

He makes eye contact with you as he slips two fingers beneath your waistband again to ask, “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please,” you try not to sound too pathetic as you lift your hips to assist him in removing your layers.

Steve’s never seen you in anything more intimate than a bathing suit on a hot summer day. Now he’s staring at you like you’ve hung the moon just for him. His best friend, the love of his life, and he’s about to go down on you. It feels like an episode of The Twilight Zone.

“Everything okay?” you chuckle nervously, feeling the weight of his gaze on unexplored territory. It feels vulnerable in a way you’ve never felt before, and you’re scared he doesn’t like what he sees. You weren’t a virgin, and neither was Steve; but right now, you might as well have been.

“Yes, yes, sorry. You’re beautiful. It’s perfect, everythings perfect,”

It always feels like the greatest privilege to watch Steve’s usual dominant and confident exterior melt away. It’s not often you get to make him flustered instead of you, and you can’t help but find it adorable.

He nuzzles his stubbly face into your thigh, and inhales deeply; taking in your scent. It causes your stomach to erupt in somersaults. He locks eyes with you as he slowly removes the last barrier between you and his mouth. Self consciousness takes over when you realize he can finally see all of you, causing you to tighten the space between your thighs.

Steve’s quick, though. He stops you with a hand on each leg, keeping you open for him. “Don’t be shy, honey. I wanna see you,”

“Okay, I trust you,” You stare up at your popcorn textured ceiling to escape the intensity of it all. Just then he places a tentative kiss to your clit. It’s barely anything but the surprise of it makes you cry out in pleasure. Steve takes it as a sign to properly begin, and he laps at you like you’re his last meal.

“Oh, Steve!” Your hands fly to his hair and you tug, eliciting a groan from him that vibrates through your core and amplifies the feeling of his tongue on you.

“Taste so sweet, baby,” you can hardly hear him as he’s nose deep in your pussy. The sharp point of it massages your sensitive bud as his tongue teases your entrance.

If that wasn’t enough, you’re seeing stars when his index and middle finger breach your hole, hitting that spongy spot inside of you that only Steve could reach. He curls his fingers as his lips wrap around your clit and you all but grind against his face. He quickens the pace, and you can already feel the beginnings of your climax in your tummy.

“Steve– ah!– I’m gonna come,” you cry and he doesn't change a thing. No speeding up, no slowing down. There’s not a thing on this earth that could separate his mouth from you. All that matters to Steve is making you finish on his tongue, and hearing those sweet little sounds you make when you do.

Your release washes over you in waves as you sloppily grind your hips against Steve’s face. When he finally looks up at you from between your sticky thighs, his face is shiny with you from nose to chin and he’s beaming. Actually beaming.

“Did so good, baby,” he praises as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans down to kiss you, “so beautiful,”. It’s a strange thing to taste yourself on someone else’s tongue, but you really don’t hate it. If anything, it turns you on more.

He continues to kiss you with a renewed fervor, you reach a hand between your bodies and palm him against his sweatpants. The whimper you elicit from him spurs you on enough to slip a hand beneath his waistband and take his velvety length into your hand.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard in his entire life, every nerve in his body alight like a live wire. Unconsciously, he thrusts into your hand– desperate for some friction. The soft skin of your fingers feels euphoric wrapped around his length.

“God– I love you,” he half groans into the crook of your neck as he grinds against your palm.

“Baby,” you gasp, “I want you– I wanna feel you,” Your hips start to lift again, in search of any type of stimulation. This seems to break him out of his arousal induced trance as he snaps his head up to look you in the eye.

“I– like you want to, want to–?” he sputters, suddenly nervous at the idea. Still, you find his hesitation at your request charming. It’s obvious how much he cares for you.

You giggle, “Yes Steve, I ‘want to, want to’,” you repeat his words back to him in the same cadence, causing him to roll his eyes, though the action has no real irritation behind it.

“Okay– Yeah, Okay,” he’s reeling as he reaches into the drawer of your nightstand to retrieve a condom from the box you’ve kept there for a little over a week now. Tearing the foil with his teeth, he rolls the rubber down his length with expert fingers. You try not to think about the fact that he’s done this probably a million times before you.

“If it hurts or you want me to stop or you don’t like something–”

“I’ll tell you,” you cut off his anxious rambling with a hand on his cheek, “I promise.”

He nods and presses his forehead to your own. It’s a little sticky with sweat already, but you don’t mind. He smells like cinnamon and mint and something so ineffably Steve.

When he finally pushes into you, you’re both gasping into each other's mouths. He wraps his arms around your back in a sort of hug, not bothering to hold himself above you anymore. He needs to be as close to you as he can possibly manage. You return the embrace, locking your ankles behind the small of his back and placing his cheeks in your palms to kiss him deeply.

When he’s finally to the hilt and your hips are completely flush, he gives you a moment to adjust before setting a rhythm.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes– yes, I'm good. You feel so good, Steve,” You can feel tears brimming at your lashes with the intimacy of it all. Having him like this– this is something you’ve only ever dreamed of. The affection you feel is insurmountable.

His hips start at a slow pace, he’s so big you can feel him in your stomach. “Faster, baby, please,”. And who is he to deny you when you ask so politely?

“Don’t cry, love,” He removes a hand from behind your back to wipe away a stray tear, and kisses the salty trail it left down your cheek.

“I just love you– I’ve waited so long,” you hug him tighter around his neck as he starts to pick up the pace.

“I know, I love you,” You can feel his hips stutter and you realise he’s close. The shared sweetness bringing you both closer to the edge. You cry out again as he repeatedly hits that sweet spot, the small thatch of hair at his base providing the perfect friction.

“I’m close–” he manages to strangle out.

“Me too. Inside me– please,”

He falters only for a moment, “You sure?”

“Yes, Steve, I need you,”

Your nails dig and leave crescent shapes in his shoulders. You miss the sound he makes when you tug gently on his pretty locks, so you do it again. It’s enough to send Steve hurtling over the edge of his orgasm.

“Oh -- I’m coming,” He all but shouts and the sounds he’s making are obscene enough to have you there with him.

“Look at me, baby,” he commands, not unkindly. He’s so pretty like this– cheeks flushed pink, lips permanently fixed in a ‘O’ shape, sweat beading at his upper lip; his brow bone and hairline.

You stare at each other as you come; it’s the most intimate thing either of you have ever experienced. Suddenly you realize Steve has tears welling in his eyes, too. You pull him into a slow, languid kiss. You press your lips to the corners of each of his eyes, as well.

When he moves to pull out, you wince slightly and he soothes his hands up and down your leg as he stands. “I know, honey. Stay there, I'll be right back,”. With that, he slips his boxers back on and makes his way towards the bathroom. When he returns, he’s holding a warm washcloth and a small dixie cup of water. As you drink, he takes the liberty of cleaning you up, as gentle as you’ve ever seen him.

He kneels by the bed to be level with you, and runs a hand over your head to brush away stray hair. The repeated motion in which he does it nearly puts you to sleep.

“Want me to run you a bath?” You almost cry again. How is he real?

“That’s okay, maybe in a little while,” you’re becoming too sleepy to talk properly now, you raise your arms signaling for him to join you in bed. “Just want you to lay with me,”

“I think I can manage that.”

He moves to hold you against his chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, and you fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

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