#and making a breakthrough into the next step of their lives | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kwisatzworld · 1 month ago

Text

‘I met Fabio when he was fifteen,’ Tom says. I’m back in Yamaha’s ‘microwave’ in the Jerez paddock. We’re sitting at Fabio’s designated table, a ‘#20’ sign propped next to us. Maubant is chatty and I get the feeling that an interview in English about his story might be a novelty for him. He recently turned thirty, so he’s six years older than the Yamaha man. ‘I was managing a beach near Nice that had jetskis, wakeboarding and other activities, and he was there every day. He was living in Spain at the time with his previous manager. It was the first year of him being part of the Estrella Galicia team. He was a kid and was like a little brother with a lot of energy.

‘Fabio’s dad was working in Nice. We became friends and, at the end of the year when the beach business closed, he asked me to go with Fabio to Japan and Malaysia. I started travelling with him and it was cool because we were friends spending time outside of Europe. In 2016, he was with Leopard [now Honda, then KTM] and we did the same, but then that year we started to work more professionally – I organized and sorted out the gear. He moved to Andorra when he was eighteen and only just had a driver’s licence, so I went with him at first so he could adapt for six months and then we made a contract and worked properly in 2017.’

A fighter jet blasts over us. It feels like the ceiling shakes a little. Quartararo’s first year in Moto2 was 2017. He didn’t blend with the Kalex and was thirteenth in the championship. All the hype and the excitement from his two consecutive seasons of CEV title success as a fourteen-year-old (what is now effectively FIM JuniorGP) had started to subside. Riding the Speed-Up chassis in 2018, he earned his first win and gathered two podiums, but was plucked for MotoGP by the old Yamaha Petronas team after four seasons in which he had not scaled higher than tenth in any championship. A sticky period. But the combination of the ‘friendly’ Yamaha M1 in 2019 and low expectation for a rookie campaign allowed the breakthrough.

‘Moto2 and Moto3 were difficult times. He knew he had the talent but could not exploit it,’ Maubant remembers. ‘We had two years of Moto2 and then MotoGP was a big step. It became more professional, more people around, and then another step was having the good results right away and the fame, big fame, because the French fans were looking for the next “one”, as Johann had problems at KTM. There was a lot of attention, and then he started to earn big money. More and more people came to him for different reasons, and I was here to manage that. I don’t know why but I am quite good at being able to quickly make an opinion about people … and Fabio was not trusting many – his family and me. He was friends with a lot of people but kept his distance.’

Quartararo had been managed by two people, the last being Eric Mahé, but then made a change of direction and asked Maubant to step into the breach. ‘Eric helped him a lot because he had experience in MotoGP with other riders and he was able to make the step, but in the end, they were two very different characters,’ Tom says. ‘The more Fabio grew, the more difficult it became. We talked about what to do. Fabio said he didn’t want someone who had a very different lifestyle to him and he asked me, “Do you feel ready to do it?” I thought, “Why not?” It was the eighth year together and I knew everybody here and have good relationships.’

‘He is one of the only people I trust 100 per cent, he is like a brother and it’s always good to have someone close that you can have fun in the tough times and then also when you are 100 per cent,’ Quartararo had told me.

Maubant oversaw the largest current contract in MotoGP at the beginning of 2024 but, contrary to Fabio’s occasionally tough words about the motorcycle and his perceived criticism of Yamaha over the past two years, the deal was relatively straightforward. ‘I see a lot of media stories saying, “Fabio is not happy with Yamaha,” but nobody knows what happens inside,’ he reveals. ‘We have never had a problem with the team. Never. The atmosphere here is amazing and that is another reason why he decided to stay; there is not a single person that he would change. Even in the low times, the atmosphere was good. Sometimes people get another impression, and that is because of Fabio’s words, and we tell him, “Maybe you shouldn’t say this…” But he is honest and when he makes a comment or a [social media] post he doesn’t always think. He just posts what he wants, but this is also good because he is not fake.’

Tom says the travelling to grands prix is both the bugbear and the benefit of liking and working with a worldclass rider. Tom has been in a relationship with Mathilde Poncharal for some time, Tech3 Team Principal Herve Poncharal’s daughter, who is a press officer for the squad, and that makes the constant movement easier. I can remember when I found the couple and Fabio in a Japanese restaurant on Monday afternoon after the final 2019 Grand Prix in Valencia (he had claimed fifth in the championship as a rookie and with seven podium appearances to announce his arrival), in the one-day reprieve before the Tuesday test. We were the only people in the place and Fabio was partially slumped in the booth, clearly hating a hangover.

‘We have the kind of life that is difficult to explain to people that are not involved in this world,’ Tom offers. ‘Fabio is really famous in France and has famous friends. One day, we would be eating dinner with Neymar and the next day, I was having food with a friend in Nice: the balance is difficult to get. The people who don’t know Fabio might think he’s from another planet, he wears funny clothes, but if you really know him then he’s the opposite of this.’

I ask Tom if he ever remembers seeing his friend under excessive stress. ‘Once. In the overseas races in 2022,’ he replies, firmly. ‘Mid-season, he was seventy-eight points ahead but then the bike started to have some issues. Also, Fabio and the team made some mistakes. Bagnaia was coming back with all the Ducati “games” and they were doing what they could to help him. In the end, if there were eight Yamahas then it would be the same. I don’t think I saw him under a lot of pressure… but I think he learned and understood a lot about this world at the time. In 2019, 2020 and 2021 he was enjoying himself, but 2022 showed him some of the dark side. It can be good but also super-shit when you see the mindset of the Ducatis helping each other and Fabio was alone, no teammate. Difficult.

I question Tom further on Fabio’s mentality. The talent is beyond doubt, but can he also lead a factory and develop a motorcycle? The response, unsurprisingly, is unequivocal. ‘Mentally, he is one of the best, with maybe Marc also. He has taken Yamaha on his shoulders and this gave him a lot of confidence. He knows what he can do. He wanted to stay, improve the bike and come back with this brand. It could be one of the best comebacks in history. He is one of the youngest and he has time, plus he has achieved his dream already with the title.’

Tom and Fabio are the team within the team and have endured all the way from the beginning of Quartararo’s grand prix story. That riders are in need of some sort of assistant is made clear by the fact that they all have one (they take care of the leathers, gear, passes, personal requests and other requirements, even down to being good company), but Maubant also believes he needs to keep his ward in touch with reality, to burst the MotoGP bubble and therefore help with overall focus.

‘In MotoGP, you need someone, and I think the young riders in the smaller classes are starting to understand this. Firstly, there is pressure and their dream is to come to grand prix and then make the next steps and follow the next dream. At one point, you need someone with their feet on the ground. Many times in the past, after a bad result, I’ve had to say something like, “Hey, look! We’re in Japan, eating sushi, you are doing what you love, getting paid for it! Yeah, you finished fifteenth. Do better next weekend!” I remember in Misano in 2021 before he won the title. We were in the truck and the office where he gets ready and does the warm-up. It is only him and I: he doesn’t like to have people around. We were bullshitting. And he was sitting on the sofa being pessimistic because he was starting far back on the grid. I had to say to him, “Would you rather be here now or like two years ago when we were in the shit? Enjoy it.” He thought about it, laughed and then said, “Yeah, it’s true…” You need people to say things like that because young riders are just like this [puts hands to his eyes to mime tunnel-vision]; they just want to win, be first, be famous, earn money. They must remember that they have a privilege because there are many other people who work so hard every day just to pay the bills or buy things for their children. In the end, one race is one race. There are many races…’

Some riders have had an assistant in employ and treat them as such – handing gloves or helmets across almost like to a manservant. ‘We laugh at this,’ Maubant says. ‘I said to Fabio, “You do this to me one day and I say ‘f**k you’ and I go home!” I am one of the only ones who can tell him the truth. If he does something badly, like a post or goes with strange people, then I can say, “What the f**k did you do?!” It’s important to have guidance, and we see more and more young guys with family here. There are two systems: the Valentino way with twenty people around and then our way. On the professional side, there are more people, like a lawyer and an accountant, doctors, but on the other, we are two, with Maider [Bathe, Yamaha PR] taking care of the Yamaha side, the media, the personal sponsors, and the general assistance. In the box, I might be like the co-driver in a rally; I get all the information for him to see, and it has been that way since Moto3. He doesn’t want to change it. Then I talk with the sponsors and the other crew.’

I wonder whether it helps that Tom doesn’t have a racing background (‘I knew absolutely nothing about it. I saw some races with my dad and knew the basics, like all kids, about Valentino. I was more into football’), and if that means the two can maintain a more rounded friendship. He nods. ‘I never go into technical things because, first of all, I know nothing! It is not my job. There are 20–30 people in the pitbox for that. Since Moto3, [my job] is not about the riding or the lap-time but what is happening or has happened in the session. I make notes on the sectors about the others. I’m sure other riders have similar systems. I’ll never say to Fabio, “Why didn’t you take that line?” when I know nothing about the lines!’

#reading #fabio quartararo #tom maubant #motorcycle grand prix: insider stories from world championship racing #by adam wheeler

53 notes · View notes

dariaslookalike · 1 year ago

Text

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 12: Hidden Fucks and Hidden Girlfriends

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

A/N: two updates in one day because i'm nice like that

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter:

Word Count: 7.8k

-----------------------

It’s odd, House driving you to work after everything. He doesn’t object when you rifle through his small binder of CDs and slip one into the stereo. Instead, he smiles slightly, lips tugging up.

You’re in your own clothes for the first time in what feels like forever.

Yes, you wanted to tear out your hair because your apartment was currently undergoing a preliminary investigation for violating a dozen health codes. Yes, you wanted to rip out House’s hair because he had reported it.

But at least Pops, seeing the flyer taped to the building and the cautionary tape across the small path leading to it, had gotten your belongings. Or what could be saved, at least. House was right, there was mould growing on the backside of your paintings, your cabinet, and even your beloved Ikea desk. But still, Pops had packed up what little things you had managed to unpack since moving in, and drove them back to House’s apartment; the alternative was emergency housing provided by the state, which you think would have worse health violations that your apartment and Chernobyl combined.

Pop had come bearing gifts too. When House had opened and nearly flung the door shut in his face, Pop had shoved a pot plant into his hands and told him to be grateful it wasn’t another fist. House, for once, had simply shut his mouth and stepped aside to let you greet Pop in a big hug.

Now, your boxes took up a corner of House’s living room. You didn’t want to ask what it meant- now that you were finished with the medication and officially lost your excuse for being House’s unofficial roommate. You didn’t want to ask what it meant that you were still living in his house. In his space with him. Sleeping in his bed with him. Asking would mean you drew his attention to it, which might make him realise you were in fact still living with him, and might make him reconsider that fact. Asking would mean that the past few days that you had spent, fucking each other, making each other cum again and again, might not have happened. So, you simply left your boxes taped up and sitting in the corner.

Maybe you should draw up a tenancy contract and make him sign it, so that way you had some stability. That is what the smart, logical voice in your head tells you, while it also screams at you to find your own apartment- never depend on a man, it tells you, much less House. You tell it to shut up, to let you enjoy this for however long it lasts, and simply reach a hand across the space between you two to rub along House’s thigh while he drives.

He doesn’t ask you to stop, but he pulls into a secluded part of the hospital car park when you arrive instead of his reserved spot, and kisses you until you’re breathless and having to drag yourself away from him to make sure you’re on time.

“You’re sure we can’t go in together?” He asks, eyes trained on you and his thumb smoothing along your cheekbone.

You shrug. “Hell, why don’t I wear a sign that says “House’s little lapdog” and you can walk me to Cuddy’s office where we admit to inappropriate workplace relationships?

“Sounds good to me. I think you’d look great in a collar.”

You shoot him a glare and he leans in quickly before you can pull away in annoyance to place a kiss against your lips. It eases the furrow in your brow, but you still shake your head.

“I go in alone.” You say sternly, and with as much professionalism as you can when you’re conspiring to hide the fact that you’re fucking your boss. “You can wait for fifteen minutes and then join us, all but annoyed to see my healthy return to work.”

He scowls. “Fifteen minutes? Babies in cars die in less time.”

“Good thing you’re not a baby then, and it’s also 40 degrees today. Plus, I’m sure you can occupy yourself for fifteen minutes.”

You tilt your gaze down to his pants, straining against him after your morning make-out session, and his gaze follows. In the brief distraction, you open the car door and slip out, whispering a quick “Bye!” to him.

You’re nearly tackled when you walk into the office.

Cameron clings to you like a koala to a tree, a stream of words rushing out of her mouth.

“I thought you were dead! Or that you hated us all after the ball or had thrown yourself under a car or thrown House under a car but then Chase said he ran into you and I couldn’t believe it and you were sick oh my god and this whole time I was worried you hated us when you were just ill and I’m a doctor how did I not see-”

“Cameron!” You hold her biceps, pinning her to the spot. “I’m okay, and yes it’s great to see you too.”

She just hugs you tightly before finally detaching herself, stepping back. “So you’re not dead? And you don’t hate us?”

“No. And no. Although helping Cuddy was pretty stupid, it’s whatever.”

She gives you a remorseful look, and you feel as if you just kicked a puppy. She doesn’t grovel more like you thought you might, instead flicking her head back to the kitchenette. “I got you a coffee. And a donut. Or maybe three.”

You smile, nodding. “Apology accepted.”

Behind her, Forearm and Chase are already sitting at the table. Foreman offers you a smile and a nod, but he never seemed one for apologies, and instead remains sitting and sipping his own coffee. Chase however, stands up and walks over to you, wrapping his arms tightly around you. Again, you’re struck with the thought you had at the fruit market, of how tall and warm he was.

Cameron is the one to clear her throat, and Chase steps back, a bashful smile across his face. He scans over you as if looking for any signs of illness, any signs that you’re not alright, but he finds none.

“Glad to see you back.” He says softly, and it holds a warmth to it that has the back of your neck heating up.

“Thanks. Glad to be back.”

Foreman snorts. “You sure? House is still here, lurking somewhere.”

Cameron winces, probably hesitant to discuss House with you after you had such a blowout with him at the ball. Instead, you try your best to not blush fully, thinking of his hands and his shoulders and his sheets around you and his legs wrapped around yours and-

Your brain automatically forces you to laugh just before your silence gets awkward. “No, no it’ll be fine. We… talked it out.”

You hope that your words don’t hold any obvious innuendo for the ducklings, but to your horror, Chase nods.

“Yeah, Wilson told us.”

“W-what?” You try to swallow the saliva in your mouth and instead your throat is dry and cracking.

Chase grins. “He said you slapped House, quit and House still asked for you to come back.”

Your heart stops beating out of your chest, and you chuckle softly, trying to feign calm. “Oh, yeah.”

“If Chase did the first part, House would have castrated him.” Foreman points out.

“If Chase so much as thought about slapping him, House would have castrated him.” Cameron adds, leaving the both of them, but not a sulking Chase, to chuckle.

You laugh, and slip over to the kitchenette, biting into one of the donuts Cameron had gotten you. You smile, both happy to have sugary goodness, but happy to see the three of them, squabbling and fighting like nothing had happened, even if your world had been flipped on its head recently.

You’re about to take a second bite when someone calls your name, and you quickly place the donut back to the plate as if it burned you.

Cuddy smiles at you from the glass doorway. It’s no flashy, toothy smile, but one that holds a serious note.

“I think we should talk.” Her voice isn’t domineering but still, authority clings to her tone.

Something curdles in your stomach, the same feeling when a teacher scolds you after perfecting your behaviour.

You will yourself to not succumb to it, to not bend under the shame of potential wrongdoing, to not break under Cuddy’s gaze.

You square your shoulders. “Yeah, I think we should.”

She gives the smallest tilt of her head, but simply smiles again and turns on her heel. She leads you through the hospital to her office, and you fight against the jittery nerves building up in you.

She sits at her desk, and you sit in front her, the perfect schoolgirl sitting on leather office chairs, prepared to be ripped by the principal. You count to six, breathing in, and count to six again, breathing out. Everything in you tells you that you should be apologising or diminutively shrinking, hiding from her gaze and whatever onslaught she has prepared.

Cuddy breathes in sharply, and it whistles through her nose slightly. “I’m glad to see you’re back. But, what happened the other week was-”

“I’d like to talk first. I have something I need to say.”

Cuddy blinks in surprise at your interruption, and you feel shocked too. But she is quick to close her slack jaw.

“Of course. Go ahead.”

You steady yourself, nodding. “What happened the other week was unacceptable.” Cuddy nods her head in agreement until your gaze turns sharp. “What you did was unacceptable. It’s one thing to put me in mandatory counselling, but another to bribe my boss to take me to a work event and lie to me about it.”

Her lips are in a thin line, but she doesn’t object so you continue. “To get everyone wrapped up in the charade was humiliating and embarrassing. My personal life is none of your concern, and you shouldn’t be meddling in anything but my work. I should have expected it from House- but I didn’t expect something like that from you.”

You huff, your small tirade finished and a silence falls over the two of you. For a beat, you think you’ve just ruined your career with one speech and you should be grovelling for her to pretend she was deaf, but then she nods. Her black hair sways with the motion, and she does it again, raising weary eyes to yours.

“You’re right. What I did was inappropriate, and a mistake. I’m sorry, even if it was coming from a place of concern.”

You let out a breath stuck in your lungs. “Thank you.”

Her lips tug up. “I’ll pretend there’s no security footage of you slapping House, and we’ll call it even?”

You laugh, giddy with surprise that she had discovered that. “Email the footage to me, and we’ll call it even.”

She sticks out a hand, smiling. “Deal.”

You shake her hand, lips tilting up.

She sits back in her chair and tilts her head, observing you with no shame. Her lips draw out into a line as she contemplates and she heaves a sigh before speaking again.

“It was a place of concern. You’re a fantastic doctor, and I know House has been hard on you. But you also…remind me a lot of myself.”

Now you blink in surprise. You, reminding Cuddy of herself? You, in all your crinkled slacks and frizzled hair?

“I was young, and I didn’t believe I deserved what I had- my job, my respect, my…love. Even if he hides it, I know House well enough to see that you bring out something better in him.” Her blue eyes pin you to your chair. “And I think you’re blocking yourself from that kind of happiness, because that’s what we’ve been told as intelligent women. That we can’t have it all. That we are intimidating to men and as such, the only focus we should have is on our careers. I just wanted to push you in the right direction.”

She must think you’re about to spit fire at her, mistaking your confusion for ire, because she quickly raises her manicured hands in an apologetic defence.

“That’s the last I will be speaking of it. It’s your personal life, and you are your own person.”

You smile robotically, thinking that must be the right response in this scenario, but your head races. Does she look at you now, and see herself years ago, following her footsteps that have led her to this very office? The actions that had led her to power, but ultimately solitude?

You smile again because you can’t think of what else to do, and rise out your chair, heading out of her office.

Cuddy lets out a shaky breath, and you startle with the thought that this might be as nerve racking for her as it is for you.

You think of her words the whole walk back to the diagnostic office, and the hours pass by in a flurry. House simply doesn’t show up for the morning meeting, and it eats away at you. Forearm quickly steps into his position, updating you on the case they were working on, and directing you to do a biopsy of the patient’s liver.

Hours later, you’re covered in what would make a petri dish scream, tired, and aching. All this time off being sick, and work was the hardest part of it all.

You’re content to fling yourself into an armchair in the break room, and rot for thirty minutes, but as you walk by a closet, your elbow is quickly pinned and you’re wretched inside.

You yell out but a hand slaps over your mouth as the door swings closed. Your knee is halfway through the air, about to inflict damage to this person’s grandkids, when you register who is holding you. House grins and lets go of your mouth.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You hiss, looking around. It’s a supply closet, with a shabby desk-turned-storage unit in one corner, and mops and buckets adorning the other. A bulb flickers overhead. He slides his cane under the door handle.

“It’s a crime to miss you, now?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s a crime to shove people into janitor’s closets, yeah.”

He grins, leaning in closer. “Different bylaws here. The case wouldn’t even make it to court.”

“What’s actually going on?” You look in his eyes, looking for something off, something that tells you there’s a red laser beaming at his back and this is all being surveyed by a blackmailing sniper.

“I missed you.” He reaches up, cupping your face. His thumb rubs circles along your cheekbone.

“Yeah?” You blush, looking up at him.

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

He smirks, leaning in and placing his lips to yours. It’s sweet and soft, and your hand reaches up to wrap around his shoulders. His hand smooths over your cheek, stroking the skin and you lean into his touch. When you tug at his hair softly, the kiss shifts from this domestic, easy, slow joining of your lips, and turns rabid. He nips at your lip, and you press yourself against him, chest to his. His tongue swipes against your teeth and you open yourself up to him. You’re both panting, and his hands shift to push at the small of your back, keeping you pressed to him.

You pull back, and his lips a soft, swollen red. You run your hand along his jaw, smooth from where he shaved this morning.

“How much did you miss me?” He asks, lips tugging up at the corner.

You grin at him, pushing his shoulders until he steps back, pressed against the wall. You lean closer, hands running along his shoulder and the joining of his neck. You place a soft kiss to his neck, trailing up and down, and he leans his head back, sighing in agreement. When he scoffs, mockingly saying this wasn’t much, you nip at him, and suck a mark onto his neck.

“Hey!” He hisses, looking down at you.

“What’s wrong?” You bat your lashes at him, doe-eyed.

“You don’t want us walking in together, but you’ll do that?” He scowls, but there’s no real ire. “What’s next, you’ll leave some lingerie in my pocket?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you roll your eyes. “No, I’m not doing that.”

He looks like he’s about to pout, so you lean up, placing a chaste kiss to his lips. He smiles like he’s drunk, and his hands rub a smooth line down your back.

“Just a bra?” He smirks. “You had such a pretty one this morning.”

He slips his hand under the collar of your shirt, toying with the strap of your bra.

“House…” You warn.

“What?”

“We’re at work.” You say softly, and his lips tug up like a wolf smiling at a little bunny.

“Tell that to my poor neck.”

You smile, eyes darting down to the red mark. “Say you tripped and fell on your cane. Something believable like that.”

“I have impeccable coordination.” He smirks down at you. “It’d be more likely that Wilson attacked me.”

“That works too.”

His fingers snap your bra strap, and you hiss. He mouths Sorry but a glint in his eyes tells you its payback. His other hand reaches up, and unbuttons the top of your blouse.

“House.” You hiss. “I mean it, we’re at work.”

“So? I’ll wait five minutes after you leave, and I won’t make a peep.” At your silence, his gaze snaps to yours.

“Who’s gonna get you in trouble sweetheart?” He looks at you mockingly. “Your boss?”

“HR.” You bite. “Cuddy. Any single person that respects me.”

“Aw,” He tsks, and unbuttons the next button of your blouse. You glare at him, but you don’t reach down to stop him, and he knows. “Afraid they’re gonna think you’re sleeping to the top?”

You blush, and even though he had been joking, he grins wolfishly. He leans in, eyes dark. “If they know you reached this high up, you’re doing something very right.” You scoff, looking away, but he reaches up, pulling your chin to make you look at him. “I mean it. C’mon, show me how good you are at it. How good you are for me.”

Your eyes flick back to his, and your tongue darts over your lip. “You could have just said you want a quickie in the closet.”

He clicks his tongue. “Would that have worked?”

“Yes.” You say, throwing your arms around him and kissing him again. He leans back with the force of you, but is quick to readjust, his hand reaching between the two of you to unbutton your shirt completely while he kisses you back. You moan softly against him when your shirt falls to the floor, and his hands grope over the lace of your bra.

He steps you back, and together you do an awkward shuffle. You pull back, laughing, and he smiles at you, walking you back until he leans against the desk. He turns, swiping his hand over the discarded junk, and clearing a spot.

He sits on the desk, and you step between his thighs, kissing him again. His hand fumbles at your pants.

“Fuck.” He hisses. “You couldn’t have worn one of those tortuous skirts today?”

You smile, nipping at his mouth and reach down, unbuttoning and unzipping your pants. “I only wear those when I have clinic.”

His hand reaches down, palming at his crotch and he groans, closing his eyes. “Damn, you’re making me miss the clinic. How is that possible?”

You squeeze your legs together at the sight of his, palming himself to the thought of you. He opens his eyes, and tugs at your pants. “Come on, Newbie. Prove that you’ve got what it takes. Might be a promotion in it for you too.”

You swat at his shoulder. “That is so not funny.”

He smiles. “You’re right. We’ll start small, and I’ll make you my second in command.”

You roll your eyes, but reach down, sliding your pants down your legs and stepping out of them, kicking your flats off in the process. He watches you hungrily, and he pats his thigh, settling back until he leans against the wall.

You raise your eyebrow at him, and he scoffs. “What, you want the cripple to climb onto your lap? Didn’t take you for such an ableist, but if the shoe fits.”

You’re tempted to throw your shoe at his head, but instead you kick a crate closer, using it to step up in front of him. It’s awkward and he chuckles beneath you as you clamber atop him, until finally you sit, straddling him (after you’ve elbowed him once accidentally, and twice on purpose in the process).

His hands settle at your hips, gripping the soft flesh. You glance down between the both of you.

“This isn’t fair. I’m practically naked.”

He shrugs. “Well, I don’t look so good without a shirt on.”

You’re about to protest and call his bluff, when he leans forward, mouth sucking onto the cleavage that spills over the cup of your lacy bra. Your hand rest on his shoulders for support, and you arch your back, pressing your breasts into him. He groans beneath you, hips rutting up into you. Just the sound of him has you grinding down onto his lap, and his hands tighten at your hips, digging into them. He can mark you anywhere he likes below the collar.

He realises it too, because he sucks a dark spot onto your breast before trailing up and stopping at your collarbone, nipping and biting and sucking at your exposed skin.

You roll your hips against him, panting. “Thought this was supposed to be a quickie?”

He drags his gaze from your covered breasts back to your eyes, painstakingly so. “Mm, but these are so much fun.”

“Yeah,” You grind down against him, feeling him harden in his pants. “But I’ve got twenty minutes tops until someone comes looking for me. You’ve trained your lackeys too well.”

“I hate when I do that.” He sighs, looking up at you with faux sadness. “Well, since you’re really twisting my arm here.”

One of his hands retreats from your hip to instead pull down his zipper. You smirk, brushing his hand aside and reach between the two of you to tug his cock out of his slacks. You pump him in your hand, and he groans, tightening his grip against you.

“Fuck.” He hisses when you pool your saliva and spit into your hand, returning to pump him up and down. He bucks into your hand, but it’s a bit awkward, pressed so close and trying to jerk him off.

That’s the excuse you use when you pull your panties to the side and line him up between your folds. You roll your hips, coating him in slick and he shudders in a breath.

“Already so wet.” He groans, low in the back of his throat. “All that for me, Newbie?”

“Let me do this for another minute and see how long you last, House.” You snip, and he looks up at you pleading.

You take pity on him, and raise yourself up slightly. You grasp the base of his cock, now hard, slick and weeping at the top and angle him to your entrance. You notch him there for a moment as you reposition, letting your arms fall back to his shoulders. His hands find the dip of your waist and he looks up at you, mouth open slightly.

You smirk, torturing him by drawing the moment out longer and not moving an inch. He realises what you’re doing and scoffs, opening his mouth to spout some expletives, when you lower yourself down over his cock.

It stretches, and burns, and you gasp atop him. Still, you push yourself down slowly, and he looks up at you, soaking in every reaction you give him. When you feel the fabric of his pants against your arse, and that snug, tight feeling of all of him pressed into you, you sigh contently.

“C’mon pretty girl.” He drawls, fingers pressing into your side. “Prove it.”

You grin at him, raising yourself up, dragging yourself against his cock until only the head is in you. You slam yourself back down, easier this time and he groans, eyes closing for a moment.

“Be quiet.” You chirp, leaning in to whisper at his ear. “Don’t want anyone hearing us.”

You raise yourself up, bouncing down on his cock just to make him groan again, louder this time. You bite against his neck softly, and bounce yourself on him. He stretches you with each movement, and when the initial pure bliss ebbs a bit, he focuses again, hands urging you up and down, up and down, as you ride him.

Your knees dig into the desk, and your thighs strain, but the burn, the pain, the tremor starting in your legs is delicious, and you keep bouncing yourself on him.

“‘T’s so fucking good, House.”

You bite your lips in a moan, and he takes it upon himself to draw it out of you.

“Yeah? C’mon show me how good it is.”

You’re not so much bouncing on him anymore as much as he’s fucking into you, thrusting his hips up and guiding you back down over his cock again and again.

He wins and you let out a whine, feeling the slick wetness dripping between the two of you, and likely staining his pants. He eases back, and you groan, shifting to bear more weight onto his shoulders as you pull yourself up and down, up and down, each time the head of his cock dragging at your gummy walls, notching slightly against that spongey spot in you.

“See? You’re doing fantastic.” He growls, rutting up into you. “Riding this dick like you were fucking made to.”

You clench at his words, and he lets out a low groan. “You like that? You like being told you were made to ride me? You do it so fucking well sweetheart. Such a good slut for me.”

You ride him harder, moaning into the crook of his shoulder. His hands smooth over your back, arching you against him. “There you go baby. Fuck, maybe after we’re done I’ll show Wilson how good you are, hmm?”

You murmur against him, and he grasps your hips, rolling you back onto him in a harsher movement. “That’s what good little sluts do- you said you’re sleeping your way to the top, huh? Wilson’s next. See who else wants a fucking piece of you.”

He angles himself harsher, his dick pressing right against that spot inside you, and you moan out. He does it again, and again, a wicked grin on his face, and you moan against him. One of his hands slips between you both, reaching down to circle at that bud of nerves.

“Fuck, House.” You moan, arching into his touch.

“C’mon baby, tell me how much you want it.”

“Please,” You whine, grinding down onto him, feeling him slide in and out, in and out, each time dragging against you, settling you onto the base of his cock and slamming you back down. “Please, House, make me cum.”

He coos at you. “So polite when you want to cum on my cock. Need to sit you on it all the time, no more of that bratty attitude.”

He rubs circles onto your slick clit, messy and loose. “I’ll have you sit on me in meetings, skirt up to your fucking waist. Let everyone see how nice you can be when you’re not desperate for dick.”

You moan against him, and your movements shudder. He fucks up into you, groaning and rubbing at your clit with more purpose. You moan, muffling your sounds against his shoulder, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

“Go on sweetheart. Cum on my cock, go on, baby. Take what you need, sweetheart.”

Sweet and fucked out of your brain, you do as you’re told, moaning against him as your orgasm washes over you in jolts of electricity. He bounces you on him the whole time, fingers not leaving your clit.

“There you go baby, good fucking girl.”

When the bliss subsides and you come back to earth, he’s still making you ride him, moving your hips up and down over his cock. The drag is fucking beautiful, and feels so much more after your orgasm.

“Fuck.” He groans, and you bounce yourself up and down him, invigorated as you chase his high.

“I’m nearly there, baby.”

“Yeah?” You sigh, leaning forward to kiss him. You reach a hand up, cupping his face. “C’mon House. For me, please.”

His breath is shuddering, and you keep a constant, brutal pace atop him. His lip grazes yours, both of you breathing onto each other.

“Where? Baby, fuck, where?”

You kiss him again, pressing closer to him, drawing his body against yours, slamming your hips against his. He doesn’t need an answer, his hands at your waist, dragging you up and down as he meets your movements with his own.

You want to hear him, want to have that sound carved into your brain, but the little part of logic remaining in you forces you to kiss him like your life depends on it, muffle the long, deep groan he lets out as his hips stammer, stilling. You keep moving even when you feel him pulse in you, even when his muffled sounds become more drawn out to a whine, even when his hands grip at your waist to slow you. You take him for every last drop he offers you, drawing it out.

When you do slow, you sit on his lap, breathing heavily, face pressed to his.

“Did I prove it?”

“Fuck.” His voice is wrecked, and he lets his head fall forward to your shoulder.

You laugh, feeling the sweat on your skin cool in the air. “Did I make you speechless, House?”

He just wraps his hands around your clammy back, not flinching, instead drawing you closer until you wrap your arms around him too.

“Did fucking amazing, baby.” He looks up at you, blue eyes electric. “I think I died and came back.”

You grin, chuckling. “I think you must have knocked your head.”

He shakes his head, leaning up to kiss you. When he pulls back, his lips tug up. “Fuck a promotion- do that again and I’ll make sure you get Cuddy’s job.”

You roll your eyes, unwrapping your arms from his. You take one of his arms in your own, angling his wrist to glance at his watch. You look back at him, smiling. “That’s time.”

He scowls. “This hospital depends on me- they can give us ten more minutes.”

You pull yourself off of him, his softening dick falling back to his stomach. The peak of your thighs is slick and you gingerly pull your panties back over it while he tucks himself into his pants.

“Help me down.” You look at him, pouting.

He rolls his eyes, but he offers his hands to you as you clamber off him, setting your feet to the floor.

You blush deeply looking at the mess on his lap. He follows your gaze and shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Whatever?” You swat at him, reaching down to grab your blouse and button it back up. You shoot him a look. “What are people gonna say seeing that?”

He shrugs. “That you’re sleeping to the top.” You glare at him, and he raises his hands in defence. “We are in a literal supply closet. I think I can find something to clean myself with.”

You grab a packet of body wipes off one of the shelves, and throw it towards him. He catches it perfectly, raising his brows in a cocky smile. You walk over to him, standing between his legs again.

“Do you need some help, House? ‘Made such a mess on you.” You take the packet from his hand, grabbing one out, and reaching forward.You look up with wide, innocent eyes.

His eyes are dark and his throat bobs. “Yeah.”

“Yes, what?”

His nostrils flare, but his eyes dip down to you, pantless and with your blouse clinging to you. Looking fucked out of your mind.

You expect to hear yes, please, but instead he groans, pushing off the desk. He wobbles on his leg for a moment, but his arms are steady as he spins you around, sitting you on the desk now. You give him a confused look, and he simply bends down, eyes on yours the whole time, gripping your hips to shift you closer to the edge. His hands grip your knees, spreading you wide. He pulls your slick panties back to the side, and you hiss as his tongue swipes broadly across your centre, hot and heavy.

He’s not desperate, or punishing. He simply licks against you, groaning softly each time you let out a soft whimper. His hands grip at your legs, keeping you spready. Your hands wring through his hair, tugging at his scalp. He just keeps lapping at you, cleaning you of everything you gave him and everything he gave you. You muffle your moans against your hand, and your orgasm shakes over you. You buck against his mouth, but he doesn’t budge, licking you through your orgasm, and then lapping up that wetness.

When he does pull back, you’re trembling. His mouth is slick with you, his hair pulled at. He takes the gentle cleaning wipe from your hand, that you somehow had clenched in your palm the whole time, and finishes the job, cleaning up any residue between your thighs. He tugs your panties back into place, and grins at you.

“Thank you, what?”

You roll your eyes, but you still mumble out, cheeks beet red with embarrassment. “Thank you, House.”

He cups your face, and you lean into his touch, his hand melding to your skin. He leans in, kissing you gently, and you taste yourself against him. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours, gazing down at you, tenderly.

You push him back gently, sliding off the table and tugging your pants back up your legs. You smirk at him as you slip your shoes back on, smoothing your hands over your hair.

You grab the cane from the door and pass it back to him. His fingers linger against yours, and your eyes dip down to his stained pants.

“Wait five minutes, right? Good luck with that, House.”

You spin on your heel and slip out of the closet, laughing softly to yourself at his scoff you cut off with the closing of the door. You straighten your blouse, and try your best to pretend you weren’t still riding the high he had given you, and get back to work.

——————

When you arrive to work early the next day, adamant that you should catch the bus by yourself and not risk any suspicion, you’re so preoccupied in shaking out your jacket, wet from the light rain, that you don’t even register a person standing right beside the glass office until you bump into their back.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You blurt out, even before they turn around to look at you.

A beautiful woman smiles at you, and there’s a familiar tilt to her lips that reminds you of someone.

She looks a bit out of place here, her black pantsuit too smooth to be a ruffled family representative of a patient, but too the buttons undone at the top a step too close to revealing to be hospital management.

She brushes back her dark hair, and huffs out a chuckle.

“No harm done, sweetheart.”

You blink at the term, looking down at yourself to double check that you were in fact wearing your Doctor’s coat, and not appearing like some teen that had wandered off from their parents.

You remind yourself to nod politely, and you move to step around her. She clears her throat however, and it stops your movement, and you look towards her expectantly.

She offers a bashful smile. “Do you know if Greg is around at all? Or is he off, hiding somewhere?”

You must look as confused as you feel at her words because she speaks again, eyes dipping down to scan you like as a specimen as she does so. “I mean House. Is House here today? Or hell, even Wilson? It seems that the two of them are avoiding me.”

You blink, shifting on your feet. “House should be here today.” You cast a glance into the office, where House’s desk sits empty, and the three ducklings are trying obviously to not look towards the both of you. “If I see him, did you want me to let him know you stopped by, Miss…”

“Stacy Warner.” She says, smiling and offering her hand out with a point of professionalism.

You shake her hand, trying to match the firmness of her grip.

“And yes. If you see House, let him know that I need to talk to him. And that I won’t slap him, this time.” Stacy says, her voice laced with mirth that tells you she’s familiar with House and his antics.

“Sure thing, Miss Warner.”

You both smile to each other, but you can feel her gaze follow you as you step into the conference room. By the time you turn and look at the glass divider, she’s striding down the hallway.

Cameron looks at you with wild eyes, and you nearly step back. In response to her conspiratory whisper, you sit in your chair at the table and lean closer to her.

“What did she say!?”

You shrug, confused. “That she wanted to see House. Why?”

“Fife!” Chase sputters, and you turn your gaze to him. He continues chewing one of your donuts and you reach out to give him a light slap to his wrist.

Foreman rolls his eyes, sipping his coffee. “What Mr Greedy over here is trying to say, is that was House’s ex-wife. Fiancee. Girlfriend. Something.” He says, ominously.

Your stomach sinks and you try to stop yourself from blanching. “Oh?”

Cameron nods, whispering as if House had everything wired- it was a possibility. “Yeah, she’s come around a few times. Wilson told us they were together for a few years and then she left him.”

Chase, finally having managed to swallow your food, speaks. “Yeah, and that he’s still in love with her. No wonder you couldn’t get freaky with him like you wanted.” Chase wriggles his brows at Cameron, and despite her flaming face she reaches over smacking him with full force. “Ouch!”

Foreman’s lips tug up and he shakes his head. “Do it harder next time.”

Chase sputters, aghast at Foreman’s betrayal. “What!?”

Once again it descends into fighting, and Cameron even lands another slap to Chase’s arm.

You try not to sound too desperate for information, or nauseous like you feel when you speak up. “So, what, are they getting back together?”

Cameron huffs, seemingly exhausted from the energy it takes to put Chase in his place. She scrunches up her nose though, as if the thought of House in a romantic context disturbs her now. “She’s married now but…I doubt it would stop either of them.”

Foreman tuts at her. “Wow, that’s a lot coming from the person who wouldn’t have stopped from HR.”

Your stomach sinks, a cement block tugging down all your organs with it. Cameron however laughs off his words, rolling her eyes. “I just mean that from what Wilson says, they were both mad for each other. And House is still obsessed with her.”

You’re going to vomit. You feel every part of you that House has touched light up in shame and embarrassment.

Foreman’s eyes flick to yours. “You alright? You don’t look too good.”

A laugh bubbles out from your nervously. “Yeah no, yeah I’m fine.”

Chase pats you on the shoulder. “It’s alright, we all get disgusted thinking of House ever having a girlfriend- the torture that poor woman went through.”

You laugh, this time trying to seep in more confidence to the noise. Cameron chuckles with you, but Foreman still watches you from the corner of his eye, unconvinced.

You don’t see House all day, and not even Wilson. Only when it’s three hours past your lunch break, and you have found a chance to slip away and scoff down a sandwich you had packed yourself do you see House for the first time.

You drag your eyes from your sandwich in the glass meeting room, back to him, sitting at his desk and in serious thought, judging by the harsh draw of his brow. Sandwich. House. Sandwich. House.

You curse yourself a little bit, walking over, and pushing open his office door.

“Not now, Wilson.” He doesn’t look up, scowling.

“I’m about to- Oh.” His lips tug up, and he sits back in his chair, easing into the fabric. “Newbie.”

“Hey.” You smile, your cheeks dusted with pink.

“Hey.” He echoes back, smirking.

You step forward. “I didn’t see you today.”

“Really?” He looks perplexed. “If I recall correctly, before you caught the bus we were about five minutes away from testing the suspension of my car by having you ride me til-”

You clear your throat, shooting him a look, and tilting your head to the glass office that was putting everything you did on display. This wasn’t some dingy supply closet, this was like a zoo display that invited all sort of observers.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s 4PM. No one’s at a hospital at 4PM.”

“Really?” You laugh. “Everyone’s at a hospital at 4PM.”

He stands up, limping closer to you. “Well, Cuddy’s not. She had a conference at 2.”

“So?”

“So,” He says, reaching you and grinning as his arm slips to your waist. “We can test the suspension of my desk.”

He tugs you closer, and you tell yourself to resist, but instead your feet follow his. He sits against his desk and draws you between his knees, hands splayed across your waist.

You want it to stay like this. For him to keep looking up at you with that drunk look, for you to keep throwing caution to the wind, for only the mingling of your breaths to be heard in the office.

Instead you blurt out. “I ran into Stacy today.”

“Oh.” His hands stop their movement against your waist. “Well I hope you knocked her over too.”

The last half doesn’t ease the tension as he tried to, and instead it feels like a weak attempt for him to sway away any thought of serious discussion.

Your breath is shaky. “Everyone was saying you were still in love with her.”

He swallows heavily, and looks away from you. You take a step back, and his hands drop from you to grip the desk.

“Is it true?”

His gaze flicks back to yours, but there’s an iciness held within it that wasn’t there a minute before. “What, do you believe everything people say? Chase told everyone that ducks were actually small geese. Do you believe in that avian ‘fact’ too?”

You frown, seeing through his diversion. “Answer the question, House.”

He pushes off the desk, grabbing his cane and standing now to face you. “What does it matter? Why do you care?”

“Don’t do that. Not after everything.” You scoff, shaking your head.

“‘Everything’? We’re sleeping together, Newbie, not discovering the meaning of existence.”

He barks out a bitter laugh. You bite your lip and his eyes zero in on the movement. “We’re only sleeping together. What does it matter if I love her or not?”

You’re unattached to your body, and instead all you are is your aching heart. “Because House, you might be proficient in prostitution culture, but for some of us ‘only sleeping together’ actually means something.”

He throws his hand up, like he was scolding an insulant child. “I told you at the start, that this was just sex.”

You stammer. “Well, yeah but-”

“I didn’t know it was that good to make you fall in love.” He sneers, and you know with the venom in his tone he’s expecting you to cry, to lash out at him, to storm off.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, House.” You spit.

He steps forward, scoffing and looming over you with a scowl etched onto his face. “Can’t help it- you were the one humping me to Timbuktu.”

“Yeah, and what did you have to do in your car by yourself this morning?” You glare at him, speaking to him with a tone you would use on a horny, uncontrollable teenage version of House.

He should be scoffing again at your, and replying with some witty retort. But instead, you see his eyes drop down to your lips, back to your eyes, and down to your lips again. And then he’s leaning forward, wrapping an arm tightly around you and dragging you into him as he latches onto your mouth. It’s a mess of his tongue and yours and gnashing teeth and none of it is smooth or perfect but it’s angry and brash, a clashing of mouths in a heated argument where each of you tells the other to piss off with a swipe of your tongue. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and the other goes to the back of his head, pressing him into you and scratching against his scalp.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath fanning across your face. You feel flushed and near lightheaded with how little you were breathing.

You want it to stay like this. Instead you speak.

“When we kiss, do you think of her?”

It’s your words that tumble out of your mouth, but the sound of them out in the open hits you like a tonne of bricks.

He looks at you disgusted, and it stabs you in your chest. “We’re not fucking married. It doesn’t matter if either of us want someone else. We’re not exclusive.”

You unwrap your hands from him, letting them rest limply against his chest in between the two of you. “It doesn’t?”

“No.” He snaps. “It doesn’t.”

You take a step back, and this time he doesn’t breach the distance. He just watches you, annoyance etched into his face, as if he was in disbelief you could think anything different.

“Good to know.”

Your voice doesn’t wobble or waver. You were no longer going to let yourself break because of the man in front of you. You just smile at him, tipping your head to him like you were just another employee thanking their boss.

He seems like he’s contemplating replying, but you turn on your heel and walk out of his office.

#house md fanfiction #house md x reader #gregory house x reader #gregory house #house md #masterlist #house md masterlist #greg house x f!reader #gregory house fic #gregory house smut #dariaslookalike masterlist #dariaslookalike fic

289 notes · View notes

bustybounty · 6 days ago

Note

Entry #17776 — A Happy Ending

“Apparently, according to the research that’s been put together, time is… not a straight line. A woman has started to grow, in size, in weight, in proportion, and it seems she won’t be stopping. In due time, she’ll grow, and grow, and grow, until Earth, the solar system, the Milky Way, and the universe are all gone. After that, if our studies are correct, she will become a Mother and birth a new universe, nearly identical to the current one, just with a few changes. Eventually, that universe will produce a Mother, and she will end that universe, birthing a new one. It’s actually really interesting! I would love to ramble about it, but—“

RUMBLE.

“— It doesn’t really seem like I have much time. But it’s alright! I might see you next loop! Well, not really ‘see’, since this is an audio recording, but, like, y’know. And besides, there’s worse ways to go! The apocalypse being a hot woman, and not ending the world forever is about all I could ask for, hehe.”

(Now I'm imagining a rogue-like game where each 'loop' is caused by the 'catastrophic' growth of a ginormous curvy Mommy who ends the current universe and creates a new one, with the modifications being whatever you earned in the last run and such, as is normal for roguelikes. I don't know what the ultimate goal would be, but it got my nerdy side AND horny side making a lil collab for this idea, haha. Anyway, back to the ask...)

There's not much I can say here, especially as the loop is happening AGAIN, our planet, Evols'Aiag is getting covered in a very...curvy...womanly shadow, and once she blots out the sun and starts outgrowing the solar system again, she'll just not stop at all... Our research follows yours, that was somehow found, almost like it glitched into our own universe or something. After all, the apocalyptic universe destruction DID happen, right? How could this research be left over, or reproduced again?

Is time just a strange intertwined web, a loop that's more like yarn, all woven by the Goddesses we call Universal Mothers? Could they all be the same Mother, just taking a different shape, a different form, surging forth whenever it's time to make a new universe from scratch once more? Our data is still unclear. We will need to study her more, as difficult as it might be.

Though I will leave all information about what our world, the lovely Evols'Aiag looks like now, about the news cycles before the Mother appeared and during her first growth spurts, and how you, the person reading this, might have a chance of studying Her greatness before she becomes too great for your universe to handle.

According to our predictions, a planet called Earth (silly name - the same name as the planet in the log I found, huh...weird...) will be the birthplace of your universe's Mother. If you live there, or know where it is located, keep a close eye on the signs stated above, and follow these redacted steps. Maybe you'll be the lucky ones making a breakthrough on how time works with the presence of a Mother.

Good luck, I'll now make sure to enjoy the Final Smothering~

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 ENTRY OVER-------

#astronomical expansion #fertility goddess #wholesome all mother #extreme hyper #evols'aiag is gaia's love backwards btw

15 notes · View notes

sunny44 · 2 years ago

Text

Old vs new

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x daughter

Warnings: none, just fluff

Summary: When Lewis is bored in his house and decide to do a instagram live with his daughter.

This is a request

It was a sunny afternoon and I was bored in the house, my wife was with her sister and I was at our house with my daughter who was doing something in her room and then I had the idea of doing an Instagram live witch is something I usually don’t do but since the fans lives Ava I thought it was a good ideia.

I called Ava saying to meet me in my trophies room and when I press the button to start the live, Ava entered the room and she sit in my lap and we immediately created a buzz as fans tuned in to witness our live.

"Hey everyone, I've got a very special lady here with me today," I said to the phone and Ava smiled and waved at everyone. "As you guys already now this is my daughter Ava. And she’s already in go kart to be the next Hamilton.”

Mia giggled, her eyes lighting up as she playfully jabbed, "Yeah, Dad, you're not as fast as you used to be. You're like, ancient in F1 years!"

The comment sparked laughter from Lewis and his audience. "Ancient, huh?" he responded, feigning shock. "Well, I might not be as young as I was when I started, but I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve!"

Ava’s eyes twinkled mischievously. "Oh, I've seen your tricks, Dad. I've also seen your old races on TV. Vintage stuff!"

The banter continued as they reminisced about Lewis's early days in racing. He recounted stories of his breakthrough races, while Mia giggled at the outdated racing gear he used to wear. "Hey, don't laugh too hard! Those suits were cutting-edge back then," Lewis protested, feigning offense.

Mia, her voice dripping with mock seriousness, quipped, "Yeah, sure they were, Dad. Just like those ancient cell phones you used!"

The playful teasing exchanged between father and daughter endeared them to their audience even more. Amidst the jokes, Lewis shared the valuable lessons he learned from his journey – the hard work, dedication, and resilience that drove him to become a champion.

"You know, Ava" Lewis began with a thoughtful expression, "racing isn't just about speed and trophies. It's about determination and pushing yourself beyond your limits. That's something you'll need to remember when you're the next Hamilton in F1."

Mia's eyes gleamed as she leaned closer to the camera. "Oh, I'll remember, Dad. And when I'm on that track, I'll make sure to remind everyone that the Hamilton legacy continues!"

Their connection was a beautiful blend of admiration and camaraderie. As the conversation flowed, Lewis turned the tables on Ava. "You know what, Ava? I think it's time for a challenge. How about we have a karting race this weekend? Old vs new!"

Ava's face lit up, excitement radiating from her. "You're on, Dad! Just remember, I've been practicing!"

As the live session drew to a close, Lewis shared his pride in his daughter's aspirations. "I'm not just her father, but also her biggest fan. If she chooses to step into the world of racing, I'll be there every step of the way."

The Instagram Live ended with promises of the upcoming karting showdown and a grateful farewell to the fans. Lewis and Ava had not only shared their love for racing but had given the world a glimpse into the genuine bond they shared – a bond that would undoubtedly continue to flourish as the next generation of the Hamilton legacy began to unfold.

281 notes · View notes

quietlyimplode · 9 months ago

Text

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 10 - I can’t think straight

Warnings: therapy talk of dissociation, red room discussion, talk of forced birth/pregnancy (but not described or graphic)

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha talks to the therapist who reveals secrets of their own.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

Olivia waits.

She itches the scar on her elbow absentmindedly.

She feels her guard go up as Natasha enters; the woman still handcuffed as they go through the rigmarole of uncuffing her and then sitting in silence.

Natasha doesn’t look at her.

Sharp eyes stare straight ahead.

They both know what’s coming.

“What do you want?” she opens, knowing the question will provoke her.

They’ve been at this for weeks.

It doesn’t always start like this. Sometimes it’s making sure Natasha’s not so dissociated that she can function through the day and the time in between.

Sometimes it’s touching on small things she’s said in debrief.

Provoking her, it’s not the point of the exercise.

The woman is barely holding it together, anyone who looks closely enough can see it.

They just have to want to.

No one in Shield has Natasha’s best interests in mind.

All they want is her information; her intelligence.

Olivia knows how it feels to be a defector.

The world is against her.

Natasha has to want to choose something for herself.

She knows this.

She wants Natasha to make a choice, any choice for herself.

The difficulty is that she has a lifetime of being told her voice doesn’t matter.

Natasha looks down at her hands, no words coming.

Olivia waits.

The dissociation that comes with asking hard, self reflecting questions is written on Natasha’s face.

She knows how it is; not being able to think straight.

She wonders how much to push today, how much to disclose and what to focus on.

With no answer forthcoming, she side steps.

“If I were to ask you, how you are, what would you say?”

Eyes look away, glancing at the time.

“Fine.”

The answer is curt.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

Natasha shifts in her seat.

“And if I were to ask you to pretend to be me, and tell me how you seem, what would you say?”

Natasha is quiet.

“I don’t know.”

Olivia pauses.

Natasha watches her closely.

“Do you ever get tired, of battling the old you? The you that’s still stuck in the Red Room, controlled by someone else?”

Natasha looks taken aback, defensive and angry at the statement but Olivia continues anyway.

“I can see it, I see how hard you’re fighting, neither the old you or this version of yourself succeeding; I can see how exhausted you are.”

The room is so quiet.

Natasha’s eyes are intent, breathing shallowly, waiting the next blow of words.

“You made the decisions to put yourself here. So answer me.”

The next words are punctuated.

“What do you want?”

Natasha feels that she could say something profound, something about wanting to live or to be able to take back her life.

But she can’t decide that yet.

She hasn’t decided that yet.

Life has a funny way of deciding things for her and she sits passive on the wave.

Natasha glances up.

Eyes locking onto the scar on her arm, so many things fit into place.

“How did you get out?”

Olivia smiles.

She’d wondered if Natasha knew and how long it would take her to ask.

She straightens her arm.

The mark of her first kill, still present even after all these years. She dug in too hard with her knife, the self loathing in that moment providing a mark for life.

“For every breakdown, there’s a breakthrough. I would like to say that it was easy. That I did it myself, but we both know that’s a lie. People died to get me out. I wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted but I couldn’t dishonour their sacrifice. For a long time, I looked like you do now. Scared and tired. Like the world just needs to stop, to get your bearings.”

Olivia takes a sip of her water, aware of the eyes that watch her every movement now, that analyse her being.

“But it does get better.”

She looks at Natasha, her gaze fierce until Natasha cannot hold the intensity.

Fingers clench and release and Olivia models a breath.

“I can tell you the story, but first,” she pauses.

“Tell me something you want.”

“I want to know how Maria knew my birthday,” she whispers, looking up and expecting the woman to be laughing at her.

The conversation that had occurred all those months ago, still plays in Natasha’s mind. The insinuation that someone knew more about herself than she did, made nights sleepless and haunting. She hated Maria for it, and Shield in turn.

The hatred had abated somewhat, but still simmered under the surface.

After all they had given her, she wanted something for it; even though she had no rights to ask.

Olivia looks at her seriously, there’s no hint of a laugh or a smile.

“Good Natasha. That’s good.”

And the praise feels like a calming balm, honeyed words that rip into her.

Natasha pushes the feelings aside, and stares expectantly at her, wanting the story she’d promised.

Olivia glances at the time.

“Olivia was not always my name, I was not what you see now.”

“I was on a mission to Salta. Argentina is everything you expect it to be, beautiful and if you know the underworld, dangerous.”

Like all widows, Olivia knows how to tell a story.

Natasha reflects on it momentarily before getting lost in the thoughts and feelings of the words that emanate.

She wonders if they all know how, because of the necessity of stories in the Red Room, or because it was the only way to pass the time.

She redirects her attention, back to the present and not to the image of the girls in her dormitory sitting hands cuffed on their beds telling ghost stories about the monsters in the basement that would eat little girls.

“It was my first mission without handlers, and I got captured.”

Natasha’s heart sinks.

“I escaped, of course, a filed down spoon slices throats just as easily as a knife if you know how to use it. But,”

Olivia sighs, “they didn’t believe that I didn’t give anything up. In those days, the Red Room was still a secret, Russia’s own little experimental trojan, to get captured was tantamount to death. But all the money they invested in me. They couldn’t kill me. I was … retired.”

The memory of the pain of hot irons on the soles of her feet makes her swallow.

“After everything; they didn’t trust me. So they had another use for me. Widows, when retired, were forced to have children, to start the next generations of Widows. This was, of course, before they realised that women and girls were more easily trafficked than spending money on maternal health care, if they wanted them to live.”

Olivia frowns, knowing she’s speaking too much.

“Salta taught me two things. One; the way I was raised was not normal. It should be obvious, but sometimes stating that out loud helped, and two, I didn’t want to be that person; I didn’t want to be their killer and certainly not… that.”

The implications of reproductive coercion was something Olivia had nightmares about. Even after all these years.

“So, I found a way out. I killed and maimed to do it. I lived in limbo, until I found someone who I could trust, and they bought me here.”

She takes a breath and looks at Natasha.

It’s simplistic.

Natasha hates her for not telling her the whole story.

The growing pangs of hunger for information just starting to take seeds as she realises the implications of Olivia being a Black Widow.

The things she could ask, the answers she could get.

Breathing stops as her mind moves a thousand miles a minute.

What does she want?

She wants to know more. She wants a real answer to her question.

Natasha feels herself lean back, unaware that her posture had leaned forward to hear all the information.

“I’ll answer your questions Natasha, but don’t ask me about this again.”

There’s a pause.

“I agreed to be your psychiatrist because of shared life experience, but I understand that if this blurs lines. If you do not want me to be your therapist, you can tell Clint, and he’ll sort out another for you.”

Olivia’s pragmatics takes Natasha a minute to sort through.

It’s the contrary of what she’s saying. If anyone understands her here, it’s the woman sitting in front of her.

The room’s silence does not feel uncomfortable.

“Maria knows your birthday because Shield has a dossier on you.”

Natasha knows this, she’d deduced it herself.

“The information they have is from a bug I’d placed in the systems of the red room. There’s a dossier on all the girls. The bug is dead now, the information outdated, but perhaps, if we can get you cleared, you can give us updates on some of the other girls.”

Natasha eyes widen.

Her chest constricts as she thinks of Yelena.

In that one moment, she pushes the thought away, the pain hitting her chest and making her even more breathless.

She’s dead.

She couldn’t survive the atrocities of the red room, nor would she have wanted her too.

She nods, remembering to breathe.

“Yes,” she replies slowly, “I want that.”

Olivia writes something on a post it note.

“What else?”

Natasha is truthful in her reply, wondering what it will cost her.

“I want to help.”

Fury stares; his face unreadable.

“She was going to find out eventually,” Olivia argues.

“By giving her a purpose, you’re helping her become something more than an informant, you’re helping her to become someone who could, in theory, become your greatest asset.”

Angrily, she continues.

“It’s not just about purpose, yes, she has purpose for you, whilst she’s feeding you information, but what happens when that information runs out? What then? Are you just going to let her rot in a cell? Even you can see the waste in that.”

Olivia calms herself, resets and looks him in his eye.

“What do you foresee happening? What does Thompson or the World Security Council see happening? You brought her here because Barton couldn’t kill her and saw promise of a defector that could do more for us than just die. You agreed to let her live and use Shield resources because of the abundance of information - she’s held up her end - and at cost to her, do you know just how much?”

Olivia is angry, Fury starts talking but she’s not done.

“You don’t know, you can’t know, just how hard she must have fought to reveal information. Words like that in the Red Room… to speak so freely… she would have been tortured; I think she expects to be, probably still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Olivia waits and Fury raises an eyebrow.

“Are you done?” he asks, voice low.

“I knew she would find out eventually, or that you would tell her. I think we all knew. I don’t disagree with you, the timelines though, are not ideal.”

He looks at her in thought.

“Design a mission for her. One that will give us our answers of if she has truly defected or not. Design it so there is no doubt that she is on our side. Then, and only then can we start training her like one of our own, trusting her, like we trust you.”

The words hold meaning.

Shield has never fully trusted her.

She laughs in derision but nods anyway.

A plan forms in her mind.

She thinks she knows what Natasha wants, she wants a reason to keep fighting. A reason to keep going that doesn’t leave her empty when she’s done.

Barton had started all this.

“Fine, but Barton is allowed to go with her.”

The manipulation starts slow, slow enough that she knows Fury won’t catch it until he’s deep in her web. He’ll hate her for it, but she can’t find it within herself to care.

Shield is not the safe place she knew.

She leans back on the chair, and Fury nods curtly.

“Fine.”

Olivia sits for a moment before standing.

“Don’t fail,” he tells her as she walks out the door.

“We never do,” replies the Widow, lost in her own thoughts.

(Did you catch it before this fic? Little reveals. Little secrets. <3 as always comments and likes/reblogs are <3)

#whumptober2024 #day 10 #I can’t think straight #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #warnings in title #natasha romanoff fic #black widow fic #my fic #clintasha fanfiction #black widow movie #marvel fic

41 notes · View notes

junipers-insects · 9 months ago

Text

@lemonadesys here is the short 1,400+ summary for the Mostly alphys and kinda sans sci centered au lmao

Also I drew something for it back in January I forgot about

So basically I just really love alphys lmao

I called this au Labswitch because sans and alphys technically “switch” labs

in this au sans is the next royal scientist, by accident. After Gaster and his followers disappearance, Sans ended up as the royal scientist instead of disappearing with the followers. That’s because he was just an intern at the laboratory at the time and wasn’t a part of the group of Gasters followers.

After their disappearance Sans, and every one else, forgot about the previous scientists, Sans becomes the royal scientist because, well, because there were no one else left. Luckily he is quite capable and smart and took on the role of the R scientist with little to no hardships.

Until Asgore asked him to continue to work on human souls, and since he didn’t do the initial research on the souls that took a while for him to master and in the end resulted in him overworking himself down to the bone. After seeing Sans fall asleep at work numerous times Asgore suggested they hire an assistant for Sans, which Sans (begrudgingly) accepted.

Here comes Alphys with her robot with a monster soul, impressing both Sans and Asgore and meeting all of the criteria and beyond. She is immediately hired and becomes Sans’ assistant, helper, advisor and close friend.

Sans, now with Alphys, continue their work on the human souls, and soon they have a breakthrough.

Alphys extracts Determination from the human souls. The power that their whole research was based on.

They start experimenting with flowers first. One of the flowers disappears. Over all the flowers were a half success.

At this part in undertale asgore asks monster families for fallen down monster in the brink of dusting for Alphys to inject determination to them for soul research. But since Alphys isn’t the Royal scientist she can’t make these kinds of requests from the King, only Sans has that kind of authority, and Sans doesn’t agree with this just yet.

Alphys thinks they should conduct this experiment as quickly as possible, the flower was proof that Determination works. Sans wants to wait and try to conduct more experiments even though the next logical step would be to experiment on monsters, but the potential for the experiment to become unethical kept him from proceeding with it like Alphys wanted.

So Alphys has no choice but to comply with what Sans thinks is right and they continue to experiment on more plant life, even if the results always ended up inconclusive.

Alphys, frustrated by the lack of progress, goes behind Sans’ back and requests Asgore for fallen down monsters, even though she technically doesn’t have the power to make this request Asgore trusts her and does as requested in the name of progress and their freedom.

Sans, before becoming the Royal scientist, used to live with his younger brother Papyrus in the capital city “New Home”. After becoming the R scientist, he had to move to the laboratory and started living there instead, leaving his brother behind to live alone. He often visited Papyrus, having lunches together and sending letters to each other. But after his soul research started he visited less and less, so with Alphys’ arrival he finally had more free time to visit Paps again. Sans being on his Asgore mandated break was the perfect condition for Alphys to smuggle in some corpses.

She injects the bodies with determination, nothing happens. She keeps injecting them with DT. This has to work or she’s astronomically fucked, in other words, fired.

Sans comes back early catching Alphys in the middle of her experiment, but before he could scold her the bodies start waking up. Instead of scolding her, he apologized for stalling so long and that he should have trusted her to be right.

Of course it couldn’t have been this easy. The monsters bodies started melting into each others, amalgamating and creating unholy forms, disappearing and appearing in the dark halls and rooms of the laboratory.

Alphys was devastated. Going behind her superiors, her friends, back, and doing that to those poor monsters...she can’t live with herself with that.

Sans tries to comfort her, saying that one way or another this would have happened eventually, they would have done the experiment soon enough together. But Alphys wouldn’t listen or believe his words, she’s the one that should be blamed for all of this and she...she can’t show her face here anymore. She has to leave and she can’ go back to Waterfall, everyone knows her there.

Sans, feeling bad for her, has a suggestion for her.

The reason for his visit to his brother was that Papyrus is moving to Snowdin, and he was looking for a roommate, specifically Sans. But Sans can’t go with him, he is the R scientist he can’t leave even if he wanted to at the moment.

He suggests Alphys move in with Papyrus. They know each other and Sans trusts Alphys enough to let her live with his brother, and to look after him. Plus no one in Snowdin knows her, all the letters from the families of the fallen down monsters would be addressed to the lab in Hotland.

Alphys accepted his offer and quickly moved in with Papyrus. Paps was happy to have a roommate again.

Sci was once again alone in the laboratory, with more work than ever. He ended up shutting himself in the lab, put all of his soul research aside, trying to find a solution to help the Amalgamates. He ends up neglecting his brother, no more visits, since Papyrus lives so far away now, and he can’t find the time to read his letters to him anymore, let alone send his own.

Meanwhile Alphys, shuts herself inside her own room, rarely coming out. Until Papyrus encouraging her, pushing her to go out as much as possible, encouraging her to interact with the locals etc.

She’s often annoyed with his persistence, but also grateful for it, because if not for him she would have… She’s grateful to have the brothers as her friends. Soon she discovers the basement of their house, and being a scientist at heart she starts her own independent research… (BOOM labswitch)

Mettaton barges into the laboratory looking for Alphys. Instead he finds Sans, alone, and surrounded by nightmarish creatures.

Both Sans and Alphys within this whole mess have forgotten about Mettaton and his checkups and upgrades. But Sans didn’t build Mettaton so he had no clue how to help him. The skeleton suggested looking for Mettatons blueprints, but the robot refuses for anyone to touch him besides Alphys, so Sans has no choice but to direct Mettaton towards Alphys.

The robot finds the former scientist and soon he starts having his checkups at her new secret laboratory.

After everything , everyone settles down into the new normal. Until Papyrus decides to join the Royal guard. Undyne, the captain of the guard, eventually takes him under her wing (fin?) and starts his private training (cooking lessons). Soon Paps and Undyne become best friends and she often comes over to Snowdin to hang out with him. There Alphys and Undyne first meet and develop feelings for each other. But Alphys full of guilt didn’t want to get too close to her in case she finds out what she’d been lying about this whole time =, so she starts avoiding Undyne as much as possible by hiding deep in the Snowdin forest. One day she wanders in too far and finds a dead end with the giant door to The Ruins. She starts spending more time there and starts using the door as a confession booth almost. One day someone beyond the door answered (Toriel). They become friends and converse a lot. And The Promise also etc. etc.

A human comes through the door .

Here the au diverges into neutral, pacifist and genocide timelines.

In neutral everything is the same as in undertale: toriel stays in the ruins, you fight asgore then omega flowey happens etc. we all know that. But there is an addition of Alphys never opening up and either going back to the lab to help sans with his research leaving paps alone again. Depending on who you kill she has different reactions but there is literally so many neutral routes in ut I’m not writing down all of the scenarios

in pacifist you help alphys confess to undyne and also tell everyone bout her mistakes and also help sans reconnect with his brother besides that everything is the same not counting the more minor details.

In geno you fight Alphys who has sans’ help. He shares his meta knowledge with her besides that everything is the same not counting the more minor details.

#utmv #undertale #sans #undertale au #alphys #alphys au #writing??#writing #labswitch

32 notes · View notes

weirdestbooks · 5 months ago

Text

Secrecy and Deception Chapter 34

One Small Step (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

Event: US Moon Landing

Location: America’s House, the Land In-Between

Date: July 20, 1969

NASA had never been more excited for anything in his entire life. It was finally happening. After years of planning and work, after failed missions, accidents, and trying again and again and again, it was finally happening.

They were going to land on the moon.

NASA had been so excited and wanted to watch it from mission control so he could be there in case anything happened and see all the science and knowledge and information they were going to get right after the landing, but his father had asked if NASA would be willing to watch and celebrate it with his family so they could all see the fruits of his hard work.

NASA flapped his hands as he sat down on the couch beside his father, grinning so wide that his face was nearly splitting.

“Someone’s excited,” Texas commented, a fond smile on his face as he ruffled NASA’s hair. NASA frowned slightly, not liking when people touched his head, but not wanting to tell Texas to stop.

“Tex,” Father said, causing Texas to remove his hand as Texas and Father exchanged a look that NASA couldn’t decipher.

“Are you ready?” Virginia then asked, distracting NASA from his father and brother. NASA nodded, his grin returning.

“I have been ready since the Apollo missions started. I can’t believe it’s finally happening!” NASA said. Alabama smiled.

“And we’re beating the Soviets to the moon too. Another bonus!” Alabama cheered. NASA frowned at that comment. He didn’t get why his siblings were more focused on the so-called Space Race and not on the fact that they were about to send people to the moon!

They were about to make a scientific breakthrough, the likes of which had never been seen before. They would be able to get samples of the moon, bring back rocks and dust, and learn what made their moon and if the moon was similar to Earth or completely different.

It was something that could and would completely change their understanding of the body that lit the night sky.

This could change science, change astronomy.

Why did people only care about the Soviet Union?

“We’re very proud of you, NASA,” Virginia said, returning his focus to NASA, “You’ve done an amazing thing.”

“I just wish I had been allowed to be in mission control to watch it,” NASA grumbled.

“But then I wouldn’t be able to congratulate my baby boy in person for his amazing achievements!” Father said, having finished his…his thing with Texas, as he sat down beside NASA, smiling widely.

“Father…” NASA groaned. He knew he was amongst his siblings, but he hated when his father got like this. It always made him feel strange and younger than he needed to be. NASA was a highly intelligent rocket science, and he didn’t need to be babied by his father, especially when he was so young by human terms.

“Sorry, sorry. We know you don’t like that. We’re just excited,” Father—or was it father? NASA always had a hard time telling who was in control of the body and when the control changed hands—even if it happened in front of him.

Whatever was happening in his father’s head, it was an issue of the mind, and it wasn’t something that NASA understood. NASA liked and understood as his technology and machines. They were easy to understand.

Humans were harder to understand.

Especially his father.

“I think we all are,” NASA said, looking around at all his siblings that had shown up. Not all of them were there. Father’s house was big but not big enough to fit everyone into the living room. Most of his other siblings were in their own homes, watching as well.

At least, NASA hoped they were.

They were all so much older than him, having seen and experienced so much. Sometimes, NASA still felt like they saw him as a dumb kid.

He wanted to show them what he could do. He might not be a state or a former country, but he was an organization, and he had his own strengths.

NASA turned away from his siblings and father, looking at the TV screen and inspecting the video of the shuttle. His stomach lurched, worry flooding through him as he scanned the grainy footage for signs of damage, or problems, or anything that could prevent the men from getting home, anything that might prove that he had overlooked some crucial competent in the construction of the shuttle.

But that thought was quickly tossed out of his mind as he saw the man climbing down the ladder.

It was happening. Mankind was now about to set foot on their moon for the very first time. NASA…he had done it.

Well, provided nothing happened to the astronaut in the few seconds it took to get down the ladder.

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” the astronaut said, his foot connecting with the surface of the moon. NASA nodded in agreement, the words that were spoken having summed up so perfectly the power of the moment.

Space was the final frontier, something they knew so little about.

But they had men on the moon. They could get samples, learn more about space and its history than their predecessors a hundred years ago could have only dreamed about.

Father, or maybe someone else, placed a gentle hand on NASA’s shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” they said, smiling widely but with a soft voice.

“Congratulations, little brother! I knew you could do it,” Texas said, throwing an arm over NASA’s shoulders and squeezing him tightly. NASA squirmed out of Texas’ grip, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

“I can’t believe we did it!” Montana said before smiling over at NASA, “You really showed those Soviets a thing or two, didn’t you.”

NASA tried to stamp down the familiar flicker of annoyance that came with someone making all of his work about the USSR again, standing up.

“I think I should get back to mission control now. It’s time to focus on the mission, and I need to be involved with that,” NASA announced.

The room was beginning to feel hot and cramped, and too many eyes were on him. NASA needed to escape, and his calculations and science provided the perfect distraction.

“You go do what you need to do,” Virginia said, “But, seriously, congratulations on what you have just achieved. You should be very proud.”

NASA's face split into a slight grin.

“Trust me. I am."

#countryhumans #historical countryhumans #secrecy and deception by weird #countryhumans nasa

13 notes · View notes

unpluggedfinancial · 4 months ago

Text

Life in a Bubble: How Technological Revolutions Shape Society

Once upon a time, owning a television was an extraordinary luxury. Families gathered around small, grainy screens, captivated by black-and-white broadcasts that seemed magical at the time. Fast-forward to today, and we laugh at the thought of having just one screen—let alone one without color, HD, or streaming capabilities. Ever notice how every significant technological breakthrough feels monumental, only to become obsolete as soon as the next innovation arrives?

Understanding the Technological Bubble

Technological bubbles occur when groundbreaking innovations redefine societal norms, behaviors, and expectations. Each advancement creates its own bubble of influence—initially expanding as adoption grows, then ultimately bursting when a newer technology emerges.

Consider the evolution of televisions:

First Bubble: Black-and-white TVs revolutionized entertainment, bringing the world into living rooms for the first time.

Second Bubble: Color TVs popped the original bubble, making monochrome obsolete and setting a new standard.

Third Bubble: Flat-screen and HD televisions burst the color-TV bubble, making bulky sets feel like relics of the past.

Each bubble transformed society, influencing consumer behaviors, shifting economic landscapes, and altering our perception of normalcy.

Historical Echoes

Technological bubbles aren’t exclusive to televisions. They repeat throughout history, reshaping reality each time:

Communication: Letters → telephones → smartphones.

Music: Vinyl → cassettes → CDs → MP3 → streaming.

Internet: Dial-up → broadband → Wi-Fi → mobile connectivity.

Every bubble expanded rapidly, enveloping society in its new standards before bursting and being replaced by something even more revolutionary.

The Mother of All Bubbles

Today, we're living inside perhaps the largest technological bubble humanity has ever known: the global fiat monetary system and traditional finance. Like previous bubbles, this system feels unshakeable, inevitable, and everlasting. But like every bubble before it, it's ripe for disruption—this time, by decentralized technologies like Bitcoin.

Bitcoin isn't just a new type of money; it’s a radical departure from centralized financial control:

Decentralization vs. Centralization: Bitcoin puts financial power back into the hands of individuals.

Transparency vs. Secrecy: Blockchain technology makes financial transactions visible, verifiable, and resistant to manipulation.

Scarcity vs. Inflation: Unlike fiat currencies, Bitcoin has a capped supply, protecting against endless monetary inflation.

This next bubble is growing, quietly expanding in the shadows of mainstream finance, and it has the potential to burst the financial bubble we've lived in for generations.

What Happens When the Biggest Bubble Pops?

Imagine a world where financial control no longer rests in the hands of governments and banks, but with the people. When the fiat bubble bursts:

Financial Sovereignty: Individuals gain unprecedented financial autonomy and responsibility.

Power Redistribution: Central banks and financial institutions must adapt or risk obsolescence.

Societal Shifts: Our collective understanding of money, value, and community could be entirely redefined.

This transition won’t be without challenges. Initial instability and fierce resistance from established systems are inevitable. Yet, the opportunity for increased transparency, fairness, and efficiency makes this burst not just likely but necessary.

Preparing for the Pop

Every technological bubble eventually bursts. The question isn't if, but when. Understanding and recognizing this process enables us to position ourselves advantageously for the inevitable shift. Embracing the next technological wave means stepping beyond comfort zones and preparing to thrive in an evolved landscape.

Tick Tock Next Block.

Take Action Towards Financial Independence

If this article has sparked your interest in the transformative potential of Bitcoin, there’s so much more to explore! Dive deeper into the world of financial independence and revolutionize your understanding of money by following my blog and subscribing to my YouTube channel.

🌐 Blog: Unplugged Financial Blog Stay updated with insightful articles, detailed analyses, and practical advice on navigating the evolving financial landscape. Learn about the history of money, the flaws in our current financial systems, and how Bitcoin can offer a path to a more secure and independent financial future.

📺 YouTube Channel: Unplugged Financial Subscribe to our YouTube channel for engaging video content that breaks down complex financial topics into easy-to-understand segments. From in-depth discussions on monetary policies to the latest trends in cryptocurrency, our videos will equip you with the knowledge you need to make informed financial decisions.

👍 Like, subscribe, and hit the notification bell to stay updated with our latest content. Whether you’re a seasoned investor, a curious newcomer, or someone concerned about the future of your financial health, our community is here to support you on your journey to financial independence.

📚 Get the Book: The Day The Earth Stood Still 2.0 For those who want to take an even deeper dive, my book offers a transformative look at the financial revolution we’re living through. The Day The Earth Stood Still 2.0 explores the philosophy, history, and future of money, all while challenging the status quo and inspiring action toward true financial independence.

Support the Cause

If you enjoyed what you read and believe in the mission of spreading awareness about Bitcoin, I would greatly appreciate your support. Every little bit helps keep the content going and allows me to continue educating others about the future of finance.

Donate Bitcoin:

bc1qpn98s4gtlvy686jne0sr8ccvfaxz646kk2tl8lu38zz4dvyyvflqgddylk

7 notes · View notes

afi-writes · 4 months ago

Text

A Shell of a Father

Fandom: Final Fantasy XII Challenge: FFXII Anniversary Week 10th-16th 2025 by @ffxiievents Prompt: Occuria Rating: Teens and up Summary: Fframran goes to his father to tell him about the matter that has been in his mind for quite a while. Yet, Cidolfus is not very responsive to his son. Pre-game story from Balthier’s past. A/N: Honestly, I have not written FFXII fics in ages but it was kind of fun to try again. Also, I’m not a native English speaker. For this reason, I find FFXII fics extra challenging to write. Try to bear with my language and its imperfections.

“Father, may I have a moment?” I stepped into Father’s study where he had occupied himself ever since returning from his most recent expedition. He had barely visited home recently. It was like living with a ghost, not a man.

Perhaps his spirit still wandered in that place.

Giruvegan.

That had been the name, had it not? It was beyond me if he had reached it, though, for I could not find the location on any map I had seen so far. And to be frank, Archadia held probably the widest and most accurate collection of world maps.

A sigh vibrated through the air as I closed the door behind me.

“What is it, Fframran? Shouldn’t you be in the training hall with your peers instead of pestering your elders?” The voice of my father was strained with a hint of annoyance. The tone had grown familiar to me lately. As before, he did not lift his face from the notes he might have already stared at for hours.

“Is it now pestering for a son wishing to discuss with his father?” Treading forward, I proceeded toward the desk. My armor rattled with every movement. Such a concerto of iron. It sent chills down my spine. This is what I was supposed to listen to until the day I would fall for the empire with a sword in my hand. There was no other end to this… unless I would make it so.

“It is if you came here only to bicker with me once more.” Father let the pencil fall on the pile of papers from his hand and snatched a bluish glimmering stone in his hand. One I did not recognise. “You see, Son, I have great things to achieve here, and you must play your role as I play mine. Only this way, we can take the reigns of history back into the hands of man.”

“So you say. Yet this realm is unquestionable in the hands of a certain man.” I scoffed. “There is no doubt that the emperor holds all the power in Archadia.”

Father shook his head, glancing over his shoulder. “The young ones. They always fail to see the bigger picture, do they not?”

“Could you not do that?”

This, too, had become commonplace. Mutterings somewhere behind his back as if Father was discussing with someone else than me. After Giruvegan. Had anyone else not noticed?

“Always so perverse.” Father frowned but returned his gaze to me. Still, his glimpse over the shimmering stone did not go unnoticed by me. “Was this the matter you wished to share?”

“Unfortunate for you, it was not.” I pressed my hands on the edge of his desk, leaning in. We were almost at the same height when we were both standing, yet at the moment I could look down at him.

Father’s eyes were dim behind his glasses, now focusing on the stone again. He toyed with it as if he was alone in this room. Sometimes, I wondered –

“I’m close to a breakthrough,” Father cut off my trail of thoughts. “This… this is still unperfected, yet the potency is already stirring under its surface.” The blue hue of the crystal-like piece of rock mirrored in my father’s eyes when he kept talking, almost like the stone had a life of its own. “I only need a little more time to complete this research and then we shall move into the next phase.”

Icy fingers of disgust slid along my spine. “I wish not to hear more about this.”

“Well, Ffamran, I have work to complete. I, too, wish not to hear complaints and be disturbed recurrently.” He showed me the stone. “This here is the key to your future. Do the one thing I asked for you and you shall be rewarded in the end.”

Yet, I searched for no reward, being that I had come here to find my father. It would seem he was lost in his experiments. “Perhaps, I should not chase the reward if the price for it is this… whatever it is.”

“Manufacted –”

“I am not interested.” Every muscle in my body tensed, and I could not help but straighten up, barely managing the urge to slap my palms against the desk and shove aside everything on it.

“What is it…?” Father glanced back, not hearing me at all. “Hmm… I see… That is quite a revelation, Venat…” His head turned, his eyes meeting mine. “Fframran, are you not pleased with the position I have arranged for you?”

Now he realised that? Well… it was not that I was completely ungrateful… but… “I cannot say my heart is truly in this.” I swayed my hand over my chest. Even right this time, I could smell the metal and leather, the symbols of my prison with no bars.

“Your current status is implacable. Considered it as a sign of how much Lord Vayne appreciates the services of our family. You should not be profane to the gift you have received.” Father kept his gaze locked in mine. “Since you are not willing to pursue a career in science, this is the path that I have chosen for you. It will not be for discussion.”

“Does it not matter what my heart yearns for?”

Father stood up, leaning his hands on the desk. “Heart, you say? Foolish talk of juveniles. This is not an affair of the heart but the way to the future. It is irrelevant how you feel about it because you are too young to see what the best for yourself is. Trust me in this.”

“Once I knew a man who told me to chase after my dreams…” I took a step back.

“That was before he learned what the true power is… huh?” Straightening up, Father turned his back to me. “…serve the cause in a different way? Peculiar thought, that…”

I stared at Father as he lost himself again in his mind, muttering words that made no sense. Ruins. That’s what I saw. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa never returned from his expedition to Giruvegan, did he?

“I wish to quit.”

My words made Father spin, but his gaze remained focused inward. He was not there; I was standing before a mere shell of a man I once had cherished.

“Perhaps you should continue your work, for it holds such importance.” Turning around, I marched out and clanked with every step. Soon, I would not need to hear this repulsive sound anymore.

#final fantasy xii #balthier bunansa #cidolfus demen bunansa #ffxii fanfic #toxic parents #afi writes

8 notes · View notes

badgalsasuke · 3 months ago

Text

Kishimoto Interview for Web R25 (Dec. 4th, 2014)

SOURCE PART 1 SOURCE PART 2 SOURCE PART 3

Interview by Atsunori Takeda

Long interview BREAKTHROUGH POINT - The moment they broke through. What did they think when they hit a wall in life?

It took a long time to be recognized. ― Masashi Kishimoto on finishing "NARUTO."

Born in Okayama Prefecture in 1974. While studying at Kyushu Sangyo University's Faculty of Arts in 1996, he won an honorable mention in the 132nd February Hop☆Step Award for "Karakuri". He then wrote "Michikusa". Until "NARUTO" began serialisation in Weekly Shonen Jump in 1999, he thoroughly self-taught himself about manga and film production. He spent a period of time in obscurity. Three years later, it was made into an anime by TV Tokyo. The manga has sold in over 23 countries and exceeded 200 million copies. The anime has aired in over 60 countries. Nine theatrical versions have been made so far. www.naruto-movie.com The original manga ended with the 700th chapter in the issue of Jump released on November 10th. The 72nd volume of the book will be released on February 4th. An exhibition and a short intensive serialisation are also planned for next spring as part of the project to kick off a new era for NARUTO.

With his cinematic camera eye, overwhelming drawing ability and superb imagery, he has created a whole new world of ninjas, never seen before. At first glance, the protagonist appears to be a cheerful and innocent symbol of good versus evil, but in fact he faces life and society with a huge handicap, continues to desire recognition, and becomes a hero who saves the world. "NARUTO" is over. Of the many interviews with Masashi Kishimoto, I hope this will be one of the more interesting!

After the serialization ends, it's game time. Then the movie.

An interview with Kishimoto was published in the Asahi Shimbun morning edition on November 11th. The accompanying digital web version includes a longer version of the interview, as well as a timeline showing how the story unfolded and how society has changed over the 15 years of serialization. The interview was conducted about 10 hours after the final episode of "NARUTO" was completed. When asked how he felt about finishing the series, Kishimoto Masashi replied, "It hasn't really dawned on me yet." We visited him about three weeks after the interview.

―How do you feel now?

"It feels like time passes so quickly when there are no deadlines. I started serializing when I was 24, and for 15 full years, there was a deadline every week, a deadline that was glaring at me from behind no matter what I did, and I lived a life where I had to be there, but after just three weeks, I've gotten used to a life without it."

―So, you've been bombarded with more interviews than ever before. This makes us the sixth media outlet to be featured, both on TV and in magazines.

"Interviews are embarrassing. I don't know what to say or how to say it, or how to pose for the photos (laughs)."

―How was a week during serialization?

"We have a meeting for the next issue late at night on the day the manuscript is submitted. Then it takes three days to submit the storyboard, or sometimes four. After that, we draw it in three days, and then have another meeting late at night on the same day… Right now, I'm trying to do things that I couldn't do during serialization. I'm jealous of my assistants talking about games. I thought I'd do a lot of them when I finished, so I've already tried quite a lot… but I'm completely behind the times (laughs). Games have evolved too much. I thought I'd get hooked, but I just can't keep up. Other than that, I guess I just watch movies."

―And the Naruto movie (The Last)

"The animation company Pierrot brought me a logline (a summary) for it." That was a part I would never have drawn myself, but when I actually read it, I thought, "I want to see this," so I said, "Let's do it."

―A love story between Naruto and Hinata. Was there a possibility that you would have said "Let's give up"?

"I've always said that if we don't have a good script, we should stop making movies out of routine. There's no point in making something out of inertia. But it turned out well. After that, I talked with the screenwriter Maruo Kyōzuka, and we exchanged opinions with various people to refine the script further. Here, this character will move like this. I joined the script around the second draft, and I might have said too much, but Kyōzuka was very passionate and put up with my selfishness. I think we were able to make something good thanks to him."

The story of 700 chapters

―Do you generally like working alone?

"Yes. When I was thinking up storyboards, I'd just close the curtains here and mulled it over by myself."

―Then, after that, an assistant comes in and actually draws the picture. How many people were involved in total?

"There are always six of us. We bring in a seventh person just before the final deadline."

―Isn't it a hassle to give direction to your assistants?

I got along well with them. I didn't lose many assistants. Some of them had been with me for 15 years. I wanted them to become independent and make their debut. You have to have that much ambition. Some of my assistants seemed to have the impression that NARUTO was something that would continue forever. So from about four years ago, I told them, 'We're getting ready to end it soon, so you should get on with your own productions.'"

―Did you realize from the story flow that it was about to end?

"It was right in the middle of the Pain arc, and then there was the war, and then I thought it would end when I got to the end with Sasuke and Naruto. I couldn't read through how long each series would take, but I could see what else I had to do to finish it."

―When did you start planning the larger chunks of the story?

"It was when I finished the first part of the story about Naruto as a child. After that, Naruto and the others grow up a bit, and I thought up all the flow from then on at that time. After the first part was finished, I was given a few weeks off… although I was still made to draw the complete story (laughs)."

―After five and a half years since the series began, and 27 volumes, you were initially told to continue for five years, right? And that was exactly when you achieved that.

"If it loses popularity, Jump will cancel it straight away, but if it's popular it will continue. All I had to do was write something good and make it interesting for the readers. I had the big picture in mind, but I worked desperately every week to achieve that."

―After that, Kishimoto-sensei spent the entirety of his 30s working on Naruto. While he was obviously desperate to entertain the readers, I couldn't help but read into him thinking that he must have had these thoughts in mind…

"Yes."

―For example, Kakashi says to Kakuzu, "From our perspective, you're just a out-of-sync old man. So you're here, dying, crawling around, while the new generation overtakes you, one after the other" (Vol. 38). Shikamaru says something similar in Vol. 44, but when it comes to the theory of generational change, is Kishimoto-sensei part of the new or old generation?…

"I already had the image of having been doing this for a long time, so I didn't have the mindset of shouldering it myself. Rather, I wanted to support my assistants... I'm not in a position to teach, but as a senior, I always hoped they would spread their wings quickly. I gave various pieces of advice, and while drawing the manuscript, I talked to each of them as carefully as possible and shared ideas. That part was quite similar to Kakashi's words."

―I'll leave it to the Asahi Shimbun to interpret Pain's idea of peace, but I think his words "What is war?" express a sort of anger toward other lukewarm works.

"What do you mean by lukewarm?"

―It's as if the villain and the storyline exist only for the protagonist. It's as if everything around him is conveniently arranged just to encourage his growth…

"I see."

―Pain says, "Especially for your generation who have never experienced war, it can't be helped. You try to find meaning in death, but all you have is pain and hatred that you don't know where to direct it. Garbage deaths, eternal hatred, unhealed pain - that's what war is" (Volume 49). He says that reality is not convenient for the protagonist.

"Actually, I think that's fine. For example, even if it's an easy-to-understand morality-versus-evil story, if the setting is a shonen magazine and the readers are children who have not yet experienced many things. It takes skill to convey the subject matter in an easy-to-understand way and make it interesting, without making it difficult, and I respect that kind of work. But the more difficult it is to write such a work, the easier it is to create a drama and the world feels wider. There were a lot of morality-versus-evil works in Jump, so with "NARUTO" I also aimed to see how I could create a work that wasn't like that. So, in a way, it's a niche industry in Jump (laughs)."

―You've been drawing "NARUTO" for a long time. Have you ever felt a gap between the "Masashi Kishimoto" who continues to draw manga here over the past 15 years and the "Masashi Kishimoto-sensei" who has sold 200 million copies worldwide and has risen in status?

"I don't think I've changed since before I started drawing "NARUTO". Maybe the reactions of those around me have changed. In the first place, isn't "drawing manga" something that isn't really acknowledged in society? For example, even in college, when I said that, no one would say, "Wow, that's amazing!" (laughs). But when I appeared at an event called "Jump Festa", the people there welcomed me with open arms. They called me by my first name. "Masashi!" (laughs). Not just girls, but guys who looked like old men too (laughs). But I realized how happy it is to be acknowledged by someone. That's linked to the theme of "NARUTO" too."

―You said that you place great expectations on your protagonist.

"It really was difficult to get recognition (laughs). Manga itself wasn't accepted by society, and even when I drew manga, editors wouldn't say it was interesting… Well, it wasn't interesting at all, so it can't be helped (laughs)."

―Of course, you draw it thinking it's interesting, right?

"Of course (laughs). When I was a newbie, I drew uninteresting manga thinking it was interesting, and that was probably my biggest mistake as a manga artist. It was a manga for elementary school kids, drawn for a shonen magazine, and the main character is an elementary school kid who finds a wallet on the street. He spends all the money in it. I drew a manga called 'Michikusa' (Side Trip). I won an award in Jump, so my editor asked me to draw my next work, and that's what I drew (laughs). How out of touch with the world I am. There are readers, and what do they want? That's where my editor's work started. It was about 3-4 years before 'NARUTO' started… looking back, it was a long road trip (laughs). It took a long time for me to be recognized after that."

#kishimoto interview #naruto archive #This was so hard to find but ultimately I did it!#It's not that the page of Kishimoto's interview was deleted #the entire website that carried these interviews no longer exists

6 notes · View notes

dariaslookalike · 1 year ago

Text

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 8: Bad Lungs and Choking

Summary:

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 9

-----------------------

You wake up with a harsh gasp, but the pain is barely present and your fever is gone. The sleep in your eyes makes your vision blurry and you rub at it lazily. You’re still half asleep and if you relax yourself just a bit more, you’ll slip back into your dreams.

Usually, your dreams were an awkward combination of things: going to your grandparents house in your swimmers or being back at highschool and forgetting algebraic factorisation. Of course, in the past few months many had been about House. He had been looming over you in your waking hours, so it made sense he did it while you slept too. But really, what kind of fucking dream did you just wake from? House, in your house?

You walk with bleary eyes to your bathroom. You brush your teeth for the first time in days, and scrub your tongue, and repeat the process until all you can taste is toothpaste. You stare at the centre of your tiles. It all seemed so vivid in your fever. Standing there with House. Undressing. Your eyes trail over to your bathtub and you send a prayer out, thanking whatever higher being, that biting House was a dream. You make your way back to bed, but decide you don’t want to fall back into that dream. House was still a prick. No way in hell would you have gone ten feet near him after the charity ball, even with a fever, and you want to scold your brain for thinking something so ludacris. Instead, you stretch out in the warmth of your bed, sunning yourself in the light drifting through your windows. You roll over, snuggling your face back into your pillow but you stop with a jolt.

Fresh sheets.

Your heart makes itself known by pounding against your ribcage, and you sit up as silently as you can. You study your room with new eyes. Your top draw is open. Your desk chair is pulled back. Even the final box that you have been promising yourself to unpack is tipped over, its contents spilling out against the floor. Suddenly your throat feels tight and you drag your hands down your cheek. Then you look down at your pyjamas, and flashes of your ‘dream’ rush back to you. Vomiting. Naked. Watched.

Fuck.

You tip your legs over the side of your bed and pad silently out of your room. You’re still weak, and you stop every few steps to lean against a wall with a heaving breath. Like a fugitive being tailed, you peek your head around each corner and slowly edge out.

It’s only when your smoke alarm goes off do your muscles grant you enough power to race towards your kitchen. You expect a great, grand fire, but you stop suddenly and stare at what you’re met with. House is standing atop one of your ikea chairs in the middle of your kitchen, with a screw driver jammed to your smoke alarm.

“What are you doing?” Any thought of the previous night is pushed aside for now, as the high pitched ringing continues to sound out.

He huffs and says something that is lost in the sound, but at your quizzical look he repeats himself. “I wanted to test if it worked.”

“Why?! And can you shut it up?”

Your hands fling to your ears but House simply lowers the screwdriver and the screeching stops. House stares up at it as if he wants to jam the screwdriver back to one of the crevices, so you stride forward and yank out of his hand. He wobbles atop the chair and scoffs. “That’s the thank you I get for saving your life?”

He gingerly lowers himself, but you don’t reach to help him down. You take a step back and lean against one of your kitchen counters. “I would hardly call last night saving my life. I was already over the worst of my sickne-”

House raises a hand to silence you. “I wasn’t talking about last night yet, vomit-comet.” Your eyes bulge, but what he says next has your jaw dropping. “Your smoke detector is clearly faulty, because it didn’t detect the smoke from the fire. Who knows when you would have been caught in an inferno?”

“What fire?”

He gestures over his shoulder to your toaster, which you suddenly realise has fading smoke the top. “You have a lot of CDs for me to pick through. Very distracting when I’m trying to make toast.” You deflate against your counter and pinch the bridge of your nose. When you look back up, you see House staring intently at you. Studying you.

You’re the first to break in your weird staring competition, and your eyes trail off to the side where you see House’s cane propped up against a cupboard. You exhale. “Thank you, I guess for last night. And for destroying my broken smoke alarm. And my toaster.”

House doesn’t take the hint, and across the small space of your kitchen he pushes himself up to sit on the top of a counter. Your eyes catch on the flex of his forearms and you curse yourself when he smirks at you. “All in a day’s work for the world’s greatest doctor.”

You stand in awkward silence for a moment before you jut your head at him. The movement makes you dizzy, but you steady yourself against the counter. House’s brows pinch together before he exclaims, “Oh! That wasn’t you thanking me, that was you trying to get to me to leave. I’m like a mould, sweetheart. I’ll grow on you.” He tilts his head. “Or in you, I suppose.”

“What? What are you talking abou…” Your words slur off into a trail and you raise your hands in front of your face. They’re shaking. “I thought- Was better. Whass happing?” Your tongue is heavy in your mouth.

House clicks his tongue and slaps his hands against his thighs. “Well that’s the exciting part! I thought you were getting better too!”

Your head starts to loll forward and you lose sight of him as he keeps speaking. “But that’s because I thought you had something boring. A flu. A cold. Maaaaaaaybe pneumonia. But then I saw your bathroom. Let me guess, the mould was there when you moved in? That’s what made this shithole so cheap right?”

You’re using all your willpower to stay standing but then your knees buckle and you lower yourself to the ground as gently as you can. Still, you thud to the floor. House tuts from somewhere above you, and you hear him push off the counter. “It was everywhere though. Even on the back of some of your canvases. I thought I paid you well enough that you could at least afford a sponge and some bleach. Clearly not.”

From the floor, you manage to raise your head. You can only look at his ratty sneakers as he limps closer. “Walking home in the snow should have killed you, with what’s being festering in you by now. But I guess I-” He clears his throat, “you got lucky.”

Your vision blurs and you hear House groan, as he reaches down and drags your limp body upwards. “You can’t stay here anymore though. You’ll be a walking fungi by noon.”

—----------------

You expect to wake in the hospital. Most people do when they collapse.

Instead you wake in a dark room under heavy blankets. You lay there for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the lack of light. You turn your head to your right, taking in the empty armchair and small cabinet beside you. There’s a phone handset, a clock and a lamp that is no help in the dark. It’s a weird jolt of terror that you get when your eyes trail down to the end of the bed, and only after seconds of staring into the darkness do they make out the form of House, perched on the end. You scramble up as fast as you can, tucking your knees close to you.

House rolls his eyes. “This isn’t my sex dungeon.”

“Oh,” you scowl, “Do you prefer the term basement? Or oubliette? Where am I?”

House squints his eyes and you can tell he’s debating whether or not to tell you. You kick out deftly under the covers and land a softened blow against his arm. He swats at your foot and you retreat. House clicks his tongue. “Mine.”

You laugh. “No, no, no. Not yours. Where are we actually? Where did you kidnap me to?”

House pins you with a glare. “It’s not kidnapping if its done for a perfectly medical reason and you can’t really call yourself a kid anymore, can you?”

“That’s not what that mea-”

He cuts you off and effectively silences your words with his own. “Mine. We are at my apartment.”

At his words, your eyes trail away, instead surveying the room with a new hunger. The bookcase is filled to the brim with novels and texts, and there’s a cluttered desk opposite you. You’re trying to digest that you’re probably in House’s room. House’s bed.

You run your hands down your face and groan. “What the fuck is happening, House?”

He huffs and looks away from you, head tilted back to stare at his ceiling. “You literally have mould growing in your lungs. But, a handy dandy course of pills and you’ll be fine. I already gave you the first two doses while you were out. You’ll be good for a few hours and have to keep taking some if, you know, you don’t want to breathe like a deformed pug.”

“No, no, I don’t give a shit about any of that. Sure, hypersensitivity pneumonitis or aspergillosis, whatever. But what the fuck is happening right now?” You lower your hands and glare at him. “Why did you bring me here? I pass out and your first reaction is to drag me to your apartment?”

And really, how? You get an image of him dragging your down the stairs, thumping the whole way, and shoving you into the boot of his trunk. House doesn’t sound quite as cocky or self-assured as he usually does when he speaks. “Your place is basically a cesspool of fungi. You won't be able to get better there.”

“So why am I not at the hospital?”

There’s a heavy beat of weighted silence, and he still doesn’t look at you. “Because I wouldn’t be able to take care of you there.”

You deflate almost against his pillows, like a tire with a slow leak. “Oh.”

“Yep.” He says, popping the p.

“House. I can’t actually stay here, with you, after…everything.” ‘Everything’. What an odd way to sum up the feelings in your chest, the screaming matches between you two, and all that lay in between.

He sucks in air and it hisses through his teeth. “You kinda have to. According to the state of New Jersey, reported cases of severe aspergillus mould have to go through months long strenuous, and I mean rip-up-the-carpets-just-to-rip-up-the-floorboards-just-to-clean-the-foundation kind of strenuous process for a place to be legally habitable.”

You clench your jaw. “But that’s only reported cases, right?”

House nods inconspicuously. “Right.”

“Mm,” You nod along, “And no one reported anything, right House?” Silence. “Right, House?”

His blue eyes flick to yours. “I mean…. I think I might have accidentally sent a text to someone. Or a phone call to an office. Or a 32-page email with photographic evidence to the New Jersey state health department.”

You groan, and throw yourself at him. You grab onto his shoulders and with surprising strength, or perhaps a lack of resistance, push him down against his own bed. You swing yourself over him, straddling him deftly, and you squeeze your hands lightly against his throat. “I can not fucking believe you!”

House’s hands reach up and steady themselves against your hips. “Glad to hear it, Newbie. I was always told I was mythical.”

You apply pressure against his throat, and lean down, sneering. “You’re not mythical, you’re goddamn infuriating.”

You expect him to spit something back at you or to swat your hands away easily, but instead he lets out a near-inaudible groan. He shifts against you, and his hands tighten on your hips and you suddenly realise the very compromising and very close position the two of you were in. He rocks against you now, with more force, and you feel him drag against you between your legs. You suck in a harsh breath, and let your hips roll as he grinds you down against him.

He says your name quietly, a whisper echoing between the two of you. You freeze, and stare at him, his own pupils blown wide and looking back at you. He’s breathing deeply underneath you, and you’re nearly certain that you’ll both stay like this forever, too scared to stop and too scared to continue. But then House knocks you onto your back and now it's you who falls back against the mattress, with the wind knocked out of you. You gasp, and try to push against him, clawing like a feral cat to sit up, but he shifts his weight against his good leg and manages to manoeuvre himself quickly into the position you were in.

He laughs at how easily you’re defeated, and quickly places his hands against your neck. While both your hands were barely wrapped around his throat, House’s palm presses against your windpipe and his fingers curl around your neck with ease.

He applies the same, soft and mocking pressure you did. You both know you could get out of it if you tried, and that he would let you; a deep flush settles on your cheeks when you make no move to do so. He leans closer, his breath fanning against your ear. “You like that, Newbie? Which one’s better, choking me or getting choked by me?”

When you don’t answer, House tilts his head, leaning to nip against the corner of your mouth. He speaks your last name into your skin. “I asked you a question.”

You laugh, soft and breathy. “You were the one practically humping me, I didn’t think you had it in you to interrogate me too.”

He gnashes at the corner of your mouth now, and you desperately want him to move a little bit to the right, to connect your lips. Instead, you try to focus on not whimpering in front of him; only one of you should be pathetic in this situation, and it wasn’t you.

“Interrogation? That must be why I found those fluffy little handcuffs at your apartment.” House tilts his head, and you hold your breath, waiting for him to land against your lips. Instead, he drags his head down, and you feel him breathe against your neck. Your hands land against his shoulders, and you briefly think of them as traitorous. They could be pushing him away right now, or slapping him, or scratching his eyes out. Instead, they dig into the fabric of his shirt, and grip it as if your life depends on it.

House’s mouth is oddly soft against your neck. You don’t know why you were expecting it to feel rougher, but he’s slow and meticulous against your skin. He sucks at a spot, and even though you clamp your mouth down, he still hears the embarrassingly loud noise you make. You feel him smile against you, and you dig your nails into his shoulders in response.

He only has to press down with his palm against your throat to remind you who’s in power, and you can’t close your mouth in time to stop the groan spilling out. House looks up at you, blue eyes piercing through you with electricity. “Rethinking that question, sweetheart?”

You don’t like the thing that curls in you at his words- sweetheart. “Nup.”

He leans down, sucking against your throat and squeezing it with the other hand at the same time. He still stares up at you, and this time when you moan, you feel him rut against you. He releases your skin, biting at it only to soothe it with his tongue. “You sure? Cause, I can stop. I’m sure I could find something better to do; chase some poor undergrads around at the hospital or annoy Cuddy. If you don’t like it-”

His hand begins to loosen at your neck and your head is reeling, and you can’t believe you’re even answering, but the words tumble out in a blubbering mess. “Choked by you. Mmhm.”

He chuckles. “Slut.”

You laugh, staring down your nose at him. “So says the manwhore.”

He smiles but still squeezes against your neck, forcing you to exhale harshly. He props himself up, looking down at you. You can’t imagine the mess you are right now. You’re more than ecstatic that you’ve showered and scrubbed your teeth after being sick for so long, but you know your hair is sprawled beneath you and you’re losing miserably against the flush spreading across your face.

House’s eyes are…tender, almost, as he looks down at you, where his hand connects the two of you. It strikes you as out of place, that look. It was too tender, too love-like, to be seen in this dark bedroom where he was still choking you. You wondered what your own eyes were revealing, blown wide and gazing up at him.

But then he smirks and that look is lost, replaced by something darker. “This is just sex, right?”

You blink, shocked by his question. “Um, I-”

A knock sounds out, and you stop, head craning to look over House and towards his door. He doesn’t turn, still staring down at you and seemingly content to leave the unknown guest alone. But then another knock rings out, and another, and another, each with more force than the last.

When your eyes flick back to House’s you nod towards the doorway. “You should probably go check that. Might be one of your hookers.”

He doesn’t miss the snark in your tone, eyebrows furrowing, but before he responds, you scramble out from beneath him and drag yourself away. He stares at you where you sit, and you gulp lightly, trying not to betray any emotions across your face. But when another knock thuds somewhere from his apartment, House breaks eye contact with you and slips out of the bedroom door.

You sit on his bed, and try to slow your breathing. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Was this happening? After all your stupid wet dreams and stupid pining, was this happening? You feel your core throb in confirmation, and you flop against the bed, squeezing your legs tightly.

You stare up at the ceiling and your thoughts are projected against it. You were about to fuck House. And, if you’re honest with yourself, you think you still will. When he pops back into the room, tear off his clothes, ravage him and destroy him. But ‘This is just sex, right?’

Right?

You breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Right.

It’s not like that question pissed you off. It’s not like he was bringing up everything you two had fought over, about you possibly feeling something for him and him hating you for it, and waving it in your face like a pathetic schoolgirl who couldn’t control her heart. It’s not like he admitted he felt nothing for you but just wanted a quick fuck.

You could do this. Push aside everything that lay inside your bleeding heart and push aside all your fights and all you hatred, and finally get laid again.

You nod in determination. You were going to fuck House, and you were going to make sure it was everything you wanted, and you were not going to let any miniscule emotions get in the way of it.

Right.

Now, with your own pep-talk done and dusted, you register the voices ringing out in the hallway. Loud. Angry. Deep

You push yourself off the bed, grateful for whatever medication was coursing through you right now. You tiptoe to the doorway, casting a look out into the hallway. To your left is a bathroom, bare of anything but the real essentials. You peer the other way, and past a desk and bookshelf, you see House standing at the door.

You toe forward, trying to make sure he doesn’t see you spying on him. You hear House speak, back to the monotone, dry voice of his. “First Wilson and now you. I am helping her, not stringing her up in my attic for occult rituals.”

You miss the first part of the deep reply, but manage to catch the second. “She hates you, Mr Home. She’s coming with me, now.”

Your heartbeat picks up and House laughs, “Oh, she hates me so much that she was practically riding me back there-”

There’s the deft thud of knuckles on skin, and House stumbles to the side. Your stomach twists, and you push yourself forward, rushing forward on suddenly shaky legs. “House!”

House’s head whips to you, and you see the dark mark already appearing on his cheek from where he was punched. But then you spy the source of the deep voice, and stop in your tracks.

“Pops. What are you doing here?”

The burly man rushes forwards in spite of House’s exclamation, and wraps you in a tight hug. Your face is smothered in his chest, and you hear him above you. “Are you alright?! I haven’t seen you since that night and then I see him,” he spits, “taking you away! We go now, you’ll be safe.”

Finally, Pop’s puts you back to the floor, and you heave in the air that rushes forward. House grunts from where he stands. “You really are a bumbling idiot, aren’t you.”

Pop’s whirls, and you see fury on his face. You’re struggling to draw in breath. “I should hit you again, you dogish-”

House laughs. “Really? And then who’s going to help her when she collapses?” He gestures to you, and Pop whips his head back. “You and that awful moustache?

Your hands are at your chest, and you’re rattling in breaths. Pops face is filled with worry. “Kid, are you okay? What’s going on? What’s happening?”

House rolls his eyes. “She’s sick. That’s why she’s here, and why if you gave me three seconds, I would have told you not to pick her up and squeeze her like a stress toy.”

You wheeze out soft words, “He’s right. He’s getting me medication and getting me better,” You draw in more air, “But I’m still bad, Pops.”

Pops looks at you with concern. “You need to stay here? With him?”

You nod, abandoning words and focusing on drawing in breaths. Pops clenches his jaw. “Okay.” You can see the millions of thoughts that he wants to speak, but he simply says it again. “Okay.”

Pops steps forward, still wary of breaking you it seems, but places a gentle kiss to your forehead. He peers down at you. “You need me, or Ella, we’re there. No matter what.” He throws a look at House as if to say no matter who, too.

You smile weakly, and Pops retreats from the apartment with a fleeting glance towards you. House quickly steps forward, and locks the door.

You speak softly, with evening breathes. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes flick to the mark on House’s face, and he turns the other way. “You should go to bed. You’re gonna need the rest, especially after that.”

You blink. Just like that, you’re dismissed. "Are you...serious? After all that, I'm sent to bed like a bad kid?"

House rolls his eyes. "Don't make this into some big deal."

You laugh, and it sends you into a coughing fit. "Big deal? We're about to have sex and you get decked, and don't think it's a big deal?"

House's gaze flicks to yours and he sneers. "Exactly. No big deal. Because you hate me and there's no need to get worked up over someone that you 'couldn't stand being near'."

"Is that what Pops said?"

His jaw clenches. "You're not even denying it, are you?"

Your eyebrows cinch in. "You can't act surprised. You're the one who picks fights with me at work or at the ball! You're the one who hates me and hated that I even thought about loving you!"

Silence.

House stares at you, but you get the sense that he's looking through you, far away. "Take two of the tablets beside the bed before you go to sleep."

And with that, he grabs his cane and coat from beside the door and leaves.

#greg house x f!reader #gregory house smut #gregory house fic #gregory house x reader #gregory house #house md fanfiction #house md x reader #house md

192 notes · View notes