#i've been wanting to articulate this for a while and now i felt pushed to try | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cosmic-light-fics · 8 months

Text

I am slogging my way through an extremely tedious bout of writing inertia but I absolutely needed, needed, needed to get my thoughts out about this wonderful piece of work created by @sashafiercer. It's hard for me to articulate myself a lot of the time. I don't always think I am saying the things I want to say in the best way or the right way, and I fear I won't do justice to the works that I long to praise. That's why it's taking me forever and a day to be securely confident in divulging my thoughts on the absolute freaking masterpiece that is intimates conquering intimacy (if you haven't read it yet, what are you waiting for? A sign? Well consider this your sign. Go read it and get blessed by brilliance. Seriously).

Back to the point, though. The fact that I haven't been able to fully impart any of my love for this series to the masses of the SydCarmy fandom is ticking me off to levels of annoyance that, up until this point, have been unknown to humankind. So now with my little preamble and aired grievances out of the way, let's get down to the nitty-gritty, which is my long overdue love letter to what I love and cherish most about this series.

What do I love most about a need to amuse and enjoy?

Simple. The fact that it exists. I'm being completely honest. I don't think I have ever stumbled across a piece of writing that felt like it was made specifically for my consumption. I feel selfish a lot of the times when I go back and read the series (I've lost count how many times I've re-read it all. Just know I have a tab open to it at all times). I feel selfish because this series is everything I could have ever wanted in a SydCarmy fic. From all of Sydney and Carmy's interactions, to their spot-on dialogue, to the freakishly accurate humor, to the stark beats of emotional vulnerability. It is all there, in this series, and I get to read it however many times I want to, whenever I want to, for FREE! I get to be in this world that @sashafiercer created and experience all of these super sweet and challenging moments that make Sydney and Carmy so special as a couple. That's not even the half of it though. Reading this series is like watching a special continuation of the show. That's how great it is. I don't for one second feel like I am reading a fanfiction when I read this series. It's perfectly in alignment with the character's canon. And best of all, it's focusing solely on Sydney and Carmy, not only as a couple but who they are as individuals.

I love how no moment between them is a boring moment, even if it is the most seemingly mundane thing ever (e.g.: Sydney wrapping her arms around Carmy while he washes the dishes, Carmy eating a pb&j while Sydney freaks about them having sex for the first time, Carmy finding Sydney eating Mini Wheats in the middle of the night). I could read moments like that between them for the rest of my life and never get bored because there is a magic to those moments that @sashafiercer just grasps spectacularly and executes flawlessly. It truly is magical how this writer puts so much love and care into these intimate moments. It's so needed between them, this constant layer of every moment between Sydney and Carmy being on a level of intimacy and vulnerability that pushes them to continuously acknowledge, confront, and find peace in their love for each other.

Speaking of their love for each other... those sex scenes....

The epitome of fucking with feelings. I feel entitled to rest and recuperation after reading them make love for the first time because WHAT EVEN WAS THAT?!?! How in the world am I going to be able to describe all the ways in which I just COULD. NOT. EVEN!?!? Carmy's gentleness and passion and eagerness and Sydney's eagerness and her vulnerability and their utter devotion to each other is HURTING ME!! In the best way.

with the intention of forever just dropped and I don't even know what to do with myself and all these emotions. I don't want to spoil anything because it's new, but I didn't believe I could root for SydCarmy anymore than I already do. I don't think I will love any other depiction of Sydney and Carmy's love for each other more than I love this depiction. I love this series. I love it with my whole heart and I will be a glutton and just ravish every single word every single time I read it. It's a whole meal. It's seven course, three star cuisine. It's love defined specifically for Carmy and Sydney and I just want to be a part of every single moment. I want this series to go on forever. And if it doesn't, I'll just be so grateful to have what I have, which is everything to me already.

I don't want to stop singing this series' praises, but I've run out of words (thanks, writing inertia).

I love this series with my whole heart and it's the best feeling in the world. Thank you creating this @sashafiercer. Thank you for all the work and hours you put into this work. Thank you for the care and small little details that make this work so exceptional. This series has taken residence inside my entire being and truly is the highlight of my SydCarmy fandom experience.

#it needed to be said #10/10 highly recommend #magnificent in every way possible #sydcarmy #sydney x carmy #carmy x sydney #chef's kiss #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #starlette's list

44 notes · View notes

jiunngs · 1 year

Text

GO BIG OR GO HOME ✶ PARK SUNGHOON

ft. male!reader x park sunghoon. warnings: nothing except for swearing?? just sunghoon being an absolute disaster LOL. wc 1.8k

desc ★ after his numerous failed attempts at confessing, sunghoon finally (albeit reluctantly) turns to his friends for help.

it was only after they had all sat down, crammed into a booth at the local café, that sunghoon revealed the reason he'd asked them all for a get-together (or an 'emergency meeting,' as he'd called it over text).

"i need help."

three pairs of eyes stared back at him, waiting patiently for him to elaborate. when he didn't, sunoo made the move for him, gesturing with one hand as he swirled his drink — a milky, foamy concoction with what looked like a whole bottle of caramel drizzled all over the top of it — in the other.

"with..?"

taking a deep breath, he spat the whole sentence out in one go and hoped they heard it first try, seeing as he didn't know if he could muster through the embarrassment of repeating it. "confessing to (y/n)."

the whole table (read: sunoo and jake) erupted into groans, while heeseung only gave him a look that wasn't quite pity, but wasn't far off it either.

pulling at the strands of his red hair, sunoo was the first to complain. "you're still not over that? it's been, like, two years!"

he felt the urge to correct him, and did. "a year and a half, actually. and three weeks. and 6 days."

when he felt eyes on him again, this time in a considerably more judgemental way, he pushed on. "but i didn't call you guys here to judge me! i want advice! nothing i've done's worked!"

they seemed to lay off on the digs after that, and then the suggestions started to pour in.

"you could write him a song!" came jake's excited suggestion, paired with his usual sunny smile.

"ask him out for dinner?" was heeseung's more sensible suggestion, the eldest of the four leaning back into the plush material behind him.

"rent a plane banner! or spell it out in sand on the beach at sunset or something!" the youngest seemed proud of his suggestions and, when faced with incredulous looks from all around, jumped to defend them with an affronted expression on his face. "what? i'd be all over it if it was for me."

"it isn't for you, though." sunghoon whined, slumping back into his head-in-hands position. "this is never gonna work!"

"have you tried just.. telling him outright?" the oldest asked, head tilted and encouraging smile on his face.

sunghoon nodded so hard his head almost started to hurt from his position lying half over the table. "loads of times! but he just brushes it off!"

jake piped up then, making a noise through his drink and then swallowing it to articulate his thoughts. "brushed them off? (y/n) doesn't seem like the type of guy to do that. how'd they go?"

sunoo nodded in agreement to the former's question, poking around his cup with the straw idly. "if you tell us how they went, it'd probably be easier to figure out what's going wrong."

sighing and slowly pushing himself upright, the brunette chewed on his lip as he thought back to all the confessions he'd given the (h/c) — and, really, there were so many instances he didn't understand how he hadn't gotten it by now.

"well, the first time.."

일

the first was a few months ago, a quiet night at home. the two in question were relaxing in the quiet, (y/n) scrolling through his phone and sunghoon staring blankly at his lap while trying to figure out how to finally come clean about his feelings.

he had just about managed to build up the courage to simply blurt it out and make a run for it, and looked up with determination.

"(y/n), i like yo-"

"sunghoonie! me and (celebrity name) share a birthday!"

silence stretched on between them, the (h/c)'s phone still halfway in the process of being shoved closer to sunghoon's face so the brunette could see which famous face shared a birthday with him. in a (futile) attempt to regain some of his dignity, sunghoon stood from the sofa as gracefully as he could, and then made a dash for his bedroom, covering his ears so he could try and block out the calls of "sunghoon? did you say something?" from the confused (y/n) still on the sofa.

이

the second was a good while after that, the brunette taking the failure of his first try as a sign it wasn't going to go any better if he tried anytime soon. so he waited for another quiet night, one where they were playing video games together (or rather, (y/n) was playing and sunghoon was cheering from the sidelines, having given up half an hour ago after suffering one too many losses than his pride could handle).

"i think i really like you."

onscreen, the commentator yelled "goal!" as the (h/c)'s chosen player scored, but instead of celebrating he turned to look at sunghoon with an utterly bewildered look in his eyes. he was already out of the room by the time (y/n) had gathered his thoughts enough to respond.

삼

the third and final.. was the one that confused him the most. it was the most straightforward he'd ever been, and yet the (h/c) had breezed right past it.

"i love you."

(y/n) stared at him, hair still wet from his shower and sweatpants slung low on his hips, used towel tossed over one shoulder. he stared blankly at sunghoon for a few moments more, then lifted a hand to stifle a wide yawn. he rubbed at his eye absentmindedly and then walked straight past him, idly patting his brown locks as he did so.

"that's nice. takeout tonight?"

he was only left to stand and stare, the question gone completely unheard after the shock of the reaction hit him fully; mouth hung open and eyes wide. faintly he could register the sound of the older pattering around the kitchen in search of the menu from the fast-food place they frequented, but he made no move to join him. his only thoughts were a constant stream of 'what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck' playing over and over, as he desperately made an effort to figure out what had just happened.

sunghoon decided to put the whole confessing shtick on hold indefinitely after that. it was clearly time he asked for help in that department.

"i've figured out the issue." was the first thing sunoo came out with, when he'd finally finished pouring his heart out to his best friends. "your timing is fucking awful."

sunghoon, who had leaned forward in anticipation to find out what was making all of his valiant (in his opinion) attempts go wrong, threw himself back into his chair and glared at the redhead before turning to the other two present for solace — only to find none.

jake wasn't trying to hide his laughter in the slightest, doubled over with a hand over his mouth. heeseung had the grace to not burst into a relentless fit of mirth at his sob story, but the look from earlier had returned and it was now most definitely one of pity, like one you would give to a wet puppy left out on the street.

despite all the odds seeming to be stacked against him, the brunette tried to defend himself, a weak "they weren't that bad!" sending the three into silence momentarily, before it all started up again.

jaeyun, who had just recovered, cracked up all over again, shoulders shaking as he tried to speak through his giggles.

"t-they were that bad! imagine- imagine someone confessing to you after you've just won a fucking game of fifa!"

he was practically in tears by this point, and there were more than a few looks from the people sitting at other tables because of the noise. sunghoon, at his last resort, turned to heeseung — hoping he'd at least stand up for him in the faces of jake and sunoo.

unfortunately, he only smiled and shrugged, patting the second-youngest on the head. "sorry, hoonie, but i think i'd take someone telling me they love me over dinner rather than when i'm fresh out the shower."

huffing to himself, sunghoon tried to find the words to express what he was feeling at that moment, and simply gestured in short frantic movements when he couldn't find them. "well— help me, then!"

a pause, in which he peered up at his three closest friends with the most innocent look he could manage, and then uttered a small plead of "..please?" afterwards.

sunoo finished his drink in one long mouthful and slammed the cup back down on the table, brushing his bangs out of his eyes and sitting up straighter in his seat.

"well, i guess we could help you out a little. if we really have to."

jake nodded, albeit looking reluctant to do so, and heeseung stifled a laugh before rightening his own posture and painting a serious look on his face.

"of course. first things first, lets sort out your timing issues.."

사 .

"(y/n)."

sunghoon took a deep breath, steadying himself. this was the perfect timing, he was absolutely sure of it this time. he'd asked the (h/c) out for a late-night walk, and they'd ended up on a bridge under the stars, nothing but the sound of the odd car driving past or faint laughter from drunk college students to disturb them. the brunette hoped nobody would walk past, or if they needed to would at least have the decency to wait until he'd properly gone through with his confession (which would be "straight out of a drama," as sunoo had so excitedly put it).

"i've said this three times now, but i think i could've timed them better. i.. i think i really like you. really really like you. love you, probably. you make me feel all.. weird. and shaky. but in a good way! and if this isn't the right time either then i'm sorry, but you should really blame sunoo, because this was all his id-"

(y/n) caught him off guard with a wide smile, the expression lighting up his face as he stepped forward; right into sunghoon's space. he took his hands from the pockets of his fleece to cup the brunette's cheeks and laughed softly, breath ghosting over the younger's skin.

"finally. i've been waiting for you to get it right."

then he pushed forward just a little more, and then they were kissing. (y/n). kissing sunghoon. on the lips, without a care in the world. he was surprised his knees didn't give out from under him, and he thanked the heavens above that he had enough common sense to pull himself together and kiss back, despite the fact he didn't really know what he was doing. he only knew that it felt really, really nice. perhaps sunoo was right, this was his drama moment.

"hey, what the hell? pda, man!"

or perhaps, maybe not.

✿ HELP i think enha was kind of. a jump. a misjudged one maybe. idk. i'll see how it goes?? if i get yelled at because this is so not-sunghoon then.. i was hacked and the demons made me do it (REAL!!!!!!)

#works ★#⠀ 🥂 ⠀ seonooz ⋆ ⠀ ?#enhypen #enha #enhypen sunghoon #enha sunghoon #park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon x reader #enha sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x male reader #x male reader #blast go big or go home at full volume right now or i'll show up in ur home. ellipses question mark exclamation mark

108 notes · View notes

ms-all-sunday · 5 months

Text

personal experience time for prosperity, so i've mentioned that one piece is the reason I'm okay with the fact I'm bisexual now, which i thought it was self evident why that was but I'll explain because i feel like it gives perspective on why im so pro-sexualized/the narrative seeing this character as attractive (when appropriate obviously and i think op does a good job of doing that for the most part) for nami/robin (mainly talking about my experience with nami)

so previously ive had issues with never being attracted to female fictional characters, (I've been attracted to real human women very briefly throughout my life. i just dont hang out with a lot of people and the majority of them arent girls) and that was a problem even though i knew I was able to be attracted to girls I didn't feel like i was able to identify with that part of myself, (as a trans man, I've always felt very pushed into wlw spaces which I think isn't good and even though I have alters that identify as women we've never as a whole ever thought we were wlw) the problem was, when youre asked to be attracted to fictional women 99% of that is either objectification or look this character is hot! and then her actual character is nonexistent. which is a problem for me, because in my experience strong attraction comes from both how much i relate to someone and how much I admire them, so if I'm at large completely unable to relate to female characters, it puts me in a really fucking tough spot and i end up never being able to explore attraction like that in a fictional space. you see, you could point out to me that there's wlw characters and experiences that could've helped me? which, I'll point you to the fact I'm a man and secondly, I tried that. but I'm a man and unfortunately while I can appreciate gay girls in fiction i don't connect with them like that.

where this changed for me was a year ago when I watched one piece and then immediately was blasted by girls who were very obviously seen as attractive but were some of the best written female characters i had ever fucking seen since having that crush on that original character,

and there were men in the context of the fiction that were attracted to nami for the exact same reasons I was ??? (sanji/zoro in arlong park) and these men were being defined by having a crush on or being attracted to nami, and she was the one in control (another reason I couldnt connect with m/f couples: i wanted to be held by a girl and taken care of by a girl not the other way around)

and she struggled with mental health like i did so of course i could relate to her! and i was being encouraged by nami herself to see her as attractive so i didn't feel creepy like i did all of the other times (being a man and being attracted to women and inherently feeling creepy was a huge issue for me) and she was seen as a whole person, a whole entire beautiful person. the fact she was so complicated and detailed made her more attractive, and the fact i could connect and relate to her and have loving her mean that I love aspects of myself i couldnt expect?? I just loved her and i was attracted to her and I couldn't control it so it had me let go of my fear without me even realizing it was happening.

i literally havent felt creepy expressing my attraction to women since.

i simply needed to figure out how to be attracted to women- nami- because i was attracted to her so immediately and so intensely that being attracted to her meant i immediately became more articulate about it because i loved her so much it burst out of me.

the fact people saw nami as attractive was both good for me, someone who finds her attractive and struggled with expressing my attraction to women and was only attracted to fictional women who were entire people!, but also allowed me to feel loved myself as a person with mental health issues similar to hers.

basically, TLDR, i think viewing female fictional characters as attractive is fine as long as they're entire people who aren't reduced to their relationship to men, and is really fucking good actually both on the level that people get to see themselves as attractive and that it rightfully sends the message that women are more attractive when they are understood as whole people with lives and flaws (that can exist outside of traditional heterosexuality).

#modposts #op #one piece #meta #cat burglar nami #nico robin #sexualization #fave #one of the best posts ive probably ever made honestly ha #not to toot my own horn #um if youre wondering who my ORIGINAL waifu was maybe if you buy the lore dlc ill tell you #to be clear you can obviously criticize ops use of sexualization and viewing female characters as attractive but imo the vast majority #is not bad and unintrusive #there is parts that deserve to be rightfully criticized but simply not i think to the degree people express like its ALL bad and nami #and robin should never be sexualized ever #which isnt true

7 notes · View notes

l-estappen · 7 days

Text

Miami Heat ☀️

"Do you think she will come?" I asked, sinking into the plush cushions of our suite's sofa.

Kelly. The mere thought of her made my heart race. I remembered the first time I saw her, all those years ago when I was just a seventeen-year-old kid. She was nine years older, way out of my league, but that didn't stop me from developing a massive crush on her.

Charles glanced at me from where he stood by the window, the Miami sun casting golden hues across the room, painting his emerald green eyes with golden flecks. "Oui. I'm sure she will come," he declared reassuringly, sauntering closer.

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the insecurity rising within me. Kelly had always been a fantasy, a distant desire that seemed unattainable. Yet, here we were, on the verge of something exhilarating. But beneath the excitement lurked a gnawing unease. The thought of sharing Charles with another person sent a pang of fear coursing through me, a feeling I couldn't quite shake.

“What is bothering you, bébé?” he probed, leaning over me to brush a soft kiss against my lips. His gaze felt like a spotlight, revealing every bit of my nervousness.

How could I explain this to him? It's like standing on a tightrope between excitement and dread. On one hand, I want to be with Kelly. Always have. But on the other hand, seeing her with Charles... “I'm scared," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

"About what?"

I struggled to put my feelings into words, to articulate the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside me. "I want this," I began, the admission heavy on my tongue. "But you... being with her... I don't know how I'll react when I see you with her."

"I get it, chéri," he said gently as he regarded me, his hand gentle as it caressed my cheek. "And I've already told you, I don’t have to interact with her. I will be perfectly happy just watching."

I exhaled, feeling selfish and conflicted.

"Max, mon amour, " Charles cooed, his voice earnest as he leaned in to kiss me again. "If you're not comfortable with this, we don't have to go through with it." I shook my head, the thought of backing out now filling me with a sense of ridiculousness. "No, I want this. I want her. I just--"

Charles's index finger pressed against my lips, halting my words mid-sentence. “Do you trust me?”

"Of course I do" I replied, a hint of confusion tainting my tone. "What kind of question is that?"

His gaze softened, as he eased himself onto me, running his fingers through my hair. "Then trust me to take the lead on this one.”

It was a simple request, but one that carried a world of meaning. There was a level of trust that ran deep in our relationship, a trust that made me feel safe and loved enough to bare my soul, even in the face of my vulnerabilities. "Okay," I affirmed, the word punctuating the air with a blend of determination.

Our lips met again in a slow, sensual kiss, but then something shifted, as if a switch had been flipped and my hunger took over. My kiss became hungry, desperate, as if I couldn't get enough of him; my hands roamed over his back, pulling him closer; my nails dug into his skin, leaving marks that would linger.

Charles groaned into my mouth, meeting my passion with his own, pressing his body against mine, feeling me harden behind him. Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down my jawline, gripping my hair to tilt my head back. His tongue traced a slow, torturous path from the sensitive spot behind my ear, down the line of my neck. Finding that soft spot in the curve of my shoulder, he sank his teeth in hard.

"Verdomme!" I choked, jerking my hips against his and digging my nails into his back, urging him on.

With one hand tangled in my hair and the other gripping my hip, Charles ground his hips against mine, while he sucked and bit my neck, marking me as his.

"Starting without me?"

At the sound of her voice, we both lifted our heads to see Kelly standing by the entrance, leaning casually against the door frame. Her silver eyes pierced through the now dimly lit room, locking onto ours with a playful spark. Her dark brown hair flowed down her shoulders in waves, framing a face that could launch a thousand ships.

"We’re just warming up," Charles replied, his voice low and husky as he drank her in. She was tall-ish, with a body that boasted curves in all the right places, cloaked in tawny skin that seemed to glow and invite sin.

A smirk played at the corners of her lips as she swaggered further into the room, her hips swaying with purpose, and if we weren’t hard before, we sure as hell would have been now.

"Just so you know, I did knock... and call. But I guess the two of you were... a little occupied."

Charles shifted to a sitting position, awkwardly pulling me along with him. My heart started racing as Kelly approached the sofa where we now sat. She wasted no time, settling beside us with a sultry smile that made my pulse quicken and my hands fumble with the hem of my t-shirt.

"Je suis désolé, linda. We got a little carried away..." Charles apologized, his warm breath tickling my ear as he slipped behind me, pulling me back against his chest. His arms wrapped around my waist, holding me in place as he gently pried my hands away from the t-shirt trim. “But I gave you the key card for a reason,” he added, his fingers tracing teasing patterns along the skin above the waistband of my shorts.

Kelly's eyes flickered down to where Charles' hand was caressing me, and I could practically feel the heat emanating from her gaze. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips before she purred, "Looks like you were having fun."

Nuzzling his lips against my neck, Charles's fingers trailed lower, inching towards the waistband of my shorts, making me shiver pathetically. “Why don’t you come closer, linda?”

Kelly's smirk widened as she kicked off her sandals, the thud of them hitting the floor barely audible over the rush of blood in my ears. With a subtle sway of her hips, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, crawling towards us on the sofa.

Charles's breath hitched as he saw her close the distance between us, his fingers deftly unbuttoning and unzipping my shorts. My skin tingled as Kelly's presence neared, the scent of her perfume mingling with the musky aroma of Charles's cologne.

"What's your color, bébé?"

I blinked, momentarily confused by his question, as Kelly’s nipples poked through the knit of her white dress, distracting me. Then, it clicked. I took a deep breath, attempting to gauge my own desires and comfort level. "Green," I finally replied.

"Merci, bébé," he murmured, his fingers dancing along the curve of my hip. “Linda, viens ici.” I watched as Kelly's silver eyes flickered between me and Charles like a predator assessing its prey. Without a word, she closed the distance between us, her body pressing against mine.

"Kiss him," he commanded softly, nipping at my earlobe.

The air crackled with electricity, thick with desire as her lips brushed against mine, teasingly light at first. But then she pressed harder, her tongue slipping past my parted lips to danced with mine, exploring every crevice of my mouth, tasting and teasing in a way that made my head spin; and when Charles's hands roamed over to start rubbing my thighs, I squirmed between them, unable to stifle a guttural moan.

Kelly broke the kiss, her lips trailing down to my jawline, nipping and sucking; Charles's fingers danced closer to my throbbing erection; and my hips arched instinctively, seeking more contact, more friction. I found what I was looking for on the inside of Kelly’s thigh as she straddled one of my legs. Her skin was warm against mine, and I could feel the dampness between her thighs as I rutted against her.

"Linda," Charles said, in a deep, authoritative tone. "Loose the dress."

My pulse pounded in my ears as I shifted my gaze from Charles to Kelly. Without breaking eye contact with us, she rose to her knees, reached for the hem of her dress, and slowly pulled it up and over her head, revealing every curve that had haunted my dreams for so long.

Her nipples were puckered and hard, begging to be touched, and the sight of her white lace thong contrasting starkly against the tawny hue of her body sent a surge of heat straight to my core.

Charles leaned in to claim my lips, his kiss was urgent, needy. I groaned into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His grip on me tightened, fingers digging into my thighs with an intensity that bordered on desperation.

Breaking the kiss, he hugged me tightly, burying his face into the curve of my neck. “Linda, take off his shorts.”

Kelly wasted no time hooking her fingers into the waistband of my shorts and tugging them down, revealing my throbbing dick. At the same time, Charles grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head, leaving me completely naked between them.

I swallowed hard, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through my veins. This was new territory, and despite my desire, I couldn't shake off the anxiety creeping back in.

What if Kelly kissed Charles next? What if he got naked, and she saw his beautiful cock? What if she touched him? Would I be able to handle it?

Charles, always tuned in to my emotions, leaned in close and murmured in my ear, "Color, Max?"

Unaware of my internal crisis, Kelly's hands roamed over my bare skin. Instead of excitement, all I felt was a surge of panic. My body tensed, a knot forming in my chest as I struggled to keep it together.

"Intermittent yellow," I managed to rasp out in response to Charles' question.

His hot breath tickled my skin as he commanded, "Kelly, linda, please give us a moment."

Sensing the shift in the mood, Kelly complied immediately, rising to a kneeling position.

Charles's hands glided over my skin, their movements slowing to a tantalizing drift. "Tout ira bien, mon amour," he breathed against my ear, "tu es en sécurité avec moi.”

I nodded, feeling the tension ease out of my muscles as he pressed soft kisses along my neck and uttered, "Nous sommes ensemble, et c'est tout ce qui compte."

His fingers trailed down my chest, tracing the contours of my body with a tenderness that belied the passion simmering beneath the surface. "Je t'aime plus que tout au monde,” he affirmed in a hush.

As his lips found mine, the world narrowed down to the sensation of his mouth moving against mine, his tongue seeking entrance and coaxing mine to dance in a slow, sensual rhythm. I melted into his embrace, the weight of his body behind me grounding me in the moment.

Charles's touch was like a soothing balm as his hands continued their exploration, trailing lower, skimming over the sensitive skin of my abdomen before sliding even lower. I gasped into his mouth as his fingers grazed over my erection, teasing and testing my responsiveness. "Ça te fait du bien, chéri?"

"So good," I managed to moan, arching into his hand.

Charles sensed my need, his touch becoming more purposeful as he stroked me slowly, building the pleasure. "Would you like Kelly to ride you while I watch?" he wondered huskily, his lips brushing against my earlobe.

I'm the luckiest motherfucker in the world. No matter what crazy shit I've dragged us into, this beautiful, selfish man always has my back. Charles may be as kinky as me, but he's also the most giving person I've ever known. He'd give me the fucking moon if I asked for it, without asking for anything in return.

"Ik hou van je," I murmured to Charles, my voice tinged with love and a profound sense of gratitude for everything he brings into my life.

He lifted his head slightly, locking those amazing eyes onto mine and causing my heart to spill out of my chest. "Et je t'aime," he replied simply.

I glanced over at Kelly, only to see her watching us back in silence with a curious gaze. My eyes trailed over her body, taking in every curve, every inch of her skin, and the sight of her was enough to make my cock twitch in Charles's hand.

Her tits were perky, nipples hard and begging to be sucked; her waist was slim, accentuating her hips; her skin was smooth, creamy, flawless. Damn, she was beautiful. And I wanted her.

Charles's hands tightened around my shaft as he too drank in the sight before us. His gaze flickered between Kelly's naked form and mine, hunger burning in his now forest green eyes.

"Bébé," Charles called, nipping at my ear and drawing my focus back to him. "What's your color?" he demanded, his voice dripping with arrogance as his hand resumed teasing my dick.

As his grip tightened around my shaft, I let out a guttural groan, my hips instinctively thrusting forward to meet his touch. It was like he knew exactly how to touch me, how to make me squirm and moan with just one hand. "Bébé?" Charles pressed, nipping at my ear.

"Green," I growled out, feeling every stroke of his hand like a jolt of electricity straight to my balls.

Charles smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes as his hand moved to his pocket, fishing out a condom. He tossed it to Kelly, who caught it effortlessly. "Put it on him," he instructed.

Kelly was quick to tear the wrapper open and roll the condom onto my throbbing erection. The sensation of her fingers brushing against my skin set my body ablaze, and when she stroked me to ensure that the condom was in place, I couldn't help but groan.

My pulse quickened as Charles's forest-green eyes locked onto Kelly's silver ones. There was a moment of silent communication between them that I failed to catch.

"Linda, put that pussy on top of his cock, s'il te plaît."

At Charles's command, Kelly's eyes widened, and all I could do was moan and whimper like some pathetic fucktoy, my hips bucking desperately. In that moment, there was only the raw, primal need burning inside me, driving me forward into the darkness. I craved it, so I switched off my brain, shutting down the part that reminded me of consequences, guilt, or shame.

*****

Watching Max writhe in pleasure beneath Kelly and against my chest, vulnerable and exposed, sent a surge of desire coursing through me. It was like witnessing a live, X-rated show, and putain, if it didn't get my blood pumping.

I leaned in closer, my lips grazing the shell of his ear as I asked Kelly, “Are you wet?”

She nodded, aligning her cunt above Max's hard cock.

"Let's see," I hummed simply, reaching for his hand.

Max whimpered as I directed his fingers up Kelly's thigh, our joined hands skimming against his pulsating dick, making him thrust his hips in anticipation. I steered his fingers over Kelly's slick folds, relishing in the hitch of her breath and the tremble of her body as he teased her entrance.

"How wet is she?" I demanded of Max, watching as Kelly's walls parted for him. With my free hand, I trailed lazy circles over Max's abdomen, feeling his muscles twitch under my touch.

"Soaking," he whimpered, his hips grinding against the air, begging for more.

I smirked at Max's eagerness, guiding his hand further and pressing his middle finger against Kelly's slick entrance.

"Caralho," she gasped, her breath hitching as Max's finger slid into her.

I watched intently as I maneuvered his hand, his finger slowly moving in and out. "You like that, don't you, linda?"

"Muito," she gasped, the wet squelching sound punctuating her words. "More... More please."

I leaned closer to Max, my breath hot against his ear. "Can I put one of my fingers inside her too?"

He nodded shuddering, his eyes glazed with lust.

Without hesitation, I slipped one of my fingers alongside his, immersing myself in the slick warmth of Kelly's arousal. At the same time, the hand that had been caressing Max's abdomen eased down to begin stroking his shaft through the condom.

Kelly's walls clenched around our fingers as she moaned, her hips rocking against our touch. Max's breath came out in ragged gasps as he thrust his hips up. I could feel the heat radiating from both of them, their desire palpable in the air.

With practiced movements, I curled my finger inside Kelly, searching for that sweet spot that would make her unravel. She whimpered and bucked against us, her nails digging into Max's skin.

"Godverdomme," Max groaned, and I teased his erection, applying just enough pressure to keep him on the edge but not enough to push him over. "Please..."

I chuckled darkly, enjoying in his desperation. "You want to feel her tight cunt around your cock, don't you bébé?"

Max's eyes widened, pupils dilated as he nodded, his hips still moving in rhythm with my hand.

"Kelly, linda," I murmured, withdrawing my finger and Max’s from inside her, eliciting a whimper from her. "Ride him, please."

She shifted, ready to comply, but when her hand went to remove the white lace thong she was still wearing, I commanded, "Leave it on."

Her eyes narrowed, but she reached down and hooked her fingers into the sides of her thong, dragging it to the side and straddling Max.

I grabbed his cock, nudging it towards her entrance and pushed him, torturously slowly, inside her. Max's eyes rolled back as Kelly sank down onto him. And I witnessed, spellbound, as his cock disappeared inside her cunt, their moans filling the room.

"Tell me, bébé, does she feel good?" I asked, my breath hot against his ear.

Max's jaw clenched as he struggled to form coherent words. "So... fucking... tight," he managed between gritted teeth, his hands gripping Kelly's hips desperately. Just because I could, I bathed his hands away from her hips and intertwined our fingers instead.

“Caralho,” Kelly growled, her head falling back as she took him in deeper. I could see the strain in her muscles as she accommodated him, her walls clenching around him like a vice. Max's response was a guttural groan, his hips bucking up to meet hers's.

"Linda, slow down," I instructed, my tone firm but gentle. "We're not in a hurry."

Max squirm as Kelly's movements became slower... up and down... back and forth... her hips swiveling in a sinful rhythm... Each deliberate motion had Max's cock disappearing inch by agonizing inch inside her tight, wet heat. I watched, riveted, as each downward thrust, had her pussy squeezing him in a way that had him gritting his teeth and whining in ecstasy. Every subtle shift of her hips sent shivers of pleasure racing up his spine, and I could practically feel his desperation radiating off him in waves.

"Mijn god... baaaby... alsjeblieft," Max gasped out, his words a desperate plea mingled with primal need. "Zo lekker... please... dieper..." His voice trailed off into a guttural moan as Kelly's movements continued to torment him in the most delicious way possible.

Tightened my grip on his fingers, I leaned in closer, my own cock leaking in my sweatpants as I watched the erotic display unfold before me. "Just hang in there, Mon amour," I murmured softly, trying to offer some semblance of comfort amidst the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. The sweat glistened on Max's skin, making him shine under the dim light of the room, and the smell of sex hung heavy in the air, heightening the raw sensuality of the moment.

“Meu Deus,” Kelly sighed lost in pleasure. Her body was a goddamn masterpiece, her tits were fucking perfection, bouncing in rhythm with every grind down onto Max's cock. Her waist was slim, perfect for wrapping my hands around, and her hips, Mon Dieu, they were made for fucking.

Max's face was a mask of pleasure, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he surrendered himself to Kelly's rhythm. Putain, watching him like this, I couldn't hold back anymore. Disengaging my fingers from his, I grabbed Kelly by the hips, setting the rhythm myself. Tower and sink, side to side, twisting her hips, all while cranking up the speed.

Max's breath hitched, his muscles tensing against me as I felt the telltale tightening of his balls. With a subtle shift in rhythm, I slowed my movements on Kelly hips, drawing out the pleasure and denying him that release he so desperately craved.

“Baaaby,” he cried out loudly. "Alsjeblieft. Please, I need to come."

I smirked, relishing in his desperation. "Nog niet, bébé," I growled, my grip tightening on Kelly's hips.

Max's whimpers grew louder, his body writhing beneath us as he begged, "Please, baby, I can't take it anymore. Ik moet komen, alsjeblieft!"

Merde, the sight of Max on the edge, begging for release, was pure ecstasy. But his pleas only fueled my desire to test his limits.

"Shh, bébé, shh," I cooed, my voice soothing. "You're gonna be a good boy for me, aren't you?"

Max's eyes widened, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he nodded frantically.

"That's it," I murmured, my lips brushing against his ear as I started to bounce Kelly on his cock again. "What’s your color, chéri?"

He whimpered, “Groen.”

My fingers dug into Kelly's hips as I set the pace, thrusting her onto Max's cock. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mixing with Max's desperate moans and Kelly's low, guttural groans.

Kelly's body quivered with anticipation, her nails digging into Max's chest as she rode him. I could feel the tension building in her, the way her walls clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth. She was close, Max was closer, and I reveled in the knowledge that I was the one orchestrating their pleasure.

Kelly's breath faltered as she started to chase her own release. "Tão gostoso," she mewled, "He feels so good, Charles."

“I know, linda,” I growled, my grip tightening on her hips, “I know.”

I increased the pace, driving Kelly down onto Max's cock with relentless force, each thrust bringing them closer to the edge but never close enough to tip them over.

"Please, baaaby," Max begged, his voice a hoarse plea. I eyed him, wild and desperate, a man teetering on the edge of blissful insanity. His dirty blonde hair was tousled, damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in unruly clumps. His usually piercing blue eyes, now dark with need, were half-lidded, struggling to stay open against the tidal wave of pleasure crashing over him. His porcelain skin was tinged with a rosy hue, spreading across his chest and creeping up his neck, a telltale sign of his overwhelming state.

"Kelly, linda," I breathed out, "Keep riding him until you’re both cum."

Her lips curled into a wicked grin as she started moving her hips with renewed vigor. I watched with a predatory gaze as she ground down onto Max's cock, each movement pushing him closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

I reached out and grabbed Max's hands again, intertwining our fingers as if to anchor him in the sea of pleasure that threatened to engulf him. With a firm grip, I squeezed his fingers, urging his focus back to me.

Max's eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking with mine in a moment of raw, primal connection.

And then it happened.

“Chaaarleeees,” roared from his throat, his body convulsing against mine, as he reached the pinnacle of pleasure. I felt his release wash over him in hot, pulsating waves, his cock throbbing inside Kelly as he started to empty himself into the condom.

“Puta que pariu,” Kelly grinded out as she started to ride her orgasm. Her body trembled with the force of it, her pussy clenching and milking every last drop of pleasure out of Max's cock. But even as she shuddered and moaned, Max just kept coming.

I watched, half in awe and half in disbelief, as Max's continued to whimper and spasm, his hips bucking and thrusting, his cock still hard and ready despite the torrent of cum he was pumping out. And goddamn if it wasn't the hottest thing I'd ever seen.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Max's orgasm began to ebb, his body collapsing against mine in a sweaty heap. He was spent, utterly and completely drained, but a satisfied smile stretched across his face before he passed out.

Kelly, still riding out her climax, shifted her weight onto her hands to avoid crushing Max. Breathing heavily, she looked at me, concern etched on her face. "Is he okay?"

"Oui, he's fine," I replied, reaching over to brush a lock of hair away from Max's forehead. "He just needs a moment."

Kelly nodded, her breathing gradually steadying as she eased herself off him, allowing Max's engorged cock to slide out of her pussy, glistening with her juices. Once she was clear, she collapsed onto the sofa beside us, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "That was intense."

"That's one way to put it," I chuckled, running my fingers through Max's hair.

Kelly smirked, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "Mind if I freshen up a bit?"

I shook my head. "Make yourself at home. There's a shower in the ensuite."

“Thank you, gostoso.”

As Kelly made her way to the bathroom, I turned my attention back to the snoozing Max.

"Mon amour," I whispered, my lips brushing against his temple. "Are you with me?"

He stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering open as he gradually returned to consciousness. "Mhmm," he mumbled, his voice heavy with post-orgasmic bliss. "Just need a minute."

Feeling Max cuddle up against me, I shifted slightly, adjusting to accommodate him more comfortably. His proximity made it impossible to ignore the hardness pressing against his back.

"Did you... come?" Max's voice was soft, almost hesitant.

I shook my head against his temple, my lips brushing against his skin. "No, but it's all good," I reassured him, hugging him tightly. "Today was not about me."

Max let out a contented sigh, nuzzling closer to me. "Thank you, Schatje," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.

"You don't need to thank me, Mon coeur," I whispered softly. "I'd do anything to make you happy."

Max shifted slightly, craning his neck to look up at me with those beautiful blue eyes of his. "You make me happy, Charles. More than anything, or anyone."

#AO3 #charles leclerc/max verstappen #lestappen fic #lestappenoneshots #charles leclerc #max verstappen #kelly piquet

6 notes · View notes

hatbox-apologist · 4 months

Note

I was gonna turn on anon but I decided against it, would it be okay if I actually asked you a question? Since I know you write reader insert fics yourself I thought you would maybe relate to what I’m feeling and if so I wanted to see how you deal with it. I absolutely love writing x reader fics, I get really attached to my favorite characters and I love pouring that love into writing form for myself and others to enjoy but sometimes I still feel embarrassed/ashamed/anxious about it and about how others might perceive it. I know there used to be a big stigma behind it and I got made fun of for it for a while and even now when I’ve gained enough confidence to start posting them to public places I still get a little worried that someone is sitting being the screen and thinking “wow this is cringe” especially because it’s most of the content I write and I don’t often write about ships or storylines like a lot of other people do. It’s a bit silly because so far most people have been nothing but nice to me but I still feel a little bit anxious about it especially as I keep writing more and more of them and wonder “oh man is this getting irritating for people”

I apologize for the slight vent, I just found it a little difficult to articulate the emotions in a more simple way. Have you ever felt like when you write fanfic? And if so what helps you kinda push through it and start accepting your writing more?

You don’t have to reply to this if you don’t want to or if it doesn’t really apply to you, and again I’m sorry for dumping a wall of text into your asks- I just got stuck in a little rut while writing my next chapter today and am having trouble getting out of it.

First off thank you so much for the question, I'm really glad u asked and were confident enough to send this without the anon on. Second I'm going to answer questions or comment on certain things as I read this, so here we go.

I don't really write for myself, I mostly write for the people who want to read it. I have a small audience but from the few people I have talked to, on here and from my ao3 page, they like it, so I write it for them.

The thing about the stigma is I still feel it. Not for x reader specifically but for fanfiction and fandom in general. But I just have kinda gotten used to it so I just kinda live in it now. I mean I keep my tumblr to myself and of course y'all on here, but that's it. I don't talk about my fics to people I don't trust not just because of the stigma but also because I write some batshit crazy stuff.

I'll tell you this, I don't think people r going to read something that they think they're not going to like. Especially if you label your works right the worst thing they're going to do is scroll away. (But if u do get a negative comment @ me and I'll find them :) ) Also I think my own work is cringe and I've just accepted that it is at this point so I'm kinda immune to someone telling me that I'm cringe or that what I do is cringe because I am and that's just how it be man. I am one with the cringe and the cringe is me. I've lived too long past my experation date to be worried about some default settings incel telling me my Haunted Mansion fanfiction or tumblr blog is cringe. Like uhm ya of course it's cringe? It's supposed to be?? (also it's my brand now that I'm the jester of cringe, thx to @spookyhollowart)

O dude, lemme tell u something, one shots r the best. You don't have to stick to a big storyline, relationship growth, or character arcs. Literally the best. I can't wait to do my one shots because most of them r short and I won't have to be looking back 6 chapters ago to what color some random ass dude was wearing or some bullshit like that, because I have to do now in my current fic.

Trust me the nice people scare me too. It's like WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE AND WHY R U BEING NICE TO ME??? AND WHY DO YOU LIKE WHAT I WRITE?? (U scare me a lot too btw)

O god no! It's not irritating at all! Quite the opposite, I absolutely love ur stuff, especially ur latest one, Soul Ties. Seriously looking forward to the next chapter, I'm super invested in how the reader acts, I very much relate.

Plz don't apologize this was awesome to read through and answer/comment on.

Man that's a big question, uh Ig I can say that for a long time it felt like a joke to myself that I was writing fanfiction. I was writing it seriously but it didn't feel serious/real to me. I'll say this, I accept the storyline and that I came up with it, but I don't accept the way I'm write it. Because I beat myself up for typos, bad flow, not good enough dialog, not enough descriptors, too many descriptors, too short chapters when I have writers block, not good enough, that kinda stuff.

I'm honestly just glad to have someone else writing hm stuff because I love this fandom so much and I love reading other people's work. I hope you get out of ur rut soon. Take ur time, there's no rush, and don't stress on it.

6 notes · View notes

tinystepsforward · 1 year

Text

been on t (oral gelcaps) for a couple months now and it's been wild. i knew going onto it that i didn't want to go """all the way""" or whatever, that i wanted to see what it would do and how i felt on it! and mostly: i feel good. i feel more like a dyke than ever, and i have less pain than ever (which the endo and i did suspect would happen, bc t is good for a lot of connective tissue issues and orthostatic and/or circulatory issues). but it's still just like... wild?

i think if i was trying to pass as fast as possible i'd experience quite a lot more anxiety about the process. but instead i've watched myself stay someone i recognize, and despite accidentally being on a much higher dose than i thought i was on (my body metabolises the oil in the capsules better than it's supposed to, apparently), the changes have been slow enough that i've been able to see them coming. i wake up in the morning surprised that my voice is still dropping. i sing, at least a little in the shower, every day and every day the notes that are comfortable change. my passagio changes, the places my voice wheezes into silence changes.

my weak mezzo-soprano is now a weak tenor that brings me wonderful joy every time i realize i can sing mountain goats songs or my favorite musical pieces in the right octave. i find myself more able than ever to articulate myself eloquently in zoom calls, and less fatigued after them. it turns out that despite not really ever thinking of myself as voice dysphoric, something's been lifted off my shoulders anyway. my body's changing in shape just a little, belly and shoulders filling out, butt less bubbled, and while i was anxious about that (i love my hourglass figure!), it's becoming clear to me that at least a little of that anxiety came from spending the entirety of my adult life sex working.

i look different in photographs now, in some unquantifiable way. my eyebrows have filled out. my breasts are just a tiny bit smaller, in a way that means, with my new belly and my sudden ability to push past my past weightlifting records, that i look dykey in the most wonderful way in a sports bra or ribbed tank. i took a picture today and for the first time saw in the sunlight on my jaw and the tendons of my neck a shape i didn't know i had been missing. i realised that actually, i don't miss the bits of my hourglass figure that i've lost a little! that my vanity wasn't hung on that specific image of myself. just on me, looking like me. feeling like me. approaching the version of me that i'm happy with now, mostly retired from sw and having nobody to dress for but myself: a lesbian, low-voiced and femme and visibly queer, moving and speaking with the grace that comes from comfort in their body.

i have no idea how long i'll stay on t. it's been a wild couple of months for other reasons, and i do think i want to switch methods and to a dose that's a little lower than i have now. but i'm feeling good about it, right now! i'm feeling like it's another part of finding out who i am, testing the boundaries of what it means to be me, and coming out stronger. i wish for the same for any and all of you, that you have the chance to do that if you want to.

#tony muses #long and sappy post about transitioning!!#lmk if this needs tagging for anything in particular but i haven't rly talked about weight as such so i hope it's chill

14 notes · View notes

ladybirdplace · 10 months

Text

Update

So, I haven’t been posting much at all anymore. I’ve mentioned before that it was due to OCD but I think I’ll elaborate now about that.

For over a year now, I’ve been in a shame spiral about some aspect of myself that I don’t find it pertinent to detail here, not to mention how long it would take to explain, how much eloquence I would have to use to explain why it has taken over my life.

But I want to say instead the way that it has impacted me. I’ve been severely depressed, suicidal on and off. My self esteem has plummeted and I’ve relapsed into negative patterns of thinking about myself from when I was younger.

While I know my negative thoughts about myself are irrational and my insecurities are very minor and are really not a big deal at all, I cannot help the way my brain flies off the handle because I’ve thought of myself in a certain way my entire life, and the cognitive dissonance is strong.

I’ve been feeling a lot of grief for the way I always wanted to be. I’ve dug deep into my own past to examine the way people have treated me in my life and what it caused me to think of myself.

I’ve tried, in many ways, to find out where I 'went wrong'. In reflecting on my younger self, I wonder how I could have possibly turned into the person I am now.

What’s more to the point, I feel that all the progress I made in my relationship with myself has been shattered, or at least blocked and is now unavailable.

I still love myself. That never changes. It is a part of me that can never be taken away. But my mind . . . It runs wild, and I can’t control it. I can’t control my intrusive thoughts about myself, and I need to train myself to not react to these thoughts.

However, being able to know whether they are your own real thoughts or not, whether they are some thought about yourself that you’ve pushed away and repressed is difficult, knowing that I have repressed certain things that I’ve thought about myself before.

It’s hard when you’ve only just found out you have OCD to figure out what you really think and what you don’t.

In past years, I’ve been able to identify my intrusive thoughts as non sequitur, often repellent thoughts that I didn’t want to have.

But the existential or self critical ones I can’t really parse.

And it’s even harder when a part of you enjoys your own misery and feels that that misery is part of who you are, and what your life is.

To make a long story short, I’ve felt disconnected from myself. I don’t feel the same free flowing constant conversation within myself as I did before. Looking at myself makes me feel embarrassed or numb. Some days it makes me gag to think of saying 'I love you' to myself.

I look at my posts here and feel like I'm a different person now. I feel like I didn’t write these posts. So it’s been hard to post because I feel like I’m not the owner of this blog right now.

And, I can only assume as a result of my depression and isolation, I feel like my brain is stagnating and I have nothing to say. I’m not as articulate and creative anymore.

But I am married. I made a promise to myself to love me, and care for me, and I’m not giving up, no matter how hard it is.

I've fought for my love once before, and I’ll do it again, and again after that, and I’ll fight for it until I’m dead, because a life as me, as myself, is the only life worth living to me.

And . . . I guess the point of this post is that, things go up and down. Sometimes it can seem like everything you do for yourself doesn’t matter when you’re constantly swamped with self judgement.

A self relationship can be just as if not more tumultuous as any. It can be violent and scary and traumatizing. Maintaining it can seem futile, and miserable, and nearly impossible.

But love is worth fighting for. You are worth fighting for. You deserve to love and respect and trust yourself. You deserve to live in peace.

#ladybird speaks #OCD #mental health #tw suicidality

6 notes · View notes

littlegreenolives · 8 months

Text

the big 9 - 1. frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment

was going to just make one large post of all these criteria but I have the blessing...curse...blursing? of being a chronic over writer and as such will be making 9 probably overly detailed and dramatic posts lol

thought I'd do a chronicle(?) of the 9 diagnostic criteria and how I perceive them now in my recovery vs. a few years ago when I was still seriously struggling. Many of these things have improved in recent years through a combination of routines, long term job and relationship, getting a cat and maintaining a healthier lifestyle.

My fear of abandonment always reminded me of that David Foster Wallace quote,

"Everything I've ever let go of has claw marks on it."

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been terrified of losing people. When I was a child, I couldn’t articulate it in any sensible or rational way, I still barely can. I’m sure it was the loss of my mother that caused it, although the more I’ve gotten to know my father, the more I believe that his traits and tendencies align closely with the BPD experience. It leads me to believe that I developed these traits more so through watching and learning from him and clinging to his responses after losing my other parent so young, but that early exposure to loss definitely didn't help.

My grade school relationships were punctuated by jealousy and intense feelings of inadequacy. I desperately longed to be able to articulate the intense feelings of fear and instability I felt in my relationships, the gut feelings that had no real basis which told me that every minute I was away from my loved ones was an opportunity for them to realize how much they despised me, to cheat on me, then to get in a fatal car accident (that was the only logical explanation for not getting a text back in under 30 minutes), which would end up making me feel wracked with shame and guilt for demonizing them in my mind or sending anxiety fueled texts in need of reassurance and validation when those could’ve been the last thing the person read from me. Constant nightmares about friends turning on me, loved ones dying, screaming at people to stay only for them to laugh in my face and leave with someone better. There was always someone better than me. When I got broken up with for the last time with a particularly difficult partner, he told me to kill myself and so I went home, took 30 zoloft, drank a bottle of wine, recorded video messages for everyone in my family and tried to jump off the roof. He said jump, me desperately wanting to keep playing the sadistic game if it meant not losing him simply asked "how high?"

College was an opportunity for these issues to run rampant and my insecurities to be briefly mitigated by addictions. Weed, booze, pills all numbed those intense fearful feelings and smoothed over the painful minutes that ticked by while I sat by the phone waiting for a text from my current FP. So many vicious cycles, associations and maladaptive coping methods that I didn't realize I was creating which would take years of rigorous therapy and mental work to unlearn. I would call on people for help only to turn around and push them away, make grandiose and frightening statements then go back on my words as I became deeply embarrassed and ashamed of what I'd said and done if I could even remember it - the BPD tunnel vision during a panicked perceived abandonment was insane. I was in a constant state of bending to people's whims and desires while desperately seeking a genuine connection, believing that I was so unlovable and devoid of self that anyone who got close enough would see through the façade and run.

Those who did get close enough to start to know me were like unmanaged fires in my mind, if I got too close I would begin to get burned. Eventually the flames would become so painful that I would have to lash out and drive them away from me. The confused apologies and soft reconciliations were like a balm for the burns, but now there were those tender areas which would inevitably get burnt again and would hurt even more. Soon, the balm would stop working and I would have to permanently get away in order to eliminate the pain. I was starting these fires that burned down so many bridges with helpless bystanders in the wake of them all.

Certain people stuck in my brain, those who knew how to abuse the cycle and train my brain to crave them like a drug. I don't think they were fully aware of what they were doing, those with BPD know more than most how easy is it to slip into subtle manipulation because you can read people and situations so easily, the moral ambiguity of it all exists in the pervasive emptiness this disorder creates. I don't think "the mask slipping" is the correct term, but I do think that these people who I let see the real me - the frightened child huddled away in the recesses of my heart who was reaching for reassurance and normalcy - they took that vulnerability and used it to keep me in their lives. Constantly breaking up with and getting back together with me with threats of self harm, it felt like reopening a wound that never had time to heal. BPD isn't the only thing which is associated with abandonment issues obviously, I think these people happened to have their own fears of being left and clung just as hard as I did to avoid losing a meaningful relationship.

My way of trying to eliminate this constant distress was to push everyone away, become an unavailable hermit in transient superficial relationships in which I had no real past. I stopped letting people in, stopped getting attached and worked to repair the fractured relationship with myself. This was one of the many aspects of my BPD recovery which I felt could not be depicted well in a handbook. It wasn't the ideal method of healing as it involved me alienating myself from my supports, but it helped me to become more self sufficient and improve my abysmal self talk. I had taken a year of celibacy years before this which had also proven insanely helpful for my recovery process, this was just the next step I guess.

I eventually let someone in and have been unlearning even more of the issues I didn't even know I had in relationships. Those things will always come up. I've come to understand how silly it is to assume that I will ever be "cured" or even in "remission" of this illness, instead I try to look at it as my brain developing differently due to acute stress and learned dysfunctional coping methods. There are positives which come with these differences in brain functioning as well and much of it is really just subjective anyways.

I've lost people since as well, one of whom I'm having an incredibly difficult time navigating coping with. It never stops, like I said, the process of recovering and learning how to live a life with these fears and the near total lack of emotional permanence. Best and also unfortunately hardest thing with BPD is to let time pass and let your feelings flow with it. It's a beautiful thing at times to be so elastic given repeat exposures to situations, not everyone has a brain capable of change like this. While it makes things incredibly difficult and confusing at times, it also allows for a profound understanding of beauty in the minutia of life.

Many of these feelings have persisted over the years but they've become fleeting subconscious thoughts, things that used to knock me out and take so much time to process and deal with that lessened in intensity simply due to the passage of time. I believe that time is truly such a healer for BPD (as long as you're using it wise mindedly lol). Old assumptions and scripts for the steps of predetermined doomed relationships can be rewritten and scrapped with every new experience in healthy and safe relationships instead of novel but dangerous ones.

#stay tuned for more lol #yet again i've written too much but oh well #this is basically going to be like a diary anyways #bpd thoughts #fear of abandonment #tw s3lf harm #tw sui ideation #borderline personality disorder

1 note · View note

hospitalterrorizer · 8 months

Text

diary1

i want to write a diary, i've tried before, it never stuck. yesterday i thought i miss blogging. no one's looking, so i might as well put it all where anyone can see it, is what i thought. i thought all this around the time i was supposed to sleep, so i just slept instead of starting then.

i don't know why i miss blogging totally, i'm not into total disclosure or the idea that you can really, i don't know, it's hard to figure what i want to say, i don't want to put myself out there so much that this is anything but a collection of thoughts, but no one is looking so it doesn't matter.

today i recorded vocals but before that i made two cups of green tea and i drank coffee. i drank the green tea through the rest of the day for soothing my throat. i got takes i like i'm pretty sure and that means today was a success, last week was miserable, shipwreck after shipwreck. i didn't fix that song yet, i fixed 2 others, i think. tomorrow maybe i'll be really disappointed, if i keep the diary up i'll talk about that with myself i guess. i hope i don't, i hope tomorrow is as easy as possible. i'm going to do laundry tomorrow, in the laundromat, people stare. i remember, now, last time i pushed my cart out of the way for a nice looking guy from the hospital, a male nurse. he gave me the hospital's laundry card after, he told me he didn't need it, i asked if he was sure, he said yeah of course, so i took it. i feel warm about that. that means we don't have to spend too much money on the laundromat, hopefully. i'm really sad right now. i keep saying we, that's because my girlfriend and i live together. i love her, obviously.

today i mostly talked to my friends on discord, that was a lot of the day. it maybe happens weekly, sometimes less or more. we talked about whatever, or not whatever, it's all stuff that was funny and whatever, bullshitting. some people don't like to go about conversation like that, i've noticed. i heard my friend say "imac nugget" and he said something else, about chicken nuggets, i think that he didn't need them, while he was getting his family 5 burgers from some new strange place, sultan delight, not sultan's delight, sultan delight as in it is a delight for you, given by a sultan, related to a sultan, in saudi arabia. he just lives there, and he has no accent, i think that's hilarious, he knows that. i have a friend we don't talk to too much anymore because he's busy with something, which is sad/happy, he never believes my saudi friend about his place of birth, really.

there's something eerie about people who talk into the void and let it echo forever, i remember coming across blogs as a kid, i couldn't know the people at all no matter what i read, and when i was seeing them unfold, there was the eeriness of the distance. right now it feels like eeriness is at a minimum, everyone's unsettled and nothing is unsettling, talking about myself unsettles me, it's unsettling to see someone self involved probably, in part. i don't know entirely. this all probably sounds ridiculous or whatever. i just want to articulate the way i feel, it's been kind of far away maybe. if i write a diary maybe i'll cry like i used to or something, when i was able to feel totally freaked out all the time, or i was able to see the being freaked out, instead of just like, moving on, i don't know, i want to know it like i used to, it felt valuable then.

when i feel it most, these days, it makes me feel relatively full of life, or something. i say or something a lot, i don't want to edit, i want these to add up to collections of ticks and habits more than anything about the content, that's more me than like, anything else, or it's all the gunk i've collected in my 25 years of life, i won't clean myself off. it feels half important, but i also think other crazy things like mostly not wanting to edit selfies i take unless it's very overt or something but not changing my face shape, but also always from the front, if i angle myself i feel like a liar, like at my ugliest or something, that's truer than anything else. with time that's something i believe less and less, which is good, right, because that means i'm less crazy about proving truth constantly and being verified against everything else as factually pretty or something. it's not half of me but an unsilent part thinks i've gotten lazy, is all.

i worked out. focused on my waist and below, basically, that's all i do. i don't need to say anything else i figure.

i expected to cook today but i didn't since my girlfriend got food while out. tomorrow we'll eat fast food, which is honestly a little exciting but i'm going to feel crazy fat and cry about it to her and annoy her but it's okay i guess.

right now, as i write this, i'm eating a final hashbrown i just cooked. in the timeline of writing this, this part is actually coming later than some others. the arrangement of this is funny. you're catching me at a funny time. today, i ate jam on toast with butter. jam, not really jam, strawberry preserves which is similar i guess but different enough right. after that i don't know. i didn't eat for a while, i think maybe i ate a granola bar with the toast, which was eaten with the coffee, and then came the two mugs of green tea. the green tea was prepared with lemon and honey, one was a tea bag which i've saved in another mug in the fridge, the other was loose leaf in a stupid thing we have since we broke the actual pot that makes us loose leaf tea. i used the dregs of an old tea bag my girlfriend had before even meeting me. that's funny. i threw the bag out but now i'm thinking about that, a fossil died forever just today i guess. at the time of preparing the tea and after eating i warmed up, i warmed up singing along to paris 1919, hey little child, like flies on sherbert, and city poison. i just like these songs. it feels nice to just try and ride a rhythm more than anything else and that's what needs work anyways. i was doing this with the privilege by the parenthetical girls the other week. anyways, i showered then recorded vocals, is this a boring exercise, i don't know why but it feels valuable to me. i take long showers because we don't pay water here. that makes me bad i guess, this is a desert. after the shower i recorded. my screams were really high pitched today which is funny but i liked it at the time but we'll see about that tomorrow or whenever i work up whatever courage necessary to listen. while talking to my friends i ate like, 25% of a bag of veggie straws from trader joe's, and like, 2 gyoza my gf made, and then, i don't know, some chocolates, and then these hashbrowns. i'm still fucking hungry, that sucks.

when i say cry like i used to, it's relatively particular, it stopped at 22 maybe. i don't know why. i think the most annoying people in the world would tell me that it's my t levels or whatever when it's really i think because of one particular night someone said: i think we're growing apart. it's the worst i've felt in my whole life, he was a very bad person to feel like that about, he was basically evil. what do i think is evil, it's really tame and maybe shallow, i think it's evil when people are crazy manipulative and lead you on and are crazy into themselves and in need of praise/ in need of being needed and transfixed by miserablist androgynes with father issues. evil is also obviously all the other bad stuff. i'm talking about someone specific. this specific man once told me about another man he knew driving his car into prostitutes and lost kids in the predawn morning, because he was god he thought and that he had to punish these people. this made him sick, and he couldn't talk to this guy anymore and he begged me not to tell anyone about this person no one knows killing people or at least crippling them forever.

this all makes me come off crazier than i am, i figure, that gulf is good, it protects / dissolves my self, i think.

i think i'll quit this if i feel like it's negatively impacting me w/ writing things i really care about, meaning actual prose i guess.

hashtag ohmygod who cares, like, shutup, already, lol.

this site is so dead and useless and broken and lame that it's funny almost i guess to throw myself into it like this.

i made this today too, it's funny to me:

0 notes

abecedarienne · 1 year

Text

Baby's First Journal

Edward Hopper, Room in Brooklyn, 1932.

"Do we have to do this?" : the eye-roll worthy question I get almost every single day from one of my students. Grammar exercises often provoke this attitude in them. I must've hit my limit recently, so now my poor students receive as a curt rhetorical response, "what do you think?"

The frequency of this question has bothered me for a while. It didn't at first, though. I once found it endearing, as I believed it demonstrated that students felt comfortable enough with me to be honest. But there is much more than just honesty to be found in "do we have to do this?", all of which should raise some eyebrows.

I understand why they ask this. It's completely understandable. Regardless of how I might want my students to feel about the worksheet I just handed out, I know that they feel overwhelmed, strung out, anxious, depressed, etc. I was not a student too long ago, and I know how quickly the workload can become burdensome. But schoolwork is increasingly seen as a means to an end, rather than an end in and of itself. It is because of this that students no longer have the steam to push themselves through a simple dictation exercise. They would rather complain for five minutes than work for the same amount of time.

"What kind of adults are they going to become?", one may ask about the students that moan and groan about every worksheet placed on their desk. Well, they're already here. You can see their intellectual limits demonstrated in the displays and merchandise of any bookstore.

One part of bookstores that I've seen explode in the last few years is that of notebooks. The creativity that can be channeled through journals should be a good and promising thing, but the problem here is that it is not blank journals that have become more popular. It is "guided journals" that are more and more often pushed onto "readers." Sometimes these journals are stand-alones; sometimes they accompany "NYT Best Sellers." Either way, crack open one of these, and inside you'll find a Mad Libs-style diary where you insert "angry feeling," "sad feeling," "deep reflection," etc. It's a blow to human expression of emotions if there ever was one. Look up "guided journals," and you won't be lacking in articles that say something to the effect of "Find blank journals too intimidating? Try these instead!" (with sponsor links of course in tow...) This sort of journal allows for the user to sit in the passenger's seat of creativity.

As a child, I had a computer program with a similar idea. Through it, I would be able to write "my own novel." So I turned to this piece of software, made for elementary schoolers eager to write something big and impressive like the books at the library or at home. This meant that the program had already formatted the majority of the book. My only job was to provide character names, interesting facts about the locations, a sentence of suspense or detail here and there. (Again, think Mad Libs, but one that would last for hours with some animal coaching you along the way.) I never finished writing the novel. I lost interest in it, and I suspect this was because the story kept moving in ways I didn't understand or didn't want. If I wanted to write a thinly veiled personal story about myself or my best friend, why did this computer program have the right to tell me "no"? The story had a mind of its own, dictated by the designers of the software who simply wanted to create a computerized "Baby's First Novel." In the passenger's seat of "my own novel," I eventually let go of the wheel completely, unconsciously aware of my own futility. The computer was in the driver's seat, and there I let it remain.

At the time, I had no way of articulating why writing a story without a computer program would have been better. I never wrote something whose length would've compared to that of the program. I occasionally wrote page-long accounts of family trips to the beach or fun days with friends, but nothing at all novelistic. My unwillingness to comply with the program felt like a lack of creativity on my part, not realizing that it was the program that had misplaced and mischanneled my creativity.

The same happens with guided journals. And we must consider the greater effects on thinking and creativity now that adults are involved, not just children. How can one write in "Baby's First Journal" while working a full-time job? Why bother differentiating between adults and children when they think and write at the same caliber? Adults do not seem to push themselves intellectually once out of school, and this is evident in the children that they raise. Students ask "do we have to do this?" because the task seems completely irrelevant to the life they have outside the classroom—whether in sports, at home, online, with friends, etc. They are unwilling to forge connections or hypothesize about why the teacher might be assigning "busy work." They would like to lounge about, watch TV, write in guided journals as they see their parents do at home. Again, I cannot blame them for this. This falls largely on the parents, on adults, on "society." Whether or not this is what one ought to do with one's life is rarely asked—except when it comes to schoolwork that requires *gasp* thinking.

Guided journals are part of a larger societal attempt to mitigate the ambient feeling of "anomie," a term coined by sociologist Émile Durkheim to talk about societal normlessness. Social structure exists (almost) nowhere, so it is sought out everywhere. Every rock is overturned and every journal "completed correctly," all in search of consistent values, norms, beliefs that are not easy to find.

People are looking for social structure, any structure. And guided journals—along with how-to guides, paint-by-number kits, pre-designed Lego sets, and the like—are the best that is offered to them, or rather the best that they seek out. The path of least intellectual resistance leads to apathy and anomie. The upholding of norms and values, I would argue, is worth the effort and resistance, but many often do not know where to find proper norms and values, so they accept whatever is first handed to them.

Grammar can be enjoyable and even illuminating, but only when it belongs to a language that one wants to learn.

#me

1 note · View note

oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

The one where Ethan is pretending

Description | When you bump into Ethan in Paris, you fail to mention that you know exactly who he is. You’re not sure how long you’ll be able to keep it up when he asks you out for a drink.

Content | Fluff

Pairing | Ethan x gn!Reader (with the exception of one female pet name)

Word Count | 2071

Taglist | @ginny-lily @ethaneskin @tabi-toast @mywritingonlyfans

***

There was no way you were staying in the same place that Måneskin had just arrived at. There was no way, you kept telling yourself. Paris was a massive city, the number of available hotels in the hundreds, maybe thousands if you had to guess. And yet, somehow, you had managed to pick the one place one of your new favourite obsessions would spend their time. You knew it didn't mean much, the hotel had more than a couple of rooms and with your luck, you wouldn't even catch a glimpse of them. But as you kept scrolling through Instagram, seeing pictures of people meeting the four Italians in front of the place you had checked into mere days ago, you couldn't fight a little bubble of excitement forming in your chest.

Well, you told yourself you wouldn't get your hopes up. And you definitely wouldn't hang around in front of the hotel or in the lobby. You had booked your solo trip to Paris months ago, after dreaming about visiting the city for most of your life, and you would be damned if you wouldn't stick to your itinerary and enjoy your holiday. However - you had gotten up at what felt like dawn to go queue up for the Louvre and spent the last couple of hours there, so you decided that a nap was the way to go if you wanted to continue exploring the city in the evening. Fortunately, the walk back to the hotel wasn't long.

You had made it to the last corner before entering the street you were aiming for, when two giggling girls ran past you, unceremoniously bumping your shoulder and sending you tumbling. You were fully expecting to hit the ground, but instead, a pair of strong arms caught you and brought you back to your feet. A pair of strong arms belonging to a strong chest that you came face-to-face with, belonging to a gorgeous face, belonging to Ethan Torchio.

"Tu vas bien?" His broad French accent confused you, momentarily forgetting about the little detail that you were, in fact, in France, as you stared at the drummer in front of you, who was still protectively holding onto your upper arms.

"Huh?" Was the immensely intelligent answer that thus left your mouth.

"Oh, not French?"

"No, definitely not French." You finally said, taking a step back from him to avoid the increasing awkwardness you were feeling about being touched by him, while the two girls who had previously knocked you down were now lingering around the two of you suspiciously, not coming close enough to be rude, but obviously desperate to get their own piece of Ethan. "No, just a tourist."

"Me too," Ethan smiled. "A tourist, I mean. Well, kind of. I'm here with my band so it's not like we have time to do a lot of sightseeing."

He briefly turned around to look at the two girls who still seemed frustrated at you hogging his time and gave a small wave before turning back to you. It was the movement that made you realise he had the most gorgeous red rose tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Well, it used to be the most gorgeous rose - after your little crash, it had bent in the middle, the top hanging only by a thread, in the most miserable fashion.

"Oh, no I am so sorry!" You gasped, carefully grasping the delicate petals that were on the verge of breaking off. "I must have crashed into it when you caught me."

"Don't worry about it," Ethan said, softly, and pulled the stem from his waistband. The flower looked even more tragic now, in all its crushed glory. "A fan gave it to me a few minutes ago."

"Huh?" You surely proved yourself articulate in this conversation. You mentally hit yourself, angry at yourself for being so easily flustered.

"There are a few fans waiting in front of our hotel, because we're in a ... band ... and things."

Apparently, your awkwardness was contagious. Also, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Ethan thought that you had no idea who he was.

"Let me get you a new one," you suggested. "There's a flower shop just two doors down from the hotel - I mean, I am staying there, too, so I know."

He smiled at you with a serenity and calmness that had your heart soaring. You decided you'd be willing to buy him a million roses if only he kept smiling at you like that for a little longer.

"Well, I've got to go now, but it would be rude to refuse your offer. Meet you in the bar of the hotel at 8 tonight?"

No way this was happening. You almost gasped, but at the last moment managed to keep your cool, outwardly. On the inside, you were a mess. Bumping into the drummer of one of your favourite bands was a wonderful chance meeting as it was - but this almost sounded like a date. Now, of course, Ethan wouldn't be asking you out on a date. That would be ridiculous. But there was also no way you would miss out on a chance to meet him again. Preferably without those two giggling girls that were still standing behind him, watching every move of your interaction but luckily too far away to hear what you were saying.

"It's a d- uh, deal," you quickly recovered before almost spitting out the word date instead. Ethan chuckled.

"Right, see you later, then, for our... deal."

He had seen right through you anyway, you thought. But he was still laughing, so it wasn't all that bad - right?

With another quick touch to your upper arm, Ethan walked past you, turning around just one last time.

"My name is Ethan, by the way. You can tell me yours tonight."

Oh, you would.

***

The rest of the day was... well, restless. You couldn't nap because your mind was a whirlwind and your stomach was twisting with excitement. So instead, you had made sure to get the prettiest red rose you could find in the flower shop down the street - while slightly wincing at the price that a shop in the center of the city of love demanded - and put it in a glass the hotel receptionist had been nice to give to you. Then you had decided that there was no way you would manage to relax before 8, so you allowed yourself a few hours simply wandering through the city, no real destination, no itinerary for once, just a nice long stroll with nothing but your thoughts.

At five past eight - being slightly late was still cool, right? - you did a quick check-up in the mirror, realised you were not going to get any happier with your appearance whatever you tried to do at this point, grabbed the rose from its makeshift vase, and left your room.

It only took you a second to see him when you entered the little bar on the ground floor of the hotel. Even in the dim light, the white blouse that he had already been wearing when you met for the first time stood out like a sore thumb. Long dark hair fell over his back in a silky fashion. You had never wanted to touch anyone's hair more.

You took one more deep breath and then walked over to Ethan, smile on your face and rose in your hand.

"A rose for the handsome gentleman?"

Ethan almost jumped, apparently not having heard you coming, but quickly a smirk spread over his face while he stood up.

"I'll take the rose and your name, then."

"It's Y/n."

Ethan greeted you with a soft kiss to your cheek, before taking the rose, pulling your chair back, and inviting you to sit. It was almost ridiculously romantic and if it had been anyone else it would have seemed over-the-top and off-putting, but with Ethan it seemed sincere and fitting.

"Glass of wine, Y/n?" He asked as he casually waved the waiter over to your table.

"Just one. I want to get up early tomorrow for some more sightseeing."

***

It didn't end up being just one glass. It ended up another one and then a bottle shared. But it also ended up with three hours of talking, laughing, teasing, and slowly moving your chairs closer together until you were basically sitting on the same side of the table. You had asked him about his band - still trying to cover up that you knew exactly who they were out of pure fear that he'd reject you for being a fan - and he has asked about your job, your life, your family. In fact, you only left the bar when the waiter had started throwing you annoyed looks while demonstratively cleaning the tables around you.

"I'll bring you to your room," Ethan chuckled lightly as you waited for the elevator. His hand was on the small of your back and it was spreading tingles all through your body. You were standing close enough that you could smell his perfume, a light yet musky scent that encapsulated everything about him.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he lightly pushed you inside and you found yourself not minding him leading you like this. You pressed the button for your floor, leaning against the wall as you studied the man in front of you. He was a thing of beauty, no question about it, and when he smiled down at you the way he was right then and there, he made you feel like one, too.

"I had a lovely evening, Y/n. Is there any chance I could get your number?"

What a question, you thought to yourself. You'd be mad to refuse him!

You dug your phone out of your cluttered bag. You had switched numbers just a few weeks ago and had not yet learned the new digits by heart. Quickly, you switched it on - and your heart sank. Oh crap. You had completely forgotten about this.

The lockscreen of your phone was a picture of Måneskin.

As you looked up, you realized Ethan had seen. And, contrarily to the reaction that you were anticipating, he was wearing a massive grin.

"Ethan, I am so sorry, I should have told you immediately when we met but I kind of just stumbled into this and you were explaining you were in a band and I didn't know how to say-"

"Dolcezza, calm down. I've known all along."

"Wait - what?"

He didn't explain. Instead, he pointed to your bag - your tote bag - your Måneskin tote bag.

You truly felt like the least intelligent life form on earth.

"I've been carrying that around all day, haven't I?"

While your embarrassment grew, face heating up, Ethan grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into his body. His arms tightly wrapped around your body and you could feel his giggles in his chest, as your head was pressed against it. You didn't hesitate in reciprocating, clinging onto his torso, slowly swinging from side to side. Both of you caught in a tipsy stupor.

You only stopped when the elevator arrived at your floor, both of you stumbling out and dragging each other to your door while clinging on. When you reached your room, you let your back lean against it, pulling Ethan along so you were standing face to face, smiling at each other shily and yet never breaking eye contact.

"Why didn't you say anything?" You finally asked. He stroked your cheek, leaving goosebumps. He had now gotten so close that you could feel his breath on your, drowning in each other.

"I liked pretending."

And then he kissed you. Boldly, unafraid and passionate. You melted like putty under him, letting him take control while letting yourself fall, as his lips moved against yours.

You only pulled away enough to get another glance at him, before once again searching your bag, now one-handed, so you never quite had to let go of him. A small triumphant sound escaped you as you located the key card. Holding it up next to your face, you shot the man in front of you another smirk.

"Why don't we keep pretending? At least for tonight."

It wasn't an offer he was going to refuse.

#ethan torchio #maneskin #ethan torchio imagine #ethan torchio fiction #ethan tochio x you #ethan torchio x reader #maneskin imagine #maneskin fiction #fluff #my writings

504 notes · View notes

clare-with-no-i · 2 years

Note

⭐️ ibibib or bust bestie tell us all abt it xoxo quibblah

ok bestie @thequibblah i know u sent this ask like a month ago and by now have forgotten u sent it. i also know that ur asleep rn. but i'm listening to the playlist and thus in the it burns it blinds it blisters mood, so…director's cut!

(discussion of explicit material under the cut. that means no one under 18 and also not my sister who is banned from reading any of my E stuff. so. don't u fuckin dare dude i s2g)

edit: wow this got SO fucking long. i feel like i should apologize, idk why, but wow i have chronic not-shutting-up disease

so, i've talked roughly four thousand times about how Anne Carson's poem "Glass, Irony, and God" inspired the piece, but for all those who don't know, that's where the title comes from. the poem goes thus:

"I am talking about evil.

it blooms.

it eats.

it grins."

i mean. come ON!!!!!!!

anyway.

from a stylistic standpoint, I wanted this entire piece to be much more active and to-the-point. the sentences are short and brusque; lots of verbs, lots of action words. Lily's narration relies on things like i need and he needs and i give and he takes from me, which is all stuff that makes me enjoy writing established relationship smut as opposed to a new couple or a hook-up - I wanted the communication to be so well-established as to be nearly implicit. I wanted looks and movements to communicate feeling almost in equal measure as spoken dialogue.

the line:

I want him to burn me tonight, just a little. So the heat stays long after I have to leave him. I want the pain of it.

pretty much sets the entire tone for the piece, IMHO. you have Lily directly articulating to reader that she not only wants him sexually, but she wants him in a way that is not loving or gentle; she is quite literally asking for some level of pain - but in a controlled, heavily discussed setting. sex, for a lot of people, is a way of working through real-life conflicts in a simulated setting and seeking emotional catharsis - that's what I wanted her to be seeking here.

My knees are pulled up, halfway to my chest, far enough away that it takes some effort not to let them fall down onto the duvet. I don’t want them to, though—I want him to see the outside of my thighs, the way his tee shirt fits me poorly, too large by half, pooling at my hips. I want him to wonder what it’s hiding underneath. I know he will.

I loved this line. it's kind of hard to explain why - maybe just that it interacts with Lily's physicality as a participant in this moment as much as it does her unspoken desires, what she wants from James. I loved writing the line about how it took effort not to let her legs straighten and fall, because it felt like such a line that everyone could picture. I actually pulled my knees up and let them fall a few times (I was sitting on my floor the whole time while I wrote this, no idea why) and just being able to match the physical sensation of keeping them up like that like she was -- possibly to look appealing, like she describes, but also because it's a point of focus for her, something she can direct energy toward -- was really engaging for me while writing.

Three missions’ worth of separation, he prescribed. I’m to leave in the morning. Scouting in Ashford. Could be boring, could be deadly. I never really know.

fun fact! I've been to Ashford before. it's in southeast England. there's a shopping mall there. it's nice.

I love him messily, and with poor posture. I curl into it. I let it curve my spine. I cannot stand straight with it sitting on my neck, pushing down between the blades of my shoulders; it is heavy and soft and I feel it in every muscle, like the press of sheets on a sweat-slick body.

it's becoming increasingly apparent to me how much of my stories I base in sensations of the body. but yeah. loved writing this, editing it; it took about four iterations of this line to get here. I love the idea that, yes, this love Lily has for him is beautiful and kind and soft, but it's also heavy, leaden; it is, in some ways, constantly weighing her down. she is different because of it. not that that's bad! but in wartime, it must be cumbersome.

“Maybe I’ll do it,” he mumbles, if not to me, then maybe to whatever’s building in his chest; whatever angry beast needs placation. “Maybe I’ll kill Moody and take you somewhere. Just the two of us.”

This, some version of humor that’s only developed between us in the past few months. Maybe I’ll just kill them and be done with it. Maybe we’ll run away. It’s angry and mean—not something we would have said a few months ago. Not something James, especially, would ever say.

But he needs to say it now, to exorcise these thoughts from his body, and for him, I’ll be priest and sinner at once—grant him absolution, catch him in his fall from grace; clutch his hand as I tumble down beside him.

so, this is probably the most bleak I'll get in terms of James characterization - I mean, for fuck's sake, the guy's considering murdering his commander!! but it's another testament to the level of communication that is present and intrinsic to his and Lily's relationship (in my hc, as i'm sure many people's) that it's immediately clear that he won't. that he's more commenting on the futility of the situation.

also, that last part is just…wow religious imagery! in a sex fic?? who am I, hozier????

His turn to whine. “You’re so—” he cuts himself off brokenly, groaning, pressing his hips to the inside of my thigh. I can feel him hard through his boxers. He dips his fingers and curls, and, oh, God. The sound that leaves me cuts between us, high and razor-thin. He leans down to press his face into my neck. His fingers still moving.

“James,” I gasp, “It’s alright—you can just—”

“No,” he responds lowly to my collarbone. Whatever part of me can bristle does so. No?

James Potter, who literally verbally rejects the idea of not giving his wife an orgasm

In silent rebellion against his words and my reaction to them, I reach one hand down, sliding below his chest to push at the fabric of his boxers. I want badly to touch him. I want him slack-jawed and near angry at his own arousal, the way I know he wants me. I want him in body and soul all the time, but for now, I want him so much in body I wonder if my soul is still there to pine for his.

I don't know why, but that last sentence was such an aha! moment for me. I'm hoping it comes across the way I intended: that Lily loves him "body and soul," but right now she is so much an inhabitant of her own body, so entrenched in this moment which feels so physical but also so much of an intentional departure from their typical dynamic (young in love married couple, hopeful even as soldiers), that she sort of has to wonder how much of her soul is left inside of her body, whether or not the two match up anymore. it was a fun play on the phrase "body and soul."

“James,” I breathe, and I know he can hear it, that little stutter in my voice, the way it’s unsteady in pitch. Good. I want him to confront what he does to me with every one of his senses. I want it to slide through his bloodstream. “It’s so—I’m close, I’m close…”

He knows, of course he knows, but he still swears when I say it, like it was something he’d been imagining until I confirmed it out loud. His fingers keep their pace, and he raises himself up on his other palm, his arm shaking with the effort of holding him aloft. But he wants to watch me, he said. And he’s always been one to keep his word.

there's a very curious sort of intermingling of pleasure and pain here, which I wanted to play with - his arm shaking with effort, the way her voice breaks. and then, further, the fact that these are both results of internal intentions on both of their parts: Lily, making a concerted effort to show James how much he's affecting her; James, putting himself under strain because he wants to watch her.

“Tell me,” I gasp, and I force my gaze onto his, watch as he processes the words. “Tell me to, please, James.”

I feel him jolt forward against my hip like he’s been hexed. He lets out a cutting hiss from between his teeth. It nearly sounds as if I’ve offended him.

first of all, Bad Bitch Lily Evans, literally breaking her man's brain like that.

second of all, this is one of multiple lines with something like "it nearly sounds as if I've offended him" or "he nearly looks in pain" or something like that. I wanted that to have the underlying implication of, you would think that unless you knew him as well as I do; I see this expression for what it is.

Once again—a third, pathetic time—I hear myself saying: “I don’t want to go.” It’s just as true as it was when he got here, and maybe a little bit more painful now.

this whole story is such a play on Lily's intentionality: pretty much everything she does or says has a reason to it, has a reaction in James that she wants to provoke. but I kind of wanted them to vacillate between this intentionality and getting lost in each other (corny I know), but then being pulled back by things like the third "I don't want to go." It's a reminder not only that she's leaving, but that she has a vision for how she wants this night to go.

“Hi, there,” I whisper, because I can feel the anger in him again, the howling coming from inside his chest. The beast in there he cages up.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers back, trying so hard for tenderness. It makes me ache. It makes me miss him, already.

this is, quite literally, the first time they actually greet each other. two-thirds of the story through.

one last thing, I guess: I reiterate two of the three verbs from the title ("Burn, Blind, Blister") throughout the latter part of the story, in order.

first: burn

Burn me, I think, swiftly, put a mark below my skin. Leave your warmth with me, and I promise I’ll take it with care.

second: blind

Part of me wants to go blind with this feeling, so that he will be the last thing I ever see, the final image imprinted upon my brain. Messy black hair. Hazel eyes. Head tilted back in pleasure he’s taking from me.

I'm not sure why I did this! I remember being conscious of it, and that I wanted to work "blister" in there, but I didn't really have a place for it, lol.

I guess with this piece I wanted to try and get back into explicit work, but I really wanted it to be emotion-driven (god not that I dislike or have anything against pure smut, I think we all know) and more communicative than, like, sexy. I honestly barely think this counts as smut?? Like it's not really that horny of a piece, it's more, uh, sad. which is cool. lol

ok love u bestie if you read all of this...you deserve some sort of award

send me a ⭐️and the name of a story to get a director's cut!

#ask #thequibblah #it burns it blinds it blisters #wow this is a magnum opus #am i ok #jesus

11 notes · View notes

boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 20

First time reader click here

TWs/SUMMARY: Explicit content. Some fluffy Bruce Banner lovin'. We know our scientist is a soft dom/service top. 🥺💚 With a Tony twist at the end... Because I am an evil woman. 😏 BRUCE BANNER MONSTERCOCK NATION RISE!

Bruce licked his lips.

Despite the obvious intent to ravish me in the sweetest way possible, Bruce made no move to undress or get physically closer to me.

The man was content to kiss the breath out of me, lightly caressing the side of my face and my neck. With each shared, rushed inhale I slipped deeper into the narrow space between drowsiness and arousal. The scientist's presence had the most peculiar effect on me: all my walls crumbled, paving way to a sense of mellow tranquility.

"Lay down," Bruce whispered, pulling my blanket aside. My skin tingled in the cool air of the room. I had gotten pretty toasty under the covers.

With his palms gently pushing on my shoulders, I had no other way but to oblige. Those very same large hands brushed my neck and slid further under the collar of my shirt, tenderly tracing the lines of my collarbones. I felt delicate in his arms, light-headed.

The quiet thud of Bruce's shoes prepared me for the slight dip in the mattress that followed. With a rustle, the textured fabric of his trousers sweeped and finally settled between my parted legs. He radiated warmth, my body involuntarily arching into it. Bruce's lips found mine, again, meeting in a chaste kiss, moving on to nip and peck my jawline, my throat.

There was something erotic in the slow, sensual yet subdued way the scientist was giving into my desires. He wasn't holding back on purpose, it seemed he was rather fond of taking his time to explore my body, his new playground. It was always hard and fast and easy for me, to just take my pleasure, get it torn out of me with sharp words and clever fingers.

With Bruce it was more of a gradual increase in intensity. He wasn't all over me yet he made it known he was in charge. Our bodies connected only faintly but where they did, it left a sweet, pulling ache. I caught myself leaning into it, following the slow motions with twitches and curves of my own.

"Arms up, Princess," He sounded so calm and steady. There was a new definition to his voice, that low undertone of desire, previously unheard. I marveled at how different my lovers sounded.

My (read: stolen from Tony) t-shirt slid from my shoulders with his help, immediately getting neatly placed next to my pillow. I wore no bra; the regret at not wearing fancier panties had been already lived through by me the moment Bruce's lips first landed on mine. For some reason, I was convinced he wasn't the kind of man to care about the amount or the retail price of the lace on my underwear.

I decided to finally open my eyes.

Bruce sat on his shins in front of me, one intense furious blush the only indicator he was affected by our activities. Seeing his eyes - I had to take that back. Devils danced in his green-ish orbs. The man was enjoying himself, quite a lot.

"Off?" Words and other trivial things I didn't worry about anymore. I tugged on his button-up to indicate my own want to see him, to finally see that firm chest that had inadvertently acted as a pillow for me to cry on more than one occasion recently.

Button by button, Bruce was either teasing or provoking me. Which was fine, for once I was happy to fully relinquish the reigns of the situation to someone else. The man was, and I am not exaggerating, perfect under all those frumpy clothes. Bulky chest with coarse dark hair - I wanted to run my hands through it, all over him.

His shirt landed right next to mine and he came close, mouthing leisurely at the space between my breasts, covering my chest with the warm moisture of his breath. Hot and wet wrapped around my nipple just as my eyes drifted closed again. Arching into the bliss, I moaned softly.

And any other time I'd be embarrassed at how soft and kitten-like was the sound; then, however, I was ready to yowl if that meant he wouldn't stop. One nipple and then the other. Bruce didn't apply anything but gentle pressure. His tongue made a slow, deliberate circle around my navel, dipping into the sensitive spot. I was surprised, my hips twitching. I had no idea it could be so pleasant.

The man's soft chuckles were absorbed by my panties where his breath ghosted over my core. My squirming increased as I was no longer able to contain my excitement, my body remembering on it's own how good Tony was with his tongue, bringing me extasy - he ate me for what felt like hours when he felt I did something exceptionally well. I'd be a rotten liar if I told you that alone wasn't motivation enough to excel at everything.

"I can see you like that, Princess," Bruce observed in quiet joy, moving instead to rub his cheek on the inside of my thigh, the slight stubble producing just enough friction for me to get slightly wetter. Beards were just hot.

"Mhmm," I agreed with him, raking a gentle hand through his unruly mop of curls. Bruce groaned and I continued to steadily part his hair, loving the muted noises coming from the scientist, enjoying his breath returning to elicit shivers all over my lower body.

The gusset of my underwear was promptly moved aside, exposing me to his eyes. I've never felt an ounce of shyness with a man but it seemed that day was one of firsts for me. It was the most exposed and vulnerable I'd ever felt; like a door pried open, my inner world for anyone to see. The urge to close my legs and hide under the blankets overcame me.

"Such a pretty pussy, Princess," Bruce's voice was even rougher now, scratching.

An open-mouthed smooch was placed on my lower lips, a nimble tongue slowly stroking experimental lines through my folds. The man purposely avoided the clit, I was sure. He dove down multiple times to my entrance, lapping up my juices with an obscene noise. A lewd moan followed every time. My hips met his mouth with every movement.

My shameful freak-out was abruptly cut short by the devotion Bruce radiated. His hands firmly gripped my thighs securing his meal in the right place. And eating he was; like a starved man, the scientist followed the noises leaving my mouth to find each and every nook and cranny that made me feel closer to Eden. There was no finesse, only slippery, sloppy movements as I reached my first peak with his name leaving my lips in a strangled moan.

I was boneless, weightless. Bruce pushed me more, delving straight back into the oversensitive folds of my cunt like he hadn't just made me see stars and galaxies. Floating in time in space, not a coherent thought in my skull, my last functioning brain cell on it's long overdue vacation.

"How do you feel?" He asked me once he deemed me sufficiently removed from this plane of existence and deposited me somewhere on another world where everything was light and easy.

"Mm-Brucie," I tried to articulate my thoughts. He must've been painfully aroused himself yet he made no move to be intimate any further. The idea of him holding back and refusing his own gratification nagged at me unpleasantly, invoking a primal hunger deep in my belly. "C'mere, want you."

He climbed over on top of me slowly, stretching his limbs, caging me in the sweet trap of his arms. His pants were gone; I felt the hardness, very sizeable hardness budge against my hip. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at him with unseeing eyes and my mouth hanging open slightly.

We kissed lazily for a while, me finally having the chance to roam my hands on his body. He was almost as warm as Bucky - a perk of his own knock-off serum, I supposed. Reasonably toned with a healthy layer of fat, Bruce certainly wasn't ripped or even built like Tony. Banner's body screamed comfort and safety where Tony was all strength and durability. Once again, I marveled at the difference between the two men, finding them both equally appealing and beautiful in their own ways.

Bruce's boxers went to hell and beyond. He was easily the biggest partner I've ever had; both long and thick, my insides clenched involuntarily at the weight of it in my hand, the engorged veins all over the shaft. No time like the present - hiking a leg over his hip, I insistently pressed the leaking tip of his cock against me, swiping it through my folds for extra lubrication beforehand.

The scientist twitched, growling quietly, low and dangerous. "Princess," Bruce hissed, momentarily dropping his forehead onto my shoulder.

"Brucie," I replied breathily, feeling him shudder as the tip breached my entrance. The sting was slightly south of pleasurable, just enough to give me an edge and return to reality. "You're so big," I gasped. The very room I and Bruce were (what felt like) making love. Such a foreign concept. "For the love of both God and Satan, move."

"That's my girl." Giving a watery chuckle, the man obliged, sheathing himself fully within me. I was unprepared for the surge of pleasure - it felt like he was everywhere at the same time. It was unlike everything I'd felt, the burn of the stretch becoming a source of new heights of pleasure.

Bruce's shallow thrusts increased in speed and amplitude as soon as I arched my back, presenting all of myself at his mercy. His movements weren't pounding yet he shook me with every single shift of his hips. "Fuck, so good, my sweet girl," He kept muttering, barely audible. "So tight, so hot, oh God."

The praise only made me clench tighter around him, my orgasm rapidly approaching and finally crashing into both of us with a firm, steady force. His cock throbbed inside me, releasing the seed with force I swear I felt in my guts. I took it all, milking every single drop, there was so much of it. Bruce's release - this one - belonged to me and to me only.

Ever mindful of himself, Bruce rolled over, pressing as close to me as possible, throwing an arm over his eyes. I immediately relocated to make a nest on his chest, idly running my hand through his chest hair. Fascinating.

"Feel good?" And finally he sounded slightly winded. Wow, I couldn't help but wonder what could make him really lose it. What would make him go feral for me. What could trap his breath in his lungs and attach him to me forever.

"Mmm, amazing. You're good at this," My usual snark and sass was returning; I gently teased him. Lovingly.

"That's good to know, it's been a while," He snorted. Must've felt my confusion, too, because the next sentence threw me for a loop: "It's been, uh, years."

Years? For this man?! The universe was unfair. Depriving the entirety of female sex of this man? Abhorrent. "You have quite some things to catch up on," I whispered coyly. "Humbly do I offer my services."

His chest began shaking: Bruce was laughing, no trace of shame, just good-natured relief and happiness in his features. "This is exactly why we love you, Princess. You say the weirdest shit but somehow it all makes perfect sense."

I chuckled, the words spreading warmth - not the physical one - throughout my body and lulling me into a sense of sated exhaustion. I let my eyes fall shut on their own and for the first time in ages, I fell asleep with a calm heart.

Bruce's soft snores kept the bad dreams at bay.

Tony's callous hands roused me tenderly, coaxing the sleep from my brain with grace although there was very little grace about the situation; first thing I noticed upon waking was the sticky puddle between my legs and the sharp smell of sex in the room. Bruce's slightly spicy sweat mixed with the warm vanilla of my perfume. The messed up bedsheets and the warm but empty space next to me.

"Had fun, baby girl?" If Tony's lopsided grin was any indication, I had at least committed some sort of scientific breakthrough. "You know, I had a bet running on when Bruce was going to break his celibacy. If you had waited until next year, which is technically in a few months..." The engineer trailed off teasingly, looking not at all worried about the fact that his best friend had blown my brains out a... Few hours ago.

I cleared my throat. "So, who won?" It seemed only appropriate I ask.

Tony's face immediately fell. "Merlin."

My eyebrows rose. "Didn't take him for the gambling kind." I sat up in bed, stretching the stiffness out of my joints, clearing the sleep from my head with Tony's gaze firmly glued to my naked tits. Some things never change.

"You called him old. That does things to a man's ego," Tony answered dismissively. It was easy to see the obvious pleasure he held for that particular conversation: the billionaire greatly enjoyed it when people gave into his antics and indulged his sometimes childish vices. One of those vices happened to include annoying the resident wizard.

I decided to test the waters. Biting my lip, I gave him an appreciative once-over. "How are you on sloppy seconds?"

He clicked his tongue, eyes sparkling, obviously having expected this question. "I'll join you in the shower. We have thirty minutes before Clint sends Nat down here to retrieve us deviants."

I pranced in the direction of the bathroom, putting an extra wiggle in my walk.

Turns out, Tony had absolutely no problems with sloppy seconds. He was as eager to hold me by my hair, viciously pumping his cock out of me, whispering utter filth into my ear.

His honeyed voice rough, telling me how dirty I was. "You little tart, parading around, making old men drool over you. Fuck, you make me feel like a dirty old man."

I let the sassy remark to be drowned in the sound of his hips slapping against my ass. "I love dirty old men," I moaned. "Want me to get down on my knees for you, daddy?"

"Fuck," Tony's hand tightened in my hair but he made no move to cease the assault on my pussy with his cock. It was steel-hard, deliciously thick and hit all the right places without much effort.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

#bruce banner smut #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #party favours #bun writes

159 notes · View notes

mochiable · 3 years

Text

— wine drops. | chpt. 1

summary: you and Jimin meet each other for the first time.

pairing: viscount!jimin x workingclass!reader

wc: 1.7k

wd.masterlist

> next

The elegance of the baroque was present in the initiation dance. Some dances you had been told about since you were a child. They told you they were sensational, but that you would never get to see them with your own eyes.

Yet there you were, in the dress that your maid, Agnès, had embroidered especially for you. A dress with a square-necked bodice, allowing the precious gold chain hanging from your neck, which carried a ruby in the center, to stand out noticeably. It also consisted of a triangular, v-shaped bib that slightly covered your chest and stomach, adhering to the corset. The jacket was as long as a housecoat, which opened at the front as the dress came to an end, showing a skirt of the same fabric as this one. A skirt that fell freely from your waist, which was adorned with ruffles and ribbons, exaggerating the sophisticated image of the dress. It was all covered with small flowers and abstract navy blue rhinestones that contrasted with the pale beige at the base of the dress.

Something too lush and ostentatious for your taste, but what could you do. The baroque had taken over people’s minds more than a hundred years ago, turning them into pawns of a demanding and selfish lifestyle that rewarded the rich and condemned the poor.

Trust me, you knew it well. You were born into a humble family, with parents who taught you to survive rather than to spend. They always told you to use that intelligent mind that God had given you, so that no one would take advantage of you, obviously referring to them. The aristocracy.

A real poison that had settled in the rich areas of Lyon, where the workers used to live in small wooden shacks with nails. But those nobles threw them out and caused real massacres, and then enslaved other labourers on their land.

The king, together with his secret advisors, believed that, in order to maximize the economy and the most important sources of energy, they had to get rid of a large part of the population. But they didn’t take the nobles, they decided that those who stood in their way were the harmless laborers, who didn’t even have a few crumbs of bread.

That's how you were separated from your parents. You were only eight, but that didn't stop them. They pushed and shoved and spat on them, while they held you by the arms, and then threw them into filthy floats. Finally disappearing from your sight.

You were never going to forget the fear and pain that was reflected in your parents' eyes. All that suffering, that emptiness they left you haunted you even in your dreams, preventing you from sleeping peacefully at night.

That's why you decided to rise in the aristocratic ranks so that you could find those scoundrels who preferred to leave thousands of children orphaned rather than oppose the orders of the king and his presumptuous advisors.

Yes, you were aware that if they did, they would die. But when you found them they would have the same end as if they had avoided all the chaos the aristocracy caused. You were going to avenge the death of your parents and all the children who died because they had no one to shelter them.

That's why you were here today at the inaugural ball of the young women. The debutante ball, a somewhat elitist way of introducing girls to society on their coming of age.

You found yourself talking relatively boringly to the Baron of Honfleur, who had come all the way from the north of France to meet the Gangoiti's daughter. For a long time, he had been telling you about l'église Sainte-Catherine, which he was so passionate about.

“It's a real wonder, Mademoiselle Leduc. The structure resembles a large ship placed upside down, its inconceivable appearance is thanks to the local shipbuilders.”

“It must be undeniably splendid, Baronnie de Honfleur,” you laughed a little at his animated tone of voice.

“Au fait. Who are your parents, fillette? I don't know any Leduc here in Lyon. Are you related to Viscount Leduc there in Bourges?”

You had to admit that the air was stuck in your throat, preventing oxygen from reaching your lungs for a few seconds. You had to try to conceal and articulate one of your much practiced lies so that the baronnie would not discover you.

“Oh no, pas du tout,” you replied, trying to give him your best smile. “Mon parents are on a trip, they went to Austria a few weeks ago. It would be impossible for you to have crossed paths with them, maybe that's why you don't know them.”

“A verre de vin, Mademoiselle?” a tray where four glasses rested on the silver surface appeared in front of your eyes, being held by a bartender who watched you with a beautiful smile drawn on his face.

“Merci beaucoup,” you smiled back at him and took the glass of red wine in my left hand.

“I must go now, Demoiselle,” the Baron said, holding your hand and placing a soft kiss. “It has been a pleasure talking to you”

“Likewise.”

It was at that moment that one of the majordomes called you to the dance floor, where dozens of young people ran to dance with their partners. You slightly furrowed your brow, shaking your head, all they cared about was the dancing and the parties, something that really frustrated you when you thought that there were millions of families without a roof over their heads.

Music, laughter, and dresses flying by. That was all you could see and hear in that huge hall. As the people around it chatted and drank from their wine glasses.

You decided to stop paying attention to the new dance, the passepied. You peeled off the wall and set off to find the person you were looking for, the Countess of Poitiers.

You were walking around absently while you asked the other guests if they had seen the woman you were trying to locate with eagerness. When you turned around after consulting an Ècuyer, you tripped over someone, causing some of the wine that was left in your glass to fall on top of the stranger's clothes and slip out of your hands.

“Oh, mon Dieu!” you exclaimed, reaching for your handkerchief and rubbing it over his shirt. “Forgive me, Monsieur.”

“Don't worry,” he said, taking your hands off his figure. “But I would appreciate it if you would call me Viscount, Mademoiselle. Of course, as I am the son of the Duke and Duchess of Lyon.”

“Of course, Monsieur,” you mumbled a little ashamed. “Viscount!”, you corrected yourself, feeling your cheeks turn red quickly.

“Now, if you don't mind, you may accompany me to the cooking room,” he suggested, trying to get rid of the red stains that had smeared his suit.

“Do you mean la cuisine?”, you asked, wrinkling your nose slightly.

The Viscount looked at you with furrowed eyebrows as he inspected every feature of your body, as well as your virtues and defects. You felt his brown, intense gaze pass through every pore of yours, perceiving how his eyebrows rose and he licked those pink lips he possessed as he examined you.

“Allez,” he muttered, holding your hand.

“What are you doing?”, you hesitated, nailing your feet to the ground to prevent him from dragging you further.

“I said we would go to the kitchen”, he answered.

“You used a conditional”, you said, letting go of his hand. “Forgive my boldness, Viscount, but that didn't sound like an order to me.”

He laughed, looking at you again with those brown eyes, making you tremble, inevitably. “You are right,” he agreed as he brushed his rings against his lips. “Come with me to the kitchen, it’s an order.”

Leaving you speechless and with a dry mouth, he again held your hand, leading you into the kitchen, passing among all the guests and elbowing them, provoking withering glances from them. He made you move quickly as he squeezed your hands tightly. You cursed yourself mentally for not being careful and bumping into him. Right now you would be talking to the Countess de Poiters and not being dragged into a kitchen for no reason by a man you knew nothing about.

“Well,” he muttered as he reached the kitchen and handed you back your stained handkerchief. “Dip it in that bucket”

Without saying anything, to avoid further discussion, you went over to the bucket and wet the tip of the handkerchief as you listened to the sound of clothes being removed. When you’d finished, you turned cautiously with your eyes slightly closed, waiting for the undressed body of a man.

“What are you doing?”, at that moment you opened your eyes wide, finding yourself with a funny but confused smile. Your gaze shifted from his face to his body, and you frowned as you saw him in clothes, still with his shirt on, but without his blazer. Why wasn't he naked? Your cheeks quickly warmed as you realized what you had been thinking. You wanted to laugh at myself, but I held back.

“I...”, you hesitated and looked away. “I've finished wetting my handkerchief.”

“I thought so,” he said, leaning his lower back against the counter which was full of dishes and moldy food. “Approche, approche.”, he insisted gesturing with his right hand.

You decided to obey to him and approached him, clearing your throat almost inaudibly, bringing the handkerchief close to his shirt.

“Désolé, for having soiled your suit.”

“I apologize to you too,” he whispered a few inches from your face.

He was quite tall. He was about four inches taller than you, maybe. But as he had his head a little lowered so that he could watch you delicately clean his spots. Little locks of hair fell down his forehead, tickling your temples.

“I was looking for someone.”

“Moi aussi,” you smiled, although it looked more like a grimace.

“Who are you?”, he asked in a soft voice.

“Je m'appelle y/n,” you replied, finishing rubbing the stains, which were now almost invisible. “I am the daughter of the Leduc. Perhaps you don't know them, they are on a trip,” you explained, leaving the handkerchief on the counter. “How about you?”

“My name is Jimin, Park Jimin.”

please, give some feedback, your opinion is important to me!

a/n: english is not my first language, so if you see any grammatical or spelling mistakes don't hesitate to tell me. any constructive criticism will be always welcome.

49 notes · View notes