#i hope it's okay that i wrote and posted this ^^

[cheftsunoda]

Hi how are you? So I have a kinda weird request because is for drivers that usually don’t a lot of love lol but since you wrote for mick i think i won’t be judge lol.

So mick x stroll!reader x esteban have been dating for a couple years but no one in the public knows, only their families and some close friends/drivers know. The three of them are ALWAYS together and fans think she’s either dating mick or este, or even that mick and esteban are dating each other and reader is the third wheel ��� and she spends race days going from one garage to other to support her brother and her boyfriends (so i guess mick needs to be driving in f1 for this to work, any team works tbh)

So eventually mick and este get to share a podium and she is so proud that ends up hard launching their relationship lol.

Anyway that’s my little weird request, thanks for reading my rambling 🫶🏻

estie bestie? no. estie boyfie. — mick schumacher + esteban ocon

smau + blurbs

esteban ocon x stroll reader x mick schumacher

to the world, you were lance stroll’s supportive younger sister, maybe wag to esteban ocon— maybe mick schumacher. or maybe, as twitter liked to suggest, the tragic third wheel to their slow burn bromance. and you let them believe it. because the truth? you’d been in love with both of them — and they with you — for nearly three years. it started quietly. long nights in hotel rooms after races, comfort in shared silences, in the way mick kissed your knuckles before press conferences and esteban held your hand under the table during dinners. now it was your normal—switching garages like outfits, falling asleep tangled between two hearts you never expected to hold. no one knew — except a few friends, family, and the world’s worst secret keeper— sebastian vettel. to everyone else, you were just the girl with too many lanyards, too many photo ops, and too many unexplained blushes when either of them walked past. but behind the pr smiles and speculation threads, your love story was unfolding. and the world was getting closer to finding out.

fc : kornelia.ski

(a/n) : hi baby! im okay, life’s been rough. been beating me down a little bit but thank you for asking! hope you are well. i am so sorry this took so long— I’ve been behind but I hope you enjoy it! love youuuu

—

yn_stroll

liked by lance_stroll, estebanocon, mickschumacher and 1,115,707 others.

yn_stroll : my recent chaos 🎞️📷

tagged : lance_stroll, estebanocon and mickschumacher

—

view 185,305 other comments.

lance_stroll : why am i always collateral in your little aesthetic dumps…you always post the worst pictures 🙄🙄

liked by yn_stroll

↳ yn_stroll : not my fault you look ugly every time my camera comes out 😁

↳ lance_stroll : im taking away your paddock privileges. you are BANNED.

↳ yn_stroll : luckily i still have two ways in…3 if you count ollie

liked by olliebearman, mickschumacher and estebanocon

lando : so which one is your boyfriend or are they boyfriends???

liked by yn_stroll

↳ yn_stroll : nosey nosey man.

liked by lando

↳ lando : IM NOT NOSEY. mainly just want to know if you’re single 👀

liked by yn_stroll

↳ lance_stroll : out lando

↳ mickschumacher : she will not be going out with lando ‘man whore’ norris

↳ lando : i have one phase and get banned for life

↳ olliebearman : boooooo tomatoes tomatoes 🍅 🍅

liked by yn_stroll and estebanocon

↳ lando : OK OK. why is the child here

↳ yn_stroll : he is my bestie

liked by olliebearman

username00 : she sits between them on the plane. I AM IN TEARS. they are so together.

haasf1team : our estie and his besties 💅🏻

liked by yn_stroll, estebanocon and mickschumacher

↳ username0 : are we sure they are just besties??👀

username1 : lance being the only unbothered one while his sister and two of his colleagues carry out a covert love plot 😭💀

sebastianvettel : Miss all this chaos. Come visit soon Liebling!

liked by yn_stroll

↳ yn_stroll : miss you more! we are planning on making a trip within the next month!

liked by sebastianvettel

↳ username5 : we???? oh they r so dating.

—

You knew before even sitting down that this flight was going to be ridiculous. Because someone — probably Esteban — had insisted on booking three seats in a row, even in first class. Just the three of you, limbs too long and too tangled, stuffed into a luxury cocoon of champagne. You were wedged in the middle, naturally. Where you always ended up. You didn’t mind.

Mick was already curled up by the window, hoodie up, face tucked into the neck pillow you’d stolen from the lounge. He looked soft and impossibly tired — probably from whatever late night sim race he’d gotten dragged into the night before. Esteban, on the other hand, was still scrolling through the in flight movie options like it was a life or death decision.

“Just pick one,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder. “We’ll be in Miami before you decide.”

“I don’t want to waste it on something you two will sleep through,” he replied, voice low and teasing as he glanced at you. “You always do. Ten minutes in and it’s dead weight on both sides.”

You stuck your tongue out, and on cue, Mick reached over and gently flicked his forehead.

“I’m not sleeping. I’m resting my eyes,” he mumbled, eyes still closed but his hand finding yours under the shared blanket.

“Liar,” you smiled, threading your fingers through his. “You were snoring during the safety video.”

“I was breathing deeply.”

Esteban snorted. “You were whistling through your nose.”

You couldn’t help but laugh — that half silent kind of giggle that makes your chest ache with love. The cabin lights had dimmed, casting the three of you in a soft gold glow. You shifted in your seat, the curve of Mick’s body pressing warmly against your side while Esteban pulled the blanket higher up your lap, thumb drawing lazy circles on your knee beneath it.

It was a moment no one else would ever see. No cameras. No paddock rumors. Just quiet breathing and shared warmth.

“I love this,” you said softly, mostly to yourself.

Esteban heard it anyway. He turned toward you, his nose brushing your cheek. “What? The terrible rom-com you’re about to fall asleep during?”

You shook your head. “This. Us. Flying across the world for another chaotic race weekend. But having… this. You two.”

Mick shifted closer, his voice hoarse and gentle in your ear. “You always have us. You know that, right?”

You nodded, but your throat felt tight, like you could cry if you let yourself.

Esteban leaned in and kissed your temple, while Mick kissed the back of your hand. Neither of them needed you to explain. They just knew.

“We’ll stay like this forever,” Esteban whispered. “Just maybe one day we will stop hiding from the people on Twitter…”

You laughed again — tired, safe, soft. Wrapped in a blanket of limbs and love, tucked between the only two people in the world who made the chaos worth it.

And when the movie finally started and your eyes began to drift shut, you barely registered Esteban pulling your legs across his lap or Mick laying his head in your neck. You were right where you belonged.

—

The hotel suite was big, stupidly big, with windows that overlooked the city skyline. Neon lights danced across the walls as the sun dipped below the edge of the world, and somewhere in the distance, you could hear the low thrum of nightlife already waking up. But in here, it was quiet. Soft. Dimly lit and safe.

You’d barely kicked off your shoes before Esteban was tugging your carry on out of your hand and disappearing into the bathroom with a whispered, “Give me ten minutes.”

Mick had already flopped down onto the king sized bed, still in his hoodie from the flight, arms behind his head and eyes closed like he planned to nap through the weekend.

You stood awkwardly by the window, unsure what to do with yourself until he cracked one eye open and smiled.

“Stop hovering,” he said, voice thick with affection. “Come here.”

You padded over and let him pull you down beside him, your head landing on his chest, his fingers finding your hair immediately. He always ran his hands through it when you were tired — and you were, deep in your bones.

“I ordered room service,” he murmured. “Your pasta, Este’s weird sparkling water, my burger. Should be up soon.”

“You’re perfect,” you mumbled into his hoodie.

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, well. You’re easy to love.”

Before you could reply, the bathroom door cracked open and a wave of steam poured out. Esteban stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled up and a mischievous smile on his face.

“Bath’s ready,” he said, like he hadn’t just transformed a standard hotel tub into a spa sanctuary.

You sat up, blinking. “You ran me a bath?”

“With bubbles,” he said proudly. “And lavender oil. And I folded a towel into a swan.”

Mick raised a brow. “You folded a swan?”

“It’s a gesture,” Esteban said, waving dramatically. “She deserves softness.”

You laughed, unable to hide how your heart swelled in your chest. No matter how many races you traveled to, no matter how many late nights or jetlagged days — they never let you forget how loved you were.

You pressed a kiss to Mick’s cheek, then padded into the bathroom, where Esteban was waiting with the biggest, dorkiest grin and a glass of wine he definitely swiped from the minibar.

“Get in,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

You blinked up at him, overwhelmed. “You guys… you didn’t have to—”

He stopped you with a kiss to the top of your head.

“We wanted to.”

By the time you sunk into the warm water, bubbles lapping gently at your skin, Mick wandered in with a plate of breadsticks and settled onto the bathroom floor. Esteban knelt behind you, fingers gently massaging shampoo into your scalp while you leaned back into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. The three of you, in your own little world, quiet and full of love. No cameras. No questions. No hiding. Just the soft hum of city lights and the feeling of being completely, wholly safe.

—

f1gossipgirls

2,110,003 likes.

f1gossipgirls : The paddock’s favorite (unconfirmed) throuple has arrived in Miami! YN Stroll was spotted alongside big brother Lance on Thursday for media day duties, keeping things casual and cool as ever. Meanwhile, Esteban Ocon and Mick Schumacher made their entrance together, only fueling rumors that something a little more than friendly is going on behind the scenes. Throughout the weekend, YN was seen bouncing between the Haas and Mercedes garages, often in tow with both Esteban and Mick — sometimes hand in hand, sometimes with one arm slung over each shoulder, always leaving fans and photographers asking the same question—who is she actually dating… or is it both? No confirmations, no denials — just a lot of coordinated outfits, knowing glances, and suspiciously affectionate moments. Stay tuned, because this triangle isn’t getting less tangled anytime soon.

—

Your hair was already sticking to the back of your neck by the time you’d jogged from the Aston hospitality tent to the Mercedes garage for the third time that day. The paddock was sweltering, Miami sun sharp and unforgiving, but you didn’t care — you had a job to do. Well, not a real job.

Just the emotionally demanding and highly unrecognized role of loving two very competitive F1 drivers without spontaneously combusting from the attention it brought.

“Thought I’d lost you to Aston,” Mick teased the second you stepped through the Mercedes garage entrance.

He looked unfairly good in the heat — sleeves rolled up, headset pushed back, towel around his neck. He passed you a cold water bottle without you even asking, then leaned down to press a quick, barely there kiss to your cheek. It was too crowded for anything more. Too many eyes. Too many cameras.

“I’m doing my rounds,” you said dramatically, taking a long sip and smiling at him over the cap. “Your PR girl gave me a look like I was loitering.”

Mick chuckled. “That’s because you’re always stealing my snacks.”

You winked. “And your hoodies. And your heart.”

Before he could respond, your phone buzzed with a single word text from Esteban—

NOW.

You sighed, kissed Mick’s hand, and turned to head toward Haas.

The second you stepped into the Haas garage, someone was already barreling toward you.

“YN!!” Ollie Bearman’s voice cracked.

He looked sun kissed and over caffeinated, throwing his arms around you in a hug that nearly knocked your sunglasses off.

“I’ve seen you three times today and you’ve ditched me every time,” he pouted, still holding onto you like a clingy little brother. “Am I no longer your favorite Brit?”

You snorted. “You were never my favorite Brit. That’s Lewis. But you’re close.”

Ollie gasped like you’d just kicked him in the shins. “You’re cruel. Evil. Cold hearted.”

“You’re dramatic.”

He pulled you into the Haas motorhome and flopped dramatically onto the couch, dragging you down with him. “Do the boyfriends know you cheat on them with me every weekend?”

You glanced toward the other side of the hospitality area, where Esteban was deep in conversation with an engineer, but his eyes flicked to you like they always did — like a compass needle realigning with north.

He smiled.

You smiled back.

“They’re fine with it,” you whispered to Ollie, nudging his knee with yours. “You’re harmless.”

“I could be scandalous,” he said and shrugged.

“You eat cereal with orange juice.”

He groaned. “Why would you bring that up again?! I was out of milk!”

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt. Ollie leaned against you, limbs too long and too chaotic, while Esteban finally made his way over.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, one brow raised.

Ollie looked up. “Just convincing her to dump you for me.”

Esteban didn’t miss a beat. “You’ll have to fight Mick.”

“Threesome boxing match?” Ollie suggested.

You smacked his arm. “OUT.”

Esteban offered you a hand to pull you up, his fingers brushing softly against yours — the smallest secret in a space filled with noise and heat and protocol.

You leaned up and gave Ollie a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ll always be my favorite backup plan.”

“I’m honored,” he called after you dramatically, hand to his chest.

You left with Esteban, fingers brushing briefly between you, both of you pretending your heart wasn’t beating just a little faster. It was exhausting, this dance — slipping between garages, between stories, between glances that held so much more than they could say. But you wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when love waited for you in every corner of the paddock.

—

By the time you made it to back Aston, the sun was high, the air sticky with Miami heat. Your paddock pass was practically a golden ticket at this point, but walking into the Aston garage felt like walking into your actual home base. Lance spotted you immediately, slouched in a director’s chair with his race suit half zipped and a protein shake in hand.

“Look who finally remembered she has a brother,” he called out, grinning.

You rolled your eyes, plucking his shake from his hand and sipping it without asking. “You’ve seen me three times today.”

“Yeah, sprinting past me like I’m background noise.”

Fernando, sitting nearby with his arms crossed and an amused look on his face, tilted his head. “To be fair, she is in high demand.”

You smirked. “Thank you, Nando. At least someone appreciates me.”

Lance scoffed. “He’s just being nice so you’ll stop stealing his snacks.”

Fernando raised a brow. “Actually, I think she’s the only one allowed to take my snacks.”

You flopped into the seat next to Lance, stretching your legs out with a dramatic sigh. “I’ve walked more today than I did the entire off season.”

“You do realize you don’t have to do the grand tour every race weekend?” Lance asked.

“I do,” you said. “But it’s fun watching people spiral.”

Lance gave you a sideways look. “You mean watching Esteban and Mick follow you around like puppies.”

You gave him a smug smile. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

Fernando chuckled under his breath. “It’s something.”

You tilted your head toward him. “You know, you could learn a thing or two from them.”

He raised a brow. “About what?”

“About romance. Softness. Love.”

Lance groaned. “Please stop.”

“Imagine it,” you said, teasing. “Fernando Alonso… cuddling.”

“I am excellent at cuddling,” Fernando said, deadpan. “But I keep that side reserved for national emergencies and post race exhaustion.”

You burst out laughing, and even Lance cracked a smile despite his disgusted older brother persona.

“Go back to Haas,” he muttered. “They’re the only ones who encourage your delusions.”

You leaned over and bumped his shoulder affectionately. “You love me.”

“I tolerate you.”

Fernando looked between the two of you with mock solemnity. “If she wasn’t your sister, I would be convinced she was dating half the grid.”

Lance froze. You choked on your laugh. Fernando just sipped his water and smirked like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I—uh—what?” Lance asked, voice cracking slightly.

“Joking,” Fernando said, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed him. “Mostly.”

You stood, dusting off your Aston shirt. “Okay, that’s my cue. I have to go pretend I’m not in love with two drivers now.”

Lance covered his ears dramatically. “Too much. I’m not listening. Leave.”

Fernando gave you a wink. “Good luck. And tell Mick to stop giving me the suspicious eyes.”

“I make no promises.”

You blew Lance a kiss, saluted Fernando like a soldier, and slipped back out into the heat, your phone already buzzing with a message from Mick

Back to Merc yet?

This life was exhausting. But god, it was fun.

—

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of the bedsheets. The chaos of the race was long behind you — the media, the heat, the cameras. Esteban had changed into a hoodie, and Mick was stretched out across the bed with damp and flushed cheeks, hair still messy from the post-race shower. You were curled between them, legs tangled and head resting on Esteban’s chest, fingers trailing slow shapes over the fabric.

Esteban’s voice was softer now, quieter than usual, like he was finally letting the adrenaline fade. “You know… this was a good weekend.”

You looked up at him. “Even with the pit stop disaster?”

He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Mick laughed from the other side, nudging your knee with his. “You still pulled a P7. That’s not nothing.”

“Could’ve been P5,” Esteban mumbled.

You leaned up and kissed his jaw, gentle and warm. “You were brilliant. I’m proud of you.”

“So proud,” Mick echoed, his hand finding yours across the sheets. “And so tired. I’m not moving until breakfast.”

You and Esteban exchanged a glance — a tiny flash of anticipation that made you sit up just a little straighter.

“Well,” you said carefully, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. “You might want to get some extra sleep.”

“Why?” Esteban asked suspiciously.

You grinned. Mick propped himself up on his elbow, eyes gleaming. “Because tomorrow… we’re taking you to Universal.”

Esteban blinked. “Wait. What?”

“For your birthday,” you added, grinning wider. “We made a plan. Park passes. Early access. Express line. The whole thing.”

“You said you didn’t want to do anything,” Mick said, “so we decided to ignore that.”

“Because you always say that,” you teased, “and then you get pouty when we don’t do anything.”

Esteban stared at both of you, mouth slightly open. “You—actually—?”

“We’re waking you up at 7 a.m.,” Mick said, deadpan. “And I’m making you wear a hat with Mickey ears.”

“That’s the wrong park,” Esteban muttered.

“Details,” Mick shrugged.

Esteban was quiet for a moment, like he didn’t quite know how to process it. Then, softly—“You guys did this for me?”

You leaned in and kissed him, forehead pressed to his. “Of course we did. You’ve been working so hard. You deserve a day off. A real one. With rollercoasters and butterbeer and cheesy photos.”

Esteban let out a shaky breath, pulling both of you into his arms like he didn’t want to let go. “You’re going to make me cry.”

Mick tucked in closer, pressing his face into Esteban’s shoulder. “We’ll allow one tear. Any more and we call you overdramatic and bully you.”

You both laughed, and for a long moment, the room was just full of warmth — tangled limbs, whispered promises, and the kind of love that felt like magic.

“Universal, huh?” Esteban whispered finally, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Yep,” you said. “And I already reserved us a table at the Three Broomsticks.”

Esteban smiled, his cheeks pink. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Mick kissed the side of his neck. “We’re ridiculous about you.”

—

yn_stroll has added two posts to her story!

seen by lance_stroll, lando, mickschumacher and 2,575,00 others.

—

You should have known the second Esteban sprinted toward the entrance of Jurassic Park — with a grin brighter than the Florida sun and zero hesitation — that you were in for chaos.

“He is gonna run over children,” Mick muttered beside you, already trying to keep pace as Esteban skipped toward the River Adventure ride entrance.

“It’s his birthday,” you said through a laugh, clutching your butterbeer in one hand and Esteban’s fallen sunglasses in the other. “Let him live.”

“He might live,” Mick said. “We might not.”

Esteban turned around, walking backwards, arms out like a showman. “YOU GUYS. DINOSAURS. I’VE BEEN WAITING MY WHOLE LIFE FOR THIS.”

“You literally have a super license and you’re more excited about animatronic dinosaurs,” Mick deadpanned.

Esteban just blew him a kiss and kept walking. Within 20 minutes, the three of you were seated in the second row of the log boat. Esteban had insisted on sitting in front “for maximum splash potential,” Mick was muttering something to himself and you had a bad feeling in your stomach that only got worse as the ride climbed higher and higher.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Mick whispered. “Is that a real drop or—?”

Esteban turned around, eyes wide with manic glee. “GET READY!”

“Oh no,” you muttered.

SPLASH. It was not a gentle drop. Mick screamed like a Victorian child seeing a ghost. You screamed too — mostly from laughing. Esteban had both arms up, completely soaked and thrilled When the ride ended, your tank top was clinging to your skin, Mick looked like a drowned cat, and Esteban? Smug. Absolutely smug.

“That was AMAZING,” he shouted, shaking his wet hair like a golden retriever.

“I hate you,” Mick said, water dripping off his eyelashes.

“You love me,” Esteban said sweetly, draping a soaked arm around him.

You handed Mick a towel from your backpack because someone in this relationship is a planner, and he blinked at you.

“You’re a goddess,” he murmured, wrapping it around his shoulders like a robe.

You giggled, and Esteban tugged you into a hug, still damp, still beaming. “Thank you for this,” he whispered into your hair. “It’s the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You leaned back, kissed the tip of his nose. “It’s not over yet. We still have VelociCoaster.”

Mick audibly groaned. “I didn’t survive a dino ambush just to die on a rollercoaster.”

Esteban grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You might die. But you’ll do it screaming.”

Mick looked at you. “I change my mind. He’s ungrateful. Let’s return him to the wild.”

You smiled, wrapping an arm around each of them as you began to walk. “Too late. You’re both stuck with each other.”

And as Esteban dashed ahead again — soaking wet, smiling like a kid, shouting something about “DINOSAUR COOKIES!” — you and Mick just looked at each other and laughed.

He reached for your hand.

“We’re never topping this, are we?”

You shook your head. “Not a chance.”

—

You weren’t sure when exactly the regret set in. Maybe it was when the restraints locked in with a final clunk that sounded a little too final. Or maybe when Esteban turned to you, completely lit up, and whispered, “I think I’m going to pass out from happiness.”

Meanwhile, Mick looked like he was preparing for war.

“This was a mistake,” he muttered. “You know how many Gs this ride pulls? I looked it up. We’re about to get launched into space.”

You reached over and took his hand — mostly to calm him, partly to keep him from unbuckling himself and sprinting off the ride. “Too late now, astronaut.”

The ride operator gave the thumbs up. The VelociCoaster hissed.

Esteban’s eyes sparkled. “READY?!”

“No,” Mick and you said at the same time.

And then — launch.

Your screams were lost to the wind. The first launch hit 70 mph before your brain caught up. Esteban was laughing, hands up like a maniac, shouting something in French. Mick was next to you with both hands gripping the bar like it might save his soul.

“I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I—WHY IS IT UPSIDE DOWN—”

You were laughing, screaming, possibly crying — everything all at once. There was a brief moment of calm during the stall where everything slowed, weightless, beautiful. Then it dropped again.

“WHO BUILT THIS?!” Mick yelled. “I WANT TO TALK TO THE ENGINEER!”

Esteban, meanwhile, shouted— “I WANT TO KISS THE ENGINEER!”

The ride slowed, the restraints lifted, and the three of you sat there in stunned silence. Mick was pale, his hair wind-blown in every direction, blinking slowly like he’d just come back from battle. Esteban’s face was flushed, radiant, absolutely vibrating with joy. You sat between them, laughing so hard your chest hurt.

“That. Was. INSANE,” Esteban gasped, looking between the two of you. “I think I saw God.”

Mick turned to you with a blank stare. “I peed a little.”

Esteban nearly collapsed laughing. You doubled over with him, tears running down your cheeks.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Mick grumbled.

“I know you do,” Esteban beamed, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “And you just proved it.”

Mick smiled despite himself. You leaned your head against Esteban’s shoulder and reached over for Mick’s hand again, still breathless. And there, in the heart of a fake dinosaur jungle, high off adrenaline and barely holding it together, the three of you laughed until you couldn’t anymore. Just pure, ridiculous, chaotic love.

—

mickschumacher

liked by yn_stroll, estebanocon, olliebearman and 875,009 others.

mickschumacher : miami baybeeeeee

tagged : estebanocon and yn_stroll

—

view 72,552 other comments.

estebanocon : i rate this dump 11/10

liked by yn_stroll and mickschumacher

↳ mickschumacher : i rate you 11/10 for existing

liked by estebanocon

↳ yn_stroll : oh my god

lando : im just going to keep hitting on yn until someone cracks.

↳ lance_stroll : your skull will be cracking if you continue

olliebearman : this is a very boyfriend coded post

↳ mickschumacher : im too old to understand that. what?

↳ olliebearman : forget it

↳ olliebearman : to think you are only 5 years older than me is scary

liked by yn_stroll and estebanocon

—

gridtruthers

liked by lando, olliebearman and 5,001,009 likes.

gridtruthers: For you all I have created a list of examples of why I think Mick, Esteban and YN are dating. Example A): This picture of Mick and Esteban on a trip together that Esteban posted like it was the most casual thing in the world AND THEN tagged YN as photo credits. 

Example B): THE WAY ESTE AND YN LOOK AT EACH OTHER IN THIS PIC. IT IS PURE LOVE. I AM STILL NOT OVER IT. YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. they would die for each other and I would die for them. 

Example C): MICK TOOK THIS PICTURE OF ESTE TAKING A PICTURE OF YN AND LOOK HOW PROUD ESTE LOOKS. OH MY FUCKING GOD. sick to my stomach. 

Example D): The entire photo shoot for Esteban’s merch. Like they are touching and hugging in every picture. I don’t have much more to say. Go look at the pictures.

Example E): Ummmmm not much I can say. They are quite literally holding each other in front of their brother in law WHO IS SMILING FOR ONCE. 

Example F): This tiktok that YN posted where she was doing an outfit of the day and Mick literally hugged her from behind and proceeded to pick her up and then kiss her cheek. SO CUTE. 

Example G): That one time when Mick and YN were in the Merc garage watching the race and the camera turned to them and CAUGHT THEM LIKE THIS. HAND HOLDING AND MICK LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAT. obsessed. 

Example H): This picture of them playing padel which really gives off gay lover vibes and YN was the one who posted it to begin with. No other comment necessary. 

Example I): THEM LITERALLY HOLDING EACH OTHER LIKE THIS WALKING IN THE PADDOCK. AND THIS IS NOT THE ONLY TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED. IT HAS HAPPENED MANY TIMES. 

anyways— thank you for listening to my ranting. hope I convinced you 🫶🏻

—

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username00 : i didn’t even finish the thread before i started SCREAMING. this is a thesis. a dissertation. it deserves a pulitzer.

username0 : “sick to my stomach” is the most accurate summary of my emotional state

username1 : NO BECAUSE ESTEBAN LOOKS AT HER LIKE SHE PUT THE STARS IN THE SKY. and mick looks at both of them like they’re made of gold. i’m sobbing.

username5 : we went from “estie bestie” to “estie boyfriend” real fast. i can’t breathe.

olliebearman : this might be the greatest investigation the internet has ever produced

liked by gridtruther and lando

↳ gridtruther : oliver what do you know?

↳ olliebearman : nothing? yeah i know nothing.

↳ username00 : LIARRRRR

username7 : i saw them in person once and they were glowing. esteban was holding yn’s phone, mick had her bag, she looked like royalty. i haven’t recovered.

yn_stroll : I-. i cannot say much other than i am impressed and you should be a private investigator.

liked by olliebearman and gridtruthers

↳ gridtruthers : omg hello queen. love you and your boyfriends

liked by yn_stroll

—

The morning started with a sleepy 6:15 AM pickup, and Esteban immediately complained.

“We’re too beautiful to be awake at this hour,” he grumbled, dramatically flopping into the backseat beside you, hoodie drawn up like a cloaked villain.

“You’re too dramatic,” Mick muttered, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

You, sandwiched between them with a tote bag full of snacks and a neck pillow Mick would end up using again, just smiled. “You both agreed to this.”

“I agreed under the influence of post race endorphins and love,” Esteban mumbled. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh hush, you’ll be happy once we are there.” You hummed, checking the time on your phone again. 

Within 15 minutes, you three had arrived at the Miami airport. The three of you stuck out like sore thumbs, despite the hoodies and sunglasses. Esteban was sprawled on the couch in the lounge within five minutes, Mick was methodically organizing boarding passes and passports like a dad, and you were feeding them croissants from the snack counter.

“I feel like we’re being watched,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at a family subtly whispering in your direction.

“Because we are,” Mick replied calmly, not looking up from his phone. “And they probably think I’m on a boys’ trip with Esteban and brought my assistant.”

“I will throw a pain au chocolat at you,” you warned.

Esteban perked up, mouth full. “Throw it at me instead. I’ll catch it.”

You ended up seated in the middle seat, between Esteban—who had immediately curled up with a blanket and fallen asleep on your shoulder—and Mick, who was flipping through the inflight entertainment catalog with a thoughtful look.

“I’m gonna watch The Grand Budapest Hotel,” he announced.

“That’s cute,” you replied, trying not to move too much so you wouldn’t wake Esteban. “Do you want snacks?”

“Not when I have you,” Mick replied smoothly.

You choked on your own breath. Esteban, eyes still closed, mumbled, “Stop flirting over me. I’m dreaming of goats.”

“…Goats?” you whispered, trying not to laugh.

“He watched that farm documentary last night before bed,” Mick whispered back. “He’s in too deep.”

Esteban, still not fully awake, added, “Oh my GOD! Sebastian has goats.”

By the time you landed, all three of you were in better moods. Esteban was fully awake and bouncing with excitement, Mick had bought overpriced chocolate from duty-free for Sebastian’s kids, and you were trying to wrangle the two of them into not attracting attention at customs.

Mick wheeled the suitcase. Esteban carried your bag. You tried to keep everyone from getting distracted by cows on the drive out.

“Do you think they’ll let us pet one?” Esteban asked dreamily.

“Maybe, if you behave,” you replied, laughing.

The roads curved through quiet hills and small villages, the mountains in the distance still dusted with snow. You could already feel your body relaxing.

The air was crisp. Still. The kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a blanket — a far cry from the usual roar of paddock chaos and back to back flights. The lake glimmered below the mountain, and birdsong drifted through the trees like a lullaby. 

The gravel crunched under the wheels of the rental car as you turned down the winding, tree lined driveway, golden light filtering through the canopy. The forest gave way to a wide clearing, and there it was-Sebastian’s house. Stone walls, ivy climbing over the sides, smoke curling lazily from the chimney.

Esteban immediately rolled down the window and stuck his head out like a dog. “It’s exactly how I pictured it,” he whispered reverently.

Mick parked the car and let out a soft sigh. “I already feel healthier just being near this man’s trees.”

You stretched your arms as you stepped out, the mountain air crisp and full of birdsong and pine. “Do you think he’ll make us do garden chores before we’re allowed to enter?”

“I brought gloves just in case,” Esteban replied, dead serious.

Before you could knock, the front door swung open — and there he was. Sebastian stood barefoot on the stone porch, hair longer than the last time you’d seen him, wearing a forest green flannel and holding a mug of tea.

“About time,” he said, smiling wide. “You brought my favorite chaos.”

“Nice to see you too,” Mick grinned, pulling him into a hug.

Seb looked at Esteban, who was already beaming. “Did you cry when you saw the cows?”

“I teared up, thank you very much,” Esteban replied with full sincerity, handing over a paper wrapped chocolate bar. “For the kids.”

Seb took it with a soft chuckle and turned to you. “And how’s our resident wrangler of F1 men?”

“Tired,” you said, dropping your head against his shoulder dramatically. “But better now.”

He hugged you tightly, swaying a little. “I’m so glad you are here.”

Shoes were left at the door. Backpacks dropped. Within minutes, all four of you were gathered in the warm kitchen, surrounded by drying herbs, mismatched mugs, and the smell of bread fresh from the oven. Mick had taken it upon himself to slice it. Badly. There were crumbs everywhere. Esteban was already at the kitchen window, whispering to a chicken who had wandered too close to the house.

“She’s making eye contact with me,” he whispered. “I think she trusts me.”

“You say that about everyone,” you called from the table, stealing a corner of the bread.

Seb leaned over to you, conspiratorial. “I told the kids they have to wait until after dinner to ambush you.”

“Oh god,” you groaned with a smile. “Are they still obsessed with Esteban’s accent?”

“They think he’s from a Disney movie.”

Mick took a sip of tea and raised a brow. “And me?”

“You’re their soft Uncle Mick that makes good jam.”

Esteban turned dramatically from the window. “And YN?”

Seb grinned. “Their queen.”

Seb had set up your room in the guest loft — a massive window looking out over the hills, soft quilts folded at the foot of the bed, a little vase of wildflowers on the side table.

“Did he pick those himself?” you whispered to Mick.

“Bet he raised them from seed,” Mick whispered back.

Esteban walked in behind you and flopped down dramatically onto the bed. “I’m never leaving.”

You all collapsed beside him, tangled in a mess of limbs and laughter, the sunlight spilling across the hardwood floor. For a while, you just laid there. Quiet. Breathing. Together.

“I missed this,” you said softly.

“We needed this,” Mick agreed.

Esteban just hummed and pulled you both closer. Downstairs, you could hear Sebastian singing softly in German as he stirred something in a pot. The scent of onions and thyme filled the air. A dog barked in the distance. Someone was chopping wood outside. Peace. Real peace. And for the first time in weeks — maybe months — you didn’t feel like you had to be anywhere but here.

Sebastian lured us down to the dining room once dinner was finished. We sat. The table was long, wooden, slightly worn from years of use — exactly as it should be.

Candles flickered in mismatched holders. The scent of rosemary, roasted garlic, and something rich and buttery hung in the air. One of Sebastian’s kids had placed tiny hand-drawn name tags at each setting. Yours had flowers. Mick’s had a little helmet. Esteban’s had a stick figure in a cape.

Sebastian just grinned when Esteban held it up, beaming. “I’ve been knighted.”

“More like knighted in chaos,” you replied, nudging him with your elbow as you took your seat beside him.

Sebastian’s youngest was curled into Mick’s side, holding a toy dinosaur and whispering something about “secret garden paths,” while his eldest very seriously told you about the “composting experiments” they were doing with their dad.

You smiled through it all, eyes flicking occasionally to Esteban, who was already deeply engaged in a debate about whether ladybugs have feelings. Mick kept sneaking pieces of bread to the kids when Sebastian wasn’t looking. It was simple. But perfect.

The sun dipped lower, casting the room in amber. One of the kids fell asleep mid sentence on the couch. The other was curled into a blanket beside the fire, eyes fluttering shut.

The grown-ups had moved outside to the back patio, wine in hand, feet up, soft music playing in the background. The stars were just beginning to peek out over the trees.

Esteban was telling a story from his karting days, hands animated, voice lilting with nostalgia. Mick listened intently, leaning back into your side, thumb tracing lazy circles on your knee beneath the blanket you shared.

You laughed softly when Esteban mimicked someone’s voice, your head dropping to Mick’s shoulder. Sebastian just smiled at the scene.

“You three are good together,” he said quietly.

You looked up, caught off guard.

He took a sip of wine. “You bring each other peace. In a world like that? That’s rare.”

You felt the weight of those words settle into your chest — gentle, grounding. Mick squeezed your hand. Esteban reached across the table and lightly brushed your wrist with his fingers, a silent confirmation.

“Thank you for having us,” you whispered.

“Always,” Sebastian said. “Come home whenever you need to breathe again.”

—

sebastianvettel added a post to his story!

seen by lewishamilton, mickschumacher, yn_stroll and 3,010,007 others.

mickschumacher : seb did you mean to post this?

↳ sebastianvettel : Huh? What did I post?

↳ sebastianvettel : Fuck. No. I meant to favorite it. Taking it down.

↳ mickschumacher : i love you so much old man

—

sebastianvettel has deleted this story!

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : SEBASTIAN VETTEL ACCIDENTALLY HARD LAUNCHED MICK SCHUMACHER & YN STROLL??!?! he posted a picture on his IG story of what looked like mick holding yn tightly—definitely mid-kiss—and deleted it within minutes. we repeat-within. minutes. we are NOT okay. 😭😭

—

You’d arrived at the paddock like you always did — coffee in one hand, team pass around your neck, sunglasses hiding the storm of nerves bubbling beneath your calm exterior. Because no matter how normal you tried to be, everyone was whispering about Sebastian Vettel’s cursed Instagram story that had been posted, screenshotted, and dissected like gospel by the entire fandom. But you? You carried on. You moved between the Mercedes and Haas garages like you always did, checked in on Lance, gave Esteban a forehead kiss for luck, ruffled Ollie’s hair, and sat on Mick’s lap in the hospitality suite.

And then came the call.

A driver was ruled out at the last minute. Medical, something sudden, and before you even had time to blink, Toto was waving Mick over with urgency.

“We need you. Suit up.”

Mick’s eyes flashed wide — stunned, then laser focused. Esteban found you instantly as Mick ran off to get changed, grabbing your hand and tugging you aside.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked, chest tight. “I don’t know.”

He smiled gently, thumb brushing your knuckles. “He’s been waiting for this moment for years. You have to believe in him now.”

And you did. You really, really did.

It was like something out of a movie. Mick, the late substitute, drove like a man on fire — precise, relentless, graceful in every overtake. Esteban held his own, smooth and strategic, the two of them ending the race in P2 and P3, side by side. You watched from the Mercedes pit wall, fists clenched to your chest, tears slipping down your cheeks without permission. The minute the checkered flag dropped, you were already running.

The three drivers lifted their trophies. Champagne flew. And before anyone could stop him, Esteban leaned into Mick, laughing, gripping his shoulder—

“Do it,” he said, eyes glittering.

Mick didn’t hesitate.

He looked straight at you, in your team pass and sunglasses and messy ponytail, standing near the front of the barriers with your hands over your heart—and he jumped down from the podium.

You barely had time to process it before he was grabbing you by the waist, lifting you off the ground, and kissing you full on in front of half the grid and every camera in the world.

Gasps. Shouts. A thousand camera shutters. The roar of fans exploding.

When he pulled back, grinning, Esteban had jumped down too, wrapping his arms around the two of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Three of you. No more secrets. No more whispering in hotel rooms or deleting posts.

Esteban kissed your cheek, then Mick’s. Mick rested his forehead against yours.

“I guess that’s our launch,” you whispered, breathless.

“You were always worth the headline,” Esteban murmured.

And Mick, beaming with his trophy still in one hand, just nodded.

“Let them talk.”

—

yn_stroll

liked by estebanocon, mickschumacher, lance_stroll and 7,700,000 others.

yn_stroll : secret is out...thanks to my men and sv5 who does not understand how to use an iPhone;)

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[redwinelewis]

LIKE A MERCEDES | LH44

type social media au

pairing lewis hamilton x chinese!reader

face claim lexie liu

song like a mercedes by lexie liu

summary in which lewis' singer girlfriend is part of the f1 the movie soundtrack

warnings none i think idk

author's note super short one bcs i've been wanting to write a smau with this song and lewis ❤️

english is not my first language. all pictures taken from instagram, pinterest and twitter. credit to owners.

masterlist

INSTAGRAM!

f1 and 5 others

liked by lewishamilton, roses_are_rosie and 1,836,938 others

f1 Here's the lineup for F1: The Movie soundtrack with a special track from two more mysterious acts 🏎️ Available June 27.

#F1 #F1TheAlbum

view all 2,728 comments

user TATE????

user user ln4 x t8 agenda continues to spread we love to see it

user DOJA?? ROSÉ???? TATE???????

user who are these people

user the way i only recognize like 2 of these singers

user MADISON BEER OMFG

user wait mysterious acts?

user LEWIS LIKED

user user everyday i manifest for an xnda comeback

user i wonder if lewis produces the soundtrack as well

user user dear god pls

yourinstagram

📍 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

liked by dprian, kikagomes and 3,836,899 others

yourinstagram do me, you don’t have to do me properly

view all 4,726 comments

user RARE LEWIS SIGHTING ON Y/N'S POST

user okay freaky

user HIS BACK 🫦

yourinstagram user behave

user y/n feed your children we're starving for a new album

user i love how she brags about her bf

user user i mean it's sir lewis hamilton. i would do the same.

user user real

user third pic is so bf lewis coded

user THE DRESS OMFG

user sir lewis can u fight

flavy.barla that dress 😍😍

lewishamilton

📍 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

liked by charles_leclerc, francolapinto and 2,826,314 others

lewishamilton 與你一路飛馳緊握著方向盤

view all 1,026 comments

user ok what is up with the caption

user user a vacation in brazil and he wrote the caption in mandarin he's so random 😭😭

user user i mean his gf is chinese right

user can someone tell me what the caption means the translate button isn't working

user user "Feeling like going on a joyride with you through the night" something like that

user user .... is this a lyric?

yourinstagram not fair!!!! that's my favourite part!!!!

yourinstagram yourinstagram and i told you not to post the fourth pic lew!!!!

lewishamilton yourinstagram You used my favourite part as well. And I love that photo

user yourinstagram lewishamilton HELLO WHAT'S GOING ON??????

user yourinstagram lewishamilton are yall teasing us a new single with those captions? 🤨

yourinstagram user no (yes)

user yourinstagram AHSKSHSHSJSKSH WHAT

yourinstagram

liked by jacksonwang852g7, lilymhe and 2,733,927 others

yourinstagram but you already know what i'm about to say 👀 LIKE A MERCEDES, my new single from F1: The Movie soundtrack featuring the one and only xnda is out now 🏎️

i have always admired lewis, on and off track. he is as passionate about music as he is about racing and making this song with him has been such an amazing experience. i hope you all love this song as much as we had fun making it ❤️

view all 3,570 comments

user OH I FUCKING KNEW IT

user FEATURING LEWIS??????

user XNDA IS BACKKKKKK

user is this a dream can somebody pinch me rn

user a new xnda song in the year of our lord 2025

user user "thank you y/n" we all say in unison

user this is everything to me btw

user this song is gonna be the only good thing from that fuck ass film

georgerussell63 Hell yeah! Let's go! 🙌🏻🔥

yourinstagram georgerussell63 thank you george! ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux song of the year ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

yourinstagram alexandrasaintmleux i love you ❤️❤️

tatemcrae a bop

lewishamilton and xnda

liked by yourinstagram, f1 and 7,836,644 others

lewishamilton Say less

view all 6,836 comments

user KMS POSTPONED

user whoremilton is back

user user we cheer

user i'm still processing the lyrics

user user this feels like "pipe" all over again

user his gf is so lucky 💔

user user thank you

yourinstagram user 🤨🤨

user user my bad queen 🙏🏽

yourinstagram you're so fucking amazing

lewishamilton yourinstagram Right back at ya darling

user lewishamilton DARLING 💗🩷🌷🌸♥️❣️❤️💘💖💝💞💟

user lewishamilton oh to be called darling by lewis hamilton

user this is already the best song from that movie

redwinelewis producing the film about the sport he conquered AND creates a song for its soundtrack.... sir lewis hamilton everybody ✨

[jinhyun]

—heart fluttering.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader, ft. lee chaeryeong x kim seungmin

genre: fluff, humor, college au, established relationship, slice of life

word count: 4.5k

summary: who would’ve thought that an unattended romance book on your coffee table would lead to a whole argument with your friends about the technicalities of pinning someone up against the wall. good thing your boyfriend was eager to help you reenact such a controversial scene and—not really—prove your point.

a/n: well hello there, it’s been a while hehe. i’m just here to post this story for my mother hen @taikapavunvarsi’s birthday, as i’ve been doing every single year now. couldn’t lose the tradition. i fucked up the time zones for this post and you’re probably sleeping rn, but i still hope you had the greatest of days and got lots of love from your loved ones, you deserve nothing but the best things in life ♡ i also hope that you enjoy this little one shot i wrote for you. i haven’t written at all in like two months so forgive my rustiness. anyway, you said you wanted ‘booktok boyfriend challenge’ and maybe reversed, and also after some digging on my end (aka going all the way up on our chat 💀) i realised that you said ‘the watercolors’ when you sent that video to me, so the watercolors you get. and also it’s not really a tiktok challenge they’re doing in this piece bc i kinda twisted it as always lol but i hope you still like it<3

and well, since i wrote this for the watercolor couple, i thought fuck it i’m posting it here. if anyone else reads it, i hope you all enjoy~

“That’s impossible” Seungmin’s final statement earned a side eye from you, which was nothing compared to the way Chae whipped her head in his direction—just like that, letting him know she was taking full offense in his confident words.

“No, it’s not?!” Chaeryeong beat you to it, just as you were opening your mouth to let out the exact same words.

“Babe, I’m telling you, it’s not possible”.

“Yes, it is!” You backed your friend up this time.

Given the intensity each of your statements carried, any outsider would think you were discussing a life or death situation. Especially after the over dramatic roll of eyes Seungmin gave you after contradicting him.

In reality, what got the three of you so heated up was whether a specific paragraph from the book Cherry was currently reading—and which you had already read and lent it to her in the first place—was actually possible or not.

“Give me the book,” Seungmin asked his girlfriend, holding his palm open for her to comply. Once she did, he traced his index finger under the words as he read them out loud: “He shoved her up against the wall, his height towering over her, and then with one hand pinning both of her wrists above her head”.

“What’s so unrealistic about it?” You wondered when he finished with a rather amused scoff.

“So, he pushes her against the wall, then he towers over her, meaning he’s like, extremely close to her, and then with one hand he grabs both her wrists and pulls them up over her head?”

“I don’t get you…” Chaeryeong frowned, visibly trying to understand her boyfriend’s point.

“Wouldn’t her arms be stiff when he pulls them both up at the same time?” He pointed out. “There wouldn’t be space for him to pull them up, since he needs to hold them together, probably in the middle, and then pull them up. He either should’ve done that before coming closer to her or should’ve used both hands so they could go up from her sides and not from the middle”.

You and Chaeryeong stayed silent, exchanging troubled looks as you simultaneously tried to picture the point he was making and to come up with different ways for the narration to work out.

Truth be told, you didn’t really care that much about the physical technicalities when it came to romance books. As long as you could picture what the writer was trying to portray, even if it wasn’t exactly what they had in mind, you were okay with it.

As long as the words in it made you feel something, you could look past a couple of mistakes.

Seungmin, on the other hand, who had only read that one page when Cherry left the book unattended to go to the restroom a few minutes ago, could not look past the ‘poor’—as he had so dismissively called it—wording of that particular paragraph.

“It doesn’t say that they’re extremely close, though?” You argued. “Maybe there is enough space for him to do that”.

“There isn’t” he was fast to reply.

“How would you know that?” Chaeryeong frowned.

“When us guys shove someone against the wall we instinctively corner them right away, that’s the whole point. You don’t just push them and stand there like an idiot before doing anything else”.

“Oof, speaking from experience now?” You taunted him, laughing proudly when you got flipped off right away. “Maybe this one guy did just stand there for a bit and therefore there was enough space between them”.

Chaeryeong nodded rapidly, strongly agreeing with you before Seungmin shook his head in disagreement.

“It literally says he was towering over her”.

“And the meaning of that is up for interpretation,” his girlfriend argued back once again.

“What’s up for interpretation?” Hyunjin asked, entering the living room holding a big bowl of popcorn, after having excused himself to go make himself a quick snack earlier.

“The paragraph from a book” you answered him.

“The one you lent Cherry?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe as he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, for a moment there forgetting you were in the middle of an argument. “Yes. There’s this one line that Seungmin swears is not possible”.

“It’s not, though” Seungmin argued once more, and you knew right then he was now only trying to provoke you and his girlfriend.

The glare you threw his way must’ve been one of a kind, for it had Hyunjin chuckling in a heartbeat.

“I thought you guys were fighting for real from the bits and pieces I heard from the kitchen”.

“Oh, we’re close to” Cherry folded her arms over her chest.

It was funny to think this was what your Friday nights had come to after a year of you dating Hyunjin, and of Cherry dating Seungmin.

With you and Chaeryeong being best friends and also roommates, and the same being Hyunjin and Seungmin’s situation, it was inevitable for the four of you to stick together among your larger group of friends. It was unspoken, even.

Since you and Seungmin were done earlier with your last class on Fridays, you would head over to the dance practice room together, where Chaeryeong and Hyunjin would be, as always, mastering their respective routines. You would wait for them to finish, catch up a bit in the meantime, and then all four of you would head over to either your or their dorm, and just hang out there if you didn’t have any particular couple activities planned out with your respective partners. Usually, it was yours, so you wouldn’t bother Changbin if he happened to be at their place—you had already been called out one too many times for making him fifth wheel.

Today, it was no different.

It was supposed to be a peaceful evening, just chatting in the living room all four of you until it was time for Chae and Seungmin to leave, since they were going to the movies later that night. Although, to be fair, no evening could ever be completely peaceful when both your dramatic boyfriend and her tsundere one were together.

Maybe if Chaeryeong hadn’t left your book on the coffee table the night before, you could’ve accomplished an almost peaceful one, because then Seungmin wouldn’t have caught a glance of it after she left his side and he found himself looking for another eye-catching sight around your place, and maybe then he wouldn’t have read that infamous line that got the three of you arguing like your lives depended on it.

Hyunjin would probably have agreed with Seungmin, had he been in the room with you when all hell broke loose. Their experience pinning people against a wall was probably over half of yours—which was nonexistent—after all. But, he wasn’t there for it. So, your eyes lit up when you looked at him and an idea came to your mind.

Watching him place the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table as he munched on another handful of them, you stood up before he could take a seat next to you like he intended.

“Jinnie, come here” you called him, having him follow you to the wall next to the sofa where you had been sitting. When he was in front of you and his rather confused eyes were silently asking you what you wanted, you said: “Pin me up against the wall”.

And maybe you should’ve known better than to make such a request to him all of a sudden, because next thing you knew, confusion was replaced by lust in the way he looked at you, and his hands on both sides of your hips were pulling you closer to him.

“Here in front of our friends?” He mumbled, smiling against your lips and sending shivers down your spine.

Sadly, he didn’t get to steal a kiss from your mouth like he was dying to. Not because of the giggle that had just escaped it—as you couldn’t help but get shy even after all the times you had kissed in front of your friends and vice versa—but because of the pillow Seungmin didn’t hesitate to throw at his head as soon as he realised what was about to go down in front of them.

“Boo, you hoe!” he called your boyfriend out.

Hyunjin threw his head lightly back, biting his lip as he tried to conceal the amused—yet frustrated—smile already parting his lips. Still, he didn’t hesitate to grab the pillow from off the floor and throw it right back to Minnie.

“So,” Hyunjin began after successfully hitting his friend, pulling you closer to him again. “Do I pin you up against the wall or not?”

“Yes, but not like that” Chaeryeong answered for you, causing a laugh to escape your lips.

“Wait, but don’t tell him how, we’re trying to prove a point here” you reminded them, looking for confirmation from both of them before your eyes went back to your boyfriend. “Just, pin me up against the wall”.

“Like, forcefully or…”

“Um…” you hesitated.

“It does say ‘shove’ against the wall here, so yeah, forcefully” Seungmin said.

“And then pull her hands above her head” Cherry added.

“What the hell are you guys on about?” He frowned, not really knowing whether he should be worried or not.

“Just do it” you laughed.

“Okay, so…” his uncertain eyes fixed on yours, looking for consent to push you against the wall.

With a silent nod, you let him know to go for it. And so, his hands went up to your ribcage, missing your breasts by an inch, and he pushed you to the wall. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt you, but just enough for a thud to be heard at the impact.

Before you could process whether you had liked it or not, he was already grabbing your hands and pulling them up above your head.

You found out right then that you did indeed like it. Maybe a little too much. Enough to only focus on his plump lips nearly touching yours, and, therefore, to miss the way he had used both hands to pin yours up.

“Told you!” Seungmin managed to break the sexual tension already taking over the two of you. “You need both hands for that”.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t use only one, though?” You argued, unconsciously resting your hands on Hyunjin’s chest.

“Oh, you wanted me to use only one?” He asked you, then looking at your friends. “I can do that”.

“Let’s see it,” Seungmin said, grabbing the bowl of popcorn and leaning back on the sofa.

“What are you, a judge?” Hyunjin scoffed.

“Oh, hush. Just do it”.

Rolling his eyes, he took a step away from you, so he could reenact the scene right from the start.

This time, however, instead of shoving you up against the wall right away, he grabbed your right wrist and then brought it up to your left one before he pulled them up above your head. It was only when your hands were about to reach the top of your head, that his free hand went up to your waist and he pushed you against the wall—almost as if he’d heard Seungmin’s previous argument—cornering you right away.

It was fair to say, whether he had just proved Seungmin’s point or not, you were enjoying this whole argument way too much.

“See?” Seungmin looked at Chaeryeong with a proud smirk.

“We haven’t seen the way the book describes it yet, though” she refused to give it up, reaching for the book on the coffee table and looking for the controversial paragraph.

“Is this really what our Friday nights have come to?” You asked in utter disbelief.

“I’m not really complaining” Hyunjin confessed—a breathy laugh escaping his mouth as he lovingly bumped your nose with his own.

“I mean, it could be possible,” Seungmin stood up, deliberately ignoring the PDA going on in front of him and walking over to you—watching the reenactment from the couch not being enough anymore. “But it’d be too inconvenient, like, if you’re that close and you hold both wr—”

“You are not shoving my girlfriend up against the wall” Hyunjin warned him when he tried to shove him aside in order to take his place, unconsciously grabbing your hand and pulling you to him.

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “I’m not, I’m just trying to make a point here”.

“Go make your point with Chaeryeong over there”.

“Hold on, I’m looking for the line” she absentmindedly replied as she scanned the page.

You snorted, leaning your head against your boyfriend’s shoulder. You didn’t know whether she was unaware or simply unfazed—either of them being just as funny to you.

“Okay, I got it,” Cherry announced, going up to you as well. “So, what you have to do is, shove her up against the wall,” she looked up to Hyunjin, waiting for him to do so—which he did, only gently this time, as the four of you seemed to be more into the technicality of it all rather than into the reenactment. “Tower over her,” she read, and that he did as well, making your heart race when he took it one step further by tilting your chin up with his fingers, so he could lean in to faintly touch your mouth with his lips.

“Keep it professional, dude” Seungmin called him out—justice being made for you when he was the one to get flipped off now by your boyfriend.

“And now,” Chaeryeong resumed. “With one hand, hold both of hers up”.

You knew Seungmin was right—as if the two previous tries hadn’t already been proof enough—when you saw your boyfriend hesitate, only then realising how close he had come to you by simply being told to tower over you.

Hyunjin knew something was off right away, having to take a few seconds to figure out how to pull your hands up in between the little to nonexistent space between your bodies.

In the end, the safest choice was to take a step back in order to do so, coming right back to tower over you as soon as he got your hands pinned to the wall. Just like that, proving that, although possible, it would turn out clumsy enough—not to say ‘inconvenient’, like Seungmin had claimed—to mess with the heat of the moment.

“Told you,” Seungmin smiled proudly once again. “Inconvenient”.

“Whatever” Chaeryeong shrugged, closing the book and carefully throwing it on the couch as she finally admitted defeat. “All I got from this is that you two share the same braincell. Luke clearly left enough space between them”.

“Luke,” he mockingly repeated the character’s name he had just learned. “Was clearly written by a woman who’s never pinned anyone against a wall”.

“And that’s why he’s way better than you two”.

You couldn’t help the throaty laugh that escaped your mouth at her bitter remark. While Seungmin’s jaw fell open, desperately looking for a clap back for that yet coming up with nothing, a quite offended Hyunjin nudged you, for your friend’s insult had involved him too and you were laughing.

Chaeryeong, on the other hand, was unable to hold back a laugh of her own at the sight of her baffled boyfriend—pulling the now pouty guy into a hug. “Okay, I’m sorry” she apologised with a peck to his lips, knowing she was forgiven when his hands rested on her waist and his thumbs drew small circles on it. “But, honestly, just read the damn book and you’ll get why we don’t really care about technicalities”.

“If it’s so good they’ll probably make a movie of it, so I’ll just wait for that” he smiled cynically.

Chaeryeong rolled her eyes with a smile, only for it to be erased the next second when realisation hit her. “Wait, the movie!”

Seungmin’s face was quick to match her panicked one.

Being too immersed in the rather entertaining argument, neither of them had remembered the movie they had got tickets for earlier that week, and which they should’ve left for a while ago now.

“Shit, what time is it?” Seungmin asked, rushing to get his things.

“Eight thirty” Hyunjin let him know as he checked his phone.

“Fuck, we only have fifteen minutes”.

“Let’s go” Cherry hurried him up, putting on her shoes and grabbing her coat by the entrance.

“Coming” Seungmin announced from the couch, shoving his phone into his pocket and running to put on his shoes as well, as Chaeryeong held the door open while waiting for him. “Okay, see you guys later, bye!”

Chuckling over the entire situation after hearing them slam the door shut, and feeling the silence take over the room now that your friends were gone, you looked up to Hyunjin. Although the both of you were resting your backs against the wall now, as he had leaned on it in order to watch your friends rushing out of your place, he didn’t waste another second to corner you again—getting the perfect opportunity to tilt your chin up and to finally press his mouth to yours, like he had been dying to ever since you asked him to pin you up against the wall earlier that night.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his own snaked around your waist, pulling you so close to his body that you found yourself laughing breathily at the lack of oxygen you were getting after a few seconds.

“So those are the kind of books you’re always reading?” He smirked over your lips, slightly loosening his hold on you—just enough for you to catch your breath.

“God forbid a girl wants to read some heart fluttering stories” you couldn’t help but sound defensive, gently letting your palms slide down to his chest.

He chuckled, gently nuzzling your neck. “I’m not shaming you or anything, it’s just interesting”.

“What is?”

“That those kinds of things make your heart flutter”.

“Those kinds of things?” You asked.

“Pinning you up against the wall?” He cocked a teasing eyebrow.

“As if you didn’t know that already” you rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t” he chuckled, teasingly pinching your sides before he pulled you closer and kissed you once more.

Sure, he had pinned you up against the wall a couple of times—maybe more than a couple in the time you had been together—but never forcefully, or at least not enough to make the impact of your body against it to actually make a sound, like it had today.

He had only now discovered that you enjoyed it. And he was surely loving this newfound liking of yours.

“If you ever got pinned up against a wall like that, you’d get the hype” you defended yourself.

“Well, you could always show me” he shrugged, unable to hide the smirk that was already curving up his lips.

“Me?”

“Aren’t you my girlfriend? Who else would pin me up against a wall if not you?”

“The height difference won’t help, though”.

“I’ll cooperate” he promised, earning a light laugh from you. “You need to do the whole thing, though. I want my arms pinned above my head and all”.

“You’re delusional,” you laughed.

“For knowing what I want?” He said over dramatically.

“Ah, what did I get myself into” you amusedly lamented, but gave in regardless.

Letting go of each other and switching sides, being now him the one turning his back to the wall while you faced him, you couldn’t help but hesitate, just like he had done before pushing you for the first time.

Turned out, it was actually mind wrecking not knowing how much force to put into shoving the person you loved in order not to hurt them. Not like you could actually push him that hard if you wanted, but still.

“I’m waiting~” he teased you.

At that, knowing well enough he would tease you even harder if you took any longer, you just pushed him without a second thought—only to panic as soon as you heard his back hit the wall.

“Was that okay?” You asked him right away.

He dramatically clutched his chest. “My heart’s nearly beating out of my chest”.

“Oh, shut up” you rolled your eyes, deciding to just get it over with and grab both his wrists in order to pull them above his head.

Since you had already pushed him and there was enough space between the two of you, given that you forgot to corner him against the wall right after—you could almost hear Seungmin calling you an idiot—your stubbornness told you to only use one hand to do so.

Now, the problem was, that you forgot how big Hyunjin’s hands actually were, and therefore why it was so easy for him to grab both your wrists with only one of them—as opposed to you, who were already struggling with the task.

Hyunjin was enjoying it one hell of a lot, though. He couldn’t hold back a giggle as he watched you struggle for a few seconds to secure his wrists in your hand, and then he completely lost it when you finally managed to pull them up over his head, only for you not to be able to reach all the way up and just leave them hanging there midway.

“Yah, you said you’d cooperate!” You whined.

“I’m slouching, I’m slouching” he defended himself in between laughs as he did so.

However, hearing your laugh only made him laugh harder, to the point he gave up on slouching at all and ended up kneeling down instead, letting his face rest on your abdomen and holding onto the curve of your back as he looked for some kind of support.

“You’re so annoying” you half laughed, half whined again; trying to help him stand back up.

“You’re so cute,” he cooed.

Letting out one last throaty laugh and finally managing to catch his breath, he let you help him up, smiling lovingly when you cupped his face and wiped the tears of joy that had rolled down his cheeks.

“So, pinning you up against the wall is a no-go to make your heart flutter” you nodded your head.

“It did flutter though, but just because you’re too adorable and I love you” he admitted, and it was your heart the one to flutter at that.

“What can I do to truly make your heart go all mushy then?”

“Honestly?” He asked.

You nodded.

“I love it when you play with my hair”.

You smiled, as it was no news. He had been very vocal about it after the first time you played with his hair while you cuddled on his couch, even way before being a couple.

It was always nice to hear how much he actually loved it, though.

“I was thinking more of a book-ish thing to do…” you confessed.

“Book-ish?” He poked fun at you.

“Yeah, you know, cliché things characters in romance books do” you looked around as you tried to think of something. “Like when they grab your face and make you look at them when you’re not paying attention, like—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he was already grabbing your chin and making you look up at him.

“Like this?” He mumbled against your lips.

You felt your cheeks burn embarrassingly fast, having to look to the side in a poor attempt to play it cool—only to have him playfully make you look at him again.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” you warned him, unknowingly making his heart race at the sound of the lower register you had just used.

“Yes, baby?”

“You’re not supposed to make me flustered, I was about to make a move there”.

He laughed under his breath. “Let’s be honest now, if you were to do that right now, with us standing up, I’d probably just end up looking to the wall”.

Your jaw fell open in full offense. “If I grab your face and turn it in my direction, you’re supposed to look at me even if I’m shorter than you. It’s common courtesy”.

“You’re the one manhandling me, you’re supposed to make me look at you”.

“And that’s what—I give up” you held your hands up in defeat. “I could never be the man of this relationship”.

“Good,” he said, grabbing your waist and turning both of you around, so that he was once again the one cornering you against the wall and leaning down so close to you that you could feel your breathings mix. “Just leave the manhandling to me, hm?”

You bit your lip, in a hopeless attempt to conceal the smile already curving up your lips. He chuckled against your mouth, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to it.

You would be a fool to turn down his offer.

“I want to make your heart flutter too, though” you pouted nevertheless.

“And you always do that without even trying”.

“I do?”

“Mhm…” he lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Like I said, when you play with my hair, or when you lean your head on my shoulder, also when you call me baby… when you use that lower tone of yours to talk to me, and when you doodle literally anything while we talk and then gift it to me…” his eyes softened at the memories. “Do I keep going?”

You softly shook your head no—your heart already feeling warm enough because of his words. “I believe that’s good en—”

“Oh, I love it when you wear my clothes!” He cut you off, eyes lighting up over the sudden train of thought. “Fuck, especially when you only wear one of my t-shirts to sleep and I get to admire your pretty thighs while you walk around my room”.

You chuckled at his last addition, feeling your cheeks burn all over again. “You’re getting a bit carried away now, aren’t you, baby?”

He bit his lip, remaining silent yet not finding it in him to feel the least bit embarrassed. You were all his after all, he was allowed to admire your beauty in all its splendor and gush about it all he wanted.

“I’ll make sure to do all that more often then” you quietly added with a smile, reaching up to sweetly catch his bottom lip in between yours.

“There are a few of my t-shirts in your closet, so how about doing that one now?” He proposed, temptingly brushing his lips against yours.

“If that’s what it takes to make your heart flutter…” you quietly taunted him.

He agreed with a small nod, pressing his lips to yours and teasingly grabbing a hold of your wrists. “I’ll make sure yours does too by pinning you up against your bedroom wall while we’re at it”.

[dfroggofarson]

Your room is dark and still. It is well past midnight, the slow muffles of the city coming inside through your half-opened window only lulls you more into your dreams.

But not the man sitting in your chair.

You jolt awake, eyes runnig around your room, and your uneasiness becomes justified as soon as you meet with the hazel eyes fixed on your form.

"What the...?!" You panic even more when you realize who's eyes you're looking into.

Kento Nanami sits in your chair in the corner of your bedroom, all leaned back, legs crossed, fingers intertwined in his lap. Your breathing is ragged, you're feeling transparent, see-though and bare - you are just in your pajamas.

So many questions flood through your head, but you don't start yelling.

No, not when it's him.

"Nanami, why... why are you here?"

You instinctively tighten the blanket around you when he moves. He stands up slowly, straightens his suit, and makes his way to your bed. You want to run, scream for help, but his gaze mortifies you.

Nanami sits on the edge of your bed, just inches away from you, and slowly reaches out. You want to pull away, but before you could do that, he grabs your face in a flash. He is not violent, doesn't squeeze your cheeks at all, just holds it.

If you weren't terrified to your core, you would have said that in his eyes, you saw love.

But you aren't going to mistake it for obsession.

He tilts his head, still not letting go of your face. He, instead, starts carressing your skin with his thumb. "You have no idea how beautiful you are. The things I would do for you..." He trails off, getting lost in thoughts you knew no way in hell were healthy.

"Nanami..." you begin, but stop again when his eyes meet yours.

You only realize there is something splattered across his face when you look closer.

Your blood runs cold.

"Nanami, what happened?" You ask, and hope to God it was just some syrup or anything else than what you know suspect is on him.

He humms in question, then reaches for his face. He smudges the liquid and looks at his hands. "Ah, sorry, sweetheart. Had some business to tend to before I came to see you."

You watch in horror as he licks the blood off his thumb, then frowns. "Yours is so much more tasty."

He tries to reach for your face again, expression still firm and cold, but you grab his palm mid-air. He watches as you set it back on his thigh. "Nanami. Why don't we talk about this in the morning? I'm really tired now."

You want nothing more than to have him out of your room, your whole life, but you are alone in your apartment in the middle of the night, with your phone out of reach. And you know well how he gets when something upsets him. So instead, you yawn, pretending to be sleepy - in truth, your heart is racing, nerves just a move away from snapping. But you give him a small smile you know he'll notice despite the dark.

Nanami blinks, then snickers (which sounds more like a scoff). "Sorry, I got ahead of myself. I know you like your sleeping hours undisturbed," you almost sigh in relief when he stands up from your bed. "Then I'll meet you in a few hours. I'll get you some coffe and a croissant."

"Okay," you just reply, and fake a yawn again.

"Good night then, sweetheart," he waves you goodbye, but before exiting your room, hand already on the handle, he stops. "I can see right through you, love. You don't have to go around lying to me all the time."

You freeze again, and he turns to face you this time.

His stare is gravely sharp.

"Don't lie to me."

A second later, the door closes, and you don't dare to collapse onto the bed and start sobbing until you're sure he's out of your apartment.

You have no idea he's still standing outside your bedroom door.

I realized I only post CB and random shitposts, which is not cool. evil!Nanami has been bugging me for exactly three days, so inspired by Erika Lundmoen's song Yad, I wrote this little thing. Do you like it?

Read chapter one of I want it All here >>

dividers by @strangergraphics and @cursed-carmine

[kotonoba]

You were looking for some requests and i probably have something for you! Beckman x reader comfort. Reader is normally a brave and spirited fighter but during the last battle the red haired pirates had, she witnessed an enemy pirate kill a helpless child and it shook her hard to her core. That she wasnt strong, she wasnt quick, that she was useless. And beckman finds out all this happened when Hongo ran over and said she had suddenly passed out from lack of sleep and it was just really bad. So beckman has to navigate that and comfort her through this. As he is her safe space

Echo Chamber (Beckman/F!Reader)

Summary: After a recent raid, flashbacks of not being able to save a child haunts you.

a/n: I hope I wrote to the degree you wanted, I had to do a lot of research since this is my first time writing for him. Enjoy!

Warning(s): mentions of death, sleep deprivation, comfort, hurt, pushing away help, established relationship, female reader, hallucinations, description of trauma

Posted on AO3

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The pendulum swings backwards. You found yourself collapsed on the road, most taken, the view before you like an attack. Blood stained your hands, normally, it doesn't faze you, but this time, you felt your heart lodge in your throat as a sob choked in your throat. The smell of gunpowder invades your senses, your weakened limbs gently cradle a child gasping for air; a fatal hit to the trachea. Eyes widened with bewilderment, blood gushing out of their mouth as you did your best to stop the bleeding, but it was a clear shot. Fear radiated off the child. If only you were one step faster, you could have deflected the bullet. 

If only… You were more useful. 

“Hey, the fish is getting away,” you snapped from your trance, following the voice to hear your boyfriend poke fun at the several fish that had hooked on but got away. As he took a closer look, he spotted the dark circles beneath your eyes, “Are you okay, darling?”

Fake it until you make it; that's usually how you deal with your trauma and injuries. You didn't want to worry him, so you said, “I'm alright, just been a bit restless lately, don't worry about it.” You muttered, 'It should pass soon; it's only been three days since the fight.' Your eyes glance past the tall figure in front of you, the crew celebrating over the victory still, but you were hung up on the child who suffocated to death because you were just too weak to protect. 

“Dinner is starting, you can fish afterwards,” he left no room to negotiate, pulling your hand as he led you off the spot where you had been planted for hours. 

Surrounded by your crew, the idiocy and boisterous atmosphere eased you gently as you sat beside your boyfriend, who kept putting food on your plate. As he nudged you to eat, you glanced down at the medium rare steak, and you felt your stomach churn. The red liquid oozed out as your fork pressed into the tender meat. Flashes of blood on your hands, the child's fearful look, begging you to save them, resurfaced. You felt tears sting your vision as you covered your mouth. Abruptly, you stood up and turned your back to your boyfriend, who noticed the sudden change in demeanor, “Have fun, I'm just a little seasick,” you lied. A weary smile forced its way onto your tired features, the color drained from your face as you glanced one last time at the steak, then your boyfriend, and hurried into your room. 

You bent over on the toilet, vomiting what little substance was left in your stomach, a mix of water and gastric acid came up. Burning your throat as you tasted a tinge of metallic liquid lingering on your lips. Tears squeezed past your once brave eyes as you saw droplets of red lingering in the yellow emesis. Your legs shook as you got up from your kneeling position. For a second, everything was okay. As you wiped your mouth of the residual, you saw flashes of red stain your hand. It began pooling with blood, as you recall, trying to patch up a wound that didn't close. You rushed over to the sink, washing your hands desperately, washing the blood you swore you saw stain your calloused hands. You scrubbed beneath the nail beds, between digits, up to your arms, until the skin began to peel from your hands, stinging pain met with hot water; you saw the blood from your wounds and tried to wash it off. 

A knock on your door snapped you from your ritual, “Hey, Beckman's worried about you,” Hongo's voice rang. You felt nauseous again. The feeling of being labeled as deadweight gnawed at your sanity. You gritted your teeth as the ship's doctor continued to talk, “Let me take a look, are you not feeling well?” 

The knocking continued as you bit the inside of your cheeks, drawing blood out, “I'm okay, I'm just tired,” you lied; your lips trembled as you tasted blood on your lips. “I'm going to bed early, sorry for worrying you all,” you called out, putting on a tough front. You turned off the lights, listening to distant conversations about your health and the shuffling of feet as they moved away from your door. You prayed that sleep would come to you tonight as you lay in bed. 

Your heavy lids closed, but you were met with screams and cries for the child's mom and dad. The sound of threats from the enemies telling the kid to shut up, you barely held your own against the enemies. The child was crying out to you for help as you desperately ran for the child, but you were one step too late as the bullet penetrated the trachea and through the back. The child collapsed, blood gushing out of his mouth, with what little breath he had left, the words uttered through pained tears, “I-I don't want to… die.” 

Once again, you stood on the field, you glanced around; the crew was doing great. You were just deadweight, a weight that couldn't even save a child. You once again knelt before the child, desperately holding onto the weakening body. You cried for help, but nothing came out of your mouth; you glanced down, and the body melted into blood. 

You shot up from your bed, your mind racing as you turned on the lights. The stinging of your ritual burned your hands as you tried to wash the blood that stained your vision. 

You decided sleep just wasn't made for you. You grabbed your lance and decided training would help a little more with your uselessness. As you wobbled out of your room like a walking corpse, your mind was preoccupied with the scene of the battlefield. If you had only pivoted to your left, you might have reached the child sooner. If you only twisted your lance a little harder, the enemies would have fallen out of your way. If only you weren’t so useless, the child would still be alive. 

“You’re hurt! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Hongo’s voice knocked some sense into you as you glanced up at him, dazed. “Come with me,” he pulls you along to the open air, cleaning your wounds that no longer stung you like before. Your eyes trained on the wounds as they disappeared with each bandage wrapped around them, “I knew you would come out of your room eventually. Were you thinking about training? With these wounds?” He monologues, you let him talk. Hearing him talk distracted you from the screams of the battlefield that haunted your sleep without dreams. “Who am I to stop you from training more? Just remember to rest,” you looked up from your hands. He shrugged at you, “No one listens to the ship doctor until they’re ill, but do remember to rest.” 

You nodded. He left you be, bathing in the moonlight, left alone to your demons as your mind echoes with the raging battle. Days felt longer, nights were the longest, you trained alone under the moonlight, your mind playing tricks on you, “you’re not doing it right,” you muttered to yourself as training became brutal, “don’t even think about slacking,” your mind sneered as you felt the tireless nights catching up to you. “You’ll never grow if you ask for help,” your demons cackled in your mind. You didn’t deserve help, you can’t possibly ask someone to listen to your woes. 

You avoided your boyfriend, your captain, the doctor, your crew, and even yourself. Mirrors shattered in your bathroom, wounds reopened through the harsh training you put yourself through; meals barely touched as your mind replayed how useless you were on the barren battlefield. 

You heard whispers turned malicious, so you stopped attending feasts held by your crew. You stopped answering to your name when your captain called for you, and you disregarded your doctor's pleas to eat. You put on a tough front and smiled at your boyfriend to ease his anxieties, “I’m fine, don’t worry.” That was your mantra, and for a while, they all believed you. For a while, you also thought you were okay. 

For a while, it didn’t last long, as you saw the child, blood gushing out of his mouth point at you one day on the ship, “it’s your fault I died,” your breath hitched, tears stung your vision, you tried to run away, but your feet was planted to the ground, your lungs hyperventilated until the air stopped. Your world faded to black with a loud thud on the deck. 

You recall hearing the ship’s doctor call for your name, but you couldn’t move, your legs gave up; you recall the doctor urgently calling for the captain’s right-hand man, you remember, for a moment of your time, warm liquid dripping onto your bruised arm. But it could just be your mind playing tricks on you. 

You wandered in your dreamscape, in a dark, lonely world, the battle repeating over and over again, “Why are you slacking?” The child asked, blood pooling out of his wound, “You don’t deserve to rest when I died, how does my mother feel?” You gritted your teeth, tears rolled down your face uncontrollably, “Why me and not you?” 

You jolted awake with a shake from your side, bewildered eyes searching for an anchor until it rested on your boyfriend, who hovered over your vision, “Why do you shoulder everything yourself?” You studied him closely; his eyes were red, and there were bags beneath his eyes. You reached up to wipe away the tears. He held onto your bandaged hand, placing a kiss to your palm, “It wasn’t your fault, you’re not deadweight to anyone on the crew, especially not me,” your mouth was agape, you weren’t aware you sleep talk, but the only way he knew, “you were sleep talking, and I’m glad you were. You wouldn’t have told me otherwise, would you?” 

“I’m sorry, I–” 

“No, I’m sorry for not noticing sooner.” his hold on your hand tightened. Watching you sit up, he assisted you to your feet, leaning you against his chest. “You were crying out for help, and I just didn’t notice. I should have paid more attention,” he whispered. His embrace around you tightened, his digits intertwined with yours as he peppered kisses on your forehead. “You did your best; the outcome would have been the same if I were in your shoes.” 

You hesitated for a second, listening to him talk, “...you’re just saying that to make me feel better, I know you would have been fine.” 

“That’s not true,” he gritted his teeth, “we can’t win them all, at the end of the day, you’re all that matters to me,” his selfishness was a first for you. You felt his heartbeat faster and harder, “I hate to see you so hurt, so please,” he turned your attention to him, “let me share your burden.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against yours lightly, sharing his warmth with your more incredible body, “let me hurt with you, we carry it together. Even if it’s heavy, please.” 

Your heart melted at his words, and tears rolled down your face. As much as it’s hard to let someone in, your heart ached more seeing how desperate he was to be there for you. “Alright, I’m sorry for–”

He tilted your head up, and his lips met yours to stop your apologies. For a second, your burden left you alone, and your eyes fluttered closed. After a bit, he pulls back, “stop apologizing, it’s not your fault.” You sighed at that, but he pressed his hand over your lips gently, “if you can’t sleep, then we’ll stay up together. A relationship isn’t just about the ups, it’s also about the downs.” You nodded in his hold as he withdrew his hand from your mouth. 

“Do you think it’s true?” You questioned softly, you already knew his answer, but you wanted to hear him say it, “should it have been me and not the child?” 

You didn’t have time to react by the time he slammed his forehead against yours, “don’t be stupid, my love.” You covered over your forehead from the sudden collision, “you think it should’ve been you?” He hissed at your question, “I’d rather have you wounded and broken than buried.” 

“But you didn’t have to headbutt me!” 

“You wouldn’t have listened!” Despite the tough conversation, he lets out a laugh to see you return a little to your old, joyous self, “we carry it together. Even if it’s heavy.” He repeated, and you nodded in response, leaning against his chest. 

The days leading up to today seemed to be long behind you; the wound to your heart and mind was destined to heal with your lover by your side. You should have reached out sooner than letting the demons eat at your confidence. The days would get longer as you begin to heal, but at least you had someone to lean on and share with. 

“I’ve been forgotten…” Hongo whispered to himself, a blank expression on his face as he stood by the door of the infirmary. 

Today, the pendulum swings forward once again.

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I did a lot of research into how to actually describe this & a lot of research went into reading up on his character; I kindly ignored the sentence in the wiki that said, "he is a playboy and loves women." I don't think the girlies need that in this fanfic right now.

[shellsstardew]

you made me ship shelliot so hard it's not even funny 😭 like normally im not super into rarepairs bc it seems ppl ship them just to ship them but i legit see where you're coming from, especially in the same context as your comic where their story begins after elliot moves in. i actually love your comic i cannot wait for the next part (not trying to pressure you obv). ive never gotten too many hearts with either of them but your characterization just feels so accurate like i feel like I could see your story with their dialogue happening in the game and it wouldn't feel out of place at all. and also finally (oops ive been rambling), your art style isn't overly detailed but the facial expressions/body language/like perspective i guess of the characters, especially shane and elliot on the dock is so well done, the small changes in positioning work so well to communicate the change in their body language and its just really impressive.

sorry i yapped or if it was weird or something i promise i was not trying to come off weird 😭😭😭 i just really admire good fanworks such as yours and it's important to tell authors/creators that they're doing well and yeah

also if you (or anyone else) has any shelliot fic recommendations i would loveee to hear them :>

No but seriously it's so funny that your like "I hope I'm not being weird" meanwhile I reread over and over your super thoughtful message to keep me going 😭

YOU GUYS DON'T REALIZE I NEED THOSE HYPER DETAILED COMPLIMENT or my stupid brain will go like "Okay time to think you're worthless and that what you're doing doesn't matter"

No I can point at the screen and say "See? 👉📱 SEE?! 👉👉📱?" and it's putting another coin in the machine hehe

Anyway, thank you so much 😭

AND YES I HAVE FICS TO RECOMMEND! ONCE AGAIN, @cutethulu you know the drill hehe

Camellia Station, by Awdrey (Explicit - but it's only one short smut scene in the last chapter for now)

Now it's still in progress (updating once a month) and they still didn't smooch yet, but that's what you get when you fall into the Shelliott rabbit hole, hehe, you can't be picky

It's really well written and the author and I have a lot of similarities in our interpretations of Shane and Elliott :) Go give it some love!

Also some one shots by @mongoosingisme that I really love :

Untitled Shelliott Ranch Project

Herding cats (Explicit - Shane/Elliott/fem!farmer)

And UHHH maybe you've seen it already but I wrote one about Shells, it's an alternate ending to part 34 (it's my first one and I'm really proud of it teehee)

Shells, alternate ending, by shells_stardew (Explicit)

Also @visionofthebees wrote this one for me on the same concept :

One Shell of a Night, by Visionofthebees (Explicit)

Be warned it's EXTREMELLY SILLY and she didn't even reread it before posting, but I love it with all my heart it's so so funny hahaha

I love her so imma also recommend her Clint x Elliott fic too (yes yes you read that right, she's 10 degrees further than me on the crack ship scene) :

Falling Ore You (Explicit) (46 chapters, completed)

LISTEN SHE MAKES IT WORK OKAY! SHE REALLY DOES!

And also, check my bookmarks! They are some non-Shelliott stuff that I absolutely love in there! (BUT always ALWAYS check the tags before reading, there is also some dark stuff haha)

Here you go, hope I didn't recommend all the ones you already knew about, as we all know this is not an extremely popular ship so this is what we get, quality over quantity hahahaa 😭

[physics-of-one-piece]

Everyone I see on here or Ao3 always has A LOT of words per chapter. Heck, the one you're working on has 10k+ from what you've said in that one post. How do you get all that out into one chapter? The best I can do is like, 2-3k a chapter and that feels so "meh" compared to everyone else.

First, what I want to say is that word count does not equal quality. You can say so much within 1k words just as you can say nothing in 10k words.

Heck, my most popular fic of Doffy is Risk and Reward, the fic with 4k words of Celestial Doflamingo x Reader and only like 2k of that is smut.

Nothing is "meh". All writing is great! Don't you dare talk about your writing like that! 😠

For example, I wrote just yesterday only 600 words but they are all full of feelings of a character and is that "meh"? NO! Those words are important! Whether it be plot, emotions, descriptions of something, if it is short does not make it "meh"

NO WRITING IS "MEH". Don't base the worth of your writing on the amount of words you write. It will kill your motivation bcs you'll be self-pressuring yourself to reach a "certain word count"

There is no "word count goal"

I hate that thing. Hell, I hate that it takes ME so many words to get what I want to express across in my writing!

Now, for the og question, how do we get all that out in one chapter? It takes us like a month for that. And it takes planning, too. And don't forget... ✨Motivation✨

I can't barf 10k words in one single day (okay, fine I barfed M&P Chapter 1 and wrote it in a day like I was possessed BUT that is an EXCEPTION of hyperactivity and being obsessed with Doffy 🤣)

But usually, that doesn't happen. We take breaks. We procrastinate. We got IRL duties. 10k words come from probably WEEKS or MONTHS of writing.

Editing is a big thing of how to like fit the 10k words in one chapter. I honestly HATE when I cross 10k words. When I get past that point I just HATE myself. Because editing also means PROOFREADING. And there is so many times I can re-read a scene before I never want to re-read it again in my life 🤣

10k words is like 20 pages in a Word Document, I think? That is an absolute NIGHTMARE to proofread to me.

@ohnomyhooves can say a bit more about word count cus... Hooves got the Write-Write Devil Fruit I swear to god. Also @oddmawd can also hop in and give some account on this bcs they also write quite the word count for Doffy fics (not that I'm complaining)

I myself hate reaching 10k mostly because of Editing Nightmare™ that it becomes for me.

And like... There is if you want to post it on Tumblr... From my experience, Tumblr can't take more than 12k words.

Yeah, I... I know bcs I tried. Remember, M&P Chapter 4 was originally Chapter 4+ Chapter 5 combined. I end my chapters when I feel they should end.

Write however you want and never depend on word count to tell you how good your writing or story is. That's bullshit. Writing is about having fun!

Sending love and I hope this helped a little ❤️

[bleedingoptimism]

“I’m sorry Steve, I thought we were just having fun! I enjoyed you taking me out and paying for everything that’s all…” Is what Shelley said to him when Steve walked into the bar and saw her flirting with another guy. 

Obviously, he smiled and shook his head, said everything was okay, ‘Just a silly misunderstanding’ and left, ever so graceful. But the second he was outside he cursed, tried not to shed a tear, failed, and then started laughing. 

He probably looks like a mad man, or a drunk. But no, don’t worry people, he’s not drunk or crazy, he’s just really, really stupid. He thought Shelley really liked him, he thought they were dating. And Shelley just assumed he was just another playboy so she played him back. He’s not even mad at her. She didn't mean to hurt him. It’s not her fault Steve is just so easy to hurt. 

Sighing, he gets his phone out to get an uber and hugs himself even though it’s not really that cold outside, waiting for his car, already imagining the big, greasy burger he’s going to order when he gets home. He deserves it, okay?

The car that pulls out has definitely seen better days, but it’s clean and comfortable so Steve doesn’t think twice about getting in. He offers the driver a smile through the rearview mirror, sparing a moment to notice his eyes are big and dark, and they crinkle when he smiles back at him. 

Steve sits stiff and straight for a moment before realizing no one is there to judge him right now and he deflates, sighing again and letting himself collapse against the seat. Still hugging himself to feel any sort of comfort, he bumps his head against the window softly a couple of times. 

“Long night?” The driver asks him in a friendly manner.

Steve meets his eyes in the rearview again and shrugs, smiling back crookedly “Thought I should go home early since I already accomplished making an ass of myself for the night”

He checks the uber app for the driver’s name, doesn’t want to be rude by not remembering. ‘Eddie’ chuckles at Steve's statement.

“You did, huh? Well good job on getting it out of the way then,”

Steve chuckles back, “Yeah, I was actually thinking I deserve a treat”

He notices Eddie looking back at him a couple of times before breathing an interested, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “A huge cheesy burger or something” Wondering what Eddie was thinking he’d say.

Eddie laughs again, “Oh! Right of course” and just when he’s about to say something else his phone rings.

“Oh, sorry” Eddie murmurs, immediately hanging up on whoever is calling. 

“No worries,” Steve mumbles back, sitting up a little straighter again. 

“So, what’s your favorite dirty burger place?” Eddie asks him. 

Steve can tell he’s trying to distract him from the mood he entered the car with and he really appreciates it.

He sits forward and leans his forearms against the headrest of the passenger seat, “Oh, there’s so many, but…” from this angle, he can see Eddie’s face better, and he can’t help but think he’s got a really nice looking profile, long lashes, full lips, and the cutest nose he’s ever seen, “I think Benny’s the best one” he finishes.

Eddie pulls at a stop light and turns to look at him with a smile and he’s so much prettier than Steve first thought he involuntarily gasps. But thankfully Eddie is talking excitedly and doesn’t seem to notice.

“No way you know Benny’s?! Benny is my uncle! Well, he’s married to my uncle actually- you know what I mean but yeah, Benny’s is great!” 

It’s such a weird coincidence that it managed to take Steve out of his stupor and he’s suddenly just as excited as Eddie,

“Really? Oh my god, I’m so jealous right now, I wished I could live at Benny’s sometimes” 

Eddie laughs, and just when he opens his mouth to reply his phone rings again. This time he doesn’t immediately hang up and Steve sees the screen light up with the name “you deserve better” 

Ouch, he thinks, and his heartstrings tug for his cute, sweet, uber driver. Who offered him friendly conversation cause he noticed he was feeling down and has the most beautiful laugh. He doesn't really know why he feels so strongly about it, he doesn't even know Eddie… but he still feels the text is right. Whoever hurt him, Eddie deserved better.

“Hey,” He says softly when Eddie hangs up cursing.

Eddie sighs again, “I’m so sorry,” 

“Hey, no. It’s fine,” Steve replies, resisting the urge to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He figures, after the way his night started, he’s got nothing to lose so he says, “So much talk about Benny’s I feel like I need to go there right now.” 

Eddie let’s out a distracted “Huh?” and Steve soldiers on, “Wanna change the destination and join me? You can take me home after,”

He notices Eddie doing a double take and blushing, “Really? I- Am- I- okay” he stammers but Steve can’t really figure out why.

“Yeah, you know, that way you don’t lose time on the job and have another ride?” He finishes and Eddie laughs,

“Oh, right. Yeah That- makes sense”

They keep talking about their favorite things on the menu on the way there and soon they are sitting face to face in a booth at Benny’s.

What a pair they make, Steve in a three piece suit, jacket off, vest undone and shirt rolled up to his forearms. And Eddie with sweats and a hoodie. 

Eddie is even better looking in the shitty dinner light and the blush that adorns his cheeks ever since they came in makes Steve wanna kiss them to feel their warmth.

Benny himself comes to take their order, and Eddie gets up to hug him and introduces him to Steve. They already know each other, because Steve does come to the dinner often and Benny lets Eddie know that.

Eddie thinks it's hilarious that they both have been here so much and never saw each other before, but Steve can’t help to think it’s a shame.

“I actually would’ve loved to have met you sooner,” he tells Eddie at one point and watches curiously as Eddie’s blush turns a few shades darker.

As they eat, Steve tells Eddie about Shelley, about his hopes, about misreading the situation, about his shame. How he doesn’t even think he liked Shelley that much, but he just wanted to have something real. Eddie gets mad at him for blaming himself, tells him it wasn’t his fault, that he’s being too hard on himself. And it’s not a bad thing to consider but all Steve can think about is how cute Eddie looks when he’s mad on his behalf.

Eventually, Eddie tells Steve about whoever was calling him. 

“I met him at my last job. I thought he was so cool but turns out he was actually just cold,” Eddie shrugs, “We dated for like 6 months or something, not that long but, I was miserable the whole time and I didn’t even realize it was because of him.” 

Eddie’s hand is tearing up a paper napkin between them and Steve tentatively settles his hand over Eddie’s, who stops destroying the napkin and smiles gratefully at Steve, holding his hand back.

“The worst part is I didn’t even break up with him, he broke up with me,” Eddie chuckles self-deprecatingly, “But he still wanted to keep me around I guess… And I… didn’t want to feel lonely” 

They both stay quiet for a moment after that, and Steve stares at their hands joined over the greasy dinner table and thinks about loneliness, about how he doesn't feel it right now, with Eddie.

“So, what happened?” he asks after a bit.

“I did eventually realize he was the one making me feel like shit so I stopped seeing him but he didn’t appreciate my new sense of self-respect,” Eddie says lightly and Steve instinctively squeezes his hand protectively, which makes Eddie smile again, “I’m doing just fine now though, I told him to fuck off and got a new job. And it’s actually pretty good, ya know?”

Steve can’t help but smile back at Eddie’s cute expression, “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah, my own hours? Good money? Plus I’ve always liked driving around, it calms me. And I get to meet really interesting people…” he says, winking at Steve and making him chuckle.

“Well, I’m glad then. Proud of you for getting out of there,”

“Me too,” Eddie says and looks up as Benny walks over to them.

“Sorry to interrupt boys, but we are about to close for the night,” He says, stifling a yawn.

Steve looks surprised at his watch, it’s almost 2 A.M. He can’t believe he’s been sitting here with Eddie for hours when it only felt like a few minutes.

He offers to cover the bill but Benny fights him over it and says it’s his treat. And Eddie offers to take him home no charge. So they get in Eddie’s car again only this time Steve sits next to him instead of in the back and they talk about music on their way to his place while Steve changes the radio stations. Laughing, singing and joking around, it’s such a good time. It feels like they’ve been doing this forever, like they could do this…forever. But eventually they arrive at Steve’s building and suddenly Steve doesn’t want the night to end. 

He’s about to tell Eddie as much, maybe invite him inside, when his phone rings again, the ‘you deserve better’ staring at them. But Eddie immediately grabs his phone and hangs up, blocking the number after. 

“There, he can’t call me again,” he says with a sigh.

“Can I see your phone for a second?” Steve ventures, making a last second decision.

Eddie looks surprised but curious as he hands it over and Steve punches his phone in.

“If you ever feel like unblocking him, or calling him back… Why don’t you try calling me instead?” he says in a rush and then walks out of the car, not lingering to see Eddie’s reaction.

There’s always the positivity that he got things wrong again, got too invested too soon again and he doesn’t want to know tonight. He’ll deal with it later, if Eddie doesn't call.

🚗📱🍔💙

It takes only two days for Steve’s phone to ring, an unknown number flashing on his screen. He picks it up feeling a little out of breath for no reason at all.

“Hello?” 

“Steve?”

“Eddie, I”

“Wait- before you say anything I just want you to know that I didn’t call because I wanted to call him, or I was thinking about him. I called because I can’t stop thinking about you, I wanted to talk to you. Okay?”

“Eddie- yes! It’s more than okay, I- I was hoping you’d call”

fin 💙

☕🥐💕 coffee? oovoo javer?

[lyxchen]

Okay so I said I was drawing a sangihun kiss and that I would hopefully finish and post it tonight. Well I didn't finish it and I also got distracted and started drawing another sangihun thing and I love the sketch so much that as an apology y'all are getting that now. But hey, I said I was gonna post a sangihun kiss tonight and technically I kinda did <3

Anyways, here it is:

Also the legs and feet at the bottom left are part of what I originally wanted to finish tonight :>

[suddencolds]

duffel bag, packed light (yves/vincent AU fic)

Hello! Happy (definitely-not-late) Valentines day. <3 I hesitated on posting this because it's a little disjointed, but I think I need to kick it out of my drafts (go! leave!) before it gets stuck in there forever.

My kind anonymous prompter dropped some of the most fire prompts known to mankind in their submission 😭🙏 These are the two which I went with:

Write an AU oneshot that is completely different from the current Yvescent setting using a combination of 3 or more of the following emojis: 🏝️🎒🛳️🗓️📓🌧️🍱🌠🎬 + hear me out what if we got um spicy kink!Yves or kink!Vincent au 👀 and flowers or an irritant of your choosing

This whole fic is AU!Yves + AU!Vincent w/ the kink, in which they are not coworkers, but instead meet as strangers on a cruise, and Yves turns out to be allergic to something unexpected 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. I should apologize for the long exposition; the first half of this reads more like a character study. If you don't care about how they meet, you can scroll down to the section labeled "Firsts"!

—

The stranger breaks the silence first.

“It’s a nice view,” he says.

They’re on one of the rooftop floors. It’s surprisingly crowded out here—apparently Vincent’s idea to take an evening walk was far from original. Vincent looks out at the unending expanse of water before them, the sky dark, the cruise deck high enough that the waves below them are almost too small to make out.

“It is,” Vincent agrees.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the ocean plenty,” the stranger says, leaning out onto the railing. The wind picks up on the strands of his light brown hair. “Assuming you’re a cruise person.”

Vincent contemplates going with the assumption. He is not obligated to tell the truth, of course—that he is terribly out of place here; that, if he’s being honest, it is a little strange and embarrassing to be here alone.

“I am not a cruise person,” Vincent says. “I won the tickets through a work raffle.”

“A work raffle?” The stranger turns to him, perking up.

Vincent nods.

“You’re kidding me,” the stranger says, suddenly animated. “You should’ve bought a lottery ticket right after, with that kind of luck.”

“I think I’ve used up all my luck reserves,” Vincent says. “Out of everyone who could have won, I may be the least suited to be doing this.”

“What does that mean? That you don’t like cruises?” When Vincent shakes his head, the stranger stills, contemplative. “Do you get seasick or something?”

“I am not the kind of person who would pay for a cruise.”

“Huh. Well, I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t have to pay for this one.” 

Vincent supposes that is true. His coworkers had been happy for him when the announcement had come out—are you serious? I’m so jealous! And you’re going to love it! And Take lots of pictures! We’ll definitely be grilling you for them when you get back!—he thinks he probably ought to be happy, too, considering how expensive this kind of thing would be normally, considering how statistically unlikely it had been for him to win.

Instead, he’d felt a sort of blankness, bewilderment veering on apathy—but it would be ungrateful to turn this kind of thing down, or to sell it off to someone else, wouldn’t it? In the end, he’d nodded a little stiffly at them, and smiled, and promised them their pictures.

“And what about you?” Briefly, Vincent entertains the possibility that this stranger is someone who takes ten cruises a year—the exact opposite kind of person that Vincent is, the kind of person who likes being hundred of miles out from the nearest coast, who likes the extravagance of the room service and the on-deck waterslides and the quaint high class diners, who likes talking to strangers. “Is this your hundredth cruise?”

The stranger laughs. “It’s actually my second. I was planning to go with someone. We bought two tickets way back—not company-sponsored, by the way, though I wish they were.”

“Did they decide to call it a night early?” Vincent asks.

The stranger laughs—a short, curt laugh. Vincent cannot tell if it’s genuine. “She’s actually not here. She couldn’t make it.”

It seems strange, to Vincent, that someone might miss something as expensive as a cruise. “Something else came up?”

“To be frank, I was in a relationship with her up until two weeks ago,” the stranger says. Then he laughs again, a little self-deprecatingly. “Sorry, that’s probably too much information.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “I’m sorry about the breakup.”

The stranger waves a hand. “It’s fine. She left me the tickets, which wasn’t cool, but I found someone to resell hers to, even though it was sort of last minute. Facebook marketplace is the maker of miracles. The guy who bought it is somewhere on this ship, though I don’t think I could point him out to you.” 

“Are you alright?”

The stranger blinks at him. He looks a little caught off guard. “Sorry?”

“With the breakup,” Vincent clarifies. “Two weeks ago is still recent. Are you alright?”

The stranger is quiet for a moment. “That’s very considerate of you to ask,” he says, at last.

Vincent looks away from him. “That’s not an answer.”

The stars are starting to come out. The ocean stretches out, wide and dark, beyond them. The stranger says, after a moment: “With a view like this, who wouldn’t be?”

He reaches up a hand to swipe at his eyes. His sleeve doesn’t linger for very long. If Vincent weren’t looking, he might mistake the motion for something casual, something unassuming.

The stranger squeezes his eyes shut, and takes in a breath. The exhale that follows is carefully, meticulously even. 

Vincent doesn’t know what it is that prompts him to open his mouth. It’s a stupid, impulsive decision, directed towards someone to which he has no allegiance. It’s entirely unlike him.

And yet.

“My cabin number’s 3-75-F.” he says, before he can think better of himself. “If you need company, or if you want to talk about how your ex was the worst person on earth, we can get dinner, or just take a walk. If you don’t, I won’t take it personally.”

He turns, starts off in the direction of the deck entrance—this is preferable, he thinks, to sticking around to hear the stranger’s response. Judging by the size of the cruise ship, there are probably two thousand people on board. Vincent tells himself that it’s statistically unlikely he will run into this particular stranger again, which means his offer doesn’t have to mean anything at all.

“Wait,” the stranger says, falling into step with him.

Vincent turns.

“That actually sounds really nice. I’m glad you offered. Dinner, tomorrow at 6?” The stranger extends a hand. When Vincent looks up, he is surprised to find that he’s smiling. “I’m Yves.”

Vincent takes it. “Vincent.” he tries to keep his surprise out of his voice. “I’ll be free.”   

Yves says: “Great! I hear there’s a restaurant on the third floor which people really like. Do you like seafood?”

“Seafood’s great.”

Yves grins. “I’ll make the reservation tonight. Goodnight, Vincent.”

“Goodnight,” Vincent says, before he can second guess himself into taking it back. He has the distinct sense that he’s just gotten himself into something he’s fundamentally ill-equipped to handle.

—

In truth, the first time Yves meets Vincent is not the first time they meet. Vincent meets Yves for the first time when he’s in line to board. This, like their second meeting, is a coincidence.

— 

Before.

The stranger is smiling.

The girl he’s talking is interested in him. That’s the first thing Vincent notices. It’s not a secret—it’s evident in the way she cranes her entire body towards the stranger as he speaks. Evident in the way she laughs, her shoulders shaking, after he tells her something Vincent can’t quite decipher; evident in the way her eyes snap to his hands as he gesticulates.

Briefly, Vincent wonders how they know each other. A couple? But the more Vincent watches, the more he realizes that that doesn’t make sense. His body language is so deceptively open, as if to dismantle any line upheld between the two of them, but he is careful not to touch her. Likewise, she doesn’t reach for him, even though—from the way her gaze lingers on his arm, too long, loaded—Vincent thinks she probably wants to.

Long-time friends, then? Whatever the stranger is saying is too novel, and the girl is nodding vigorously at him, now, and Vincent can see that she’s trying to make a good impression. Have they just met tonight, then? The girl rummages through her purse for her phone, pauses briefly to type something out. Holds the screen up so he can see it.

The stranger leans in, his face intimately close to her, to peer down at it, too. There is something so confoundingly thoughtless about the gesture. It is almost as though there is a gap in how long they have known each other—as if she is, to him, already a longtime friend. There is no nervousness to the way he regards her, no pointed self-consciousness.

It’s a little interesting, Vincent thinks. He wonders, briefly, if the stranger knows that she likes him.

What strikes him about the arrangement is how open he is. It’s peculiar. It is as if they are not strangers at all. He holds the conversation seamlessly, with such warmth that Vincent marvels at it, as easily as if he has known her for years.

—

Dinner.

It’s around 5:41 when Vincent hears the knock on his cabin door.

The cruise room is more comfortable than he’d expected it to be. The ship is large enough that it feels oddly stationary, and the room—despite its relatively low ceilings and narrow walkways—has an excellent view of the ocean when he pulls back the curtain—the unmoving blue line of it, the inky sky above it, the clouds low on the horizon. 

Vincent, who had been half expecting Yves to not show up at all, puts his book down on the nightstand and heads towards the door.

When he opens it, Yves is dressed in a button-down collared shirt and slacks. He looks boyishly handsome, Vincent thinks—kind of like he could be a movie star, probably someone who would play a childhood-friend-turned-lover. 

“You’re early,” Vincent says. 

Yves checks his watch. “I guess I am. Did I catch you unprepared?”

“No, I’m ready,” Vincent says, nodding towards the hallway. “Lead the way.”

The living quarters on the cruise are ordered in neat rows. They head down a long hallway toward the central elevators. Yves talks about his morning—about how he’d spent his time perusing the second floor shops, how he’d played one game at a casino, won twenty dollars, and now he’s determined to never go back. (“I need to keep the net positive,” he says, “statistically unlikely as it is.” “You’re already doing better than everyone else in the casino,” Vincent says.)

The elevator ride is short. The cruise technically has fifteen floors—more if you count the partial floors at the top: the rooftop bar, the rooftop garden and grill.

“I can’t wait till we get to shore,” Yves says. “Not that the cruise isn’t nice, and all, but whenever I take a walk on deck, it never really feels like I’m stretching my legs.”

It’s Thursday evening. They’ll dock early tomorrow morning at the Amber Cove cruise island, spend a few hours there out on the beach, and then head back onto the cruise for their next stop. Vincent has packed swim trunks, sunglasses, a couple bottles of sunscreen, but the idea of going to the beach on his own feels distinctly out of character. He’s never been the kind of person to seek out experiences like this—sunny and indulgent—on his own, without someone else to pull him into them.

He supposes this isn’t really an exception. The company tickets which landed him on this ship in the first place were the catalyst to everything.

“You haven’t eaten here before,” Yves asks, as they round the corner to the door of the restaurant, “have you?”

“No,” Vincent says. “I’ve only been to the diner on the second floor.”

Yves smiles back at him. “That’s good. I don’t have to cancel my reservation, then.” “I wouldn’t have made you cancel it anyway.”

“You seem too polite to do that sort of thing,” Yves says, with a laugh. “There are too many things to do on deck for me to be dragging you to the same few places.”

Yves relays his reservation name and time to the waiter, who shows them to a table by the window. The restaurant is dimly lit—the majority of the light is coming from a single candle that sits in front of them, next to a vase of tastefully arranged flowers.

“This place is very romantic,” Vincent says.

Yves blinks at him. “I guess it is. Does that bother you?”

Vincent thinks that he can easily imagine another version of this evening—a dinner in which the seat across from Yves is occupied by his ex. An evening where they talk and laugh over a shared bottle of wine and eat the best seafood on the ship.

“I can see why you would have wanted to come here with her,” Vincent says. “I’m sure you had a lot to look forward to. I’m sorry.”

Yves glances back at him, his expression unreadable. Then he looks down. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he says. “You didn’t have any part in it.”

“In your decision?” “In hers.” He shakes his head with a laugh that doesn’t quite show in his eyes.  “It wasn’t mine to decide. She rekindled an old relationship at a bar. It was with this guy who went to the same college as the both of us, though I didn’t know him that well.”

He unfolds his cloth napkin and positions it gingerly on his lap. “I didn’t even know that they were friends, or that she would be meeting up with him. We were still together when it all happened, and then suddenly we weren’t.”

“That must have been painful for you,” Vincent says.

“I probably should’ve known better,” Yves says, tilting his head up to the ceiling. He smiles, a little self-deprecating.“I think there were probably signs that I missed. It’s the sort of thing you dwell on, you know. If everything really came out of left field, or if she’s already been falling out of love for a long time. This is depressing, but I keep thinking about—well, if maybe I could’ve done something to fix things if I’d realized it sooner.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Vincent says. 

Yves blinks at him. “What?”

Vincent looks down—at the flowers between them, arranged artfully in a shallow glass vase. “You shouldn’t have had to do anything. You shouldn’t have had to speculate at all.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. It is none of his business, he knows, and besides, it’s not as though Yves has asked for his opinion. He finds himself thinking, abruptly, to Yves’s conversation with the girl in line, a couple spots ahead of him—the girl smiling, leaning close; Yves somehow reflecting back her interest with warmth.

It is part of the reason why Vincent is here, right now, if he’s honest with himself. Vincent understands exactly why people would be drawn to that particular sort of warmth. It’s the sort of warmth he doesn’t know how to cultivate, probably wouldn’t be able to cultivate, even if he tried. It is evident even now, in the way Yves seems to so readily offer his ex the benefit of the doubt, in the way his warmth extends towards her still.

“If she was having second thoughts, then she should’ve said something. You shouldn’t have been expected to read her mind,” Vincent says. Perhaps being so honest is overkill, but even if no one else in Yves’s life will say it, Vincent finds he has no such reservations. “At the very least, she should’ve ended things with you before looking for other options. Frankly, your ex sounds like a terrible person.”

Yves blinks at him, a little taken aback. “I’m sure I’m giving you a very biased impression of her. She’s a pretty reasonable person.” 

“Reasonable people can do bad things,” Vincent says, crossing his arms. On some level, he understands—of course Yves, with his proximity to the problem, would not see it this way. “Your ex hooked up with someone behind your back. I find it hard to believe that someone who had your best interests in mind would do that.”

Yves seems to consider this.

“I don’t think I’ll be in the business of forgiveness anytime soon,” he says, as if he is choosing his words carefully. “You’re right to say that what she did was pretty terrible.”

Vincent raises an eyebrow. “But?”

Yves is quiet, for a moment.

“I think it would be easier,” he says, at last, with a small smile. “If I thought about her that way.”

It’s a confession that Vincent has already figured out. “You still think highly of her. It makes sense.”

“She was my best friend for three years.” he shakes his head, smiling. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought. When I thought about a future with her, everything seemed so intuitive. Like all the problems that could come up would be things we’d already know how to work through.”

The waiter stops by their table to ask them for their choice in refreshments. Yves greets him with a polite smile—one that Vincent finds no holes in—and asks for one of the drinks on the cocktail menu. Vincent picks something at random, to match.

“Sorry,” Yves says, after the waiter leaves. “I didn’t mean to get into such a depressing tangent. We don’t have to talk about my ex. I’ll give you time to actually look over the menu.”

Vincent says, “You don’t have to apologize. I won’t take long.” He opens the menu—it is nice, he thinks, that all the food and drink is included in the cruise fare which he didn’t have to pay for—makes a mental list of all the items which look interesting, and stack ranks them in his head. Then he shuts the menu and sets it off to the edge of the table, so the waiter won’t have to lean over to pick it up.

He feels, without looking, that Yves is watching him.

“You weren’t kidding. You’re very efficient.”

Vincent meets his eyes from across the table. Yves has his own menu open, too, but he’s pretty sure Yves has been waiting for him. “You decided more quickly than I did.”

“I cheated and looked up the menu beforehand,” Yves says. “I didn’t want to subject you to my indecisiveness.”

This makes sense to Vincent—as does the early knock on his door. “You were looking forward to eating here.”

“With a hot stranger,” Yves says, with a laugh. “Yes.”  

The compliment is unexpected. It settles something inside of him, something nervous and wanting, though Yves says it offhandedly enough that Vincent thinks he probably shouldn’t take it to heart. He raises an eyebrow. “Am I still a stranger? We’ve exchanged names.”

Yves laughs. “I guess we can be acquaintances, then.”

The waiter arrives with their cocktails—Yves’s has a sprig of lavender near the rim, and Vincent’s has a dried orange slice and a stem of mint—and sets them down in the middle of the table. They place their orders.

After the waiter leaves, Vincent shifts his cocktail a little closer to him. He’s not much of a drinker, but his drink of choice is usually on the sweeter side. 

“Does it live up to your expectations?” Yves asks.

“The drink?”

“The cruise.”

“I don’t know if I had many expectations to begin with,” Vincent says. “The ship is bigger than I thought it would be. I’m still finding my way around.”

“Have you explored everything already?”

“Not everything.” Vincent thinks through his morning. “I walked around the shopping center, and then the fourth floor plaza.” he says. “I stopped by the theater, too, though I didn’t sit down for a show.”

He thinks, distantly, that perhaps the ship’s amenities are getting wasted on him—during his walk through the shopping center, he’d briefly thought about bringing gifts back for his coworkers and ultimately decided that if he’s going to do any shopping, it should probably be on his last day here, not his second. “I went up to the deck to see the pools. There were more distinct pools than I imagined—I had assumed they’d all be connected.”

“Did you go swimming?”

“I didn’t.”

“So you just walked around all twelve of the pools,” Yves says, incredulous, “without ever getting in?”

Vincent can see how this fact could potentially be off-putting. “The pools were all pretty crowded. I decided it’d be more symbolic if the first time I change into a swimsuit is tomorrow, after we dock.”

It isn’t entirely the truth. Truthfully—and he thinks this might be worse—he’d been more preoccupied with taking pictures of everything—nicely framed shots of the different pools, the different entrances of the shopping center, the crowds gathered around the theater for the midday show—half so he can have something to show his coworkers when he gets back to work (and thus, dispel any accusations of his own ungratefulness around winning) and half so he can have something to send back to his family (particularly Ji-Sung, who he thinks will get a kick out of seeing all of the amenities).

“You’re really serious about this,” Yves says, looking strangely amused. “Are the vacations you go on always so structured?”

Vincent says, “something like that. The cruise is not the main attraction, anyway.”

“For some people, it is.”

“For the same people who make it a mission to take a swim in all twelve of the pools, maybe,” Vincent says, and Yves smiles.

Yves, as it turns out, is an easy person to talk to. Vincent finds out that he doesn’t get seasick—or carsick, for that matter—but that he feels a little claustrophobic if he doesn’t go up to the deck (“to remind me that we’re actually still making progress towards some destination,” he says. “That way, I don’t feel as though I’m trapped in some giant feat of human engineering.”) He finds out that Yves has two siblings, both of them younger; that most of his extended family lives in france; that he likes vacationing in warm places; that the next time he steps foot onto a cruise, it will probably be with his younger sister and his younger brother. That he’d been working late for three weeks in a row to make this trip happen; that it feels a little wrong, now, to have nothing pressing to do.

It turns out to be a nice night, after all.

—

Firsts.

The cologne is an offhanded purchase. 

It’s not something Vincent thinks much about when he picks it up. It’s on the third day that he purchases it, after he holds too long of a conversation with the sales assistant—who seems to have an uncanny ability for translating whatever it is he says into one recommendation, and another, and another—to feel like he can walk away unguiltily. In the end, he settles with a tall, sleek bottle with a wooden cap. The cap is lined in gold—to suggest that this is a classy choice, presumably—to match the serif lettering on the front, which says Wood & Flame. 

It’s not something he intends on using, either—that is, until Yves messages him, dinner? And then, a moment later: feeling kind of lazy tonight. Mb we can order in 

Vincent texts back, Sure. Let’s order in. 6:30? 

Yves’s response is immediate. You haven’t been to my room yet, right? I can host :) 

It doesn’t mean anything, Vincent thinks, that the dress shirt he picks out is the newest one he owns, that he spends time ironing the creases out of it. It doesn’t have to mean anything, when he lingers longer than usual in front of the bathroom mirror, suddenly apprehensive. Yves is asking him out of friendly camaraderie, and nothing more. He runs another hand through his hair, catches himself, lowers it. Fixes his tie, straightens his collar, finds himself having to fix it again.

With a hot stranger, Yves had said, as if it was nothing. So offhandedly it seemed almost like it didn’t even matter—a throwaway comment, maybe. 

The cologne is an afterthought—he spritzes some on his wrists, and then, upon further thought, sprays some in behind his ears. It’s probably not going to be noticeable anyways, unless Yves gets close enough, which is unlikely. The scent of it is somewhat mild, understated—that had been one of the factors which had led him to pick it up in the first place—even when he lifts his wrist to his face, it’s not nearly as obvious as he expects it to be.

The bottle is large enough that it seems as though it will never run out—the liquid in it seems to be at the same level as before, even though he feels like he’s been generous enough in his application of it. He’s starting to think he won’t have enough occasions to wear it to.

Perhaps he will get some mileage out of this purchase tonight. Or perhaps, optimistically, this bottle will last him the rest of his life, he’ll never have to shop for cologne again in his lifetime. If he thinks about it that way, it doesn’t seem like such a financially bad investment.

—

Through his walk down the long, narrow hallway, and up two flights of stairs, Vincent prepares himself for the moment when Yves opens the door.

He’s still caught off guard, though, when the door swings open. Yves is dressed in a green button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—the shirt is loose-fitting, but the way the fabric tightens around his arms does not do a good job of obscuring the muscle definition underneath—and well-fitted khaki chinos. His light brown hair is tied up in its usual low ponytail, but the strands which were too short to secure are tucked behind his ear.

“You made it!” He grins—it’s the kind of charming smile that completely overtakes his features—and steps aside to let Vincent in. “Now you can compare how different the rooms are three floors up.”

Vincent looks past him, at the arrangement of the room. “It looks like the same elements have undergone a few different transformations,” he says. “The wall art in this room looks more like it’s trying to remind you what you’re here for.”

Yves follows his gaze to the large landscape painting which hangs in the living room, to the right of the TV. It’s a watercolor drawing of waves crashing onto a white sand beach, except it’s drawn in a way that the waves closer to shore are saturated and dazzling, and the waves further from the shore fade out in color into the horizon. There’s faint detailing of buildings in the distance, too. Vincent is pretty sure it’s supposed to be the shoreline of Nassau, which they’re set to dock at two days from now.

“Huh,” Yves says. “It’s sort of like it’s taunting me. What’s in yours?”

“Mostly abstract art,” Vincent says. “Aside from that, a photograph of a conch shell, up close. There’s also a photograph of a ship out at sea, with no land in sight.” 

Yves laughs. “That’s pretty ironic. I heard that lower floors are better for seasickness. It would probably suck to be seasick, and then when you look up you’re forced to look at some sailboat in the middle of nowhere. Super on-the-nose.”

Vincent smiles. “It’s probably a good reality check.” he presses closer in to leave his jacket—which he is realizing now that he doesn’t need, but which he brought with him just in case, on the occasion that their evening culminates in a night-time walk on the deck—folded on Yves’s couch. “Were you thinking of ordering room service?”

“Yep,” Yves says. “I think everything on there is complimentary except for the wine. Do you need the room service menu?”

“I took a look at it already,” Vincent says. “I recalled that a certain someone does his research early.”

Yves looks briefly taken aback. Then he laughs. “You caught me. I totally did look at it beforehand. Though I was ready to act indecisive if you needed more time.”

“Very gentlemanly,” Vincent says. “Should we call in?”

Yves ends up calling for room service, on both of their behalf. (“That sounds really good,” he says, when Vincent recites his order to him. “It was probably my second choice.” “You can try some when it comes,” Vincent says.) He orders wine, too, to share, and waves off Vincent’s offer to split the cost.

After that, they settle on the living room couch. Yves says: “I’m thinking we can put something on while we wait for dinner to arrive? But probably not something you care about too much, because I might talk over it.” he passes the remote over to Vincent.

Vincent flips through the channels. There’s some sitcom which is playing which seems somewhat suitable, up until one of the couples gets into a sincere-seeming argument onscreen and Vincent thinks that, considering Yves’s semi-recent breakup, maybe everything with romance should be quietly vetoed. He eventually settles on one of those reality TV shows where people have to partake in increasingly difficult obstacle courses in order to not get eliminated.

“These are always fun,” Yves says. “You know about hysterical strength? I’ve always wondered if being nervous on these kinds of shows helps you or hurts you.” 

He reaches up with a hand to scrub at his eyes. Vincent looks over at him with a frown.

“Are you tired?”

“No,” Yves says. He blinks, and then sniffles—if Vincent isn’t mistaken, his eyes are a little watery. 

“Bored of the competition already?”

“Not at all. I think these kinds of shows are manufactured so that you can’t get bored.”

“There’s probably an optimal amount of nervousness,” Vincent says, “to answer your question. I’ve found that to be true with public speaking.”

“Huh,” Yves says. “Does your work require a lot of public speaking?”

“Not particularly. Mostly internal presentations, occasionally a conference.” He looks over at Yves. “If you weren’t tired before, talking about my work is going to make you tired for sure.” 

Yves laughs. “No way. I love hearing about other people’s work.”

“It’s not very life or death. There are no obstacle courses. Just a lot of regression analysis.”

Yves blinks at him. “Do you work in business, by any chance?”

Vincent nods. “I’m a quantitative analyst.”

“Huh,” Yves says, contemplative. “I heard it’s very competitive.” He sniffles again, quietly enough that it almost goes unheard. “You must be good at math.”

“A small subset of math,” Vincent says. “What do you work in?”

“Wealth management. It’s a little more client-centric, so I had to plan pretty far ahead to take time off for thihh-!” The inhale is sharp, unexpected. They’re sitting close enough to each other that Vincent can feel Yves stiffen beside him, can feel the sharp upwards stutter of his shoulders as his breath hitches again. “hHeh-!” He pivots away from Vincent, burying his face into his elbow—polite, Vincent thinks—and then, after a long, torturous moment, loses the fight to a loud, vocal, “HhHEh-IIDZschH-iEEw!”

Vincent wills himself not to look. “Bless you,” he says, staring straight ahead. Onscreen, a contestant loses her balance on a high mounted totem and drops straight down into the water, much to the dismay of her teammates. It is a wholly ineffective means of distraction.

Yves’s sneeze—like Yves—is painfully Vincent’s type.

“Ugh,” Yves says, sniffling again. He lowers his elbow slowly. “Sorry about that. Where was I?”

“You said you had to plan far ahead to take time off,” Vincent says. It’s no small miracle that he remembers this.

“Right, yeah,” Yves says, and launches into a story about the hoops he’d had to jump through to make sure all the clients he was assigned to would have their needs accounted for.

“That’s a lot of work for a week’s absence,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs. “Yeah. Sometimes the pickier clients really hate the idea of not getting round-the-clock attention. I’m— hh-! hHEH-!” He reaches up with a hand to scrub at his nose, though the look of ticklish irritation doesn’t quite leave his expression—Vincent really shouldn’t have looked. After a moment, he lowers his hand, takes in another uncertain breath, as if he’s still testing the waters. “Ugh, I lost it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. This must be distracting for you.”

Distracting is an understatement. “Don’t worry about it,” Vincent says. “Is it worse during tax season?”

“Oh, yeah. No one in their right mind really takes off during tax season, snf-! It’s not like, officially against any rules, but it’s pretty openly acknowledged as one of those suggestions that’s not actually very optional. That doesn’t affect you guys as much, does it?”

“No,” Vincent says. “My free time is mostly dependent on project deadlines.”

“The ticket you won happened to not conflict with any of those?”

“I brought my work laptop with me,” Vincent says, a little sheepishly.

Yves’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“It’s not like I’m working long hours,” Vincent says. “Just some catch-up work, here and there. I don’t want there to be any surprises when I get back.”

“Always putting out fires,” Yves says, shaking his head. “It’s probably good that you won the—” He reaches over to lay a hand on Vincent’s arm—presumably as a comforting gesture—only he wrenches away at the last second. “The— Hheh-! Hh… hHEH-!” There’s another brief pause, as though whatever is affecting him has left him stranded again on the precipice of a sneeze. For a moment, Vincent prepares himself mentally for another false start.

But then Yves takes in another sharp, ticklish breath, and it turns out to be enough to set him over the edge. “hh’hEHh’iITSSSCHh-EEw!”

The sneeze snaps him forward at the waist to meet the crook of a hastily-raised arm. It’s just as attractive as the first, if not more—Vincent can hear his voice in the ending syllable, can hear the ticklish desperation in the release. Yves keeps his face buried in his elbow for a moment longer, sniffling wetly.

It takes everything in Vincent to not visibly shiver. What are the chances, really, that the attractive stranger-slash-acquaintance he’s having dinner with—someone who, when this cruise is over, he probably will never see again—just happens to have a sneeze which happens to be perfectly aligned with his tastes?

“Bless you again,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I feel fine,” Yves says, with another sniffle, his eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t think I’m getting sick. I was fine earlier.” 

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Not that I know of,” Yves says. “No seasonal allergies. Nothing pet-wise, either.” 

Vincent tries, and fails, to think of what else might be causing this. The cabins seem too clean, too well-ventilated, to be dusty. There are no flowers anywhere in sight. Is Yves coming down with something, then? But he’d said I don’t think I’m getting sick, with the certainty of someone who probably isn’t. 

“Let me know if you start feeling worse,” Vincent says.

Yves smiles at him. “I will. I’m really fine, I promise. It’s just—” he reaches up with a hand to rub his nose. A distant look crosses his expression for a moment—as though he’s warring against the need to do something about it—before his breathing levels off. “—tickish, snf! Not unpleasant.”

The sneezing doesn’t stop. Yves, for the most part, proceeds as though he’s completely unaffected by it—he’s no quieter than usual. It’s as though every time he feels the need to sneeze, he is intent on ignoring it until the need is too pressing to ignore. When that happens, he turns away just in time, except for a couple close calls when he misjudges and instead doubles forward with a sneeze directed into his lap, sniffling afterwards. 

Vincent blesses him intermittently, but otherwise offers up no comment. Yves apologizes sheepishly, after the fourth or fifth sneeze, for interrupting the show. Vincent doesn’t tell him that he probably couldn’t care less about the show. Truthfully, he has no clue what’s going on onscreen anymore—obstacle course shows are interesting, but not that interesting.

Dinner arrives not too long after. Vincent can barely focus on the seafood pasta he’s ordered, though he offers Yves a bite, as promised. Yves unfolds one of the napkins room service leaves for them and blows his nose quietly into it. He sniffles afterwards—as though his nose is properly running, now—and resumes talking as usual.

Vincent crosses his legs, does his best to ignore the heat radiating below his stomach. This is really bad timing. The entire inexplicable setup—the fact that they’re sitting so close to each other; the fact that he can physically feel Yves tense beside him, rigid with anticipation, his shoulders jolting upwards with every inhale—is honestly nothing short of torturous. 

It’s worse, too, that Vincent can see the ticklish irritation in Yves’s features—the crease of his eyebrows, the fluttering eyelashes, the sharp, uncontrolled gasp—before he wrenches forward with another desperate sneeze. It’s always a full-body endeavor—something that snaps him forward at the waist, leaves him bent over, a little breathless, sniffling wetly.

It absolutely doesn’t help that the underside of Yves’s nose is slightly flushed red, now, from the unusual attention—perhaps this is to be expected, seeing as Yves keeps rubbing it. More than once, Vincent contemplates asking to use Yves’s bathroom, and subsequently, well, getting rid of the problem at hand. Yves has no idea what this is all doing to him. After all, how would he know?

It’s only when they’re almost done with dinner that it clicks.

“Hold on,” Vincent says. Yves had said he wasn’t allergic to anything, but there’s a first time for everything, right? Particularly, there’s always a first time exposure to allergens. That first time might come later in life for those that are less commonplace.

It seems glaringly obvious, in hindsight. Yves hadn’t been sniffling when he’d opened the door for Vincent, had he? From the way he’d reacted to the first sneeze, it didn’t seem like this has been going on for long.

But of course. He’d been so focused on the environment that he hadn’t considered it. There’s only one thing Vincent did tonight which was pointedly out of the ordinary.

The realization leaves him feeling suddenly cold.

“Yves.” Vincent flinches away. “I think I know what’s causing this.”

Yves pauses. “What is it?”

“I’m wearing new cologne,” he says. “I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it earlier. I didn’t think much of it when I was applying it.” He feels a little like an asshole, now that they’re discussing it. It wasn’t his intention to leave Yves suffering. He hadn’t known. But still, the fact that they’ve been sitting in such close proximity this whole time definitely hasn’t helped.

The last thing he wants to do right now is look at Yves, but he forces himself to, anyway—wrenches his gaze upwards until he meets Yves’s eyes. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve made the connection earlier.”

Yves blinks at him. He doesn’t seem as upset about this as Vincent thinks he should be—strangely, he doesn’t seem upset at all. “Are you saying you think I’m allergic?”

“Allergic, or sensitive, yes,” Vincent says, frowning. “In any case, I take full responsibility. I should probably just—”

“Wait,” Yves says, reaching out with a hand to latch onto Vincent’s wrist. “I haven’t been allergic to anything before.” 

“It’s probably not something common,” Vincent says, wondering if he should pull away.

“You applied it to your wrists?” Yves asks.

Vincent nods, a little stiffly. He doesn’t quite trust himself to speak. It feels like Yves’s fingertips are burning holes into his arm.

Everything that happens after happens in a flash. Yves tightens his grip around Vincent’s wrist, pulls it gently towards him, and leans down to take a long, indulgent inhale.

Vincent feels all of the blood drain from his face. He rounds on Yves, wide-eyed. “What are you—?”

The reaction is almost immediate. Yves drops Vincent’s arm as if he’s been scalded. He shuts his eyes, barely turns to the side in time for a harsh, “hhEHH’iiDZZSHH-iEW!”

The sneeze is so forceful he coughs a little afterwards, his eyes watering. His shoulders jerk upwards again, his nose twitching. “hHEH… HEHH… hehH’IITSSCHh-EEW! Ugh… coughcough, you’re right, it’s defidetely… hHEH—!!”

Vincent can only watch, frozen in place, as Yves jerks forward again, burying his nose into his sleeve. “IHHHh’DZschH-IIEW! Snf-!” He lowers his arm slightly—Vincent can see him scrunching his nose up, trying to rid himself of what must be the worst tickle he’s been faced with all night. That thought sends a wave of electricity down Vincent’s spine. “Hh-hHeh-! Definitely the cologne that’s… hh-! that’s… hEHH… setting me… hh… HhEH’IDDzShHH-IIEW!! —off, snf, f-fuck… hh-Hehh-hhEHH’IITTSHhh-IIEEW!” The sneeze explodes from him, barely contained, snapping his entire body forward with the sheer intensity. Yves barely manages a breath in between before he’s doubling over with another: “IIIiDDDzSCHHh-YyiEW!”

Vincent swallows hard. He’s, well, so turned on that he can barely speak. It feels a little like the heat he feels—more of a full-body-flush, at this point—might actually melt the clothes off of his arms. “Bless you.” It’s remarkable that his voice manages to come out as evenly as it does.

He stands, heads over to the coffee table to retrieve a small box of tissues. Takes in a deep breath.

When he gets back to the couch, Yves has cupped both his hands over his nose and mouth. Vincent tilts the opening of the tissue box towards him without comment. 

“Thadks,” Yves says, with a laugh. He takes a handful and blows his nose. “I needed those. That was probably ndot the best idea, in hindsight.”

Understatement of the fucking century. Vincent stares at him, disbelieving. “Your first idea after learning you’re allergic to something is to test it out?”

“Scientific rigor, and whatnot,” Yves says. “I had to be sure. Like I said, I’ve never actually been allergic to something before. This was quite the… hHeh-!” He raises the handful of tissues back up to his face, his gaze going unfocused. “Just a sec—hh… hH… hHEH’IIDZSCHh-IIEW! snf!”

“Bless you,” Vincent says. “I guess this answered your question, then.” Yves laughs. “It definitely did.”

“I think you—��� Vincent places the tissue box—which is at risk of falling off the edge of the couch—directly into Yves’s lap. “—should take this.” He takes a cautious step backwards. “And I should go take a long shower back in my room.”

Yves looks up at him, still a little teary-eyed. “It doesn’t bother me that much,” he says earnestly. “It’s just sneezing. I don’t mind it.” Just sneezing. Vincent shakes his head.

Yves stills, his expression probing. “Unless…” His voice comes out a little softer, now. Uncertain. “...Unless it bothers you?” 

That couldn’t be further from the truth. Not in the sense that Yves means it, at least.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Vincent says. “But I’ve been in your situation before, so I know what it feels like. I… know it isn’t pleasant.”

This information seems to surprise Yves. “You’ve experienced this before too?”

Vincent nods. “Every spring, more or less. I’m allergic to tree pollen.” His face feels hot from the admission—it feels strangely inappropriate to be admitting this, but then again, it’s not as though he’s bringing it up out of nowhere. “You can imagine that’s harder to avoid than a singular kind of cologne.”

Yves’s eyes widen. “That sounds terribly - hhEH-! hH… HEHh’iITSHH-iIEWW! snf-! terribly incodvenient. I can’t imagine having to deal with this feeling for an edtire season.”

“It is. That’s why I don’t want to subject you to this for longer than I have to.” He steps past Yves to grab his jacket from the couch, which he ties around his waist. It will be better for both of them if he leaves now. “I really should shower and get changed. Your symptoms are not going to get better if I stick around.” 

Yves seems to be coming around to this. “Sorry to have to end things off early,” he says, frowning. “You came all the way here.”

“It was barely a walk,” Vincent says. “And this wouldn’t have happened if not for me. I should be the one saying sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yves says, with a laugh. “It was an illuminating experience. I’ll see you, then?”

The possibility is so fleeting that Vincent almost dismisses it. Could Yves really be disappointed?

“I have some Claritin back in my room,” Vincent says, trying his luck, though a part of him recognizes that this kind of confidence is categorically unlike him. “We can resume our night when you can get through two sentences without having to sneeze.” And after Vincent takes care of something else, and preferably spends enough time in his room flipping through boring travel pamphlets and sensational catalogues to get his mind out of the gutter, so he can face Yves again with some semblance of normalcy. “...If you still want to.”

Yves brightens.

“Of course,” he says, with sincerity. “I’ll look forward to it.”

[butterbeair]

so complicated | March x Farmer (gender neutral)

Summary: Living in Mistria for two years now, you believe your friendship with March has gotten a lot better. So good that you want to take the next step in closing the distance. With the Star Festival coming around the corner, you decide to take this opportunity to take the first steps.

This is my first time ever publically showing my writing so please be gentle lol 🥺

You grip the star pendant Elise gave to you for the festival tonight. She explained how there's a custom for friends and family to watch the shooting stars together and bask in the last few moments of another summer gone by. Your ears perked up when she mentioned that this pendant is given to couples who wanted to share the festival together alone at the summit. Your mind wandered to a certain red haired blacksmith and blush dusted your cheeks. Elise already knew what was going on through your mind, having seen you two work together from time to time and the smile you would have on your face when you think March isn't looking. It would remind her of her young love and hoping to help push you and March into that same direction.

After she said her good byes, you hurriedly did your farming responsibilities, mind heavy on the earlier conversation. It's true that things were friendlier then they were once you moved to Mistria a couple of years ago, but you wanted to be closer to him. You were smitten by him when you first laid eyes on him, but of course those feelings were one sided. Truth be told, when Olric asked you to give him another chance to be friends with him, your mind was already made up. His attitude never made you falter in the first place.

Of course some days were harder than most, but after living in Mistria for 2 years it was time to take this leap of faith to closing the distance between them. A part of you wanted to believe the arms distance will be finally over, but a part of you was a little worried this will make things worse. You just wanted to be in his life, friends at least and perhaps an item at best.

Finishing the last bit of your chores, you hurriedly say your good byes to Caldurus and make your way to the black smith's. Your heart was beating in your chest while gripping the pendant more. You were trying to think of the best way to ask him but your mind was bouncing in every which way. By the time you realized, you were at the blacksmiths standing face to face with March. You focused on his pensive stare to finally muster up the courage to do what you've been wanting to do all morning.

“Hm? Hey farmer, what do you want?”

Your face contorts to confusion when no words came out of your mouth. Maybe you were nuch more nervous than you faked yourself up to be. You can see he was getting irritable at your lack of response which made you panic even more.

“What..? If you have nothing to say, I have places to be.”

Finally biting the bullet, you show him the star pendant that Elise gave you. You figured this alone will explain more words than you can muster at this second.

March looks at the pendant and then at you. He scowled looking for any hint that you must be joking, but when your eyes shown sincerity he looked at the ground unable to meet your stare.

“If you wanted, I want you to come with me at the summit March.”

He looks back at you and you notice a small hint of blush on his face, barely visible. He was quiet for a few seconds before he started to nod his head.

“Yeah. I'll meet you there at 8. Don't be late.”

You smiled brightly at his answer, happy that he's giving you his time to spend with you.

“Okay! I'll meet you there.”

You waved good bye to March and you heart finally started to calm down, content with how smoothly your interaction with March went. Everything was going according to plan and you could help but smile to yourself. He would of turned you down without hesitation if he didn't have any ounce of interest indulging you, but the fact that he said yes must be a good sign, right?

The festival was about to start and everyone in Mistria was gathering with their friends to watch the stars tonight. You pass by the friends you made and gave them a little wave. Someone you passed by was Olric, spotting you and giving you a thumbs up. He probably caught wind that you asked his brother to the summit and he seemed so happy for you. You give him a big smile and thumbs up back to him and hurried along to not keep March waiting.

You and March sit apart, much more apart you'd like to be. If you were an outsider you'd probably think you guys were nothing more than strangers. You look over at him hoping to catch his gaze but he seemed to look everywhere but you. You understood this could of happened so you really wanted to make him comfortable.

“The stars tonight are really beautiful. I've never seen anything like this before coming to Mistria.”

“Oh?.. yeah, they're really nice.”

More silence was accompanied by his words.

“Did you and your family ever attend the festival before?”

“My family..? We never really had time for that stuff.”

“Well, I'm really glad you decided to come up here with me. It means a lot.” You smile at him baring your feelings on display for him to see.

March didn't seem to take to those words, suddenly standing up and facing you. You were shocked to see him looking annoyed and skeptical as he looked down at you.

“Okay, why did you REALLY bring me up here? Is this some kind of joke? Whatever it is you're trying to do I'm not buying it one bit.”

It was your turn to look confused. You thought things were going okay? You thought the pendant would speak louder than words. You always offering to help him. You giving your good findings to him when you spent the entire day in the mines. Did he really not understand how you felt for him or was he just trying to push you away more?

You stand up to face him on his level, you're going to clear the air once and for all

“I invited you out here cause I like you! I wanted to spend time with you and enjoy Mistria's customs and I thought this was a good time as any! Is that not okay?”

March scoffed at your response.

“You.. like me? I don't believe you. You think you can butter me up with this festival to win me over? You still haven't proved yourself to be an asset to Mistria, so don't think I haven't forgotten.”

Your face scrunched up at his words. Haven't proved your worth? After all you've done to help rebuild Mistria you couldn't believe he was down playing your involvement. A mixture of confusion, anger and hurt flashed your face and didn't go unnoticed to March.

“Is that what you really think of me? I can't be worth anything to you if I haven't contributed to Mistria at all?”

March furled his eyebrows and studied your face. It seemed like he really hit a nerve this time. He didn't nod or deny your claim, curious to see what you're going to say next.

“I honestly thought we were friends. Why did you even accept the pendant if I wasn't worth it? Why did you come here with me in the first place? What were YOU hoping was to happen then March? All I wanted was to be closer to you.” Your voice tapered off into a whisper.

As the falling stars fell past you both, their light shining brightly on your face to reveal your intent and casting shadows to hide March's feelings. The air was filled with silence, letting the conversation sink into both of you. You didn't think this was going to happen, not tonight. You wanted to close the gap but it seemed you were catapulted way past square one.

You sigh and ran your hand through your hair, finally admitting defeat that there was never going to be anything more.

You turn yourself away from March and sighing. It was getting late and you get the hint that there's nothing else here for you and him. You begin to walk your way back to the narrows back to your farm. You heard a hurried footstep walk beside you, surprised to see March but not at the same time.

“Let me walk you back to your farm. It's late and I don't want you to scuff yourself up on the way back.”

You stayed silent as you let him do whatever he wanted, too tired to cipher his intentions if there was anything to figure out at all.

The walk was quiet, everyone is probably at home and sleeping the excitement of the festival away. You wish this night went differently or never at all. You never noticed, but March would discreetly look at you to read your face. It seemed he really done it now, pushing the sunshine farmer far away that their rays don't hit him anymore. The air was much colder without your voice taking up any space. He really let his pride get the better of him tonight and he felt the guilt crawl up into his mind. He really wish tonight went differently, but he doesn't even know if there's anything left to fix.

The entire walk back he was trying to come up with the words to properly convey his feelings but his own thoughts contradicted and betraying him. He was just as confused as you are, probably.

You both finally reached your farm and March takes note of how different it looked before you got here. Nature claiming is land back, you made it a home and continued to co exist with it. It just sink in more how hurtful his words must have hit you and it made him curse to himself.

He walked you up to your door but before you could open the door he put his strong hand on it so you couldn't get away. You look at him confused but didn't say a word as he started down at you. Before you could ask him what's wrong he slowly leaned in closer to you. A blush fell to your cheeks and you were once again not able to speak any words or your mouth.

“Look, farmer.. I'm sorry how this day turned out. Believe me if you want, but just know I don't hate you.”

It was your turn to scoff and treat your gaze away from his. He took this opportunity to slowly and tenderly place a small chaste kiss on your forehead.

You are shocked to feel how soft his lips were let alone how close he was to you. You look back up to him expecting him to not meet your gaze but you were proven wrong. His features were adorned with sorrow and regret. This man was so confusing it made your head spin.

“Thanks for the invite farmer. Ask me again next year, I promise it'll be different if you're willing to wait that long.”

And with that he started to walk back home. Your mind was racing, unable to keep up with this back and forth. You figured getting rest was all that matters right now, hoping a night's rest can give you a clear mind and perspective on how to feel about March's words and complicated feelings.

Divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

[torchickentacos]

I noticed that a blog had me blocked (I've never seen them before, idc, that's fine lol, curate your space ✌️) and out of curiosity I hovered my mouse over their username to see their bio and make sure I didn't piss off someone I knew. They had a bio that said 'I block for (list of things)' which. cool! convenient! tells me what I wanted to know!

...except it was the most out of pocket list of things and I cannot imagine what I could have said or done to make this random person think I applied to their blocklist? I've never touched system or furry or 'that-specific-kink' discourse in my life. what happened here 😭 like I'm not mad, I don't really care, but lmfao?

[solarmorrigan]

Actually infertile omega!Steve for the WIP ask thing

Y'know what, you're the only person who's asked about this and this has been sitting in my drafts for months and I don't think I'm ever going to develop it past this point, so! I'm just gonna give you the whole thing

Fair warning, I did write this in the midst of an anxiety attack sometime after one in the morning. It's been edited! But that's pretty much the vibe

[CW: ableism, internalized ableism, uh... sexism? is that a thing I need to warn for in omegaverse? I dunno, it pretty closely mirrors real-world misogynistic views, so heads up]

-

Give me omega Steve who genuinely will never be able to have children. Who is tentatively excited after the Upside Down and Vecna and everything to get out from under his parents' influence and stop taking the harsh, heavy-duty suppressants that he was too young to have ever really been on in the first place and to get to actually be who he is. To get to freely express his designation

And instead he finds out that his body is fucked up and he'll never have a normal fertility cycle and he'll never be able to have kids

Give me Steve being told by a shitty, prejudiced doctor that it's basically all his fault for all the damage he's done to his own body over the years - the head injuries, the broken bones, the mysterious flesh wounds. Clearly these things upset the balance of his Delicate Omega Body and that's why his reproductive system is all fucked up (couldn't possibly have been the extended use of those suppressant drugs during his developmental years, oh no)

And Steve isn't exactly devastated at first, but he does feel ashamed. He only admits what's happened to Robin and no one else, and no matter how indignant she gets on his behalf, no matter how hard she tries to push him to get a second opinion, he refuses. He doesn't want to hear how bad he's fucked up from anyone else, thank you very much

The devastation dawns on him later, in stages. It occurs to him slowly what he'll never be able to do, the ways in which he'll always be othered by a society that often still values omegas for their fertility, the way his dream of a big family has been completely shattered

And it occurs to him that he'll never be considered a good mate, damaged in so many ways, unable to even offer children in exchange for whatever other shortcomings he has - which means that as soon as Eddie starts showing interest in him, he has to shut it down as quickly as possible

Because of course Eddie's going to want a family one day, and Steve thinks he'll be a great alpha and a great dad, and he deserves that - he deserves someone who can give him that, who can give him all the things A Good Omega should. So no matter how much Steve wants to be with Eddie, no matter how safe and at ease he feels around him, he can't let Eddie think he's a viable option, and pulls away

And Eddie - well, look, if Steve really doesn't want him, then he'll respect that. He can take no for an answer. But Steve has never really given him a clear no so much as he just started distancing himself. Making himself unavailable, no longer sitting next to Eddie when the whole group hangs out, no longer unconsciously curling into his side on movie nights, just - ghosting, essentially. And that, Eddie will not take

So he confronts Steve; he's not aggressive about it, of course, but he makes it clear that he's not leaving until he gets a straight answer. Tells Steve he's been getting some real mixed signals, and does he want Eddie or not?

Steve says Eddie doesn't want him. Eddie calls bullshit. Of course he wants Steve, he's never wanted anything, anyone, in his life like he wants Steve

But if Steve can look Eddie in the eye and tell him that he doesn't want to be with Eddie, then Eddie will go

And Steve - he's never been a good liar. Not when it comes to feelings. He's never been able to lie about that, so he breaks down and admits the truth, instead: he's a fucked up excuse for an omega, he can't have kids, he doesn't really even know how to do the social shit omegas are supposed to know how to do, so. There. So Eddie shouldn't want him

And Eddie is horrified. Not because Steve is "broken," but because of all the hurt he's taken on over the years, because of the way he seems to think it's all his fault, because he thinks his only worth as a mate is in bearing kids or caring for others. As if anything like that would put Eddie off - as if Steve has nothing else to offer

It's a slow process, after that, getting Steve to accept that he's desirable for who he is and not what he can do

It starts with Robin and Eddie teaming up on Steve and eventually getting him to go to another doctor, a better doctor, who promises Steve that what happened to his system is in no way his fault. It goes on with constant reassurance, which Eddie never minds providing (dramatic little shit honestly loves the opportunity to wax rhapsodic about whatever he loves, which very much includes Steve), with an unconditional acceptance from the rest of the group, with the realization that Steve already has a big family (and multiple children; like, seriously. how did he miss that. Eddie loves to tease him about it)

And eventually, when they're ready, it goes on still with the promise that they can adopt, or consider surrogacy, or just kidnap their friends' pups (Steve laughs at the last one, but Eddie notices that he doesn't say no). There is no right way to do it, no perfect way; as long as Steve just keeps being himself, Eddie will never be disappointed

[asurrogateblog]

syd you will always have my love and sympathy but do you think maybe deliberately designing the sound and presentation of your band to be as overstimulating as humanely possible may have been part of the problem? like don't get me wrong I'm into it too but do you think maybe playing sets of twenty minute long disturbing frenzied songs set to spinning brightly-colored flashing lights (which sometimes randomly exploded) in a crowded room full of hundreds of loud people might not have been an ideal long-term atmosphere for you? just a little?

[breadandbloodybutter]

Flexing some Not Safe For Work writing to get back in the groove. Warnings/What's Involed: Raphael x 'Reader' {no gender implied}, Mild Sex Scene, Mild Mention of Choking, Most Likely Didn't Live Through That Sex, Raphael Language of being derogatory of mortals needs and lives or just anyone that isn't him.

As he'd lifted their leg to partake in the scent of their skin, a longer than mortal tongue ran along half of the appendage's length.

Was he showing off? Transforming himself, one piece at a time? Of course he was. After all, part of such an intimate dance was the performance itself.

All for his own benefit.

Haarlep had once quipped that Raphael only ever loved Raphael - as true now than it had ever been. Putting on such airs and graces, indulging in the subtle art of using words and whimsy to ensnare the willing; it might as well have all been foreplay for himself.

Still, there was always something so deliciously divine about the way that they would look at him, breathless and wanting - just the way that he liked them. To taste the very sweat from their pores, to know that in this moment, they existed only for him.

Souls would never taste sweeter than those willing to bear themselves nakedly to the endless hunger of a devil.

"Legs apart now, pet." Raphael would purr with a voice thick and sweet as honey, now black nails digging into their thighs as he settled himself between them. Ordinarily, pleasuring another was beneath him, more of a mercy on their behalf than any desire to do so - oh, but the way that this one begged and pleaded so sweetly, the air thick with how much they wanted to be defiled..

It would have been ungentlemanly to not have a more personal taste.

The screams that followed would have surely been heard by the tavern below, but he cared little for any auditory audiences they may have had. Let them hear - let them envy, tremble before how he could command mortal flesh to bend, to beg and to break. To hang on every one of his words, to sing (and sometimes curse) praises to the heavens, whilst he showed them every sin that hell had to offer.

Licking at his lips, Raphael reached over to grab a nearby silken handkerchief, wiping their filth from his mouth before addressing them again smugly. "I take it that you have no complaints?"

Rather a pity that mortals tended to be so fragile. One of the few benefits of Haarlep at least, that there were less limitations, if any. Perhaps, that's why he found himself indulging from time to time - that their lives were so fleeting. To taste upon their souls before they were completely consumed. Such a privilege it was for them, surely.

Oh, and the trepidation! The way that their poor hearts would stutter, their breath would catch at having to accommodate his cambion form, far greater than any cock they would have taken. How their eyes would widen for the briefest of moments, before rolling back at the overflowing of ecstasy, even with the pain of it - to feel every ridge driving again and again without pause.

Succumbing to such desires could ultimately earn one their death.

How their arms would try to hold him - so sickeningly mortal - and he would knock them away, that they would dare try to embrace him in such a human way - holding them down by the throat and knowing that their lives, the very essence of body and soul - they were in his hands, that they were dependent on him, every thread of their existence in this moment was tied to him--

Such thoughts always led to the same conclusion. Snarling through a furious climax that most couldn't even have the decency to live through. And why should they? Blood certainly wasn't the only thing an infernal had that was always running hot.

Thankfully, the staff at the Sharess Caress were always providing excellent room service, and a discretion that led to a profitable exchange. For as long as he would support their business, they would support his.

..Even if on occasion, that business may have overlapped with personal pleasures.

[barisistill]

Hi! Your writing is amazing! I want to start writing fanfiction but whenever I try it seems bland? Flat? Idk it feels like there isn't enough to describe what's going on and it just feels like everything is rushed.

I get that practice makes perfect, but other than that are there any tips you might have?

I'd really be grateful if you could, and sorry if this is worded weird (I'm not good with asking for things lol) anyways have a good day and remember to drink water !!

First off, thank you SO much for reading my fics, and I definitely hope you join our little guild of writers still clinging desperately to Barisi in [current year]. You have no idea how much it means to be told my writing is tip-worthy!!

I can give a few philosophies that I use as guides, but these are just ways I've developed my own writing style over time—I'm sure plenty of people think these choices suck.

Overdo the first draft: In my first draft, I just throw in every detail that seems even potentially relevant—thoughts, feelings, details about the room, the lighting, how characters are positioned, etc. This gives me a robust starting point so, for the most part, I'm not trying to figure out what's 'missing' later. I'm just taking out the trash. It made my first drafts feel like they took forever to write in the beginning, but over time I started to be able to anticipate what would be trash and not write it down in the first place.

Trim the fat: I used to have my fics overloaded in crap that didn't matter and repetitive phrasing, etc. because I had an attitude of "Well, I spent the time writing it, so it would be a waste to not include it." This only hurt the work in the end. If something fundamentally sucks, I just accept that it sucks and pitch it.

I'm nothing if not indulgent in establishing general vibes: I generally keep sentences that ONLY give an action to a minimum. There are a million ways to enhance sentences—throw in what a character is thinking or feeling, take a spin on a metaphor, toss in an adverb or two. I find that this helps me keep the pacing from feeling rushed. For example, I would change the following, because it doesn't do anything to establish the mood or general vibe. It's just A happens, then B happens, then C happens: "It was the middle of a hot day, and Carisi was sitting on the couch in Barba's office while Barba was sitting as his desk. They were barely getting any work done." I would change it to something like: "The midday sun was cutting harsh stripes of light across Barba's desk, and the air conditioning unit was giving a half-hearted performance. They'd long since shed their jackets and vests, ties loosened and sleeves rolled up. Carisi sprawled across Barba's couch, while Barba had kicked his feet up on his desk, having lost his shoes sometime since Carisi last looked over. Carisi tried to read the same paragraph of a witness statement for the third time before tossing his folder in the general direction of the coffee table." Is this overkill? Perhaps. Not my problem.

The "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn" Principle: If I'm on the fence about keeping or tossing a detail, I ask myself why I care about that detail. If I can't come up with a decent reason, then I pitch it. To use the last example: "The midday sun was cutting harsh stripes of light across Barba's desk [time of day], and the air conditioning unit was giving a half-hearted performance [it's hot]. Barba's desk was a rich mahogany, and there were two chairs across from him. They'd long since shed their jackets and vests, ties loosened and sleeves rolled up [they're so hot that they're a little undone]. Barba was wearing a blue shirt and green tie, while Carisi was wearing a white shirt and gray tie. Carisi sprawled across Barba's couch, while Barba had kicked his feet up on his desk, having lost his shoes sometime since Carisi last looked over [it's a lazy sort of heat]. The leather couch probably cost more than Sonny's rent. Carisi tried to read the same paragraph of a witness statement for the third time before tossing his folder in the general direction of the coffee table [they aren't getting any work done and it's too hot to care]."

Similes are out, metaphors are in: A metaphor almost always gut-punches me more than a simile. I literally just say that A is B, rather than A is like B. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, so I just follow my heart. Some out-of-context examples: - Rafael Barba was nothing if not a self-serving martyr, a savior who couldn’t resist the sound of his own crucifixion.  - What a small price to pay, Sonny thought, when he was moonlight touching the ocean. - Rafael was a storm chaser, and being with Sonny was like standing in tornado country. (it's a halfsie, shhh) - Rafael cut himself off, not wanting to show his cards, but knowing it was time for him to either go all in or fold.

If someone does something bad/bizarre/out of character, ponder on why: I once heard a critic say, "Every time a character does something baffling, we can't just throw up our hands and say 'bitches be crazy.'" Sometimes the narrative takes care of it if the bad/weird decision is part of the plot itself, but sometimes it's just a single moment. One way I deal with this is by suggesting things that might drive that bad/weird decision (especially if the characters themselves aren't exactly sure why they're doing what they're doing). Some examples (with a little context explaining why they're bad/weird): - Maybe it was in his blood, this desperate faith in destiny. Or maybe it was just that he had spent so long being alone that the promise of someone made for him had become too seductive to resist. ^^^ (Barba wants to find his soulmate even though his job and parents' bad relationship makes him logically aware that it doesn't always end well) - She moved her hand to cup his face. He couldn’t help but lean into her warmth, maybe because of the bite of the autumn breeze, or maybe because it was the same warmth that once flowed through Sonny’s veins. ^^^ (Rafael leaning in to Sonny's nonna's touch at Sonny's funeral, even though he doesn't know her) - Sonny came equipped with anatomical features Rafael hadn't requested, and didn’t want to look at. Maybe it was an occupational hazard, or maybe he just wasn’t as modern as he pretended to be.  ^^^ (Um... Rafael orders a Sonny robot and he mistakenly comes with sex upgrades that make Rafael uncomfortable even though it's totally normal in this universe)

Write from the POV of one character: I believe that @margoblack taught me that this is called "third person limited POV." I do this (sometimes, not always) for a couple of reasons. First, as a reader, it can get tedious (in my OPINION) to read multiple characters' thoughts and feelings at once, especially when there are multiple characters with the same pronouns—and especially especially if it's nonstop (i.e. within the same paragraph or sentence). As a writer, omniscient POV limits my use of pronouns because I have to constantly clear up which "he" I'm talking about. That usually results in 1) overusing their names into oblivion 2) using 'the detective/the attorney," "the taller man/the shorter man," "the other man," etc. which I personally don't jive with or 3) forcing the reader out of the story to go back and sort out who the hell was doing what. Second, me trying to write a bunch of characters' thoughts and feelings at the same time makes for a disjointed and confusing narrative. I try to avoid forcing the reader to have to backtrack to be able to follow the story.

Use suggestion as a way to keep the other characters from feeling flat when writing from a single POV: Speaking of POV, not having access to the other characters' emotions/decisions can make them feel flat. I use the same suggestion method I mentioned previously to sneak-attack dimension onto the NPCs and dolphins. Examples: - Rafael sank back into his seat with drugged-up relief at hearing maternal reassurance, or maybe just that the attention was back on Sonny. - Carmen found Sonny’s eyes, flicking to Rafael and back, biting her lip like they were sharing a private joke. - Barba was still smiling at him, not quite like he was laughing at him, but something adjacent, like he was delighted by Sonny’s floundering.  - The dolphins were especially active, maybe because they weren’t fighting a strong current tonight.

Writing accents is like a comedy skit with a song—it has to be good or it's bad: IN MY OPINION, reading accents can become grating really quickly and rip me out of the story. I trust readers to know what most characters sound like (bc this is fic) or otherwise trust them to be able to map voices onto the characters' dialogue based on something I mentioned once. For example, I trust the reader to do the rest if I said a character has a lisp or a Japanese accent or a toddler can't pronounce her R's yet. THAT SAID, I am not immune to Sonny's accent. But I try to keep any accents and other verbal variations to a minimum and in contexts where it makes sense. For example, I write out Sonny's accent sometimes when he's talking to his family or when he's joking around or emotional (I'm not a linguistic expert, but those are instances when my accent thickens). Examples: - “Ma,” Sonny cut in. “I was gettin’ there. Raf has kidney stones.”  - "Jesus, keep your voice down, Carlos’s mom is in the fuckin’ office," Sonny hissed. - "I'm trying to see about farm work. Any knowin’ who might need a hand for a couple days?" - "And Nonna, god, she'd be furious right now. Yellin' at me in Italian about how I'm doing everything wrong."

Write human beings: My #1 goal in writing—if I achieve literally nothing else—is for my characters to seem like they could be real people with feelings and personalities and backstories. Especially because I write the same handful of characters over and over, it gets grating to write the same 2-D traits from the show with zero expansion. Like, we get it—Rafael is biting and performative, Sonny is brash yet sensitive. Now do something with it—they don't need to live their whole lives having sex, talking about work, and making lawyer jokes. Add little human details: - Sonny telling Rafael to close his eyes before turning on the light in the morning - Rafael being irritated with a customer service person and having to remind himself to be nice, that it's not their fault - Sonny pressing a cold water bottle against Rafael's neck as he walks by to make him jump Stuttering and hesitating dialogue, interruptions, italics for emphasis: - "Okay," he said. "Okay. We're gonna... we're gonna deal with this. Later. For now, we're gonna put a pin in it, okay? Just... put a pin in it." - "I'm alone," she said, the words emerging between ragged breaths. "I have no one left. No family, no—" / "You have me," Rita interrupted. - Liv was probably rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. "He's willing to reopen the case if you can bring sufficient evidence." Callbacks to details that describe a real past: - Rafael tried to forget all the details Sonny's family would never know he’d accumulated. The color of Bella’s high school graduation dress. The name of the boyfriend that Gina brought home for Christmas in 2011. The fact that Bella liked ‘Bells’ and Teresa liked ‘Tess’ but Gina hated ‘Gigi.’  - Rita held Camila steady, rubbing firm circles on her back the way she had when Camila was a fussy baby. - Marlene's laugh was dry. "Honey, I've lived on this coast for fifty-six years, and I even remember most of ‘em. I've seen red tides that killed everything for miles. I've seen hurricanes that rearranged the entire shoreline in a couple of hours. A few dead sturgeons? Not exactly keeping me up at night." Jokes: People tease and joke around. Not every single line has to be significant to the narrative and not every joke has to be about their stupid fucking jobs. Be normal during sex: Without the characters having conversations or joking around during sex—or at LEAST having some compelling internal dialogue—it just turns into a stale blur of forgettable "oh yeah baby harder just like that you were made for me fuck yes fuck oh my god please fuck kiss me here touch me there hanky panky." Let characters have flaws: Mary Sue's and "I don't like that the show made X Character this way, so I just ignore it" aren't my favorite. I know it stems from writer turnover, but I tend to take the characters' inconsistencies in the show at face value—cognitive dissonance rather than "they would never do that." Rafael is an impulsive martyr and can be an asshole in a way that isn't endearing, Liv is a hypocrite who puts too much pressure on everyone else and has weird opinions about disabled people, Fin used to be homophobic and transphobic and now he's the poster child for absolving the fact that the show is copaganda, Sonny was an overcompensating douche who couldn't keep a girlfriend to save his life for a while and now he's a mid lawyer. In my OPINION, it's more fun to engage with imperfect characters who are layered and inconsistent, who yell sometimes and make tongue-in-cheek jokes and have opinions that I don't agree with.

Women are not allergens: Take or leave the rest, but for this one specifically, I am speaking directly to you, dear reader: if you want to write porn, write porn. If you want to write stories, write women. They are SURROUNDED by women—Rafael's mother and grandmother, Sonny's immediate family is canonically two-thirds women (plus two canon nieces), Liv and Amanda (and Jesse and Billie), Carmen, Rita Calhoun, Melinda Warner. OCs are also permitted to be women. Any variation of "It's kinda hard to write women when we write fic centering two men in a relationship" is um... let's call it a 'you' problem and not an 'us' problem.

Other things that just make writing fic more fun (that usually come with time): - Develop some 'things.' My things are Barisi pressing their foreheads together a lot and finding literally any excuse not to use a condom. - Make some OCs who show up as minor characters. I used to use the same names consistently for minor characters, but recently I've fleshed out Belle and Yasmin, who just pop in as things like nurses and Carmen's friends, and I now I look for excuses to use them. - Related, it's fun to make inside jokes, even if they're just for yourself. Reference your own headcanons, your friends' headcanons, other fics, other writers' names. MargoBlack, @chiazu, and @malevolent-muse especially reference other writers, and it's a nice way to connect and make writing feel less like a solitary activity. - It's cliche, but don't get caught up in the numbers game. Just write what you want to write. My favorite fic of mine is "1929 post-stock market collapse, pre-dust bowl farmer!carisi x former stockbroker!barba" AU, which—believe it or not—is not something the general public is itching to consume. - Also cliche, but leave kudos and comments. Nobody is getting paid for this shit in anything but encouragement. It's like a "pay what you can" event—no, you're not obligated to give anything, but you're kind of an asshole if you don't. And finally, if you read this whole post, please get your head checked. XOXO, Regina George