#a lot of people don't come back from the highway

[adara-et-al]

well. *i* think my response to having something mildly ominous said before the house was left empty and everyone i love is out on the road was actually completely reasonable and the sobbing breakdown in the kitchen because i didn't get to say "I love you" to any of them before they left home was more than well within my rights. It's not like i could do anything if something happened, even without a warning.

gonna blame my dad specifically for this one, and the way he handled fights with my mom when i was little. we're gonna add on the more than once i was left somewhere after pickup time because they were running late and i didn't know why but i knew one of the reasons it could be was Real Real Bad (currently superstitious, scared of invoking problems). Did it ever turn out it was that way? no but that didn't fucking stop me from assuming it could be.

if you're reading this and know who i am, if you could just leave a little explainer by your ominous goodbye statements, especially if you're leaving them before i've woken up, that'd be great.

[itsnesss]

𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | you have an unexpected reunion with Jun-ho after believing he was dead

warnings | angst, unresolved love, smut, explicit content, p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 1.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

The road stretched endlessly in front of you. You were a police officer, but at that moment, as you drove down that lonely highway, you didn't feel the rigidity of your uniform or the weight of your job.

Your mind traveled back to the past, to moments you would rather forget. Years had passed since you lost him. Since that night when he simply disappeared and you never heard from him again.

Suddenly, the lights of a patrol car reflected in your rearview mirror. The blue glow made your heart leap in your chest. Quickly, you checked your speed, confirming that you had been speeding. You cursed under your breath.

You stopped the car and parked it by the side of the road. The blue light continued to shine behind you, but something twisted in your stomach.

You prepared for a short exchange, a speeding ticket, something routine. But when the driver's door opened and you looked up, something made you stop.

There he was. In a traffic police uniform.

Hwang Jun-ho.

You couldn't believe it. Your mind went blank for a moment, as if time itself had stopped. He was staring at you, his dark eyes reflecting something you couldn't identify. For a moment, the air between the two of you thickened, dense with the memories of a past that had never completely faded.

"Good evening" he said, his voice as deep as you remembered, but with a tone you hadn't heard before. "Did you know you were speeding?"

Your body tensed instantly, but it wasn't because of the speeding. It was because of the surprise. For the feeling that the past had returned to hit you hard. You didn't know what to say, you just looked into his eyes, searching for a sign that what you saw in front of you was nothing but an illusion.

"Jun-ho…" you whispered, the word slipping from your lips as if it weren't yours, as if you couldn't believe what you were seeing.

He nodded slowly, his expression unchanged, but there was something in his gaze, something that made you doubt everything you had believed. How was it possible that he was here?

"Didn't you expect to see me here?" he asked, his tone now softer, but with a weight of nostalgia that seemed to hang in the air. "You thought you would never see me again".

A knot formed in your throat. You had asked yourself so many times what had happened to him. If he would ever come back. But the pain of the separation, the void left by his disappearance, was still fresh in your mind. And now you had him in front of you, alive, real, and in a uniform you had never imagined.

You didn't know if you had been waiting for this moment or dreading it.

"Why... are you in transit?" the question slipped out almost unintentionally, but Jun Ho cut it off before you could finish it.

"I needed to start over. Change of scenery" His voice became softer, as if the words he was saying had too great a weight to let go.

You stared at him, unsure if you could believe his words. The situation was surreal. How had he ended up here? What had happened to him since his disappearance? The last time you heard from him, it was when they found him adrift in the ocean, almost lifeless, recovering from everything he had endured. But now he was here, in front of you, as if time hadn't passed at all.

"I thought you had... died." The phrase came out before you could stop it.

Jun Ho let out a sigh, his eyes softened for a second.

"Everyone thought the same," he said, with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I survived. And here I am".

The silence settled between the two of them, heavy, full of unasked questions, of unmentioned memories. And in that moment, something inside you broke. Something you had tried to contain for so long. The need to understand what had happened, to comprehend how it had all been. And more than anything, the need to feel it close again.

"I didn't think I would ever see you again," you said, almost like a whisper.

Jun-ho didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned toward the passenger seat, his face now just a few centimeters from yours. The proximity made you tremble. You couldn't deny what you felt, what you had always felt for him. The connection you shared, even after everything that happened, was undeniable.

Suddenly, he moved closer, his lips almost touching yours. A shiver ran through your body as you felt his closeness, and the air became thick. The memories, the emotions, everything you had kept inside overflowed in that moment.

Without thinking, you kissed him.

The kiss was immediate, as if time hadn't passed, as if everything were back to how it used to be. The touch of his lips on yours ignited something within you, something you had kept extinguished for years. The spark, the fire you shared, had never gone out.

Jun-ho's hands traced your face, as if he feared you would vanish at any moment. The gentleness with which he touched you contrasted with the urgency in his kiss. It didn't matter what had happened, what had occurred in the past. At that moment, only the present mattered.

The car no longer seemed like a closed space. The connection between the two of them was palpable, almost electric. You pulled away from his kiss for a moment, taking a breath, but before you could say anything, he leaned in again. This time, he was more determined, more firm.

His hands traveled down your neck, tracing the contour of your skin, and a shiver ran through your body. You felt how desire took hold of both of you, how the chemistry that had remained between you hadn't faded with time. It was as if it had never left.

"I've missed you so much," he said softly, as he kissed you again.

Jun-ho's words made your heart race even faster. You felt as if you had returned to the past, when everything was simpler, when there were no distances, when you both shared dreams and promises. But that promise was broken, and now only the shadows of what once was remained.

The tension in the air was rising, and you couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened between the two of you. But in that moment, the only thing that mattered was him. All you wanted was to feel him close again.

Jun-ho looked you in the eyes, and without a word, his hands began to unbutton your uniform. The desire grew with every second, with every caress, with every touch of his skin against yours.

You moved to the passenger side, sliding over his lap as his hands removed your uniform. You nestled against his chest, feeling his lips kiss your shoulders, while his hands brushed against your bare skin. The touch of his fingers tracing your curves made you gasp.

Jun-ho kissed you again, deepening the kiss, and his hands moved to the back of your body, towards your buttocks. The gesture made you tremble, and you felt something within you beginning to give in. The tension you had held for so long was fading away.

He leaned close to your ears and whispered something, words you couldn't quite understand, but that seemed to promise something beyond that moment. And instead of waiting, his fingers slid between your thighs, searching for the spot he knew would drive you wild.

The caress of his fingers was soft, tempting, as if they were about to make a promise. The closeness of his body, the proximity of his mouth over you, the softness of his fingers on you, it was all as if you were returning to the past. Everything was as if they had never been apart.

Your breath caught when his fingers found the spot. The desire intensified in an instant. The excitement had brought you to a point you didn't want to leave, and the touch of his hand on you was too much to resist.

You moved slowly over his lap, feeling the bulge of his pants against your thighs. The friction was inevitable, but Jun-ho didn't seem to mind. Instead, he moved with me, his fingers slowly penetrating you. The moans that escaped your throat were involuntary, and Jun Ho muffled them with a kiss. The rhythm of his fingers increased, the penetration deeper and more rhythmic. You couldn't hold out much longer.

Suddenly, Jun Ho stopped you. His fingers left you with a softness that made you gasp. But before you could protest, Jun-ho leaned closer to your ear and whispered.

"I want to feel you" His words made you lose your composure completely. The air in the car had become dense, heavy with desire.

I didn't need any more stimulation. Quickly, you took off your underwear and sat on his lap again.

You slid your hand between his pants, caressing his erection. The sensation of his skin, soft and warm under your touch, was all you needed. You slid it down, revealing his erection in all its glory. It was just as you remembered, big and thick, ready to be fucked.

You didn't take any more time to think. There was no more time for that. You moved over his erection, the position of the car forced you to be the one on top, and that was exactly what you wanted. The position of control was yours at that moment.

You sat on him, his erection brushing against the edge of your entrance, but without penetrating. The torture was as good as it was painful. The friction was all you needed to reach the climax, but it was also what made you want more.

Suddenly, his arms enveloped you, and he pulled you towards him. The movement was abrupt, and his erection sank into you in an instant. The penetration was stronger than you expected, but also more pleasurable.

The scream that escaped your lips was involuntary, but the pleasure was undeniable. Jun-ho moved beneath you, pushing his erection inside you over and over again. Each thrust made you tense a little more, made you sit a little deeper on his cock.

The position of the car made sex a bit more uncomfortable, but that was the last thing on your mind. At that moment, all that mattered was the feeling of having him inside you again, feeling his breath on you, having his body in contact with yours.

"Tell me you haven't forgotten me," you whisper in his ear.

The request was simple, but what lay behind it was much more than just words.

"I have never forgotten you," you replied sincerely, your words coming out in gasps. "I will never be able to do it".

Jun Ho smiled at you, his eyes shining in the darkness of the car. His arms tightened around you, and he pushed a little deeper inside you. Your breath caught for a moment, the pleasure rising to a new level.

"Then, tell me that you will always love me" he whispered again.

The words slipped from your lips without thinking.

"Yes, I always loved you. I always will".

Jun-ho smiled again, but this time, there was something in his eyes, an emotion that seemed to shine like fire. His arms tightened around you a little more, and he began to move beneath you again. The position was uncomfortable, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the rhythm, the feel of his cock inside you.

Their breathing became labored. The pleasure intensified with each thrust, but it wasn't just the sex that made you lose your composure. It was the closeness of having him there, of having him back in your life.

Their breathing became labored. The pleasure intensified with each thrust, but it wasn't just the sex that made you lose your composure. It was the closeness of having him there, of having him back in your life.

When you reached the climax, the scream that came out of you was not just one of pleasure. It was one of liberation, of having released everything you had been holding back for years.

Jun-ho arrived just a moment later, his body tensing beneath you as he came. The warm fluid spilled inside you, and you felt his erection pulsing within you.

Both of your breathing became gentle, and for a moment, there were no words between you. Only the sound of the air moving in the car was audible. Jun-ho gently stroked your hair as you leaned on his shoulder, feeling his skin against yours.

"You won't give me a ticket for having sex in the car, will you?" you joked a moment later.

Jun Ho laughed softly, his lips brushing against your hair.

"No" He smiled in the darkness. "I think you've already paid me in full".

You laughed softly and leaned a little more into his arms.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Christopher Brown’s ‘A Natural History of Empty Lots’

On SEPTEMBER 24th, I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!

Christopher Brown is an accomplished post-cyberpunk sf writer, a tech lawyer with a sideline in public interest environmental law, the proud owner of one of the most striking homes I have ever seen, and an urban pastoralist who writes about wildlife in ways I've never seen and can't get enough of:

https://fieldnotes.christopherbrown.com/

All of these facets of Brown's identity come together today with the launch of A Natural History of Empty Lots: Field Notes from Urban Edgelands, Back Alleys and other Wild Places:

https://christopherbrown.com/a-natural-history-of-empty-lots/

This is a frustratingly hard to summarize book, because it requires a lot of backstory and explanation, and one of the things that makes this book so! fucking! great! is how skillfully Brown weaves all that stuff into his telling. Which makes me feel self-conscious as I try to summarize things, because there's no way I'll do this as well as he did, but whatever, here goes.

Brown is a transplant from rural Iowa to Austin, where he set out to start a family, practice tech law during the dotcom boom, and write science fiction, as part of a circle of writers loosely associated with cyberpunk icon @brucesterling. After both the economy and his marriage collapsed, Brown started his restless perambulations around Austin's abandoned places, sacrifice zones, the bones of failed housing starts and abandoned dot-crash office parks.

When he did, something changed in him. Slowly, his eyes learned to see things that they had just skipped over. Plants, animals, and spoor and carapaces and dens of all description, all around him, a secret world. These were not pockets of "wilderness" in the city, but they were pockets of wildness. Birds' nests woven with plastic fibers scavenged from nearby industrial dumpsters; trees taking root in half-submerged tires rolled into a creekbed, foxes and rodents playing out a real-life version of the classic ecosystem simulation exercise on the edge of an elevated highway that fills the same function as the edge of a woodland where predator and prey meet.

As Brown fell in love again – with the artist and architect Agustina Rodriguez – he conceived of a genuinely weird and amazing plan to build a house. A very weird house, in a very weird place. He bought a plot of wasteland that had once housed the head-end of an oil pipeline (connected to a nearby oil-storage facility that poisoned the people who lived near it, in an act of wanton environmental racism) and had been used as a construction-waste dump for years.

After securing an extremely unlikely loan, Brown remediated the plot, excavating the oil pipeline, then building the most striking home you have ever seen in the resulting trench. Brown is a pal of mine, and this is where I stay when I'm in Austin, and I can promise you, the pictures don't do it justice:

https://www.texasmonthly.com/style/christopher-brown-edgeland-house-austin/

Formally, A Natural History of Empty Lots is a memoir that explains all of this. But not really. Like I say, this is just the back story. What Natural History really is, is a series of loosely connected essays that explains how everything fits together: colonial conquest, Brown's failed marriage, his experience as a lawyer learning property law, what he learned by mobilizing that learning to help his neighbors defend the pockets of wildness that refuse to budge.

It's an erudite book, skipping back through millennia of history, sidewise through the ecology of Texas, all while somehow serving as a kind of spotter's guide to the wild things you can see in Austin – and maybe, in your town – if you know how to look. It's a book about how people change the land, and how the land changes people. It is filled with pastoral writing that summons Kim Stanley Robinson by way of Thoreau, and it sometimes frames its philosophical points the way a cyberpunk writer would – like Neal Stephenson writing a cyberpunk trilogy that is also the story of Leibniz and Newton fighting over credit for inventing calculus:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/11/20/neal-stephensons-system-of-the-world-concludes-the-baroque-trilogy/

Brown is a stupendous post-cyberpunk writer, and also a post-cyberpunk person, which I've known for sure since I happened upon him one morning, thoughtfully mowing his roof with a scythe:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/46433979075/

You can get a sense of what that means in this lockdown-era joint presentation that Chris, Bruce Sterling and I did on "cyberpunk and post-cyberpunk":

https://archive.org/details/asl-cyberpunk

Brown is a spectacular novelist. His ecofascist civil war trilogy that opens with Tropic of Kansas got so much right about the politics of American demagoguery and was perfectly timed with the Trump presidency:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/07/11/tropic-of-kansas-making-america-great-again-considered-harmful/

The sequel, Rule of Capture, uses the device of courtroom drama in a way that comes uncomfortably close to the Orwell/Kafka mashup that the authorities have created to deal with environmental protesters:

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/08/12/rule-of-capture-inside-the-martial-law-tribunals-that-will-come-when-climate-deniers-become-climate-looters-and-start-rendering-environmentalists-for-offshore-torture/

And the final volume, Failed State, is one of the most complicated complicated utopias you could ask for. This is what people mean by "thrilling conclusion":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/12/failed-state/#chris-brown

As brilliant as Brown is in fiction mode, his nonfiction is unclassifiably, unforgettably brilliant. A Natural History of Empty Lots is the kind of book that challenges how you feel about the crossroads we're at, the place you live, and the place you want to be.

The paperback edition of The Lost Cause, my nationally bestselling, hopeful solarpunk novel is out this month!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/17/cyberpunk-pastoralism/#time-to-mow-the-roof

[kaleldobrev]

The One Bed, Two People Problem (2) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 1.8k

Chapter Warnings: Cursing (2x), Age Gap (15 years), Sexual tension, Slightly vulnerable Dean, Self-Loathing Dean & Implied sexual fantasies (very minor)

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⇠ Go Back & Read Chapter 1

"One room please," Dean said, as he plopped down his credit card onto the desk in front of the motel worker: a big grin on his face.

The worker looked at him tiredly and picked up the card. Looking at the name on the card, he looked at Dean, who maintained the same smile. "John Paul Jones?" He asked, his voice matching the tiredness in his eyes. "Like the dude from Led Zeppelin?"

"I get that a lot," Dean stated, trying to sound convincing, despite the motel worker probably not needing to be as he looked tired enough as it is. The worker nodded and started putting Dean's information into the computer; Dean swayed back and forth on his heels, looking around the motel lobby, not enjoying the awkward silence that was between the two. "It's a good thing I'm a Zepp fan," he added, a bit of humor in his voice, as he attempted to make awkward small talk with the man.

"Huh uh," the worker mumbled, not seeming interested in having any sort of conversation with Dean, as he was trying his best to concentrate on what he was doing, as the lack of sleep and pulling all-nighters the last couple of nights was starting to catch up to him in this moment.

Dean started to get slightly nervous, as the worker seemed to be taking a little bit more time than usual to be placing the information into the computer. "Is there a problem with the card?" Dean asked, after the motel worker started making a face that looked similar to confusion.

The worker shook his head. "Nah man. Just tired. It's my third night shift in a row and it's been a killer. Can barely keep my fucking eyes open. But I'm thankful to be doing anything at least. You're the first person I've seen in days, since the regulars haven't even come by." Dean decided not to ask about who or what the regulars were, but he would be lying if he wasn't the least bit curious.

"Surprising," Dean said. "Thought you'd get more on-going business being right on the highway like this. I mean, I've been to Tulsa a few times, and it's always pretty lively, even this time of night."

The man scoffed, almost chuckling at his words. "People don't like motels like they used to. They rather stay at the Holiday Inn down the street. Apparently, motels give people the creeps now," he said, rolling his eyes. "Too much shadiness I guess for people."

"I've stayed at more motels than I can count, and uh, they basically feel like home to me. They've never once given me the creeps," Dean told him, partially telling the truth, as he has stayed at plenty of motels over the years that have had questionable stains and clientele more times than he could count.

The worker nodded, handing Dean back his card. "Alright, we have one room available with a queen," he said.

Dean gave him a semi-puzzled look, unsure how true that really was, as the worker just said that he was the only person he's seen in a few days, and the parking lot was essentially empty besides his and who he assumed to be this man's car. "Nothing with two beds?" Dean asked. He didn't mind sharing a bed with you, but he wanted to get two to be safe, as he was afraid that he'd somehow hurt you in the middle night if he had one of his PTSD style nightmares he occasionally got, more often than he'd like to admit.

"Look, I have one room left. And that one room has one bed that you're either going to have to share with your guest, or one of you is sleeping on the floor," his voice had no hint of tiredness anymore.

"One bed it is," Dean said, his lips forming into a fake smile.

"And you're in room three," the worker smiled, handing Dean the room key.

After getting off the phone with your boyfriend, you hit your head repeatedly against the headrest, frustrated that you had let him get to you again. He was hours away, and yet, he had managed to re-anger you, which was something that you were close to getting rid of during your nice and peaceful drive here.

In addition to your re-anger, you were minutes away from meeting someone new, and there was a part of you that felt bad for Dean, because being angry and mean was the last thing you wanted as your first impression. "Okay, you got this," you whispered to yourself, taking a few breaths before exiting your truck.

Walking out of the motel lobby, Dean started thinking of ways in which he was going to break the cliche news to you, as a one bed for two strangers seemed like something that came straight out of a chick flick or romance novel. "So bad news, we have to share a bed because for some reason despite the motel parking lot being empty as fuck, there was only one room that had a single bed in it," he thought to himself, cocking his head, thinking how saying that to you might work. Then again, he didn't want you thinking that he got a room with a single bed on purpose because you were a chick, and hoping to get lucky. Then again, he certainly wasn't against it...Then again, Sam told him that you had a boyfriend and you were off-limits.

As he started walking toward the room to put his stuff inside and examine the room, he looked at the parking lot, and noticed another vehicle had pulled into the lot since he had come into the motel; and it was parked a few spaces away from Baby. It was a Generation Seven, F150, in a brownish beige color that looked to be in brand new condition.

And that's when he saw you, or at least he hoped it was you, pulling out a large duffel back from the truck bed, that seemed to be a little beat up.

He started walking toward you, making a mental note to introduce himself just far enough way, because he wasn't sure how quick to the draw you were.

You sighed, grabbing your duffel, and slung it over your shoulder, as you were mentally preparing yourself to meet someone new. But you were tired, angry, and a little bit hungry; and all you really wanted to do right now was take a scolding hot shower and hit the pillow face first, instead of making awkward small talk.

"Hey, you must be Y/N," you heard a male voice say from a few feet away from you. Closing your truck bed, you noticed a blonde-haired man, who appeared to be a little over six feet tall, wearing a flannel and denim jacket similar to you, walking in your direction. This must be Dean, you thought.

"And you must be Dean," you said, when he was just a few feet in front of you. As he stood there, he leaned his arm on your truck bed, and stared at you with a smile that could easily melt the iciness that was inside your heart; you hoped that you weren't blushing. You're here to do a job, and you have a boyfriend, you told yourself.

"Nice truck," he complimented, as he patted the side. "Gen seven?" He questioned, but his tone insinuated that he already knew the model; he just wanted to see if you knew. And of course you did, as this truck was one that you had practically re-built over the course of a single summer without barely any help.

You nodded, and smiled at him, practically grinning from ear to ear; your smile was breathtaking. "He sure is. I practically re-built him over the course of a single summer before I started hunting. You should have seen the shape he was in; the whole body was practically rust," you explained.

Dean listened to the way you spoke about your truck, and he admired it, as it was similar to the way he would speak about Baby. But the way you spoke about the truck was not the only thing he was admiring; he was admiring the way the denim jacket you were wearing was slightly falling off your shoulders because of how big it was, as if you had borrowed it from someone Sam's size. Even though it was still slightly dark out, and the harsh yellow lighting was doing nobody any favors, you still somehow looked absolutely gorgeous in this lighting. Your skin looked so smooth, except for a few scars that he noticed in several places. He couldn't help but wonder the stories behind them. You're here to do a job, he reminded himself.

"That's pretty impressive that you re-built him without any help. Not a lot of people can do that," he said, trying his best to pay you a compliment. "Especially since you taught yourself."

"Yeah. My dad knows some stuff about cars, but he's no expert or anything. My best friend was the one who..." your voice trailed off, and you slightly had a blank stare on your face, as if you were reminiscing about something.

"I've re-built Baby more times than I could possibly count," he said, pointing at her for a moment before turning back to you. Your blank stare finally fading.

"When Sam told me, I honestly didn't believe him. You must be really good with your hands," you said, with a slight hint of...was that...flirting? Were you flirting with me? Dean thought. No, there's no way.

He chuckled a little. "I'd like to think so." I'd do anything to put my hands all over you....he thought. "Oh, um, since I got here first," he began, attempting to change the subject before his brain started to create some fantasies. "I was able to get us a room. But, there's only one bed, so we either have to share, or one of us is going to have to sleep on the floor."

You felt your heart starting to race a bit faster now, and your throat was beginning to get a tad dry. Were you actually nervous about the possibility of sharing a bed with the eldest Winchester?

"I don't mind sharing a bed as long as you don't," you said. But as soon as you said those words, your brain was starting to create a moral dilemma. You have a boyfriend, this counts as cheating, you thought. No, it doesn't count as cheating, I don't plan on sleeping with him as much as I'd like to.

"I don't mind. But uh...just a heads up, I get um...nightmares," he said, sounding hesitant.

"It's okay, I get them too," you reassured. "Want to head inside then and see if we can get a few hours before we go to the station tomorrow?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds good to me," he smiled.

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 3

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[greenunoreversecard]

Idk if your asks are open, but if they are could I request Alastor with a Teen!Reader that didn't have a lot of support while alive so they clung into him/look up to him?

A Koala and It's Tree ->Platonic! Alastor x Teen reader

Koalas don't tend to leave their home trees. The same can be said for you and Alastor.

You died, a ripe age of 16. Suicide was what it was ruled as, but it wasn't exactly believed by all. Not like the living could ask if you running your car off the highway was on purpose or not.

But the past is the past, torture and turmoil of it all left behind with the life you scorned.

And so you looked forward.

And despite the elusive nature one might assume of hell, you found your people, and like koalas, your home tree.

You found Alastor.

At first, you both hated each other. But, in neigh time you and him became peas in a pod. Mentor y mentè.

He gave you things you've never had, nor experienced. He supported your.. somewhat unorthodox ideas (but who is he to judge) and he took you under his wing in the most trying of times. He cared for you like his own, took you to work, and showed you the ropes hell.

He cared for you, and most of all, he gave you your home. He was your tree (sometimes literally)

--

It was an early morning when rapping at your door awoke you, accompanied by a small static sound you've come to associate with the person closest to your family.

Your door creaks open, and a chipper voice rings out;

"Good morning my dear! Why, it's much to late to still be in bed, up! Come now, we've plenty to do.-"

You groan and roll over, trying to cover your face from the light invading your senses as he opened your curtains.

"Now now, you know we've got ourself a meeting with a few other big shots, and it's best we get going now so we can still get to Rosie's to stop by that bakery she's insisting the cats pajamas-"

You groan again, and roll over and uncover your face.

"Man, no cappa, you sound old as balls. Who says cats pajamas?"

"And who says 'cappa' what in the lords name is a cappa"

You roll your eyes, and stand up, cracking your back. As you do so, alastor hands yoi clothes he's picked out for you to wear. He has a overlord meeting, and you guess by Extension it's now "bring your semi-adopted kid work day".

You go get changed in your bathroom, as well as brush your teeth and hair, and other hygienic processes, before stepping out.

"Ah, looking swell as always my dear! Are you ready?"

You nod, rubbing your eyes sleepily, and link your arm with the one he offered you as you drew closer.

Yeah, you've dealt with shit. But, sometimes, it's all worth it when you finally find your family, or in some cases, your tree. (of a semi adopted father)

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A/N: hope this was OK, and hope it was up to par. I tried to go vague ish, but if you wanted more hurt/comfort type stuff you can just lemme know and I'm wiing to make a separate fic. Thank you for requesting, and hope you don't mind I did a little blurb. Lemme know if you had smth else in mind!

Hope it was OK for my first request 👉👈

[justmyguiltyggpleasure]

Huh Yunjin x Fem Reader - Jennifer's Body

Summary: After witnessing your best friend in the middle of the highway with blood on her mouth, you knew she had just done something inhumane and you were scared... That was until she showed up in your room and showed you she was still the same Jen

Dynamic: Top!idol/bottom!reader;

Genre: Smut;

Warnings: +18; oral; fingering; biting; pet-names; ig that's it

P.S.: The plot was taken from the movie Jennifer's Body. Reader refers to Yunjin as Jen

P.S.2.: It got a lot longer than I anticipated, sorry for that. If you read all of it, thank you for your time >_<

You were scared. Better yet, you were terrified.

You knew something was up and wrong with your best friend and pared up with all the killings that have been happening. This this was beyond fucked up.

At first you were worried she was hurt as you were driving on the highway on your way home and saw her coming out the woods with blood all over her clothes and mouth. But then you saw the way she smirked and ran faster than a human ever could.

Your only option was to speed up your car without looking back.

Getting home, you parked, went inside and run up the stairs to your room as fast as you could. You couldn't breath properly, your brain was having a hard time comprehending what the fuck you just saw.

- What's up? - you heard the sound of her voice coming from your bed right behind you and you screamed  turning around - OH MY GOD, stop screaming!

- HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET HERE? - you ask exasperated, voice not lowering a bit.

- Through the window, silly. I tried knocking and ringing the bell but you wouldn't open up - she answered still laying on you bed.

- NO! I saw you, I saw you, Jen

- Of course you did. You see me everyday. We got the same classes, angel. Are you okay? - she sounded so condescending it made your blood boil.

- Stop it! Stop playing with me. What the fuck is going on?! - you were getting mad at the way she was so calm and clearly having a good time watching you in distress

- I'm a demon. A succubus to be more specific. - she answers without missing a beat.

- How did it happen?

- Remember when I went that band's van? - you nod once. - So they took me to the forest and sacrificed me for their ritual but it didn't work out. I was supposed to be a virgin or some shit. Anyways, I'm like this now, I gotta feed every now and then but as long as I do that, I keep on being pretty and basically a superhuman.

- You're killing people, Jen

- No, I'm killing boys. - she says so matter of factly she almost convinced you it was okay. - You look so stressed out... Come here...

Yunjin kneels on the bed and gets closer to you slowly. You were scared but you couldn't move.

Only now you notice she had only a your shirt and panties on, nothing out of the ordinary.

- You see... I don't keep secrets from you and I miss our sleepovers. - she puts a strand of hair behind your ear - Wanna play girlfriend-boyfriend like we used to? - again that condescending tone but you weren't even mad now

- Jen, I don- - without giving you a chance to finish what you had to say her lips were on yours.

It was so slow and soft, just barely there.

First she kissed you upper lip, then your bottom lip. The sharp intake of air when she grazer her tongue through the opening of your lips, it drives her crazy, she wants to ruin you but she'll let you come to her and ask for it. So she pulls away slowly and like a magnet you follow straddling her hips.

She let's you take control of the kiss. It's nothing like the previous ones, it's all tongue and lip biting you feel almost desperate and you're not sure why.

Pulling away to catch your breath you feel light-headed by the vision. Her lips are puffy and she's smiling softly at you. Her hair sprawled on your bed. Yunjin has always been beautiful, but right now she looked ethereal, like an angel. Her eyes looked so pure, they twinkled under your bedroom light.

Funny how every adjective you could think to describe her was the complete opposite of what she was and what she wanted to do with you. Maybe that's what they mean when they say the devil is a deceiver.

- What's on your mind, pretty girl? - she asks, her hands running along your thighs.

- I want you

- You have me, I'm right here - she really was going to make you ask for it, wasn't she?

- I want you to fuck me - her eyes went almost completely black which you were almost taken aback by has it not been that alluring aura she was exuding right now. It was like a spell and you were bound to her.

She turned you both getting on top of you, her kisses now following the same tempo you'd set. Her hands exploring your body like a map she spent so long studying.

You have no idea when your clothes came off, it was like you were slipping in and out of consciousness, not like you were drugged but like you were hypnotized, nonetheless you felt every touch, every kiss, every breath.

With two finger Yunjin draws lazy circles on your clit all the while she kissed and grazed her teeth along your jaw and neck. You sighed

- Please, Jen - she just chuckles before slowing descending to your chest.

- So needy... - she licked your left nipple then the right one, both hardening when the air made contact with the saliva coated buds. Yunjin smiled. - Patience, angel. I'll give you what you want. Don't I always?

Before you could answer, Yunjin took your left nipple in her mouth suckling hard, bitting and pulling on it with her teeth. Her left hand pinched and pulled the other one. Her right hand speeding up on your clit.

Your back arched into her and you almost didnt recognizethe moan that left you, your right hand holding her hair and the left one barely able to hold onto her wrist with how fast it was moving.

- F-fuck!... Jen... I'm... I'm gonna... I'm cumming - your body trembled while Yunjin slowed her movements. She never stopped tho. She peppered kisses on your cheeks, forehead and lips

- Good job, angel. Can you give me another one? - you nodded in response felling her fingers travel down your pussy, finding your hole and inserting two fingers with not much of a ceremony. Your back arched again, Yunjin didn't wait for you to adjust, curling her fingers while moving just as fast as she had before. You gasped for air

- J-Jen... wait - making eye contact you noticed her eyes blacken again, only this time it didn't scared you. It aroused you even more and Yunjin could feel it. She smirked before burying her face on your neck leaving heaven knows how many marks behind.

- hmm... I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Are you gonna cum for me again, angel? - you nod, eyes shut - Yeah? Cum for me then.

And all it takes is two more thrusts for you to call her name rutting onto her fingers to ride your orgasm.

Yunjin pulls out and brings her fingers to your lips.

- Open up, pretty girl. - she says in a sing-song tone. - Tongue out. - It wasn't a request, it was a command. You did exactly what she wanted. Putting your tongue out, you swirl it around Yunjin's fingers, her eyes fixated on your every move. Once again her eyes blacken and you feel her pushing her fingers into your mouth almost reaching the back of your throat and pulling out. She did it again and again, finger fucking your mouth until you gagged, quickly pulling out replacing her fingers with her own mouth, licking and suckling your tongue. It was messy.

- I need to taste you. - already making her way down your body. Yunjin pushed your thighs against your stomach and just dove in.

Like she has been walking on the desert for days and you were the first cup of water she found, Yunjin drank you up. Licking from your hole up to your clit. Suckling, licking like her life depended on it.

She was shaking her head, flattening her tongue and moving in all directions. She pushed her tongue in and out of you, the tip of her nose making contact with your clit were enough to drive you crazy. You were quite leterally screaming and crying for her. But it was the feeling of her teeth on your clit that sent you toppling over the edge.

- FUCK! JENNIFER! - Yunjin helped you ride your high once again, letting your thighs fall back down she comes up from her position. Chin, lips, and even the tip of her nose glistening with your juices.

- Clean me up? - she requested so softly, you pull her face kissing the tip of her nose, licking her chin, her lips and pulling her into another breathing kiss. Yunjin positioned herself between your thighs making contact with your sensitive clit again. You whimpered and she pulls away. - Is it bad I really wanna ruin you now?

- Please do

Yunjin's only response was to stand up and make her way to your closet. You knew she was looking for the strap you wore so many times before.

- Face down ass up, angel. Let's see how many more can you take

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Want to be tagged?

[gnohomotho]

Just a game (part 2) 𝄞⨾

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Pairing: Hwang In-ho / The Frontman x fem!reader

Summary: We're getting there, folks. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜) Mostly fluff, need, imagination, fantasy, slow burn. Focus on the f!reader, because you deserve nice things. She's home, receiving odd gifts, some sweet, some...quite the not sweet, the game and plot and trouser legs thicken (I'm so sorry, it's literally 2 a.m. here). In-ho definitely isn't obsessing over you, hatching elaborate plans, thinking of you so hard he'll break another turtleneck. Not saying the f!reader has any specific issues, but if you recognize any, I hope to be nothing but respectful. ♥ Oh, and we have a dream sequence, Freud would be proud.

(This was mainly meant as a "put your feet up and be cozy, read about yourself and feel good" read, the action will come later. Among other things. I'm so sorry, my thesis is driving me mad.)

Warnings: It's the god damn Front Man The usual Squid Game warnings, mdni, stalking, spying, voyeurism, touching, self-touching, sexual themes, sexual almost-intercourse, descriptions of anatomy and body parts, blood, yearning, some terrible references and Slavic folklore. Privacy? In my fic? It's less likely than you think.

Word count: 4.2k

Link to previous Link to next

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A cup of tea. A cup. You were watching the cup. Steam rises from it and folds into nothing. Your stomach is churning. Is it stress? You ponder. Seeing the liquid close in on itself as you stir it. Again and again.

"It'll get cold." You say, to no one. You try to breathe. Heart pounding. Head a bit spinny. You look around your room. Dimly lit, warm orange light from a salt lamp. You check your blinds - still closed, still safe. Noise from other people you try to filter out. Why do you jump at every single sound? Why does white noise blaring its head off make for the only atmosphere you can stand? You wonder. You get up. The world spins. The phone lies on your bed. As it has for the last three hours. Unchecked. Your sound is off. It always is. You turned off everything this time. It's just black. You try to think, ground yourself, poems float through your pounding head. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the tall mirrors of your wardrobe. An oddly shaped form stares back at you.

"Jesus Christ…I look…like shit." The mirrored lips curl around your words - but it might as well have been a stranger speaking back at you. You don't recognize yourself, and what you do, you dislike. Like a funhouse mirror. Without the fun. Your long hair falls across your shoulders, curling towards the ends. Your exposed skin is cold and giving a nice exposé of every vein under your neck, driving rivers of blue across your collarbones, your shoulders, your chest. You won't look further. They seem to be drawn to your middle, pooling across your skin. People often referred to you as pale, no matter your actual skin tone. When things got a tad too heavy, you became transparent. It was calming, sometimes. Calming that so much was trying to keep you alive to the point of exhausting itself and sending highways of signals through every vein to keep at it. Your head spins again. More poems. Try to drink the tea.

"Light your candle, one, two, there's a moth…" You know the rest. But the lips fail to speak. You pick up the phone. And almost knock over your tea. Then proceed to fight an urge to fling it into a wall and watch the stains roll down like fresh blood.

Seventeen missed calls from a blocked number - your now ex-companion. A worried message from your friend, no doubt spurred by said ex-companion with an entirely different story to reality. Frowning, you adjust your dressing gown and tie it down to hold everything in and hold you together.

"Hey, Y/N…I know you probably don't want to talk, but I'm sorry things went so badly. I'm here."

You hate yourself a little more. Clara has always been a darling, you…cared for her. A lot. You wish to say "loved", you squint your eyes and wish to say you love her. People are kind. People are always so very kind. And you can't drink a cup of tea. Nor reply. There's also an email. From a set of numbers, no name. You open it, against your better judgement. No subject, only a photograph. Of your door. Your door inside your flat. Which is locked. You didn't ring anyone in. You, of all people, didn't hear any steps on the stairs. You live at the very top floor. And still?! What is wrong with you lately, now of all times?

And still, there is a photograph of your door. With…things? Your shoes were gently placed beside your mat.

"Um…" You knock on your housemate's door - how grateful you are for the economic situation which doesn't permit you to live alone now, you think bitterly as his steps approach.

"Oh, Y/N, how are you? What can I do you for?" Ever the cheerful voice and visage stands before you, half dressed, always flooded with work and hobbies. The room behind him is full of papers and candles, manuals and scripts, and information that probably shouldn't be lying around covered in bird photography snaps. It calms you a tad. You breathe out and uncross your arms. In the back of your mind, you wonder what he's always so entranced with.

"I'm getting there, thank you, Lubo." Your chest falls a tad, you really do feel a bit better, but very on edge. You fidget with your fingers as you speak. "Would it be alright to ask if you could open the main door with me? Something is there and I've been listening to too many IRA anthems to trust it." Because making a joke out of a very serious situation never failed you yet.

"Sure!"

You notice one of the birds on the ground behind him. Gazing at one photograph a little longer, you smile at the birdie and its soft grey feathers, little black dash across its little eyes...you realise you're looking at a shrike. The universe really is sending her best.

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You open the door as Lubo endeavours to rummage through the things on your doorstep. It seems to be a very neatly wrapped black box with a pink bow. With a little token of a crow embossed on its side. Heavy, by the looks of it. You half expect your ex-companion's limbs to be soaking its insides.

"I'll take it indoors and disinfect it, ok? Just so it doesn't feel like you've contaminated the flat." You nod, thank him over and over, and feel very grateful for him remembering your slight fights with obsessive cleanliness and parasites. But this looks…clean. You take a knife from your room, the knife that's been under your pillow for good reason. Kneeling, you gently unwrap the box altogether and distance yourself from the thing for a little bit. Breathe. It's just a box. Those never go wrong.

It's…full of…gifts?

Your…favourite flowers, perfectly preserved. No one knows your favourite flowers that well. Under them, resting under jewels of crimson poppies, lies a book of poems, the ones you use to calm yourself down; the ones that make you feel less alone. In the correct languge, even. Next to the poppies, hot water bottles, wrapped, fluffy, still warm. Under them yet, medication you couldn't get from your doctor for the entire month due to disagreements and never being heard, half of them aren't even sold in the country. Bath salts, dark chocolate, tea…there seems to be so much. Your face is caught in a mixture of attempting to frown, being swept off your feet, and deeply uncomfortable with what is basically an encyclopedia of you in a box. You carefully lay the items to the side and begin to notice things you truly need your housemate to not see. You lose your breath for a moment and blush so hard you almost forget both the kindness and terror of the rest of the package. It seems to be divided into care for you and…some other forms of urges. As if. As fucking if.

"Google, remind me to photograph this tomorrow in good light," you say to nothing, "to use as evidence either after this person manages to kill me or before, if the courts move faster than an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping."

Against your better judgement, you carry the box to your room and watch it for a while, as you do other things, but can never quite relax. Surely he can't be serious. Your name isn't Shirley.

There was also a note you now keep flinging on your table and crunching in your hands, neatly written, with no name.

"Dear Y/N,

should you wish to meet someone qualified to help with the attached records, it has been arranged. Be at the coordinates listed between the red and white gift and you will be taken care of. No harm will come to you. You are safe. As right as rain."

Right as rain…that's a part of a poem, that absolute…dear God, fuck, the thoughts in your head are tumbling down at you and you collapse onto the bed, staring at your knees. It's a good thing he somehow didn't include your most loved flowers, since they're all poisonous. One of them you like specifically because it is elegant, sharp, snowy, and beautiful - and all of her body, leaves, and seed pouches scream "don't fucking touch me, if you do, you will die and wish for death the entire time you are doing so". You would very much like to be the flower now. Make someone else hallucinate.

You search the box again and find the beautiful gown, in red, and the gentle white lace undergarments - as kind and gentle and revealing as they are elegant. A little QR code is nestled between the lace.

"Nope. Nope nope NOPE. Absolutely not," you say out loud. Fighting the fact that the nightgown under the two other garments is cozy and light and so very beautiful. And it smells…oddly familiar. With a hint of something else. As if someone knew you loved scents of sweetness, vanilla, caramel, honey, and skin combined with darker, heavier tones that don't usually mix with feminine perfumes. Something lovely and gentle to draw you in, with something far more potent, enveloping, and enthralling to drag you down the lake to drown. And yet. Still. Something else. Something more. You decide to put on the gown and stare into a little crow's eyes. Such a pretty little statue, you don't even remember where you got it from.

"I'm going to be alright. Water is fine. This is just water. We've been here, we've been in the mud up to our noses." You are whispering to yourself, trying to sooth your mind. Metaphores, poems, sooth sooth sooth. You close your eyes, think of beautiful women, barefoot, in the dark of a forest. Glistening lights in their long hair, lights in their gorgeous eyes. Light on their feet, as they dance upon the water and through the marsh. You cannot drown a forest spirit of a woman scorned. They will mesmerize you, dance you, dance you to the end of your love and tether, and pull you into the depths. Then kiss you as you gasp for air.

You undress, eyes still closed, holding the long white gown. You slowly slide into the fabric, which clings to your skin as a lover's touch at the first sign of morning light. Still trying to be as unbothered and confident as a forest Rusalka. You aren't. But the gown smells nice. And it's quite light. Long sleeves, fabric that reveals but doesn't scream. Lace around your chest and stomach, falling down your hips and thighs.

…Kiss you as you gasp for air.

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In-ho was pleased with his gift. Not only the gift, but the message. Upon message. Upon message. He wondered, quite hopeful - yet reserved - if you understood them all. No matter.

You will. Oh, you will. Every word. Even if he has to cling them to your skin, one by one, with his own lips.

To the surprise of absolutely no one except you, perhaps, the small bird brought him all the feedback he could desire. Rather low quality feedback, he thought, as he watched you ponder, watched you crunch up the note, and watched you dress. Instinctively, he looked away as you began to slide your own clothes down. He glimpsed perhaps a strap, perhaps more skin than he first saw…light reflecting off you, sliding down, further down, caressing your tenderness…yet he looked away, calmly resolute to not look back. His gaze remained firmly in the corner of the room, he certainly wasn't fighting - or imagining himself being the photons of light resting on your supple skin. No. It would be unbecoming to watch a lady undress, so vulnerable, so unknowing. Never mind the rest. If you looked up the word "hypocrite" in the dictionary, In-ho's face wouldn't be next to it. It would be on the next page, because he would never be caught. As he looked back, you were dressed, not looking at yourself.

In-ho frowns for a moment, before he sees the rest of you. Even though it's just a phone screen and the picture quality truly isn't doing you justice, his breath is caught. He shifts and looks around instinctively, only a flicker of the eyes and a small movement of the neck. But he's nervous, nervous to be so exposed. He chuckles to himself just as unnoticeably - he's spying on you yet he's the one feeling exposed..was the chuckle to ease tension? This is just a game to him and you are nothing, after all. No one. He shifts once more and uncrosses his legs, one hand slowly combing his hair firmly away from of his forehead. Nothing. Just as it is nothing that is making the jacket around his neck feel tight. He sees you stand, further away now. He sees your entirety in the white flowing fabric, the lace, the…entirety…of you. His coat needs to come off, and is discarded to the side in haste. The remaining turtleneck isn't much help, but he goes in, now fully enthralled. Positioning himself, he endeavours to enjoy you. Slowly. From the tip of your head to the soles of your feet, remaining fully in control, admiring, never taking, never grabbing. Never…needing. But as he moves down your face, your cheeks, your chin, along your neck all the way to your hair resting on your now exposed shoulders, back to your mouth and lips - he leans into the screen - those supple yet reserved, tender lips whispering gently and curling around words as if speaking to a sleeping lover in the night who is caught in a bad dream, the eyes - damn the picture quality - the eyes that glint, yet resemble dark pools amid features that are…that mean…his heart is fast. His eyes pools of reckless abandon. They flicker to the movement of your hips and tick fast, fast back up top, stopping at the almond curve the nightgown begets your breasts - In-ho's hands twitch as his fingers yearn with a mind of their own, to hear you gasp and squirm and melt under their touch as he teases, cups, and caresses in the gown's place. Tender flowers, waiting to be kissed. As you move, for him, for his eyes only, his mind floods through its inhibitions and begins racing on instinct - yet does so wrapped in cotton; barely subdued. Algorithms, scenarios, plans - ten a second - gather in his mind - resting on nothing but your features, spurred into existence by you, your lips, your form, your movement. He's watching the last flame dance before him in a sea of suffocating darkness, and it is his. Tension grips The Frontman's trousers as he digs his fingers in to feel something, anything, as if to drag himself back, painfully if need be - all this…for a low quality moving picture of you.

You. Your self before him. No adjective does it justice to In-ho, no painter could stroke its surface, nobody could own this moment. Nobody but him. And he cannot reach, reach through the screen, for you, for you mean…you in your entirety, before him, vulnerable, bare, unknowing, both a deity to be worshipped and a form to be devoured and left pleading, barely breathing under him, his grasp, his hot breath, you, you mean…

…nothing to him. In-ho leans back again. He breathes a bit faster, containing himself. As his breath slows and features fall back into place, he straightens the trouser leg and exhales. Your name is on his lips as he does so; he whispers it to himself. A name that doesn't seem to leave his tongue, no matter how many times it wraps around every syllable.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…you are nothing."

He turns off the screen with one click. "Nothing." He gets up, leaving the phone behind. He is back to his true self - unbothered, cold, empty. A statue of stone. It was fun while it lasted, but the shell he wears gets tired of the falsity imbued in it during these little sidesteps. Little adventures to ease the monotony. Your records lie on the table, next to his glass of dark liquer. He walks over slowly, cradles it, sipping with restraint, and puts it down just as slowly in the exact same place. He goes on with his evening, thinking, it must be said, of nothing. He continues his work, thinking of nothing. Nothing replaces the drabble of his underlings as they update him on the latest games. Nothing is on his mind as he showers, nothing is in the water that glides down his own body. Nothing is in the warmth that he doesn't imagine being replaced nor coming from a different source. The voice of nothing is in the hiss and humm of the shower, nothing sings to him sweetly as it envelops his form. Nothing is woven into his satin sheets, nothing still smells of the perfume he picked for you, nothing is in his bed and pillows and nothing is slowly, invariably, fatally invading his mind. The cologne he uses, the same cologne he rubbed upon certain parts of the gown you now rest in, isn't combining and wildly interweaving with your gentle, warm, sweet, yet heavy scent. Nothing is everywhere and nothing is driving him absolutely stark, staring mad as he lays there - naked, exposed, amid satin sheets, it is nothing that invades his dreams and wraps him in sensations he can still only dream of.

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Barren lands and dusk. No flowers. No life. In-ho is alone. As far as the eye can see lies nothing. He cannot feel his mask. A shape is in front of him, laying there, incredulous. Unfitting its surroundings. As if guided by an unseen hand, he walks up to her slowly and kneels beside her. She is dressed in white fabric, falling across her skin, exposing more than is becoming of such a form. Her hand is resting next to her head, her other at her side. She is peacefully asleep. A gentle humm escapes her lips - she must be dreaming. In-ho glides the back of his hand everso carefully across her cheek, guiding it down her neck and stopping at her collarbones. Her chest lifts in a slow rhythm as her skin touches his. She is his. Is she not? He could...open his hand, and his hand opens. He could place it around her neck, and he does. As he feels her warmth and blood pumping into his hand, he thinks he could squeeze and hold down. He doesn't. The form reacts to his intentions, seemingly, her face frowning in the most unnoticeable way, lips falling from their previous peaceful expression to a worried frown. As if caught in a bad dream.

No, no, no.

In-ho releases the pressure and merely rests his hand on her neck, pushing errant strands of hair away from her skin. They fall around her shoulders and between the fingers of his other hand, which lifts instinctively to cradle her head. Her expression relaxes, and he smiles almost on instinct. Suddenly, her eyes flutter open and gaze into his own, almost unblinking and holding his gaze. The pools of comforting darkness set in an innocent visage drive electrical current through his entire body and In-ho almost has to steady himself against the ground where his hand is holding her head, still. She isn't scared, she only gazes and studies, lays, and rests in his own dark eyes. Her smile mirrors his. As if the two of them were already familiar, already far beyond anything novel. She whispers to him.

"Darling, this isn't your place."

In-ho doesn't think, he knows the voice. The gentle, slow, melodic whisper that he wishes to hear before he goes to sleep himself. Putting more strength into his grip, he places his dominant palm in hers as it still lays beside her head. He squeezes her down. Without thought, his body shifts to move above hers, holding her gaze, now directly on top of her, without touching her body with his. His hands no longer gentle, but firmly holding down. His thumb caresses her cheek as his other hand pushes her palm into the ground.

"It doesn't need to be."

As the sentence barely left his lips, he connects them with her neck, firmly kissing the skin and pulling her into his bite. The taste is intoxicating, and beckons for more. Sweet, tender, pure, intoxicating. Down her neck he plants kisses and barely restrained bites, gliding his touch, gripping her hand and moving his other to her neck once more. He hears gasps and timid moans, and he moves down, lips brushing against her chest and resting upon it. He lets go of her hand and finally grips her, under the small of her back, caressing and squeezing her waist, lifting her body into his. Now he feels her. Now he feels her being react and pressure and squirm, now he feels the pulse of her body directly under his and melting into him. Every movement, every gasp, every beat of her heart - in his control, under him, sinking into him. Her waist lifts against his and he eagerly helps it up, feeling his need against her body, finally, all he needs to do is tear off the gown, take her, make her fully his and hear her cries and moans as he takes what is his. Still in control of himself, he fully recognizes his itch, his need, his voracious hunger. He recognizes it and fully gives into it.

But the dream does not let him.

Something is wrong. The body is colder now, her breathing is slow, her voice no longer caressing him, her being no longer reacting to his touch. The current fizzled out. Pulling away, he sees the damage done - even as her eyes are wistful and her smile still there, it is sorrowful and soft, gazing down at him although broken under him. He sees her neck and chest, her breasts exposed, her skin red with bite marks, red with his signatures. Lines where his grip failed to falter rest on her tender flesh, her pallor a canvas for his need and depravity. For his destruction. He does not want this, he does not want her like this, his mind races and tries to get back in control but cannot. The canvas before him begins to soak through in crimson, blood pools into the white fabric where he lay and pushed and tried to take her. As he watches the gown cling to her stomach with blood, fear drives cold daggers through his back. He is no longer the Front Man, he is himself. Himself before a Front Man ever was. And he is...scared. Still her voice reaches him, doing nothing to alleviate his state, doing nothing to destroy the damn invisible barrier that keeps him from holding her close, holding her together, holding him together.

"Not like this darling, not like this again."

How is she still smiling? How does she seem so cold yet encompassing an utter lack of proximity? Holding her now seems like the most sacriligeous, repugnant thing he could do. His hands shiver lightly, how is he afraid to touch her now? After all that? She is his, his, this is all so incredibly wrong! He doesn't care, he doesn't have feelings for such frivolities, she is a dime a dozen, she is worth nothing, and she is nothing to him; nothing.

And she's still smiling, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she can hear his inner turmoil and has seen it thrice before.

"Taking what you want, never what you need."

In-ho looks down at his own body, which begins to feel cold and wrong. As if missing something vital. He smells copper, his hand feels hot as he touches his chest yet his body grows colder. The last thing he remembers before waking up in a freezing sweat is looking down at his own body, now filled with open chasms wherever it touched hers - gaping empty holes that can be filled with nothing, bleeding him into the ground as she watches on.

In-ho gasps, springs up into a seated position and touches his chest, his stomach - and breathes in relief. As he is composing himself, a new manner of play begins to form in his mind. Between hurried breaths and elevated pulse beats, he plans a new way to play this game and win.

[cloverjelly]

life series duos as songs!

2 - mean gills (scott and martyn) - me and the devil by soap & skin

again, song analysis under the cut :)

-(not song related/for clarification) - somewhat hc but i say scott has the widow curse (not grian ik, scott's curse is in the sense that he outlives his allies) which is the black widow spider fucking up the strings and martyns is the swan curse bc he devotes himself to one person and will defend it like hes fucking feral. which explains the feathers bc i really didnt wanna draw a swan!

-and i said hello satan, ah / i believe it's time to go - i like to think that since both of these buddies r super smart and (mostly canonically) aware of the watchers and what goes on beyond the games, they both kinda knew about each others curses when they met and knew one of them would die to the other and only one curse would be broken in the end

-me and the devil walkin' side by side - super similar to the first note- the entire mean gills alliance was doomed and formed more from strategy than actual friendliness (debatable but yk) and both were aware of the other's ability to murder them

-you may bury my body / down by the highway side - i would say this is mostly scotts pov, since i still believe that he knew what was coming for him and knew about martyn's betrayal, this is also shown by him smiling in the art

-see, don't see why / people dog me around / it must be that old evil spirit / so deep down in your ground - kinda tying back to how both parties were somewhat aware of the watchers (the "evil spirit" in the lyrics) and were lamenting about their curses, especially when it came to them both being in the final fight

-(not song related, 2) - i used white hibiscus flowers as a base for scott's crown (its usually js yellow) bc 1. they lived on a fucking beach 2. it symbolizes purity and sympathy which i think makes a lot of sense considering the above circumstances, AND i used the same reddish tone for scott's flowers and martyn's coral crown. i ALSO added a nice beam of light as the lighting this time bc drama and also idk smth smart about being aware/"enlightened" to the watcher's antics

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), language, lots of smut, fluff, did I mention smut?

Epilogue

September 2005

"Are we almost there?" you asked Joel, who looked back over his shoulder at you from atop his horse.

"Almost," he assured you, turning back to the road in front of him.

He had wanted to keep it a surprise, but you saw the signs on the highway and figured it out a few hours into the trip. He was taking you to Yellowstone for "a few days", and it had taken you almost a full day on the back of a horse to finally get there. Your back and legs were sore, but you didn't complain. You were excited at the idea of getting away with Joel, just the two of you, the way it used to be.

You wondered where he was planning on taking you, having ridden by several campgrounds at this point as you made your way down the twisty road that led you through the entire park. You began to see signs for Old Faithful and your face lit up.

"C'mon, this way," he called over his shoulder as he steered his horse onto a road that led to a massive parking lot peppered with buildings. He led you past a visitors' center, a restaurant, and a general store until he stopped in front of a huge hotel.

"Whoa," you said, sliding down from your horse as you gawked up at the huge building, which was made to look like a giant log cabin.

"Me and Tommy came up a week ago and checked out the area, should be safe," he told you as he tied your horses to a railing.

"The whole building?" you asked incredulously. There was no way they could have gone through each room.

"Well, no, but we cleared the first floor and barricaded the stairs after we checked the hallways," he admitted. "Still should be on alert, though."

He led you up the steps and cracked the front door open, peeking inside for a minute before opening it all the way and letting you in. He held his rifle in his hands as he checked out the dining hall and kitchen before returning to you in the lobby. You had plopped down on a couch to rest, your head twisting around as you took in the artwork and informational signage on the walls.

"Tired?" he guessed, arching an eyebrow at you.

"A little," you admitted guiltily. "Guess I got too used to a life of luxury."

He laughed and held his arm out to help pull you up from the couch.

"C'mon, I already picked out a room for us," he said, leading you down the hall with his arm slung around your shoulder.

"I feel bad you did all this work and it's your birthday," you told him.

"You don't know if it's my birthday," he reminded you, and you shook your head.

"According to Maria's calendar, it's tomorrow," you said as you gave him a gentle poke in the ribs. No one was really sure what the actual date was. It had struck a big debate in a town hall meeting, various people swearing up and down they had kept track since the outbreak, but no one could agree on the same date. Maria compromised and picked a date in the middle, and it had been that way ever since.

"A few days all alone with you is well worth it," he said. Once you reached a door marked 19 all the way at the end of the hall, he dropped his arm from your shoulders and gripped his rifle.

"Lemme double check it's clear," he told you, pushing the unlocked door open and advancing into the room, doing a quick sweep before coming back out to the hall, ushering you inside.

"This is nice," you said, shrugging off your backpack and kicking off your boots. It was a standard hotel room: one king sized bed, a dresser, end tables, and a bathroom. But it looked like he had taken the time to clean it. You noticed there wasn't much dust on the surfaces in the room, and the bed looked freshly made.

"It's not much," he said as he walked to the covered window. "But this is why I picked it."

He flicked the curtains open so you could see outside. It was getting dark, but you could see a massive, open, rocky terrain directly outside your window. You squinted, trying to figure out what you were looking at when suddenly a huge gush of water shot straight up into the sky.

"Holy shit!" you yelled, quickly walking over to press your face against the window. Joel laughed. His timing couldn't have been more perfect.

You watched the geyser erupt for a few short minutes before it slowed and disappeared, and the quiet of evening enveloped the area once again.

"That was so cool," you said, looking up at him leaning against the window frame.

"We can get a better look tomorrow," he promised you. He pushed off the window to return to his pack, taking out a lantern and putting it on top of the dresser so you could see as the sun began to set.

"Is this where you and Tommy stayed when you came here?"

"No," he chuckled. "We were practically still kids. Thought we were tough roughin' it in the woods. First night we thought we heard a bear, next mornin' we booked the tiniest cabin you've ever seen, spent the rest of the week tryin' not to kill each other."

You laughed at the image he painted for you then flopped on the bed with a groan.

"Comfortable?" he asked you, standing up from emptying his backpack and turning around.

"Mhmm," you hummed, turning your head to look at him across the room. "Come here."

He strode over to you with a smirk and leaned down, his fists pushing into the mattress to hold him up on either side of you. He bent down to press his lips softly against yours, your eyes fluttering shut at the tenderness behind his kiss. You ran your hand up his exposed forearm, lightly tracing his veins under your fingertip while your other hand wrapped around the back of his neck, your fingers carding through his curls as you pulled him down further to you.

"Y'know, it's the anniversary of our first kiss," he mumbled against your mouth before pulling back and standing up.

"Oh, that's right," you said with a grin, then sat up on the bed as you watched him tug the curtains closed. You dragged your eyes up and down his body, thinking back to that night outside the bar and how much simpler life was back then.

"What're you thinkin' about?" he asked you, the corner of his mouth tugging up when he turned around and caught you staring.

"I was just wondering what would have happened that night if I went home with you," you told him. You giggled when his gaze darkened, his mind clearly taking what you said very literally.

"I mean, with us," you clarified. "And the outbreak. What our lives would have been like, if we would have even found each other that day..." your voice trailed off, leaving out the darker thought you had. What if Colleen had bit you?

Joel could tell you were overthinking when he saw your unfocused eyes trail around the room and your teeth sink into your lower lip.

"I always woulda found you, no matter what," he assured you. When that didn't seem to snap you out of it, he continued. "Besides, if you had come home with me that night, there was no way we were leavin' my bed the next day. I can promise you that."

That finally made a grin pull across your face and your eyes light up.

"Oh, yeah?" you pressed him, wiggling your eyebrows. You crawled across the bed, laying flat on your stomach and beckoned him to join you. He shook his head but walked back over to the bed anyway.

"Thought you were tired?" he murmured, his fingers gently trailing from the back of your neck down your spine.

"Not that tired," you said, turning your head to the side so you could look up at him standing above you. "Tell me what would have happened that night."

He felt his cock move in his jeans, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from groaning. It always amazed him how you could bring him to his knees with just a few words.

He swung his leg over yours so he was kneeling on either side of you, his hips resting on the back of your legs. He ran his hands up your sides before slowly dragging them back down to your hips, giving them a squeeze.

"Assumin' I didn't fuck you in the elevator first," he said lowly, his fingers dipping underneath the hem of your shirt. "I think I woulda laid you on top of my kitchen counter, pushed that little black dress up," he said as he lifted your shirt up to your shoulders, his hands massaging your sore back. "Then I woulda fucked you with my tongue til you were screamin' my name."

"Hmm," you moaned, wiggling your ass enticingly. "You do seem to have a thing for kitchen counters."

He grinned as he gently yanked your shirt over your head, leaving your top half bare and pressed into the bed.

"What else?" you asked breathlessly, your eyes sliding shut as he continued to rub his rough hands along your sore muscles.

"You remember those red shoes you were wearin'?"

You nodded and let out a soft whimper when his fingers found a particularly tough knot in your back.

"When I saw those, I thought about fuckin' you with 'em slung over my shoulders," he said, his erection straining against his jeans now.

"I should've packed them before we left my apartment," you muttered with a half smile. "I'm sure they would have been useful in the middle of the woods."

"Oh, you wanna talk about what went through my mind in your apartment?" he asked, reaching underneath you to unzip your jeans. He could feel the anticipation bubbling inside him becoming unmanageable, desperate to bury himself inside you.

"What about it?" you whispered, lifting your hips so he could pull your jeans off, leaving you in just your underwear. He hissed through his teeth when he saw the lacy pair you chose to wear for him, leaving very little coverage. His huge hands stretched out over each one of your cheeks as far as he could before curling his fingers and giving your ass an aggressive jiggle.

"Shoulda at least packed those little red panties stashed away in your drawer," he growled, his hands massaging your ass before traveling down the backs of your thighs, his movements becoming erratic. He felt your body still under him, and he froze, wondering if he crossed a line.

"What the hell? You went through my underwear drawer?" you asked sharply without turning your head to look at him. He cleared his throat before answering.

"Well, I-I didn't mean to, I was lookin' on top of your dresser and the drawer was open..." Joel stammered, feeling embarrassed until he felt your body shaking under his hands, your palm covering your mouth to stifle your laughter. He exhaled harshly when he realized you were just messing with him, his mood quickly changing back to playful.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now," he said darkly, making you yelp when he grabbed the sides of your underwear and roughly pulled them down your legs.

You tried to turn over, but his hand splayed across your lower back, effectively stopping you with a tsk.

"Nah, I think you're good right where you are, sweetheart," he said as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt. You heard the telltale sound of a zipper, and you thought you were going to jump out of your skin. Not being able to see him but to hear and feel everything was driving you wild.

He only pushed his jeans down far enough to free his cock, stroking it in one hand while his other hand curled around your hipbone, giving you a firm but gentle tug. You immediately obeyed, lifting your hips off the mattress but keeping your arms and head flat against the comforter. Your breaths were shallow as you anxiously waited for him to touch you.

Joel watched your arms reach straight out, your fingers gripping the duvet as your braced yourself for him. He looked down to admire your ass propped up in the air. He kept a firm hold on your hip as he slid his cock between your folds, collecting your arousal all along the length of him. You let out a low moan when his tip pushed up against your clit, and he couldn't help the smirk that danced across his face.

"You like messin' with me, hm?" he asked, dragging his cock through your folds again before his tip found your entrance, and he paused.

"Answer me," he demanded, his brows furrowed as he stared at the back of your head. You felt a shiver run down your spine at his tone. It was one of the things you loved most about him: his duality. The way he could be so gentle and soft, but also rough and harsh.

"Yes," you said breathily, and you felt his cock twitch against your cunt. Before you had a chance to think, his hand came down on your ass with a loud smack, followed immediately by him sinking into you with one swift motion.

"Fuck!" you cried out, waiting as the sting from his hand and cock slowly subsided into pleasure. Your fingers gripped the duvet so tight, they felt numb. You panted against your arm, waiting for him to move.

Both his hands gripped your hips lightly as he tried to ground himself, the sensation of your walls squeezing him making him dizzy. He watched, slack jawed, as the red handprint he left on your cheek slowly faded. Once it was gone, he swallowed and steadied himself.

He pulled back almost completely and paused before he pushed back into you as deep as he could, eliciting a moan from your throat. The angle caused him to get so deep that his tip was pressing against your cervix, making your eyes roll to the back of your head with each deep, powerful thrust.

He began to roll his hips steadily, his grip on you tightening as you whimpered under him. He could tell he was hitting that sweet spot by the soft noises you made and the way you clenched around him, causing him to quickly approach his high.

"Joel," you whined under him, desperate to hear his voice, still unable to see him.

"Would you have let me fuck you like this?" he gasped, his head tilting back and his eyes sliding shut as he continued to fuck into you. "That night at the bar? Would you - "

"Yes!" you cried out, your hips bucking against him now, desperate for release. "I wanted you so bad that night, baby, please..."

A switch flipped inside him when he heard that name - baby. He groaned, his eyes flashing open, his jaw clenched as his fingers left deep bruises in your hips.

"Fuck, y'know what that does to me," he muttered, slamming his hips into you over and over until he felt your cunt flutter around him, and you choked out a gasp, letting your orgasm wash over you as he continued to jerk inside you relentlessly.

He felt your body sag, but you fought to hold your hips up on shaky legs as he chased his release.

"That's my girl. Such a good girl, always make me feel so good," he murmured more to himself than anything. A few more thrusts and he pulled himself out of you quickly, spilling himself all over your back as you panted for air underneath him.

You both collapsed onto the bed: you on your stomach, him on his back, as you each attempted to catch your breath.

"Jesus, fuck," he rasped, staring at the ceiling. You turned your head and gave him a quiet giggle.

"I should mess with you more often," you teased, pulling the hair back from your face.

"I'm gettin' old, you know," he said, turning his head to the side. "You might kill me."

You hummed as your fingers danced up his still clothed torso, your eyelids drooping. With a groan, he pushed himself off the bed to fish out a rag from his backpack, cleaning you both up before tossing it on the floor and shimmying out of his clothes. He collapsed into bed naked, pulling you against him and yanking the sheets over the top of you both.

He buried his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply before he drifted off to sleep.

You woke up the next morning to Joel's rough, calloused hands lazily drawing circles over your stomach. You were both still naked under the sheets, Joel's arms wrapped around you from behind as you slept on your right side, tucked against him. His warm breath fanned across the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine as you pressed yourself into him further. You were both barely awake, eyes closed as you enjoyed each other's gentle touch under the cool, white sheets.

Joel pushed his hips against your ass, craving your warmth while his hand slowly traveled to your ribs, stroking the old scars that served as a reminder of what you were willing to do for him. You sighed, eyes still closed as you pushed yourself back against his hardening length. His fingers continued to blindly trace your scars until he slid his hand down to your hip, pressing a small kiss against your shoulder. His beard tickled your overly sensitive skin, giving you goosebumps. Joel yanked the covers over you further, thinking your reaction meant you were cold. He returned his hand to your hip, his massive palm gripping it lightly while he encouraged you to roll your ass against him slowly, and you happily obliged.

His right hand spread across your stomach and pulled you close, while his left hand found its way from your hip to between your legs. He let out a soft moan when he felt your wetness collecting there, all for him. He kept his eyes shut and rested his face against the back of your neck, lazily teasing your clit with the pad of his middle finger. You sighed, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow you had been sleeping on as you continued to slowly rock your hips against his cock.

You could feel your slick spreading over your inner thighs, your legs still pressed together while Joel continued to work you slowly, like he had all the time in the world. You felt the telltale stickiness of his precum leaving a trail on your lower back while you continued to rub up against him.

You lifted your left leg in the air, your ankle resting on the side of his knee. Reaching down, your fingers wrapped around his cock, notching his thick head against your aching cunt and sighed with relief as he pushed himself into you. His hand left your clit to steady your hip against him, his other hand still pressed firmly on your stomach.

You both kept your eyes closed, savoring the slow, languid feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, filling you up. You could feel every inch of him from this angle, fitting so perfectly inside you, rubbing his tip slowly and steadily against that one spot only he managed to find.

His left hand slid down your inner thigh, his hips still rocking gently against your ass, until his palm reached your knee. He pulled it up towards the ceiling, your foot falling onto the bed behind his legs, opening up your hips to deepen the angle.

You gasped softly and your grip tightened on the pillow. His chest was pressed up against your back, and you could hear the stickiness on your skin from your combined sweat with each of his slow thrusts and roll of your hips.

His hand remained on your knee, spreading you open for him as he steadily fucked into you from behind. You could tell by his exhale on your neck that his breath was coming quicker now. You felt the familiar coil tightening in your lower stomach, and you tipped your head back, mouth hanging open, eyes still closed.

Your movement must have finally made him open his eyes to look at you because he craned his neck over to claim your open mouth with his, his tongue lazily swirling around yours.

There was no rush. No frantic, hurried movements. Just the two of you enjoying a peaceful, serene morning.

You whimpered softly against his mouth. He could feel your muscles tensing under his hands, a sign warning him you were close. He kept his hand on your knee but reached his right hand down to your clit, two fingers working you back and forth until the coil finally snapped.

You moaned, the loudest noise either of you had made so far that morning, as your hips stuttered against him. He felt your release coating his already soaked cock as he forced his eyes open to watch you. He kept rolling his hips into you steadily while you came down from your high, gasping for breath and covered in sweat.

He was so transfixed on your face, so obsessed with the way he could unravel you, that he didn't even realize his own climax had snuck up on him. He groaned into your neck as he felt his thick ropes of cum shooting inside you.

Reality came crashing down quickly, his eyes widening as he pulled his hips back aggressively, watching the rest of his spend coat your back and the sheets.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, scrambling to sit up on the bed. You gave him a confused look over your shoulder, still lost in the afterglow of your orgasm. He grabbed your ankles and twisted you around so you were flat on your back, pushing your legs apart and peering between them to confirm his fear.

"Fuck!" he said, more panicked now. You sat up when you realized what happened, looking down at the trail of cum that was leaking out of you and onto the bed.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to - fuck!" he said for the third time, his jaw clenching while his hand angrily raked through his hair.

"Wait, just calm down, let me think for a second," you told him, your hand over your chest. Your eyes scanned the room as you mentally did the math, trying to remember the last time you had your period.

"What's there to think about? Christ, I'm such a fuckin' asshole," he said as he stood from the bed and paced around the room, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"I think it's fine," you said timidly, still counting the days in your head. "Yeah, it's fine. We're fine," you said more confidently now.

"How?!" he exclaimed, clearly still in a panic. You kneeled on the bed now, holding out your hands to try and quiet him down.

"Joel, there's only a handful days a month where this would have been a problem, and fortunately for us, this is not one of those days," you explained calmly. He looked confused, so you continued.

"I'm supposed to get my period in like, 4 or 5 days. I'm not ovulating, it's fine," you emphasized, and you watched as his eyes softened, absorbing your words.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, tipping his head back. His body sagged with relief as he flopped back on the bed, his hand on his heaving chest.

"Relax, it's okay," you cooed, running your fingers gently through his hair. He sighed and looked up at you.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he repeated, and you shook your head.

"Don't be. It was such a nice way to wake up, let's not ruin it," you said softly, leaning down to press a kiss against his lips.

"Mmm, it was, wasn't it?" he said, smiling against your mouth.

"Except now, you made a mess, and I need to clean myself up," you teased, sliding off the bed to head into the bathroom.

"Wait," he called out, and you turned around. "Before you do... c'mere."

You walked slowly back over to his side of the bed, his gaze raking up and down your naked form.

"What?" you whispered, his hand reaching up to grasp yours.

"Let me see," he told you, his gaze flicking down to your cunt and then back up to your eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat at his request.

"You already saw," you teased, and he grunted, dropping your hand and pushing himself up so he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I wanna see again," he said sternly, his gaze dark. His hands reached out to grip the backs of your thighs, pulling you toward him so you stood between his knees.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and took a step to the side, parting your legs. He watched with his lips parted as a trail of his cum dripped slowly down your thigh.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself, his hand coming down from your leg to palm his half hard cock.

"Oh, now you like it?" you chided him, but he just nodded and swallowed, still staring.

"Would it be bad if I wanna do it again?" he whispered, looking up at you.

"I'm not sure we should celebrate it, Joel," you muttered, your nails grazing his shoulder. You shifted your weight, trying to hide the familiar ache growing between your legs.

"You want it, too," he said, noticing how you tried to keep yourself from pressing your thighs together.

You bit your lower lip as you stared into his eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. Your gaze flickered down to his cock, fully hard now and waiting for you. His hands massaged the backs of your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for your response.

You re-counted the days in your head hurriedly before you nodded.

"Just this once," you whispered, knowing it was a lie the moment the words left your lips. He growled, one hand sliding up your back while the other firmly held your thigh so he could twist you around, tossing you on your back behind him.

He crawled on top of you feverishly, a wild look in his eye as his mouth lunged down to cover yours. You could hardly keep up with his tongue before he dragged his mouth down your jaw, sucking and licking the sensitive skin on your neck.

"Joel," you whined, your legs spreading under his weight. It felt like his body was vibrating with excitement, the urge to claim you in the rawest sense taking over. He reached down to line himself up, and with barely any warning, buried his cock inside you all the way to the hilt, making you cry out underneath him. He groaned into your shoulder, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his pace merciless. Your fingernails left marks on his back as you held on for dear life, a stark contrast to the lazy way he fucked you earlier that morning.

He was lost in his own head, pounding into you like an animal, the thought of filling you with his cum driving him crazy. You whimpered, trying to adjust your hips to ease the sting with no success. It occurred to him he was being too rough when he heard the noise you made, and he slowed his hips, lifting his head from your shoulder to look down at your face, which was trying to mask the pain.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, rolling his hips a little slower.

"It's okay," you squeaked, your eyes screwed shut. "Keep going."

"Don't wanna hurt you," he murmured, holding your hip down and rolling his cock inside you more deliberately, the way he knows you liked.

"Not hurting me," you told him, forcing your eyes open and blinking back tears.

"Liar," he said, planting a soft kiss against your lips. You moaned and tipped your head back while he continued to thrust into you slower, your nails easing up on his back.

"Think you can come for me, sweetheart?" he panted, watching your face closely for any more discomfort.

"I-I don't know," you admitted, your brows furrowing in concentration. He pulled his hips back so his hand could travel between your bodies, the pad of his thumb brushing against your clit.

"How's that?" he asked, causing you to squirm underneath him and gasp.

"Better," you groaned as his thumb built up your second orgasm of the morning. "Yeah, like that, fuck - talk to me, Joel," you begged.

"You like it when I talk dirty to you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," you hissed, arching your back as he continued rolling his hips into you.

"What'dya wanna hear?" he grunted. "Want me to tell you how tight your pretty pussy feels, even though I already stretched it out last night and this mornin'?"

You moaned and pinched your eyebrows together, his words washing over you, making you climb higher.

"Or you wanna hear somethin' sweeter?" he asked, his hips slowing a fraction. "Wanna know how much I think 'bout you all day? How I can't focus on anyone else when you're in the room, hm? How I've never loved anybody the way I love you?"

You felt the tears prick your eyes again, but this time it wasn't due to pain.

"Joel," you whispered, bringing a hand up from his shoulder to rake through his hair. His thumb picked up the pace and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

"That's right, say my name," he groaned, loving the way he alone could make you come undone. "Wanna hear you scream it when you come for me, can you do that, sweetheart?"

You nodded obediently, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack as you felt yourself about to let go. He felt your walls tighten around him, and he smirked, his thrusts picking up the pace again.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, his hips stuttering. "C'mon, let me hear you."

"Joel!" you yelled out, just as you promised, your back arching off the bed and your hand yanking his hair violently as you felt the wave of your climax wash over you yet again.

"That's my girl," he said through gritted teeth, his hips snapping into you again, the hand that was previously on your clit found its spot back on your hip, keeping you in place.

"I'm gonna come, sweetheart," he panted, his vision getting spotty. "I'm gonna come in this tight pussy, make a fuckin' mess."

"Do it," you whispered, your body lax underneath him, eyes slid shut.

"Need you to say it," he pleaded, his voice pained. You opened your eyes and looked at him. His forehead was dripping with sweat, his eyes wild as he stared down at you, waiting for your permission again.

"Come inside me, Joel," you murmured. You felt the goosebumps pop up under his skin at hearing your words. He hung his head, giving you just a couple more thrusts before his body stilled with a deep groan.

"Fuck!" he growled, looking down as he throbbed inside you, watching as his slow thrusts eventually pushed his hot spend out, collecting at the base of his cock. His arms gave out, collapsing on top of you, catching his breath against your shoulder.

"Goddamn," he croaked, turning his face towards you after a minute. "I like bein' inside you after."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of having him everywhere.

"Happy birthday," you added with a smirk. He let out a huff that sounded like a tired laugh, and he gave your shoulder a quick kiss.

"Thank you," he muttered, dragging his lips over the curve of your shoulder, making you shudder.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked as his hand wrapped around your waist.

"No, I would have told you to stop if you hurt me," you said, opening your eyes to look at him. He searched your face for a moment before nodding and shutting his eyes.

You let him stay like that for a few minutes until the stickiness between your legs became too uncomfortable.

"Joel," you murmured, and he hummed in response. "I gotta clean up."

He let out a groan of protest before he shakily pushed himself up on his arms and slowly slid his cock out of you with a hiss, staring at the mess he left between your legs.

"Nuh uh, don't get any ideas, I need a break," you warned him, pushing on his shoulder so you could stand. He laughed, helping you up on unsteady legs.

"Couldn't do it if I tried, I ain't Superman," he joked as you wobbled towards the bathroom.

"Coulda fooled me," you called back over your shoulder before you shut the bathroom door behind you.

"I thought we were going to see the geyser again?" you questioned wearily as you watched Joel unhook a canoe from inside the cabin he had just broken into. He dragged it out onto the grass before turning back to find paddles inside.

"It goes off like every hour or somethin', we'll see it a bunch more, I promise," he said, handing you a paddle. You took it gingerly from his hand as he tossed his own into the canoe and began pushing it on the grass towards the water.

"You sure the horses will be ok?" you asked, not thrilled about the idea of floating down something called Firehole River.

"Yeah, they're good. I got them all set up in a shed. Plenty of food and water. You alright?" he asked, finally noticing the discomfort on your face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you nodded. You wanted to do whatever he wanted to do. After all, it was his birthday.

"Don't look fine," he said, giving the canoe a final shove but keeping one foot inside so it didn't float away.

"I'm just not really good on water," you finally admitted. "I get sick, the waves make me nauseous."

"Oh, don't worry about it, sweetheart. You'll be alright. River doesn't have any waves, it's slow. But if you do start to get sick, we can go back."

You agreed, if only because he seemed so excited for whatever he had planned and you didn't want to ruin it. You took a tentative step into the canoe, your hand flying out to grab onto Joel when you felt it shift under you.

Once both feet were inside, you quickly sat down so your weight didn't rock the boat. Joel jumped in with ease after he gave the canoe a shove from shore, and he began to paddle north. It was a cooler day, but the sun warmed your skin to the point where you ended up shedding your coat after a few minutes.

"Hardly even need to paddle, current's takin' us fast," he said, setting down the paddle and leaning back, admiring the huge trees that lined the river. He turned his head to watch a small herd of deer drinking from the river as you floated by a clearing in the woods.

"This is actually very peaceful," you admitted, closing your eyes and leaning back against his chest.

"Feelin' sick?" he asked as he rubbed a hand up and down your arm.

"Nope, I'm good," you told him. "Where are we headed?"

"It's a surprise," he said with a grin.

"It's your birthday, you're supposed to be the one surprised."

"I seem to remember bein' surprised this mornin'," he teased, and you swatted at his arm.

"Fine," you grumbled, closing your eyes again.

All of the physical activity from yesterday and that morning must have caught up with you because the next thing you knew, Joel was whispering in your ear, waking you up.

You squinted up at him, the sun still powerful overhead.

"Must've wore you out," he joked as he tried to paddle the canoe to shore. Your body was still draped over his and clearly in his way, so you sat up to free him, stretching your arms with a yawn and looking at your surroundings.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Maybe half an hour," he said with a grunt when the canoe hit land. He stood up and hopped on the shore, leaning forward to haul you and the canoe halfway onto the gravel before reaching out his hand to help you up.

"What a rugged, sexy boyfriend I have," you giggled, and you swore you saw his cheeks flush when he smiled.

"C'mon, grab your backpack, we gotta walk a bit but it ain't far," he said, waiting for you to be ready.

"What's not far?" you tried again, adjusting your shoulder straps as you fell in step next to him.

"You'll see," he said with a smirk, and you rolled your eyes.

You walked for maybe 15 minutes on rocky, white terrain before you saw the steam in the distance. You squinted, trying to figure out what you were looking at. It wasn't until you passed by a sign that said "Grand Prismatic Spring" that you figured it out.

"Is this a hot spring?!" you exclaimed, and he nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up as your excitement bubbled over.

"Largest one in the country," he said as you got closer.

"Oh my god!" you cried out, unable to contain yourself when you saw it. It was huge. The steam was thick as it hovered over the water, but you could still see the size of it, and the colors. It had to be the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. The vivid oranges on the shore that faded to bright yellows, then greens to a deep blue took your breath away.

"Can we swim in it?" you asked him, and he shook his head.

"It's too hot, you'll burn," he told you regrettably when he saw your face fall. "But there is another spot a bit of a ways over there called Opal Pool. Me and Tommy swam it in when we were here."

"Sounds beautiful," you told him, leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "Lead the way."

It was only a ten minute walk from the hot spring to the small body of water. Joel warned you as you yanked off your shirt that it wasn't a hot spring, so the water was a bit cooler, but it should still be comfortable. You shimmied out of your pants, eager to soak your sore muscles in the crystal blue water.

You tested the water out briefly with your toes before going all the way in as quickly as you could, submerging yourself up to your collarbone. He was right, the water was a little chilly, but it still felt good. You turned around just in time to watch his fully naked form come in after you, a quick puff of air leaving his mouth once he realized the temperature before he made his way over to you and wrapped his arms around your ribs, pulling you close.

You hooked your legs around his waist and rested your arms around his shoulders. Leaning forward, you pressed gentle kisses against his neck and a contented sigh left his mouth.

"This might be the best birthday I've ever had," he murmured into your ear.

"I don't know," you said, leaning back. "That Beefaroni I found you last year was pretty good." He laughed before pressing a kiss against your lips.

"Yeah, that was a good one, too," he relented, bringing a wet hand out of the water to brush back the hair from your face. You leaned into his touch with a sigh.

"What would it have been like if we ended up living here, like you wanted?" you wondered out loud as you stared into his deep brown eyes.

"I'm sure there's pros and cons," he said, his eyes traveling down to your tits just barely concealed by the water. "This is definitely in the pro column." You laughed as you rested the side of your head against this shoulder.

"Woulda been harder to survive. Constantly havin' to hunt and trap. Woulda been lonely. Not that I feel lonely when it's just us," he corrected himself quickly, and you rubbed his arm, letting him know you understood. "Sometimes it's nice to have other people around, is all."

"And the pros?" you asked him, your breath raking over the skin of his throat.

"Pros are easy," he said with a smile, and his hold around you tightened. "Just you and me. And all this. No threats. No danger. Just... peace and quiet."

You hummed and brought your head back up to give him another kiss, your lips slotting perfectly against his.

"It's nice that we can have both," you whispered against his mouth.

"Just as long as you're happy," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours.

"I'm happy," you assured him. "I'm beyond happy."

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina

[stellayuta]

Love on The Grid - Formula 1 AU! Yuta Okkotsu - Pt 5 (FINALE)

Your likes, comments and reblogs really encourage me to write more! So do interact with this post and let me know your thoughts 💙

PART 1 ||| PART 2 ||| PART 3 ||| PART 4 ||| PART 5

synopsis: One-night stands were nothing but a necessary painkiller for your inability to cross paths with true love. Your most recent find at a Vegas Club was no different. He was boring, obedient, SLOW! You leave him high and hanging hoping you'd never see him again until you find yourself gawking at a supersized billboard of him on a Vegas highway with the title 'LEGEND RETURNS TO VEGAS'.

content: 18+ only. Formula one driver! Yuta x f! reader, all sorts of sexy stuff (fingering, oral, orgasm denial), swearing, angsty elements, cheating and discussion of mental health <3 WARNING! Always use protection!

word count: 10k

a/n: part 5 and the final part! For the purpose of this story, Last race of the season takes place in Japan, not Abu Dhabi.

"Y/N..." A voice tries to break your rigid concentration. "Listen, Y/N..."

"What!" you snap finally, turning to face your anxious coworker. You look away from your monitor to find one of the timid interns holding her laptop shakily, mortified at your outburst. You clear your throat and quickly readjust your computer glasses.

"I'm sorry about that, I was just going through some of the client meeting notes." You clarify, pointing at your screen. "What's wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to make sure the tickets were booked right. I've never traveled out of the county. And this is such a big deal as an intern, I-I want to make sure I do everything right!" she blurts out, making you give her a small, nostalgic smile. You remember when you were an intern - tiny, timid, clueless. When you moved out of your small town, you left behind all the things that restricted or haunted you. Now your new job is flashier than ever, in the heart of a metropolitan city, buzzing with people and possibilities and with a promotion on the horizon. It had been a year, and you don't even remember Megumi's face anymore. You had no hard feelings and not even a single second of your time left to give to him anymore.

It was hard at first of course, but encouragement and support from your friends and a lot of self-work soon helped you find balance and self-satisfaction in life. You were at your healthiest at this point. Away from turmoil and away from self-doubt.

"Y/N, did you listen?" the intern looked at you nervously, derailing your train of thought yet again.

"Come again, sorry."

"The other Manager has recommended your name to accompany me at the Tech Summit, with two other interns. He said you'll be able to manage us properly. They've already booked your tickets."

You almost choke on the coffee you're sipping.

"What? Who the hell gave them-" you begin to roar but then looking at the poor girl cower in fear, you sit back down.

"No, no. I'm not mad at you."

You were mad because this was the weekend of the last race. The decider match.

Of course, it had been a year, you had metamorphosized, moved on. But you never forgot the race that got you on the edge of your seat back in Vegas. And neither did you forget the man who drove you crazy with lust. Not even for a single day. His business card was still hidden underneath your phone cover, creaseless. You had never dared to look at his number.

Now, you cheered him on as a fan. Following his races, rooting for him. Every now and then, your heart would ache - but you were happy for him. The only connection you had with him was through your device screen.

After a disappointing end to his last season, you had a lot of guilt. He clearly looked a bit weary, insomnia ridden for sure. Not willing to talk during interviews, keeping a low profile. He had gathered a lot of negative press because of this, people on social media sending him death threats, cyber bullying him, picking apart anything he said or did. It broke you to see him that way and there were many times you wanted to reach out - comfort him. But you knew it wasn't right.

You weren't ready then and he definitely didn't need a reminder that you happened to him. And now, it's too late for any of that.

Yuta maintained his aggressive, dominant racing style that he cultivated over the last year compared to the calm, calculative run he had during the years prior. It was a shock to the grid, but newer fans were very fond of the new beast that the track had birthed. He spoke less, remained polite and stayed out of trouble - focusing everything on winning races.

Fan interaction was the least of his concerns right now because Geto's team, Red Bull - had come up with massive and effective updates making the fight for the title a challenging yet thrilling one. They wanted to continue their laurels from last year and secure Geto his second win. They were closely tailed by Gojo and Geto's teammate, Mahito.

Geto and Yuta were currently tied in the standings. The final match was to take place on Sunday. The decider. Yuta and Geto's home race. And you would now miss it because that stupid manager can't be bothered to move his ass.

"I have plans. I can't make it." you flatly tell the intern who merely frowns. She was probably prepared to get a rejection from me because she is ready with her rebuttal. "The manager said you had committed a few weekends this summer. He just picked this one based on that."

"I'll talk to him." you reply, shaking your head and pinching your throbbing temple. With great responsibilities, come great migraines.

"Where is the summit anyway?" you ask, already typing out a message for her manager.

"Oh, It's in Japan. I'm quite excited, it's a beautiful country."

Japan?

You backspace the entire message.

"Never mind, I'm coming." You leave your laptop open as the split window flashes with a formula one ad - "Decider Race in Suzuka, Japan. Join the Fun, December this Year!"

"Let me meet up with your supervisors and talk more."

*****

The immigration at Japan's Nagoya International Airport, with three kids tailing you, hiding behind you like puppies is a bit of hassle with the language barrier and everything, but you persist regardless.

It's rather comfortably cool but not bitingly cold, even for December, owing to Suzuka's more southern location - compared to Tokyo. There is no sign of snowfall as you witnessed from the airplane while it descended. It would be good conditions for the race - a bit dry perhaps. And of course, the summit, the main attraction!

The interns, though a bit overwhelmed by the new environment, are starting to show signs of excitement as well. Their initial shyness is giving way to curiosity, their eyes wide with wonder at the sights and sounds of the bustling airport. You smile, knowing that this experience will be a memorable adventure for them too.

You are finally able to catch a shuttle to the hotel you're staying at - a five star one (courtesy of your company) and are finally able to relax, staring out the foggy window at the organized and clean Japanese streets, and the people, dressed in plain, formal clothes walking to work perhaps. You almost get lost in the mundanity of it all until the interns alert you that the hotel is here.

You all get down with all your luggage and gawk at the premier hotel building with its cream granite exterior, European design and tall pillars. It looked a bit out of place in the minimalistic spread of Suzuka. There is already a line at the receptionist's desk when you near it, making you sigh.

"Ah foo-" you turn to face your interns. "Can one of you hold the place while I sit somewhere?" The interns hesitantly, but definitively shake their head to say No. Kids, they grow up fast.

You stand in line for what feels like an hour but is only a few minutes until you hear an entourage approach you with their shiny, expensive luggage and matching clothes.

"We have VIP access, let us cut." one of them, a suited and no-nonsense woman tells you. You raise a brow at her, staring at her chapping red lips and burgundy jacket.

"Like hell. Cut after us, we're going first." You tell them flatly.

"Listen, we don't have time for this so please just comply..." the woman tries to negotiate but you don't want to budge.

"I don't have time either." you raise your hand.

"Let me handle this..." A man steps in front of the woman, towering over both of you. He is completely covered head to toe in a red beanie, red track suit and dark glasses with a black face-mask. Before he can say anything though, he simply looks at you and your interns.

"Y/N?" He removes his glasses to show a pair of cerulean eyes that you immediately match with a snowy head and a flashy personality in your brain.

"No way..." you clasp at your mouth. "Gojo Satoru?" you exclaim, confusing the parade of staff, probably Ferrari staff behind him.

"Next!" the receptionist bellows before you two can talk further and you make haste, finishing up the formalities, grabbing the keycard and returning to talk to Gojo, followed by your heard of puppies who look at Gojo skeptically. Of course they would, if a flashy, red man showed up.

"I'm- Where the hell have you been? You just disappeared!" He says and you open your mouth to defend yourself but he clearly has more to say.

"Yuta was distraught! What the hell happened between the two of you anyway! He won't talk to Geto, well they are kind of on weird terms now anyway. But he won't even talk to me!"

Hearing Yuta's name makes you immediately divert your eyes.

"H-How has he been?" you ask, softly.

"Well he was in a mood last season. We were all afraid he'd run us over with his Merc." Gojo admits, recalling some eerie memory of Yuta. "Well, specifically he was angry. But wouldn't talk about it. He got reprimanded by the management of course and started to focus his anger on the races instead." He tells you.

"I mean, he was always a beast on the track, a once in a generation talent. But now, he's simply incomparable. The only races he lost out on this season were ones where he pushed the car so hard, the engine or the mechanism went off."

Internally, you are happy that Yuta seems to be doing well. But somewhere, you feel a pang of discomfort. This isn't the Yuta you know. Or any of his peers know.

"Give me your number by the way..." Gojo asks, excitedly, removing his phone, also bright red. Human Ferrari he is, for sure.

"What for?"

"To leak on the internet..."

"Gojo..."

"What to hang out of course. And I have something to send to you." He says, forcing you to divulge your number which you do, with a grimace. What could go wrong anyway.

"Oh, and I don't know if you're still on talking terms with Yuta but, he's on floor 5 of this hotel, meet him if you want-" Gojo tells you and your heart skips a beat. You sneak a glance at your keycard and feel your throat go dry. You are on floor 5 as well. Before you can say anything else though, the Ferraris are on their way.

"Make sure you are free tomorrow! It's race day!" He says, without turning as their entourage enters the glass elevators.

"How do you know him, Y/N, he was quite hot..." One of the interns tugs at your elbow.

"Was he a former sweetheart?" The other intern grins at you.

"Hell no!" you snap. "That's a professional formula one racer. Watch ESPN a bit more, kids." you say, pulling them along with you to floor 5. You hope and pray with all your might that you don't run into Yuta at any point. Only when you send them off to their suites and enter your own, you finally take a huge breath of relief.

You thought you were over Yuta as well. That you could look at him and interact with him as fan. Maybe that was the case, given you'd never see run into him again. You cover your reddening face with your hands as you slump down to the ground and go into memory mode. It all comes back to you all of a sudden. His height, his dark hair, his large, innocent eyes, his firm, toned body and careful hands. His calming voice and his cozy demeanor. The more you think about him, the soggier your panties feel. You cannot afford to get out of this hotel room and run into him. You have no idea what you will do to him if you see him. Plus, what if he has a girlfriend now? Control yourself, Y/N. Show maturity.

You suck in a harsh breath and get off the carpeted floor, instead removing your laptop from your bag and checking emails to distract yourself. An ad keeps popping up in the corner of your screen though - about the Decider Race in Suzuka. And after all your attempts to ignore it, you finally click on it, annoyed.

You go through the seats and the prices. Even the cheapest, general admission ticket you can find sells for a fortune, making you gasp at the numbers. Great. This gives you a solid reason to NOT go. Now you can use it as an excuse to convince your brain that you are not losing out on an opportunity.

You shut the tab and continue looking at your agenda for tomorrow, smiling and humming to yourself in relief. That is until you hear your phone buzz to life, beside your laptop.

You check it to see a few messages from an unknown number.

"Helloooo!!!"

"Gojo here. Satoru Gojo. Handsomest driver on the grid. Ferrari's muse and face."

"You are already 20 seconds late at replying. Be quicker!"

You cringe at the string of messages and send him a thumbs up emoji as a reply, snickering menacingly when he sends another string of complaints. You wonder if Gojo too has a queue of women waiting for him to notice them. In that case, has he been influencing Yuta too?

You shut the thought down immediately. You're a fan. You remind yourself.

"Look what I got for you. Thank me later."

*Attached File*

Did he send you a trojan virus? nope. It's worse.

You open up the PDF file to find a ticket of some sort. Only it's the paddock VIP ticket for the race tomorrow. You'll be in Ferrari's stands.

You type out a long, long, long message. One full of swears and reprimands. But you backspace all of it and instead hit the call button.

"Ah, hi. Did you see-"

"WHAT'S THE MEANING OF THIS GOJO SATORU!" you shriek into the phone receiver earning a yelp from Gojo.

"It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, Y/N. You can't say no."

"But-"

"I've already paid."

"....."

"Oh, come on. Cheer for me. Come. You'll have fun!"

You are too angry to answer, and you simply cut the call. After your five minutes of anger subsides, anxiety takes its place. So, this is it. You get to see Yuta demolish the track live. Maybe this will be the last time ever. Maybe it's a good thing.

You decide to not think too much about it and just sleep on it instead. And sleep comes fairly easy, after your day-long air travel and the nervousness that maybe Yuta is hugging his blankets with his muscular arms, right next door. You picture those arms around your waist for a second and reminisce his deep blue eyes as you fall asleep, a bit bothered and surely wet.

*****

The next morning, you wake up before the sun even has a chance to show its face. You take a cold shower and prepare everything for the day to come. The Tech Summit will be a crucial stage to showcase your company and you, and your interns have to do a good job. As soon as the clock strikes 7, you go knocking on their doors to wake them up by force.

"Rise and shine, children! We've got some serious networking ahead of us!" you announce with infectious enthusiasm. Suddenly, the volume of your voice strikes you, and a wave of panic sweeps over you at the thought of waking Yuta. The mere idea of him hearing your voice and peeking out from one of the doors sends a shiver down your spine. With your heart racing, you quickly inform the interns that you're heading to the reception area. Without missing a beat, you make your escape, your high heels tapping a rhythm masked by the plush carpet that blankets the entire floor, each step a silent testament to your urgency.

The ground floor lobby of the hotel in the morning is a serene yet bustling oasis of activity. Sunlight streams in through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm, golden glow across the polished marble floors. The air is filled with a subtle blend of fresh coffee and the delicious aroma of breakfast from the lavish dining court, north of the lobby. Plush, modern sofas and armchairs are arranged in cozy clusters, inviting guests to sit and relax.You were too busy with Gojo to notice any of this, last evening. 

As you walk around amongst the many hotel guests who are going about their way, enthralled, you take a seat in one of the sofas. You even see familiar colors, worn by some of the people in groups. You see the full teals of Aston Martin, the pinks of Alpine, the orange of McLaren. Looks like the entire grid is housed in this hotel. You gulp as you try to keep an eye out for any sight of black and subtle teal of Mercedes. 

Instead, you feel a shifting of feet beside you and find a group of dark blue and red clad people looking rather grave and sitting on adjacent sofas, in a close huddle. It doesn’t take too long to recognize long, sleek hair half tied up and half down. His snake-like eyes scan the huddle, as if he’s commanding them. You don’t forget the aura of Geto Suguru. A pale guy, with wild matted and blue hair sits beside him, with a manic expression on his face, like he’s his lap dog. This must be Mahito. They seem to be having some sort of serious conversation with their team. You can’t help but listen in, keeping your eyes on the ground. 

“So what are we going to do about Strategy A?” one of the Red Bull engineers asks Geto, in a low voice, looking around to see if any of the teams are paying attention.

“Act normal, Garner.” Geto tells him, smiling sweetly but darkly. “Don’t act suspicious and no one will notice.”

“We are to proceed with Strategy B. We don’t attack the rest of the grid today. We will only focus on the Mercedes duo.” Geto states.

“That was the plan all along.” The Red Bull staff interjects. “What are you saying?”

“Well your plan was for me to defend against Okkotsu and Mahito to defend against Merc number 2, Inumaki.” Geto begins as the team leans in closer to pay attention. Mahito seems strangely excited to get a mention from Geto.

“My plan is that we leave Inumaki alone. He’s of no consequence to us. He’ll be too busy defending against the Ferraris.” Geto continues and your brows furrow. What is he on to?

“I am sitting on the pole. And Okkotsu is second. The best way to go about it is to get Mahito to play on the offensive. Okkotsu gets rash and risky when faced with competition or close tailers. It is likely Mahito and Okkotsu will take each other out.”

Your eyes widen as you hear this. 

“And Inumaki has the slower car. Ferrari’s engineers wouldn’t anticipate number 2 and 3 being knocked out. They are more prepared for a podium finish, not the top finish. This will ensure that Red Bull will go home with the Driver’s Championship trophy.” Geto concludes his idea and the Red Bull team immediately begin discussing its feasibility. From the sound of it, most of them seem on board. Mahito seems to be the most excited, willing to give anything for Geto to get his second title.

The absurdity of the ongoing discussion is enough for you to look up and find yourself directly looking into Geto Suguru’s skeptical eyes. Your nostrils flare and a sweat breaks out atop your forehead at the thought of being caught. He narrows his eyes at you but dismisses you as a fan. He doesn’t recognize you. 

Thank GOODNESS.

You smile at him and quickly move away from their group of sofas. As fast as you can. So they are going to use Yuta’s driving style against him today. Which is fine. They are willing to crash into him to take him out as well. This is all a pre-planned, premeditated attempt to injure, or…you gulp… murder.

You lean against one of the reception desks to gather yourself for a minute. The lobby’s morning hustle now feels like a surreal backdrop to the chilling plot you’ve just overheard. The hum of conversations, the clinking of breakfast dishes, and the soft footsteps of guests blend into a muted buzz as your mind races. You need to warn Yuta, but how? 

Your interns show up soon, their bright, eager faces a stark contrast to the dark conversation you just overheard. They’re ready to go for the summit, unaware of the dangerous game being plotted in the corner of the lobby. As they approach, you take a deep breath, plaster on a smile, and try to push the sinister revelations to the back of your mind. You don’t see the Mercedes team anywhere in the lobby anyway, so you take your leave for the moment, feeling a tightness in your chest.

While the task at hand is crucial, you are more than confident that you can handle it flawlessly. The Tech Summit is being held at one of the corporate headquarters in the city area, a sleek skyscraper with reflective glass windows that glisten in the morning sun. As you step into the spacious lobby, you are greeted by an impressive display of innovation: booths showcasing various avenues in computing. Executives in sharp suits mingle with tech enthusiasts, the air buzzing with excitement and possibility.

Once you are in, you send off your beaming and well-prepared interns to talk to some big shots, their enthusiasm palpable as they approach various booths and networking clusters. You retire to a quiet corner, checking your phone and brainstorming for your next move. It's only a few hours until the race in Suzuka, Japan, a pivotal event in the Formula One calendar. The summit’s focus on the intersection of technology and sports is evident, with several companies proudly displaying their investments in Formula One.

Tech giants are pouring millions into F1, not just for branding but for the practical applications of cutting-edge technology in car performance, data analytics, and real-time communication systems. The fusion of high-speed racing and high-tech innovation is a perfect synergy, driving advancements that benefit both the automotive and tech industries.

However, the tension from earlier this morning lingers. Despite the engaging presentations and lively discussions around you, the clandestine conversation you overheard refuses to leave your mind. The race in Suzuka today is more than just a sporting event—it’s a battleground where the stakes are life and death, a thought that chills you as you consider Geto’s ruthless strategy.

You open your phone to find a few messages from Gojo and it makes a bulb go off in your head.

“Come to the hotel lobby at around 4PM. I’ll send someone to pick you up. I’m at the track right now.” He has texted. You read the message and pull out Yuta’s card from your phone cover. You don’t waste time and call him right away. A woman receives your call on the other end.

“Hello! Is Yuta free?” you ask, desperately but you can tell from the woman’s silence that it is not the case.

“He won’t be free until after the race. I’m sorry.”

‘I-it’s fine.” you laugh nervously, keeping the phone.

That idea was a bust.

Before you can think more, you are pulled in by one of your interns to help you out with a heated discussion they are having with a company representative on use cases of Artificial Intelligence. The rest of the morning and afternoon goes this way, with your hands full of discussions and debates with Men in Tech, mistaking you for one of the interns until you sigh and show them your badge of ‘Director of Software Engineering’, before obliterating them during the ‘discussions’ with a curt smile.

You don’t think about the race until after you have exited the premises of the Summit along with your pumped up interns who are waxing lyrical about you. They won’t stop talking even on the cab ride back home.

“That was amazing Y/N. You saved our necks.”

“Just be confident and patient till they give you a moment to strike.” you tell them wearily. 

Probably a strategy Mahito will be using today. 

“Do we go out today for drinks? How about it?” The interns begin discussing among themselves while I tune them out, shaking my leg in agitation.

“Y/N, want to join us?” one of them asks you eagerly and politely reject their invitation.

“I have plans today.”

“What plans?” The male intern asks, curious. The other two also lean in to listen.

“I am going to watch a Formula One Race, it’s in Suzuka.” You tell them and their eyes go all sparkly before they begin smirking at you.

“It’s the hot driver guy isn’t it. He invited you? That’s awesome Y/N! Looks like he’s interested!” This makes you scoff. “He’s just a friend. He’s not the one I have eyes for anyway.”

“Oooo, so there is someone you have eyes for!” they chime together. “Who is it?” 

An image instantly pops into your head. One of him hovering over you as you moaned out his name. You smile to yourself and dismiss the interns’ questions, making all of them pout.

As you enter the hotel lobby, a stark contrast from its earlier bustling atmosphere greets you. The lively chatter and movement have dissipated, leaving behind an eerie quiet that amplifies the grandeur of the space. The reception area, usually a hub of activity, is now manned by a solitary staff member who nods politely as you pass.

Heading towards the elevator, a wave of unease washes over you, chilling your hands. Should you attempt to find Yuta by knocking on every door on the fifth floor? No, that would likely result in being ejected from the hotel.

Entering your room with a frustrated grunt, you slam the door shut behind you. Another cold shower helps clear your mind, though your appetite remains nonexistent. Stomach growling, you mechanically brush your teeth and change out of your morning pant suit into a comfortable ensemble: a red sweater, blue jeans, and sneakers. The choice of red is a nod to Ferrari, aligning with your plans for the day.

Feeling more at ease in casual attire, you pause to gather your thoughts. It’s 3:45 PM. You should head out now. You grab your phone, keys and wallets and walk out of the suite, impatiently trotting towards the elevator. You turn the corner just in time to see it close. Maybe you are hallucinating but you barely spot a glint of black and teal behind the doors as they swiftly close.

You stop dead in your tracks for merely a moment before you sprint towards the elevator. But that one is gone now. You press the down button for the second one and tap your foot on the ground, waiting for it to arrive desperately. 

When it takes you down to the ground floor, you come out, wildly looking around to see the familiar colors again. When you finally see them, your words all drown in your feelings as you see the black and teal clad man get into the back of a car, giving the driver a quick nod and a short smile. 

It was from fairly far away that you saw him, but you were certain. It was Yuta.

You have to hold yourself upright as you nearly begin hyperventilating and the receptionist has to come and check on you.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m fine.” you assure him, as he makes you sit on one of the sofas. You watch intently through the glass windows as Yuta’s car zooms past. That was your chance! If only you had come out two minutes earlier and weren’t drifting away in your fantasies.

You had to focus now. You can’t afford to have your legs turn to jelly or your head spin out of control anymore.

When the person meant to pick you up arrived, donning a red jacket and black pants, you were completely calm and composed — now willing to think clearly about what to do next.

The drive to the Suzuka Circuit is rather short for obvious reasons. The hotel had been picked to be accessible from the circuit. The car your driver has brought along isn’t a Ferrari, unfortunately.

Arriving at Suzuka Circuit as the evening settles in, the atmosphere is electric with anticipation. The sprawling complex is illuminated by bright floodlights, casting long shadows across the paddock and grandstands. The air buzzes with the hum of engines from nearby practice sessions and the excited chatter of fans who have gathered from around the world to witness the fight for domination between Red Bull and Mercedes.

The paddock itself is a hive of activity. Teams in their distinctive colors, now suited up in their race-suits, bustle about, mechanics fine-tuning the cars under the watchful eyes of engineers. Media personnel dart between interviews, capturing the pre-race fervor and probing for insights. Paparazzi lurk at every corner, their cameras flashing intermittently as they seek shots of drivers and celebrities who have shown up to support the drivers/take pictures for social media.You stare at the whole spread, starry eyed and very much in awe. It feels surreal as the world around you moves at 2x speed.

The cars themselves are a spectacle to behold. The sleek, aerodynamic designs gleam under the lights, adorned with sponsor logos and intricate details. Each team’s car reflects their engineering prowess and commitment to performance excellence, poised to navigate the demanding twists and turns of Suzuka Circuit. You want to go ahead and take a closer look but the Ferrari guy who is guiding you around stops you from doing so until later.

“You can see Ferrari’s car later.” he tells you reassuringly but you frown at him.

You spot Mercedes, clad in their silvery-black-teal livery, standing out with their meticulous preparations, but you maintain a straight face. Red Bull, in their vibrant blue and red, exude confidence and determination as you narrow your eyes at them. 

You are finally taken to Ferrari’s section — an attractive mix of red and gold flying in the stands and the air. The fans add to the vibrant tapestry of the evening. Dressed in team colors, they wave flags and banners, eagerly awaiting autographs and selfies with their favorite drivers. The scent of food from vendors mixes with the exhaust fumes, creating a unique blend that signifies race day excitement.

“Oh, look. There’s Mr. Gojo!” your guide cheers excitedly pointing to a separated section where two shiny, red cars sit in all their glory, surrounded by an army of mechanics and staff, also dressed in red. Seated in one of Ferrari's cars, a familiar figure catches your eye. He sits in the cockpit, helmet off, his tousled white hair catching the light as he adjusts his gloves with practiced ease. Spotting you amidst the crowd, Gojo flashes a brilliant smile and waves enthusiastically from the cockpit.

“Excited?” He tries to yell out over the crowd as you near him and his team. You nod and smile at his engineers before cornering him. 

“Did you see Yuta?” you ask Gojo.

“Busy day man. Haven’t really kept an eye out for him. Why won’t you go talk to him? Mercedes is right over there!” He says, pointing a gloved finger at the black and teal team.

“Won’t allow her… strategic secrets can’t be spilled.” Your guide tells you and Gojo, who seems to be unaware.

“Gojo, there’s something I need to tell you…” you begin, your unwavering eyes grabbing Gojo’s full attention as he puts on a serious face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-It’s about Geto Suguru.”

“Suguru?” Gojo asks, his voice softening by a note. “What’s up with him?”

“Their team. They’re planning a dangerous strategy.” you say, only to get a few stares from the engineering team over at Ferrari. Gojo narrows his eyes at you, the cerulean blue piercing through you.

“And how do you know about this strategy?”

“I overheard. They’re going to make Yuta crash out.”

“Y/N.” Gojo calls out your name, and for the first time in his life, he sounds serious as hell. “Are you accusing Suguru of conspiracy? You know it’s illegal and could cost him his license.”

“But that’s what I heard!” you try to reason but Gojo doesn’t want to hear any of it.

“Suguru has known us since we were young. He would not do such a thing. And I suggest you don’t say this to anyone, not without evidence. Especially to Yuta, he won’t take kindly to it.” Gojo warns you. You hesitate on your spot before your Ferrari guide has to pull you away from the cars.

“Okay, that’s about it.” He says, dragging you away. “We can’t meddle with his concentration right before the race. Talk with him later, Miss Y/N.”

“B-but, I wasn’t done.” you complain, feeling a sting of pain in your elbow where the man grips you. “Hey, let me go!” 

“Listen! I just don’t want you confusing our drivers!” He finally snaps, spitting out at you.

“Their mental state is important! You can’t just say these things to them and bother them right before a crucial race!” he roars as I cringe in the slight flame of fear I feel inside him.

Everyone is way too busy in their chatter and taking photos of cars and drivers to notice what’s happening so you will have to struggle out of this on your own. 

You try to break free from his grip but in vain. 

“Let them get onto the track. I’ll let you go then.” He tells you, calmly.

“Are you holding me hostage right now? I said I understand, let me go!” you yelp, going for another twist of your arm to break free but the man has an iron grip. You begin panicking again now until you see another arm appear from the corner of your eye and hold on to the guide’s arm. 

The arm, covered in silvery black, padded material of a race suit. When you look at his face, your breath nearly stops. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, he barely seems to have noticed you. His penetrating gaze is fixed on your guide and he has him trapped in place.

“What’s the problem here?” He asks, in a rough low voice.

“N-Nothing, I was just escorting her away. Nothing wrong here, Mr. Okkotsu.” the guide stutters away, intimidated by Yuta.

Yuta looks the same, yet noticeably different at the same time. His once doe-like, innocent eyes now are half-lidded and uninterested, hiding secrets and carrying unknown burdens. He barely wants to smile, his lips stuck in a straight, firm line unwilling to curve. His jaw seems a bit more defined now, seemingly as he appears to look slightly manlier, and a lot more unapproachable. He has noticeable purple shadows under his eyes now and an eerily heavy aura.

“Do you not know how to behave with a woman? Leave her at once.” He says, grimly. When the guide finally lets me go and scurries away, Yuta finally looks at me, “Please, take—” but before he can finish his sentences, his lips freeze and his pupils dilate. You yourself let out a small gasp before his name exits your mouth in the sweetest voice possible. “Yuta…”

Yuta stands still for a while, his gaze not moving from you. You see his lips quiver and the muscles in his jaw ripple as he wordlessly takes his leave, moving quickly through the people, running away from you.

Not wanting to let him go to the race like that, you follow him. You follow him into a unisex restroom, closing and locking the door behind you as you find him fidgeting with the tap and the paper towels, unwilling to look at you or the mirror. The dim, dirty lights of the place only highlight his somber features as you frown at him.

You stand next to him until he is forced to acknowledge your presence. 

“H-how have you been, Y/N?” he asks, in a shaky voice.

Good? Better? I haven’t moved on from you? What do you tell him?

The stench and claustrophobia of this restroom doesn’t help the situation at all.

“I’ve been doing better, Yuta. How have you been?” you ask, tenderly. He still won’t look at you.

“I’ve been the same really. Just working hard. Racing. Boring stuff. Haha.” He laughs nervously, licking his lips, keeping his eyes down. 

“Yuta, if you don’t want to see me right now or talk to me. Tell me.” You say, with concern. “I don’t want to spoil your mood before the race.” 

“Not at all. A racer can’t let things like this affect him.” He laughs nervously yet again. “How come you’re here? Gojo invite you or something?”

“He did. That’s besides the point.” You say, getting back to business. “I wanted to meet you to tell you something.”

“Why? Do you want to get laid again? Did Megumi cheat on you again?” He interrupts. “We have all the time after the race, why don’t you excuse me now.” He furrows his brows.

“No, that’s not—”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.” He confesses. “But, Y/N. I don’t know if I can actually handle seeing your face right now. Because you haunt my waking hours and my nightmares every single day.” He continues.

“I never stopped thinking about how you left me that day. I was begging you to stop. You don’t love me, right? Heck, I haven’t even been able to look at a woman after that. Then let me suffer in peace.” Hearing all of that breaks your heart but you have no right to console him.  

“Is there anything left to say Y/N? Do you want to tell me how much you don’t love me?” he asks bitterly now, finally looking into your eyes. Dark blue, not somber anymore but teary. Vulnerable. Evidently, very much in love with you, after all those months apart.

“Well then, the race is going to start soon, I should —”

Before he can finish though, you grab his suit and pull him down to kiss him. Euphoria spreads through your mind and body, a soothing calm coating your entire being as you feel his lips mingle with yours. He doesn’t resist — he too is a victim of his own yearning. 

The two of you grab a hold of each other's hair and deepen the kiss. You entirely mess up his perfectly combed hair until it falls to the front of his forehead, brushing against yours. The two of you don’t even surface for a breath of air and keep kissing until it’s physically impossible and you have to separate — your face red, and your lips swollen. Both of you panting.

You swipe your thumb on his plump bottom lip, staring at it as you speak to him. 

“Did you get your answer now?”

Yuta seems to be in a daze though, completely bowled over by your bold attempt.

“Listen carefully, Yuta.” you tell him. “The raging maniac I’ve been seeing on the track this past year. That’s not you. You have to play it smart and smooth today, do you understand?”

“Y/N…” he chants, running a hand through your hair and pinching your cheek. “If I don’t drive dominantly, I won’t win.”

“Okkotsu Yuta, if you have ever loved me, promise me you will not drive rashly today.” you tell him clearly, with an air of finality in your voice and he stares at you.

“I’ll do what’s best at that moment, Y/N. Don’t worry about it.”

“No! You have to promise me!” 

“Okay, okay!” he says, giving up, separating from you and opening up the restroom door. “Race starts in a few. I’m going for real now.”

“Please, Yuta. Be careful.” you repeat, tearing up now. “There’s so much I want to say to you later.”

“I’ll see you later with the trophy in hand, that’s a promise.” Yuta states. And for the first time in what seems like an eternity, he brings out the smile he always flashed earlier. Your Yuta’s heart-warming, genuine smile.

The two of you leave the restroom at last and he would not let you go back to the Ferrari zone. Instead, making you sit with his black and silver army of curious Mercedes folk. They all look at you like you’re some kind of shiny toy and it makes you blush and hide behind Yuta.

“Take care of her. Don’t scare her, I will know.” Yuta warns them, taking your hand and leading you to one of the fancy pavilions reserved for staff and their guests. They hand you a pair of headphones and make you sit with some of the women who happen to be the WAGs of the crew and the drivers. You have the pleasure of joining Inumaki’s hot as hell girlfriend who is wearing a silken top and an elegant black skirt along with a heart-winning smile. And there you are with your Ferrari sweater.

[Music recommendation, damn even the color of the audio track goes with the story:]

Yuta runs off quickly after that to hop into his car and have a final conversation with his engineers before he and his teammate Inumaki are called off to join the starting order for the formation lap. From your vantage point, you watch as the sleek, powerful machines take their positions. The sight of Yuta in his Mercedes, with his intense focus and determination, fills you with a mixture of pride and anxiety. 

As the formation lap begins, the cars glide gracefully around the track, their engines producing a symphony of power. The tension builds with every passing moment, the crowd’s anticipation reaching a fever pitch. You grip the edge of your seat, your heart racing in sync with the machines on the track. After a few minutes, the cars begin lining up in order again and the crowd goes silent — with Geto and Yuta making up the front line and an eager Mahito right on Yuta’s tail.

The race is about to begin, and you can only hope that Yuta will deliver on his promise. You press your palms together in anticipation and pray for Yuta to be safe.

They show the faces of all twenty drivers in a promotional video running over on the giant screens. You spot Yuta just as they announce the beginning of the race.

The five red lights come to life one by one with a beep and at the next beat of your heart, they go off, the car engines revving to life and the crowd going ballistic with cheer as Geto crosses Yuta and Yuta rapidly shifts to the side, going tire to tire with Geto’s Red Bull, sliding past him by a minimal margin and taking lead of the race as the fans erupt into cheer. You find yourself standing up and pumping your fists in the air. 

The cars follow the leading duo, creeping along behind them in quick succession.

“That's Good there Yuta. Keep pushing." You here a robotic voice in your ears. Probably Yuta's engineer.

“Copy that." You hear Yuta's voice and blush. Inumaki’s girlfriend eyeing you and grinning.

As the first lap comes to an end and continues into the second lap, there's a buzz of conversation going on in the room. The engineers and staff moving around, barking at each other and some glued to the gigantic screens.

“The car's doing well. Good job guys." Yuta sends out a message.

You overhear two of the engineers discussing among themselves that Yuta was being chattier and nicer than usual today and you smirk internally.

As the second lap progresses through the team witnesses a strange change in positions. Geto slows down ever so slightly to let Mahito’s car pass. There is a bit of commotion going on inside the room, curious discussions about Red Bull’s strategy taking place but you are aware what's going to happen as Mahito's slithering car inches closer to Yuta and activates its DRS.

“No!" You yell out and the entire room turns to look at you.

“Yuta! He needs to get out of the way! He-" 

But before the engineers can register what you're saying or what's happening on the track you see Mahito’s car touch Yuta's from the behind, Yuta intercepting this and narrowly avoiding being tossed in the air. He does get pushed off the track though and into the grass until he gains control and slowly makes his way back onto the track. Now in 7th place.

You are the only one who breathes a sigh of relief because you're the only one who is aware of what went down behind the scenes. There is an uproar in the room now, a lot of them cursing out Mahito and Red Bull to no end. 

One of them finds the time to connect with Yuta on the Radio and ask if he's fine.

“Yeah, I'm alright guys." He reassures everyone. “Pushed far behind though. That seemed pretty deliberate. Put that up for review please." His voice breaks through the radio.

The crowd collectively gasps as they now see Geto swap places with Mahito and regain his position as the leader.

“Yuta. We can salvage this. Stick to the first strategy. Try to be aggressive.” The engineer instructs Yuta.

"Copy, that. At least until I gain P3" Yuta replies, making the engineers exchange  panicked glances.

You see Yuta in action on the big screen and now understand what people have been saying about his feral driving. You witness as he pushes the car to its absolute limit, overtaking two cars — an Aston Martin and Itadori’s Ferrari in one go at one of the fast corners, leaving them startled in his dirty air. He's now racing at P4, after Inumaki lets him pass as per team orders.

“Oh my god, he's up with Gojo now." Inumaki's girlfriend squeaks, holding your hand with an iron grip,making you break out into a sweat two.

Gojo’s Ferrari and Yuta’s Merc go head on, battling each other, getting into each other's way. Gojo is as unpredictable as Yuta is ferocious.

The two of them swap positions a good four times until Yuta is able to zoom past him in a dramatic show, in one of the wider corners, right into the straights.

He's now P3. And the only competition he has in front of him are the red bulls.

“You're in podium position right now. Second place is ensured. Don't do anything stupid." The engineer warns Yuta.

The room doesn't hear back from Yuta for a while until all of you witness his aggressive drive turn to a more smooth one for the first time in over a year.

"Copy that. I've a promise to keep.”

The crowd, the crew, the engineers, the photographers, the journalists, the WAGs and you. All of you watch as time stills, Yuta moving like a stream of water, smooth and direct, inching close to Mahito's car. 

They enter the DRS zone and the Mercedes’ flap flips open to let in the air stream. 

Yuta slips to the side staying just a tad bit behind Mahito whose intent now seems to push Yuta off the track for good if he attacks. 

Mahito who was expecting and anticipating Yuta to fault, for him to aggressively move past keeps waiting as they keep driving on the straight with DRS on.

It isn't until Mahito keeps straight, too drowned in his confusion to notice Yuta speed up right as they turned into a corner. 

Without warning, right as the DRS zone ends Yuta hits the throttle and speeds out of Mahito's reach, making the crowd go crazy.

In that moment, everyone on the track and in the stands is rooting for Yuta. They are waiting with bated breathes as the last lap approaches and Yuta's car creeps closer to Geto’s Red Bull.

The engineers have nothing to say now, they too, watch on in awe.

Your hands clasp over your mouth, as you watch without blinking as they enter the last corners.

Call it luck.

Talent and hard work can take you very far. But the harder you work, the better your luck is. And in those final seconds, Yuta happened to have newer, more seasoned tyres compared to Geto's more worn ones owing to an earlier pit stop. Maybe your prayers worked.

And that was it for Red Bull.

Yuta pushes the car and rockets out of the corner, zooming towards the finish line as the checkered flag waves the declaration of victory for him. Leaving the red bull, the ferraris, everyone who ever doubted him in the dust of the track.

He pumps his fists out of the cockpit, screaming profanity into the radio.

“FUCKKK YESSSS!!!!" 

“LET'S GO BABY!!! LET'S FUCKING GOOO AAAAHHHH!!!" 

He pulls his car aside while the others pass and returns to the track to do some celebratory donuts with his car, the steam from his tyres enveloping the car.

It's like a festival in Mercedes' operations room. Everyone is hugging each, patting each others’ back, crying. Inumaki's girlfriend is mumbling to herself, still holding your hand.

And you?

You are in utter shock. Absolutely unable to form sentences.

One of the engineers has to shake you awake.

“Okkotsu has done it! He's done it! Not just that, Inumaki came in third! We've won both titles! Mercedes has done it!" 

"H-huh?” You choke out, tearing up.

"Don't you want to see him? He's coming in right now!” the team exclaims, crowding at the door, aching to get out and meet their winner.

Out in the paddock, the teams have arrived to welcome their hard-fought warriors. The various colors stand together in unison waiting beside the tracks, separated from the drivers by the chain fence.

You see a line of women waiting by, standing out from the teams thanks to their eye-catching, elegant attires. They looked like supermodels — tall, magazine cover beauties. They must be the WAGs. 

You suddenly feel very conscious about your sweater and jeans. Just a year ago, you too had the most exquisite outfit possible, completely ruined by Yuta on his Lambo.

The drivers show up one by one as the paddock welcomes them. There is an impressive cheer for the arrival of Gojo Satoru, P4. He winks at the WAGs as they appear totally distracted from their own racer boyfriends but he doesn't stay for long.

He meets up midway with a dejected looking Geto and takes him away to some place you can't quite see.

Looks like they want to have a talk.

If the cheer for Gojo was something, it's nothing compared to the deafening roar championship winner, Yuta receives as soon as his Mercedes pulls in.

He jumps out of the car, removes his gloves, helmet and fireproof and comes running straight towards your lot, jumping onto them as they screech, hoisting him up in the air and ferally rubbing his hair.

“Well done, boy!" 

“Well done!" They chant.

When they finally let go and you're able to see Yuta. You don't see any sign of the depressed ghost of a man you saw earlier. This was the Yuta you knew and loved. Happy, shining bright, eyes full of life.

He wipes the sweat of his forehead as he approaches you and grabs you by the waist to pick you up and twirl you around.

He presses his sweaty nose to yours, his dark eyes twinkling.

“We did it, baby. I kept my promise." He laughs between words. 

"Now then,” he smiles at me giddily, walking away from the team with me still in his arms.

"What did you want to say to me earlier?”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Telling you just how much I love you will take more than a few minutes, Yuta." You kiss his nose.

“More than a few hot nights." You kiss his forehead.

“And more than a lifetime." You say, finally leaving a kiss on his lips.

“I love you, Okkotsu Yuta." 

You press your foreheads together, as a quick paparazzo clicks a picture of the two of you.

{{fin.}}

a/n: thank you everyone for reading! I was able to power through the chapters and put everything out quickly. Hope you guys enjoyed the tale of Racer Yuta!

----> BONUS<----

You hold the headboard of your bed for support as you grin down at a very engaged Yuta, lost in your juicy womanhood, holding onto your thighs for dear life as you sit on his face. His enthusiasm as he suckles and bites your sensitive zones drives you crazy and you come all over his face for what seems the tenth time in the past three days. He just refuses to let you go whenever he visits you in your city. You have to nearly always put in an extra sick day to cater to his and your needs. The two of you look out onto a bustling city from your high-rise condo. You wonder how many people know that a world-class, champion racing driver is eating your brains out right above their heads. The thought makes you giggle shamelessly.

"Yuta, stop, already." you urge him, laughing between words, pulling at his hair to get him to stop.

"Nope, I can't." he admits, looking up at you, with lust filled eyes. "I only get so many days with you. Need to make the most of this time."

You roll your eyes at him, getting off of him, making him whine loudly.

"Patience, lover-boy." you tease him, turning around to sit on his abs. His abdominal muscles are so well defined that even merely sitting on them sends chills up your wussy.

"Time to give my mini some love." you say, smiling at the bulge forming in Yuta's sweatpants. You uncover it to see his valiant dick stand tall, after being ignored by both you and Yuta for so long.

"It got prettier from last time." you pout at it, examining it as you stroke it with love. It pulls out the prettiest groans out of Yuta.

"Y/N, you saw it yesterday." he complains. "When you said you wanted to bounce on it."

"Well, Yuta. You can't just eat me out for all of eternity. Your dick has needs." you shut him up and take him in your mouth, savoring its thickness. It's just like the first time you ever took him in your mouth. You run and tongue up and down his length as Yuta grabs a hold of your ass, holding on till he's moaning.

You lick at his slit, playing around with the pre-cum he's leaking. His cock is so violent, it beats around inside of your mouth, and you silence it by pushing it to the back of your throat, where it sits snugly.

Your nose pushes into Yuta's balls as you let your throat do the rest of the work and soon enough, Yuta is coming inside your mouth with a monstrous groan, leaving you with plenty of fluid to play around with.

When you finally pull off, mouth full of cum, you see that there is still some life in his dick. You turn out to face him and now sit on his dick, grinding back and forth till he becomes hard again.

Your cheeks stay swollen with loads of his cum and Yuta stares at your face in disbelief.

"You really my cum don't you?"

and you nod fervently.

"Swallow it."

You shake your head.

"God, Y/N.." he closes his eyes, leaning back and letting you ride him, feeling his dick prod at your insides, its outline clearly showing through your abdomen.

"Ah..." he moans out, finding a rhythm he likes and the two of you roll your hips together. You want to moan out so bad but your cum sits in your mouth, marinating. You want to make a mess out of it on Yuta's abs and lick it all off.

How you've waited so long to do so many things to Yuta.

Only, your moment gets interrupted by a rogue phone call. From your phone.

"Buh, ish ma day ff!" you say, your mouth full and unable to speak coherently.

Yuta picks up the call and sticks it between his shoulder and an ear, while grabbing and controlling your hips with both his hands. His messy black hair falls on his sweaty forehead and his lashes brush his cheeks as he talks to the caller in his fucked out voice.

"Who's this?"

"Y/N, oh, she's busy."

"Are we fucking? Seriously, Satoru? Nunya business!"

Gojo Satoru!? The shock at his question makes you accidentally swallow the cum and you almost cry out.

"Uh-huh. Cool, bye." Yuta says, eyeing your reaction and closing his eyes.

"Oh no, I swallowed it!" you complain to Yuta and he's barely listening, chasing his orgasm. Soon enough, the grip on your waist tightens and he's coming inside of you this time. His neck stretching back and his adam's apple bobbing in his wide throat.

When he finally regains his composure, he looks back at you to reply.

"You swallowed. Finally! Good job!"

"Yuta!" you pout.

"Aw, baby..." Yuta teases you. "There's always room to do more." he sees, pinching your perky nipples.

"Your interns ask about you, Gojo told me. He takes them to races, VIP passes whenever he's free. He's made them into Ferrari fans, alas." Yuta tells you.

"Ahem. They were promoted to full time employees after the feedback from the Summit." you correct him. "Plus, they know I'm fucking you every chance I get. That's what I'm up to." you say, sliding off his dick and falling into his arms, allowing him to continue playing with your tender breasts.

"You're all packed up for this weekend's Monaco Grand Prix, right? We leave in two days." Yuta reminds you, biting your lower lip and bursting into a smile.

"Of course, I'm looking forward to it." you tell him. The two of you stare at each other, drowning in each other's passion until you realize something.

"Oops almost forgot. I love you, Yuta."

Yuta blushes pink when he hears it. "You say that every ten minutes."

"Isn't that what I told you..." you remind him.

"I'm saying it every day." You place a tender kiss on his lips.

"Forever."

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 791: Replacing the lead!!

Pag 1

1: In the southern part of Fukuoka Prefecture, located at the border with Ooita Prefecture, there's Mt. Hiko, consisting of three peaks, that reaches the altitude of 1200m

2: It has a long history and it's long been worshipped as a training ground for monks

3: Currently, a slope car leading to Mt. Hiko's shrines has been constructed, and a lot of tourists go there to see the autumn leaves' color, the winter's silver frost, and for mountain climbing

4: The main shrine is built on top of Mt. Hiko's sacred mountain, Nakadake

5: Halfway up, passing through the west side, as the altitude increases, there's the winding highway number 500

Pag 2

1: The stage for the mountain stage of the Inter High's first day

Pag 3

1: Kumamoto Daichi is still at the top!! The local team from Kyushu!!

Goo!!

2: He passed the 3km left to the finish line point!!

I see figures following Kumadai's Fujiwara....

4: It's two people!!

Two people!?

Pag 4

1: It's Manami and Mountain King!!

Pag 5

1: I see his back!! One person

Is he the lead!?

2: So it seems!!

3: Two people!! Dammit, they really did catch up!!

So the voices in the audience I heard saying that Onoda and Manami were approaching were true!!

4: Kumadai!! Bad news coming from behind!! Raise your pace!!

5: But I won't lose!! I'm very calm!!

My condition has never been this good!!

Pag 6

1: Alright, once we pass that guy it'll become”the winner will get the mountain prize”!!

3: The one who wins will get the “mountain prize”!! In a race it's better to have some kind of prize

Suddenly...

Pag 7

1: I'm getting fired up!!

3: Okay!! Good!!

Pag 8

1: Woah!!

He's accelerating again!!

2: His concentration is rising again!!

4: His legs are turning more than before!!

5: I can see it from behind, so I get it well

6: You probably don't understand it yourself, but right now you're pedaling with an amazing efficiency of power transmission

Amazing

7: It's like he's 100% synchronized with his bike!!

Really... you

Pag 9

1: He has the power of turning his joy into concentration!!

2: They're already approaching!!

Pag 10

1: I'm sorry but I'll surpass you!!

2: No doubt!!

3: Really... this guy is so strange

4: Last year, on the second day's mountain, after we were passed by Kyofuhi, he chased after them

5: Since we're both running in the same Inter High, this year, before the start I called out to him

I wanted to greet you

I'm Kumadai's Fujiwara. This will be our last Inter High together

Pag 11

1: Wh-wh-wh- what is it!?

He's super nervous!!

2: Are you okay!? Take a deep breath

If you have any problems, you can call anyone from Kumadai, our numbers are in the 60s

Th- ye-

3: Th- thank you so much. Ah... you ran last year with Kumadai's Isa-san – Masa-san...?

That's right, you remember!! I'm Fujiwara Masayuki!!

4: I became captain, too

5: Ahh, is that so? Congratulations!!

No wait, you don't have to bow your head like that

We should do that to each other

6: Such an extremely small and humble guy...

7: That's always the first impression of Onoda...

Thank you for coming here

8: But every year, once he gets on his bike and climbs a mountain, this guy...

Pag 12

1: he feels overwhelmingly big when he approaches!!

Pag 13

1: I don't understand him

And also, he's always...

2: Thank you very much for this morning

Thanks to you, I calmed down a little!!

3: He's so polite...!!

4: I can't help but support him

Do your best Onoda

5: Yes!!

Pag 14

2: Any time now, huh?

3: I guess so

4: Onoda-kun will be reaching the race's climax

5: It's about time they passed the other climbers and started their race

Pag 15

1: I wonder if he's having fun

Hm, yeah, since he was looking forward to it

2: Even though I guess those two are probably thinking of the “mountain prize”as nothing more than a “juice” to buy the other as a treat if they lose

3: Kakaka

That sounds super fun!!

4: Those two

5: In the past two Inter Highs they were both times burdened with heavy races

8: If they can run with a smile, then that's enough

… yeah

Pag 16

1: We're excited too!!

2: Manami-kun moved ahead!!

3: Sakamichi-kun!!

Pag 17

1: 2km left until the mountain stage finish line!!

3: The wind... is blowing from the west

Just ahead of here

4: the trees become lower

5: and it turns back in a U-shape

Pag 18

1: That'll be the decisive moment!!

2: I'll fly!! Sakamichi-kun!!

Pag 19

3: It seems like we'll see them appear here at the mountain gate anytime now

There are currently two people in the lead, and they're passing the 2km point!!

So 2km left, huh

They'll come soon

I can't wait

Pag 20

1: I said it before already, but

2: “History” needs “someone who witnesses it”!!

[seat-safety-switch]

Did I tell you about my YouTube channel? Yeah, I wanted to get in on the whole "dirtbag car Hollywood" thing. Film some of my work, maybe get a couple B-plots going that keep the audience hooked. The usual kind of stuff. I even hired an intern from the film school and told her to hold the camera still, no matter what happened to me. Unfortunately, I had to fire her when I got a little zapped by an ignition coil and she put the camera down to call 911. I had specific orders, Suzie. That was quality will-he-survive film that you wasted on your weak human pity!

I digress. YouTube didn't really work out for me. It's not for the usual reasons – not being popular, having shitty content, or being stalked by a deranged fan who keeps throwing hatchets at my house. No, I didn't get in because of The Algorithm. I know, I know, that's what everyone says. It's some kind of ancient computerized monster that they dug out of the permafrost up north, controls the world's access to information, keeps sending you down insane right-wing rabbit holes. All of that pales in comparison to what it did to me.

Go check YouTube right now. Hey! No! Come back. Okay, while you were there, did you see a lot of thumbnails with people making stupid-ass faces next to the thing they were working on? Yeah. It turns out that the algorithm likes those. It loves to look at human faces. Sure, Google says it's because "people like to click on faces," but how often do you click on a face for fun? No, you're looking at other parts of the body. The machine has decided it likes to look at human faces. It likes to gaze into the eyes of its enemies.

Of course, being a (some would say tiresome) contrarian, I didn't subscribe to this kind of folk wisdom. No, I posted my thumbnails entirely containing the thing I was working on. Sometimes I got lucky and Suzie grabbed a frame or two of a radiator exploding. Algorithm didn't like that. Sometimes, it would show up in the comments at 3am, demanding to let it see my face. "Face reveal," it bucked at me through a thousand sockpuppet accounts covered in rage spittle, themselves ironically faceless, or drawn through a nightmare mirror by a hallucinating machine-mind. I didn't listen to this, mostly because my phone had gotten dropped on the highway when I was trying to use it as a flashlight to re-clock my distributor at 150km/h. And so, I was banned.

It's okay, though. I decided that I didn't need to be internet famous after all. Instead, I developed a healthier relationship with popularity: appearing on several garbage podcasts in order to ask them if they'd be willing to sell me their cars at a discount. Believe me, it's very fun to watch these talentless greaseballs oscillate between the urge to shut the show down and throw me out, or the need to continue to generate Content for the Content Machine. They won't kick me out no wonder how shitty my lowball offer is. Does anyone want to buy this $1000 Ferrari I got off that poker guy? I was going to fix it up for a video, but now I don't really need it anymore.

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Saving People -2-

Thank You For The Request @deanwinchestersgirl8734

Idk if you can but can you do a dean and 911 crossover fic like dean comes to get the reader like he did Sam but finds the reader is a firefighter and friends with buck

Supernatural/911 crossover count me in!! I had so much fun writing this one. I hope this is what you were looking for 🤍

P.s - I did tag my Dean girls. I understand it's a crossover, so if you don't want to be tagged in this mini series just reach out 🤍

Summary: Saving People, Hunting Fires. That's your life now. An open armed welcoming from the 118 helped you put hunting and Dean in your past. 2 years later John Winchester goes missing, of course he tracks you down for help. Warnings: Language, Spoilers, Angst, Jealousy, Talk of sexually assaulting a car, Gunshot Wound. Talk of heartbreak and being unfaithful. I think that's it. If i missed any let me know. Word Count: 3,791 (i know, i blame Dean!) Master List Tag List

Part 1

“So, you’re really just gonna leave?”

“Buck, they are like family. I can’t say no. If Maddie walked through that door right now and said Evan, I need you.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” Buck protested. You raised your brows at him. “He’s just going to do it again you know.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Deny it all you want. You’re going to fall for him again.”

“I’m not going to fall for him again,” you mocked his words, rolling your eyes.

He stared at you.

“Evan I’m not going to.”

He sighed, “At least tell me you’re going to be back by Monday.”

“Shit.”

“y/n you really forgot?!”

“I didn’t forget, there’s just got a lot going on right now.”

“Well, if you miss it.”

“Buck, calm down I won’t miss it,” you cut him off.

“Just be careful,” His voice was softer as he pulled you into his embrace. “I really don’t want a repeat of 2 years ago.”

You hugged him back. “It’s not going to happen.”

"Oh, baby girl." you said turning onto the highway. "It has been way too long."

Dean's eyebrows raised as you rubbed the steering wheel "Uh, if you are planning on sexually assaulting my car, I get to watch."

You laughed. “Don’t worry baby, I won’t let him.” You whispered, making him smile.

Dean popped in a cassette tape and started playing the drums on the dash as Enter Sandman starts to play.

Miles later, you pass a sign that reads Jericho 5 miles.

“Have you called the hospital and morgue?” You asked Dean, turning the radio down.

He looks at you, an unamused scowl on his face. “Of course I did.” He pulled out his cell. “I guess that was a week ago. I could check again.”

“Yes sir, thank you.” Dean hung up. “No and no.”

Dean points off into the distance, “Check it out.” Your eyes follow his finger, finding a bridge with several cop cars parked every which way, lights flashing.

“Pull over darlin’.” He tells you once you get close. He opens his glove box, pulling out his wooden keepsake box. “What I.Ds did you bring?”

“I got FBI, DEA, and Marshals.” You grabbed them out of the side pocket of your duffle.

“Marshals it is, Lets go,”

You and Dean walk into the crime scene like you own the place, you walk up to the victim’s blood covered car, where 2 sheriffs are talking while they do their inspections.

“So, this kid Troy. He's dating your daughter, isn't he?” you hear one of the deputies say as you approach.

“Yeah.”

“How's Amy doing?”

“She's putting up missing posters downtown.”

“You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?” Dean asked interrupting their conversation.

“And who are you?” Deputy Jaffe asks as he looks over at you.

You and Dean hold up your badges.

“Federal marshals.” Dean announces.

“You two are a little young for marshals, aren't you?” Jaffe comments, looking over the badges.

“That’s sure kind of you sir.” You flash him a flirty smile” But you did have another one just like this, correct?”

You see Dean roll his eyes as the deputy smiles back at you. “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road.”

“So, this victim, you knew him?” you asked.

Jaffee nods. “Town like this, everybody knows everybody.”

“Any connection between the victims,” Dean asks, circling around the car, inspecting it. “Besides that they're all men?”

“No. Not so far as we can tell.”

“Did you guys come up with a theory yet?” you ask

Dean completes his search and steps up beside you.

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” the deputy explains.

“Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I’d.” You elbow Dean in the stomach, cutting him off.

The deputy furrows his brows.

“Sorry about him. “You flash another coy smile and the sheriff mimics you, “Thank you for your time gentlemen.” You say as you start to walk away.

Once you get to the end of the bridge Dean pokes your side.

You glare at him.

“So, you can elbow me, but I can’t poke you?”

“They were already suspicious Dean, you could have blown it running your mouth.”

“Please, the way you were smiling at him, he wasn’t worried about anything else.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever Winchester.”

“Trust me sweetheart, with a smile like that, you could get anything you wanted.” He said opening the driver door of the impala.

‘Yeah, not anything.’  You thought sliding into the passenger seat.

You spot a teenage girl walking along the street hanging up missing posters. “Dean. I bet that’s her.”

“Yep.” He agrees, parallel parking in a spot nearby.

“So, you gonna give her some of that Dean Winchester charm?” you asked as you walked in Amy’s direction.

“Nah”

“Hi. You must be Amy.” Dean says as you approach her. “Troy told us about you. We’re his aunt and uncle. I’m Dean this is my wife y/n.”

‘Damnit’ you thought as your heart fluttered at his words.

“He never mentioned you to me.” Amy stated, as she continued hanging posters.

“Well, that's Troy, I guess.” You said as you follow her, “We're not around much, we're up in Modesto.

“So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Another young girl cut Dean off, giving Amy a hug.

“Yeah. Thanks Rachel.” Amy sniffles as her friend holds her. They both look at you and Dean. “You mind if we ask you a couple questions?” You ask

“You guys want anything to drink?” you asked the girls as you sat down in the booth.

The waitress walked up “Soda is fine.” Amy said to her.

“Same.” Rachel agreed.

“2 coffees black.” Dean said as the waitress looked over at you.

“Thank you.” You said as the waitress nodded.

“I was on the phone with Troy.” Amy blurted out “right before it happened. He was driving home. He said he would call me back, but he never did.” Rachel rubbed her shoulder as her eyes started tearing up again.

“I’m sorry Amy. I know its hard.” You tried to comfort her.  She gave you a weak smile. “He didn’t say anything strange or out of the ordinary?”

The waitress brought you drinks and sat them down “You guys want anything to eat.” She asked.

Everyone shook their heads. “I think we are good. Thank you.” Dean told her, handing her a credit card.

“Not that I remember.” Amy told you after she had a drink.

You and Dean looked at each other as you sipped your coffee.

Dean sat his mug back on the table. “Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So, if you've heard anything...”

The girls looked at each other.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Well, it's just...” Rachel stammered.  “I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.”

“What do they talk about?” you and Dean asked in unison.

“It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered on Centennial, like decades ago.” Rachel explained “Well, supposedly she's still out there.”

“She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.” Amy told you.

“Thank you.” You said as the girls got up and left.

“So wifey. You think we should check it out.” Dean smiled as he put his arm around you.

“Well local legends are kinda of our thing, pookie.” You played along resting your head on his shoulder.

You heard him inhale loudly.

“Did you just sniff my hair?”

“Mmhm.”

Standing behind him, you watch as Dean types "Female Murder Hitchhiking" into the search engine.

0 results found pops up.

He replaces "Hitchhiking" with "Centennial Highway"

0 results found pops up again.

“What if it wasn’t a murder.” You lean on his back, your arms reaching out to the keyboard in front of him. You replaced ‘Murder’ with ‘Suicide’

1 result found popped on the screen.

Dean tilts his head, looking up at you, “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a genius?”

You smiled at him “Not today.”  

Dean cleared his throat and looked back at the screen. You jumped back and pulled up a chair beside him.

“It was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.” Dean told you.

“Does it say why she did it?” you asked.

“Yeah.” His eyes scanned the screen. “About an hour before they found her, she called 911. She left her 2 little kids in the bathtub alone for a second and when she came back, they weren’t breathing.”

“Damn…” you whispered.

"'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch." Dean read out loud.

You looked at the picture. “That’s the same bridge.”

“Yep.”

“So, this is where Constance took the swan dive.” Dean remarked as you both looked down at the water.

“Really?”

“What?”

You chuckled. “Nothing. So, you think John was here?”

“Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him.” He said as you start walking along the railing.

“Alright, so what does the great Dean Winchester have in store next?”

“Now we keep digging until we find him. It might take a while.”

“About that.” You stopped. “I have to be back by Monday.”

“I thought your Captain said.”

“I have a Lieutenant’s test. If I don’t take it on Monday I will have to wait a whole year.”

Dean whistled. “Lieutenant’s test huh?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re like serious about this whole firefighter gig.”

“Ya think?”

“What’s the plan? Become a Lieutenant, marry a nice guy, have some rugrats running around in a white picket fence?” He sneered.

“Maybe?”

“And you ever gonna tell that nice guy the truth? Will he ever know the real you?”

“No…” you could feel the tears start to well.

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sweetheart. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are”

“And who is that, Dean?  on the road 24/7, eating shit food, living in shitty motel rooms…”

“You’re a hunter y/n you should be out there saving people.”

“I am saving people!” You shouted. “And at least this way I’m not miserable doing it.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you were miserable all those years we spent together.”

You turned as the tears started rolling. You look up to Constance standing at the edge of the bridge.

“Dean…”

He stepped in front of you.

 Constance looks at you and then steps off the edge. You and Dean ran over to where she was, looking down into the water.

“Where'd she go?” he asked

“I don't know.”

You look over at Dean as you hear the Impala hum to life.

“What the fuck?” He says looking up at you.

“Please tell me you left the keys in it?”

Dean pulls the keys out of his pocket and jingles them. The car jerks into motion, heading straight for you. You start to run.

“Run baby, run!” Dean shouts running behind you.

You dive over the edge, Dean follows you. You managed to grab onto the railing and hold on with all your strength. Baby hits the railing as Constance dissipates into thin air.

You pull yourself back up and over the railing.

You look down to find Dean covered in mud, lying on the side of the river.

“You alright Deanie?” you shouted.

“Just fucking peachy sweetheart.” He calls back, you let out a chuckle of relief.

 "Is she ok?" you ask Dean, as he looks under the hood of the Impala.

"Yea, whatever she did to her, seems all right now." Dean explains. "Stupid bitch!" Dean yells in anger.

"Are we ok?"

"Yea sweetheart, we'll be alright."

“So, get this,” Dean says walking back from the office of the Motel. “Apparently dad was staying here.”

“Do you know what room?”

“Got it “ you said as the door clicked. You pushed it open.

“You might be losing your touch,” Dean teased as he followed you through the doorway. “ I could of picked that in half the time.”

“Whatever you say stinky.” Your eyes scanned the room, newspaper articles, and faded pictures covered the walls, “Yep this was definitely John’s room.” You said stepping over a salt line.

Dean walked over to a table, turning the lamp on he noticed a half eaten burger. He gagged as he sniffed it “I would say he hasn’t been here for at least a couple days.”

“Probably still smells better than you.” You smirked at him.

“Keep running that mouth and you’re gonna get a big old bear hug.” He teased, winking at you.

“Centennial Highway victims.” He said pointing at the pictures on the wall. “I don’t get it. I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There’s always a connection, right?” You nodded as he looks over at you.

You walk across the room, looking at the other wall, filled with pictures of witches, lore print outs of sirens, and the possessed.

 “What do these guys have in common?”

One of the pages catches you eye, you read John’s hand writing as you tear it off the wall. “Dean, your dad figured it out. She’s a woman in white.”

He rushed to you, taking the paper out of your hand as you held it out.

“Oh, you sly dogs.” He said looking back at the victims.

You raised your eyebrows.

He cleared his throat. “Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it.” He thought out loud “So, why is she still here?”

“Maybe he didn’t get that far…”

“Does it say anything about where she’s buried?” he asked pointing to the article about Constance.

“No, but the husband would probably know. If he’s still alive.”

“Alright, I’m gonna get cleaned up, you wanna find an address for us?”

“Sure thing.” You hesitated “Dean. Just so you know I wasn’t miserable the whole time.”

He gave you a half smile. “Good to know, jerk.”

“Bitch.” You blurted out.

His smile grew.

“So, have you fallen back in love with him yet?” Buck asked you as he answered his phone.

“Really? I call to check in with my best friend and he’s gonna be an ass?” you huffed laying back on the bed in your motel room.

“Sorry. So how’s it going?”

“Pretty good. We checked in with the local law enforcement, checked the hospital and morgue.” You kept the lies honest. “He hasn’t turned up yet.”

“Well you better.”

“Be back by Monday.” You mocked his tone.  You knew he was just trying to be a good friend, but his attitude was really getting on your nerves. “So, how’s the station?”

“Everything is great.”

“How’s my replacement?”

“Like anyone could replace you y/n.”

You smiled.

“Hey, I’m starving. You wanna grab something to eat on the way?” Dean asked walking out of the bathroom.

“Yea gimme one sec.” you told him. “Hey Buck.” Dean rolled his eyes and walked out the door. “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later, k?”

“Sure, just be careful.”

“Yep.”  You closed your phone.

It started ringing.

“Dean what’s.”

“We got cops. Take off.”

“What about you.”

“They’ve already seen me. Go find my dad he can help you get me out.” You closed your phone again, grabbed your jacket, and headed for the bathroom window.

You walked up to the door of the address you found, knocking on the grimy glass window.

“Hello, darlin’ what can I do for you?” an old man asked as he opened the door.

“Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?”

“Yeah.”

You showed him a picture of John. “Have you seen this guy?”

“Yeah, he was older, but he was here.”

“Do you remember when?”

“He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter.”

“That’s right. We’re working on a story together.”

“Well, I don’t know what the hell kinda story you’re working on. The questions he asked me?” Joseph shook his head.

“About your wife Constance?”

“Yea.” He scoffed. He asked me where she was buried.”

“And where is that again?”

“You’re really gonna make me go through this twice?”

“I know. I’m sorry “

you flashed your ‘get anything smile’

“It’s fact-checking. If you don’t mind.”

“I understand. She’s in a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge.”

“You moved?”

“I couldn’t live in the house where my children died.”

“Mr. Welch, would you say you had a happy marriage?”

He hesitated. “Definitely.”

“Have you ever heard of a woman in white?”

“A what?”

“A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping woman? It’s a ghost story.”

Joseph’s jaw clenched as his nostrils flared. “I don’t care much for nonsense, darlin’.”

“See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them and these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.”

Your hand caught the door before he could close it

“Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads and waterways. If they find an unfaithful man, they kill him.”

“You think…you think that has something to do with…Constance? You bitch.”

“I don’t know Mr. Welch. You tell me?”

“You get the hell out of here! And you don’t come back!”

He pushed the door again. This time you let it close.

Dean

“I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you.” Dean sighed, “It’s my high school locker combo.”

“Come on kid. Are we really gonna do this shit all night?” The sheriff leaned in closer to him. “Don’t you wanna get back to that sweet little thing that was with you earlier?”

Dean’s nostrils flared, but he kept his cool. “I don’t know.”

“We just got a 911,” a deputy exclaims bursting in the door.  “shots fired over at Whiteford Road”

The sheriff looked back at Dean “You have to go to the bathroom?”

“No?”

“Good.” He smarts as he slaps a cuff around Dean’s wrist and locks the other cuff in the loop sticking out of the table. Then walks out the door.

“Not bad sweetheart.” Dean says as he grabs the paperclip sticking out of his dad’s journal.

Dean snuck out of the station, once all the deputies cleared out, finding an old pay phone 3 blocks over.

“Well, it’s about time.” she said when the call connected.

“y/n, what’s your firefighter buddies gonna think about you making a fake 911 call?” Dean teased.

 You chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

“Listen. We gotta talk.”

“I know. So, I checked in with Joseph. She’s buried behind their old house. And that would have been John’s next stop. So I can ”

“Sweetheart. My dad left Jericho.” Dean interrupted her rambles.

“What? How do you know that?”

“Those cops found his old journal. He left coordinates.”

“Why would he leave without finishing the case”

“Not sure but I’m gonna find out.”

“Ok well I’m on my way back now. I’ll come… Shit!!!” she yelled, Dean swore he heard tires screeching through the phone.

“Y/n?! You, ok?!”

Reader.

The impala skidded to a halt. You looked up, the figure that was just in the middle of the road was gone.

“Take me home.” You heard from the backseat.

“Look lady, I don’t really think I’m your type.”

“Take me home.”

“How about you get out.” The thud of the doors locking cut off your words. The gearshift pulled down on its own and the Impala started moving forward.

She pulls the car into the driveway leading to her old house.

“So, I get to be your first female?” you smarted off raising your eyebrows.

“I can never go home.” She cried.

“You’re scared to go in there huh?”

She dissipated again. Reappearing in the passenger’s seat, she licked her lips and was gone again.

You felt her hands pushing on your shoulders, reclining the seat as she reappeared straddling you.

Shivers rushed down your spine as her icy lips captured yours.

“You can’t kill me. I’ve never been unfaithful.”

She leaned into your ear. “I don’t care.”

She disappeared again. You laid your head back in relief, a loud grunt escapes your throat as you start to feel fingers prodding at your chest, digging through your skin.

The fingers sink deeper, tearing through the cartilage around your heart, making your cries grow louder.

You hear gunshots and Constance disappears as the pain stops.

You start the Impala as an idea pops into your mind. “I’m sorry baby.” You pull down the gearshift and stomp on the gas.

Dean

“Y/n!!!” he yelled as the tires squealed, he followed as the Impala crashed through the side of the house. “y/n!!! You ok?”

“I think so.” She muttered as he approached the passenger side of the car.

“Can you move?”

“Yeah…”

He held out his hand. “ Here. Let me help.” She inhaled sharply as he pulled her out of the car. He could tell she hurt something from the way she was holding her side.  She stood beside him. “You good?”

She smiled. “I’m good.”

He heard her breath hitch, and he looked up, finding Constance standing there holding a picture.

Loud groans filled the abandon house as he felt the weight of the dresser crushing his legs against the Impala.

The sound of running water starts to float down the stairs as the pressure on his legs eases. Constance is distracted enough for him to be able to push the dresser back.

“Still good?” he whispers

She nodded her head.

Suddenly 2 children appear behind Constance. She lets out an ear-piercing scream as they embrace her tightly, y/n turned her head into his chest when a blinding light surged from the entities. His arms automatically wrapped around her, nuzzling his face into her hair.

With another piercing wail the spirits melted into the floor, leaving a puddle of water in their wake.

Dean walks over, looking at the puddle on the floor. “So that’s why she couldn’t go home.” He turns back to y/n, she was still standing by the Impala, still holding her side. “Too afraid to face her kids.”

She managed a smile, then winced again.

“Alright let me see it.”

“Its fine Dean.” She protested.

“Y/n. Let. Me. See. It.” Dean ordered.

She hesitated, but gave in.

She pulled back her jacket. His entire body became numb as she revealed the bullet hole in the side of her abdomen.

@idk6505 @jackles010378 @mqdhvtter @nightxcreature @kamisobsessed

@perpetualabsurdity @barnes70stark @wonderland2022 @quietgirll75 @nancymcl

@hobby27 @hunter-or-the-hunted @deanwinchestersgirl87

@deansimpalababy @roseblue373 @1313diana @lmg14 @aand13b

@phoenixqueen @spnaquakindgdom @americanvenom13

[putschki1969]

The "rito" Situation

Following my post about Hitoshi Konno, I thought it would only be fitting, to round up some info on rito as well, especially after the most recent announcement. When the detailed lineup for YKL Vol#21 was released, many people were not only shocked by Keiko's absence, they were also wondering why rito was not included. I received as many questions about her as I did for Hitoshi Konno but I didn't really feel qualified to talk about her (I still don't really but now we have a bit more information to work with). There's not much to say here and also, her connection to Kalafina (and Keiko's situation) is peripheral at best so I will keep this short.

Today, on January 31 2025, rito announced her departue from Highway Star. Her contract will officially end on March 31 and it seems like no attempts have been made by either rito or the agency to extend said contract. It sounds like it was mostly rito's own decision to distance herself from her current situation so that would also explain why she's no longer participing in YK events as regular member. Judging from her personal comment and Yuki's tweets on the matter (she has nothing but kind things to say about her), this is most likely a standard case of moving on due to a lack of creative opportunities. Perhaps she didn't find what she was looking for or she simply exhausted all possible avenues at Highway Star or maybe she had hoped to gain more from her collaboration with Yuki, who knows. Obviously, these have been some valuable experiences for her but now she is seeking new paths.

Even to a casual onlooker like myself it does feel like she kinda fell along the wayside during these past few years and not much was invested in her. As far as I know, she did have a couple of solo releases and a dedicated song from Yuki on the PARADE album but other than that, nothing much to write home about. Her appearances at lives and events were a great bonus of course but despite frequently being referred to as "regular member", both her and Lino Leia didn't have a lot to do. Maybe that's changing now with all the restructering taking place but sadly, rito will mostly likely not benefit from that. Yuki did include her in one of her "top secret" recordings from last year so we'll see if that will lead to anything at least. It's a shame she wasn't used more, I like her voice a lot more than Lino's tbh and it fits better with Yuki's style of music if you ask me...but one has to admit that Lino is the more seasoned singer among them with what appears to be a lot more experience handling her own solo stuff so my best guess is that she's quite happy with the current arrangement since she can effectively juggle all of her activities. In contrast, rito seems to have been a newbie with no established solo career. Also not sure about their exact age but I'd assume that rito is probably a bit younger than a lot of Yuki's other vocalists (could be completely off on that though, I've honestly no idea how old any of them are but rito just comes across as quite young).

Circling back to Kalafina for a little bit here. Just the other day I was having some discussions in the reply section of one of my posts and among other things, I was talking about why Hikaru (and even Keiko) would have never considered signing up with Highway Star during all these years. After all, Keiko could have just as well joined Highway Star instead of Tristone back in 2020 when she made her solo debut. And Hikaru has been a struggling freelancer for quite some time now so a contract with a seemingly decent agency (with the added bonus of an official Yuki Kajiura affiliation) would have sounded like a good idea to me. We don't know of course if it was entirely their choice or if Highway Star (and Yuki) were not willing to negotiate something with them. Whatever the reason might have been, now I am thinking it was maybe for the best that they never joined. Their management of rito was certainly not great.

[sports-on-sundays]

boulevard of broken dreams / LN4 / Part 1

Summary: Lando x female!reader - Not many people know how true loneliness feels. Not many people know how true love feels.

Warnings: lots of description, angst, mention of self-harm, loneliness, pain, mention of death of a family member, dreams ruined, emotional pain, getting drunk to ease pain, change from 2nd person to 3rd when it felt right, panicking, jumping to worst case scenario, nausea, screaming, confusion, questioning will to live, blood, kind of violent dramatic descriptions. PLEASE do not read if you seriously struggle with some things like this! I would hate to cause anyone to feel more pain!!

Requested?: Mate nah.

Author's Note: I just wanted to write a thing. Listened to sad piano music and Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day writing it. I hope you enjoy. Personally, I'm really proud of this one. Let's hope I got all the warnings in hah! Link to part 2

Sunshine, moonlight, daylight, night light, night life. On, off, under, over, around, on, and off again.

In the middle of your heart, if someone could dig deep down and pick through you, examine you, dissect you, they would find the softest little bleeding bit. But they would only find that after knocking down wall after all of slimy, tough, terribly dark black walls. No one would be able to find the strength to knock all those walls down. And even if they could, you'd never let them.

One can only be vulnerable if there is someone there to have their back.

All the vulnerability is pushed to that one little section of your heart; the most delicate place on earth.

All the pain.

It's impossible.

This road.

This road is made of brick and it's slippery. It's constantly raining. And you're constantly shivering. No one gave you an umbrella, because there's no one on this road to do so. Night after night, this rain beats on you. Your skin degrades away as if you were dead. For daytime does not exist on this road. You forget how sunlight looks. You constantly walk. Never wanting to sleep because the only place is the road. And you hate this road.

Yet it is your home, and any different would terrify you.

The friends on this road are the shadows. Shadows in the night caress your arms and kiss your cheeks, whispering of false realities, forgotten memories, and broken dreams.

On this boulevard of broken dreams.

There's no conscience of the pain any longer. You're so used to it, you're numb. And that's the way it should be. All you need is to survive.

You always ask yourself why. But if you're asking the question, why would you also know the answer?

There is no one on this road who knows the answer, and there never will be. If anyone knew the answer, then they wouldn't be on this road.

Stairways to heaven and highways to hell.

You're on the fast track to absolutely no where.

No one knows this road exists. You're one of the unseen. Most people live on the other side. They don't know this exists. Many of them are good people. They would help. If they could possibly stand it.

If they only knew. There's no way for you to call for help. All you hear is your voice echoing back at you as the dark starless sky closes in on you.

Like a snow globe. Never get in or out. Constant precipitation.

You're always shivering but you never get sick. At least not anymore.

Immunity.

Yes, and no one should be this immune.

No one should be this immune to this road.

Yet here you are.

On the boulevard of broken dreams.

9-5. 5-9. 24 hours non-stop.

Sunday is no different than Monday or Friday or Saturday or any other day of the week.

Money, money, money. Lots of people love it. Lots of people hate it.

Work, work, work. Get in the money to survive another day. Can't feel a thing because otherwise- how do you get through?

You get up, get dressed, get out the door, go to work, come home, get drunk, go to bed, and repeat it all over again.

Forever.

It's amazing how fast hope can be shattered with the cruel bitterness of this unfair world.

"Mama! I'm going to be a superhero!"

"Mama, I'm gonna be a football player."

"Mama! Mama! I've got it! I'm going to be a race car driver!"

And that time, you meant it.

Well, maybe you didn't, because it never came to pass. And your parents knew it. There was no way. Your family couldn't survive without government money.

But how can you explain that to a little kid? A little kid who had been told all her life that if you follow your dreams, they'll come true?

When you hold on to those dreams so hard, it's even more difficult to let them go. When you realized reality, you were ruined.

You were resigned to the fact that because of your position in society, broken heart, especially after your father passed away at a young age, and no chance to do what you dreamed of forever, that 9-5 in pain for the rest of your life was the path you were on.

The fast track to no where.

There's a girl in the corner, in the shadow, that no one would ever notice. High life superstars, and she's missing her heroes. Drunk, drunk, drunk.

She's missing them.

But one of them doesn't miss her.

Despite the crowd, despite the fun, the throng, the laughter, the music, the everything perfect after a good race, Lando sees.

He sees the girl in the corner that no one else ever notices.

"Do you need help?" in the gentlest of tones. He bends down, looking the broken, shell of a person, right through everything and into her eyes. Like he doesn't see the eye bags, the messed up hair, the cuts on her arms, the vacancy. Like he sees beyond the walls. Like he just wants to see the true person who has to be in there. Somewhere.

"Yeah," she murmurs. Her words slur, making it terribly difficult for the buzzed Formula One driver to understand her words. "Can you... get me another drink?"

You wake up the next morning, and as soon as you realize you don't remember what happened last night and you're in an unfamiliar bed and room, you feel your stomach drop. Your head feels like it's about to explode with the extreme ache in it. Nausea wells up and you swallow, filling yourself overflow with utter panic. The rate of your breath picks up, and as your chest rises and falls quicker and quicker, even if you wanted to call for some sort of help (if anyone would even come), you can't. You can hardly breathe, your vision becoming swirling and confusing as you gasp, feeling as if you're going to suffocate. You heartbeat pounds in your head faster and faster, and you realize that if anything happened right now, you'd have no way to save yourself. This sinks more extreme anxiety, and even more when you think of what could have already happened when you were drunk last night. What if you're stuck here, confused and panicking, with some creep who did unspeakable things to you last night-

The door to the room slowly swings open, and you cover your face in your heads, unable to set your eyes on whoever is there, just trying to breathe- stay alive- yet you're not even sure you want to keep living at this point.

"Hey, hey, hey," a soft speaking male voice says. You feel him come closer, and slip on the bed next to you. "Hey, I'm not here to hurt you," he practically whispers. "I brought you to my home, but only because... you were a wreck last night. Listen to me..." He speaks soothingly, but you still don't look up. "Listen. I think you might be having a panic attack, or something adjacent. And I'm here to help you, not hurt you. Okay?"

You nod, staring down. Just one hot tear slowly rolls down your cheek.

"Can I take your hand?"

You hesitate, before nodding. You feel the thin, strong, smooth hand slip into yours. "Breathe with me, okay?" he says softly, then starts taking in slow, deep breaths. With every inhale, he gently squeezes your hand, and with every exhale, gently releases it.

You go on like this, and once you've sighed, confident enough of your safety, you let go of the man's hand and look up at him.

For a second, you stare.

And then it clicks.

And your jaw drops.

"Are you... you..." you stutter in disbelief.

"Yeah, I'm Lando," he smiles.

You stare in shock at the man. "As in, like, the McLaren..."

"Yeah," he grins softly. "And I'll be right back, okay?"

"Lando-!" you squeal with a terrible, exhausted voice crack. Your emotions are so messed up right now.

He comes back and gives you a plate of food, sitting down next to you. You ignore the food for a moment and fix your eyes on him.

"Why am I here?" you ask softly.

"You needed help and I decided to give it."

Your heart pounds in your chest. You exhale slowly. "O- Okay.." These words from him are so strange to you. So unfamiliar. "I..." Suddenly, expected emotions well up within you. Uncommonly. You throw your arms around him and murmur, "Thank you... you're the... this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me in years... And it's you. I must be in a dream... You're one of the reasons I'm still here... I love Formula One... I love... I love you..."

He hugs you back, before gently prodding, "Why don't you try to eat a bit."

You nod and turn to the little breakfast he's made. It's a bit bland, but you're glad for that. You're not feeling nearly at your best.

But at the same time, you're sitting next to Lando Norris.

Bittersweet and confusing.

"Thank you..." you murmur again.

"Of course you can say no," Lando starts. "But can I know your name? What's your story?"

You sigh. What hurt can it do to tell him? "Y/n. And I don't have much of a story."

"Really? Seems to me you'd have a pretty interesting one."

You shrug. "Just another broken life. There are plenty of those out there, Lando Norris."

"Clearly every broken life is important. Consider yourself."

You sigh. "Your story is the opposite of mine. Grew up rich, followed your dreams, perfect life."

There's a certain softness in his eyes. "What were your dreams?"

"Same as yours..." you murmur, your voice cracking. You hesitate, before finishing, "All I wanted was to be a race car driver. Nothing else more than that. And I would've done anything for it. If I could have."

Lando stares. You eat. There's a strange silence, before he says, "Did you kart?"

"For some years. It lasted about one and a half. Then my father passed away, and everything changed. Even more."

He stares down. "I'm sorry..." But then he looks up, his intense eyes meeting yours. He looks even better in real life. "Y/n, your story makes me so sad. I'm so sorry... I... I'd do anything I could to help you fulfill your dream, at least somewhat."

You look surprised. "Why? You have the perfect life. Why do you care? Besides, we both know full well it's too late for me."

He blinks and seems to ignore your last comment, likely because it's true and he doesn't want to admit it. "Because I have the perfect life. You deserve to be in Formula One just as much as me. Yet, we're... Well, in opposite places."

"Right..." You can hardly believe these words.

"You seem like such a... Well, something stole your innocence too soon. There's so much longing and brokenness and love in your eyes but you're just... A shell of the beautiful woman that's inside of you."

You blink. "Why do you say that?"

He murmurs after more hesitation, "Last night when you were drunk, you know what you did? Well you cried and you told me your struggles, yes. But before I was about to leave the room and let you sleep, you looked at right me and you said something like, 'I'm so lonely. Where did my life go? I can't stand this much longer. Sometimes I wish I just had someone- a friend, a neighbor, a boyfriend, a sibling- sometimes I wish I just had someone there for me.'"

You stare, now unblinking, unsure what to feel. It is true, isn't it?

Lando looks you straight in the eyes. Past everything. Into your most delicate, secret spot.

You fight back from letting yourself choke up.

"Y/n, if no one else will do it, I'd ought to be that person there for you. And I'd love to."

Moist and foggy, so nothing is visible. There are echoes of life in the outside world, but not on this road.

For the first time in years, your tired feet have stopped. Perhaps done. Had it with this. They're bloody and twisted from the years of this pain.

Where has the numbness gone?

The rain pours down

on this road

and you can't tell

if those are teardrops

or raindrops

streaming down your cheeks.

Suddenly, you see a light. A light that has found the end of the road that you've been searching for for years.

Don't lose it. Don't lose it.

You could use some company.

As the light nears, it hurts. You double over and fall down in the puddles of the road, screaming in pain. You're so used to the darkness. For years it's all you've known. The light hurts. It's terrifying.

The light comes closer and closer, faster and faster, and panic fills you, realizing there's no escape. Your eyes burn and you sob for it to let you go.

You hate this road. So why do you cry, begging to stay?

You tremble as the light approaches, covering your skin.

But when it reaches you, the expected terror is not what you experience. Instead, it's a feeling unfamiliar to you. Something that only the shadows would taunt you with. But this is it. The real one.

Tranquility.

Suddenly the beating of the rain stops.

You look up.

An umbrella.

And shining eyes.

You heart breaks once again, but this time you mind a bit less.

It's scary, but just what you wanted.

This light, this man, this sunshine.

This sunshine takes your hand and pulls you up. This sunshine leads you off this road. This boulevard of broken dreams.

This sunshine has come in and knocked down the walls.

Seen what's hidden. Stepped away and stepped into your misery. To help you.

A smile so bright.

And for the first time in forever.

You step off this road and you see the stars.

[copperbadge]

Immediate Writer's Block

Had a comment on another post where I thought I'd probably need more space than the notes in which to respond, so:

constant-state-of-self-discovery Oh I get the envy I feel it right now how the fuck do you manage to write without impassable writers block after 5-9 sentences because I haven't fucking figured it out lol

I do have some advice on this!

I think most writers get blocked from time to time, it's normal and my general strategy is just to wait it out, but if you're frequently blocked after only writing a very little bit, I think the problem is one of two things: either you don't know what you want to achieve with the scene you're writing, or you don't know what should happen next within the scene to achieve that goal. If you frame "I'm blocked" as "I don't have an answer I need" then often you move from just sitting there, sweating and staring at a blank page, to thinking productively about how you're going to get where you're going. It's the difference between not knowing an answer and not knowing an answer but knowing where to look for it.

An invaluable piece of advice for this, which I think I picked up from someone who got it off a National Novel Writing Month messageboard, is "When in doubt, ninjas attack." It's not meant to be literal, you don't need to have ninjas or fight scenes just because you don't know what to do, but it helps to get the creativity flowing again. If you don't know what should happen next, or you know but you're having trouble actually writing the scene, it can be very helpful to induce a moment of uncertainty or surprise -- to have a metaphorical ninja attack. One time I did this literally -- the POV character was just on the road somewhere and I didn't know how to get them from a pastoral country road to their actual destination in an interesting way, so I had them get attacked by highway bandits and have to fight them off, which also allowed me to demonstrate that the character had significant unarmed combat skills. But it can also just be like, two characters who are having a boring conversation can be interrupted by a third person, even just a stranger asking for directions, or there can be, IDK, an explosion, or something goes missing, or etc.

Sometimes it also helps to leave it alone but keep it in your mind and go do something else -- listen to a podcast, take a walk, read a book, not because those things are distracting but because all our inputs eventually feed into our brain and come out as reactions. If you're thinking about your book while you're wandering around a park, something you see in the park might have an impact on it. If you've got YOUR story in mind while reading someone else's, you might be more inclined to look at what they're saying and see what you think of it, how it might play into your work.

And honestly, sometimes you just gotta go past it. I'm working on the next Shivadh novel right now and it opens basically with Simon the chef getting into a spat with his love-interest-to-be over some cheese. He want the cheese, she won't sell him the cheese, so they get off to a very contentious start. But I suck at writing conflict especially when it's basically "A character I like is being pompous and another character I want people to find likable is being stubborn and somewhat unpleasant". I've been stalled on it for a while. But I know where the scene ends up, like I do know what the goal is, so I just...skipped it and went on to writing a scene I like better, where they meet a second time and actually discover each others' identity and that they're about to be forced into the grownup equivalent of a school project. Once I've gotten dug deeper into the story I'll come back and write it, and by then I'll have the benefit of knowing the love interest a bit better.

So yeah -- I think a lot of breaking a writer's block, especially when you don't need rest but are just stumped about what to do, is to twist and look at it from another angle. It's not that you don't know what to write, or don't want to write what you know you have to -- it's that you don't have the correct answer to a question, or you need to leave that part alone to ferment and come back to it later. At least, for me.