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#and now i am trying to be a part time writer
stratusjay · 2 days
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No Name Part.21
Sorry took so much time writer's block and lazyness is such a pain.
The school isn’t bad, actually it’s pretty great. I met Romero, a classmate and became fast friends; he is such a drama queen and he is so funny. He made the adaptation to the new school easier, almost seamless if it wasn’t for the uniform, which is still really bothersome. Mama got a photo I don’t know how, she said I was the cutest which is okay when you are a four years old child, not when you are sixteen. I miss Mama, but I can’t say it out loud, it would make Mama sad and I don’t wanna make Alexia feel bad; she has been great since I’ve been living with her, she took time away from her family to be with me and to make me discover Barcelona. We decorated my room together, painted the walls, had a paint fight, it was so cool. After we finished my room she looked at my suitcase that I hadn't unpacked yet, she didn’t say anything but I felt comfortable so I knew it wouldn’t take me long before I unpack. She took me to a men’s team game. It was amazing the atmosphere, everything, some people recognized her but not a lot. 
This weekend though we are gonna meet her family, she is supposed to come get me in a few minutes and this week the season is finally beginning. The team was away for preseason, I have a different schedule because of school but I am excited and terrified for both meetings. Alexia and her family are really close, I thought Mamà and her family were close but Alexia’s family is on another level altogether. I really want them to like me, with Mama and Alexia’s … situationship in the long term they will probably be my family too. Thinking about it kind of makes my head hurt and I wanna crawl in bed and never get out. Damn I want the presentation to be done already so I would stop stressing.
-Miss Fuentes, your guardian is here.
-Hm.
-Nemo! I felt a sharp pain in my side and turned sharply to Romero glaring at him. They just called you over. He pointed to the door of the study room where one of the supervisors was waiting, looking at me expectantly.
-Oh! Thank you Rom! I scrambled up and grabbed my stuff. See you Monday!
-See you, don’t do something I wouldn’t.
-That leaves me with a whole lot of things I can do, right ? I tease him back.
I smile almost deviously at me and wave me off.
In the hallway, I see Alexia on the phone waiting for us, well me technically since the supervisor had to take care of a scruff we stumbled upon in the corridor. I approach and she smiles at me still on the phone. She grabs one of my bags and we leave towards her car.
- Sí mamá, entiendo que quieras conocerla, sólo está un poco nerviosa y es comprensible. 
After a silence on this side of the conversation, where Alexia kept nodding her head, she looked at me for a minute while opening the car, and finally sealed my fate.
-Vale, vale, tú ganas, recogemos a Alba por el camino y pasamos la noche en casa con el mini futbolista. Jo també t'estimo, adéu. She turned her face to me and laughed. Nemo, I promise my mom won’t eat you, I can’t say for Alba she can be weird, she adds with a teasing smile. I punched her shoulder trying to hide my smile. Last weekend at Alexia’s she had talked to me about her sister that she obviously loved a lot and loved to tease even more. In France, Clément used to say to Sandra, when Marin, Olivia and I we’d fight each other, qui aime bien châtie bien. I still miss them a lot, we had contact now, Jenni gave me Marin number’s before I went to Barcelona, Oli didn’t have one because she was too young, but she had invited herself on Marin and I phone’s call. 
-Wanna talk about it ? 
I looked at Alexia who glanced at me while driving through the city.
-You made a face after I talked about Alba. I was waiting for you to talk but I realize it might not be due to Alba, so wanna talk about it ?
-You know I was adopted by my Mamà a few months ago, three actually almost four. I was wiggling my fingers in my laps looking at them and I failed to notice Alexia’s surprised face and her concern after. But before that I have been living in another house, they were really nice and already adopted two kids, Marin and Olivia. They became my siblings, Marin and I were closer in age but he was still older than me; We had the same experience of foster families and we hit it off right away, he is… was my protector, my best-friend, my confident, my cheer-leader and more importantly he was my brother. Olivia was still a toddler when Clément and Sandra took her in, she doesn’t really remember before them, but she was so solar and always happy and came in my room to bother me that I couldn’t help but love that little bundle of joy. I miss them.
Alexia had stopped the car while I was talking and brought me in a hug over the console. 
-Nemo, her voice sounded a bit clipped. What happened to this housen why did you have to leave ?
-Clément and Sandra, they died in a car crash, have stopped all adoption process. I love my Mamà. If they were still here I think she’d still be someone important in my life. But maybe I wouldn’t be here with you and would still be in Paris. It’s life I suppose. Sometimes I feel bad because I feel like I am replacing them. Plus I have a cousin Leire, she makes me think of Olivia, maybe when she grows up Oli will be like her. And I feel bad that I love Leire.
-Nemo. Look at me. Good, your Clément and Sandra they would want you to be happy, and the place you have for people in your heart, it’s exponential. The place they had will never be taken by someone ever again, they carve themselves in us. When my dad died I had that crushing pain in my heart, Mamà and Alba were there and I couldn’t shut down they helped me a lot during those difficult times, along the way the pain is still here but when I found along the way people who helped and took mentorship over me, guided me at some point I asked myself the same question. But they can never replace him. My uncle took a bigger part in Alba and I lives to support us the way dad used to where her could but he has the space I leave him take, I don’t feel bad for loving him and I am grateful for his help. You understand ? I feel like I didn’t make that much sense.
-No, it was good. I understand.
-Okay come here nena. She pulled me in another hug and kissed the top of my head. Now let’s call Alba. So we can go to Mamà. She pulled her phone out. Behind her the car door suddenly opened and a woman with long brown hair entered the car. She looked a lot like Alexia. It was crazy.
-Mucho gusto Nemo, I am Alba the better Putellas. She grinned at me.
I have a weird feeling of deja vu.
-Mucho gusto.
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ckret2 · 1 day
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On a scale of one to ten, 1 being "This has gotten annoying and offputting," 10 being "This is awesome and I love how engaged you guys are," and 5 being "You do you but I'm getting bored with the topic," how are you feeling about the Gender and Pronouns discussion? Seems like people (including me) exploded your page for a bit there.
I'd give it a 7 I think.
I wouldn't have already prior to this conversation put this much thought into how sentient polygons can be trans—much less taken an alien with he/him pronouns, stuffed him in a body with a vag, and declared he's got three overlapping alien genders that have absolutely nothing to do with either these pronouns or this body and that are weird even by his species's standards—if I didn't think the topic of speculative gender is fascinating. I'm the person who wrote this post. This is a topic of great interest to me.
It's only a 7 because of the preoccupation with pronouns, specifically, in a way that makes it clear that people are looking at this very alien character that I've been taking pains to keep alien and assuming that his understanding of gender and How Gender Should Be Recognized is identical to early 21st century English-speaking humans' understanding of gender. I've had three different people writing in on the assumption that it's a given that this alien who's never said anything about his pronouns except "whatever" would jump for joy to be assigned some English neopronouns.
I'm his writer. I am using his primary English pronouns, every time I talk about him. I'm using his pronouns right now. Divorce "he/him" from inherent implications of masculinity.
So, tl;dr: +7 points for conversation exploring ways gender can be different & alien for an alien species; -3 points for the part of the conversation fixated on trying to wedge alien gender into our framework.
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cutemeat · 2 years
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Glenn would appreciate your theories me thinks because when he said dennis was actually rehearsing and was just mad that mac saw it before he should have I thought he was reading one of your tumblr posts
FIRST OFF I AM SO FLATTERED BUT SECONDLY I RLLY GOTTA BE UPFRONT HERE 😭 yes i come up w theories i come up w AUs but bros… a lot of my posts abt Macden and Dennis in general… i re-watch the show itself SO often i am genuinely speaking from my analysis of the canon itself. i dont want ppl to get it too twisted— i genuinely have just been picking up on the stuff they have been writing into the show.. thats my feeling.. like when i talk abt the Shamrock stuff.. how Gets New Wheels/MFHP are macden arc foil eps… the Cats in the Wall metaphor, that is ALL rcg! that is what THEY wrote into the text!!
#im so honored u think glenn would appreciate my theories tho tbh i rlly hope he would#mostly cuz i do rlly try to parse what they are writing/acting into the show i try so hard dude#i just lov dennis im so passionate abt how theyve written him i think glenn has such an attention to detail w his character#n puts so much into him i rlly fuckin admire it i do#cuz tbh i rlly am a little bitch for canon thats just who i am#n dennis reminds me so much emotionally of how ive felt in my dads side of the family who Have that level of dysfunction the gang do so that#also helps a bit w my reading i feel LMAOO#like so many of my theories i try to specifically make sure they line up with the pre-existing canon as if i were pitching 2 rcg themselves#like. again thats just me 😭😭#so yea.. again im so so flattered but truly a lot of my posting is based on what i think is written!!!#n as someone who has watched this show so so sooo many times i rlly do see them writing macden i see them writing den as having Loved mac#even when hes saying he hates mac….. he doesnt. he rlly truly doesnt. n rcg knows it i swear to u#they are smart. they have Been doing this for years. thats not givin em credit thats truly just experience!#(this is also important when it comes to criticizing them i believe.. like i cant let em off the hook for the stupid racist shit theyve#pulled n try to brush off cuz i KNOW theyre intelligent n not just bad writers thats a case of em choosing to be ignorant or phrasing their#frustrations against specifically Hulu pulling those eps performatively very poorly cuz Hulu now is part of the house that pays their bills#n they dont wanna get in trouble but seem to hav no qualms just coming off like they think Ppl Just Dont Get The Joke n NO Racist Adults#watch their show… thats BS n they should know better or fucking learn.. anyway)#like i aspire to write tv n i rlly like how theyve written sunny for the most part#like their character writing is just… i love it im obsessed w that aspect ive fallen so in love w all these characters’ writing#okok im done gushing#u are so sweet anon ily#but also i dont wanna give MYSELF too much credit when i dont feel ive done the heavy lifting yknow what i mean? 😭#i truly believe if anyone rewatched the show as much as i have (and with how rcg hav been talkin abt sunnys streaming potential i believe#they want ppl to at some point be able to rewatch it like that n pick up on this stuff)#but if anyone rewatches this show enough times u will see this stuff cuz again its totally just written into it!n#i am just pointing it out not writin it myself#but again im more than happy to talk abt it n point it out if RCG themselves aren’t always comfortable doing so/feel like its ‘bragging’#or pretentious.. cuz i hav So much fun analyzing the show n talking abt it n dont rlly hav any personal reputation stakes in doing so LOL
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literalgrill · 3 months
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Do NOT Support Hard Drive On Patreon
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You might see friends today suggesting you support Hard Drive on Patreon today. You know, the funny video games version of The Onion? As a journalist, I will firmly tell you DO NOT GIVE THEM A DIME.
The CEO has pushed out all former staff that have built the site up to its current greatness and has been pushing the use of AI. The staff begged to have a Patreon before basically all being pushed out, but the idea was refused until now, when it will only line the pockets of a single person instead of hard working writers.
I know they might have provided laughs before, but Hard Drive is a shell of what it was once. Let it die and support the people who actually made those moments of joy possible. Don't believe me? Check out what former employees are saying below:
Kevin Podas: Okay you know what, I would feel bad saying nothing about this, so here goes:🚨SAVE YOUR MONEY🚨
We passionately advocated for a Patreon at Hard Drive & were aggressively shot down. The talent & people who built the site were pushed out. To see this now is beyond upsetting. For the past few years or so I put a lot of myself into this website. I pitched a ton of jokes, got over 120 articles published, & met a lot of great people. I'm sure if you've been following me for some time you could easily see this.
However, there is a lot of misinformation. I was eventually promoted to Managing Editor of the site & was ecstatic. Grateful for the opportunity. Felt like all of my hard work in the comedy mines was finally paying off. But things took a turn for the worst, & each day there were new surprises that affected our livelihoods. These were all very avoidable surprises, mind you.
A patreon was going to be our hail mary, but alas, for some reason, the power that be did not want it. Causing us to leave a dream job behind. "At least we did all we could," we consoled ourselves afterwards. I put a lot of myself into this project. I pitched all sorts of ideas that could have helped-- we all did. Merch collaborations, Patreon-integrated YouTube content, so much more. And most of them were shot down out of sheer stubbornness and nothing more. To see lie after lie spread, and multiple big publications and YouTubers that I am a fan of promote this Patreon under these pretenses is incredibly upsetting. There are so many receipts.
Please share this and consider pulling out if you've already put money into this. On Hard Drive using AI, also from Kevin Podas: I can't personally confirm that part aside from some of the recent header images for articles on both Hard Drive and Hard Times are being made with AI. As far as writing, it's been mentioned in the past, but I personally do not know. Maybe others do, maybe not. MORE From Kevin Podas suggesting the owner denying a Patreon being set up earlier cost an artist a job that was replaced by AI: We had a social media person who was awesome! He made the images until this AI implementation. He had to leave because ad revenue was low and a Patreon was aggressively refused.
Luca Fisher: at the risk of burning some bridges, i have to back up kevin here. i've only been part-time, in-and-out of hard drive since i got in last year, but i can corroborate that management doubled and tripled down about not hosting a patreon/crowdfunding and that many other suggestions and ideas, including mine (and ones much smarter than mine!), were shot down in really long, apocalyptic threads of everyone left on deck desperately trying to come up with ways to keep the lights on. managerially it has been messy and sad
i've written for multiple publications that have long since died, ones that were in the process of dying, and ones that, in this case, are soon to be put in the ground. it is sad and sucks every time. i don't know what could have been done differently, but i do know that a lot of great writers and content creators were left shorthanded and unhappy by the way things have gone. and it is sort of puzzling to see the sudden championing of patreon after we were all told plenty of times that it couldn't work and we should move on also, just to add my own personal two cents here, i was really disappointed by the shuttering of many different article sections on the site over the past 6-8 months. i understand cutting corners in a deficit, and i know it had to be done. that said…
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all in all, i'm really sad to see this all happen. i don't fault anyone, if only because i don't really know enough about how this all can happen to make sense of it. games journalism is in a sad, sorry state, and will likely no longer be a thing in the next decade
VideoSealMan: I'm gonna say this because I think I deserve to. For months, MONTHS on end I was bugging Hard Drive management about a Patreon. Often I got ignored for a week+, but when I actually got a response I was encouraged to - of all things, write up a Google Doc pitching the concept I did it regardless. I wasn't the only one trying to sway management on a Patreon, but so fiercely was I fighting for it that last night, I was accused of making this comment directly by the CEO! With no evidence whatsoever! After I'd been gone for over a month.
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I vouched so hard for Patreon because I wanted all the writers and creatives working with Hard Drive including myself to get paid better. When I actually got a response, the idea was often shut down. Eventually due to the state of my company, my pay was cut for a second time I confronted management alongside a couple other important figureheads at the org and told them that if we couldn't do a Patreon - I could no longer financially justify staying there. The answer was still no, so I left. Baffled at the decision, but whatever.
It is unendingly frustrating to know that myself and many other people who put their soul into Hard Drive LEFT because of management's absolute refusal to compromise on a Patreon, to then see them launch one anyway a month later and get over 1000 people pledging money. I'm seeing a lot of things float around about greed and people being fired. No one was fired. Everyone who left, left because they were sick of management's decision-making. And honestly, management is a lot of things but I would not call them greedy. (From my experience.) They did genuinely make an effort to pay people as much as possible. I found the pay very fair for a while. I am not disputing that I was paid what I was owed - yet management frequently feels the need to remind critics of that. Lmao, yes. I was paid what I was owed. No one is disputing payment. You did the bare minimum a business owner should do and paid everyone their due, very well done. I make no allegations of greed, cheating or foul play. I make allegations of poor management and incompetence that has fucked over other people.
Basically the only people left at Hard Drive have been there for about 2 months. They will reap the rewards of this successful Patreon I and so many others passionately fought for for so long. We will not see a dime.
I do not know the new people at Hard Drive, But I feel bad for them. They were haphazardly thrust into Hard Drive's workplace with little to no explanation on how anything works, or given any context on the state of the place. Even now managements feeds them half-truths and misinformation about other people's grievances. I am broke and have been for a while. I had to move out of my flat in Reading and back with my family because of how little money I was making. This has basically doomed my flatmate to moving back in with abusive parents, which is something I feel guilty about every day. If we had gone with the Patreon I worked myself hoarse over back then, this could have been avoided. Some of my other good pals could also not have been fucked over.
It was a bad judgment call, but it's not a crime. It's just management getting it wrong.
So should you give to the Hard Drive Patreon? I don't know! I don't think any of the new people working there to patch up the holes left by the recent mass exodus have any bad intentions. Maybe they deserve it! But it is not the same site you knew a year ago, or even a month ago. Myself and many people who were there far longer than me and did far more for it than I did are all gone now because we could not deal with management's terrible decision-making and dogass communication any longer. That's what you should know, imo
I had an agreement in place with management that I would receive the next 8 months of revenue from the Hard Drive YT channel from my leaving in November. This was a deal I appreciated, and thought was very fair on management's behalf. So far, the deal has been honoured for 2 months. However as of last night I was removed from the Hard Drive Slack without warning, and as an editor for the YouTube channel. This means I no longer have any way of verifying how much I am owed, I just have to take their word for it. I'm sure management will make their own statements full of half-truths and weird language on the many cases being brought against them - I'd take everything they say with a pinch of salt if some of the screenshots I've seen of them talking about me are any indication lol
To management; I do not want to talk to you. I want you to DM me a screenshot of how much I'm owed every month and then send me the money per our agreement until June, then we can go our separate ways. Do that and admit to your mistakes, and maybe you can recover your reputation! That's it from me, lol. If they pull out of the deal and fuck me over I'll have more to say, but most of what I know is other people's stories of incompetence and poor decision-making, lol. I genuinely get no pleasure out of doing this; I do not think management is evil - I just think they're really bad at what they do and it's cost other, more talented people, lol. You should believe the writers imo
One last thing I wanna say btw, management did often stress that no one should try to make Hard Drive a full time thing. They were transparent about that, and that is fair. I was working on it because at a few points, I was lead to believe we actually were doing a Patreon. Many other ppl have similar stories of being strung along by management changing their minds and stop-starting shit every 2 weeks. We all made the fatal mistake of overestimating our manager - who would tell you one thing one day and something totally opposite the next week lol
Hunter R. Thompson:
I'm not your dad, but speaking as a Hard Drive writer, I don't know that funding Hard Drive on Patreon is worth it
The driving talent on the back end—behind the kickass site I joined in 2019—have peaced out over the years as the site's been (in our view) increasingly mismanaged. Mismanagement like, not setting up crowdfunding before the ship sank and all its best crew failed; or publishing a screenshot of Andy Ngo pedojacketing a trans writer, complete with her deadname; or a disgruntled ex-writer getting falsely accused of shit-talk, by actual staff. I'm grateful for the writing I've gotten to produce for HD (and will forever be kicking myself for not writing even more, in the four years I've had to do it!! i'm a dumbass!!!) but it is very much no longer the site I signed up for.
I don't want to resign as a contributor altogether, because I'm open to the idea of the site recovering and bad practices being retired as finances level out-- it would just be dishonest for potential backers to not be Aware Of The Circumstances, I think.
Jeremy Kaplowitz: i truly don't want to start shit, but feel compelled to say: i want to see Hard Drive succeed w/o resorting to throwing former writers & editors, myself included, under the bus. surely there's a way to save the site without building it over the corpses of those who left. my $0.02 i don't blame anyone who wants to sign up for the HD patreon and i support the website, but that includes those who worked on it for years, have complaints, and don't deserve to be treated like bitter assholes like this kind of stuff is just objectively true, meanwhile there's these new writers who joined the site after i left (meaning, in the last ~3 months) claiming people are liars. decide for yourself if you care, but this is what happened! [Quotes this Tweet]
Seth Finkelstein: Writing for Hard Drive has been a privilege the past few years, and it makes me so angry to see people I looked up to get jerked around behind the scenes. The amount of grenades the editors jumped on our behalf is immense, and I don't think the way they're being treated is right.
Other Bits On AI: We do know for sure however that AI art has been used by the site. Its fucking owner confirms it here:https://twitter.com/MattSaincome/status/1743040541603123622. Seems the owner pushed AI written articles as well! TayFabe: My vaguetweet is making the rounds & these made me apoplectic. - owner regularly lobbied using ai. Once he tested it & said ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. - ai images were used on the site & socials w/o consulting the team or disclosing it publicly I found the ai bit relevant to include bc 1) it illuminates a stark change in HD's current direction & leadership, 2) ai images have previously been used on the site and (since deleted) ig posts, 3) ai content fucking sucks, and repeatedly pushing to use it is a telling quality The "handful of writers who chose to leave" includes 2 editors-in-chief (both cofounders who wrote a combined total of >1,000 articles & defined the voice of HD), & at least 3 other editors. These guys put in WORK since 2017, so cool to be corrected by ppl who joined in Nov 2023 [Link to mentioned vague tweet from post.] More from TayFabe: owner continuously lobbied for using ai in every possible way. No one else wanted to do it, but he kept on, saying ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. Also, ai images were used on the site & socials without public disclosure or consulting the team.
The owner has responded now multiple times in a private discord... Thank you for people sharing screenshots! First Screenshot:
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Kevin's Response: He banned me from the server for speaking out, so no, I didn't see it. And he gave no indication of a timeline, it was just "we'll do one when *I* say so" and gave every inclination he was totally against it. It bred an environment that pushed our hands to have to leave. Screenshot Round Two:
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Kevin's Response: "Starting one in 3 months" is an absolute lie. He denied it, I have screenshots and others who can confirm. No timeline was given. Just "this is what it is now" and like, I couldn't live off of that. I wanted to do more but he was allergic to good ideas from others around him.
Matt, owner of Hard Drive, responds publicly on Twitter.
Matt: Kevin, the patreon launch was delayed because I didn't think it would work. Everyone is happy that it did work. Everyone who left the site because we didn't have money to pay for creative content which didn't revenue is welcome to return home. But unclear why the hostility.
Hard Drive paid out literally every dollar it had, then a bunch more, to creative people who worked on the site. When we ran out of money, we couldn't pay anymore. We did our best.
Kevin: Right, and my point of this thread was that it was completely and totally avoidable. This is reasonable to be upset about. How could I have been any more clear?
Matt: If we knew with 100% certainly that the community would have supported us via patreon, we would have done that. We didn't know. We had tried 4 years ago and got no support. We were wrong this time. We did our best to figure it out. We paid all the money we could.
Kevin: So you knew with 100% certainty this time? Or you took a leap of faith?
Matt: It was a last gasp panic effort after ad rates got cut in half on january 1st due to seasonal spending changes. We didn't know it would work. We were embarrassed to ask for support. We wanted to figure it out.
Kevin: Every site has a Patreon. Every YouTuber, comedy group, etc. But you insisted that nobody cared about Hard Drive. Which is wildly untrue. I know you see that now, but again, I think you can see why I and many others are pretty upset. A last ditch panic effort was long overdue. A couple more things from Matt:
It was about the size of the hole we needed plugged budget wise, the time I had left of personal resources, and the past data I had about us trying a patreon (which turned out to be a bad indicator). I didn't think the Patreon would help us fast enough. I made a bad estimation
aka "if we make $1000 more dollars a month via patreon, which would be 10x what we got last time, we will not solve any of our problems. If instead we try to plow down path B, we might make it out in time." That was the thinking. I chose the wrong path, but didn't mean to Kevin also retweeted this comment from the user Matt was responding to: So you're saying that you're bad at running the business, didn't listen to any of your employees until after they were forced to leave their jobs, and now you're going to get more of the money from the Patreon that was their idea in the first place? Matt's Response: Respectfully, I made a mistake delaying the patreon decision. But keeping a comedy site alive for 9 years is not easy, there are lots of potential ideas, and think overall we've done a good and honorable job. Will leave this thread in peace now to allow people their space.
Sorry for linking to Elon's hellsite (derogatory), but sources need links so...
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fangirl-dot-com · 3 months
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Grill the Grid
Guys, I'm sorry this is so short. I've had a bout of writers block but still wanted to get another chapter out. I will be going back to working on the regular chapters soon! But enjoy this take on Grill the Grid!
Like always - comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! Much love :D
Key for this chapter: regular text - just normal speaking bold - words on the flip boards italics - scene change bold italics - the narrator lady
Episode One: Radio Show 
A quick snapshot of each driver shows up before the opening title of “Grill the Grid” crosses the screen. 
You quickly showed up and clapped your hands. 
“Welcome ladies and gents to another season of Drive to Survive.” You showed a cheeky smile as you winked to the camera. 
“Can you please state your name and what team you drive for?” 
You sighed as you thought. “Christian is going to kill me if I can't remember all of it.” You looked back at the camera. “My name is Y/n L/n and I drive for the Honda RBPT Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula One Team.” 
“That is correct.” 
Your eyes widened as you started to laugh. “I didn’t think I’d get that.” 
The lady behind the camera smiled. “Max didn’t get the entire thing.” 
You stared at the camera like you were on the office before turning to someone off camera to the side. “Do I get a point for that?” 
The video now cut to Max. 
Max had his hands on his side, head down before he looked back up. 
He had a nervous smile as he tried to think. “Yeah, I don’t know. Red Bull Racing?” He shrugged as multiple people around him laughed. 
“It’s actual Honda RBPT Oracle Red Bull Racing.” 
Max rolled his eyes. “How is anyone supposed to remember that?” 
“Y/n did.” 
“Of course.” 
Words flashed on the screen signaling to viewers the actual start of the episode. Multiple familiar faces showed as they all stood next to a board with multiple flaps of paper. 
Lando smugly looked at the title and then to the camera. “I got this in the bag.” 
“How do you think you’ll do?” 
Oscar was now on screen. “Uhhhhh.” He didn’t have time to answer.
“I think I’ll do ok. I’m not too familiar with other team’s radios, but I can try?” A red-clad Monegasque questioned himself. 
The drivers all flipped the first page.
--He better get me more stroopwaffles after that. Asshole--  
You flipped the first page and barely glanced at it before answering. “Lando.” 
“Lando.” Max also flipped.
Oscar, Daniel, Charles, and Carlos at once, “Lando.” 
Lando just stared into the camera. “Me?” 
You smiled back at the camera. “This was at Zandvoort right? After Max kinda bumped him.” 
“He pushed me off the track! Bumped is an understatement.” Lando now flipped the next page and leaned back to laugh. “Y/n.” 
--Speed. I am Speed. One winner, 19 losers. I eat losers for breakfast--
Max, once again, barely glanced before answering, “Y/n.” 
Lance looked around trying to get a hint. He couldn’t find one. “Logan? I know he’s watched the Cars movies.” 
Logan laughed as well before shaking his head. “Y/n.” 
“Me.” Your face flushed red. “Truthfully, I didn’t know the radio was on.” 
Oscar made a noise as he thought. “I want to say Logan because he recently watched that. But my heart wants to say Y/n.” 
“Is that your final answer.” 
“Yes.” 
“That’s correct.” 
Fernando, Carlos, Daniel, and Alex flipped the page. “Y/n.” 
--This is what she gets for telling me to use my mirrors. AHA! Does she even have her driver’s license?-- 
“Aha! This is Daniel.” You stood looking at the next page. “So in quali, he almost hit me in turn four during my flying lap and I told him to use his mirrors in the race. Well, he overtook me in the first lap and I fell behind.” Your smile disappeared as you looked right into the camera. “And yes, I have my driver’s license.” 
Daniel almost fell to his knees as he read the next one. His gummy smile almost took over his face. “This is me to Y/n.” 
Max just looked lost. “Who said this?” 
“Daniel.”
“Oh.”  
 
Episode Two: Champions Part 2
“So do you know what’s next?” 
You looked confused as you looked around the empty space. “Well there’s no board here?” 
Charles shrugged. “It could be anything. I certainly hope that this season we won’t have to list the champions in some order again.” 
Max looked around with a confused look. “Again?” 
Lewis rolled his eyes. “Man I knew I should have gone back and actually memorized them.” 
“There’s no way someone is getting all of them. Sebastian is gone.” Lando shrugged. 
It was now back to Charles who looked a bit more pale. A loud beep sounded on a views screen as he looked down. 
You once again clapped. “I knew all those Wikipedia pages would come in handy. Are we starting from newest to oldest or oldest to newest.” 
“Any way you want.” 
You looked up in thought as you started to list. “Ok. Max was in 2023, 2022, 2021. Then Lewis in 2020, 2019, 1028, 2017. Nico won in 2016 then it was back to Lewis in ’15 and ’14. Seb won from 2013 to 2010…” 
Max sighed before he started. “Uh, me in 2023 to 2021. Then Lewis until 2014.” 
“Incorrect. Nico won in 2016.” 
Max hummed. “Uh, Nico in ’16. Then Lewis to ’14. I know Seb won in 2013.” 
It was back to you. “And then Michael Schumacher again in 2010, which was his first with Ferrari. Then it was Hakkinen in ’99 and ’98. Uh, Villeneuve in 1997 who was preceded by Hill in 1996. Then it was back to Schumi in ’95 and ’94.”
Lando looked lost. 
Charles was still pale but he tried. “It was Max, Lewis, Nico, Lewis again. Then Seb then Lewis again?” 
“You’re forgetting another Mercedes Driver.” 
Charles looked even more confused. “Uh.” 
“Jensen Button in 2009.” 
“He was in Mercedes?” Charles just ended up walking off. 
Back to you. “Mario Andretti was the last American in 1978. Niki and Hunt danced around from 1977 to 1976. Then it was Fittipaldi, Stewart, Fittpaldi, Stewart, Rindt, Stewart respectfully in 1975, 1974, 1973, 1972, 1971, and 1970.” 
Oscar looked as if he was having a stroke. 
Logan ran a hand down his face. “I only know Andretti in 1978 and then Phil Hill in 1961. You know. Go America!” 
Fernando tried but couldn’t get past the nineties. Yet he had a smile on his face. “Y/n got all of these right, correct?” 
“She was the only one.”  
“Shut up, no she wasn’t.” Lando didn’t believe it. 
“Of course she did.” Max could only chuckle. “She would brag and brag about this in the plane.” 
“And then Ascari in 1952, then Fangio in 1951, and finally Farina in 1950!” You had a proud look on your face. “I knew I could do it. Did I miss any?” 
“Nope.”  
Episode Three: Guess These Headlights 
Charles, who had now recovered from his bout of PTSD, suddenly looked excited. “Now here is something I can do.” 
“Are you a car guy?” 
“Definitely.” Carlos responded with a smug look. “I grew up around cars.” 
“I mean. I know my McLarens?” Oscar questioned. “This is going to be hard.” 
Lando looked ready. “Let’s get this going.” 
You looked determined. “Bring it on.” You flipped the first page. “Ah. That’s a classic. A Ferrari F40.” You turned back to the camera. “If I didn’t have my Porsches, I would have bought an F40.” A far away thoughtful look crossed your face. “Maybe I’ll still get one. I’ll ask Charles. He can get me one.”  
Charles quickly answered “F40” and then flipped. “Ah. This is McLaren P1.” 
“McLaren P1,” Oscar answered. “The logo is in the headlights. Pretty helpful.” 
Daniel flipped the next one and stood back, hands on his hips. “I know Max has this car. But I can’t remember the name.” 
Lance finally looked as though he knew what it was. “This is the Aston Valkyrie.” 
Fernando also guessed it correctly. “Aston Valkyrie.” 
Next, Carlos easily got the next one. “La Ferrari. I wanted one.” 
“Did you get one.” 
Carlos nodded his head before answering. “No.” 
Max flipped through the pages very quickly. “Ah! I know this one. Y/n has two of these. It’s the Porsche 9-11’s.” 
“Y/n’s Porsche. The 9-11 model,” Alex responded. 
“I see these in my garage since Y/n’s apartment didn’t come with one, so she puts her’s in mine. It’s the Porsche 9-11,” Logan had a happy smile as he knew one. The next one, he didn’t know. 
“Not a clue.” Charles, Oscar, and Daniel all said as they flipped. 
Max took a minute to look at the X looking headlights. He hummed. “Y/n was just showing me a TikTok with this car. Says she wants one someday.” 
You had a giant grin on your face as you looked at the headlights. 
“Do you know what this car is?” 
You rolled your eyes. “Of course I know. It’s the 3 million dollar Ferrari V12 Engine Apollo Project Evo. There are currently 10 of them only in the world, and they are all owned.” 
“Do you have one of them?” 
You only smirked as you looked into the camera.
Max still stood next to his board, eyes to the sky as he really thought. His eyebrows raised as he remembered the answer. “This is like...the Apollo E car?” 
“That is correct. Now, does Y/n own one of these? She didn’t give us an answer.” 
Max looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh. No comment?”   
  
Episode Four: Random Skills
“Ok. For this challenge you have to guess what driver has this skill.” 
“Easy.” Came from Lando. 
You looked around confused. “I don’t think I have any skills.” 
“Do I even have a skill for them to use?” Lewis questioned himself. 
“First skill. Which driver is known for playing the piano.” 
“Sharl,” you smirked. “Easy.” 
“Charles.” Lance, Fernando, and Daniel all answered. 
“Me.” The Monegasque had a smile on his face. 
Oscar looked up. “Is it Y/n? She looks like she can play the piano.” 
“He said that? I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.” You shrugged. 
“Which drivers claims to be able to hit a hole in one at the Monte Carlo Golf Course.” 
Max rolled his eyes. “I know Lando has claimed, but I’m going to say Carlos.” 
Carlos looked lost. “Me? I don’t know if I’ve said that though. Maybe Lando?” 
Logan answered, “Lando?” 
Lando also looked lost. “Me?” 
“No.” 
“Who is it then?” You questioned. Lando and Carlos had been your guess. 
“It is Pierre Gasly.” 
Lando huffed. “Get out of here.” 
The man in question had a guilty smile. “I forgot I said that. Let’s say it’s still true.”
You looked eager to get on with the game. You wanted to win that trophy. 
“Which driver has set a drive time around the Daytona International Speedway at 1 minute and 40 seconds. Which is only 8 seconds slower than the lap record.” 
“Oh, I didn’t know I would get on here for this category. It’s me right?” 
“Correct, Logan.”  
You took a little while to guess. “I’m gonna say Logan. Sounds like a very American thing to do at Daytona. And his brother drove for NASCAR right?” 
“Correct.”
Your fist pumped the air. 
Oscar looked elated at this question. “It’s Logan. I was there when he did it.” A big smile crossed his face. 
Lance looked around in thought. “Uhhhhh. Lando? I don’t know.” 
Lando also looked happy, as he seemed to know the answer. “It’s Logan right? Yeah, Logan. Final answer.” 
“Are there any geography questions this season, or…” Max drew out the last syllable as he laughed with the others. He suddenly went cold stare. “I’m being serious.” 
“Which driver knows how to moon walk?” 
Fernando squinted his eyes as he thought before shrugging his shoulders. “It’s one of the young ones right? Yuki?” 
Yuki was also as lost as Fernando. “I wish it was me. Maybe Lando? He DJ’s right?” 
“It’s not Lando. But it is a younger driver.” 
“I should know this after she made me play Just Dance for three hours one time. It’s Y/n.” Logan looked put off at his mention of the dance off. 
Oscar also looked bored as he also brought it up. “Yeah, it’s Y/n. I threw Just Dance out after she left. No more.” 
Max rubbed his face. “She plays it with P whenever she comes over. They play the same one over and over again. Y/n.” 
Charles had a far off look, like one of an older man who suddenly was hit with PTSD from war. He whispered, “We don’t mention moonwalk. Not after her and Arthur…” He never finished as he walked off again. 
You had a shit-eating grin on your face. “Me! And I tried to teach it to Oscar, Lando, Logan, Max, Charles, Arthur…” You just seemed to keep going and going. They finally had to stop you before you kept going on about the Just Dance discography. 
Bloopers
You stood in front of the camera with one of the que things that snap. “And action! Do you even say that anymore? And I thought this was an actual set. I might have cried when I saw the green screen.” 
Beep 
The camera showed Max creeping in as you continued listing all of the champions in order. He looked over at the camera like was on the office. “Is she still going?” 
Beep
Logan kept touching his hair and the makeup lady would slap his hands away to fix it. “NASCAR drivers don’t have to go through this. I bet they don’t have to list all the freaking Formula 1 champions in order.” He leaned in and made a gesture. “See. All they have to do is kiss a brick and they get one when they win.” 
Beep 
Oscar smiled as he looked around, honestly excited to get this over with. “I think I’m finally ready for redemption. This should be easy.” 
The camera cut to him after ever he finished filming. “I take it back. That was not easy. You guys really need to find better questions.” 
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dirtytomatoedwrites · 5 months
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THE RESIGNATION
Summary: You can quit. It doesn't mean Rafe will let you.
Paring: CEO!Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader
Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact
Warnings:  18+ Smut. Oral (w receiving) Masturbation (w), Rough Sex, PIV, Creampie, Fluff, Romance with a dash of Angst. AgedUp!Rafe. Not Proof-Read. Enjoy.
Word Count: 2k words
Author's Note: Something a little shorter, lighter and sweet. Happy reading and much love to you all ❤️
Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.
-------
*Buzzzzzzzzz*
“Yes.”
“Y/N is here to see you.”
“Send her in.”
Rafe watches in fascination as you shuffle in, your face taut and serious. Your eyes cast downward, clutching a file. As you tuck an unruly strand of hair behind your ear, he realizes you're nervous. The tension, his silence, makes you even more anxious.
“Sit,” he instructs, motioning to the chair across his desk. Meanwhile, he keeps his gaze on his papers. He continues to read and leisurely sign forms. Yet, he can distinctly feel your eyes on him, both of you fully aware of the meeting's purpose.
For Rafe, the dynamics at play are exhilarating. After finishing his tasks, he lifts his eyes to find you focused on your file, seemingly avoiding his gaze.
He unbuttons his suit jacket and leans back, his fingers drum lightly on the fine-crafted letter in front of him. The paper carries a soft hint of perfume. It smells like you.
There's a part of him that wishes to be cruel, to use biting words he's often used with others in his employ. Yet something about you prevents him. The game of power was always in his favor, but with you, the boundaries become ambiguous, shifting in unexpected ways. With you, it's always been personal.
“Why didn't you tell me you were unhappy?” he asks. His tone is calm, yet probing. You seem taken aback, eyes widening as they search his face.
He decides to try another approach. “It's clear to me now,” he points to your letter of resignation. “You were unhappy at Cameron Enterprises. How long have you felt this way?”
Your surprise is palpable, and he watches you closely, enjoying the tapestry of emotions that flash across your face, each one more captivating than the last.
“Well?” he prods.
You shift, straightening your back. “I am grateful for my time at Cameron Enterprises. Truly I am. The team has been so kind to me, and I'll honestly cherish the friends I've made—”
“But?” he asks, cutting you off, eager to understand.
“But, I believe it's time for me to pursue other opportunities,” you admit, measuring your words. You slowly nod your head, as though you have thought this whole thing out, and now you are not only resolved with the thought but you truly believe it. It’s this sureness, this resolution, that truly makes Rafe react.
“I see,” Rafe says as he presses a button, making the office walls turn opaque. "So, you think you've outgrown us."
“No—”
"No?" he interrupts, rising from behind his desk and walking slowly toward you.
"No. I just- I feel it's time for me to try something... new.”
"Something new," he repeats, his gaze lowers to meet yours while you look up at him. His eyes scrutinize you carefully. “I respect that,” he nods, and as you avert your gaze, he gently hooks your chin with his fingers, prompting you to look him in the eye.
“No, really. I do. What's the point of life if not to grow, right? But let me be crystal clear: leaving here is not an option. So, here's what I'm willing to offer," his voice is as smooth as honey as his thumb strokes your jaw. "First, a five percent raise. But seeing as you’re already on one of the highest salaries here, I suspect that won't really sway you. You’ll also be given a new title.”
"Raf—"
"And to sweeten the deal," Rafe interrupts, "a vacation to any destination you want. You'll be whisked away on the company jet, stay at a five-star, luxury hotel—every need pampered and taken care of. I'll see to that, and we'll get to that, but here's the thing—" he whispers, his voice low and seductive.
"You embarrassed me today—ah, ah, I'm talking," he asserts, his eyes commanding yours into silence. "If it were anyone else, anyone else, no one would have noticed or given a flying fuck. But since it’s you, your little resignation created a lot of gossip. It made us look weak, hinted at instability, and in a Fortune 500 company, that's not going to work. Do you think the board cares about your need to ‘try something new'? Hm," his gaze is drawn to your mouth as you clamp it shut.
"So for those reasons, I'm going to punish you,”he says, while his thumb gently taps your chin. "But how to punish you...” he muses. “That’s the real question.”
Pulling away, he slides his hands into his pockets and, after taking a few steps back, leans against his desk.
"Rafe, you know I was just— I mean I wasn’t trying to—”
"Spare me, all right? I'm not interested in hearing what you have to say. Not right now. What I want..." he said slowly as he tapped a finger to his chest "What I want, is for you to open your legs, yeah? That's what I want."
You're shocked — he gathers as much from the way you gulp, and Rafe can't help but let a smirk of self-satisfaction curl his lips.
"Don't look so surprised. You knew what working for me entailed when you agreed to it. Now, spread your legs. Let me see what I'm shelling out nearly half a mil for."
"Rafe, I… I" you murmur.
Crossing his arms, his gaze locks onto yours signalling the end of the discussion. Hesitantly, and with much caution, you eventually slide your legs apart, your skirt riding up ever so slightly.
"Wider," Rafe commands, "Lean back and open them wider."
Breathing heavily, you do as he asks. Leaning back against the chair, you spread your legs open fully, causing your skirt to ride up to your waist, revealing your panty-covered sex. The damp patch, dark against the bright red fabric teases him.
"Pull your panties to the side. Let me see how wet you are.” he whispers silkily.
You turn your head away shyly but eventually you hook a finger into the fabric and pull it aside, exposing your slick wet folds to his ravenous gaze.
Rafe smiles in approval.
"That's good." he purrs, "Now, touch yourself. That pussy looks like it needs a good fingering " his voice rumbles with authority as his gaze flickers from your face to your exposed weeping slit. You hesitate, breathing heavily while trying to form a protest.
"I… I'm not—"
"Do it," he interrupts firmly.
You hesitate for a few moments, but eventually obey by pushing a finger into your dripping sex. A moan escapes your lips when Rafe lets out a deep groan as encouragement. Your hesitation seems to disappear and you push another finger in.
"Fuck," he hisses. "Add another. I know you can handle it."
You nod slowly and introduce a third, while the middle finger of your other hand gently rub your clit. Sinking into the sensation you open your legs wider for more access, your fingers moving hard and fast.
Rafe groans in protest. “Go slow...This isn’t for you. It’s about what I want, and what I want is for you to tease yourself. You're not allowed to cum. Not yet. Not until I say.”
You whimper but follow his command. You slow your speed til it's teasing almost leisurely and Rafe soaks it all in. The jolts of pleasure that have you mewling, the way your chest rises and fall, breathless, desperate. The way you curl your fingers just enough to make you gasp. It's incredible to watch and as your hips begin to buck against your massaging fingers, Rafe finds himself looming over you, taking in the sight of your ecstasy-filled face and finger-stuffed pussy.
He leans in and kisses you. His tongue lashes yours, tasting your moans and desperation. He pulls away, eyes back on your wet centre, focused on your fingers moving in and out, accompanied by the sweet wet sounds it makes and your hips rising from the chair.
"Go on, make that pussy cum." he orders. In no time, your orgasm washes over you. He can see it build from your core as you shudder and your thighs shake, your breath hitches fighting to stave it off and then it radiates out from the depths of your soul in a moan of pure ecstasy.
Before you can catch your breath, Rafe pushes your hand away and laps at your essence with his tongue. His hands on the back of your knees, push your legs right to your chest, keeping it wide open as he tongue fucks you.
Eating you out was always an appetizer he savored, making sure you had cum at least twice from his efforts, but right now, with his blood boiling with anger and frustration, he's famished and desperate for the main course.
Urgently, he undoes his slacks and lifts your legs even higher, pinning your ankles above your head with one hand. Without giving you time to adjust, he smears his cock with your slick and plunges deep into your tight heat, pressing you into the chair with his body weight as he begins to pound you.
It's a painful position, and he's acutely aware of that. It's deep and aggressively forceful, the type of position that should be approached with care, or ease you gently into it. But right now, it's not about you. Right now he's too riled up to care and so he fucks you without remorse or restraint, reducing you to nothing more than a fuck toy- his fuck toy spurred on by the delicious moans that escape your parted lips.
Your hands cling to the armrests for dear life as you desperately try to maintain your balance. Rafe continues to slam his hips against the back of your thighs, taking pleasure in your inability to move while he plows you deep. You whimper, desperate to escape his grip, but it does nothing to deter him. Instead, he revels in your struggle, knowing that your lack of control will only intensify his orgasm and your own.
"You want to quit..." Rafe sneers. He watches you whimper and feels your pussy tighten like a vice, while simultaneously soaking the front of his slacks. It makes him feral and he redoubles his efforts, fucking you into the chair until it starts to scrape against the cherry-oak floor.
"You want to quit on me?" he strains, while he observes ecstasy wash over your face, your eyes roll back in a pleasure-filled awe. With one hand, he gently taps your cheek to keep you focused.
"You wanna quit on me? Huh?” And he leans in further, his cock repeatedly hits a spot so deep you’re shaking, babbling and barely coherent.
“You're not going anywhere. Not now, not ever," he grunts, "Now fucking cum. Fucking cum.” His ruthless demand pushes you higher until all inhibitions are obliterated. You scream out in surrender, bucking up onto his plundering cock while Rafe releases a guttural moan, filling you with ribbon after ribbon of thick cum.
Several minutes have passed when his movements gradually stops, signaling the ebbing of his energy. He's exhausted, his fervor having reached its climatic end. He pulls out, his balance wavering slightly until his back meets the glass desk behind him. A contented exhale escapes his lips as he takes in the sight of you.
There you are, looking thoroughly fucked out. Your legs are splayed open, a sheen of sweat glistens on your skin, reflecting the aftermath of passion. His cum slowly leaks out of you and you wear it like a carnal badge of honor. Observing your state, he’s acutely aware that his own appearance mirrors yours—fucked out and messy. His clothes is in disarray, his cock is hanging out and physical exhaustion makes his body seek support against the table.
Despite the disheveled scene, a wave of affection swells within him, washing over any remnants of his earlier anger. His chest heaves as he gulps in air, attempting to control his breathing.
"You're lucky I love you," he manages to say, each word punctuated by his effort to recover. His gaze locks onto yours, intense yet softened by the rush of emotions. "No one else has this infuriating, intoxicating effect on me. You drive me to the brink and back," he adds, a playful seriousness lacing his tone as he licks his lips. "For that little stunt, I should fire you," he teases.
Your fingers glide through the cum dripping from your sex, and Rafe can't suppress a sense of pride. He always takes pride in the chaos he creates, especially when you revel in it.
"I've been trying to talk to you, but you've been so distracted lately, you haven't been listening" you sigh, as you try to catch your breath. "What else was I supposed to do to get your attention? Hand me some tissues, will you?"
He pauses, his eyes narrowing as he digests your words, then reaches with a trembling hand for the tissue box on his desk. "When? When did you try to talk to me and I wasn't listening?" he asks. He takes a clump of tissues and hands them to you.
"This morning at breakfast, and last night during dinner. I barely started speaking before you turned the conversation back to contractors and deadlines and even when I gave you a solution, not just one Rafe but two- two concrete solutions you ignored me. It was like I wasn't even there. It's not the first time." you explain, accepting the tissues from him.
"I didn't realize—"
"You did," you interrupt, ensuring your eyes stay fixed on his to underline your statement. "Why do you think I kept singing the song about wanting to make some changes, wanting to try something new. I've been saying it for weeks on and off because this is clearly not working."
“I thought you were talking about remodeling the offices, not resigning from the company. It's a family business—how would it look if my wife quits?" His voice carries a hint of concern, not just for the optics but for the unspoken bond that this business represents between the two of you.
A soft sigh escapes you as you lock eyes with him, a delicate blend of frustration and affection. "Rafe, I don't want to walk away from this," you admit "But I need more than just a title and a desk. I need to feel heard, to be part of this with you, not just in name because I'm married to a Cameron. I want to be a part of the decisions and changes we dare to dream up together."
Rafe's eyes hold yours, a moment of realization dawning upon him. "I see you," he says quietly, the weight of his oversight apparent in his tone. "I'm sorry I wasn't listening. Do you really want to leave? Is that what you truly want?"
His question, earnest and laced with vulnerability, hangs between you, but you shake your head gently. "No, I don't want to leave, Rafe. I just want... more. More involvement, more acknowledgment, and yes, maybe even a little more attention. But leaving? No. This place, with all its madness, is where I belong."
He exhales, the relief evident in the way his shoulders drop slightly, the rigid line of worry softening around his eyes. "Thank fuck for that," he says with a hushed intensity. "Because I can't imagine doing any of this without you. But let's agree on no more 'resignation stunts' in the future, yeah? It's bad press and only makes for bad business—besides, I doubt my heart can take it."
You nod, agreeing, a mischievous glint in your eye as if to say you’ll find another effective way to get right under his skin, because in the end you always do. “Fine. But for the record, I do have some ideas for my office too."
He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and he pulled you into a messy, loving kiss. "We'll discuss it at home, Mrs. Cameron. For now, let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"
"Speak for yourself. You're the one with your dick hanging out."
With a shared laugh and a sweaty kiss, you both begin the task of putting the office—and yourselves—back together, the line between professional and personal wonderfully blurred.
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A/N - See guys I can do sweet 😈 I tried to keep the reveal until the end shhhh 🤭 Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please reblog as it supports writers. Until next time ❤️
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ivoovu · 1 month
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*cough*
Mic Tap
A PSA to all König/Krueger writers:
Hello, I‘m Voov, and I‘m a native German.
And let me just clarify that I do not mean any of this in a offensive matter, and that none of these things are 'annoying' or 'bothersome' to me as a German, which I‘m sure other Germans would agree with me. This isn‘t something that‘s making it impossible for us to read blurbs/fics/etc., however I do know that some writers want to write in foreign languages as accurately and realistically as possible, so this is for those. And for everyone else who‘s just interested, of course
🤍🍪
1 - What I often read is "Exemplary Sentence I can‘t think of something right now but it‘s in English, ja?"
We don’t end our sentences with "[…], ja?". Sometimes, yes, fair, sometimes we do so, but it’s on the rarer side in my opinion. Majority of the time we use this at the end of our sentences:
"[…], nicht?" = "[…], no?" (please don‘t use "[…], nein?" for this one)
or:
"[…], nh?" = honestly this one can be used for a lot of things, it can be used for "[…], no?", "[…], don‘t you think so?" or how the Brits use 'innit', like you‘re trying to prove a point.
(Translation for "[…], don‘t you think so?" = "[…], denkst du nicht auch so?")
I understand that when you type in a "[…], ja?" you‘re translating from the words' English equivalent which is "[…], yeah?", but again, it‘s more common to use "[…], nicht?" instead.
If you use a good mix of "[…], ja?", "[…], nicht?" and "[…], nh?" (and any other word you might want to add to the end of your sentence) instead of sticking to one throughout an entire fic, you‘ll make us Germans a bit happier.
🍙⌛️
2- If you‘re using longer sentences, and the sentences are directed at the Reader, you should clarify beforehand if the Reader is masc or fem. Why? Because a lot of words are gendered in German, so the way they’re conjugated tell us the Gender of the Person:
English: "My perfect Partner."
-> Gender neutral, the reader could be a Man, Woman, in between, on the outside, an Alien race, whatever
If you type this into google translate you get: "Mein perfekter Partner."
-> Masculine. It‘s an instant tell that the reader is a dude.
The female version would be: "Meine perfekte Partnerin."
-> Now we know instantly that this is feminine.
There is no gender neutral, German simply isn’t a language that works that way.
Can you write full sentences without using anything gendered, at all? Yes, absolutely, here‘s an example:
English: "Oh God I love you, I don‘t know what I would do without you. You‘re my everything, I‘ll do anything and everything for you."
German: "Oh Gott ich liebe dich, ich weiß nicht was ich ohne dich machen würde. Du bist mein ein und alles, ich würde alles für dich tun."
This is completely gender neutral because while typing I actively made sure to avoid using anything gendered. But I understand that this is a extremely difficult task to do so for those who don’t speak German, so if you can pull it off, you just earned my highest form of respect, but this isn’t something that us Germans expect of you as a Writer, this is just something I wanted to draw your attention to.
🐰🧳
My point is: If you do any of those two, we Germans aren’t crying about it. We won‘t stop reading the fic, we won‘t bitch about it or send you hate-mail.
We just notice it, correct the sentence in our mind, and some of us will type out the correct sentence as a comment.
I sadly don‘t have any websites that can help with the gendered words, and google translate sucks anyways, so I truly don‘t have any type of direction I could point you writers to, sorry :/
But I have said this before and I‘ll say it again, as many times as I have to: I am absolutely willing to help with the German parts, my dm‘s are always open, no I won’t think you’re annoying or abusing anything by asking me to check the German sentences you might‘ve used in your works, no I‘m not saying any of this out of courtesy, no I‘m not lying, no we don’t have to know each other, no you don’t have to deal with chit chat you can immediately hit me up with 'Hey how is this sentence?', yes I am being serious. In doubt, read this paragraph again and again.
🐚🪵
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thanksbutno98 · 8 months
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Hi!!!! I am obsessed with your John fics!!!!! So I have a idea for my comfort writer!!! Ok John has been trying to rail his wife for DAYSSS but the kids won’t let him example ( John finds his wife doing laundry in his shirt so he puts her on the dryer and they make out but as soon as he pulls his boxers down “MOMMY MY SHIRT HAS JUICE” ) John is STARVED honey so he calls his mom to take the kids for a week so John can fully indulge into his wants
Thank you so much your GORGEOUS 💗💗💗💗
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John Price x fem!reader
Warning: NSFW, porn with plot, p in v, oral, pregnancy sex, somnophilia, parental arguments, illusion to child abuse, sick child, not edited.
Authors note: I can’t get over all the amazing requests! I keep saying I’ve had fun writing but I truly mean it! I hope you enjoy this 😘
————-
John’s eyes slowly adjusted to the morning light of the bedroom. The windows were open allowing the song birds to calm his racing heart from the intense dream he’d just had. He was on his back in nothing but his boxers as he watched the drapes sway with the breeze. The smile he wore was almost as warm as your body pressed against him. John was home and safe with you in his arms. Your leg was thrown high on his thigh and you were curled into his side, head resting on his shoulder.
The smell of your sweet shampoo and the oils you applied last night before bed had John’s already tight boxers feeling suffocating. You were a woman made of stained glass and white roses with a foundation built in rod iron. A garden encapsulated and you were the sum of its parts. Somehow so soft and sweet yet unshakable, everything John desired. You were in only a silk night gown with nothing on underneath.
John had gifted this gown to you the previous night since you had been feeling a bit self conscious being three months pregnant. It wasn’t anything scandalous, you would still be able to walk around the house in the mid length silk gown with flowers decorating the soft fabric. It was something you felt cute in and comfortable, it hugged all the right places and you couldn’t help but admire yourself in the mirror for the first time in months. It was also a way of hopefully seducing you since you two had been having trouble finding a moment alone to be intimate. It was also proving challenging because of the nausea and bloating so you were not in the mood when John tried to bed you.
As soon as John had you on the brink of orgasm the previous night with your gown bunched at the hips and his head buried between your thighs, Evelyn was frantically knocking on your door. You both jumped out of bed mortified you might have been heard. You were worried something was wrong but John was frustrated with how often both your children had been getting out of bed in the middle of the night and knocking on the door.
John was so frustrated and he snapped at the six year old for getting out of bed. You were not okay with his reaction to his daughter having a nightmare and scolded him for it. After getting Evelyn back to bed John attempted to pick up where you left off but you were too annoyed at him so you went to bed. He ended up rubbing your back until you fell asleep as a way to apologize.
Now it was morning and John craved your body. He wanted your tight cunt, warm mouth, hell he’d settle for a hand job right now. With a gentle grasp John slowly rolled you on your back, watching your sleeping form stir only slightly from the movement. Crawling over you John began to pepper gentle kisses down your neck and then sloppier one’s over your collar bone. Moving slowly to your perky nipples that he could see through the thin powder blue gown.
“John.” You whispered, his name falling from your tongue as you slowly woke. Your eyes were focusing in your groggy state, seeing his messy brown hair. The realization that your husband was hovering over you and making you feel so good had your thighs spreading for him to settle between. He was only kissing you softly he hadn’t even done anything yet but you knew you needed him. Instinctively going with the motion having only been awake for seconds.
“Yes?” John shifted at the sound of your voice, moving to look up at you. You didn’t give him a chance moving your hand to his shoulder and pushing him down to the same position as the previous night.
“Don’t stop.” You told him quickly. Your words had John groaning in relief. The idea of finally getting to have you to his liking after four months was intoxicating. He didn’t know how he didn’t lose his mind or resort to jerking off this past week of being home. Your beautiful body always in reach but unattainable until now. Burying his face between your breasts John’s hands began to push your night gown up. Foreplay wasn’t on his mind he needed you wrapped around him. That was until a firm knock sounded on the door and it began to slowly open. You and John both stiffened and shuffled away from one another quickly trying to look inconspicuous.
“Mum, I threw up.” Jj peaked into your room. Seeing his father laying on his stomach with a pillow over his head and you sitting up with your hair a mess.
“Where?” You were up and moving, quickly grabbing your rob from the reading chair in the corner and throwing it on.
“The hallway. I couldn’t make it to the bathroom, I’m sorry.” Jj walked into the room looking pitiful.
“Come in here let’s take your temperature. John could you please clean that up I’m scared it’ll make me sick.” You were guiding your son by the shoulder into your en suite.
“Alright.” John grumbled moving to his feet.
“You alright J?” John asked as he slipped into a t-shirt and running shorts.
John peered into the bathroom to see you taking Jj’s temperature. The young boy was a sickly shade of green making John feel guilty for being annoyed. John sighed hating that he was being so short tempered with his children due to his own frustration. Grabbing some cleaning supplies from the bathroom John made his way into the hallway to clean up the mess.
When John woke up he didn’t think he’d be on his hands and knees wiping up the hallway floor. Honestly, he thought he would have his way with you and then reshape his muttonchops after you two took a shower. Then maybe he’d go for round two on the bathroom counter after you forced him to put lotion on his face.
————
The day seemed to be consuming you both as you and John took care of Jj, having him curled up in your bed so he could watch tv. Jj had been giving you both attitude and John gave him one warning after overhearing his son snap that you brought him the wrong juice.
Evelyn was in rare form blatantly defying all instructions and breaking any and all rules. John already took away tv for the weekend and then threatened to cancel her playdate which he ended up having to do. All because he wouldn’t let her put nail polish on him so she lost her mind for five minutes crying and saying he didn’t love her.
At one point you sat down and cried at the kitchen table being so overwhelmed by your daughter and hurt your son was being rude. John made you a cup of tea and told you he’d take Evelyn off your plate. You knew she was acting up from the lack of sleep but she was too stubborn to have a nap.
Now Evie was currently terrorizing John as he fixed the doorbell. After getting some fresh air on the patio and a walk down to the pond and back you were feeling less overwhelmed but you needed some stress relief in the form of alone time with your husband. An hour of peace and quite with each other and the ability to enjoy each others conversation and bodies would do the trick.
John screwed the last piece into the doorbell and abstained from ringing it. Evelyn had passed out on the couch after her third tantrum of the day to John’s bewilderment. He knew his daughter was a handful more often than not but she had turned into the damn devil today. His own grumpiness had rubbed off on the young girl and John was having to grapple with the fact she’d inherited one of his bad qualities. Looking back on his life John realized what his mother meant when she said he could be a terror at times.
Putting the tool box back in its spot John began searching around the house for you. Finally finding you bent over in a pair of loose cotton shorts and tank top while you loaded the dryer. The sight of you was mouth watering. Your shorts were riding up and so loose he could just see the tight white cotton wrapped around your pussy.
John couldn’t help himself, grabbing a handful of your plump bottom. The sudden touch had you jumping and squealing in surprise. Turning around quickly John was already on you. Thumbs lightly pressed into your hips and your bottom lip caught between his own. You didn’t mind what so ever wrapping your arms around John’s thick neck and kissing him back eagerly. It was hot and desperate as you let the stress of the day melt away in your husband embrace.
Both your hands wandered groping any part of the other you could reach. You were tugging on John’s short hair pulling him into you, back pressed against the dryer. John slotted his muscular thigh between your legs and you shamelessly ground your hips down onto the firm flesh. Chasing any form of friction you could get, needing to get off more than you thought imaginable and John felt the same.
Fumbling around John kicked the laundry room door shut with his foot and lifted you up so you were now sitting on the dryer. Pulling at your tank top your breasts came free and seeing them on display like that had John thinking he might just bust in his pants.
“Quick, I need you.” You mumbled against John’s lips feeling them turn up into a smile.
“Let’s make it a little more exciting.” John’s words were gravely and filled with desire as he moved to the side slightly and turned on the dryer.
The vibration of the machine sent a shock wave to your clit and had you clenching around nothing, instantly spreading your legs. The devilish smirk on John’s face was so sexy you needed him desperately. You moved the cotton shorts to the side exposing you glistening cunt and started rubbing at yourself.
John’s instinctively dipped his head down and licked a slow firm stripe up your core and then sucked on your clit for a brief moment. His facial hair had gotten a little long so it left a rough burn on the sensitive skin but you didn’t mind. Throwing your head back you breathed in sharply, rolling your hips forward but nothing was there. John was then pulling down his pants and lining himself up, his cock head smacking into your clit three times before John pushed in. He was excited and needy for you, knowing he might only last a minute or two. He didn’t spare a second thought fully submerging his length in your tight heat. You both groaned in ecstasy. John from the tightness and you from the stretch.
“MUM!” Jj’s shouted from the top of the stairs. The mood coming crashing down for what felt like the millionth time. John knew instantly the shouting had woken up his daughter.
“Fuck.” John cursed quickly pulling out and then fastening his pants back into place.
You couldn’t help the the pitiful sigh that left your lungs but you could see John was seething in anger. You kissed his cheek sweetly and hugged him from where you sat on the dryer. John rested his head on your shoulder as he let your comforting embrace cool his temper.
“Mum!” Jj yelled louder this time and you could tell he was downstairs now. John was ready to reprimand him but you answered first.
“Doing laundry.” You called hoping off the dryer and gathering yourself. Pulling your shirt and bra back into place. John leaned down and kissed your forehead his pupils still blown with lust.
“God, damn it.” John mumbled the two of you sharing a disappointed look. You only shrugged, all too use to being needed at a moments notice.
“We’ll find time tonight. We also need to talk about the attitude problem today. They’ve been horrible since we mentioned I’m pregnant.” You smiled sadly.
It was getting to the point you were ready to lay down in bed feeling utterly defeated. Since the mention of your pregnancy both your children had started acting up daily. You and John had hardly been able to do a single thing for yourselves as of late and today was just the cherry on top. This was the worst behavior you’d ever seen from your normally polite children.
That was it. John had reached his breaking point and he needed to have you to himself. The bratty behavior from both of his kids had him ready to snap. To have his own children giving you such a hard time while you were pregnant made John’s blood boil. This was suppose to be an exciting and blissful time.
John wanted to sweep you away from this craziness and pamper you and remind you how loved you were by him. He was also tired of being interrupted, or having to stay quiet or only have a quickie. He wanted to enjoy you from head to toe. Take his time and hear you call out his name and scream from pleasure. John wanted you both to have the space and time to indulge in the others desires. To make love and connect in that way again.
“I need to make a call.” John was heading out of the side door of the laundry room that lead out to the driveway. You were a bit taken off guard at how quickly he left but you brushed it off. You assumed he was just as frustrated as you.
“Mum?” Jj was now in the kitchen. With a deep breath you opened the laundry room door and smiled at the young boy.
“What’s up?” You walked out into the kitchen to see Jj dressed in normal clothes. He was sick he should be in his pajamas and in bed.
“I feel better. Can I go play with Will?” Jj was already putting his shoes on by the back door before you’d given an answer.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Maybe tomorrow.” You forced the smile, not feeling that empathetic towards the eight year old anymore.
“Mum.” Jj looked at you exasperated. Then went back to tying his shoes. “It’ll just be for a little.”
“Jj, I said no.” You put your foot down, using your most stern voice to get your point across. It was such a hard day you felt yourself ready to lose your temper. It would just take one more rude comment and you felt it coming.
“C’mon, pleaseee. You always ruin the fun.” Jj whined. His words instantly hurt your feelings considering you had been doting on him all day and now he was down here giving you attitude. You felt your face flush red and you were heating up to reprimand your son.
“Oi, enough of that. Your grandmother is on her way to watch you two. Your mum and I need a break.” John was stepping through the open back door having heard his sons bad attitude.
“A break from what?” Evelyn’s voice came from the doorway as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She looked annoyed and ready to cause trouble with her bed head.
“Your tantrums.” John pointed at Evelyn.
“And your attitude. Apologize to your mother right now.” John demanded now standing a foot away from his son. John was angrier than you’d ever seen him with your children. You knew John was huge on respect and this was not going to fly with him. Honestly you admired how patient he’d been all day and it reminded you how much he’d grown as a person.
“What why! She’s the one being mean.” Jj half shouted pointing at you and giving you an accusatory stare.
“Johnathan Paul Price, apologize.” John was not messing around anymore. His authoritative tone on full display as he prepared to start enacting consequences.
“Why?” Jj asked through gritted teeth. He’d never looked more like his father.
“Your mum has been nothing but sweet and patient with both of you. And you think it’s okay to tell her she’s ruins fun after waiting on you hand and foot today? Or you, Evie. Kicking and screaming until your mum cries. All because she didn’t scramble your eggs the right way.” John’s voice had reached an octave so deep it sounded like he chain smoked cigars for the past two days. You knew in that moment that’s how he spoke to those in his command in the military.
“John, maybe we should-“
“No Y/N.” John looked to you seriously showing he had made up his mind on his next actions.
“I want you both upstairs and in your rooms, now. And if I hear one more word out of either of you that isn’t ‘sorry’ we’ll be outside doing yard work until the sun sets.” John’s face was scrunched in anger. Both of your children wide eyed with blank expressions as they listened to their father intently.
They knew he wasn’t bluffing having both been subject to helping their dad with yard work. That was one thing you did appreciate about John was if he used yard work as a punishment he’d be right outside with them the whole time having them help him. He would tell you ‘it builds character’ and you couldn’t disagree. Usually after weeding the garden or tending to the chickens both kids were on their best behavior.
“Sorry, mum.” Jj conceded immediately. Then turning to his little sister and nodding his head for her to do the same.
“Sorry, mummy.” Evelyn spoke sheepishly. You blinked rapidly a little taken aback.
“Okay.” Was all you said. You couldn’t accept the apologizes not when you were feeling so taken for granted.
“Upstairs.” John ordered and both children did not look back as they scurried up to Jj’s room to debrief about their father being so cross with them.
“Let’s pack a bag, I’m taking you away for the night.”
—————
“This is amazing” you muttered as you turned the radio down. The neon green light illuminating the dark cabin of the beat up truck.
John was relaxed back in the drivers seat as you two pulled out of the driveway. John’s mom had come and rescued you two from home and would be staying the night. She complimented you on how tidy the house was which was a surprise to you. You made it very clear that the children had been acting up and Mary confidently told you they would be on their best behavior by morning.
You didn’t quite know what that entailed but John promised it was nothing more than he experienced as a child. Not exactly something you were confident in but you let it be. Mary never laid a hand on her children (that was her husbands job) so you knew she’d find a creative way to reprimand them. Much like John did, with her she most likely had them help with house chores.
“Do you want to go straight to the hotel or have dinner first?” John asked with a content smile. Finally having you to himself felt amazing. It almost felt like he was ten years younger with you on his arm, completely infatuated with each other. Now he could be greedy and talk about whatever he wanted, flirt with you shamelessly, and remind you how sexy you were to him.
“I’m starving, mind if we get food first?” You asked with doe eyes and an innocent look on your face. Biting the corner of your bottom lip you were batting your eyelashes up at the mutton chopped man. You knew what you were doing and that was winding your husband up. He couldn’t resist when you were submissive and acting all innocent like some bashful virgin.
“Uh- you sure darling?” John asked glancing over at you. His ego instantly sky rocketed as you nodded oh so sweetly at him. That timid gaze was intoxicating, John was convince that’s how you hooked him in to you.
“Please, John.” You used the seductive voice you normally reserved for the bedroom. John gulped feeling quite flustered at your innocent flirting. His jeans becoming impossibly tight under your gaze.
“Of course.” John grunted trying to keep his composure. He had a feeling you were teasing him but he wasn’t too sure. You just being yourself was enough of a tease so he never wanted to assume.
“Mind if I?” You asked as you reached over and placed your finger on the buckle of his belt. John’s eyes glanced between you, his pants, and the road rapidly.
“Please.” John grunted turning his attention fully on the road. He would need to concentrate if he thought what was about to happen, happened.
Slowly you unbuckled his belt, then unzipped his jeans. John had been hard since you gave him that doe eyed look moments ago. Your fingers grazed over his taunt abdomen as you tugged his jeans and boxers down. Lifting his hips you were allowed to wiggle his jeans down ungracefully until his thick length bounced out and into the cool air conditioning.
“Need help?” You asked innocently loving how your husband was trying to keep his eyes on the road. John’s face was already flushed and you loved how his fingers drummed against the steering wheel in anticipation. You could see the love and desire in his eyes.
Slowly you wrapped your hand around his impressive length and then began to stroke him at the pace you knew he loved. Twisting your wrist right before his swollen head. John groaned loudly and deeply. Eyes flickering down as you bowed your head and spat on his length
“Fuck, darling.” John muttered and you sat back up and spread your saliva around. Lounging back in your seat as you watched his stoic expression falter.
Once his entire member was fully slick you pumped his insanely hard length at a rapid pace. You felt your panties flood as John’s jaw went slack and his face looked like he was already fucked out of his mind. He was panting and groaning as you worked him in your talented hand. Tightening your grip then loosening it making him whimper. John loved the feeling of tightness around his length and you were teasing him as he drove you two to the restaurant you’d decided on.
“John?” You asked. Continuing to pump your hand quickly, your arm begining to ache at the prolonged movement. You loved how heavy his cock felt in your small hand.
“D-don’t. Don’t do that thing.” John paused trying to gather himself as you slowed your hand down and massaged the head of his cock.
“That thing where. Y-you make me ha-ve a conversation.” John groaned when you started to pump his length at the quickest pace you had tonight. Doing everything in your power to get him off quickly.
“Room service sounds good. Maybe we should go to the hotel.” You whispered. Your husband visibly sighed at your push to go to the hotel. Thanking his lucky stars the restaurant was only down the street.
“I-m clo-“ John couldn’t finish his sentence.
Watching as you bent down with your face moving towards his lap. Your mouth was wrapped around him now and you pushed down as far as you could take. His thick cock head angling awkwardly in this position as you sucked him tight and hard. John gasped at the warm sensation of our mouth. Your teeth accidentally grazed across the base of his shaft and John bucked his hips up not even realizing what was about to happen until it was too late. He spilled into your mouth with so much forces he gasped out and was accelerating down the dark road. You smiled happily and swallowed every last bit of his spend. Listening to every little moan and gasp making your core ache for him. Loving how he praised you and promised you anything you ever wanted. John was a panting mess as you pulled off and he pulled into the hotel parking lot.
“Think you needed that.” You smiled whipping your mouth. A devilish grin across your face as you watched your husband come down from his high.
“I’ll do anything you want, darling.” John was still heavy breathing with his eyes blown with lust and his cock slowly softening in his lap. He had a love struck expression as he pulled into the first spot he could find and turned to you with an expectant look.
“Then make love to me.” You smiled glancing down and watching as John’s previously softening cock began to stiffen again.
“Go check in, I’ll grab the bags.”
—————-
John’s eyes shot open as he felt the tight familiar sensation in his balls before an orgasm. Groaning loudly he couldn’t quite put two and two together. Was he about to bust from a wet dream? Where was he? On base? Sharing bunks and deployed? John breathed in sharply and held in what his body was doing to him as he took in his surroundings.
John went cross eyed for a second at how amazing his cock felt in whatever was happening. He bit his inner cheek to focus before his eyes began to adjust in the dark hotel room. Shifting up to rest on his forearms John saw you. His gorgeous wife bowed at his waist and sucking his thick length eagerly. Your hair was messy as you bobbed your head quickly. Your hand stroking what you couldn’t fit down your throat
You knew John had woken up from the impeding orgasm that was about to rush through him. Glancing up you made eye contact with the blue eyed, dazed and sleepy Brit. Giving him doe eyes and a confident wink he released in your mouth with a choked moan and ragged breath. It was so intense his abs quaked and legs spasmed at the intense pleasure.
“F-uck.” John collapsed back into the pillows. His hand now in your hair and snagging you a little too roughly off him. The last bit of his thick white spend leaking out of his swollen tip. You couldn’t help but lick him clean with his hand gripping your hair painfully.
“Ow.” You mumbled at the tug of your hair. Johns grip was gone as soon as you voiced the discomfort.
“Sorry, I.” John was still trying to gather himself at being woken up to such an erotic and pleasurable scene. This was something you both agreed upon in the relationship. That waking the other up with oral was too hot to not take advantage of.
“It’s okay.” You were crawling over your husband and sitting in his lap now. Staring down at the dreamy eyed man, the pair of you stark naked. He normally looked so gruff and stoic but right now he looked at peace.
“Am I dreaming?” John asked. His eyes glued to your face and ignoring your exposed form. He couldn’t help but reach up and lightly cup your face with his right hand. Brushing his thumb over your cheek.
“No.” You shook your head and smiled softly, resting your cheek is his calloused palm. Running your fingers through his thick hair and scratching at his scalp. He hummed in satisfaction.
“I have to be. I only get you like this in my dreams. When I’m thousands of miles away.” John looked love struck as his other hand massaged the flesh of your thigh. It didn’t matter how many years you’d been together. John had fallen in love with you more and more every day.
“You’re here with me.” You whispered in the still air of the hotel room.
“I’m the luckiest man alive.” The quite morning had the room filling with electricity as you traced the scar along John’s chest.
“How lucky?” You asked. John replied by swiftly rolling over and softly pinning you beneath his rugged frame. You squealed, laughing and eyes sparkling with want.
“No man is worthy of you, my love. Yet, a woman as divine as yourself has settled for me.” John captured your lips with his kissing you gently and with so much love and passion. It was as if you were melting in to each other, hearts beating in time.
“I haven’t settled.” You breathed out. Eyes fluttering shut as your husband slowly kissed down your neck and to the valley of your breasts.
“Hush, let me take care of you.” John’s words were muffled against your supple skin as his lips lightly attached to your nipple. His other hand gliding down your soft skin and grasping your knee so he could spread your legs further apart. The gentle touches had you sighing in pleasure until John’s lips met the skin just above your naval. You tensed instantly feeling self conscious at the growing bump. It had just become noticeable and John had been showering your changing body with compliments.
“You’re gorgeous.” Looking down you could see John staring up at you intently. His thumbs caressing your belly lovingly as he planted another kiss below your naval. His nose rubbed against your soft skin as he placed his forehead against your belly. He stayed like that for a moment with his head bowed as if he was praying.
“I love you.” The words were whispered and gentle. Not meant for you but for who this child would be. Caressing your finger against John’s coarse facial hair you sighed as he went back kissing down your body. Your heart swelled with love as your husband continued to make love to you like he promised he would.
“John I just want y-“ you paused as your husband mouth eagerly started to lap at your cunt. You were expecting him to scold you for being self conscious but he didn’t and for some reason that had the clawing insecurities fading away. There was no rush so John took his time, making you feel beautiful. Lapping at your slick folds and then fucking his tongue into you while his thumb drew steady circles over your clit. John stayed like that for what felt like a lifetime, slowly bringing you to your high.
“John, I want you. Please.” The words came out high pitched as your husbands rough fingers pressed into you and hit that spot inside you that made you go cross eyed. He loved how your heat wrapped around his fingers, knowing it would feel better around his cock.
“One moment, darling.” John grunted. Placing feather light kisses against your swollen clit. You didn’t have a moment you wanted him now and had no problem with being pushy about it. Tugging roughly as John’s hair you spoke again.
“Now.” You commanded.
“Being a bit bratty are we?” John fingers slid out of your sopping folds as he crawled on top of you. His hard cock brushing against your thighs.
“For once, do as I say.” The smile you wore had John chuckling lightly.
“Of course, darling.” John spoke against your lips kissing you eagerly.
Pumping his thick length a few times John lined himself up and pushed forward. Bottoming out in one fluid motion, eliciting a load moan from you. The stretch to your sore cunt felt amazing. You could feel the thick vein that ran up the underside of your husbands thick shaft. His swollen head dragging against the deepest parts of you.
John didn’t waist time, immediately setting a slow pace as he tried to get at deep as possible. The both you you moaning into the other mouth as you kissed each other sloppily. Each thrust had you seeing stars. Wrapping your arms around John’s neck you hugged him close to you. Using the leverage to help roll your hips in time. The motion had your husbands picking up the pace his free hand weaving between your bodies and finding your clit; his other hand laced in your hair. John thumbed over the sensitive bundle of nerves until you were a moaning mess beneath him.
“Love those sounds.” John grunted trying to angle his hips perfectly.
Honestly, he was a bit out of practice so it took a few thrusts until his thick cock pummeled into that squishy spot inside you. The stretch and precision of John’s thrust had you wailing in pleasure. You didn’t hold back a single noise repeating his name like a mantra. Head devoid of thoughts as your ground your hips in time the tightening in your belly finally snapping. You came with a chocked sob. The waves of pleasure tearing you apart.
The way you tightened around John had him shifting so he could fuck into you the way he wanted. Leaning back so he was kneeling on the bed John picked you up by your hips, settling you in his lap. Your shoulders stayed pressed into the unfamiliar white sheets as you were balanced against John’s hips. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from your husbands burly chest, auburn hair decorating his pectoral muscles and trailing down to where your bodies met. The taunt muscles of his biceps flexing as he continued to hold you in place and thrust into you at a sloppy quick pace.
“You going to cum, John?” You taunted between moans and ragged breaths. John didn’t answer he instead gave you a quick hard thrust that almost knocked the wind out of you.
“What can’t speak?” John taunted right back. And he was right you couldn’t speak from all the pleasure. He had reduced you to a babbling mess begging for him to make you cum again. John watched your tits bounce with each thrust which only encouraged him.
“Rub that pretty little clit for me.” John’s gruff voice was dark and commanding.
You listened and nodded your head eagerly, drunk of the pleasure and knowing that if you were obedient John would happily make you cum. Rubbing at yourself until you were quaking in his lap you both locked eyes. The pair of you watched the others fucked out expression. With a few more deep thrusts you were tumbling over the edge and taking John with you. The pair of you let out a chorus of moans as you became a vice grip around John’s girth and he spilled himself inside of your quivering cunt. John fell forward, one hand steady on your hip and the other by your head as he dipped down and kissed you sloppily. Panting against each other you took your time to catch your breath.
“We need to do this more often.” Your words were slurred from how exhausted you felt.
“We will.” John rolled onto his back taking you with him. You laid there in blissful silence, curled up in John’s strong arms. He whispered how much you meant to him and you allowed his words to drape over you like a blanket.
—————
“We’re home!” John called from the back door as he kicked his boots off and set the overnight bag down.
“Johnny, I need to have a word with you.” John’s mom was bustling down the hallway with a mean look.
“Are the kids okay?” You asked a bit worried by the look on Mary’s face. The glare she shot you had you stepping behind John, a bit frightened.
“Where are the kids?” John asked. Giving you a reassuring nod to not worry.
“Upstairs, they’re cleaning their rooms. Outside, now.” Mary was gesturing for John so shuffle outside with her to have a moment to chat in private.
“I think we can all talk about whatever’s on your mind.” John stated rather annoyed at this display.
“Fine then.” Mary huffed.
“Mary whats wrong?” You asked. Convinced the kids had terrorized her.
“You.” She stuck her finger in your face. You were so startled by the action you instinctively took a step back. A hand moving quickly to your belly.
“Woah, mum.” John was instantly stepping between you two. Now having a good idea as to what his mother was upset about.
“Pregnant? When my Johnnys away overseas. You can’t be a fool John.” Mary was seething, absolutely enraged. Your face went red at the accusation and you went to speak. Before the words could leave your mouth John was belly laughing.
“Mum, Y/N hasn’t done anything wrong. Now, how about I spare the details and we drop it.” The confident smile John wore felt a bit misplaced in this tense situation.
“How far along are you?” Mary demanded.
“Three months.” You croaked out. John was still lightly chuckling to himself. You weren’t sure if there was any humor to be found in this situation but John seemed to have found it.
“Johnathan, don’t be dense-“
“Remember how Y/N went on that dig three months ago. Well it wasn’t to far from base. And with a truck and a cramped back seat wel-“
“John, enough!” You we’re red in the face now. Lightly pinching his side to get him to stop explaining the conception of your growing baby.
“How, unbecoming!” Mary half shouted at John’s crude words. You could see the embarrassment wash over her face at her sons admission.
“We are married. It’s not too far fetched.” John was grinning as if this was something to be proud of.
“I am your mother. Watch it!” Mary now had her finger in John’s unflinching face.
“Mary, I don’t appreciate being accused of cheating.” You mustered up the courage to let her know her wrong doing. Her eyes shifted to you and watched as the gears in her head turned.
“Well, I’m sorry darling. It just seemed that way.“ the admission rolled off her tongue with ease.
“We were worried about that.” You admitted.
“I am sorry.” Without warning Mary hugged you tightly.
“Ah, this is going to be my last grandchild. Evie’s going to be so jealous. Unless you plan on having more?”
“Absolutely not this is the last one.” You insisted.
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cherry-leclerc · 1 month
Text
method acting ☆ cl16
genre: series - humor, strangers to friends/roommates, fluff, smut, denial of feelings
word count: 4.6k
nsfw warning under the cut!
18+...f!receiving, fingering, dry humping
cherry here!... seeing as we're basically at the end, i will go ahead and say that this series has been based off of Roman Holiday! c'mon now guyssss - enjoy the spiciness ;)
ch. one ch. two ch. three ch. four ch. five
Chapter 4
Life, as you fear, is falling apart as you're confronted with a serious case of writer's block that puts your career on the line. As a solution, you're roommate helps you plan a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a much needed break but it doesn't take long for you to meet a certain Monegasque who lays passed out on the beach.
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If there was a reasonable explanation of a frog finding a home deep inside your throat, then you would somehow understand because at this moment, it sure felt like it. Charles doesn’t do much apart from blinking at an extremely slow pace. You knew that day that you should have turned the other way, but like always, your curious mannerism won. Here were the consequences and now you had to deal with them. Your lips part, ready to aim meaningless excuses but instead release a shaky breath, finding it hard to make eye contact with his soft orbs.
“How did you find out?”
A stupid question, you knew that, but there wasn’t much to say. It was motifying enough now that you knew, he knew. “You remember how I always beg you to wash your hand every time you finish eating those little chocolates you like?” His lips curl. “You must have forgotten to do so the night before.”
Heat rushes all throughout your body as you come to a halt. His accent emerges with no trace of anger, but rather embarrassment of his own. Shame. Noticing you’ve stopped, he turns back to face you, only a few steps marking a distance between you two. “I don’t know what else to say other than sorry.” A sudden urgency zaps through your veins as you walk closer to him, broken cobblestones rubbing against your shoes. “That was something private and I crossed the line, Charles. Y-you don’t understand how sorry I am.”
A lazy shrug is all you receive from him as he sheepishly smiles though there’s a downcast to the act. “You don’t need to apologize. I should.” His words make you blink with confusion. No you don’t. Green eyes flicker onto the pavement before connecting back to your dreadful ones. “No, I do. I haven’t been honest.”
He visibly gulps, strong Adam’s Apple dancing its way up and down. “I’m sure you know by now. Considering you read it.” Sharp nose twitches, fingers drumming against his thigh. “But I want to hear it from you.”
Further heat rises as you furrow your brows. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth. From what you read in between those pages, who am I to you?”
Flashes of his messy handwriting scribble its way into your fuzzy brain. Entries where he would talk about the hydraulics, whatever that meant, to depressive episodes he tries perfecting to keep out of sight. It’s sweet, raw, funny, and you ruined it for him.
“You’re just Charles. A man who enjoys spending his time playing piano, even if he can’t curve his fingers in time to hit the right notes. The one who proceeds to chuck an apple at…” You nibble on your lips, mind digging into the deepest delves as you try to remember. “Joris’ head?”
Pink blush feathers onto his cheeks as he bites his tongue. “You read that?”
A soft giggle erupts. “It was pretty entertaining.” He chuckles, but there is evidence that he was pleased by your answer. You find yourself wanting to continue. “A brunette who likes to tease a city girl when it comes to the amount of sweets she eats.” A lot, he snickers as you bite the air. “Someone who cares enough to take me on walks when I need it to calm down. Even if I don’t know it myself.” A pause. “You’re not some snotty F1 driver who brags out to the rest of the world how rich and famous he is. You’re clumsy, hilarious at an unhealthy amount that makes me think I can form a six pack without ever stepping foot in the gym, and you’re the kindest man I’ve ever met.”
Charles’ heart does an unfamiliar dip as he takes in your breathless state, as if someone’s just saved you from drowning. His feelings lunge towards you as he feels your genuine honestly. You weren’t just telling him what you thought he needed to hear, no, you were spilling it all out as if it were the easiest thing you’ve done in your entire life.
He feels stupid for keeping this from you, thinking you would betray him in some sick and twisted way. That you would think differently - treat him differently - if you knew how many zero’s took place in his net worth. How could he have ever doubted you?
Suddenly your eyes shine a little brighter, as if that were possible. Your lips blossomed into the prettiest shade of pink as you sheepishly smiled back at him. Your aroma quickly becomes his favorite scent in the world and he wishes for nothing more than for you to look at him the exact same way he looked at you. 
“I’m really glad we met.”
Your smile widens. “Lo stesso qui.”
-
The opportunity had presented itself, landed right in the palm of your hand. The universe gave you a chance…and you blew it. Your initial thought was that you, too, would come clean, but as soon as he started moving his lips and opening up to a level you never imagined you would ever reach, you pushed it further into the back of your mind. And now days have passed and it was just weird and awful that you never mentioned it in the first place. 
Times like these, you wish you had your cheerful friend to tell you what to do. Dialing her number, you patiently wait for her to pick up. Hello? The taste of home makes your heart warm as you beam. “Amelia, it's me.” A loud pitched scream flies into your ear as you pull your phone away. “I’m aware I’m missable, but there’s not need for you to-”
“I’m engaged!”
Your jaw drops, clumsy fingers navigating to press on FaceTime. The blond answers straight away, stunning diamond already being shown off as you gasp. “You’re fucking shitting me? Amelia Thompson! You’re about to be locked down for life.”
Your friend happily shrugs before hopping up and down. “This is cra- insane. This is insane. Isn’t it insane?” It’s actually very sane if you ask me. You two are meant for one another. Two peas in a pod. Her smile widens as she scrunches her nose in a playful manner. “I mean I just thought this wouldn’t happen for another year or so, but then he took me to that little park we love to go on Sunday’s and then a bird attacked him and th-”
“Back up, a bird attacked Roman?”
“Oh yeah,” she firmly states, red lips pursed as if to refrain from releasing a loud laugh. “It was a whole thing…”
Sitting there and listening to Amelia rant all the while Roman smiles as if he’s never seen a better encounter in his entire life, it suddenly hits you. Pangs your heavy chest. You were happy for the couple, over the moon, but you couldn’t help but mourn the end of an era. It only seems as if a few years ago you two were tugging heavy suitcases into your empty apartment. It would only be so long before she eventually moves out, leaving you alone. And it's not just that, but now you realize how lonely you’ve been these past few years since all you’ve ever done is dedicate your heart and soul into proving to be something you desperately wanted to be. 
“Helloooo?”
Snapping out of your self pity, you blink rapidly. “Sorry.” You release a content sigh, swooning as you nuzzle your head into the crook of your elbow as you press your face against the fancy marble. “I’m so happy for you both, really.” But? “But I’m jealous Roman gets to keep my roommate. I was here first.”
Amelia giggles. “You’ll forever be my favorite roomie. Plus, Roman kicks in his sleep so it's only a matter of time before I hit him with the divorce.”
It’s only after you two hang up that you realize you still hold everything inside your chest. Sighing, you make your way out to the terrace, hoping to find some peace and tranquility. Instead you find the Monegasque blaring rock music as he does yoga. 25/50 of what you were looking for. 
“Does this actually help you relax?”
Like a cat jumping out of its skin, Charles yelps as he hears your voice. He clutches his chest. “Does that answer your question?” The corners of your lips turn upward. He squinted at you, head pointing towards the house. “Good news?”
“Very. Amelia and Roman are getting married.”
His lips stretch into a sincere smile as he stands up straight. “That’s great.” Nodding, you tug your own mat as you begin to stretch. His stomach flips at the simple act. 
“She deserves it. They both do.”
Even as the music blares at an alarming rate that should have you worried for your hearing, you don’t move an inch and neither does he. With slight hesitance, the brunette licks his lips. “And how are you feeling?” You blink, suddenly losing balance as you plant your bare feet. Me? He nods. “You have feelings too, right?”
“I mean, do I really have the right to say anything else other than I’m glad my friends are finally tying the knot?” Floppy curls fling forward as he pretends to nudge your shoulder with it. You bite back a grin before you twirl into a soft frown. “I’m a bit sad.” A small click coming from him is enough for you to continue. “I guess I’m just not used to being alone. Amelia has been with me for as long as I can remember.”
“And she’ll always be there, you know? Only now, she’ll have a different last name and shiny ring.”
You roll your eyes. “What I mean is that it's starting to hit me. How far I’ve fallen behind in the dating category. All those times I’ve been asked out, I pushed them all away because I either had too much work or wanted to spend time with my friends. Now they’re getting married and I’m just kind of…here. I wish I knew what I was turning down.”
The Monegasque lets out a light whistle, fingers snapping as he stares off into the distance. “I would like to pretend that I don’t know what you mean, but I do. Racing is everything to me - it’s what makes me happy - but that won’t always be there. It's a scary thought to have, I know, but that's the way the world works. We need to grow up even after we’ve grown up. It’s a thing that continues for a lifetime and ends with death.”
Your eyes widen with alarm as you gasp at his gloomy perspective. What if you were still wasting time? For sure you still were, but what were you doing with your life? You’re just a broke girl who forms relationships with people you love to spend time with only to use their words for your benefit. A dark chuckle roars from your roommate as he quirks his head. Don’t get too freaked out. “Don’t scare me then.”
Charles shrugs nonchalantly. “You’ll meet someone soon. Someone who will love you as much as you love your piles of junk food.” You aim a sour scowl. He snickers, but continues. “And you’ll realize that all the worrying was for nothing.” The soft sound of waves crashing fills the silence. “But please invite me to the wedding.”
There’s a soft glow to you when you let out a bittersweet smile. “You promise you would go?”
“I thought I made that clear when I said I would go wherever you are.”
Your breath hitches, a gust of wind nearly knocking you down just as efficiently to his meaningful words. Forcing yourself to look away, you press your lips into a fine line, head bobbing in understandment. He shifts. “Teach me a few poses?” you ask, signaling to the mat. 
Let me taste your silhouette. You can talk between my legs.
“Oh um,” he stutters, red painting his entire face, briskly reaching to turn the music down. You suppress a giggle as you stare back blankly, lips occasionally wobbling, threatening to let out a teasing smile. “I-I-I don’t usually hear music like this. I m-mean - I do - but…it helps me relax.”
Giving up, your lips stretch, eyes crinkling with amusement. “You get more interesting day by day, Charles Leclerc.”
-
It’s now Monday and you still haven’t met your word count. It should be easy, you have lots of useful information, but every single time your fingers glaze over the mocking letters, you only think about how terrible of a friend this all makes you. And it’s as if Eleanor knows your lack of work, lengthy emails entering your inbox with daily reminders about your due date. It doesn’t help either that the green eyed boy keeps reminding you about the last two weeks you two have together. 
“I’ve just gotten so used to you,” he pronounces as he cuts up fresh peaches. “It’s going to feel wrong not seeing you often.”
Your fingers come to a halt. “Let’s just not think about it. How about a round of Truth or Dare?” You wiggle your brows. “Game?”
“Game.”
“Truth or Dare?” Dare, he eagerly spits out, anticipation evident. “Okay. What does the golden pin actually stand for?”
He scrunches a teasing brow. “You really thought this one through - used your brain. I’m impressed.” You hiss, pen barely missing his head. He cackles nonetheless at your childish behavior. “It’s sort of the same thing as I told you that day. He did say to go retrieve it when I got a Ferrari.”
Now it’s your turn to bunch your neat brows. “But you already own a Ferrari.” A slow smirk paints your lips. “Oh! You want to brag!”
“No,” he scolds. “Would you let me finish?” Relaxing against the pillows, you nod. “When I got a Ferrari championship. Only then could go get this mysterious horse. I think he thought I could do it.”
Your heart twists as you note his wretched smile. “Do you think you can?”
He sighs. “I’m actually not sure. Y’know when I first joined the team, I really thought I could. I mean, everyone around me was telling me how great I was, how my long contract must have meant I was extremely worthy. Now all I get are pity stares. High expectations that have me second guessing everything.” He turns to you. “But then the church was about to be demolished, so I had to go get it regardless.”
Licking your dry lips, you nibble before releasing. “I know you can do it. He might not be here to let you know anymore, but I am. And I know you can.” A beat. “Is that why you gave it to me?”
The brunette winces before tilting his head. “I don’t deserve it.”
In a single movement, you hurriedly crawl over to him as you slap him. Suddenly he’s on high alert as he grabs his cheek in pain. What the fuck? You smile sheepishly. “Don’t you dare say shit like that, Charles Leclerc. You have to believe in yourself the same way you did when you were a kid…I’m keeping the pin.”
His gaze darkens. “Oh, so you don’t believe I’m going to ever get a Championship either?”
“Don’t be stupid. I know you will, but I’ll take care of it for you. That way you have something to work for. I’ll be your temple,” you offer as he quirks a brow. 
“My temple?”
You hum. “They’re knocking down the other, so I’ll take over. And I’m just letting you know right now that I’m not giving it up that easily. You have to work really fucking hard.”
Charles’ pulse speeds at your determination and belief, so much so, that a certain kind of pride that had left him long ago returned. He could do this, he could win. He would win. Even if it killed him. An unknown flicker strikes his green eyes as your stomach churns.
“You’re not like the others I’ve met…” He grabs your hand, making you flinch in surprise. “I’m going to do it. For you.”
It’s as if he stole your breath away as you struggle to regain your composure. “...And for him.” His grin never once melts away as he squints a shy eye, lashes fluttering. That was implied, too. You’re the first to pull away as you purse your lips. “Your turn. I pick Dare.” 
The Monegasque coughs. “I dare you to tell me a secret.”
Your smile falters. “Don’t you think you have to work for it? I can’t just give it up like that.” Shaking your head and crossing your arms, you pout. 
“Oh, come on! It could be any. Your pick.”
“How generous,” you murmur. “I dented your car.”
He gapes, eyes zigzagging as he forces a smile. “No, you said it was a little boy who kicked a soccer ball.”
You wince. “I was trying to back out of the driveway to go get us some donuts and I wasn’t looking and next thing I knew…” You’re rambling for sure. “It’s not that bad?”
Charles groans. “I told off the first little kid who passed by with a soccer ball, thank you for that.”
You shriek. “Liar! No! What did you say?”
A smirk slithers onto his face. “I’m totally kidding, I knew it was you.”
“But-”
“I heard when it happened - it’s what woke me up in the first place. I stood up to check and saw you driving away.”
“I’m sorry,” you chirp. “You shouldn’t have left the key out like that for me to grab! So if you really think about it, it’s kind of your fault.”
“Of course it is,” he pressed with amusement. “I forgive pretty easily, so I’ll let you off the hook.” Your palms sweat with uneasiness. “Your turn. I pick Truth.”
It’s as if you’ve suddenly become extremely dehydrated as you blink back blankly. “Got a crush on anyone back home?”
“Skip.”
This gets you curious as you arch your brow. The Monegasque goes to extreme lengths to avoid eye contact. “You have to answer, that’s not how the game works. I promise I won’t tease.”
Long fingers drum against his lap as he whips his head, shaggy hair brushing along his face. “Maybe so, but I’m using my free pass.”
You let out a heavy heave. “What are you talking about?”
“Remember I gave you a free pass when we first played Truth or Dare by the shore and I said I would only let you skip if I got one of those in return? Okay, well, I’m using it now.”
“Wha- that’s not fair! That was so long ago, it doesn’t even count.”
He chuckles. “Yes it does.”
With a sour expression, you huff and cross your arms. “Fine. I don’t want to play anymore.”
“You’re choice.”
-
The remainder of the day was spent with you locked away and Charles on a business call. Now that you knew what he was hiding, it was easier for him to get some work done. Either way, it worked out because before you knew it, you were nearly done. And he was clearly bothered.
“Looks like someone chewed your ear off.”
The Monegasque cringes at the brutal image as he sighs. “Do we have any more ice cream?”
“Nope. Finished it last night.” Analyzing his tense shoulders, you step closer to him as you tilt your head. “It won’t help you get over whatever’s on your mind, though. Want to talk about it?”
He extends his long legs underneath the table, head rolling back as he groans. You shiver, a pool forming in between your legs at the sight. Your body’s reaction feels filthy as you shake your thoughts away. “I was on the phone with my manager. They signed the contract. They actually did it.” He squeezes his eyes in disbelief. 
“What contract?”
The brunette finally opened his green orbs, annoyance circling them. “Looks like I’m getting a new partner.”
This comes as a complete shock to you as you make your way to an open chair. “When? Who?”
“Starting 2025. Lewis Hamilton.” Kicking an empty chair away, he grunts. “Oh my God, and here I was thinking I had a chance…” He laughs hysterically. “A chance.”
Seeing him so distraught made your stomach hurt as you shook your head along with him. “I don’t see how this is a bad thing…change is good, no?”
A soft chuckles flies past him as he angles his head to catch your puppy lost state. “First of all, I really enjoyed having Carlos as a teammate. We worked well together. Second of all, compare me - a twenty six year old with five wins in his entire career - to a seven time World Champion.” His shoulders droop. “Who do you think is going to get all the attention and support from the team?”
Your lips part, then snap back shut. He smiles, already shrugging it all off. “It was doomed from the start, I don’t know why I’m so surprised.” Loopy eyes hug your sympathetic ones. “I just don’t want to let you down.”
Frowning hard, you tsk your tongue. “I have a feeling it’s impossible for you to do that. You’ve got this, have a little faith.” Slipping away from your seat, you stand next to his exhausted state, where his body continues to hang like a wet dog. “Will it be easy? No, probably not. But the best things take work. It makes it worth it all at the very end. You’ll see, Charles.”
“How is it that you have so much hope in me?” he whispered meekly, face slightly pale.
Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you raise your shoulders high. “Because I’m a firm believer that you will accomplish yours and your father’s dream. And I know what you’re feeling, I’ve been on that same boat before, I’m quite familiar.” I sort of still am, you conscious barks back. 
For a moment, he lays still, green eyes taking you in, low breaths. Everything about this situation made you feel like a kettle, ready to cry out. There was something so intimate and raw with the way he was looking at you. As if you hung the stars up for him. You’ve never been one to stick around, so it came as no surprise to tear your gaze away, wobbly feet stepping back. “Just don’t-”
His hands are slightly slippery from his palms sweating. His chest is freakishly warm from his blood pumping. And his cock was most definitely hard. 
Shifting on top of his lap, you giggle nervously as you try to avoid the lust in his eyes. And the heat in the pit of your stomach. “No, we said…” You furrow your brows. “This is wei-”
“No, you said that. I only played along.” 
Inhaling sharply, you shake your head, hair practically whipping his face as he smiles gingerly. “You said the kiss was weird! I said the kiss was weird - we agreed.”
It’s his turn to narrow his eyes at you, large hands gripping your waist, keeping you from running away. “The situation was weird, but I’ve never felt a pair of lips feel so right against mine.” Long fingers trace your bare thigh. “I know you feel it too.”
“Your boner, yes, how could I not?” you hiss, face burning crimson red. “You’re going to ruin it-”
“No I won’t.”
“You’re going to regret it-”
His gaze darkens. “The only thing I’ve regretted so far is not telling you how I feel about you and not having kissed you the way I wanted to.” Green eyes soften up, almost pleading you. “Fuck. I need to - you don’t get it, I need to kiss you, amore. I swear to God if you say no, I might lose my mind.”
Your head begins to spin as you balance your hands on his broad shoulder. Behind your better judgment, you know you shouldn’t. This would only make things worse because you know the moment you lock lips with him and he finds out what you’ve done, how long you’ve lied, he’ll be so disgusted by you completely. 
But like always, you push that all aside.
You basically pounce on him as you smash your lips to his. It was hot, it was heavy, you could feel his teeth clash with yours, his tongue sliding inside your warm mouth. He grunts deeply, pushing your hips down on him as you gasp. Arousal drips past your silky legs, already forming a wet patch against his denim jeans. Charles groans loudly at the feeling. Whimpering, you tangle a clumsy hand through his messy hair.
“You’re telling me this is ‘weird’ to you?” he teases against your pouty lips, pants entering your mouth as you whine like a kid at the dentist.
“You’re insufferable.”
“You won’t be saying that in a few minutes.”
Swiftly, he stands up, setting you down on his chair. You’re confused with his actions as you desperately try reaching out for him. He lets out a dark chuckle. Then, he’s kneeling down in front of you, bringing the chair closer to him. Oh God. The sound of the wooden chair squeaking is enough for you to snap out of it and blink rapidly, as if this were all a dream. He grins wickedly.
A beautiful fucking dream. 
Shivering at the feeling of his calloused digits, you bring your brows together. He plays with the hem of your dress for a few seconds before sliding it up, cock growing harder at the sight of your red panties. “These dresses have been driving me crazy from the moment I met you.” He presses a sloppy kiss against your clothed center. “So pretty…”
“Charles…”
He cuts you off the moment he slides the thin material to the side, tip of his fingers rubbing your wet lips. Moaning, you instinctively drape your legs over his massive shoulders. With your entire strength, you try bringing his face closer to where you need him. He lets out a loud laugh.
“You really think you can push me down onto you?” He signals like a know-it-all. “Neck strength, baby, neck strength.”
“I don’t care if you’re a racing driver and that’s your entire exercise agenda, do something.”
That’s the only green flag he needs to dive in, sliding his tongue like an animal. Arching your back against the chair, one hand finds a home in his brown lock and the other grips around the armrest. Dizzy with his fast movements, you squeal when he sucks hard against your clit. 
“You’re crazy,” you manage to pant before clenching around his digits that have now entered the equation. And he just curls them so deliciously inside on you that you begin to worry you might finish against his handsome face. 
Pulling away, he looks up at you through dark lashes, a sly expression evident. “And you’re irresistible, perfect…” He growls when your hole tightens around his fingers, how your juices pour out. He can’t help but lick you clean, sighing against your thigh. “Simply perfect.”
It’s a haze and you barely have room to breathe, much less give him a fair warning, because suddenly your white nectar takes over and hits him all at once. You’re moaning loudly, he’s groaning as he slurps needily. It was just all too much.
And you didn’t deserve any of it.
Your chest rises up and down as you struggle to breath regularly again. It helps when he traces shapes around your legs, hot breaths of his own hugging your humid skin. His eyes take in your state as he looks up at you with complete defeat.
“How am I supposed to stay away from you, ange?”
taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm
476 notes · View notes
reiincarnatiion · 8 months
Text
shadows of destiny | azriel x reader | part two
summary : jealous but confused azriel, yearning shadows and sexy lucien and sexy reader ;)
🧚‍♀️
a/n: 💗 WOW. SO MUCH SUPPORT ON THE FIRST PART BROOO GUYS I JUST OFCOURSE HAD TO WRITE PART TWO and def will have part 3 i guess? ngl i am an angsty writer so im not good at writing happy endings HAHA rip for u all.
this is so addictive ive already written 3 stories in a span of like three days HAHAH 💗
also most azriel stories i read are never from his perspective so im keeping it from his perspective to change things up! he is def a bit out of character because i havent read acotar for a while rip but enjoy! thanks for the support and let me know your thoughts !! also this isnt proof read cuz ya girls lazy >.<
read [ part one ] !!
---💗---
"What are you two doing?"
Lucien and you both looked up, shocked (but not really) , to find Azriel standing in the middle of the dance floor, clad in his black silk shirt and pants, with swirls of tattoos peeking through, his collarbone on full display. Fae moved gracefully around him, dancing and making out, carefully avoiding the famed shadow singer.
He stands in front of you two, just as you two had begun your pathetic attempts to drunkedly dance. Your short dress had ridden up to the top of your thighs, pressed against Lucien's pants, and Azriel knew it was entirely inappropriate. He observed as you raised your eyebrows and looked down at him.
He couldn't fathom how you two had crossed the line from friends, but he knew it was wrong. Over the eons, he had seen you with many men, but they had always been strangers to him and the Inner Circle. They had never been serious.
Were you and Lucien serious? The club fell silent to him,  as he awaited your answer.
His shadows swirled around his feet, urging him to intervene. Some even attempted to caress your legs, but Azriel swiftly reeled them in, refusing to acknowledge how soft and sweet-smelling they might be. He couldn't bear to know how apparently tempting they were.
Azriel clenched his jaw as you gazed back at him with your kohl-lined eyes, their newfound seductive power nearly breaking his stoic demeanor.
He bit the inside of his cheek to quell the sudden effect your look had on him, not wanting to indulge in such thoughts; they could only lead to trouble.
"Uhhh... Dancing?" you drawled back finally, rolling your eyes in a way that he would have only have liked to see in bed with you, behind you, with his hands wrapped in your hair as he-
He blinked, the deafening thumping of the music returning to his consciousness, as the rush from his panicking shadows ebbed away, calming his racing heart.
What was he doing? Why did he even come here? A wave of guilt washed over him as he tore his gaze away from your captivating eyes, only to hear you laugh and giggle as Lucien whispered something in your ear, drawing you closer. A giggle Azriel had never noticed was so adorable and sexy at the same time.
Azriel shook his head, trying to make sense of the overwhelming emotions within him. It didn't make any sense. You were like a little sister to him, an integral part of his family.
Stupidly, he realized that he didn't know why his shadows urged him towards you, nor did he understand the sudden waves of jealousy coursing through him.
"AZ! SO NICE OF YOU TO FINALLY JOIN!" a voice screeched, breaking the tension that had enveloped him and the couple in front of him.
They weren't a couple, but they looked like one, and he couldn't stand it. He didn't know why he was acting this way, but he knew one thing for sure: he didn't like it.
He didn't like how Lucien's slender fingers gripped your waist with such familiarity and intent.
The voice that had called out before now manifested next to him as Cassian stumbled over, dragging Nesta along. Their interlocked hands taunted him once more, but Azriel forced himself to look up at Cassian.
"BROTHER!! LET'S DANCE!!" Cassian howled, reaching them and clumsily starting to move their bodies to the rhythm, grabbing Azriel's shoulders to mimic their motions. Azriel stumbled back, desperate to escape the situation, but Cassian persisted.
"Leave me alone, Cassian," he mumbled, brushing his brother's hands away with his gloved ones.
"Why don't you ever dance with us?" Cassian whined, oblivious to Azriel's attempts to withdraw.
Azriel burned with annoyance, returning his attention to you and Lucien. But then, a tender voice spoke out behind him, and he knew it was Feyre even before turning around to see Rhys drunkenly laughing with Cassian as the other couple joined.
“Az, what are you doing, staring holes into Lucien and Y/N,"
"I--" Azriel faltered, trying to make sense of his emotions and jumbled thoughts. "It's just wrong."
He blinked, wondering why he had even gotten up in the first place.
"They're just drunkenly dancing; Elain is fine with it. You don't have to defend her honor here, Az," Feyre assured him, patting him on the back before returning to her mate.
Azriel stood still, smoothing out his pants and running a hand through his tousled hair. The club's hazy atmosphere seemed to envelop him, and he realized that the fae wine he had consumed tonight had hit him hard. Perhaps he had gone too far this time.
"Yes, yes, of course. I just thought Lucien should respect Elain..." he answered hastily, though he knew Feyre had already left. Shadows informed him that Rhys and Feyre had retreated to their more secluded spot again, and Azriel felt a pang of envy.
A couple of fae rammed into him, slightly spilling their drink and apologising in a haste as they realised who they had just knocked into. He glowered down at them and shook his head, stalking back silently back to the booth.
He walked back to the booth where Elain was still seated, nursing a pink drink.
"What was that all about, Az?" she asked innocently, though her doe eyes betrayed her knowing nature.
"It was nothing."
"You were clearly distraught, Az."
"My shadows sensed something was wrong, that's all, Elain."
"Lucien and Y/N?" Elain asked gently, her hand reaching for his gloved hands.
Azriel looked down at her delicate skin brushing against his black leather glove and he felt a sudden overwhelming contrast between the two. He removed his hand from hers, realizing how mismatched they were.
Cassian and Nesta complemented each other perfectly, a match made from the Cauldron itself. Feyre and Rhys shared a love and trust so profound, it was interwoven within their powers.
But what did he have with Elain, other than a forced interest in gardening and her white and pink flowers?
"They're just dancing, it's fine," he told her, his voice numb. He couldn't help but look back at you and Lucien, still writhing against each other on the dance floor in ways that supposedly platonic friends shouldn't.
Lucien's hands were still firmly on your waist as you both gyrated, laughing and singing along to the music. You'd blame it all on the alcohol the next day, if asked about your actions. Azriel knew that, just as he'd experienced countless nights where Cassian or Rhys had kissed him during similar inebriated moments.
Beside you two, Nesta and Cassian mirrored your movements, seemingly unfazed by the intimate nature of your dance. The club's flashing colors continued to shift and flash all around Azriel, in strikes of pink, blue and green but all he saw was red, and he did not
Know
Why.
---
taglist for shadows of destiny : @allyjoe755 @impossibelle @t0uch-starved-h0e @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @marina468 @cassan1306
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hisunshiine · 8 months
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Seven Days Masterlist | JJK | complete
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🗓️ pairing: nurse!jungkook x teacher!reader 🗓️ au/genre: non-idol au, brother's friend au, fwb, age-gap(reader is older), f2l, fluff, angst, smut 🗓️ series rating: M 🗓️ total wc: 34,413 🗓️ series warnings: emotionally constipated pairing, reader is older, adult worries, growing older, dating younger, time passing and not hitting milestones everyone else is, biological clock ticking woes, angsty argument, feeling like being emotionally cheated on despite being single, parents with toxic viewpoints, judgemental people, self doubt, explicit sexual content: each chapter will provide specifics, but in general, there will be sex in every part, each one showcasing jungkook and reader in various types of sexual situations including sleepy sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), light bondage sex, quickie sex with one partner not breaking off another night, drunk sex (dubious consent but neither feels taken advantage of), make up sex, and semi-public sex.    🗓️ an: please, please, please, blame @colormepurplex2 for this. It was not something I planned to do, but she talked me into it (she did not have to try hard, let’s be honest) and she is 100% right. This story needed to be told. Leah also helped me create the banners, so if you like them, it’s because of her creative input!  @downbad4yoongi also deserves blame now, but in the best way, for helping to expand the characters depth, and @heathfritillary-blog for her writing knowledge helping me find the motivators and reasons for the characters, challenging me to be a better writer. @mrsparkjimin18, @peachiilovesot7, and @abitjess, thank you for all that you do, hyping me up and helping me to piece together this story! 🗓️ an 2: reader being a teacher plays no real role in the story other than to help link the characters, it is summer break, so school is not in session! 🗓️ series summary: “Leave you with that afterglow, show you what devotion is, deeper than the ocean is…” Jungkook has been your best friend since you met him when he was still in college thanks to your younger brother, Yoongi. Despite your age gap, he easily fell into your world, your life, and your bed. Forced to confront the growing feelings as the pressure to meet adult milestones like your friends grow stronger, you struggle to be honest with yourself. “What you waiting for, better come and hit ya goals.”
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Monday - wind it back, i’ll take it slow
wc: 1,741 summary: “Wind it back, I’ll take it slow, Leave you with that afterglow…” Jungkook has been your best friend since you met him when he was still in college thanks to your brother, Yoongi. Despite your age gap, he easily fell into your world, your life, and your bed… 
posted: Monday 7-24-23 @ 9 am
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Tuesday - “lemme swallow your pride”
wc: 3,629 summary: “Open up say ahhh, Come here, baby, let me swallow your pride…” Jungkook comes over for an impromptu movie night that triggers some internal angst. You share a little, and he shares a lot... and your angst turns a little green. To change the topic when it gets a little too deep, you deepthroat him.
posted: Tuesday 8-1-2023 @ 12 am
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Wednesday - “it’s the way that you can ride”
wc: 4,622 summary: “It’s the way that you can ride, it’s the way that you can ride…” Picking an outfit for a wedding is hard enough without your friends with benefits turning you on. Especially when he makes a tie look so sexy, you can’t help but use it to get him right where you need him to be. Ties make great reigns, and Jungkook is willing for you to be the leading lady, in more ways than one.
posted: Wednesday 8-2-2023 @ 12 am
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Thursday - “so break me off another night”
wc: 3,596 + text messages summary: “So break me off another night” might be what he says, but after a day full of meddling parents, a quickie, and meddling friends, some things come to light, and there might not be another night for you to break him off...
posted: Thirstday 8-10-2023 @ 12 am
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Friday - “i must be favored to know ya”
wc: 5,665 + text messages summary: “I must be favored to know ya.” Having Jungkook in your life is so much sweeter than you ever thought. It would be great if you could just tell him, but showing him is as good as it gets for now…until you slip up and let the cat out of the bag. But it turns out, you aren’t the only one who has feelings for him, and you definitely aren’t the only one who wants to ride him. When your biggest fears come to light, knowing Jungkook the way that you do might become a thing of the past. 
posted: Friday 8-18-2023 @ 12 pm
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Saturday - “i kiss your waist and ease your mind”
wc: 6,323 + text message summary: “i kiss your waist and ease your mind.” The only thing that could make you feel better is the same thing that made you feel worse. You and Jungkook are both confused with your emotions, but two different stories help you both see a bit more clearly. The only problem is that when the two of you get around each other, clarity goes bye-bye. don’t let these soft lyrics fool you; make up sex doesn’t actually solve any issues if sex is the only communication that happens.  
posted: Monday 9-4-2023 @ 10:57 am
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Sunday - “i'll be loving you right, seven days a week”
wc: 8,837 + text message summary: “i’ll be loving you right, seven days a week.” Yoongi's wedding has brought up a lot of feelings, but with so many things left unsaid, it's hard to know where you and Jungkook stand. Can the two of you wrap around each other and bring life to a relationship?
posted: Sunday 10-8-2023 @ 10:01 pm
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↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2023. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.
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theemporium · 9 months
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i’m so happy you’re in a mauraders mood bc so am i and your content is fulfilling all of my needs ty ty!!!
with that, thoughts on james getting hurt at quidditch and reader comes in to check on him? drugged up jamie confesses love to reader?? something?! idk this is is why you’re the writer and not me lol
thank you for requesting!🖤
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It was a nasty fall.
You knew quidditch could be quite a rough sport and you knew every player got hurt at some point. Thankfully, most of the injuries that came out of the games could be easily healed and the players would be back in class the next day, resting up before their next game. It was very rare for anything worse than some bedrest and easy days to be prescribed to an injured quidditch player. 
But that didn’t settle the pit of worry in your stomach when you watched James fall. Between the speed and angle he fell at, and the fact the game had to halt for thirty minutes before they could move him off the pitch, it didn’t help that none of you were allowed to see him until a whole two hours after his accident. 
However, the second you received permission from McGonagall, you had quickly joined the others in rushing down to the infirmary wing to see how James was doing. What you weren’t expecting was to find a very loopy James in place of the boy you knew. 
“HEY, IT’S MY FRIENDS!” 
A slightly irritated Madam Pomfrey tried hushing the boy but it was useless as he tried to sit up in his bed by himself—an act that was difficult with the sling confining his right arm—as you all surrounded the bed he was situated in. 
“How you feeling, mate? You took quite the tumble out there,” Sirius asked, watching with some amusement as the bespectacled boy grinned lazily at the group. 
“I feel fine—great, even!” James insisted, letting out a giggle. “I feel fucking fantastic, Pads! You should try some of this stuff!”
Sirius snorted. “Maybe next time.” 
“You too, Moony,” James continued as his eyes searched over the group. “And you, Evans. And don’t think you can hide from me, Mary! And—oh.”
His loud and eccentric movements came to a halt as his eyes fell on you, his lips parting. The only sign you had that he was still alive was the slow blinks as he stared at you, his cheeks flushed and your concern peaked at the idea of him suddenly gaining a fever.
“James?” you called out, your brows furrowed together when he didn’t answer. “Are you feeling okay? Do we need to get Madam Pomfrey again?” 
“Moony,” James finally whispered, still staring at you like he was lost in a daze. 
“Yeah, bud?” Remus was soon by his side, frowning a little in concern as the boy reached out to grip his arm. 
“I can see an angel,” James whispered and Sirius had to cover his mouth to muffle his laughs. “Can you see her?” 
“Uh, what?” Remus muttered in confusion.
“An angel!” he insisted as he pointed in your direction. “Look at her! She is gorgeous, Moony! One of the prettiest fucking girls I’ve ever seen!” 
Your cheeks burned as you pressed your lips together to try and contain your grin. 
“That’s not an angel, Prongs,” Remus told him, now quite amused as he gently patted his friend on the back. “She’s your friend.” 
James whirled his head around. “I’m friends with an angel?” 
“I—” Remus sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, buddy, you are.” 
“Woah,” James murmured as he turned to look back at you. “You make my chest feel funny.” 
You frowned a little. “Funny? Maybe we should—” 
“Like my heart is going boom-da-boom really fast,” James continued, nodding his head. “I like that it does that for you.” 
“Oh,” was all you could say. 
“Who would have thought it would take a bunch of painkillers for Prongs to finally admit how he feels?” Sirius commented from the other side of his bed, grinning widely as his friend stared lovingly at you. 
“Shut up, Sirius,” you murmured, slightly shy.
“He’s in love with you, sweetheart,” Sirius told you in a know-it-all voice.
“No, he doesn’t, he just—”
“Yes, I am,” James interrupted, nodding his head in confirmation. “Like, love love. The good kinda love. The one where I get to kiss you and stuff.”
You tried to tamper down the butterflies in your stomach. “Kiss me and stuff?” 
“All the stuff,” James murmured, yawning slightly as the painkillers started to really kick in. 
“How about you tell me this when you’re not high and we will see where we go,” you muttered, smiling softly as you watched him try to fight the strong urge to sleep. 
“Promise you’ll be here when I wake up?” James murmured, reaching his hand out to you. 
You took his hand and intertwined your fingers. “Promise. Goodnight, James.” 
“Goodnight, Angel.”
.
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bakugoushotwife · 3 months
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born sinner (part one)
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pairing: crime boss!suguru geto x fem!surgeon!reader series content: blood, gore, realistic descriptions of surgery but like as accurate as someone with access to google has, angst, slow-burn, eventual smut, anxiety as a heavy theme, no curses!au, violence, guns, gang mentions and typical violence, religious imagery, etc. words: 8.5k a/n: omg omg happy new year! the gojo writer takes on suguru geto!! he's so challenging for me in the best of ways and i hope that his characterization is at least tolerable LMFAO!! i got this amazing idea from a gorgeously detailed outline from @antizenin who trusted me to bring her outline to life. i hope you love it!! part two //
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the lights are entirely too bright in the meeting hall. it’s nothing compared to the lights in the OR that illuminate the vessels of a heart as you slice into it—finding the clot that caused the fourty-one year old mother of two to collapse in the middle of making breakfast. you saved her life, you save lives. you’re a cardiothoracic surgeon–and a top one at that, though you spent your residency flirting with general and neurosurgery, you ultimately landed on the heart of it all–literally. it was riveting work. it was satisfying work. you got to play god, holding the lives of everyone that came through the hospital doors in your hands. you got to be the one to repair the tear in their aorta, the one to physically pump their heart with your own grip. it was thrilling. until it wasn’t. until you couldn’t stop the bleeding or make the heart beat again. until being god of the emergency room meant sending some people to the afterlife, and realizing that you are no god. you’re just a woman with a degree and a scalpel and a crippling fear that you don’t know what you’re really doing at all.
that’s what got you here. the clock in front of you is just about the only thing to look at in this section of the hospital. the board meets here—the people that convene to discuss fates. it’s almost comically just that the long hallway before the meeting room was barren and hopeless–only the clock’s hands to tick loudly by in mock of you. 7:55 am. just five more minutes until you went from the god above it all to a simple beggar praying to be spared. you were no different from those you operated on. you’re suddenly very aware of how scratchy and hard your chair is, making you adjust and readjust to try to find some semblance of comfort in the last five minutes before judgment day. as a surgeon, you know just how out of whack your vitals are. as someone with a diazepam prescription, you know exactly what’s causing it, regardless of the MD at the end of your last name. shit, you forgot to take your pills again this morning—
there’s a faint sound of heels clicking against the cold tile floor in conjunction with the loud clunk, clunk, ding dong ding! of the clock that signals the top of the hour. it’s time. the secretary calls your name as if you’re not the only person waiting out here, and you nod without meeting her eyes. you know without lifting your gaze that hers is judgmental–like everyone’s lately. 
the problem with being god is that you can’t make mistakes without feeling the wrath of the people that once loved you and championed your name.
millions of thoughts race inside your head simultaneously: if you can’t handle the hardening stare of a measly secretary, how on earth would you be able to function under the eyes of the council, the real gods amongst men. they have the authority to revoke your license if you don’t figure out how to answer to them. the one case, the one incident, the one person’s life that ended because of your inability to handle such racing thoughts drives you to clutch at your chest now as you rise from your chair, back aching. 
“right this way.” she says without another glance, and you’re thankful for that reprieve. she turns, loud heels click clacking their way back down the hall at the same pace of your hammering heart. you love being a surgeon. you can’t lose that. you have to fight for it. saving lives is important to you! you just have to convey this. it’s not hard. swallow your fear and finally fight for something you want, put one foot in front of the other, you tell yourself. breathe in and breathe out—you have to get your sinus rhythm back to normal if you have any hope of getting through this. but it’s so hard when all your senses lie to you like this, the clock’s ticks still rattling across your brain—the long and dark hallway only stretching to be longer and darker before you. you know it’s impossible–just your mind playing tricks. or, more aptly, part of you knows that. but the other part starts to break out in a cold sweat once you finally approach the door. on the other side of the heavy oak were the group of people who would decide what your life was worth: do you get to stay a god amongst men, or will you be cast out like the devil himself? 
you can hear the different voices speaking in low whispers before the secretary has even pushed into the room. you know they must be speaking about you from the way their eyes dart all over your timid form in front of them as they shuffle their papers—reports of every mistake and triumph you’ve ever had laid out in front of them, reducing you to a datapoint. it’s a medical license hearing, but you feel like a freshly hit opossum standing before the vultures just waiting to pick your bones clean. maybe being roadkill was more freeing than this. 
this room is much darker than the lobby you waited in, dimly lit by reading lamps positioned to the right of each panelist–five total. three men and two women would decide if your mistake was enough to ruin your career. their desk towered above you, so much so you had to tilt your chin back to be able to take in their disgruntled, disappointed, and disapproving stares. your saliva feels like liquid cement when you go to swallow it down—though it tastes like bile.  
“good morning doctor.” the man on the furthest right says. he has the kindest eyes of them all, though your brain catches his deception. he’s just acting. the other panelists give you tight lipped smiles of greeting and head nods of acknowledgement. you clear your throat a little and give them a bow. 
“good morning, board of internal medicine. i’ve…prepared a statement?” you clench your jaw at the shakiness you can hear in your voice. it’s the older of the two women that nod at you this time. 
“you may present it.” she says, a drawn-on eyebrow raised expectantly. you swallow down that bile-cement flavored spit again, training your eyes on a hairline crack in the tile under your toe. it’s fitting. as time passes, this crack will widen and cause that tile to erode and crumble away. this meeting could be the crack in your foundation. the decision made here today could be the first domino of events to ruin the picture perfect life you’ve carefully put into place. 
“..hiroshi nakamura entered the emergency room on november twenty-third at 4:57 pm. he was suffering from an aortic aneurysm. as many of you are former surgeons yourselves, i know you’re familiar with the diagnosis. many of these go unnoticed. symptomatic pain is brushed off, and many times it’s too late to save them, the silent killer.” you shift your weight, doing your best to maintain eye contact despite the haunting memory. “nakamura-san was a patient of mine previously. he was diagnosed with arteriosclerosis three years prior, the exact date escapes me. it was in the summertime. july maybe. later that day i performed an endarterectomy to reduce the atheromatous plaque in his carotid artery. we kept him for the next three days for observation, his vitals improved and he was discharged with instructions to receive regular checkups. when he was brought back in…i knew immediately that the buildup must have returned, making it harder for blood to travel until it turned into a clot. when i opened him up, his pressure started dropping. he had an aortic dissection, which i’ve run into many times. but the size of nakamura-san’s was significant. i hesitated, deciding between a graft or a stent for treatment. i took too long to choose, and nakamura-san…bled out on the operating table.” you grimace, looking down at that cracked tile again. the line was shaped like a lightning bolt, its jagged curve leading straight under your shoe. you can feel your chest tighten, so you close your eyes and try to push back against the wave of emotion sitting in your throat. “i had to tell nakamura-san’s family what happened. his wife of forty years, his thirty-four year old son, thirty year old daughter, and twenty-eight year old son as well as his young grandchildren. i’ll never forget what my mistake has done to their lives, and i believe it is punishment enough.” 
you step back once you’ve finished speaking, heart still hammering away in your chest. the members of the board nod, seemingly unaffected by your words. the man in the middle of the massive mahogany table picks up his stack of papers, licking his forefinger before flipping through them. “how long have you been prescribed diazepam, doctor?” 
your blood stills. your anxiety was clearly well documented, and you knew it would be on their list of questions. “since i was a teenager, sixteen i believe.” 
he hums, eyes focused on the paper before him. “and how would you say it helps you manage your generalized anxiety disorder?” 
you would do anything for that ticking clock right about now, for this room is so quiet you swore they could hear your thoughts. “it helps considerably. i’ve stayed on it for over ten years now.”
“your prescription history is spotty. were you trying alternative therapies?” the younger woman asks, manicured red nails clutching your entire life between them via vulturous paper reports. 
you open your mouth to answer–no, argue–but realize that won’t help you anymore than the truth will. “no. i…had not.” 
she raises her brow just like the other woman did, except her eyebrow was real and also well taken care of. “so what happened? it seems like you’ve forgotten to pick up your medicine three times this year—one of which was during nakamura-san’s surgery?” you are a cardiothoracic surgeon, one that was considered proficient enough to pick her specialty. you are no fool. you can see the trap she’s laid before you even unmedicated. 
this is the end. all because of your busy schedule and long hours at the hospital. sometimes you missed pharmacy hours, other times you just forgot about it altogether, mind racing with diagnoses and cases that wait for you the next day. but that won’t matter now, you can feel it before you even answer. they knew what they were going to do before you ever walked in this room. “my business hours are usually reserved for saving lives at this hospital. sometimes i’m not able to make it to pickup.” 
“how long until your death toll matches that of your successes, doctor?” the final man at the left asks, punctuating their line of questioning. he shuffles the edges of his papers against the flat top he sits behind. “i think our decision has been reached. you’re no longer licensed to operate in this hospital or any other, effective immediately. take your medicine.” 
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he has his doubts, but he supposes that is his nature. it feels strange to organize a meeting between two warring sides, hoping for a somewhat amicable and fortuitous outcome. hope is a foreign concept in this world, in suguru geto’s reality. he runs the west side of tokyo—keeping businesses running and funding local projects as well as controlling the streets with his biggest means of profit—guns for hire. he was a local historic monument. a ghost–everyone knew of him but pretended not to. everyone from bar owners to bakeries, lawyers and school teachers alike all under his influence, his pulse on the town. that’s how he knew the rival eastside head planned to make a move on his territory, and he’s been able to orchestrate a negotiation between them based on the opinion of his mentor and right hand man. 
traditionally, suguru would eliminate his problem at the source. there’s no need to play politics when you make your own rules. but he trusts wholly in his sacred few, the ones who have been with him since the beginning of his reign, and even before then. suguru’s best friend, satoru gojo was his best assassin and loudest mouth. choso kamo was a younger pup, but loyal and hardworking—very protective. and then there was toji fushiguro, the most valued of all. he’s shown suguru the ropes of this industry while still respecting and protecting him. geto entrusts his life to toji. if the man believes a meeting would be wise, then they’ll have the meeting. 
besides, there was no arguing with his logic. if they were able to pull this off, then his men will have free reign in the east, able to expand their territory into shinjuku, and have a working alliance with their only competition. so why was he having second thoughts? he blames satoru and his creepy blue eyes staring at him in the mirror he’s checking himself over in. 
“do you not trust me?” he asks the other man, tugging the top half of his too-long black hair into a neat knot. it reveals the long dragon tattoo that creeps up his neck, eyes glowing with anger at whoever looked. his own golden eyes flicker with unease as they survey the only person in the room. suguru hated how opinionated satoru could be at times, and valued it in others. though he usually didn’t know which way he felt until after the fact. 
the arctic-haired boy scoffed, kicking himself into stride from his previous position leaning against the wall. “oh i trust you. i just think it’s weird. i mean–toji’s so gung-ho, let’s slaughter ‘em all, and now we’re supposed to believe he’s become a diplomat?”
“i didn’t know you knew what diplomat meant.” suguru comments drily, sidestepping his friend’s critique of their teacher.
satoru shoves his round sunglasses back up his nose to conceal his eye roll. suguru was technically his boss—though he could get away with more than most. “hey, you asked. i just…have a bad feeling about this.” he shrugs–a knock at geto’s door causing both men to go on high alert immediately. satoru reaches for his weapon, always expecting an ambush. such is this way of life. 
“geto–sama, the car is ready.” the driver says from the other side of the wood, and satoru relaxes at the realization that it was just ijichi–a man so weak and cowardly that an ambush at his hands would be impossible. suguru releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding onto. he fastens the final button on his shirt, glancing over himself in the mirror once again. he wanted to appear polished and professional in his all black attire—and it worked. he seemed larger than life and as intimidating as ever. 
“perfect. i should get going.” he nods to his best friend–who, due to his abrasive and blunt nature, will not be attending this meeting. suguru adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, strapping his guns to his torso and giving satoru a tight lipped smile. the latter gets the door for him, mockingly saluting. 
“i’ll hold down the fort until you get back, boss!” he chirps, nodding to ijichi before making his way back to the data room. 
toji meets them in the car. it’s a bulletproof black bronco, a fitting vehicle to cart around a high-profile crime boss. suguru’s confidence is bolstered at the sight of his most trusted companion, and he genuinely smiles as he ducks into the backseat with him. 
“hey kid, big day.” the older man says gruffly, his gravelly voice making it sound like he were sixty years his senior instead of a mere fifteen. suguru was no child, and didn’t appear to be one either. the twenty-eight year old man towered over six feet, thick with muscle and riddled with scars of experience, but to toji—suguru was a helpless kitten. 
suguru hums, eyes already scanning for potential danger as the car rolls out of the garage. “big day indeed. you’ve spoken to him already this morning?”
toji claps his broad hand down on suguru’s even broader shoulder, chuckling. “we wouldn’t be headin’ out if i hadn’t. sukuna’s ready for us.” he assures, noting how strong and steady suguru looked. toji was proud, geto has grown quite bit from the scrappy little boy he once was. if he was nervous, he was keeping that close to his chest. 
“good. i think he’ll find my proposal beneficial for us both.” he nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. sukuna’s crew mostly pushed petty crime and even pettier drugs—suguru’s bunch could elevate their product and offer more riches for the notoriously greedy ‘cursed king’ ryomen sukuna. 
toji snorts a little, amused by his arrogance. “let’s hope so.” he nods, checking the rearview and windows before they fall into silence. 
the ride is smooth due to the expensive tires and ijichi’s careful nature, leaving geto plenty of peace and quiet to brainstorm all of the ways this could go down. he’s doing a genuine good for japan–sure, he has to break a few laws to do it, but the people of tokyo—well, his half anyway—are prospering. he hopes that even the arrogant man that ryomen is can see what banding together would do for them both. then, it could be just a matter of time before he can branch out into the rest of japan. 
there’s that word again. hope. he feels silly each time he catches himself using it. it’s akin to faith to him. something ideal in entirety, hardly true to the touch. he only believes in what he can see–things like optimism and god are lost on him, they are only fantasies. 
“ijichi! watch the right side—” toji commands gruffly, sitting up straighter in his seat to get a better look. suguru is grounded with a shot of adrenaline, leaning over to peer at the black suv hot on their tails. this highway is busy—civilians in their own cars without a clue in the world littered all over the roads at various speeds. it could be nothing–except geto knows better than to hope that the tinted windows on the car were meant to block out the sun instead of concealing identities. the large suv switches into the left lane, speeding up to catch them. “idiot! step on it!” he calls, and suguru draws one of his guns to be prepared ahead of time, a lesson he learned from the man sitting to his right. 
“is it one of sukuna’s?” he asks aloud, cocking his .45 as the first shots ring out from the vehicle beside them. they bounce right off his armored car, but one knicks the tire. geto curses under his breath, cracking the window enough to pop off a few returning shots of his own. the cadillac is impenetrable too–though he had hoped to flatten one of their tires in return or even get one under the hood. 
ijichi starts to lose control on the vehicle as the tire blows—just the metal rim scraping against the concrete with a deafening hiss. the bronco starts to fishtail, the car beside them only furthering the inevitable by nudging the rear quarter panel into the median ahead. “i’m losing it! we’re gonna flip!” ijichi cries out in panic, prompting suguru’s eyes to widen. 
there’s a loud crunch of metal on concrete before they’re airborne. geto feels a sense of finality wash over him as they turn, his seatbelt the only thing keeping him from breaking his neck. there’s another gross sounding scrape of the driver’s side scraping on the road briefly before they rotate again—heartbeat erratic. this is it. all of his hard work would end in a fiery car accident. he can’t even feel it as his head bounces off the window, only thinking about how satoru was right. he should have appreciated his friend more—he’s probably the only person who will mourn him when he’s gone. the roof caves in when they fall onto it this time, shrapnel scratching his face and making him realize they had stopped. they’re on their back–he’s hanging upside down, but he’s alive. he can smell oil and gas and the inevitable smell of fire, so his numb fingers fumble for the seatbelt’s release button. the car alarms are going off—and he knows if he doesn’t get out soon, the relief of being alive won’t even have time to sink in before it’s ripped away again. he looks around the car—toji’s door ripped off in the accident and his body nowhere to be seen. 
“goddammit–” he growls, clicking the button on his seatbelt over and over, unable to get free. there’s a million alarms going off—the car’s sensors, the airbags, the bitter hum of gunshots ringing in his ears still, maybe even faint police sirens heading this way. none as loud as the one in his head telling him that he had to get out soon–fighting until the button finally releases him and he lands with a thud on the sunroof portion of the now mangled bronco. he crawls toward the only exit, toji’s exit, grimacing at the sickening sound of crunching glass digging into his side as he drags himself through it. he thought dying would be more peaceful—that he would be ready for it, even if he hadn’t finished his work yet. in this business, there is no tomorrow, yet he found himself fighting for one. this wouldn’t be the end of him, some sort of voice in the back of his head told him so. it wasn’t his own, in fact he didn’t recognize it—but it made him take the pain and push forward, out of the car and onto the street beside. 
the sunset would be prettier under better circumstances, but he’s grateful to see it irregardless. his head hurts, and he can’t look around as fast as he wants to without getting dizzy, that ringing deafening his senses. he sees the cadillac–still on the scene– with a group of men huddled outside of it talking. 
he sputters out a cough, clearing his lungs of some of the debris he’s inhaled. it catches their attention—and all geto can process is a pair of dark boots stomping over rubber scraps and glass shards until they’re inches from his face and the legs attached are squatting down to get a better look at him. 
“eh, shoulda known you’d survive it if i did.” he grumbles, a voice so unmistakable suguru’s blood stills in his veins. the sole of the man’s boot shoves into suguru’s shoulder, kicking him to his back. “you trust too much kid. why would sukuna negotiate when he could just take from you instead? shame. you coulda been great.” he says, fumbling behind his back for a 9mm piece, the sobering click of the safety and familiar cock of the gun clearing out all the other noises. geto’s too devastated to speak—though he knows there’s nothing he could say. he lived through the accident just to die with the truth: his mentor betrayed him. 
bang!
getting shot doesn’t feel like you think it does. it’s white hot and instant, a blistering intensity that tells you you're dying. suguru’s hand flies to cover the damage to his chest, eyes wide in disbelief still. he must have already died and gone to hell. he can’t hear anything now but the ringing of the gun and toji’s sigh. 
“meh–just to be sure.” toji yawns, scratching his head with the barrel before turning it back to suguru’s chest. 
bang!
it hurts to breathe, but he has to gasp for air either way—bleeding out on the pavement below. the ringing in his ears is replaced by tires spinning out—signifying that the rival crew had left before the cops could arrive. suguru holds his crimson soaked hand up above his face, clenching his jaw. the pain was hitting him in waves, the clawing feeling of glass embedded in his skin mixed with the burn of being shot, the inability to take a deep breath and his growing weakness, he really was dying this time. 
no. 
that voice again. he’s annoyed by it, but intrigued. why? why not give up? he asks himself, coughing despite the excruciating pain it puts him in and the wetness that seeps out of his mouth—something even he knows is blood. 
there’s so much life to live. fight. revenge, love. there’s more for you. 
he stares up at the pale outline of the moon hanging in the sky, growing brighter as the sky darkened. revenge. that was something he’d like to see. he didn’t know about the rest of it–but was confused by this…guardian angel of his. is this god? he was a born sinner—far away from anything holy. this must be an imagination of his—yet it was motivating enough to get him to move again. they wrecked just outside of harajuku. he knew of a dive bar under his business portfolio that he could try to get to–he could hang on until satoru found him and got him to the hospital, though that was a whole new set of problems. he had to get moving, the ringing of sirens getting closer by the second. 
his vision is blackening and he doesn’t even know how close he is to the bar. his breathing is ragged, everything screaming and aching, body telling him to give up but that voice urging him to keep going. night has settled in fully by now, and he’s thankful for that cover. this area of town is avoided by anyone with good intentions, hence its emptiness at this hour. it couldn’t be too late, 8 pm at the latest, but the only traffic moving through this district are giggly college students and no good drug pushers meeting up with customers in the dark. but it’s reassuring to him, it means he’s getting closer. that’s when the reminiscing hits him. he’s able to see some bright flashing lights—a telltale sign that the bar was just ahead. the shelter of the alleyway gives him some reprieve. maybe if he stops just stopped for a second to catch his breath he’d be able to get to his feet and walk inside, or just getting a phone call in would be enough to save him. he thinks about satoru, how he’d come running as soon as he picked up the phone all while cursing him out for not listening to his warnings sooner. he feels embarrassed that the only person he has to think about is his sarcastic best friend, left to wonder if things would be better or worse if he had a family to think about instead. the last thing he thinks about is that mysterious voice calling out to him to stay awake—but his body is done fighting. all is black. 
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what better way to end the worst day of your life than getting shitty at the shittiest bar in town? there were probably lots of better options, like conserving your money since you didn’t know where your next source of income would stream from—but that was tomorrow’s problem. tonight’s problem was drinking your sorrows away next to the attractive man buying all your drinks. he was tall and his hair was spiky to look at but you knew it would be soft to the touch–or maybe that’s the vodka talking. his smile was more akin to a smirk rather than a genuine grin. he was trouble. but trouble was buying, so you’d keep batting you lashes and whining about your sorrows so the shots kept coming. the top-shelf vodka the man offers each time is working to its desired effect, numbing the ache in your heart and the bickering thoughts in your brain. it almost cloaks the mildew scent in the air—rose-colored glasses making the nasty blue carpet and hideous wood paneled walls of the bar look like a dream come true. you finally feel light. you almost forget about the man eyeing you like a predator in wait to your left, consciousness floating high in the clouds. 
you used to hate drinking. as a surgeon, you need a clear mind at all times. who knew when you’d be called in for an emergency case. well, needed. plus, you’ve always been an angry drunk, overly emotional and yelling constantly. it wasn’t a pleasant sight. not to mention the hangovers, ugh—your long-term psyche had always beaten out the short-term pleasure, but tonight you owed it to yourself to feel as bas as possible tomorrow. that’s why the clouds clear—your light-hearted joy short-lived as the bartender slides you another shot before muttering. 
“that’s your last one, doctor.” he tilts his head down, used to serving your fellow surgeon friends when you did have a well-timed night off, though he’s never seen you drunk as the most responsible member of your group, you were always designated driver. not anymore, you’d be lucky to get a text back from any of them now that you were disbarred. maybe that’s what actually makes you mad instead of being cut off. it’s the realization of all the things you’ve really lost–-including the right to drown your sorrows out with a swollen liver. 
“what the fuck?? and i know ya heard me talkin’...not a doctor anymore!! so let me have my vodka, i deserve it!” you whine, stretching your upper body over the scratched and chipped wooden bar keeping you from jumping across at his dumb stupid fat neck—
“no can do, miss. you’re over served as is, ‘s my job on the line.” he shakes his head, eyeing the man next to you to get you under control, assuming he knew you better than a few hours of tipsy talking. you scoff at his insinuations–both that you’re too drunk to handle yourself and that this wallet has any sway over your motor-mouth. 
“don’t look at him—fucking look at me! i’ll kick your goddamn ass, you know that?” you’re fuming. this is the proverbial straw that broke the hypothetical camel’s back. after the day you’ve had, you’re surprised it took this much to get you this rowdy. how much was one person meant to take anyways? venting out your anger would help you plenty, you think to yourself as you lift your knee up, prepared to crawl over that wooden plank saving that man’s life. 
“security!! come get ‘er. she’s wasted.” he scoffs, taking your shot away and making your blood boil even more. “they’ll get an uber for ya. take it easy, doc.” he shakes his head, making you feel remarkably judged all of a sudden, every eye in the place was on you as a guard even bigger than the man next to you drags you off the bar as carefully as he can. you don’t make it easy, kicking and screaming out despite the burning sensation in your cheeks.
“you’re scared of a girl? that’s fucking embarrassing!” you bellow to cloak your own, getting tossed on your feet gently— outside of the dingy building. 
“come on, little lady. let’s get you a ride home.” the security guard says, another one of them making their way outside as some sort of backup–like you were some genuine threat. you scoff, folding your arms. 
“fuck off—don’t need your shitty help, i’ll get home on my own!” you kick his shin, throwing your hair over your shoulder before marching off into the dead of night. 
in one of the worst parts of town. 
the cold shocks you awake, the fear putting you on edge and pushing back the drunkenness that fought so hard to claim you. every rustle of the bushes, each twig snapping has your head on a swivel. you just need to make it to your car, though it was daytime when you foolishly parked it a few doors down to avoid the traffic of drunk people leaving later in the evening. you’ve already made half the distance, the connecting alleyway just up ahead. 
you don’t make it two hundred feet before everything hits you again—and you’re bawling at your own stupidity. you should have made time to pick up your pills. you wouldn’t have to be worried about being kidnapped or murdered in the middle of the night if you had just taken your medicine. your life if over—and you couldn’t blame anyone but yourself. you’re a mess. you’re nearly gasping for breath already—the dark alley mocks you with long shadows reflecting from the moon and stray cats that hop out of the dumpster just to make you fear the worst. you wipe at your cheeks, desperately sniffling to try to regain your senses, eyes aching from the downpour. you’re constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re not being followed, entirely too focused on what’s behind you to notice the log in front of you—you’re sent flying over it and towards the pavement. luckily you take the impact on your shoulder, nothing more than a shocked, “ow–” leaving your lips before you realize you’re not hurt at all thanks to your coat absorbing the brunt of it.
it’s just another strike of your famous luck then, something annoying enough to inconvenience you on a day chock full of them, but not enough to take you down. you push to your hands and knees, looking back towards the offending log—only to realize it’s breathing and has long dark hair strewn about its head. you gasp–the fog muddying up your senses clearing instantly at the realization that this was no log, but some severely injured man! you can hear his struggling breaths, springing into action immediately. it’s nearly second nature to you as you push his hair out of his face and away from his neck. it’s much too dark for you to make out specifics–but his chin shines with something you can only imagine is blood, the same wet liquid pooling in front of his torso, the man laying on his side in an almost fetal position.  
“sir–can you hear me?” you try, placing your fingers where his heartbeat should be. it’s weak and much too slow, but it’s there. you can save him. “sir what happened to you? what’s your name?” you ask loudly, trying to get him to wake up. you groan when he doesn’t respond, blindly fumbling around for the wounds. your heart is racing, any slowness from the alcohol was killed by the adrenaline consuming you now. you gasp out again when you feel glass shards and bullet holes, a good fifteen minutes away from home even if you step on it. you’re not sure if this man has fifteen minutes left in him—the reasonable part of your brain telling you to call the emergency line to get him helped. though, they’d take just as long to show up despite how serious his wounds are. “you’re gonna have to help me a little, big guy.” you groan even louder, trying to put him on his back. it would jostle him less and was the only shot you had at getting a man of his size back to your vehicle on your own. 
you swear you hear him chuckle, but perhaps you were still a bit tipsy. you grab his hands, trying to be careful of the one riddled with glass, situating them in your own at the best leverage point. you’re strong—you can do this. you need to feel useful again–and this man needs to be saved. he’s so heavy, nothing but dead weight as you tug him along behind you. you have to bend a little and pray that your legs can make it to your car, just a final push to get to safety. 
you’re grateful when you see your mom-mobile waiting for you. this was your ambulance, and you were running out of time and the strength to keep pulling, gnawing nervously on your lip. what if he died anyway? what if you couldn’t save him at all, and were only chasing highs you’d never feel again? 
no. you’re skilled. if you couldn’t save this man then… the truth was that no one could. so determination overrides your anxiety for the time being, and you pop the trunk of your sporty suv, looking down at the man with a heart sigh. “okay–i can do it. what are ya, 200, 220?” you muse, squatting down and fixing him over your shoulders as best you could—a fireman’s carry of sorts. your hips and thighs should support you more than your exhausted arms, so you heave up with a strangled grunt. you throw him in a little harder than intended, grimacing. “sorry!” you huff, circling to your driver’s side. at least he’s in, even if your arms are jello and you know you’ll have to get him in the house somehow. you aren’t even thinking about how his blood will stain your tan interior—the rush of saving a life quieting any background noise in your mind. “you gotta hang in there. hang in there, please.” you mumble, weaving through traffic. 
you back up as close to your garage as possible, trying to think ahead for anything that could make this easier on yourself. you throw the car in park, hurrying to get him out of the back. he’s running out of time, and a surgical god you may be–but there’s only so many miracles you can call in. you get him in the same hold from earlier yet you let his feet touch the ground, muscles burning at the exercise. you have to breathe in short bursts, crushed by his heaviness, adrenaline helping you accomplish something you normally wouldn’t be capable of. you stumble with him, still half dragging him. it’s a battle you’re worried you might lose, but you get him on your dining room table, splayed out like a gurney. then you’re prepping your OR, getting the lights on, all the tools and dressings you would need, and most importantly—scrubbing in. infection would kill him if you weren’t careful now. 
“you stumbled into the right hands, mister. or well…i guess i stumbled over you–but you get the point.” you roll your eyes at yourself and glove up, stretching the vinyl over your fingers and flexing them, all part of your pre-op routine. you get your first good look at him then. he’s terribly hurt, it really is even worse than you thought. bullet holes and all this blunt trauma–he must have endured something horrific. but beneath all the bruising marring his olive skin, you can tell that he’s a beautiful man. his inky hair gleams under your bright dining room lights, somehow looking silky despite the tangles bunched up throughout the mane. you sigh, turning your attention to the blood soaked shirt he had on–two perfectly round entrance piercing his front, but no exit wounds. in his case, it was probably saving his life, those bullets possibly lodged in important arteries—scary, but better than bleeding out. he’s already lost quite a bit of blood–and it’s not like you have any history on him to know what type he is. there’s no time to worry about tests–you’d have to get your emergency stash of o negative. it was universal–your own blood that you kept on hand in case of the worst. it looks like this is it. you flawlessly install the iv, watching the slow stream shoot through the clear iv catheter and into his body. it helps with his paleness after a few minutes, and you smile in relief. this was a good sign. you rip his shirt with the last remaining strength you’ve got left, buttons flying to expose extremely bruised ribs and those gaping bullet wounds. “this isn’t gonna feel great, i’m sorry.” you grab your cheap bottle of house vodka, taking another shot from it to steady your nerves before pouring a decent amount over his chest. “i have to get in here—i’m happy you can’t feel it–now, anyway.” you take a deep breath and reach for your scalpel. you decide to perform a sternotomy—cutting between his breast plate to the web of arteries beneath. “i can see the bullets. you’re gonna make it.” you whisper, more encouragement for yourself than for him. your retractors keep his chest open for you wide enough for you to get your forceps in, aiming to pull out a bullet out of a vein close to his heart. “it missed the aorta. you’re actually really lucky.” you chuckle humorlessly.
you wedge your forceps in and take a deep breath. it’s not the aorta, but it will spew blood anyway. “not my preferred method of grafting—no catheters here but. i gotta fix it somehow.” you growl a little in annoyance. you have to squint and move slowly, but you’re able to repair the first leak with a shifty little graft. you’re onto the next one, dropping the offending metal into a bowl—complete with a little clink. “we’ll get you to the hospital just to check my work, yeah?” you sigh, hoping that this would be good enough to save his life. your hands steady over the second bullet, and you repeat the same motions as before. you’re relieved at the sight of his heart literally beating underneath your working hands, knowing that he’s still fighting for his life. you remove the second one and get out of his body—sewing up his chest, letting the blood bag refill his own supply until the bag is drained. you push some saline to clean out the line before hanging a bag of morphine, the pain this mystery man would wake up to would be excruciating. 
once you’re done with the intense life-saving measures, you sit in a chair to pluck the glass from his skin and apply ointments to the road rash on his face and arms. it takes another hour or so of work, but you don’t mind. it’s strangely relaxing to feel like you’re doing your job, and it’s so rewarding when you check his pulse every ten minutes to find it getting stronger and stronger. you hate that you hadn’t invested in a stat monitor, having to check his blood pressure the old fashioned way, but that looked like it was perking up too. you grin, proud of yourself. losing your license didn’t mean you lost your touch. you decide to get the glass and rubble out of his hair, pulling it back away from his face for a second time tonight. you take another lengthy look at the man you’ve saved, still grimacing at the ugly bruises and scrapes when something else catches your eye. the man had several tattoos that seemed unremarkable at first, different dark lines tangling into patterns you didn’t recognize. but the dragon creeping from his collarbone to peek over the collar of his shirt—it’s a yakuza trademark. this man wasn’t a poor soul caught up in a tragic accident—this was a dangerous man. you just saved the life of a war-monger, countless lives ended due to his line of work. part of you wants to open his chest back up and make your grafts fail—but the other part of you wants to feel the success course through your veins when he wakes up. besides, what makes a surgeon and what makes a gang lackey? is it a good childhood? morals? options? who’s to say this man had killed anyone? god knows you wouldn’t want to be judged based off of a few sneak peeks. you sigh, piddling off to your room to get him some new clothes. 
it’s invasive, changing a stranger. but you’re at fifth base already right? saving his life gave you a get out of jail free card, even if he was in the most dangerous crime syndicate in japan. you get his matted jeans off, making yourself look up at the ceiling in modesty and respect. you shimmy the plaid pajama pants up his body–thankful that your ex never came back for his stuff. you decide against wrestling a shirt around all the bandages on his arms and chest—knowing you could hurt him just as much as you’ve helped. you decide to try your luck one last time, pushing your table the short distance to your living room to let him rest on something more comfortable than the cold marble slab. it’s an easy shove to get him onto the couch, and you finally take a deep breath and sigh it all out. success is sweet–surgery is exhausting. you pull a little blanket over him, setting hourly alarms to check on your patient until he wakes. 
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he wakes up to the smell of something cooking. the light pouring in from the curtain makes him squint–definitely a sharp adjustment from the darkness that consumed him before. he hears a woman humming a few rooms away, only furthering his confusion. he didn’t die? but how…he didn’t call anyone, and he knows no one in that area would willingly bring the sirens in to help him–and where exactly was he? all of these things hit him at once, but nothing harder than the deep ache in his bones. he couldn’t describe it, something so sharp and throbbing he could hardly get his body to obey his mind’s orders to move. 
sitting up is pure hell. every red flag and stop sign goes off, making him grunt in agony. but he knows he has to get going–get out of whatever trap he’s got himself into. he doesn’t recognize the room–for all he knows, sukuna’s men followed him and have him here to torture. 
but that woman’s voice, he knows it. that doesn’t mean this isn’t a trap still. the humming stops, and footsteps pad closer until a bright face pokes into the room, an ‘o’ shape forming on her face before she enters–complete with a plate of food. 
“you’re awake–” you gasp in surprise. you had just come to do your rounds, deciding that eating with him would help you better watch out. you weren’t expecting him to already be up and at ‘em, he must be very strong. though you still notice how rigid he’s holding himself. “you really should lie down, you…” he cranes his sore neck, flashing you a glimpse of that black ink. you suddenly remember just how dangerous he is, and he looks like a dog backed into a corner, narrow black eyes sizing you up—distrust all over his feline features. 
“who do you work for?” he tilts his head to one side, and your brows furrow in confusion, oh–he was worried you worked for a rival. you shake your head, eager to defend yourself. 
“n-no one, no one right now!” you blurt out, anxiously shifting your weight foot to foot. you look down at the breakfast in your hands, holding it out for him to take instead. “here! eat, as a sign of my goodwill.” 
he analyzes the plate, then looks back up at you–peacocking his shoulders back and hissing at the pain the stretch brought him. now you know just how weak he is—and he can’t make another target out of himself. “i hope you know i will have you killed if you’re lying.” 
despite the way his glare makes your skin crawl and the hair at the base of your neck stand up, you can’t help but laugh at that. “i wouldn’t lie. i saved your life, why would i waste my time?” you shove the plate out further, basically putting it in his hands–one still heavily bandaged from dragging himself through the wreckage. 
he takes the plate from you. if he’s shocked by that, he doesn’t show it. he only watches you as he eats your food, grunting in pain every so often. you took the iv out while he slept, not sure how he’d react when he woke up to wires. “i uh…i have medicine…for the pain.” 
“who are you?” he returns without a second passing. he takes another reluctant bite of food, stomach growling in thanks. 
you tell him your name, stealing a few glances at the heavy furrow of his brow. “you were badly hurt. i am a doctor..so i helped repair what i could. you should recover. i imagine you need to lay low?” you ask with a raised brow, betraying your intellect. he knows you must have some idea of who he is. “you can stay here as long as you need. you might want to shower–but you’ll…probably need some help.” 
his expression shifts before your very eyes. his clenched jaw and steel brow relaxes into a soft look of…gratitude? truthfully, he was baffled. a doctor stumbled upon him, realized that he’s a criminal, saved him anyway—and now offers her home? he almost worries about how naive you really must be—but he owes you a debt he can never repay. you have given him a second chance—made revenge possible when he had given up completely. “thank you, little ebi. i will take up your gracious offer.” he nods, smiling kindly. 
you smile, heart going awol inside your chest. it was the right thing to do, he was injured and needed to be cared for. you’re a doctor who suddenly has a lot of time on her hands. it means nothing–but that you still have empathy left in you. you know you’re close to shaking, but you turn to leave before it can show. “i’ll grab you a change of clothes. don’t move too much until i get back.” you hum, and he hums in acknowledgement. 
he’s rather polite for a yakuza, his refined calmness even in the most dire of situations rubs off on you easily—you hold your head high as you pilfer through the tote of clothes your ex left behind, trying to find something for the big scary man in the living room. you finally decide on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. you even nab some of those painkillers you offered earlier, hoping to ease that stiffness he carries himself with to mask his suffering. 
but when you get back to the living room the only thing waiting for you is the empty breakfast plate and a few hundred dollar bills—your curtains blowing in the harsh wind. your heart sinks for an unknown reason, and you tell yourself it’s because your patient wasn’t dressed for the cold.
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thankskenpenders · 4 months
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Help me out here: Why is there so much Ian Flynn hate going around lately? I thought everyone loved that he was contributing to the games. Now suddenly they aren't. I guess that's par for the course for this series but I don't get it. He isn't perfect but I like what he's done. Am I a weirdo?
Ian Flynn has always had a lot of fans, but any creator putting their work out there is going to have detractors as well. That's just the nature of being an artist. To some extent, it's no big deal. He's not a perfect writer. Nobody is! I consider myself a fan of his work, but I've criticized plenty of individual writing decisions from him on here.
But Ian doesn't just have critics. He has his own obsessive hatedom. And the specific nature of Ian's hatedom is... interesting.
A decade ago, Ian was only the guy writing for Archie Sonic, meaning any debates over his work were quarantined within that tiny niche of the larger Sonic fandom. Only people who kept up with the comics month to month had any real reason to have an opinion on the guy, which means we're talking about merely thousands of fans as opposed to millions.
Within that group, he had some haters. You had the people who were mad about story changes made during his run, particularly things like ancillary characters getting killed off (although over the years we've learned that most of those were editorial mandates from Mike Pellerito). You had the people mad that Ian didn't push their favorite ship, with feuding SonAmy and Sonally fans claiming that he was CLEARLY biased towards one or the other. You had the people who just really, really liked one of the previous writers way more - usually Penders, as hard as that may be to believe today. That sort of thing. Pretty normal comic fandom type stuff. Again, it comes with the territory.
Unfortunately, many of those haters only got worse over time, morphing into reactionaries who constantly try to incite Comicsgate type culture war bullshit.
There are people still mad at Ian for making Sally bi and pairing her with Nicole instead of Sonic in the later Archie comics. There have been elaborate MS Paint red string conspiracy boards explaining how people like Ian and Jon Gray have apparently been destroying the franchise from the inside for years by Making Sonic Woke. (Jon gets dragged into this because people are still mad about him drawing The Slap 20 years later. Yes, really!!) There was an unhinged change.org petition trying to get Ian fired, specifically from people who were mad that the Freedom Fighters aren't in the IDW comics. There was even a very sad little fan campaign from these people trying to get Sega to move the Sonic comic license away from IDW and over to Udon, because they thought Udon would bring Sally and Bunnie back and also make them sexy again. There's a lot of this.
(Unfortunately, Penders has also exacerbated this by gossiping about Ian on Twitter and giving these fans ammo, but that's a whole 'nother discussion.)
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The thing is, for years, people who only played the games or watched the cartoons had no reason to pay attention to any of this. Now, though, Ian isn't just writing for some weird spinoff comics that only the super nerds read. Now he's writing comics that are canon to the games, and ALSO some of the games themselves, and ALSO consulting on other tie-in media like Sonic Prime, and ALSO writing the official Sonic encyclopedia, and ALSO serving as part of the new Sonic Lore Team at Sega. And on top of all this, he's got an increasingly popular podcast where he fields questions about his work on all of these things, which serves as one of the fandom's main windows into creative decisions being made behind the scenes.
As a fan of Ian's work, it's been really cool to see him rise in prominence. But the dark side of this is that his obsessive haters from the Archie days now have WAY more of a potential audience of their own. Now, every Sonic fan has to have an opinion on Ian. What this frequently means is that you'll have the Comicsgate types taking things Ian writes or says out of context, attempting to get more of the general fandom to yell at the guy.
Unfortunately, there are a wide variety of Sonic fans who take the bait:
You've got hardcore fans who disliked basically any recent piece of Sonic media and are looking for someone to blame.
You've got the people who are concerned about the sanctity of Sonic's canon, who shoot the messenger any time Ian mentions a new retcon from Sonic Team on the podcast - or any time he even mentions the THOUGHT of changing anything about the canon, as we saw recently with the Sol Dimension nonsense.
You've got people who romanticize some sort of mythical artistic vision that Sega of Japan supposedly has (or had) for the franchise. To many of these fans, American contributors like Ian just don't "get" the heart of the series and are trying to turn Sonic into something different. (This "heart of the series" tends to be some mix of Japanese instruction manual lore, the cinematics from Sonic CD, the OVA, and/or the games written by Shiro Maekawa, depending on what Sonic media the fan in question grew up with.)
You've got fans of specific characters or ships who pin the blame for how their faves are depicted entirely on Ian - most vocally fans of Shadow, even though the root problem is that Sonic Team hasn't known what to do with Shadow since 2006. At best this stops at regular old criticism, but at its worst this devolves into claims that Ian has an agenda against certain characters.
You've got fans annoyed by a perceived over-emphasis on comic-original characters in the IDW comics, ignoring the obvious facts that these characters exist because the game cast is so tightly controlled by Sega, and also, you know, that people just like the IDW characters and want more stories about them.
You've got a LOT of discourse over IDW's Sonic being a hero who tries to give his enemies second chances, as if half of Sonic's closest friends aren't already former villains and rivals. Honestly this is very transparently just reheated Steven Universe discourse lmao
You'll also see people who just think they could do Ian's job better. They can't believe that THIS GUY is the American fan working on all these Sonic projects, when clearly THEY understand the characters and lore and themes SO much better than this charlatan.
All it takes is for someone in one of these categories to be unhappy about some recent piece of Sonic media, and for them to come across an out of context quote or comic panel that rubs them the wrong way, and suddenly the leftist Zoomer Sonic fans will join the latest dogpile on Ian alongside the reactionary Comicsgate types who are mad at him for Making Sonic Woke.
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In general, when fandoms get upset, they tend to want a scapegoat. A person or two to point a finger at and go "THAT's who ruined the thing I love!" This tends to be based less on reality and more on which contributors are the most visible online. You'll sometimes see teenage and adult fans of children's cartoons single out a storyboarder who's particularly vocal on Twitter, blame them for every story decision they don't like, and harass them off the platform out of a sense of retribution for their favorite ship or whatever. Failing that, fans might choose to blame every nitpick, down to individual lines of dialogue and frames of animation, on a showrunner, just because that's the name they associate with the show. And unfortunately, when it comes to Sonic, Ian is now arguably the most prolific and outspoken contributor on the English speaking internet, and therefore a common scapegoat.
Some of the things I've seen Ian blamed for are truly wild. A lot of people have claimed for YEARS that he's just lying about the existence of creative guidelines and restrictions from Sega - or, as fans call them, The Mandates - even though they're just an inherent aspect of working on a licensed property. Others claim that The Mandates are real, but somehow Ian's fault. A vocal minority of fans have convinced themselves that Ian is the sole reason the Freedom Fighters don't exist in the IDW comics, even though Ian says he's been pushing to bring them back since day one.
Sometimes you'll see people say he ruined shit he didn't even work on. A few weeks ago on Twitter I saw someone claim that Ian had written a rejected script for Sonic Forces in which Tails died. I could not find a source for this for the life of me. As far as I can tell, the rumor seems to have been born from an alleged leaked script for Forces with margin notes from Aaron Webber that criticized the way Tails was written, and also an old tweet where Aaron joked that Tails would die in an upcoming episode of Sonic Mania Adventures. These merged into "Aaron Webber criticized a draft of the Forces script in which Tails died." How'd Ian get dragged into this? Who fucking knows!
It's all just a big game of telephone. All it takes is some asshole to make something up about Ian on Twitter or YouTube or a DeviantArt journal or some forum, and at least a couple people will believe it, and then it gets repeated as fact. Again, this used to be contained by the niche nature of the Archie Sonic fandom, but now there are WAY more people who are receptive to this shit.
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It's just sad to me that Ian tries to be so open and honest about his work, to try to explain the rationale for certain things, to keep fans looped in on the direction the franchise is headed, and this just gives the Flynnspiracy types more quotes to take out of context and try to paint him as the devil. If it sounds like I'm being overly defensive and dismissing his critics, man... some of the things I've seen people say directly to him are just unbelievable. People will send paragraphs-long angry screeds in to his podcast that completely tear him apart, and he has to sit there and be like "Well, that's your opinion, and you're entitled to it." People literally pay for special guest interview episodes where they just rapid fire complaints about his writing at him directly to his face. I don't know how he does it. I would snap.
All of this over Sonic the fucking Hedgehog of all things.
I don't know how to wrap this up. Engaging with fandoms online is very tiring, which is why I tend not to do it. Things like this are too common. I guess, just... remember that making art collaboratively is a complicated thing. The people involved are generally trying their best given the circumstances, but they're only human. They make mistakes. But please treat them like humans. Criticism and dogpiling are not the same thing.
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wolfiesmoon · 2 months
Note
Hey I hope you are doing well when ever you are reading this but how do you think the 3rd year boys from twst would react to their s/o (gn reader) cuddling with a huge plush instead of them.
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Like this.
Oh boy oh boy this kinda cures my writers block tbh, i have so many drafts but none of em look enticing enough to continue writing (´д`|||)
I took out a few of the 3rd years bc its too many people for 1 fic but i might make a part 2 where i add the missing 3rd years at some point
i went with the more silly writing style again, hope that's fine by you ○( ^皿^)っ
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𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ Malleus Draconia
He doesn't exactly get why, but he feels kinda annoyed just laying next to you while you hug a big ol plushie
This doesn't feel right🫤
But then again, you look rlly happy and satisfied so he stays quiet since if you're happy, he's happy (he desperately wants to be in the plushy's place)
When you playfully kiss the plush though, that rule no longer applies. After all, his rightful spot is in your arms🫠
He nudges you. "Put the stuffed animal away."
"You sound angry." You smirk and kiss the plush again, knowing he's probably annoyed about that
without another word, he pulls the plushy out of your hands and settles down in its place
"I am a much better than that object. Just so you know." he smiled smugly, expecting a kiss on the cheek just like you gave to the plushie earlier
you kissed him on the lips instead just to see his eyes widen and his face go red ofc 😏
𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ Leona Kingscholar
basically, it is NOT happening
"hell no." is the only thing he says before ripping the poor plushie out of your arms and chucking it across the room
like actually how DARE you try to replace him with a plushie
"Why would you do that?" You pouted at him, looking at the now discarded plushy from the bed🤕
"You know damn well why." He huffed, laying down on top of you without warning which tends to be a habit of his
"Because that's my spot, got it?" He answered for you. clearly you forgot😒
"Uhhh, right." you answered after a short pause...
"I won't remind you next time." he sounded rlly annoyed. it's kinda funny how worked up he got over a plushy replacing him 🤭
this also means he won't let you get up for like.... atleast 2 hours to atone for your sins
moral of the story: don't do this again unless you want a ripped up plushie and a pissed off lion man😠
𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ Idia Shroud
"This is so unfair. Even worse than an OP boss. " he sighed dramatically, laying down besides you and pouting at the sight og a huge plushie in your arms
"pick up the sock if you have enough energy to complain." you turned away from him, still annoyed with him
being the epic gamer he is (😎💯), he discarded one of his socks in the middle of his room and didn't feel like picking it up later even after you told him to
...which ended with you refusing to cuddle with him until he does pick up the sock
after a short while of very awkward silence...
he groaned in annoyance, begrudgingly getting up and finally picking up the sock, then leaving the room to put it in the wash
you smirked victoriously, placing the plushie away as promised and letting him hug you instead
"The things you make me do, smh." he sighed, relaxing into you 😒
"Picking up a singular sock?" you teased him, hugging him back
He didn't reply so that means it's your victory 😝
𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ Vil Schoenheit
this is an unforgivable offense, just because you had a little disagreement earlier doesn't mean you can just replace him with a plushie😠
love transcends disagreements, after all
does not help at all that the plushie's cute round face reminds him of a certain thorn in his side named Neige LeBlanche😒
he sighs, "I may have been too harsh back there."
your only reply is an annoyed huff and you hug the plushie tighter which makes one of those anime veins pop up on his face 💢
he takes a deep breath "It was not my intention to hurt your... sensibilities." he's trying babe, he's really trying
You don't reply for a moment...
"Ugh." you throw the plushie away and hug him tightly "This doesn't mean I forgive you, just for the record."
"I still stand by my opinion too, just worded less harshly." he gently puts an arm around you, stroking your back
it was only a matter of time until you gave up with your stubborn pettiness, soon you'll forgive him too, he'll make sure of that 😌
𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ Lilia Vanrouge
He's actually surprisingly chill about it i feel like
He wouldn't get annoyed or be jealous per se, he'd just get a little sad it's not him you're hugging😔
he's there, you know? there's no need for a plushie...
"Am I not satisfactory enough?" He asks half playfully half seriously
"In what sense?" you totally knew what he meant but just wanted to tease him back
"Hey, isn't this supposed to be the other way around?" he smiled at you, immediately knowing what you were playing at
"Hahaha, you know me too well." you kiss his cheek, yet you still don't let go of the plushie which makes him pout
"I see you have found yourself a new lover." his eyes travel to the plushie for a moment, the betrayal is real😔🙏🏻
"You got a problem with him?" you raised a brow 🤨
"A little." he hugged you from the back, getting comfy
"Okay fine, maybe my ex is the better one after all." you let go of the plushie and turned around to hug him back 💗
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todomochi-uwu · 3 months
Text
Who (5/?) J. Y & S. M
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Pairing: Poly! Jeong Yunho x reader x Song Mingi
Genre: Angst, Smut
Warnings: This content is for a mature audience
Synopsis: You can't remember when was the last time you spent time with them, the last "I love you", the last time any of them kissed you.
Other chapters: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
NOTES: This was a nightmare to write, between the holidays and writer’s block, I wanted to die. I hope you like it. If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee . I promise next chapter will contain SMUT, so beware of that.
“What are you doing, Y/n?” Said Yunho as soon as he dragged you out of the club.
“What are YOU doing, Yunho? How the fuck did you know I was here?” You stumbled backwards, anxiety and alcohol are not a good combo.
“I came to talk, Minho brought me here. I have spent every single day of the last three months trying to find and talk to you, and all this time you were doing this?” Hurt in his voice, his face red and eyes glossy. You examined him for a second, deep dark eyebags sunken his eyes, his lips cracked and pale, and his once broad chest now looked thinner, bony. He looked so different, you almost couldn’t recognize him.
“It’s not like that…” He cut you off.
“Then, how is it? Because to me it looked like you were making out with your so-called best friend. Explain it to me, Y/n.”
“I don’t have to explain shit to you.” You stomped, getting closer, “You have a lot of nerve coming in here and accusing me of anything,” You jabbed your finger against his chest again and again. “We are not together. You drove me away. You broke my heart.” Tears of anger streamed down your face, and your wounded heart disintegrated with each word.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry, please come home with me, we can talk and…”
You turned around when you heard Han coming out of the club, Minho right behind him, following a very angry-looking Christopher.
“Bang Chan, calm down!” Said Minho.
“What are you doing here, Jeong?” Chan intervened, pushing you behind him.
“This doesn’t concern you, Chan. Please let me talk to her.” He tried going past Chris.
“Why don’t you leave her alone? She doesn’t want to see you. Fuck off.” Chan’s voice laced with venom, alcohol and rage ran through his veins, clouding his judgment.
“Chan.” The taller man tried again.
“Fuck you, Yunho. Where were you before when she needed you, huh?” Chris pushed the taller man, “Where were you when she spent every single night crying herself to sleep?” Push. “Where were you when she felt worthless?” Push.
“Chan, stop. You are drunk.” Han said.
“That’s right. You were not there, but guess who was? Me. I spent every single minute comforting her, reassuring her that it was not her fault, and helping her move on.”
“Oh, I am well aware of how much you would love for her to get over us, I’ve known it for a long time.” Yunho pushed back, “But I’ll be dead the day I let that happen.”
“Yunho, please stop.”
“I fucked up, okay? I’m not saying I didn’t, but I want to fix it. If I have to get on my knees I will, if I have to beg I will, whatever you want me to do I’ll do it. Please give me a chance.” Yunho said kneeling.
“Yunho.” You said in tears.
Chan scoffed, shaking his head, “Why should you get a second chance?”
Minho physically cringed, he knew it wasn’t about Yunho and Mingi getting a chance to redeem themselves, it was about Chan not getting the same opportunity.
“Chan, buddy, please back off.” He said while grabbing his friend by the shoulders.
Chan shook him off. He looked at you, “Y/n you know best. Please don’t go back to them.” He pleaded with what little strength he had left. But you could only see a begging Yunho on the floor, a mix of emotions reflected in your eyes, anger, fear, but on top of them was longing. He could feel his heart break all over again, he would never be at the receiving of those feelings. The door had closed a long time, and even if you didn’t know it, he did, it would never open again. He needed to get away from the scene. A knot forming in his throat, all his bottled-up love dying in his chest, he was going to throw up.
“Y/n, please come home, we can talk, we won't pressure you or anything, just please, please come home.” Yunho extended his hand your way.
You turned to look at Chan, but he no longer was there. You found Jisung’s eyes, looking for an answer in them. On one hand, your heart craved him, wanting nothing more than for him to take you in his arms. But then the more rational part of your brain reminded you of the hell you went through in the last months. Could you go back to them? And if not, could you live without them? Your best friend looked you in the eyes, worry and uncertainty filled them, but in the end, he simply nodded.
Yunho was waiting for you, silently begging for you to take his hand, to come back to them. And when you finally did, you could see the way his entire body relaxed, you couldn’t blame him, a part of you also felt at peace after all this time.
“This doesn’t mean we are back together; I hope you know that.” You whispered to him.
“I know.” He looked around for Minho, “We are taking a cab, I don’t want to bother you anymore.” He nodded back.
Jisung approached and gently embraced you in his arms. “Call me, okay?”
“Hannie, about Chan…” He cut you off.
“Don’t worry about him, we’ll take care of that.” He gave you a weak smile, before turning to his husband.
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Yunho opened the door as soon as the cab arrived, sat next to you and told the driver where to go. Your heart was almost beating out of your chest, sweaty hands gripped the ends of your skirt, and eyes that didn’t dare look away from the window.
“Are you cold?” He said, already taking his jacket off to give it to you.
“No, no, I’m okay.” Your brain made a connection a second later, “Wait, where’s…”
His phone went off like crazy, texts and calls showed up all at the same time, he pulled out of his pocket revealing the contact, “Shit.” He pressed to answer.
“Hey, Mingi, did you…” You could hear the exasperated voice of the younger man behind the phone, not being able to make out what he was saying.
“No, Mingi, I’m…” Cut off again.
“I know, but please…” Again.
“Will you …” And again.
You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. Oh, how you missed them.
“Mingi, will you please just shut up?” He whispered, “Listen, go home, I’m on my way there.”
Mumbling.
“You can leave, umm she’s, umm she’s with me.” He said as if he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.
Mumbling.
“Go home, we’ll meet you there.” He hung up.
An uncomfortable silence filled the car, you didn’t know where to look, or what to do or say. Yunho was in a similar situation. Twice you caught him almost putting his hand on your knee, before remembering the situation you were in, muscle memory it must have been.
You knew the streets on your way to their place, left turn here, right turn there. A convenience store you used to walk to late at night to get ramen when you couldn't sleep. A dog park they swore you would go to with a new puppy when things “calmed down” at work. It made your heart sink to remember what you used to be, what you used to have.
So lost in your head, you didn’t notice the ride had ended, Yunho handed the driver some money and immediately took your hand, getting out of the car. The nerves getting worse each second, you could feel yourself shaking. The alcohol in your stomach bubbling threatening to make its way back up.
And then you saw Mingi.
He was sitting outside the door, his head between his knees, gently rocking himself back and forth, and you could hear some mumbling but couldn’t quite get what he was saying. He looked so small, so fragile, and while it wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. Without thinking you approached him, kneeling by his side.
“Hello, Mingi.” You whispered.
He had been so into his thoughts he almost fell back when he heard you. His chest went up and down quickly, trying not to choke on the anxiety, his eyes doubting who they were seeing, but he tried to compose himself. “Hey, Y/n.” His hands shifted, but he tensed to prevent them from touching you, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.
A few moments went by, neither of you knowing what to say. “Why don’t we go in? We have a lot to talk about and it's freezing cold out here.” You had almost forgotten Yunho was also there.
“Okay.”
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Minho and Jisung didn’t have a clue what to say on the ride back home. Chan was in the backseat, His head resting against the window, small tears threatening to come out of his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them, not until he was sure no one would see him.
“Chan.” Jisung tried.
“Don’t, just don’t.”
“Chan, you know this is for the best. They need to solve whatever is going on…” Minho started but was quickly cut off by the older man.
“And you were so eager to help them do that, weren’t you?”
“Chan, that’s not…”
“Leave it alone, Minho. You’ve done enough.”
Jisung didn’t want to give up just yet, “Channie, please. Minho would never do anything to hurt you, but you know she’s still in love with them, and…”
“Don’t you think I know that? I have seen it every single day for the last few months. I have seen her cry every goddamn night because she missed them. I’ve seen her reading their conversations again and again. Hell, I have heard everything single fucking detail about those two, I did it then and I did it now. But tonight, for a single moment in almost six years, she didn’t think about them, she didn’t see them in me, it was only me and her. She kissed me. She wanted me. For once, she was mine again.”
Minho felt bad for what was about to come from his lips, but it needed to be done, “Then why did she leave with Yunho?” The car stopped.
And Chan got off, slamming the door on his way out.
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­The three of you were sitting on the floor of the living room. Yunho was leaning against an old couch Seonghwa had gifted you when you all moved in together. Mingi was next to a shabby coffee table you used to use as an “everything” table when you couldn’t afford anything else. You haven’t lived here in months, yet it still felt like home.
You had rehearsed thousands of times what you would say to them if you ever were in this situation. All the things that they did or said that made you die on the inside, you would cry and scream all you wanted and they would have to listen. You would tell Yunho how much you hated how cold he had turned. Tell Mingi how tired you were of him always coming home in a bad mood. Tell them how much you had missed them emotionally, and also physically, how they hadn’t stopped to look at you in months, let alone even touched you.
But as opposed to all the scenarios in your head, your mouth was dry.
“I’m sorry.” Mingi was the first who dared to speak, you wouldn’t have been able to hear him if you weren’t sitting next to him. “I’m so sorry about everything we did, I’m sorry for taking you for granted, I’m sorry about neglecting you, I’m sorry I was not there when you needed me, I’m sorry for not listening, I’m sorry for making you leave, I’m sorry for…” And so, the word vomit began, it came laced with months and months of tears Mingi didn’t know he had yet to spill.
“Okay, okay. Mingi, calm down.” You moved closer to him, wiping his cheeks.
“Nothing’s okay if you are not here, Y/n. I’m not okay if you are not here, Yunho is not either.” He pointed to Yunho.
You turned to look at the taller man, only to find him in an equal or worse state than the man in front of you, “I’m so sorry, my love.” He said between gasps.
Seeing them like this was enough to put you in the same state.
“I miss you so much, Y/n,” Yunho said while coming close to you. Both of them surrounded you, trapping you between their arms and sobs. “I’m sorry for being an asshole, for not making you my priority.”
“We will do anything, whatever you want you’ve got it, just please don’t leave again, please,” Mingi begged.
“Okay, let's talk, please?”
They both nodded and so the night began.
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“You have to talk to me about how you are feeling, you cannot bottle up and expect me to be okay with not knowing what’s going on in your life.” You said leaning against the couch, playing with Mingi’s fingers.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to trouble you.”
“It doesn’t bother me. Yeah, I may not know all those fancy law terms you and Jongho use all the time,” He giggled, “but I want to know if things are going well, if you are having trouble with a client or if you are stressed about a case, and not find out by Jongho calling me to tell me how much of an asshole you are being at work.”
He groaned, “That fucking brat always tells on me.”
“And you,” You looked at Yunho, “when are going to stop that childish rivalry with Minho? You are both grown adults, he’s married and you are engaged, for god’s sake.” You spoke without thinking.
“I’m still engaged?” He looked at you, a little smirk on his face.
“You know what I mean.” You nudged slightly. Mingi was looking at you with the same look on his face, making you blush deeply.
Between laughs and memories, Yunho’s bright look decomposed. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips tightened in a line, he straightened himself and cleared his throat, “There is one thing I want to talk about.”
Both of you looked at him.
“Back at the club, and I know I don’t have any kind of right to complain, but,” He gulped, “What is going on with Chan.”
Oh, right. That.
“Um…, I…, um…” Trying to find the right words. Mingi straightened himself, confused about what Yunho was talking about.
“We won’t be mad; I only want to know if something is going on.”
“Well, um…, Han noticed I was a little distracted tonight, he knew I was still thinking about you two. And until that point, I didn’t know if we were over for good. So…” You scratched your eyebrow, “he suggested it may be time to move on, and that Chan could help me with that.” You mumbled that last part.
Silence.
“I thought Jisung liked us,” Mingi said, trying to lighten up the situation.
“And he does, he was just trying to be a good friend to me.”
“Did something else happen?” Yunho said directly. He needed to know.
You shook your head, “No, it was barely even a kiss.”
“If I hadn’t been there to stop it, would it have turned into anything else?”
“Yunho.” Mingi tried to stop him.
“It’s not fair of you to ask me that.”
“So, it would have.”
“Yunho.” Mingi tried again.
“I don’t know, okay? I have no clue what would have happened.” Your voice escalated.
“Did you think about it?” He kept going.
“What?”
“Did you ever think about doing it? Tonight, or any other night?”
“Okay, that’s enough. You have no fucking right to reproach me for anything, we are not together.” You got up, needing to get away from him.
“I have spent every single night crying myself to sleep because you are not here, Y/n. It hasn't even crossed my mind to move on from you.” He stood up.
“Don’t act like I’m the one who fucked up like I cheated or something.” You grabbed your bag and pulled down your skirt, “This was a mistake, I never should have come here.”
That’s when Mingi saw red sirens in his head, “No, no Y/n, please. Yunho, calm down. Please, let’s calm down.” The poor thing was a mess.
“I’m not going to stay here to hear him accusing me of things that never happened.”
“Yunho’s sorry, tell her you didn’t mean it.”
Yunho’s shoulder slumped, defeated, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. It’s… When I saw you two, I thought I had lost you. I saw all my fears from back in college coming true.”
“What fears?”
He looked at Mingi, who only nodded back. “Back when we had just started dating, we were a bit worried you felt like this relationship was… too much. You would want something more conventional. A relationship where people wouldn’t turn their heads to know why three people are holding hands and kissing. Or one where you didn’t have to answer, how does it work? Over and over again.” His voice cracked at the end.
Mingi took over, “You never told us about Chan, we found out because Jisung talked about it once when he was drunk. We worried there was something else there, some unresolved feelings, I don’t know. And that someday you would go back to him. Throughout the years that fear dissolved, but when we knew you were staying with him. Well, we didn’t know what to think.”
“Whatever I had with Chan ended the day I met you, I’ve only wanted you since that night. Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“As you’ve seen, we are not the best at communication.” Yunho let out a nervous laugh. “I’m so sorry, for all the things I said. It wasn’t my place to ask.”
You got closer to him, “I’m sorry for getting so defensive.” You took his face in your hands, caressing his lip with your thumb, “I love you, Yunho.”
“I love you too.”
“And I love you.” You said taking Mingi’s hand in yours, “but I want you both to understand things are not completely okay because I’m here. I need to know what I’m getting myself into, I can’t go back to feeling like that. I need to be sure it won’t happen again, I get you both being busy, but neglecting me is a whole other story. We’ll go step by step, okay?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Mingi, we talked about going slow.”
“I know, I know. I can’t believe you are back here.” He leaned closer, “so, can I?”
And you may be aching,
“Yes, please.” You whispered against his lips.
But you were also weak.
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