#but i need people to think about it. think about it girl....

[kingkaisen]

DOCTOR, DOCTOR!

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Being a surgeon is hard enough, but dealing with attractive men who can’t seem to get enough of their pretty doctor? Well . . .

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || MINORS DNI — multi! jjk x surgeon! reader (separate) ft. sukuna, choso, gojo, nanami, toji, & geto, very tiny amounts of smut, mainly just suggestive, fluff, some angst, modern au, mentions of injuries and blood.

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I don’t know much about the medical field, so there will be some inaccuracies!

⚕️ — 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

“There is no reason whatsoever as to why my surgical patients have to suffer due to your incompetence. They’re post-op. Post-op. These people have been freshly cut open, and they need enough medicine to manage their pain.” You strode down the brightly-lid hospital hallway. The two nurses at the receiving end of your anger struggled to keep up with your quick pace. “After I visit with Mr. Sukuna, I’ll be stopping by Mrs. Mura’s room, and that poor woman better not be in tears again from a lack of quality care when I get there.”

“Y-Yes, doctor.” The nurses nodded. They scurried off as you stopped outside an oak-colored wooden door.

You knocked twice before opening it, entering Sukuna’s hospital room with a fake smile to disguise your anger.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sukuna.” Approaching the man propped up in his bed, you folded your arms across your chest, and he smirked up at you.

Briefly, you turned to face the slumped-over inmate guard dozing off in a recliner chair in the corner of the room.

“Sir? Would you mind stepping out for a moment?”

The guard snapped awake at the sound of your voice, nodded, and yawned, rising to his feet as he dragged himself out of Sukuna’s hospital room. After all, the prisoner was chained to his hospital bed, so it would be perfectly fine for him to waste some spare change visiting a few vending machines for a couple of snacks, right?

“How are you feeling?” You asked Sukuna once you both found yourselves alone.

“Drop the act,” Sukuna paused. He grabbed his white remote and muted the television displaying old reruns of boring game shows. “Tell me what’s got you upset.”

“Something that is much too inappropriate for me to discuss with a patient.” You let your face fall into a frown.

“Even your favorite one?”

“My favorite?” You raised your eyebrows, smiling softly as you pressed a button on the side rails of Sukuna’s bed, lowering him just a bit. “You and your ego.”

“I’m just sayin’, if you’ve got a problem with someone, y’know I’ll take care of it for you.”

You leaned over Sukuna, shining your pen light into one of his eyes. “See? Comments like that are exactly why your left wrist is handcuffed to your bed.”

“Relax, I’m just messin’ around,” he gave you a sly smile.

You pulled away from him briefly. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Sukuna’s eyes slowly trailed over your body, taking in the sight of you from head to toe. “Just say the word, pretty girl.”

“First of all,” you paused, your voice stern, though you could hardly fight off the strong urge to smile. “Drop the nicknames already. Second of all, how are you supposed to take care of my problems while you’re cuffed, under constant supervision, and healing from an arm fracture? A complicated and complex one at that. I was operating on you for quite some time. I’m guessing your violent behavior led to it.”

Hunger lingered in Sukuna’s gaze. He had no appetite for the bland, half-eaten hospital food getting old and stale on a discarded tray on the other side of his bed.

No.

He was starving for the gorgeous surgeon in front of him right now. And after having all the time in the world to lie around and think, think, think, it dawned on him that, perhaps, his growing affection wasn’t one-sided.

“A complicated surgery your excuse for not discharging me already? I think someone likes having me around.” The tip of Sukuna’s tongue darted out briefly as he licked his bottom lip. You turned your head away from his piercing stare, suddenly overcome with shyness.

“Don’t get all embarrassed now,” Sukuna teased.

It was rather odd. Lying to patients — or, as you preferred to think of it, temporarily withholding the truth for their own benefit — was a skill all doctors had to learn. By now, you had considered yourself a master at doing so.

Until it came to Ryomen Sukuna.

Oh, he could see right through you . . . could destroy your detached, professional, tough attitude that one needs to have to survive the medical field and reduce you into nothing more than a shy girl with a crush. A crush on her own damn patient.

“You know what? After I finish examining you, I’m gonna work on getting you discharged first thing tomorrow,” you said, leaning over him yet again. Your penlight shined into his other eye.

Sukuna’s gentle breath patted against your face as he mumbled, “constantly examining my eyes even though my arm was the problem. You’re looking for any reason to get close to me, doc.”

The bright light seized with the click of your thumb. Though your eye exam was done, you hadn’t yet pulled away from him.

“I’m just doing my job. You’re making it more complicated than it needs to be, which is why I can’t support the decision to discharge you just yet,” you said.

“You think I believe that? Let me show you how well my arm’s healing up.” Sukuna’s injured arm was in a cast, but he wouldn’t let that hold him back. One second, you were leaning over Sukuna, and the next, he was grabbing your leg and pulling you over his lap, making you straddle him.

“I can toss you around just fine. But I’ll let you keep up with your little act,” Sukuna gripped the collar of your white coat. “After my eyes, you always examine my mouth, right? Tell me what you think, doc.”

With the hunger of a starving man, he connected your lips. A little gasp of surprise escaped from you. Sukuna was quick to use that opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth and swirling it around yours. Your breath was minty — he could taste it. If he wasn’t currently swallowing your soft moans while moving his mouth against yours, he would have teased you over freshening your breath before coming to visit him.

You broke the kiss a while later due to a lack of air. Damn your lungs. They felt as if they were on fire by the time Sukuna leaned back, a sly smirk on his face.

“Examination go well?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“It’s . . . um, just as I thought.” You stammered, pausing to breathe. “You’re displaying certain symptoms that have me concerned. We might need to keep you here for an extra day or two.”

Sukuna smirked yet again. Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “If you wanna keep me here, you better take those scrubs off right now.”

“But we could get caught-”

“Just shut up and come sit on my face.”

⚕️ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊��𝐌𝐎

On what was a late Wednesday afternoon, you tossed your empty cup of coffee into a nearby garbage can. The next surgery on your chaotic schedule was meant to be a simple procedure done on a young man’s knee, and according to his pre-op lab work, his vitals were just fine. Ideal blood pressure. Quite healthy. No behavioral issues.

So far, so good . . .

Until you walked into his hospital room.

It is rather expected for surgeons to introduce themselves to their patients before an operation, which is why you entered Choso’s dark room to begin with and flipped on the lights.

But, when the unfamiliar man’s dark brown eyes landed on you, they widened. His cheeks and ears darkened to a pinkish shade of red, and he began to cough. The ice water he was sipping on nearly spewed from between his lips.

You rushed over worriedly, yet calmly.

“Keep coughing, don’t hold the water in or you’ll continue to choke.” With one hand, you grabbed the plastic cup on his overbed table, holding it to his mouth. With the other, you eased him forward, ready to give his back a couple of blows if necessary, but rubbing it soothingly in the meantime.

Eventually, his light choking session came to an end after he spat the water out, and no drastic measures were needed.

However, his skin hadn’t returned to its previous pale shade. His cheeks and ears were much too red for your liking.

After a brief introduction and overview of the operation — all talking on your part, not a word from him — you gave him a serious glance.

“Would it be alright for me to check your vitals myself? I know your nurse already did so, but you still seem a little flushed. I’m sure it’s from the little choking mishap, but I would still like to double-check.”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze and staring only at the white blanket draped over him. You removed the stethoscope from around your neck.

A quiet or shy patient was nothing usual. Beyond that, he was probably embarrassed about what happened, along with the general anxiety that builds up within most people at the idea of having surgery.

Therefore, you spoke as softly as you could, pressing the cool, circular end of the stethoscope against his chest.

“Take a deep breath for me,” you said.

You checked a few different areas before pulling away from him, hanging your stethoscope underneath the collar of your white coat.

“You have a rapid heartbeat. Is this a regular occurrence?”

“No.”

His heart rate should have calmed down by now had it been related to the water incident, you thought.

“Well, I’d like to check it again in a couple of minutes. We might have to consider scheduling you for an ECG if nothing changes. Have you experienced any palpitations, dizziness, or shortness of breath?”

Choso looked off to the side at nothing in particular.

“Only . . . right now,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I see,” you smiled gently, though he couldn’t see it. You were certain he’d stare directly into the sun just to avoid looking you in the eye. “Nervous around doctors, I understand.”

“I’m not usually nervous around doctors,” Choso fiddled with his folded fingers resting in his lap. He scratched one thumb with the other, breathing unsteadily.

You hid your confusion and concern behind an expressionless face, one as blank as a new canvas.

Tightening the blood pressure cuff around his muscular arm was your next move, one made in a thick awkward silence. The fact that he was in seemingly great shape only worsened your worry.

After all, those who exercised regularly were known to have a resting heart rate lower than the average person. Not higher.

You weren’t a fool.

From the very moment you took your first pre-med undergraduate course, you were taught time and time again that even those who took exceptional care of themselves could become victims of several illnesses. You’ve witnessed it yourself. Seen or performed tumor removals, cracked open chests, or sliced into the stomachs of countless amount of people who seemed healthy. Or tried their hardest to be that way.

Was that the case now? Was this seemingly healthy guy unknowingly suffering from some sort of heart condition?

Those were the questions running through your mind when the screen monitoring his blood pressure blinked red. The cuff released a puff of air as it stopped squeezing his bicep.

“Elevated blood pressure,” you said.

Removing the cuff, you darted your eyes down to his face.

“You shouldn’t be concerned. I’m fine,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t need any tests. I’m just nervous. Not because of the surgery or because you’re a doctor, but you’re . . . pretty.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Reaching down, you gave his fidgeting hand a reassuring squeeze.

Being that his vitals appeared normal when being checked by someone else, then perhaps, he was telling the truth.

“Thank you,” you pulled your hand away. “Just to be safe and test your theory, I’ll have you sit here for a few minutes, and I’ll send a nurse back in to recheck everything one last time. If it all looks good, no ECG. How does that sound?”

For the first time since your arrival, Choso’s chocolate brown eyes met yours.

“That won’t work,” he mumbled. “Even if you bring in someone who isn’t you, I will still be thinking of you in a few minutes, so my heart rate and blood pressure will still be high. I’m sorry.”

⚕️ — 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Seeing Satoru Gojo among your scheduled appointments for the day was a certainty, just as the sun would rise in the morning and the moon would shine at night.

His operation was quite a while ago. It was a smooth surgery, and yet, here he was, sitting in the waiting room of the tall, fancy building with your name on the outside — you had established your very own private practice.

Despite being a surgeon on the younger side, you had accomplished what most surgeons wouldn’t dare to dream of accomplishing until their late 40s, if they could accomplish your level of success at all.

You had a wall full of framed degrees. Certificates. Awards. And it certainly wasn’t easy, from the accelerated programs and sleepless nights to being disrespected by your older male colleagues. You couldn’t count the number of times someone had mistook you for a nurse, even as you wore your white coat. There were even patients who refused your care in preference for your less-accomplished, less-skilled, male fellow doctors.

Despite the trials and tribulations, your hard work paid off, thank goodness.

That was why you groaned with annoyance upon discovering that Satoru Gojo was among your list of patients, and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

Because, damn it all, you wouldn’t ruin your remarkable career and reputation by falling for a patient . . . especially because he refused to stop being your patient.

— ⚕️—

“You again?” You stepped into the examination room, eyeing the white-haired man.

“Did you miss me?” Satoru grinned.

“You’re never gone long enough for me to miss you,” shutting the door behind you, trying your hardest to conceal your emotions, you asked, “What seems to be the problem now, Mr. Gojo?”

“Ya know,” Satoru paused. He slumped back in his seat. “I never understood why I have to tell the nurse all of my issues just to have to repeat it all again when you come in.”

“Considering how much you enjoy talking, I didn’t think you’d have a problem with that.”

“I’d rather just talk to you.” His goofy smile widened. “Anyway, I’ve been dealing with some stomach pain, and my incisions feel all sore.”

“You mean the incisions that healed up very nicely several months ago?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “And regarding your stomach pain . . . you booked an appointment with me instead of the gastroenterologist I referred you to because?”

“‘Cause you were the one who performed my surgery, unless I’m crazy and remembering stuff wrong.”

Satoru rose from his seat, heading for the examination table without you having to tell him. He knew every move you were going to make. After all — after many pointless visits because, apparently, these appointments were the closest he could get to going on a date with you — he knew the routine like the back of his hand.

You approached him. It was difficult to find the courage to look him in the eye — god, that lovesick gaze of his always made your heart skip a beat — but you stared at him sternly regardless, hoping he would take your words seriously . . . though, truly, you didn’t want him to.

“Satoru, this many follow-up appointments almost a year later aren’t-”

“What are the rules against a doctor dating a patient?”

Your eyes widened.

Your heart didn’t skip a beat. It skipped several.

You were certain it was going to give out, that you would go from being a doctor to being a patient.

He was being serious. There was no hint of playfulness behind his tone. Satoru’s love-filled gaze darted from your eyes, down to your lips, and back up to your eyes again.

“Mr. Gojo, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that just now,” you cleared your throat, taking a step back, breaking eye contact with him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He asked with false innocence.

His long finger was suddenly hooked around the belt loop of your pants. He pulled you closer, closing the distance between you both. His soft, gentle breath patted against the skin of your cheek.

“Aw, you can’t even look me in the eye, how cute,” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh my goodness, just lay down already,” you mumbled. “Let me take a look at your stomach.”

“Yes ma’am,” Satoru grinned widely. He earned yet another eye roll from you.

You had hoped that officially starting his physical exam would, perhaps, break the building tension between you both. But no.

Your skillful hands were inspecting the faint and tiny incisions along his fit body, tracing over his lower abdomen.

“Like what you see?” Satoru said. “Don’t be shy, now. You can go lower than that if you want.”

“Once again, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” You pulled your hands away, and Satoru sat up. “Your incisions look fine, of course. But I will, for the thousandth time, be referring you to a gastroenterologist to run some tests regarding your . . .” you paused, giving him a look of disbelief, “. . . stomach pain.”

“Fineee, I’ll stop coming here,” Satoru said.

“Really?” You raised your eyebrows, but not in excitement. You were skilled in speaking without revealing your true emotions through your tone — years of telling sad families about an unfortunate diagnosis or death or a loved one required that form of expertise — but right now, you couldn’t hide your sadness as you spoke.

“You almost sound disappointed, sweetheart.” Satoru smiled, pushing himself off of the examination table. He started walking towards you, and you didn’t have the courage or desire to step away. “Anyway, I pieced it together just now. If doctors can’t date their patients, then I just can’t be your patient anymore. Is that what it’ll take for me to finally be able to snatch this coat off of you?”

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Or, I could do it right now.” This time, Satoru hooked his fingers around your chin, raising your head until you had no choice but to look him in the eye as he spoke. “What’s wrong? There aren’t any cameras in here out of respect for patient privacy, right?”

“Let me tell you something,” you frowned. “I’m a very hardworking woman who follows the rules. It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears for me to get where I am now, and I won’t . . . I can’t ruin it by . . .”

Satoru’s thumb stroked your cheek as he listened to your words. When you suddenly stopped speaking, he mumbled, “What’s the matter? I’m listening.”

Truth be told, your words trailed off into nothing because the beautiful man before you made a thousand different questions and concerns swirl around in your overworked mind.

There was no denying his sheer lust. It was written all over his face. But there was love within his gaze as well. And though you couldn’t see your own face right now, you knew you were staring back at him with the same amount of love.

“Stop coming here. If you stop being my patient, just as you said, then maybe, we can go on that date in a couple of months.”

Satoru smiled. “Deal. I’m pretty impatient, but I can wait years for you if that’ll make you more comfortable. You should know by now there’s no getting rid of me.”

“I won’t make you wait years. I can be impatient sometimes as well.” You couldn’t help but match his smile with one of your own. “Let’s give it six months.”

“Six months,” Satoru said in agreement.

“Well, if that’s everything,” you started to head towards the door, then suddenly, you halted your footsteps.

You turned around. Rising to the tips of your toes, you planted a soft, quick kiss on Satoru’s cheek. His cheeks and ears couldn’t help but become a deep shade of red as he blushed.

“Six months,” you mumbled.

Satoru’s movements were fast; his lips were on your cheek before you had a chance to turn away.

“God, you’re the cutest,” he said.

Though kissing each other on the cheek was risky — planning to date a former patient in half a year was as well — you couldn’t help but admire your quickened heart rate. There was something quite thrilling about breaking the rules every now and then.

⚕️ — 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

“Wow, I never thought I’d see little Kenny in my hospital.”

A bright smile graced your face as you stepped into the lavish room — though it was a hospital room, it seemed more suitable to view it as a hotel room with additional medical equipment.

“Well, when I decided it was time to schedule my carpal tunnel surgery, I was searching for a surgeon, and I saw your name appear. After I got over my initial surprise, I thought, why not go with my former best friend? Even if she used to be pretty clumsy during our childhood.” He gave you a smile as bright as your own. It occurred to him then, as his cheeks grew sore, that he hadn’t grinned so widely in quite some time.

“C’mere,” you approached his bed, leaning down to hug him and press a gentle kiss upon his cheek. “I’m gonna take great care of you.”

“I know you will. You always have,” the blonde-haired man whispered.

Something small, yet soft was being squished in between you both. He thought it was part of a pillow that had gotten caught in your embrace, but when you pulled away, his eyes darted down to the stuffed, light-brown teddy bear in your arms. It had a red heart in its grasp with cursive white letters that read: Get Well Soon!

“This is only one of the many, many things I plan to buy you from the gift shop,” you handed the stuffed animal to him. He took it, flipping it around in his hands.

God, he hadn’t noticed it when you walked in, so occupied with memorizing every detail of your gorgeous face and how it had changed since he last laid his eyes upon it. Even now, he couldn’t snatch his eyes away from you. The subtle smile pulling at the corners of your soft lips . . . your glistening gaze . . . even your nose was precious to him.

“Someone’s still a little sweetheart I see. Thank you,” he put the stuffed animal down next to him. “I intend to return the favor. I have a lot of missed birthdays and holidays to make up for.”

Kento’s long legs shifted underneath the blanket as he moved them to the side, making enough room for you to sit down on his bed.

“You and me both,” you paused, sitting in the spot he made for you. “I guess I can’t call you little Kenny anymore, can I? My goodness, you’re much taller than me now. When did that happen?”

Your childhood friend let out an airy, brief laugh. His hand scooped up yours. His thumb graced your skin, and he said, “I outgrew you right before we lost contact. I don’t expect you to remember, though. We were already starting to drift apart by the time that happened. But, more importantly, I think I have a more pressing question. When did you decide to become a surgeon? I’m proud of you.”

With a little hum, your eyes darted off to the side. Fighting off the bittersweet memories of growing up with Kento Nanami was an impossible task. What started out as a friendship formed in kindergarten over splitting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sharing toys so drastically became a forgotten bond by freshman year of high school, when your closeness amounted to nothing more than waving at each other in the hallway.

No more sleepovers. No more snack sharing. No more innocent hand-holding.

From best friends to acquaintances, just like that.

And when circumstances led to your family moving to a different town quite far away, you and Nanami lost contact completely.

From acquaintances to strangers, just like that.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Your tone was laced with nostalgic sadness.

Cold air hit your hand when Kento released it — your skin craved his warmth. But the man did not release your hand without reason, as the hand that was formerly holding yours now rested against your soft cheek. He gave it a little stroke with his thumb, then moved your head back in his direction.

He hadn’t seen your eyes in years. He’ll be damned if they dare gaze at anything other than him right now.

“Well, catching up now is as good a time as any. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Talk to me.” Kento moved his hand away from your face. Cold air returned to your skin like an unwelcomed guest. “Are you married? Have any kids? How are your relatives?”

“No, no, I’m . . . I’m much too busy to start a family. Haven’t had much time to check up on anyone else either,” You replied. Your somber demeanor vanished. A heartwarming smile reappeared, and rather playfully, you poked Kento’s chest. “But what of you, sir? How are you these days? I must say I wasn’t very pleased to see such an advanced case of carpal tunnel. You’re too damn young.”

Kento caught the hand you were jabbing him with. His large hand wrapped around yours, and he held it. Warmth.

“Well, I’m a businessman. My job is so taxing, it’s no wonder I ended up with carpal tunnel. But I make good money from it. I’m in the same boat as you, though. Unmarried. No kids.”

“Considering how handsome you turned out to be, I’m assuming it’s voluntary?”

He nodded. “Much like you, I’m just too busy.”

You couldn’t help but glance down at your locked hands. Despite the years upon years that have passed since he last felt your skin, his touch wasn’t foreign. It was all too familiar, almost as if Kento Nanami never left your life to begin with.

“I always thought you would be the person I’d end up marrying.” Your words were soft, barely above a whisper.

“So did I. Our wedding was my favorite thing to daydream about during class.” Kento brought your hand to his lips. His kiss was a gentle one, and the previous warmth that came from his touch transformed into a burning heat running through your veins. If he kept this up, this gentle love, you were certain you’d combust into flames.

“I should leave now,” you mumbled, preparing to get off of his bed, though you hadn’t yet found the courage.

Kento couldn’t help but notice how your eyes wouldn’t meet his as if they found the mopped floor below oh so interesting.

“Look at me.”

It took a while. Much longer than he would have liked. But eventually, you gave in to his demand and your eyes found his, though your glistening gaze was, once again, filled with sadness.

“I know this is the first time we’ve seen each other in a long time and the circumstances aren’t ideal, but you don’t have to mourn our past, because I don’t intend on letting you get away from me again. Do you understand me?”

Your sad eyes widened. “You’re saying-”

“I’m saying I want you back in my life, if that’s okay with you.”

You knew the serious expression on Kento’s face well. He meant every word.

“I assumed we’d go our separate ways once again after this surgery . . . that I probably wouldn’t see you again until you needed a hip replacement in your late sixties,” you couldn’t help but let a single tear fall down your cheek.

A low, brief chuckle came from Kento. He leaned forward. Reaching out, he cupped your cheek, stroking the tear away with his thumb.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Come here.” With the hand that was resting on your cheek, Kento guided your head towards his chest as he leaned back against the hospital bed. Your upper body now rested on top of him. His thumb continued to stroke your wet cheek.

“Forgive me for saying so, but as soon as you walked through that door, I knew I wanted to start daydreaming about marrying you once again.”

“Good,” you smiled. “Because I was thinking the same thing.”

“I won’t get you in trouble for holding you like this, will I?” Kento asked, though he couldn’t think of anything worse than letting you go.

“Don’t stress about it. No matter what anyone says, I run this hospital. I can do what I want. Including this.”

Suddenly, you leaned up to press a kiss on his cheek.

“But I better get going,” you said. “It’s almost time for your surgery.”

You started to rise into a sitting position, but Kento’s large hand cupped the side of your face, halting your movements.

“Wait,” he darted his soft eyes down to your lips. “It’s too soon for this, but I need to do it anyway.”

Kento’s lips met yours in a surprise kiss so loving, so passionate, it took your breath away — there was nothing left except that familiar warmth and the feeling of his lips moving against your own. You truly didn’t know if the kiss lasted five seconds or five minutes because when he pulled away, it still felt like it was much too early.

“That kiss didn’t happen too soon,” You uttered breathlessly. “I’ve waited years for that.”

You staggered as you rose to your feet. Leave it to Kento Nanami to make you go weak at the knees.

Dragging your hands across your coat and scrubs to ensure they weren’t oddly twisted or wrinkled, you said, “Now I’ve really gotta go. But I look forward to slicing into you!”

⚕️ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

“You’re awake.”

It was the voice of an angel. Had to be. But, as Toji’s blurry vision cleared as he blinked, blinked, and blinked — he made out the sterile environment devoid of color and packed to the brim with machines that were wired to his battered limbs — he realized he was in a hospital room, not the afterlife.

“Welcome back,” you smiled.

Toji felt your thumb gently stroke his forehead. Your touch was so comforting. So soothing. It calmed his initial urge to panic as a result of the massive wave of pain and confusion that hit him as soon as he opened his eyes.

“Toji, you’re alright. You were in a construction accident.” Another voice spoke up, but Toji’s eyes didn’t bother searching for the source. They were on you — the pretty, unfamiliar woman with the voice of an angel, smiling at him.

— ⚕️—

It took several days for Toji to regain the strength to move. Talking was a lost skill to him for weeks.

God, were head-to-toe injuries painful. His nurses informed him — when he could manage to stay conscious, at least — that unsafe conditions led to him falling from a dangerous height while working at a construction site. Most people would have died instantly during an accident like that. If they were lucky enough to survive the initial fall and aftermath of collapsing debris, then they more than likely would have died on the operating table.

But Toji, however, had a brilliant surgeon who operated endlessly for hours upon hours to save his life. Brilliant.

Was it you? The pretty, unfamiliar woman with the voice of an angel who smiled at him when he first awakened? Just where did you go?

You suddenly walked into Toji’s room as if his thoughts had summoned you.

Before you could speak, he asked, “You the one who saved my life?”

“I am. My surgical team and I worked very hard. I’m glad you pulled through. How are you feeling?”

“Took you long enough to come check on me again,” Toji ignored your question, speaking with a soft, tired smile. “Haven’t seen you since I woke up. Was starting to think my mind made you up.”

“Actually,” you paused, approaching the side of his hospital bed. “I came by almost every night to check on you. You were just fast asleep. You can thank our pain medication for that.”

“Hm . . .” Toji’s eyelids were growing heavy. He spoke over the beeping vital monitors and IV pumps. “Guess I owe you one for . . . saving . . .”

He was fast asleep.

You smiled down at his face, which, although bruised and bandaged, was still quite handsome.

As you walked away, you heard the black-haired man mumble in his drug-induced state, “. . . so goddamn pretty.”

—⚕️—

The following physical therapy-filled weeks were rather difficult for a man like Toji. The struggles he endured were not only physical, but mental as well.

After all, he prided himself on having such an athletic build and insane strength — the amount of pounds he could lift with ease was startling.

But for a while, he was no longer the man who could haul just about anything with very little effort. He was a man who needed assistance to stand up. To walk. And his spirit was crushed, even well after he regained those lost skills and was deemed recovered enough to be discharged.

He was rather certain that if it wasn’t for a certain angel sticking by his side throughout his two-month hospital stay, he wouldn’t have found the strength to keep going.

—⚕️—

Toji Fushiguro found himself at a local, quiet bar more often than he’d like to admit. Most times, a wave of self-hatred washed over him every single time he grabbed a seat and ordered a drink, but not today. Today, he was happy to walk into the bar, because you were there.

“Can I buy you a drink, doc?”

You looked up from your phone screen to find your former patient standing at the side of the little table you occupied.

“Toji?” You smiled. “Wow. It’s refreshing to see you outside of the hospital.”

“And without a hospital gown on, I bet,” a little smirk pulled at the vertical scar on his lips. “It’s nice to see you without that white coat on, ‘cause that means I’m no longer in that hospital, even if the coat is pretty hot on you. Who knew I’d have a thing for doctors.”

“Aren’t you straightforward?” You gave a little laugh, then nodded at the empty seat across from you. “Sit down. Join me.”

As Toji pulled out the chair opposite of you, he said, “I was kinda worried, thinkin’ I wouldn’t see you again after getting discharged.”

“Really? I figured after seeing me every day for . . . how long has it been, two months, right? I assumed you’d be sick of seeing me.” You took a sip of your water. Condensation coated the cool glass.

“Sick of the hospital, yeah, but not you,” Toji propped his elbow up on the table and rested the side of his head in his hands. “Anyway, about that drink. Get whatever you want. It’s on me.”

“Toji, you know you don’t owe me for saving your life. It’s my job.”

“I don’t care. I owe you one. But an overpriced drink wasn’t how I was gonna pay you back anyway.”

“Hm?” You raised your eyebrows. “How were you going to pay me back, then?”

“I’ve got a lot of ideas. One of them involves you comin’ home with me. Another involves a nice dinner, whichever you prefer. Though if you really wanna know what I think, I think you should pick both.”

You waited for any sort of indication that, perhaps, the handsome man was joking. But you knew Toji quite well after spending much time with him, and he never bothered with being dishonest or secretive about his feelings.

Hospital food tasted like crap? He said so. Exhaustion lingering within your eyes despite your professional smile? He pointed it out.

You gave him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief. The chair scraped against the floor as you got up to leave the table.

Toji wasn’t surprised to see you leave. He expected to be turned down, having been your former patient. Pursuing any sort of relationship probably disinterested you due to moral and ethical-

“Aren’t you coming?”

Toji turned around. You stood there patiently, having halted your footsteps a short distance away from the table.

“Huh?” He blinked. So you were interested. Another small smile couldn’t help but grace his face. “What about that drink?”

“Forget about it,” you waved him over. “I like what you came up with more.”

“Oh yeah? Which idea?” Toji asked, rising from his seat.

“Both.”

“Then let’s go, angel.” Toji grabbed ahold of your hand, guiding you towards the exit. “I hope you like Italian food. And my version of physical therapy.”

⚕️— 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

Sharp intuition and good instincts were valuable skills one needed in the medical field. As one of the most skilled surgeons in the hospital, the best of the best, according to your peers — and, well, your low mortality rate — your skill set was rather exceptional.

There was, however, a drawback to having good instincts. It was the impending doom you couldn’t shake when your gut told you that something was off.

Though your incredibly long shift had come to an end, you hadn’t yet left the hospital. After all, today, your surgeries were all brief and complication-free. The ER wasn’t too chaotic. Even your coffee tasted extra pleasant today.

Things were going well. Too well.

Your time working as a surgeon had taught you one thing: a peaceful day working in a hospital was a bad sign.

And those good instincts of yours? They told you not to leave just yet.

Many nurses darted their eyes at you curiously, silently questioning why you hadn’t yet run out of the building once your shift was over. Free time was all too rare for a surgeon, so why, just why, were you hanging around in the ER, leaning against the counter of the nurses’ station?

You were taking a tentative sip of your beverage when a car arrived outside of the ER’s automatic sliding seethrough doors.

A man stepped out, not wasting time with trivial matters such as shutting his car door, and he swung open another car door. You couldn’t see what he was doing exactly due to the distance. Not until he stepped into the ER with an unconscious, blood-covered girl in his arms.

“Sir?” You called out.

The dark-haired man didn’t respond. He was in a state of shock.

You and your medical team rushed to find a gurney, ready to assess the girl in his arms, but he wasn't ready to let go of her just yet.

You gave him a sympathetic, but urgent look. “Sir, you need to let us help her. Can you tell us what happened?”

No response.

The man himself was bleeding from his head.

“Sir,” you tried yet again, speaking softly. He didn’t look at you until you touched the bloody hand he had hooked around the young girl’s shoulder. “I promise I will try my best to help her. I need you to trust me.”

He blinked a few times as if coming out of a daze. He placed the girl on the gurney.

— ⚕️—

It was a car accident. The man, who was named Suguru Geto, sat in the waiting room for hours, refusing medical attention for his own injuries. The young girl he carried into the ER was one of his adopted daughters.

Operating on her with the information a nurse passed on to you in mind gave you the strength you needed to push through your exhaustion — to save a young girl on the brink of death.

“I need you to stay strong for me, Mimiko,” you mumbled against your surgical mask, putting down one surgical tool and grabbing another — your scalpel. “Your dad’s waiting for you, sweet girl.”

Though the girl was unconscious, you continued to speak to her throughout the operation.

You couldn’t help it — perhaps believing it mattered on a subconscious or even spiritual level.

When the surgery came to an end, you gave Suguru an update, informing him that Mimiko was stable for now and that he could visit her soon.

“Thank you.” A shaky, relieved breath escaped from between his lips, and though he was happy to hear the news, he started to cry. Tears were streaming down his face, mixing with the blood on his skin — he couldn’t help but break down over the situation, now that it was partially over.

You wasted no time in grabbing a seat next to Suguru.

Wrapping your arms around him, you held the stranger, rubbing his back soothingly.

“It’s alright,” you whispered kindly.

Suguru pulled away from you after a couple of minutes. You gave him a smile. However, it didn’t take long for the corners of your lips to dip into a frown.

“Mr. Geto, your forehead.” You rose from your seat. “You need stitches. Please let me help.”

It took a moment, but he eventually nodded and got up as well.

You were well within your rights to go home, to pass off this mundane suturing opportunity to someone with less responsibility within the hospital, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You were going to stick with this family throughout their entire healing process.

For a while, you treated Suguru’s wound in silence — beyond the general bustling hospital noise.

“You seem tired. Am I keeping you here past your shift?” Suguru suddenly spoke up.

You were silent for a moment, uncertain of how to respond.

“I’m just glad I was here, Mr. Geto.”

“Anyone who saves my daughter’s life can call me Suguru.” He stared down at the dried blood on his hands. “While you were still in surgery, a nurse gave me an update. She told me how hard you were working, and that you were speaking to Mimiko as if she was your own child.”

“I was. I like to talk to all my patients during surgery. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“Not at all, why would it? I appreciate it. You seem very caring.” Suguru would have smiled if he had the energy.

“Tired and caring, hm?” You grinned softly, finishing the last stitch.

“I’m sure I will come up with more adjectives in due time.”

Your smile widened, and even Suguru managed to give a tiny grin.

— ⚕️—

Suguru Geto approached you in the hospital hallway during your lunch break a few weeks later, on the day his dear daughter would get discharged. The man who you came to know after seeing him and his family on nearly a daily basis tapped your shoulder.

“Hm?” You turned around, and your eyes darted down to a packaged baked good in Suguru’s hands.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Consider it a personal thank you for taking such great care of my daughter.” Suguru held out the tiny box, and you took the pastry.

“Oh, Mr. Geto, You didn’t need to do this for me. I was just doing my job,” you grinned.

“Your job was to save her life. To talk with her about her hobbies and interests . . . to comfort her . . . that was going above and beyond.” Suguru stared at you with sincerity and respect. “She’s been rambling on and on about you non-stop. I know you’re a busy person, but she said she’d still like to see you even after getting discharged, should you ever have the freetime.”

“Of course. She’s a sweet girl — both your girls are,” looking down at the sweet treat in your hands, you said, “and this looks amazing. You’re too kind, Suguru!”

“Believe me, I’m not normally a kind person. But you deserve every bit of kindness I might be able to spare.”

“A single father to two girls he adopted, who bakes pastries for other people? Sure seems like you’re pretty kind.”

Suguru stepped closer. He leaned down a bit, as far as he could without raising any suspicion from nearby medical staff and guests, and he whispered into your ear, “You just don’t know me very well. But I was thinking about how much I’d like to change that.”

“How so?” You whispered back.

Suddenly, Suguru stepped away. He grabbed your wrist, leading you towards the on-call room he fully intended on sneaking you both into.

You could hardly put the pastry down and lock the door before his lips were on yours hungrily. His hands were busy pulling off your white coat, your top, and undoing the drawstrings of your scrub pants.

His mouth made its way down to your neck. He sucked and kissed at your skin, all the while his hand snaked their way into your underwear.

“Remember when I started to cry, and you held me?” He asked softly, his breath patting against your skin.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I remember.”

“I think I should return the favor,” he paused, his fingers finding your clit while his other hand held you against his bigger frame. “Let me hold you while you cum.”

🩺 — @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @thequeenofcurses @he11okitty-mari @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @deadrevenge @koikohib

[fireinmoonshot]

unreal | robert reynolds x reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: Bob offers for you to share his room while your room in the Watch Tower gets renovated... there's just one problem – he didn't think about the fact that he'd have to share a bed with you. Warnings: General mentions of mental health issues (nothing specific) Word Count: 2.1k A/N: Okay, so it's been over a week since I last wrote for Bob and the response on my last Bob fic is insane. I cannot believe how much love it's gotten 🥹 I have since seen Thunderbolts three more times and I love Bob even more. This was the fic idea that won in the poll I posted earlier today and it was so enjoyable to write. I am really looking forward to writing more for him (including the other ideas that I had in the poll). I hope you all enjoy this one as well. Requests are always open! 💗

“You can share my room” are five words that Bob regrets the second that they’re out of his mouth. Not because he doesn’t want you to share his room, but just because now that it’s out in the open, the prospect of you saying yes is terrifying.

When you’d all moved into the Watch Tower, you hadn’t considered the fact that most of the building was still a work in progress. There were so many rooms that still needed to be built and while there had been bedrooms, there weren’t many and Valentina had insisted on building you all your own. Nothing but the best for my New Avengers, she’d said.

Your bedroom was the last one to be renovated. Every other member of the team had gone through the room-sharing phase while their rooms were completed. Yelena and Ava had always shared, though they’d hated every second of it – both girls loved their personal space. Both Bucky and John refused to share with Alexei. Bob had managed to come out the other end without sharing a room at all. 

Until his offer to you, that is.

“Seriously?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you look around at the others. “None of you are offering to share with me so you’re making Bob offer?”

Walker scoffs. “You think we put him up to it? Please.”

“No one put me up to it,” Bob shakes his head. “I just thought I’d ask you since… y’know… none of the others have… and you probably don’t wanna sleep on the couch out here.”

He’s not really sure why he’d offered, actually. The words had been out of his mouth before he’d had a chance to think them over, which was strange for him. He supposes it might have something to do with the fact that he’s been crushing on you for a solid few months. It would be fine, though. He didn’t have a couch in his room, but he’s slept on his fair share of floors before and this one would be no different. Sharing a bedroom with someone he was slowly falling head over heels with was definitely going to end well.

You cross the room and put a hand down on Bob’s shoulder. “Are you really sure you want me to share with you? I know you haven’t had to share before and I really don’t want to intrude on your space.” Your voice is soft, for Bob’s ears only.

He nods once. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

You don’t completely believe him. He’s undoubtedly the most independent out of all of you, but it’s been proven that he really does love being around other people. The last thing you want is to get in his way or make him uncomfortable.

“Bob,” you meet his eyes. 

His lips turn up into a small smile at the tone of your voice. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to share with you.”

That seems to do the trick, because you nod your head and step away from Bob after that before announcing that you’re going to go and start getting all your things together. 

That afternoon, you move your things into his room so that the renovations can start on your own. Bob makes some space for you – not that he has a lot of things himself – but he wants to make you feel comfortable. He doesn’t want you to feel like you’re living in his room. He wants it to feel like it’s yours too.

It only starts to feel real once it’s gotten dark outside and everyone has started to retire to bed. Once he’s in his room again, sitting on a bean bag in the corner, a book in his hand and he sees you walk into his room, hair a little bit wet from your shower. 

“I just realised,” you say, stopping in the centre of the room and looking around, “that you don’t have a couch.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bob nods, closing the book and sitting up a little straighter. “I just sit here. I, uh, I changed the sheets on the bed earlier so that you don’t have to sleep in dirty ones.”

You frown and look over at him. “Me? I’m not sleeping in your bed, Bob. I assumed I’d sleep on the couch. But I can just sleep on your beanbag. I’ll go and find some blankets…”

You turn to go and leave the room when you see Bob standing up in the corner of your eye. He stumbles a little, the blanket on the ground in front of him briefly catching his feet, and then rights himself. 

“No, you don’t have to do that,” he says. “You take the bed. I’m fine with sleeping on the floor. I’ve done it more often than you think.”

“Bob… you’re not sleeping on the floor.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s really okay.”

He really doesn’t mind. As long as you’re comfortable, he will be too. He’s slept in worse places. Plus, he doubts he’d even be able to sleep soundly knowing you were uncomfortable on the cold, hard floor. How could he let the person he likes sleep there rather than on his perfectly comfortable bed?

You cross your arms over your chest and shake your head, slowly starting to walk towards him. This is a losing battle, you can see that. There’s no way that Bob is going to relent and let you sleep on the floor or the bean bag, and there’s no way you’re going to let him sleep there either. You couldn’t live with yourself if he did.

“Why don’t we both take the bed?” You suggest.

Bob’s eyes widen a little and he opens his mouth and then closes it again without saying anything. That’s the last thing he’d expected you to say. Sharing a bed? Had any of the others shared beds when they’d shared rooms? He highly doubted that. The members of the New Avengers weren’t particularly comfortable when it came to physical contact. 

“I don’t think we have to do that,” he mutters.

“Why not? I don’t mind it. That way, we both get to sleep on the bed and neither of us have to be uncomfortable on the floor. I promise I’ll stick to my side.”

Bob stares at you for a moment. You’re really suggesting this. You really want to share a bed with him. But how is he supposed to share a bed with you? This is not going to be beneficial towards his crush at all. It’s definitely not going to help him in his mission to get over you… he hadn’t started on that mission yet but he was definitely going to start soon… oh, he really shouldn’t have suggested this…

“All right, then,” he hums, and then squeezes his eyes shut as he winces. What the hell is he doing? Why are the words he’s speaking and the thoughts he’s having so out of sync?

You smile at him – one of the beautiful smiles that always sets his heart alight – and then move towards the bed. “Which side do you usually sleep on?” 

“Closest to the door,” he says, starting to walk towards it.

“A man after my own heart,” you grin, voice teasing as you pull the sheets back to the other side of the bed and slip underneath them. “Can you get the lights?” 

Bob tries his best to ignore your words, thinking about how he is actually after your heart, and slowly walks towards the light switch. He turns them off, then makes his way towards the bed in the dark. His heart is racing in his chest. It’s not until he’s sitting on the bed, hands fisted in the sheets, that he realises he’s sweating bullets.

He’d forgotten. How could he forget something like this? He’s always run hot. He’s been known to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, especially after a nightmare.

Maybe, once you’re asleep, he can slip out of the bed and go back to the bean bag without waking you up… surely that would be okay. He could make up some excuse in the morning about not being able to sleep in the bed…

“Everything all right?” You ask from beside him.

The room is so dark that he can’t see you to tell how far away from him you are, but your voice is close. He trusts that you’ve stuck to your word, though, and that you haven’t crept over to his side of the bed.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea actually.”

He hears the sheets rustling and can somehow tell that you’re sitting up now. 

“Why not?”

Bob sighs and tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear. He doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed about this. It’s not like you don’t know. You were there in the vault. You heard him admit it to Yelena. You’ve seen so many parts of him that he hates and you’ve never judged him for any of them, so why would you judge him for this now?

“Hey,” your voice is gentle. “You can tell me. If you don’t want me here, I can go.”

“No,” Bob shakes his head, quick to respond. He doesn’t want you to feel like you’re not welcome here when truthfully, all he wants is to have you here with him. He just wishes he wasn’t so awkward about it. “It’s not that. It’s just…”

“There’s no rush.” 

He turns to look at where you’re sitting, his eyes now adjusted to the darkness so he can see you just barely. “I run hot,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable if I sweat a lot during the night. I should just sleep on the floor by myself.”

There’s silence for a moment and Bob takes that as your answer. He swings his legs off the bed and is just about to stand up when he feels the mattress shift underneath him, and then he feels your warmth pressed against his side.

“Hey, no,” you hum, leaning your arm against his. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to worry about things like that with me. If you sleep on the floor, I’m sleeping on the floor too. You’re not giving up your comforts for me.”

Bob turns to look at you through the darkness. “I’d just make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” you reach down and find his hand, entwining your fingers together. It’s true that the members of your team are bad when it comes to physical contact, but you don’t mind it. Bob’s always been a little concerned about touch ever since the incident that had happened a few months back but you can tell by the way he doesn’t tense up at your touch that he doesn’t mind it. You’re surprised to find you can actually feel him relax a little. “You won’t.” 

“I won’t?” 

“No,” you repeat. “I’m really glad you offered for me to share your room, Bob. I don’t care if you run so hot that the whole bed feels like a giant inferno. I’m not going to leave unless you ask me to.”

“I won’t. ” 

You give his hand a squeeze. “Okay, so should we get back into bed and try and get some sleep then?”

Bob nods and then remembers it’s dark and you probably can’t see him. “Yeah, all right.”

He hates the feeling of emptiness when you let go of his hand. He can feel the mattress shifting as you move back to your side of the bed. It takes every part of him to swing his legs back up and to lay down. It’s only once his head hits the pillow that he feels truly relaxed. It’s strange, even just knowing that you’re right beside him puts him a little bit at ease.

“I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” You say, voice so close to him that he almost jumps.

“Okay,” he murmurs, staring up at the dark ceiling above him. 

He’s so certain he’s going to wake up in the morning and all of this will have just been a dream. Not a good dream, not a bad dream. Just an unreal one. One where you hold his hand and sleep beside him. One where, as he’s drifting off to sleep he can feel the warmth of your body inches away. One where he can remember the feeling of your arm pressed against his with such clarity it almost feels real. 

But when he wakes up in the morning, the first thing he sees is you sleeping soundly beside him and he knows it wasn’t a dream. A small smile makes its way onto his face. He can’t remember the last time he slept through the night without waking up… not until right now. 

[gayeddiejuice]

🚨🚨 boots on the ground reporting 🚨🚨

ok just got off the phone with my friend, she is the mvp called me as soon as she clocked out while she walked to the train.

ok. first things first i asked. we’re they nice? and she said YES she said they were probably the easiest table anyone had she felt bad for everyone else cause she kept seeing all the handlers running back and forth and she was just chilling pretty much. she said they dinner was pre ordered but they didn’t eat much of it cause they probably ate at the pre party event. she was also like “did you know oliver is vegan?” LOL anyways. as the main handler the job is to make sure the vips have everything they need, so for example she would take all their food orders and then send it to the kitchen and then there’s a team of waiters who bring the food, the handler never leaves the table you have to be there in case they need anything.

she said since their team preordered most of the food it made her job so much easier, she basically just stood by their table all night just in case they needed anything. she did order lots of drinks tho she said they drank A LOT 😂😂 but it was mostly for all the people that kept coming over to their table, apparently they were super popular people from other shows kept coming over to talk to them. also lots of the other guests which is mostly just the advertisers, that’s the whole point of the party abc/disney has all these celebs there to mingle with advertisers to get them to sell stuff on their network. and she said everyone wanted to come to the 911 table!!

after the dinner portion the actual party starts and that’s when things get hectic cause the vips always scatter and if you’re their handler you gotta know where they all are at all times. i do not miss this job btw it gave me major anxiety.

during the party they pretty much stuck together which made her job so much easier and she said they all remembered her name when she only told it to them once when she introduced herself. listen she doesn’t know anything about this cast she kept calling them the girl and the asian guy or the two hot guys. which. yall. she said they were all extremely beautiful she said she kept blushing cause ryan (she fell in love with him btw) kept calling her by her name and asking her questions and he kept organizing the plates and glasses on the table to make it easier for the wait staff to pick up.

other than that she said later in the night she kept losing track of them cause again they were so popular 😂😂 mostly aisha, she said she seemed to be friends with EVERYONE and she said, i repeat she knows nothing about rpf she didn’t know what her words would mean, she said ryan and oliver (the two hot guys) hung out together the whole night especially once kenny left, she said he left at like 8 right after dinner, and aisha kept going to talk to other people but ryan and oliver stuck together all night. I said oh im so sure. 🤭

that’s pretty much it, i asked if she could hear their convos and she could but she didn’t really pay attention cause she didn’t recognize any names. she did say that they were all cracking jokes all night and they laughed a lot which idk warms my heart 🥹🥹

btw ryan and oliver did leave together and i think they were going to either go somewhere else with other people or they were having like an after party at the hotel? cause they kept telling people yeah we’ll see you “after” she didn’t really catch where “after” was but when they said bye to aisha ryan said “see ya at the hotel” and oliver told her to not take too long 😂😂 so idk I guess they’re still partying.

[cheftsunoda]

heal your heart—cl16

part two (very very long and wordy)

smau + real life

carlos sainz x !sister singer reader

charles leclerc x sainz reader

catalina sainz has it all— she is a successful grammy award winning artist, her brother is a well known formula 1 driver, she has an amazing family and wonderful friends. she was also blessed with a fiance and a beautiful baby boy.. she had everything.. until she didn't. her fiance disappears and takes her son with him. catalina watches as her world crumbles...who will be there to help pick up the pieces?

fc : kali uchis

⚠️ATTENTION : TRIGGER WARNING! MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION AND ABUSE. ⚠️

part one here

part three here

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by 475,943 people.

f1gossipgirls : Catalina Sainz has made a paddock appearance shortly after Carlos Sainz announced he would still be driving in the Japanese GP. This is the first time Catalina has been seen since the rumors started circulating that her son was taken by her fiance who has disappeared without a trace. Her son was not seen anywhere near the paddock and Catalina was only seen by press and paps for a few moments before Williams team members swooped her into hospitality. She was later spotted in the paddock cuddled up with Rebecca Donaldson, Carlos' partner, who seemed to be comforting her in this time of need. Carlos seemed to be agitated and quiet with the press. Let us know what you all think about Catalina's appearance.

username2 : her relationship with rebecca has always been so special..idc if y'all don't like rebecca due to her past- she is always there for our girl

liked by author

username5 : the silence, the matching sunglasses, the fact they are not speaking to anyone… something WENT DOWN and they’re coming back in blood pact formation

username7 : okay but imagine your brother is a world-famous driver and you just quietly vanish across international borders and he SHOWS UP TO FIND YOU IN THE MOUNTAINS?? this family is cinematic

username8: If this ends in Carlos winning the GP and dedicating it to her with a whispered “para mi hermana” on the radio, I will lose ALL composure...

username10 : before you all start shitting on her for making a public appearance in this state... she has always been very very supportive of carlos' career and she probably begged him to not fully drop out and she came with so she didn't have to be alone again.

liked by author

username20 : and she did not really even make an appearance...you can tell they were trying to sneak her in and the paps and press were just being absolutely RELENTLESS

liked by author

username15 : You can tell she didn’t sleep. You can tell he hasn’t smiled in days. You can tell someone’s getting sued.

username17 : Carlos showing up like her personal security, emotional support brother, AND legal representative 😭 I’m in love..

username9 : mother is mothering again...i feel like i haven't seen her flip off paps in like 2 years (it's been 2 months)

liked by author

usernameee : not to be dramatic but if this was 1830 he’d have challenged someone to a duel by now

username2 : BYEEE

username0 : Ok but did anyone notice the way she didn’t make eye contact with a single camera?? She’s been media trained for this moment.

—

twitter!

@/williamsracing : Carlos Sainz is present at the Japanese Grand Prix and will be participating in the weekend as scheduled. At this time, he will not be making any personal statements. We kindly ask that media respect his and his family’s privacy.

view comments

username : I saw Carlos' PR officer physically block a tabloid guy from asking about Catalina. She body-checked him. Things are tense.

username0 : what a queen give her a raise

username4 : Carlos racing with THIS on his mind is terrifying. He’s either gonna win by 30 seconds or drive straight into the garage and file for custody mid-race.

username00 : If your brother doesn’t fly across the world mid-race week to rescue you from a life-shattering betrayal, is he even a brother???

username5 : They said no comment. I said no problem, I’ll make up the entire timeline myself.

—

I woke up early, the light just creeping into the room. The soft hum of Carlos pacing in the next room is the only thing that lets me know he’s still here. His presence is steady, a constant. But right now, he’s not just my brother, he’s the man trying to fix everything, trying to be everything for me when I don’t have the energy to pretend anymore. The last few weeks feel like a blur...like I’ve been running on autopilot and suddenly, the ground has dropped from under me. I want to tell him everything, that I’m not okay, that I feel lost, but I can’t. I can’t because I don’t want to break him too. But this morning, the room is still quiet, the soft morning light casting long shadows on the floor. I hear Carlos on the phone, his voice low and urgent, but the words aren’t clear. Lawyers. Calls to his manager. Something about custody arrangements. I can’t listen. I don’t want to listen. But I can’t let him drop everything for me. I can’t be the reason he cancels a race weekend. He’s worked too hard, come too far. I won’t be the reason he fails.

I take a deep breath, pushing myself up from the bed. I’m still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. My head hurts, but I ignore it. I have to. When I walk into the room, Carlos is at the desk, holding his phone in his hand, his eyes glued to the screen. He doesn’t see me at first. His face is a mask of concentration, but underneath, there’s something else. Worry. Fear.

“Carlos…” I whisper, my voice cracking as I say his name. He looks up at me immediately, the relief flooding his face the second he sees me.

“Cat.” He doesn’t even stand up. His eyes, though—they’re softer now, less angry. But still, I see that question in them. That question I don’t know how to answer. "How are you?"

I nod, even though I’m not. “I’m fine.” It’s a lie, but it’s all I’ve got.

Carlos sets the phone down slowly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the desk as if he’s about to grab it again. “I’m not letting you do this alone again, Catalina. I have been on the phone with several lawyers and some officials in Spain. You’re not handling this alone. You can’t handle this alone.”

“I don’t want to,” I say quickly, almost desperately. I can’t stand the idea of him being that worried. “But I don’t want you to cancel your race. I can’t let you do that for me. I watched you build this career piece by piece, Los. I am not going to let you ruin it for me."

His eyes flash with something I can’t quite place. “You’re not in any state to be alone right now, Catalina. You’re not okay, and I can see it. You’re…” His voice cracks, and I hate that I’m the reason for it. “You’re slipping.”

"I can't stand the thought of losing you too." His words hit me like a truck.

“Carlos, I’ll be fine. You can’t cancel your race for me. Please. I’ll be okay,” I plead, but it doesn’t feel real even as the words leave my mouth. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again. But he can’t see that.

He’s silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving mine. I feel the weight of his stare, the pressure in the air thickening as he contemplates everything.

“I’m not racing without you,” he finally says, his voice soft but firm. “I’m not going to leave you alone with all of this, not after what happened.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration flashing in his eyes. “You’re coming with me. You’re going to the race with me. I won’t do this without you.”

“I—” I begin, but I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t have the strength to fight him on this. I don’t want to fight him on this. I need him, too.

“I’ll race, but only if you’re with me,” he adds, his voice quiet but resolute. “You’re coming with me. We’ll go together. I’ll be there with you, every step. I’m not leaving you in this place, Catalina. Not after everything.”

"I can't race if I am worried about you the whole time. I will take care of everything, I will shield you from the press, Rebecca will be there to be with you. Please. Just let me take care of you."

I don’t say anything for a moment. I feel like I’m suffocating, but there’s something about the way he says it that calms me, just a little. Maybe because I know he’s not going to leave me.

Finally, I nod, swallowing back the lump in my throat. “Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. I’ll go with you. But only because you’re sure. I don’t want you to drop everything for me. You need to race. You need to keep going.”

His eyes soften. “We’ll keep going together, Cat. Always.”

I nod again, unable to say anything more, my chest heavy with the weight of his words. With the weight of everything.

—

TW! This section discusses abuse.

The jet hums beneath us as we fly through the thick cloud cover, heading toward the race. The only thing I can hear clearly is the steady rhythm of my own heart, and the thoughts swirling in my mind, too tangled to untangle. I’m here. I’m on my way to a race weekend, but I don’t feel like I’m really here. My body is on the plane, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dark. I should feel relief, maybe even some semblance of peace. I have Carlos with me. He’s here, sitting across from me, his eyes on the window, his jaw tense. But inside, I feel like I’m falling apart. I want to say something. Anything. The truth. But the words are lodged in my throat, thick and suffocating. I don’t want to break in front of him, not again. I’ve already put him through too much. But Carlos isn’t going to let me stay silent. He never does.

“Cariño” his voice is low, but it cuts through the quiet of the cabin like a knife. “I need you to talk to Mama y Papa. They have seen the press and they know where I am. They do not want you feeling alone in this.”

I can’t look at him right now. I keep my gaze trained on the floor, focusing on the way the carpet fibers shift beneath my feet with every slight movement of the jet. His words, though, they hit me like a punch to the gut.

“I can’t,” I whisper, the refusal almost automatic. “I can’t tell them.”

Carlos sighs, his voice softer now, but still filled with that quiet urgency. “Cat, they need to know. They deserve to know what’s happening. You can’t keep hiding this from them. They’ll understand. You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the plush seat, trying to steady myself, but it feels like the world is spinning. Why am I so scared? I’m not scared of telling them...I’m scared of what it means. I’m scared of how they’ll look at me once they know everything. Scared of how they'll feel about me, about what I allowed to happen.

“I’m scared of what they’ll think of me,” I confess, my voice cracking. “I… I’m scared they’ll think I was weak. I let him in again. I let him hurt me. And I should’ve known better.”

Carlos is quiet for a moment. I can feel his gaze on me now, even though I’m not looking at him. The weight of it presses on me, but there’s something gentle in it, something I can’t quite put into words. His next words come slow, deliberate.

“You’re not weak, Catalina. You never were. He made you believe that. He made you believe that you were the problem when you weren’t. He was the problem. What happened to you, what he did to you, none of it is your fault. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

I can feel the walls I’ve spent so long building around myself crack, the cold walls I put up to protect myself from feeling anything. But the cracks don’t stop. They break open, and suddenly, I’m not so sure I’m ready to face the storm that’s going to come.

“Carlos, you don’t understand.” I shake my head, my chest tightening with every word I say. “It wasn’t just… it wasn’t just the controlling stuff. The gaslighting. The manipulation. It was the… the times when I would tell him I didn’t want to do something, and he would ignore me. He would make me feel like I was being unreasonable. And then, when I’d try to leave, when I thought I could leave, he would beg me to stay, and I’d… I’d believe him. Every time. Every damn time.”

My voice falters. “And then it turned physical. I never wanted to say that, but it did. There were times when I’d say no, but he didn’t stop. And I’d... I’d freeze, Carlos. I didn’t know how to say no anymore. I didn’t know how to stop him.”

The words are raw, bleeding from me before I even realize it. The shame burns like fire inside me, but I can’t stop talking now. It feels like I’m finally releasing everything I’ve been holding inside, even though I know I can never take it back.

“I didn’t know how to get out. I thought if I left, he’d destroy me. If I told anyone, they wouldn’t believe me. They’d think I was just being dramatic. And I didn’t want to be the girl who let that happen. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

"I thought he'd take my son from me which clearly that assumption was not far off." I choked out.

Carlos doesn’t interrupt me, doesn’t say anything. But I can feel his hand, reaching for mine. Gently, but with a strength that tells me he’s here. And he’s not going anywhere.

“I finally left him. I did. But I... I let him back in. And I thought it would be different, that things would go back to the way they were. But they didn’t. And I couldn’t leave again. I didn’t have the strength. And I thought I could handle it.” I swallow hard. “I was wrong. I was so wrong, Carlos. And now I’m... I’m just broken. I don’t know how to fix this.”

His hand tightens around mine, his grip firm and comforting, as if he’s holding me together when I can’t. His voice is quieter now, but it’s thick with emotion, more raw than I’ve ever heard it before. He comes over and sits beside me and I lean into him- needing him more than ever.

“You’re not broken. You never were. And you’re not alone, Catalina. I’ll never let you be alone in this.” He whispers as he leaves two kisses on the top of my head and then rests his chin there.

I’m shaking, my tears finally coming as I lean against the seat, squeezing my eyes shut. “I don’t know how to fix this, Carlos,” I whisper again, almost pleading. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You don’t have to fix it all at once. Just take it one step at a time. But you can’t carry this on your own anymore, okay? Let us help you. Let me help you.”

The jet rocks slightly, turbulence lifting us a little before settling. But even as the world outside shifts, I feel something inside me begin to settle too. Carlos is right there, beside me. And for the first time, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I don’t have to carry this alone anymore.

I look up at him, my voice barely a whisper, but my heart full of something I’ve been afraid to feel for so long. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll tell them what happened. I won’t do this alone anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes soften. He’s not angry, not frustrated. Just... there. He’s with me. And for the first time in so long, I feel like maybe I can breathe again.

—

The paddock is a blur of flashing cameras, murmuring press, and engine rumbles. I step off that jet and straight into the chaos with Carlos by my side, his hand firm on my back like a silent promise, I’ve got you. He’s in protective mode—shoulders squared, jaw tight, sunglasses shielding his eyes even in the cloudy morning light. He doesn’t say much as we walk, but he doesn’t need to. I can feel the heat of the stares, the way heads turn as whispers ripple through the crowd. He has a soft but protective grip on my hand. I hear my name. His name. Questions I can’t make out.

"Catalina, are you okay?" "Where have you been?" "Is it true—?"

Carlos steps in front of me, shielding me with his body, and one of the team PR reps steps up to intercept the worst of it. I keep my head down. My hands tremble, stuffed into the pockets of the oversized jacket I borrowed from Carlos on the plane. I’m only here because I didn’t want him to race alone. Because he wouldn’t leave me behind.

"Ignore them," Carlos mutters under his breath. "Just a few steps more. Becs is waiting for you."

And she is—right at the garage entrance, her arms crossed and eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. The moment she sees me, her whole face softens. She walks toward me, brushing past a reporter with her usual cool grace, and without asking, she wraps me in a hug and presses a light kiss to my cheek. I tense for a second as I'm not used to this kind of softness lately but then I sink into her. Her hold is warm, grounded. She smells like lavender and leather and something clean.

“Hey,” she says softly, brushing my hair back as she pulls away. “You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe. I’ve got you, okay?”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. Rebecca’s not overly emotional, she’s steady, patient, and completely unfazed by the circus around us. I don’t know how she does it, but in this moment, I’m grateful she’s here.

“Come with me,” she says, her hand on my arm. “I’ve set you up with a quiet space in the back of the hospitality suite. No cameras, no questions.”

I glance at Carlos, who’s already being pulled aside by engineers. He gives me a look...a question and a reassurance all at once. I nod. I’ll be okay. Rebecca leads me away, shielding me with her presence like armor. As we step inside the garage area, I spot a familiar mop of curls down the corridor.

“Lando?” I ask as my voice cracks.

He perks up instantly and makes a beeline for me, his face lit up with a mix of worry and relief. “There you are. I came down here to check on you, princess."

Before I can react, he pulls me into a hug...his hugs are always a little too tight, a little too long, but never unwelcome.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he says, his voice muffled by my hair. “Carlos wouldn't speak and I saw all of the bullshit in the press and you didn't answer my calls."

“I’m okay,” I lie, a practiced reflex. But he pulls back, studies me.

“You don’t have to be,” he says gently and rubs a stray tear from my cheek. “You just have to let us be here.”

I feel the tears prick again, unexpected and inconvenient. I blink them back and smile, just barely. “Thanks, Lando.”

"I got you always, bug. Remember that. I got a race to work on but I love you. Stay strong for us, okay?" He says and I nod.

"Love you, Lan. Work your magic out there." I said and he lightly chuckled.

He nods, then glances at Rebecca. “Take care of my girl, yeah?"

Rebecca nods and grabs my hand. "Always."

—

The room Rebecca set me up in smells faintly of fresh linen and citrus. It’s quiet—soundproofed, probably—and the lighting is soft and warm. There’s a cozy armchair in the corner, a tray of snacks and water on the table beside it, and a small diffuser puffing lavender into the air. It’s a strange kind of peace, the sort that feels like it doesn’t belong to me. I haven’t moved much in the past hour. My limbs feel heavy, my chest hollow. Rebecca laid right next to me, our legs intertwined. We had sat in a comfortable silence.

Eventually, I speak. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not.”

I look down into my tea. “No. I’m not.”

"And I stay because I love you, you are like my sister and I cannot stand seeing you in this kind of pain." She said and I felt my heart ache.

There’s another beat of silence, and then she says gently, “Carlos told me some of it. Not all. Just enough to know you’ve been holding the weight of a lot for a long time.”

The lump rises in my throat again, the one I keep swallowing like it might stay down if I’m disciplined enough. I nod slowly, not trusting myself to speak.

Rebecca leans forward a little. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you think you wouldn’t be believed?”

I look up. That question cuts deep, and it’s honest, not cruel. There’s no pity in her eyes—just curiosity, concern. Empathy.

“I didn’t think anyone would believe me,” I say quietly. “He was... polished. So charming. Good with people. He said all the right things in public. And I thought if I told someone what happened behind closed doors, they’d just... think I was being dramatic. Emotional. Jealous. Difficult.”

Rebecca nods slowly. “That’s what they count on, people like that. They build the perfect illusion and then isolate you inside it.”

I blink at her. “You say that like you’ve known someone like him.”

She doesn’t flinch. “I have.”

It’s the first time I see something shift behind her calm, composed exterior. Not pain, exactly—but understanding that’s been lived.

“I’m not going to pretend I know exactly what you went through,” she says, her voice even, “but I do know what it’s like to lose yourself. To have your reality twisted until you can’t tell what’s real anymore. To feel like leaving means you’ll lose everything...even if staying is what is destroying you.”

I feel the tears now. Hot, quiet, just slipping down my cheeks. I nod again, the relief of being seen cracking something open. She held my hand, rubbing circles on my knuckles with her thumb.

“I stayed longer than I should have,” I whisper. “I thought I was protecting my son. But I was just... too scared to see what it was doing to both of us.”

“You were surviving,” Rebecca says, her voice firm now. “You don’t owe anyone an apology for that.”

I breathe out a shaky breath. “It’s like... I don’t know how to come back from this. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Rebecca leans back, sipping her tea. “Then start small. You don’t have to find all the pieces at once. Just... start with the ones in front of you. The ones that feel like yours.”

I look at her for a long moment. “Is it weird that you’re the one comforting me? I mean, you’re dating my brother.”

She laughs softly. “It’s not weird. He’s kind of an emotional hurricane sometimes. I’ve got plenty of practice in disaster management.”

That actually makes me smile, for real this time.

Rebecca looks directly at me with a softness in her eyes. “You’re not alone anymore, Catalina. Not even close. We’re in your corner. All of us.”

I nod, and for the first time in weeks, I believe it.

—

The race is over. The paddock is slowly emptying...journalists clearing out, team members packing down, drivers giving tired, sweaty interviews. I’m tucked in the corner of the Williams Hospitality where I had been since the beginning of FP1, legs curled under me on a quiet sofa. Carlos had actually finished P1, and for a moment, I felt like maybe things were okay. Or at least survivable. But as the adrenaline fades, the weight returns—an ache at the center of my chest that nothing really eases. I hear the door open, soft footsteps. I glance up.

Charles.

His suit is half-unzipped, fireproof top tied at his waist, a towel slung around his neck. His curls are damp with sweat, his jawline sharp, but there’s something new in his eyes. Something unreadable. And focused entirely on me.

“Hey,” he says gently.

“Hey.”

He glances around, then walks toward me, slow and deliberate. “Can I sit?”

I nod, suddenly very aware of how quiet it is.

He doesn’t sit across from me. He sits beside me, not too close—but not far, either. His presence fills the room in that effortless way he has, but it’s softer now.

“I heard what happened,” he says after a moment. His voice is low, steady. “Not everything. Just... enough.”

I flinch, even though I’d known this moment was inevitable. Word spreads fast in this world.

“Carlos didn’t mean to—” I start, but Charles shakes his head.

“He didn’t tell me. I heard pieces from Lando. And... the press and I could tell. Something in your face this weekend. The way Carlos hasn’t left your side.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t trust my voice.

Charles looks down at his hands, then back at me. “I keep thinking about how many times I saw you, these last few years. Smiling. Showing up for everyone. And I never noticed.”

“It wasn’t your job to notice,” I say softly.

“I still should’ve,” he says, voice tightening. “I thought you were just private. Quiet. But now...” He cuts off, jaw clenching. “He took your son. Left you like that. I swear to god, if I ever see him—”

His voice breaks a little, and I blink. I wasn’t expecting this kind of fury. Not from him.

My voice is barely audible. “You’re angry?”

He turns his head toward me, eyes burning now. “I’m furious. For you. For your son. I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling, but I want to. I want to understand. If you’ll let me.”

Something in me crumbles, then steadies. I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t expect him. But here he is—intense, protective, kind. The same Charles I’ve always known, and also... something more. Charles and I have always been extremely close since him and Carlos' time as teammates but I had never seen this side of him...even after a bad race or horrible Ferrari strategy. There was something different behind those eyes...something different brewing from within him.

“Everyone keeps asking if I’m okay,” I say. “But you—you’re the first person who’s just sat beside me and let me be not okay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, quietly but with unmistakable weight. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

I look at him. Really look. And for a flicker of a second, I wonder what it would be like to let someone see me like this—not because I’m broken, but because they want to see me whole again.

His hand brushes mine. Not fully holding it—just a quiet, lingering connection. I don’t pull away. Neither does he.

He’s quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to talk, but… if you want to. I’m here.”

The offer is so simple. Not pressure. Not pity. Just space.

And maybe it’s the night, or the exhaustion, or the unbearable silence I’ve been carrying around—but this time, I speak.

“It wasn’t always bad,” I begin, my voice hoarse. “He wasn’t always… like that. There were good months. Good memories. That’s the part that makes you stay too long. You start believing the kindness is who he really is—and the cruelty is just a phase.”

Charles doesn’t interrupt. His hand still rests atop mine, his body turned slightly toward me, like he’s giving me all his attention but none of his weight.

“He hated when I worked. When I traveled. He said it made me selfish. That I should want to be home, with our son. That I was choosing my ambition over motherhood.” My throat tightens. “I started to believe him.”

I look down at my hands. “He told me I was nothing without him. That no one would believe me if I left. That I’d be alone. And… I was.”

A pause. I feel the sting in my eyes.

“But Carlos came. I didn’t even ask. He just came. And now I’m here. And I don’t know who I am anymore.”

I expect silence. Or awkwardness. But Charles exhales slowly, then says, Cat, you are so very strong, and brave, and brilliant. You love fiercely, even when it hurts. You’re not broken. You’re healing. That takes time.”

I turn to look at him.

His gaze is steady. And kind. And something else—something undeniable sparking beneath the calm.

“I wish I’d known,” he says. “I would’ve said something. Done something.”

“You couldn’t have fixed it.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I would’ve stood beside you anyway.”

And there’s something in his voice that cuts through me. That sees me.

I nod, slowly. “Thank you. For this. For... not trying to fix me. Just sitting here.”

“I don’t want to fix you,” he says quietly. “I just want you to know you’re not alone anymore.”

And then, silence again. But it’s different now. Not empty. Full of something fragile, and new, and quietly powerful. His hand brushes mine again—and this time, I take his. Just for a moment. But that moment feels like the start of something I might one day be brave enough to hold onto.

—

celebgossiproom

2,468,473 likes.

celebgossiproom : Carlos Sainz just dedicated his win to his sister (Catalina Sainz) and then said “I will find him” before walking off the stage. The air left the paddock. Absolutely wild. Sources say Lando Norris and Charles Leclerc were seen talking quietly with Carlos post-race. Some say the three are planning something… off-track. #F1 #JapaneseGP

username : carlos sainz saying “i will find him” with that dead calm voice after dedicating the race to catalina??? i’m unwell. this is becoming a netflix-level drama.

username0 : everyone at home: yay carlos!! carlos on live international television: threatens a man with god and vengeance this season is unhinged.

username5 : not even joking if i was the ex i would go into witness protection TONIGHT. you don’t mess with a sainz sibling and live to tell the tale

username7 : if you don’t think charles and lando are already behind carlos with ski masks and an unmarked van you don’t know this paddock. #protectcatalina

username14 : not carlos sainz turning into a real life telenovela brother. i need this scripted for tv IMMEDIATELY.

username1 : no bc imagine being THAT man. carlos sainz just threatened your entire bloodline in front of the global motorsport community and FIA can’t even penalize it. art.

username00 : lando: “carlos i don’t think we can actually murder someone” charles, loading a slides presentation : “speak for yourself”

username15 : what’s the FIA gonna do? black flag him for emotional terrorism? he already WON. he already ASCENDED.

username20 : he didn’t say “i will find him” in anger. he said it like a promise. calm. cold. terrifying...oh this man is on a mission.

—

carlos pov

The paddock is still buzzing, even hours after the race. People are celebrating. Reporters are still trying to get quotes. Cameras are still pointed in my direction. But all I hear is the ringing in my ears from those words I said into the mic.

“This one’s for my sister. I will find him.”

I meant it.

I’m still in my race suit, sweat drying uncomfortably against my skin, when my phone buzzes in my hand.

Private Line – Alberto (Legal)

I answer on the first ring. “Tell me something. Good."

Alberto doesn’t waste time. “One of our private investigators traced a withdrawal from a secondary bank account—one Catalina didn’t know existed. The transaction happened two days ago, from a small town outside Geneva.”

My heart kicks into a different rhythm.

“That’s his hideout?”

“Looks like it. There’s more—we got eyes on a vehicle rented under an alias he used in the past. The location matches the bank activity. We're triangulating exact coordinates now.”

I press a hand to my temple. “And Mateo? Was he seen?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. “Not confirmed. But there’s a credible sighting of a child matching his age at a pharmacy nearby. The store’s owner remembered the boy had a small stuffed monkey with him."

I close my eyes. His favorite toy. He takes it everywhere. That’s him. That’s my nephew.

I grip the edge of the table, breathing hard through my nose. “How long until we know for sure?”

“We’ve already got a team flying out. 24 to 36 hours max. If it’s him, we’ll get a court order in place and local authorities involved immediately.”

I open my eyes and stare at my reflection in the dark window. There’s no victory glow. No pride in this win. Just fire in my chest and the dull ache of rage behind my ribs.

“Good,” I say. “Get me on that plane."

“And Carlos…” Alberto lowers his voice. “He’s scared. That’s why he’s moving. He knows what’s coming. He could possibly move again. We are lucky we even got this lead."

“He should be scared,” I murmur. “Because I’m coming.”

I hang up. The celebration around me fades into static. I move through hospitality like a ghost until I reach the back room, where Catalina’s curled up on the couch, half asleep with Charles sat next to her. Eyes locked on her. She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes.

“Did you find something?” she whispers.

I nod once. “We are close."

She just nods, voice shaking. “Get him back. Get my boy back. Please.”

I kneel in front of her, my hand gripping hers tightly. “I will. I am going to be gone for a few days. Charles and I already discussed you would stay with him. I trust him and I know you trust him."

She nods gently looking to Charles for reassurance and he gives her a light smile and rubs her back.

—

f1gossipgirls

410,493 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Catalina Sainz left the Paddock after the Japan GP hand in hand with Charles Leclerc whilst Carlos Sainz seems to have made a break for his Private Jet and argued with the press. I am not even sure what to think at this point.

username00 : oh so catalina and charles are giving “trauma bond turned slow burn romance” while carlos is giving “i will fly this plane myself if you keep asking questions”

username1 : carlos probably has 0 patience left and 14 lawyers on speed dial. i do not blame him one bit.

username0 : not charles holding her hand while her brother is out here threatening to dismantle the press one by one 😭😭😭 the whiplash

username5 : idc what anyone says. carlos is stressed about his nephew. the press needs to back OFF. and also… charles? take care of our girl

username7 : if we get a soft charles x catalina photo drop and a grainy carlos yelling “NO COMMENT” video in the same week?? i’m never recovering

usernameee : no bc catalina walking out with charles after the week she’s had?? and not just walking. hand in hand?? i’m throwing myself into the sea

username15 : carlos probably hasn’t slept in 3 days, got a lead on the guy who took his nephew, and now some rando asked “if this win was strategic”...i too would swing carlos

username17 : i want whatever love potion charles brewed. bc that soft hand-hold in PUBLIC while the world burns?? that’s ride or die energy.

username20 : the moment carlos turned around, fist ready and said “back the fuck off” to that reporter, i grew wings and ascended. captain. legend. king.

username22 : soft boy charles x shattered girl catalina x feral brother carlos = the holy trinity of paddock energy right now

username11 : i need one (1) blurry pap photo of charles putting her in his passenger seat and carlos speed-walking to his jet like he’s about to raid a compound

—

The silence in the car was gentle, not heavy. He didn’t press. He didn’t ask. His hand just rested, palm up between us, waiting. I held it the entire ride. Now we’re in his hotel room... it is quiet, dim, impossibly still after the noise of the paddock. He shuts the door behind us with a soft click, then pauses like he’s afraid to move too fast. Like he’s afraid I might shatter if he breathes too hard. I’m still holding it together by a thread.

"You know you don't need to watch over me. I won't shatter."

"I know you won't, you are incredibly strong but I want to be here so you don't have to be strong...put some of the hurt...some of the weight on me."

He nods, his eyes dark and warm, full of something I can’t name but feel down to my bones. “You don’t have to be okay with me. You don't have to put up that wall. You just have to be honest.”

I look down at my hands, still shaking slightly. “It’s hard to breathe sometimes. Like my ribs forgot how to move without fear lodged between them.”

He steps forward slowly, close enough that I can smell the faint salt of sweat, the lingering edge of cologne. “Can I hold you?”

The question undoes me.

I nod, and he pulls me into him, not with rush, not with urgency, just… shelter. His arms wrap around my shoulders, one hand cradling the back of my head as I fold into him. I press my forehead against his chest and try not to cry again. He gently lies us both down on the bed.

“He took my baby, Charles. The one thing left that he knew brought me joy. I never knew someone could want to see another person suffer so much.” I murmured into his chest.

“I know, Mon cœur. I know. We will get him back to you. If it’s the last thing I do, I will make sure you have your son.” He said and began to rub my back. I feel myself start to cry harder. There was a long pause of silence.

“You’re safe,” he says softly. “You’re not alone.”

My fingers grip the fabric of his shirt. “I didn’t even realize how bad it had gotten. I kept telling myself it was normal. That I could handle it. That if I was strong enough, I could make him love me again.”

Charles pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes shining, his voice barely audible. “You didn’t fail. He did.”

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, my throat tight. “I don’t even know how to start over.”

He leans his forehead against mine, tender and grounding. “One moment at a time. You’re already doing it.”

I feel the tears come again, not from pain this time, but relief. Relief that someone sees me. That someone cares without asking me to shrink, or smile, or explain.

I whisper, “Thank you.”

Charles brushes his thumb against my cheek, catching a tear. “I’ve got you, Catalina. As long as you want me to.”

And I believe him. Every word he said.

—

p2 complete:) thank u all sm for the great response on the first part, im glad you all enjoy it. this chapter was definitely a little heavy for me…as someone who has went through something similar to catalina it was a rough write but also sort of healing in a way. hope you all enjoyed this part. as always requests are welcome and I am always open to suggestions!

my messages are always open if you need someone 💋

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[lighting-and-shadow]

Post LADS Main Story: NonMC Reader x Sylus

So I had a thought again: you being reincarnated into the world of LADS, but after the story ends. Ever is no more. Wanderers have been cured and don't exist anymore. The world is relatively peaceful.

MC has found her happy ending with one of the boys, something you find out during a stroll in Linkon City. And it's not Sylus.

I was thinking it would be Xavier for the angst factor. Because, to Sylus, she chose the prince of the people that caused him so much pain over him. She chose the light Xavier represents over his darkness. She chose someone who, in Sylus' mind, was born with everything over him who worked to get everything he has for her sake.

Or maybe she chose Caleb. And that would hurt too because Sylus realizes that while they only had each other in the past, she overlooks that for her present. That their history isn't nearly as valuble as her history with Caleb.

Either way, it causes sad boy hours. The man is devasted. And while he and MC still have a friendship, it's a bit toxic. No longer do they play Kitty Cards or spend time at the claw machine. With the new love in her life, all that's left for Sylus is scraps.

She uses him. Calls him when she needs something or she wants to do something. But if it's him? She blows him off. She treats him like a joke.

Maybe not even truly realizing that she is (but part of me wants to go the bitch route because I've made her so nice in all my other current works and WIPs; I blame @rcvcgers for this (I say this with love, because I honest to god love Rotten Apples), and need to channel that anger).

Then it gets worse: he dies. She remembers her past with him, and gives back the other half of his soul. And then she turns her back on him for good, cutting ties because their morals are just incompatible. He's so devasted that he takes his own life, no longer immortal because his sorceress abandoned him (just like everyone else did).

But anyways, you figure this out, and basically come barging into his life. Not to make him love you. Not to get her to love him. But to give him something to latch onto.

Let's say Sylus was your favorite in the game (as he is for me, clearly), so you act like a total, batshit crazy, fan girl. And there's something about that crackhead energy that makes him drawn to you.

So you bug him. And bug him. And bug him endlessly. Because even annoyance and anger are better than emptiness and coldness he carries right now. Sure, he hides it well behind snark and flirting, but you know him better. You've watched him from behind a scene for quite some time.

I imagine the reason you're kept around is because of the chaotic nature of who you are and the knowledge you have. And because Sylus doesn't have it in him to give a shit. You're not a threat. If anything, it was the twins that convinced him of your use.

So you live at the base, occassionally witnessing the toxic nature of him and MC's dynamic. And you come up with a plan to help him get over her. Not by making him love you, you'd never be worthy of that, but of getting him to realize that his sorceress is dead. That even it's technically the same the person in soul, she's not the same at her (Aether) core.

Doing so makes you fall even further in love. You discover things about him a simple game could never. You see sights and experience parts of this world that could never captured by a screen or some code. And it hurts.

It hurts because he's more than just a character to you. He cares for you, is soft with you. He buys you things, helps braid your hair, takes you to fancy venues, stands up for you, protects you... You almost think that he loves you.

But that's silly. Who would love you? Who would love the real you, and not the one you present to the world? The one that cries at nothing? The one consumed by anxiety and insecurity? The one that hides under layers and layers of walls capped off by an impenetrable mask? The one that hid herself and changed herself for so many years? The one you're not even sure still exists?

You're such a fraud.

(This whole prompt was inspired by the Webtoon My Derelict Favorite, and I couldn't get it out of my head).

[cafeleningrad]

If it's ok, OP, I would like to add a personal anecdote. (If you feel like it's derailing, please let me know, I can delete my addition.)

So, it took many, many years of development but I ceased being a lonely uncool girl. Not in a "fake it till you make it" way but a mix of circumstances, own behaviours and reactions changed.

For one, the circumstances change. The geographical and social environment, especially school and classmates, that did judge me, did not pick me in sports teams, making it difficult to connect with people because personal background and interest were unusual did change.

Second, I sometimes still feel how I don't cease to be "the weird girl" in other environments. Innate habits like derailed rambling, sometimes lacking tact in preferring pragmatism over feelings, and niche interests that are not common are present in new social environments. But what previously did single me out in excluding ways, at some point became what made me myself, and somehow it does connect to others. I mean sure, I did also learn a bit to rail myself in, how to hold small talk, how to properly sort my arguments but in proper shape it turned out I could hold long talks with other people which were fun and engaging for both parties.

I mean, adults are incredibly varied people. Surely none will get along with everyone but one will find their kin. After years of struggling in school, and my first years in university, I did also make friends along the way who kept in contact over years. The thing is, the interest was mutual. The conversations were kept by a constant exchange of messages or if possible meet-ups, sometimes re-connections after pauses. Or it's meeting acquaintances on the street and having a nice chat - it made me realize, whatever little issues I have, even if for formative years caused isolation, people do remember me more kindly than I possibly think of myself.

By, example a former colleague once straight up told me I was weird, not knowing how deeply it struck. However, he did not mean it negatively. For this one comment, he was also the one helping me as often as possible when I needed help, we talk for hours when I drop by at my old work days, and regularly message each other for life updates. What did render me to self-conscious in my childhood, often being the new girl in class needing to double down on new language skills, evaporated because another friend, and him had been in the exact same situation too. They did survive, and we could share this experience of outsider'ness. Exactly my ramblings is something he seeks out because whenever we discuss social issues my dissection is what he wants to receive a clearer picture, even if we don't draw the same conclusions. In his life I might be the weird girl, but this is the weirdo he enjoys being friends with. I met other friends, and new colleagues at my old work place, and they do recall fun anecdotes from the time we worked together. Again, in which I realize that I'm remembered in a fond way.

Which leads me to third: Self interest. Talking about feeling like the "uncool, lonely girl" inevitably comes with using "I". The frequency of self-reference and limitation is unavoidable... however at some point I needed to unlearn to think of myself when interacting with other people. Granted, food service was personally formative, especially after Covid as guest interactions runs on social protocols. Here I did learn small talk, but also what variation of jokes or formality are apt for each group or person.

To say, social interactions at safe emotional distance can be learnt. More so, at some point I entirely got out of my own head, and primarily thought of: "What do the guests need?" And when guests were nice, I came to enjoy a simple friendly chat was enough to mutually create a lovely interaction in a day. I learnt to simply enjoy the company of someone else. Not "how am I perceived?" which is a feeling I only could formerly only shut-off with close friends or overly pompous internet arguments afforded by anonymity (and not having unlearnt the rage bait of social media attention bait yet...) As I first mentioned in how I got to hold long conversations with others, it came in a bit with learning to learn some etiquette which is all about being a bit more mindful of other people. The don't even need to be strict rules, just a little more consideration in interaction is already a start to not set someone off. Or, even if I still struggle to quickly connect with peers in my age, which were especially lonely years at university first, I did still made friendships that now last for years. These same-age group struggles lead me to connect more easily with older colleagues which was also really helpful. My old colleagues are women who were part of the first generation of women to live on their own, lived through much more sexist times at the workplace. The entire feeling of inadequacy is so far beyond them because there were so many external issues to handle that actions and defiance transformed them. And well yeah, at some age the inverted self-dissection really ceases to be of any matter. When we interact they do judge me what I bring to the table, whom I help, what I say in any given moment. To say, whatever I might feel inside, what one does in correspondence to the people around them is telling much more who they are, than whatever self-image I have.

Some people are really great at reading, and influencing people's perception. I'm not.

But the less I think how I want to be perceived, the less I think about an insecure self-image in fear it gets revealed, or discovered, the more I get to enjoy simply being with people. Experienced taught me: Some people like me, some don't, I know what's proper behavior, so I find my people. The more I get out of myself, the more I simply stay curious for other people, what's new in their life, why are some things going good or not so great at the moment, what do they need, is there a fun topic to share?, the less I do feel lonely, because I'm actually connected.

Uncool is such an irrelevant topic in adulthood.

Only immature, and in truth insecure people care about what's cool as adults. Yes it is a dismissive judgement but I tell you, I've had the misfortune to work with enough influencers, celebrities and their entourage during different catering occasions, whatever they try to represent is a constant gambling for social capital, attention which is for worship, translating into sales for redundant products. Sorry, but the self-contortion of behaviours like entitlement by being careless, very noticeable fake nice behaviour just to keep up good social relationships which can be used for collaboration and association. By all what's good on this earth, witnessing these people was an ideal cure. These people who're considered so aspirational, bombarded with attention and advertisement deals are constantly dancing the line between irrelevance and a possible next deal for income. And that's what their perceived aspiration and coolness is all about. I can tell you, whatever I deemed cool as a child, turned out to be extremely vapid and reckless towards other people. The coolest people who don't know how cool they're to me. Their secret lies in not caring about how they're perceived because they're self-assured in how they act about a certain thing. It's their way and nothing else matters. Sometimes it's having cultivated a self-confidence to do something just the way one does considers right.

Sure, a big Harley Davidson bikes aren't something I consider cool by any means. But anyone who deeply enjoys their ride, working on their bike, telling me about who they met and what they saw on their rides is much more in tune with themselves, are open to the world, and much more interesting as a person than someone who drives a Harley to mark what a tough nut they're. The latter are not really themselves because they're a persona build up with material signifiers.

Getting out of myself was one of the toughest developments possible. It is difficult because my superiority-inferiority complex held up my spine for so long in school, dismantling it meant dismantling the pillars of my self-confidence. In fact, dismantling a big chunk of my self perception. That's not to say we never look back inward for self-reflection we should never do that. However... the isolation that previously protected me, was beginning to suffocate me. By realizing how whatever made me feel singled out negatively, either singled me out positively, or simply wasn't relevant anymore, I also needed to change my outlook on other people. If other people's reactions shaped me before, the people who shape me now are different, so I can't think of them as I did with others previously. I don't have to prove them anything, there is no façade necessary to maintain because the more time I spend on others, the less time I have to think about myself - the more my actions towards the people in my life do prove what matters to me, what I indulge in or not, whom I'd like to help or not. At some point I cannot control how other people see me still they do see what I do in the immediate moment. Whatever I might think of myself, how bad, how brave, how awkward, how self-sufficent I consider myself to be... values are only good when put to test, and this is done by interactions with each other. I might think myself as uncool - to a neighbour I'm the one who helped out with cat sitting and groceries when she broke her arm. To a friend I'm the one who listened when they had relationship problems. What I am, is what I am to other people, small things I do, things I tell.

The worst friendships I had were in retrospect those I made because I was lonely, didn't think I could admit that I was struggling because what gave me a sense of superiority in highschool surely didn't apply in work life, and university anymore. By worrying how I didn't want to be lonely, how I wanted draw people to me by a play-acted off-the-cuffness, I remained awkward because I constantly was re-evaluating myself in interactions, wanted to keep the upper hand, but also needed. Well, in the compensation, I was emotionally at my worst. Further, I wasn't developing. The compensation for the uncool, lonely girl, desperately holding onto connections was grasping onto a friendship that did me no good - in fact I was grinding myself to low energy to prove to myself that I am the friend that always cares. It was not about the friend who took certain acts of helping for granted, if not caring primarily about herself, being flippant, dismissive, and self-righteous in order to maintain her self-image as never getting buttered down. Like, the older I get, the more people I meet, the most harmful behavior comes from people who're stuck on creating/maintaining a self image. Newly rich guests who're extra dismissive to staff because they need to mark how they need to care about other people because everyone submits to the money they pay. Guys who got aggressive when they notice that someone is as smart or smarter than they're but thought of themselves as the stiffest fry in the bag - just to give a few examples how self-curation foregoes actual likeability. In our 20s we're pointed towards many directions: Careerwise, we've new as well as many responsibilities, we should be adults, we should've a social life, be a fully-formed person. As we can see on social media we've many templates/archetypes what certain types of fully fledged people should look like, how they should dress, how they should behave, what the people in their life, and their overall life style should look like. But actually many people are just learning how to live on their own, or to earn their own living, gain an entire new input of ideas, impressions, and responsibilities they've to sort out. None is a fully formed person at this age, even if many feel as if they've figured the world out (they've not). So at this age it is much more important to be actually invested in the world, to go out of one's shell, abandon what they previously believed to be universally true. And by that interest in others, rethinking, rediscovering if you actually like or don't like something, figure out what's important to you yourself, you might discover that you're not the person you believed you were.

Maybe who you were was "lonely, uncool girl" as your environment labeled you this way. Maybe can't easily be someone else however, in a different context, experiencing something else, worrying less that who one is could pose a problem, the easier it might become existing without fearing that one is inadequate.

when you grew up as a lonely uncool girl it will never stop haunting you by the way. you will meet a cool person at a bar or the train station or at a friend's party and you can wear your most stylish outfit and striking eye makeup and you will swear that they can see through all of the facade and see the lonely terribly insecure teenage girl you used to be who desperately wanted to connect and you will swear that they know that there is like an insurmountable gap between you. this will happen forever

[rhaenyraeri]

Co-Star Tensions - Jack O’Connell

based off this behind the scenes picture hehe

minors dni!! 18+ only!!

Summary: You and your costars were called back for some reshoots, and one night after a long day of filming, something unexpected happens.

Pairing: Jack O’Connell x fem!Reader (and technically Remmick x fem!Reader?)

Warnings: it is filth y’all, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, there be’est role play involved, some swearing, i’m not great at writing smut unfortunately

Note: this is an rpf (real person fic) so i encourage that if you don’t like that, please keep scrolling. i’ve never wrote one of these before but i felt compelled to lol. also if there are any mistakes pls let me know 🫶

The tension could, almost literally, be cut with a knife on the set. Everyone could tell, but no one would say it. They wouldn’t speak about how you and Jack had scenes just barely near each other, but you both gravitated closer. No one would dare mention how hard you locked in on him when filming the scene with vampire Burt, how he sat in the rocking chair covered in fake blood.. there was something about it. Something, dare you say, carnal, was awakening in you.

The nights you yearned to touch him, yearned to just have your hands on him, sexually or not. The nights just hoping he felt the same way. Just watching him in his element, such a talented actor and great man, having the honor to work alongside him. He just had that charm about him, and that charm resonated into Remmick. You wanted him, and you wanted Remmick. Two birds, one stone.

There were just a few nights of filming left, and the two of you had spoken earlier in the day about how sad it was to say goodbye to a wonderful cast and to people you’d grown to call friends. Some scenes needed some touch ups, and others need reshoots due to new ideas flourishing from the director.

—————

Walking past the set to your makeup artist’s camper, you noticed a figure in the dark. Leaned back in the rocking chair, in the corner of the darkened room used for a reshoot earlier that day. The light in the corner cast a slight shadow onto the figure and you stopped to get a better look. It was Jack, still dressed in the bloody Remmick costume from the scene filmed earlier with Joan and Burt. The way he looked at you after ran chills up your spine. He caught you staring from the sidelines of the crew. Tensions were already high due to your character and Jack’s being romantic partners, and having to say filthy shit to each other had you reeling, yearning for it to have meaning behind it.

“Hey baby,” he spoke, that thick southern drawl that Remmick had came out. Your mouth dropped slightly, your hands holding your belongings slowly lowering. He was staring right at you, that was meant for you. He slowly began rocking, eyes never leaving you. “You gonna come on over here, darlin’? I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

Oh, what the southern drawl did to you. You didn’t think it’d corral you into him like this but it did. That thick accent made you swoon, in and out of character. Seeing him calling out to you, and you alone, warmed you up.

“Come on now, lass. You just gonna leave ol’ Rem hangin’?”

Ah. So this is how he’s gonna be. Jack wants you, and he’s going to do it in true vampiric Remmick nature. He’s luring you in.

Realizing you’d better play the part, you close your eyes and get into character. You dropped your items and starting making your way to him.

“There she is… there’s my girl. I’ve missed you,” shaking his head slightly, still rocking in the chair. Your feet clicked against the concrete floor almost antagonizingly slow, your eyes never left his, and you felt your body heat up. Crossing onto the wood, the change of energy set the mood. There he was, still covered in that fake blood from earlier, dripping right over his face and down his neck. The lights of the set were all either off or dim, save for this one hanging overhead. Just enough to hit him like a spotlight.

“I’m sorry, Remmy. I didn’t mean to make you wait on me. Are you upset at me, baby?,” you spoke to him. You could watch as those words made every hair on him stand up, the gulp traveled down his throat, and his hand gripped the armrest. His foot started to shake a little. You put on those big puppy dog eyes your character has when she looks at her lover. Slowly, you stepped closer and closer to him, walking behind the chair and putting your hands on his shoulders. You leaned down to his neck, right beside his ear and said, “I’m here now, baby. Did you need somethin’?”

“I just missed you, darlin’. Missed your touch, your voice… your face. Lord, that face of yours,” he admired as a hand reach beside him and held your cheek. The tension you two had all lead up to this moment. You took your hand and ran it up his arm and over his that was placed on your face, locking your fingers into his. Taking your other hand off of his shoulder, you walked in front of him, and used your free hand to touch his face in return.

“You’ve made a mess, Rem. But you look just as handsome as always.”

“Nah, darlin’, this ain’t no mess. A mess is what you’ve made me into, and I think you know just how to clean it up.”

Did you? Did he want you to touch him? Fuck him? Be with him? This is all new to you, this role playing thing. Not to mention it being with a man you’ve admired for so long, and just hoped that one day you’d be able to have him this way. This was your chance to finally have what you wished for.

Your eyes left his, scanning down his body in that outfit that made you an unstable wreck, and stopped at his pants. Smirking, you nodded, and stood between his now open legs. He took his free hand and grabbed your waist, bringing you closer to him. His body was practically calling out to you, you could feel how badly he wanted you, and he could feel you the same way. You bit your lip, and got on your knees.

“Oh, Rem. You got this worked up over me? I can’t just let you suffer, can I, my love?”

He gulped hard, biting his lip and hardening his lock on you.

“Nah, I don’t think that’d be very kind of you.”

“I didn’t think it would.”

Your hand left his face, running down his neck, chest, then stomach, and finally ending at his suspenders and pants. Your fingers got to work fast on his buckles and buttons, as you wanted him more than you could imagine. You wanted to taste him. You were going to. That was certain between the two of you.

Pulling off his pants and underwear in one movement, they fell to his ankles. He was hard for you. Thinking about how you walked on the set each day, head held so high and you were so passionate about your work. So passionate about the project.. about your characters. About him, he wished.

You kissed his tip, making sure to keep that eye contact. A guttural moan left him and you felt your heart flutter with pride, excitement, and admiration for the man in front of you. Your right hand came down to wrap around him, moving it up slowly, taking in what you’re about to do to him. Stroking him for a few more moments, you grew impatient. You wanted the taste of him, and you wanted the feeling of having the man you’ve pined over for months in you finally. Leaning back down, you opened your mouth and ran your tongue down the length of his dick. Stopping at the top after a few times of going up and down, you sucked, letting your tongue roam around him. You hummed against him, the sensation making him let another low, sexy moan out. Your head began to bob up and down, and your cheeks hollowed out as you went as far as you could. Your eyes closed, humming as you sucked on him. You felt his hand trace your jaw and entangle itself into your hair, grabbing a loose fist full of it and guiding you.

Deciding it was enough, he used his grip on your hair to pull you off him, and got a good look at your face. Your eyes filled with lust met his eyes, matching the same level of desire that you had.

“Stand up, I want you to try somethin’ out for me,” he said, breath shaky, as he ran his hands up your costume dress, and pulled your underwear down, “good, now we’re even.”

He put a hand on your waist, guiding you down to his thigh, using his grip to rock you back and forth over it. You grabbed his shoulder with one hand, and the top of the chair with other, now guiding yourself across with his assistance still being used.

“Oh, yeah. You like that, huh? Grindin’ on my thigh all desperate like. ‘Cause that’s what you are, desperate, right?” That drawl invoked a loud and, like he said, desperate moan from you, right into his ear. The hand on his shoulder now gripped his hair, holding him closer to you.

“I saw you watching me from the sidelines. You wanted me so bad, now you’ve got me. This is what you wanted, right? You’ve made me a damn mess, girl.”

His façade as Remmick was now gone, and it was his pure intentions coming out of him. That accent change damn near made you release then and there, but you were too lost in the feeling of his warm thigh against your pussy as you took out your sexual yearning on it. His other hand ran between your body and his, rubbing your clit, and he took his fingers to his mouth. He made sure to get your eyes to look into his as he savored your arousal. The fake blood mixed into his mouth a little as he finally got a taste of the beauty before him.

“You couldn’t be the only one that got a little taste, huh, darling?”

That was enough to get you off, and you came hard onto him. His moans from seeing you getting yourself off to a part of him that wasn’t even sexual filled your ears as you moaned into his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck as you came down from your high. You stayed like this for a few minutes until you both calmed down. You raised up, running a hand over his chest before placing it around his heart.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted you. Not even just like this, you know? You’re special, you’re beautiful. Absolutely perfect. D’you want to go out sometime? Properly get to hang out?”

You smiled, nodding along with the idea.

“I’d love to. I hoped for so damn long that you felt that way, too, you handsome devil.”

“Handsome vampire, get it right.”

You giggled, leaning in to give him a kiss.

“Oh, and for future reference, just know that was hot as fuck.”

“Duly noted, love.”

[luvhughes43]

ASHAMED | JACK HUGHES

[MASTERLIST]

request: Jack blurb w/ "are you ashamed of me?" + "i'm scared that you'll start to see me the way i see myself”

note: a repost of my old fic that got deleted <3

word count: 0.5k

“are you ashamed of me?” you whispered when your boyfriend stepped into your shared bedroom. he looked up at you, eyes bewildered as your words finally registered with him. 

you’d been feeling this way for awhile now. you saw everyone’s comments about you, how you weren’t that pretty, that you didn’t look like jacks ex girlfriends, and that you just weren’t right for him. in the beginning of yours and jacks public relationship it was easy to ignore the comments. the bliss of the start of something new, and being happy with jack outweighing every negative. but now that he is gone for hockey all the time, you’ve had a lot of time to think about things. 

it didn’t take long for your past insecurities to creep up on you. your body issues, and lack of confidence coming back at you full force.

jack dropped his bag in the doorway, slowly walking up to you. he held one of his hands out as he got closer and you reached yours out to meet it. his grip on your hand was firm as he used it to pull you closer to him.

“why would you think i’m ashamed of you?” jack speaks softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“i’m not like the girls you’re used to and i know you're seeing what people are saying about me. i would understand if-”

“no,” jack cut you off. “all you need to understand is that i love you. i’m never going to be ashamed of you. i think you're insanely beautiful,” jack placed his hand not holding yours on your check, using his thumb to rub softly at your skin.

the heaviness in your throat grew at jack’s words, tears quietly slipping down your cheeks. you were so tired of not feeling good enough for the person you loved.

your boyfriend silently wiped your tears with his thumb, his other hand squeezing yours three times to wordlessly signal his love for you. “i’m scared that you’ll start to see me the way i see myself,” you whispered to jack after a few moments went by in silence. 

he dropped your hand and let his other hand fall from your cheek. he pulled you into a tight hug, his head immediately coming to rest against your shoulder. “i don’t want you to feel like this” he whispered back to you, his head turning slightly into your neck so he could leave soft kisses there.

“i can’t help it” your voice broke as you replied, hands going up to wrap around your boyfriend's back. there were still tears falling down your face as quiet sobs left your mouth.

“i’m going to do everything i can to make you feel better okay?” jack prompted, removing himself slightly from your hold so he could look into your eyes. you only nodded in response.

“i’m sorry,”

“y/n, you don’t have anything to be sorry for” jack replied, pulling on your hand to lead you over to your guys’ bed. 

you fell asleep to jacks promises and his soft caresses as he assured you that he loved you, and that you had nothing to be afraid of. 

-

-

-

[venusveil]

Astrology observations

(facts about your placement)

☕︎︎I love Taurus moons they're the "Comfort" in human form. Probably smells like vanilla and security. Love it.

☕︎︎ Sagittarius Rising Walks into the room and changes the fkn vibe. Big "main character at the airport" energy.

☕︎︎ Venus in Gemin will say "I love you"… to four different people. In one week. Flirty texts. commitment nowhere in sight. It’s giving ✨emotional ADHD✨.

☕︎︎ A Moon in Aquarius will ghost you mid-breakdown and say "I needed space to process." Sir. I was crying on your porch.

☕︎︎ for a Leo mars Everything’s a performance. Every argument ends with "AND ANOTHER THING" stfu and Sit down.

☕︎︎ I actually met a Aries mercury in real life and god Zero filter. Will start beef at a funeral. Thinks "I’m just being honest" is a personality trait.

☕︎︎ Gemini Mars people are Always horny. Always chaotic. Will argue during sex and mean it. ☺︎

☕︎︎ Loving a scorpio moon is a risk. Loving them and hurting them? That’s your villain origin story. You’re never emotionally safe again. They’ll stalk you while you think no one’s watching but trust—they know everything. (my ex best friend is a scorpio moon I feel so bad for her exes) :)

☕︎︎Libra Venus are So sweet, so charming, so unavailable. They’ll string you along with cute texts and then say "but I never promised anything…" soo ME.

☕︎︎LEO RISING, Hot? Yes. Attention-seeking? Also yes. Will step on your neck for compliments. Bye.

☕︎︎ Saturn in the 1st House are Born tired. Probably aging backwards. Looks at joy like it’s suspicious. Says "no" for sport.

☕︎︎ your Aries Lilith partner is - Chaotic. Loud. Might slap you (while doing it :/ ) and call it foreplay. You didn’t know you were into that till now. Congrats on your new kink.

☕︎︎Mars in Sagittarius are Down for anything. Probably suggested something you had to Google. Hot? Yes. Emotionally present? Absolutely not.

☕︎︎ People really don’t get how hard it is to have Libra Mars and Saturn in the 10th. Deep down I know I’m supposed to build legacy be That Girl but my Mars is like "Can’t we just be hot, be adored while doing nothing but existing prettily?"

The internal war is exhausting. : )

☕︎︎ the placement I just don't like is Aquarius Mercury (sorry no sorry) :/ They’ll text you "what even is love?" then disappear for 4 days.

Their flirting style is confusing you until you fall in love. Can explain quantum physics but not their feelings.

☕︎︎ So you're a Gemini? I used to defend them like it was my full-time job. I was ready to fight the whole astrology community proving how wrong they are about gemini.

Until "THE" Gemini proved me wrong and turned me into a proud member of the Gemini-hater club.

If you're a Gemini or got heavy Gemini placements—listen you’re amazing. Great friend. Maybe a amazing sibling. But as a lover? NO. Just no. I’d honestly lock you in a room with a Taurus or Scorpio if I could and let the psychological warfare begin. Hehe. :/

☕︎︎ Libra placements. If we don't see ourselves being hot? It doesn't count.

.............. ♡

[archonfurina]

I worked at a Girl's House for two years. It's a place for 12-29 year old girls, women (including trans girls and women, obviously), nonbinary people and everyone who is thinking about their girlhood. It's a multicultural safe space where they can just exist, meet new people, hang out with friends, try new hobbies etc. For many young Muslim girls it's the only place they're allowed to spend their free time in, precisely because there are no men. Some try on makeup for the first time or try on prom dresses that have been donated to the House. They listen to music and dance freely. There are always safe adults to talk to and a sex therapist specialized in helping young people who have experienced sexual violence, including going to court with them if needed.

Some of these spaces are necessary.

You all realize Feminists have been critiquing "women only spaces" for decades right?

I think often about Audre Lorde's critique of a women only event that welcomed her wife and daughter, but not her son. Because she questioned it - the function and purpose of barring even the sons of Feminist women from Feminist events. Especially the barring of her young Black son, who would otherwise be left alone in the city where he would be more prone to the very violence those same Feminist women claimed to want to change.

Because what functional, forward thinking Feminist purpose does it actually serve to do that? What message does that send to women with sons, husbands, brothers, lovers, friends, who want to involve the men and boys in their lives in their activism? Who want to build a functionally better world for us all outside of the oppressive grasp of Patriarchy? Especially for the marginalized men who often sit at their own intersection violent Patriarchal oppression, that still happens to be Patriarchal oppression despite it not being distinctly misogyny?

What purpose does it truly serve to sequester yourself away into a pocket of the world, detached from those you share it with? What bright and shining future does that really promise you?

[wonderjanga]

You know, after reading your, Diana Remembers story, my brain went, what if a past champion was the wife of Hippolyta, and stepmom of Diana, then Billy meets Diana, remembers it and freaks out

Wondy: *kicking ass*

Marvel: *standing in the distance* “Aw… shoot. Is that my stepdaughter?”

Wondy: *literally lifting up tanks and throwing them at people*

Spy Smasher: *standing next to him* “Stepdaughter??”

Bulletman: *also standing next to him* “You’re married?”

Marvel: “No— er… kinda.”

Bulletman: “Kinda?”

Marvel: “Kinda. I don’t think we ever got the marriage annulled.”

*silence except for gunfire and stuff*

Minute-Man: *also also standing next to him* “Why didn’t you invite us to your wedding?”

Marvel: “It was about 1000 years ago. None of you were even alive back then.”

Minute-Man: “Aw. Damn.”

Marvel: “Yeah.”

Minute-Man: “Can we do a time travel adventure and pull a Wedding Crashers?”

Marvel: “What’s Wedding Crashers— and no. Unless you guys wanna be a groomswoman. Even then, I don’t even think I was the groom.”

Spy Smasher: “Huh…?”

Marvel: “The wedding happened back when I was a female still—”

Bulletman: “You were a girl at some point—”

Marvel: “Yes. I got married on Themyscira, an island full of only women who will kill any of the men who step onto it. So… Susan is welcome to come along.”

Bulletgirl: “I’ll start picking out a dress right away! What was the theme?”

Marvel: “I don’t think there was one. Just uh… how about we go together and I magic your clothes to what most people wore on the island back then?”

Bulletgirl: “Fine by me.”

Wondy: *deflects a missile towards them on accident*

Squadron of Justice: *all step out of the way of it, it blows up a German tank behind them*

Spy Smasher: “…so are you gonna go talk to her?”

Marvel: “Huh?”

Spy Smasher: “Your stepdaughter. Are you going to go talk to her?”

Marvel: “Eh… I don’t know…”

Minute-Man: “Come on, Cap, she’s your stepdaughter. Don’t be a deadbeat.”

Marvel: “It’s kinda hard not to be when I haven’t seen her since she was like physically six or seven.”

Bulletman: “Well, then get to know her again.”

Marvel: “Again, I haven’t seen her since she was a little kid. I doubt she even knows who I am— also now that I think about it why is she here? Amazonians aren’t supposed to leave Themyscira.”

Minute-Man: “Really? Then this is the perfect opportunity to be a dad— or mom! Talk to her and be a concerned parent!”

Marvel: “I don’t think she really needs parenting.”

Wondy: *bends a soldier’s gun in half*

Bulletman: “What if we went to talk to her together?”

Bulletgirl: “We can be emotional support?”

Marvel: “Uh…”

Wondy: *still kicking ass*

Marvel: “Maybe…?”

[perries-things]

Down, Boy.

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows that Seongje bites, and you are smart enough to know better. But around you, he wags his tail. Told myself to finish this today so that i would have less drafts. •°○

Genre: a complicated relationship

Warning: Violence, language and gangsterism

W/C: 622

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You had always been known for your mind. Reserved, unreadable, brilliant. You preferred the quiet—you liked control. The kind of girl with a spine of a steel. You had a reputation and it made people respect you from afar. So imagine their surprise when someone like you—would choose to date someone like him.

Geum Seongje.

It didn't make any sense, not even to you.

══

You just left the school gates, checking your phone again. You had messaged your boyfriend, Seongje, hours ago. Of course, no reply. Usually, he'd answer within minutes. Sometimes seconds.

- 금성제

R (Where are you?) delivered 2hrsago.

You scowled, shoving your phone back into your pocket. Gosh. You then took the shortcut near Ganghak's back wall, like you always did. The alley was narrow, barely lit by the dying sunlight.

Thud

Rhythmic thuds echo against concrete, a chorus of pained groans and the distant laughter of boys. It sounded like fist meeting flesh. You then turned to the corner and saw him, Geum Seongje, mid swing.

Seongje's voice tore through the air, sharp and unfiltered. "You think you're fucking slick? Huh?" Seongje spat, driving his knee onto the boys stomach. "Bet you can't even piss right after this." His gang stood around, watching in silence. He laughed, now dragging the boy by his shirts neckline—slamming him against the wall.

Your boyfriends red school blazer was unbuttoned, exposing the edges of the inked graphic on his long-sleeved shirt underneath. A nasty grin is painted on his face as he slammed his fist into the boys guts again. "Didn't i say i'd fuck you up?" The poor boy could only groan. "God, you look terrible!" Seongje exclaimed, his eyes wild.

"Seongje." You called, voice firm and sharp.

Seongje glanced over his shoulder. He didn't react. Not at first. But you saw it—how his grin twitched wider. "Tch. You're lucky my girls here." He muttered to the boy, slowly stepping back. "Or i would've left your ass breathing through tubes." With that, the boy limped off— you only stood still as he limped past you, clutching his side. And he hardly dared to glance at you.

You met your boyfriends gaze with a blank expression, arms crossing over your chest. "Lucky bastard. I was about to rip his teeth out." Seongje muttered under his breath. His gang now stood a few paces back, laughing. "Oi. Specs," He called out. One of his gang members then tossed him his glasses, and he caught them with ease.

"You done?" You asked, voice laced with irritation. "You really can't go a day without this shit, can you?" He laughed, loud—cocky, and utterly unbothered. You then turned to his 'minions' and jerked your chin. You command, "Go," Eyes cold as you looked at them.

Then a voice pipes up with a joke, 'Goodboy, Seongje,' making the others stiffle their laughs.

"What, you guys need a fuckin' map?" You snapped, brows furrowed. Seongje's jaw clenched as he shot them a glare, making them fall silent quickly. "Hey, quit clowning around and listen to the woman." After that, they cleared out. You stepped closer, your arms remaining crossed over your chest.

He only gave you that grin, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. "Missed me?" You only stared as he lit the cigarette slowly. "You ignoring me?" You asked, voice low. "Shit, my bad. I was going to reply, plus—i was busy beating the fuck outta that bitch." He grinned, dragging the smoke between his teeth.

"C'mon." He playfully says. "You know me, baby. I'm allergic to boredom." You didn't say anything. Only giving him that look—eyebrows raised and eyes flicking briefly to the cigarette like it personally offended you. One he didn't miss. You hated the smell, and he knows that. He noticed.

He paused.

He only held your gaze for a second—then sighed, pulling the cig out with a muttered, "Fuckin' hell, babe." and crushed it between his fingers, flicking it away like trash. You scoffed, walking past him—disgusted. "Whew, that look's a killer," He commented. Then, with that stupid cocky grin, he draped his arm around your shoulders.

"I hate you." You muttered, brushing his arm off. "Oooh," he let out, dragging the sound teasingly. "Fuck, i love it when you get mad." You didn't respond back, just kept walking. Seongje shook his head and chuckled as he trailed after you.

"Hate me all you want, baby. I'm still yours."

═══════════════════════════════════════════

[meraki-sunset]

I felt like this one deserved it's own post

Mage of Blood = Understand (with/through) Blood (bonds)

To me Harry is a leader like his father, but he can be very self centered. Blood is related to bonds and i feel like that's something Harry needs to learn about. To comprehend the stakes of being on the center of the stage with everyone depending on you to save the play. Also, him being a mage comes from his mother and all her wizardy vibes.

Maid of Light = Heals, creates and (re)generates (with/through) Light (Knowledge)

Light is knowledge. I see fit for Vriska's descendant to be a healer born and raised in a peacefull world, being kind of an oposite to her, mirroring what she could've been had the world not required her to be ruthless to survive. It can also be a learning oportunity for Vrissy, who wants to be cool and badass like Vriska, but her power is centered on creating and helping instead of stealing and destroying like her

Having the same class as Aradia, who killed Vriska, and The Dolorosa/Porrim who Mindfanf/Aranea, her ancestor got killed, also reflects this. Serkets and maids don't go well. But this one does, this one will brake the cycle

I also really like keeping the aspects as a family thing that get's passed on with trolls

Thief of Time = Redistributes (with/through) Time for Own benefit

This girl is done. She was made in secret, has been hidden, pushed away like an inconvenience, sent to live far from everything, used as a hostage at a war made by all this people who are suposed to be important and are suposed to be her family but that she doesn't know. She doesn't care. She'd ask for her life back but who knows how much of it she can consider hers. She just wan't her time back. The time this gods took from her. And she's going to take it one way or another.

I also love the pattern of time players being always red(ish) and space players always being green

Heir of Rage = Invites change, control and manipulation of/in/with/through Rage.

If someone deserves to explode is Tavros Crocker. Like a joke from the universe, the off brand John is a heir like his brother, but not a heir of freedom, no, the total oposite actually. He inherited something worst and he's about to use it to full buldose everything in front of him.

I think it's also cool that Hope and Rage are oposite aspects and he has Gamzee's aspect, and oposite to his dad's. Kinda reflecting all the messed up dinamig going on at his home

So basically, Harry and Vrissy will learn about responsability and help others and Ruby and Tavros will fucking obliterate the planet

[waywardangel-wilds]

Using this post to see if I can answer all these questions about my main character:

1. Name: Larkspur (so far lol). Age: 22. Gender: Female. Birth date: sometime in the summer.

Appearance: Medium height. Dark curly hair, brown skin. Disarming smile (this is a trap).

Backstory / trauma : she was born after the fall of society and has never known anything outside of the “after” - the world after the end of capitalism and climate catastrophe. Both her parents are dead and were dead when she was a baby so she’s never met them. She was raised in an orphanage. She’s never had enough but she’ll come to realize she had it good compared to others because her community was strong and close knit. She’s always felt displaced - a girl without a home, without a family. This makes her scared of being abandoned and her triggers happy reactions are all motivated by a desire to never feel left behind.

Goal: to leave her town and make it to the big market in the village. Real goal -> to get there and set up some sort of con so she’s never poor again.

Make her suffer -> she will be tormented by seeing what it really means to take from others and to harm and deceive. She won’t like it. She’ll also find herself taking part in an ever increasingly problematic organization that will make her realize that the world is so much bigger and so much more capable of cruelty than she even understood.

Relationships / who does she love -> she comes to realize that she has a family - she always did - and it has grown larger. She’ll realize that family can be chosen and it can always grow. She’ll fall in love with someone just as broken as she and she will come to see that even people like them are worthy of all the good things in life.

Give them a voice -> she is charming and a great narrator. She’s a great liar. But it’s all a performance really. She’s very vulnerable and not fully formed really as an individual. She’s unsure. There’s a soft core to her.

Make them grow -> Lark starts off selfish and somewhat immature. She blames everything she thinks is wrong with herself on the world and tries to take it out on others. She’s wrong frequently. She needs to hit her face against the metaphorical floor to realize things are more nuanced.

Glass -> she can be selfish AND self destructive. She’s afraid of being happy, thinks she doesn’t deserve it even though she wants it with all her heart. She’s the type to self-sabotage.

Anyway I think that’s all I can answer!

How to Write a Character

↠ Start with the basics, because obviously. Name. Age. Gender. Maybe even a birthday if you’re feeling fancy. This is step one because, well, your character needs to exist before they can be interesting. But nobody cares if they’re 27 or 37 unless it actually matters to the story.

↠ Looks aren’t everything… but also, describe them. Yes, we know their soul is more important than their hair color, but readers still need something to visualize. Do they have the kind of face that makes babies cry? Do they always look like they just rolled out of bed? Give us details, not just “tall with brown hair.

↠ Personality isn’t just “kind but tough.” For the love of storytelling, give them more than two adjectives. Are they kind, or do they just pretend to be because they hate confrontation? Are they actually tough, or are they just too emotionally repressed to cry in public? Dig deeper.

↠ Backstory = Trauma (usually). Something shaped them. Maybe it was a messy divorce, maybe they were the middle child and never got enough attention, or maybe they once got humiliated in a spelling bee and never recovered. Whatever it is, make it matter to who they are today.

↠ Give them a goal. Preferably a messy one. If your character’s only motivation is to “be happy” or “do their best,” they’re boring. They need a real goal, one that conflicts with who they are, what they believe in, or what they think they deserve. Bonus points if it wrecks them emotionally.

↠ Make them suffer. Yes, I said it. A smooth, easy journey is not a story. Give them obstacles. Rip things away from them. Make them work for what they want. Nobody wants to read about a character who just gets everything handed to them (unless it’s satire, then carry on).

↠ Relationships = Depth. Nobody exists in a vacuum. Who do they love? Who annoys the hell out of them? Who do they have that messy, can’t-live-with-you-can’t-live-without-you tension with? People shape us. So, shape your character through the people in their life.

↠ Give them a voice that actually sounds like them. If all your characters talk the same, you’ve got a problem. Some people ramble, some overthink, some are blunt to the point of being offensive. Let their voice show who they are. You should be able to tell who’s talking without dialogue tags.

↠ If they don’t grow, what’s the point? People change. They learn things, make mistakes, get their hearts broken, and (hopefully) become a little wiser. If your character starts and ends the story as the same exact person, you just wasted everyone’s time.

↠ Flaws. Give. Them. Flaws. Nobody likes a perfect character. Give them something to struggle with, maybe they’re selfish, maybe they push people away, maybe they’re addicted to the thrill of self-destruction (fun!). Make them real. Make them human.

↠ Relatability is key. Your character doesn’t have to be likable, but they do have to be understandable. Readers need to get them, even if they don’t agree with them. If your character never struggles, never doubts, and never screws up, I have bad news: they’re not a character, they’re a mannequin.

↠ You’re never actually done. Characters evolve, not just in the story, but as you write them. If something feels off, fix it. If they feel flat, dig deeper. Keep refining, rewriting, and letting them surprise you. That’s how you create someone who feels real.

Now go forth and write characters that actually make people feel something. And if you need a reminder, just ask yourself: Would I care if this person existed in real life? If the answer is meh, start over.

[thechaoticcherub]

A Problem Pt 2

Part One

Pairing: Dad!Joel x reader Summary: You're each other's problems and that finally becomes clear. Warnings: NSFW 18+, INCEST, DDDNE, age gap, reader is 18, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), orgasms, size kink, daddy kink( iguess?), reader is a terror, not proofread or beta-ed oopps, Joel's POV Notes: here's part two! I hope it lives up to the hype, I liked writing it. I kinda went all over the place with it so idk. it's not tightened up at all and i'm pretty sure I talk about their foreheads pressed together A LOT and the POV jumps around a bit but you know, i'm tired. Enjoy!\

Tagging people who asked for a pt two: @ohmillerbaby @jiminstinypinky @bloodygoree @shivispunk @monicasblues @scened0ll @old-logan-and-old-joels-slut @jakesmysterio @neobangverse @thottiewinemom @thebumbqueen @fallout-girl219 @dilflover-3

Tess had been a necessary distraction for Joel. He needed someone  to take his mind off his problem. This problem wasn’t a typical one. It wasn’t the mortgage needing to be paid, it wasn’t his brother needing to be bailed out of jail, it wasn’t the roofing guys not answering his numerous texts. Those were issues he needed to work out but they weren’t Joel Miller’s biggest  Problem. They weren’t what he needed Tess for. Joel’s biggest problem was also the love of his fucking life. Joel’s problem was a little demon child who lived in his house, occasionally still slept in his bed, and drained his bank account. Joel’s problem was created by him, raised by him. You. 

You were the problem that had plagued him for so long, had buried yourself into his loins and heart and refused to let go. You had always hated when he went on dates when you were younger. You threw fits until he came home. You would hate Tess and yet, you were the reason he needed to keep seeing Tess. To stave off his disgusting problem. The problem that Joel knew snooped through his bedroom when he wasn’t home, that washed his t-shirts for him. You were a Problem with light shining in your eyes and lips that teased him when you ran your tongue along them. 

So really, you were the reason Joel invited Tess over that night when you headed off to a sleepover at your friends house. Unfortunately, you were also the body he envisioned underneath him as he fucked Tess. He was a sick man. He had a beautiful women in his bed and yet his mind always wandered to his pretty little daughter. So when you walked into the room, throwing the door open, he half wondered if it was some kind of debauched fantasy he was having. But then you were shouting and running like the bratty little girl you had always been. 

Tess had made a remark about you knocking and it pissed Joel off, but at the same time, she had a point,  and he felt bad that this would be the first interaction Tess ever had with you.

You flung insults and anger when he followed you down the stairs and that didn’t surprise Joel at all. When Tess made it out the door, you tried your best to hurt him but you had never been tough enough to learn how to throw a punch. 

Joel knew he had to have the awkward conversation with you now, apologizing, mentioning his own needs, and you would stand there looking so…good. Being the subject of all his needs, his desires. You would continue to burn in his guts and the words he spoke would make you uncomfortable because obviously talking about your dad’s sex life was not something you would find appealing. 

Then he caught something, the way your eyes lingered on his undone pants, seemingly taking in the hair he was trying to cover by doing up his jeans. Your little tongue poked out and touched your bottom  lip, your eyes fixated for a moment. Then the things you said, 

“No, Daddy. I’ll never want that from boys in college.” 

“I hate that you were doin’ that with Tess.” 

If Joel didn’t know any better, he’d think- no. That was his imagination—wait, did you say, Tess? When Joel posed the question to you, the words hung in the air for a long time. You went still and your eyes darted from his face to his hands to the floor and back. You were trying to come up with a lie, Joel could see that.  You had lied to him enough times for him to know that. 

*

“I-“ You started, you were searching for a way out of this. A way to explain how you knew or a way to derail your father from his questioning but the only idea that came to mind was crazy. “What?” You asked him, to buy time. 

“How did you know her name is Tess?” he asked again, putting his hands on his hips, stepping back from you. You answered quickly, trying to brush past his question with your own question,

“I don’t know! But…but daddy, I don’t understand what you were doing…” You said, feigning innocence. 

“Oh you don’t know how you knew-wait..what?” Joel asked, confused, “You don’t know what it was we were-honey, c’mon now.” He said, looking down at you. The lines on his forehead creased further as his confusion took over. You stared back with wide eyes, praying he forgot about the Tess question. You were making rash decisions now, but hey, the only way forward was through so you pushed on,

“I-I mean…I do, I think.” You started, taking a step forward towards him. Joel was looking down at you in utter confusion, you sucked on your lower lip and then reached out and took his hand. “That’s…that’s sex, right, Daddy?” You asked and Joel let out a nervous laugh at that. Underneath the fake innocence you tried to smother the intense gleam of mischief, of manipulation. 

“Ye-yeah, honey…I don’t understand. You should know this, kid.” He said, “I mean, I could have been better about havin’ that conversation with you but I kinda thought school took care of that.” You were pulling his hand towards you and it wasn’t like he was resisting but you could feel his trepidation. 

“I just always thought…” You cut yourself off, stealing yourself to finally say it to come face to face with what you wanted and what you were sure would send your father spiraling. “I always thought that was somethin’ we were goin’ to do someday.” You tugged his hand up to your waist like you were going trying to make him hug you. Joel tugged his hand away instinctively,

“What!?” He asked. “No, babygirl…are you…you’re jokin’” He started to laugh and you furrowed your brow in anger. 

“No!” You said, “I’m not joking!” You snapped. “I thought that was something daddy’s did with their daughters! You always said I was your special girl!” You accused, glaring at the man in front of you. You watched something flicker across Joel’s face. Pain and desire. It was there, clear as day now. You and your dad shared a problem. 

“No. Baby, No. Where did you get this idea that…that…” He shook his head. 

“Aren’t I your special girl?” You asked. 

“Yes but…this…” he gestured between the two of you. “This wouldn’t be right. It’s not-“ You  interrupted him by standing up on your tip toes and pressing your lips into his. Joel’s whole body stiffened and he grabbed your shoulders, trying to push you away from him but you reached up, wrapping your arms around your dad’s neck and pulled yourself into him, pressing your body into his. 

You silently prayed this wouldn’t backfire. You hoped to God he wouldn’t shove you away and have you committed for trying to fuck your own father.  He didn’t. He melted. At first the kiss could have almost been something a father and daughter shared when the daughter was a lot younger but it quickly devolved into something so inappropriate it gave you butterflies. Thoughts of Tess vanished and Joel’s hands found your waist. His lips were rough and warm and you cherished your first kiss like it was made of gold and in your mind, it was. 

It was Joel who ripped away first. 

“No. Babygirl, No. This isn’t supposed to happen,” but even has he said it, he was caressing your cheek, stroking your hair back away from your face. 

“Yes it is.” You said before pressing your lips to his again, he kissed you back but then was pulling back once again. 

“This is wrong.” He said but it was his lips that engulfed yours this time. His arm tightened around your waist and he lifted you up so your feet dangled off the floor and he took a few steps into the living room, in front of the couch and let you down again. 

“But I like wrong, Daddy.” You said, staring up at him. “I’ve always  liked wrong.” You explained to him. It was quiet for a moment as he stared down at you, your eyes glinting in the dim light in the living room. Joel knew you were a sneaky little shit. You always had been but it had never occurred to him that it would manifest like this but if you were going to say you liked “wrong” he could give you “wrongness” in spades. 

“I think I like wrong too, babygirl.” He said and then you took his arms and pushed him back onto the couch so he was sitting down. He looked up at you and reached out to take your hands, to pull you close to him but you had other plans. You dropped down onto your knees in front of him, settling yourself between his knees. Before he could say anything you reached up and started to undo the pants he had so recently done back up. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel said, looking down at you on your knees in front of him. You got his pants undone  and your fingers ran through the wirey, course pubic hair there and your eyes traveled up his body to look into his eyes as you smiled. Joel let you tug his jeans down just enough for his cock to spring free, “This…this is so wrong.” Joel said but it didn’t stop him from reaching out and running his fingers through your hair. You giggled, reaching out towards his cock, you had been wanting this for so long you could barely believe it was right there in front of you. As you wrapped your fingers around the base Joel shifted, his brow furrowed, 

“Where the fuck did you learn this darlin’?” He asked, sounding nervous for the answer. You just shrugged and you stuck your tongue out and very slowly and deliberately licked the tip of his cock. 

*

Watching his daughter get on her knees in front of him, and start licking his hard cock made Joel’s brain go haywire. How the fuck did you know just how to do that? You were supposed to be his good little girl who didn’t like boys, didn’t fuck around. Your mouth slid over his cock, little lips enveloping his cock-head and worry filled him. Had you been doing this with boys behind his back? Nights where you claimed to be at a friends house, had those been lies? Joel sat up and very suddenly grabbed your chin, tugging you off his cock with a quiet, wet, pop. He forced you to look up at him and you still looked like the picture of sweet innocence, even with your face flushed, your mouth wet, eyes wide. 

“Where did you learn it? You been with a bunch of boys I don’t know about?”he asked. He felt protective and jealous. You had been playing innocent, saying you thought that it was something the two of you would do together. Joel practically scoffed at the thought now.  “You tell the truth now,” he said, giving you a little shake. You didn’t falter though.  

“Well I watch porn sometimes, daddy. I’m sorry.” You said, your lip trembled slightly. “I’ve never been with a boy…I’ve…” your cheeks reddened, “I’ve just wanted you. Always. Only you.” Joel softened at your words. You weren’t lying. He could tell but God, it had made him nervous. This sickness inside him was making him paranoid…jealous. Something he had never been before. “And…well I wanted to make you like me better than Tess.” You continued and Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked down at you, still kneeling between his knees. Tess. Her name again. 

Joel looked down at you and without speaking, you both remembered the question from earlier. How do you know her name is Tess? Joel stared at you, his brow furrowing as he held your chin.  He watched as a smirk slid over your face, mischievous, sly and excited. Of course, you had known that Tess was coming over from the second you had left for your friends house for a fake sleepover. Joel nodded  slowly as the realization dawned on you. 

“You’re a brat, babygirl.” He said. Joel let go of your chin and grabbed your hair, pushing you down towards his cock. “You hated the idea of your daddy fucking someone else that bad, huh?” he asked. Your mouth wrapped back around the head of his cock but this time it was Joel’s hand guiding you down, pressing his cock into your mouth. 

*

You gagged as his cock plunged deeper into your mouth, he had seen porn but that didn’t prepare you for a cock being shoved into your throat. You struggled back but Joel held your head, not letting you off entirely. 

“Answer me, babygirl. You hated it so bad you had to ruin it, right?”he asked. You couldn’t speak with his cock in your mouth so you whimpered and nodded. “What was that, darlin? I can’t hear ya,” He mocked and you whined, managing a garbled, 

“Yeeeea,” around his cock. Joel chuckled and his fingers caressed in your hair as you caught your breath, your tongue working over the tip of his cock. You had never imagined you would ever actually get to be here, you had wanted it so bad you hadn’t ever stopped to think it would actually be possible. He pulled his cock out of your mouth and looked down into your eyes, 

“My sweet, destructive little girl.” Joel said softly, he leaned forward, bending to plant a kiss on the top of your head. You glowed with pride and warmth. This felt like everything you had ever wanted from him, this was supposed  to happen, it was meant to be, you and him. You were from him and now he got to take you properly as his own. “You need your good ole’ dad, don’t ya?” he asked into your ear, his fingers still in your hair. You nodded and he pulled back, “Get up here then,” he breathed and patted his knee. You stood up, looking down at him for a second, your heart pounding a million beats per second it felt like. You took in how he looked there, everything you had ever wanted. The man who had not only made you, raised you, taught you everything but had etched what it meant to need into every vein, crevice, line, pore in your body. His stubble was greying around his chin, flecks of gray in his mustache. His shirt was pulled up slightly, showing off his belly and his pants were still undone, cock resting against the soft part of his stomach. His arms were held out, ready to accept you into them, they’d feel just like they always had, holding you but it would be different, better, right now. So right for everything you needed and so, so wrong. 

You put your knee on the couch just outside his knee and then swung your other leg around to the other side, straddling him. The dress you were wearing pulled up and Joel helped it along, gathering it up around your waist before wrapping his arms around you. 

“You’re my good little girl, right?” he asked as you pressed your forehead into his. 

“Mhm,” you answered. 

“So Daddy gets to take your virginity, right?” he asked, confirming what he thought he already knew. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You breathed, his lips were so close to yours and you were tempted to subdue your nerves just by kissing him  but you let the space between you two linger for another moment, savoring the build up. 

“Good,” he said. “I want you to promise me that if I’m goin’ to have you, I’m goin’ to be the only one.” Joel’s hands were under your skirt now, working on tugging your undies down, “Lift your leg up for me baby,” he added, tapping the side of your thigh indicating which leg he was tugging your undies off of. You did what he said as you thought of his other words. He wanted to be your one and only and you would gladly agree but you knew what you had to ask for. Once you undies were dangling off of one leg, Joel’s fingers inched up the inside of your thigh, so close to feeling you for the first time. Heat was radiating off of your pussy and he was so close. Your breath hitched in your chest as he grazed his pointer finger along your lips. 

“Yes, daddy. I wont have anyone else…but you need to promise the same thing. Just me.” You said. Joel’s eyes opened, looking into yours, your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling. His fingers stroking down your slit, towards your entrance, needing to feel just how tight you were. 

As his finger sunk into you, his eyebrows raised, your mouth fell open in a gasp and he nodded, “Yes, babygirl. I promise. Just you.” He said. Your dad’s finger curled inside of you, stroking a spot you had never been able to reach on your own. You melted into him, your mouth hanging open as he pumped his finger into you. There was nothing like this in the world. Nothing that could possibly compare to the one person you had loved your whole life pumping his finger in and out of you. 

“You like that, dont you?” he cooed to you as you pressed yourself down onto his finger. “Daddy hasn’t even touched your clit yet and you’re soaking my hand.” You could hear the smile in his voice even though your eyes had fluttered shut. 

“I want that, Dad.” You gasped, your clit was already aching with need, with neglect. You felt him maneuver his thumb  up to your clit, finding a rhythm to stroke it in tight circles while his middle finger pressed up into you. You were sure it could possibly get better but you knew his cock would be so much more. “Daddy, daddy…please will you put your cock in me?” You asked. 

“I don’t know if you’re ready for that, peanut.” He said. 

“I don’t care…I want you to take me.” You whined. “I want it Daddy’s cock to stretch me,” You moaned, barely cognizant of what you were saying. 

“It could hurt-“

“I want you to hurt me, daddy! Please.” You practically begged and Joel had never been able to resist that sound. The plaintive pleading of his daughter. How could he? How could he resist sinking his cock into your pussy when it was this tight and you were begging for it. Begging for the pain, the stretch and the relief of finally connecting the way you needed. Joel reached down to his cock, stroking it a few times. He watched as you looked between your bodies, your mouth hanging open as you watched him touch himself. You groaned and lifted your hips, trying to get him to get going.

“I know she needs it, “He breathed as he lined himself up with your cunt, notching the tip right at your entrance. “Take a breath for me, baby, daddy’s going to put him in and it’s goin’ to hurt.” He explained. 

“Yes, Dad! Please.” You whined and accepted his cock inside of you, the stretch of your cunt opening for him was an all encompassing feeling but that was exactly what you wanted. You wanted to feel it in your pussy, in your breasts, stomach, toes. Everything tightened up as he pushed himself deeper. “Oh god!” you moaned. 

“Look at me, babygirl. Keep your eyes on your dad, I got you.” He said as you felt every part of you open up for his cock. You opened your eyes, pressing your forehead into his, taking slow gulps of air. His eyes comforted you and sent sparks of excitement through you, making it tingle, making the pain feel so fucking good. 

“More,” you moaned as his hips started to rock up into you, pumping his cock into you. 

“Good girl,” he said, “You take Daddy’s cock, that’s right.” Joel said. He reached down between your bodies and started that same rhythm of tight circles around your clit. It made your head swim with pleasure. “That’s right,” Joel said, “Dad will take care of you.” He said. 

You felt like it would be impossible to cum from your first time, but you had underestimated the power of your dad’s ministrations to your clit. His attention was so good, your eyes on his was so wrong, and so right, exactly what you had always wanted that you felt yourself building up to an orgasm unlike any other you had ever had. Your heart lept into your throat as you realized how close you were, you cunt tightened around his cock. 

“Oh hold on, pretty girl, you wait for Daddy to cum,” Joel growled, you let out a whine, shaking your head. 

“I can’t, dad! I can’t! I’m so close-“ You moaned, grinding your hips down. His movements around your clit slowed and you felt your clit pulse with need. “Daddy! Please!” Joel’s hips moved faster, sloppier. 

“You can wait, Dad’s goin’ to cum too. I wanna fill you up while you cum, honey.” Joel’s voice was ragged and needy. You whined louder as he pounded into you, bruising your cervix with every thrust while his fingers teased around and around your clitoris, closing you in on your release. 

“Daddy, please! I can’t hold it, I need it,” you whined. With a final thrust of his hips, Joel was coming and his fingers continued to stroke across your clit, pushing you over the edge. You felt the spasms of his cock inside you, filling you with the same seed you came from and your own orgasm split through you, making you shake and moan until you finally collapsed into his chest. “Daddy,” you sobbed. “Daddy, I’m all yours.” You said. 

“I know,” Joel whispered, he reached down and gathered your hair up in his hands, holding it off your neck. “You’ll always be mine.” He said. “My babygirl, my little problem.” He said it and you couldn’t stop the smirk creeping in. You had a problem too. It was your dad and how much you longed for his cock, you didn’t think that problem was ever going to resolve. 

[pagesfromthevoid]

Future Fest | b. f.

Bob Floyd x teacher!reader

High school recruitment isn’t usually on the short list of things to do during the day, but it is today.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

Author's Note: I don't even know what possessed me but here I am. Also, the feral things the students say in this are actual quotes from my actual students.

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

She really needs to learn how to say “no” when people ask her to do things at work.

It’s a bad habit –a combination of the incessant need to be liked by everyone and genuinely caring about what the students would want–that she just can’t seem to break. 

Today, it’s Future Fest. The very first event of the year where any student sixteen and older can ditch their regularly scheduled classes and come down to the gym to talk to different college representatives, explore career choices, and interact with military recruiters. About 75% of those students are there to actually get an idea about what they want to do after high school –that other 25% are there to get out of class.

Not that she blames them, of course. She probably would have done the same thing if this had been a thing when she was in school. 

The college and career counselor at the school had asked her to help out, since most of her students had signed up to go anyway (and unfortunately for those who didn’t, they got to go anyway because of her). It’s all hands on deck when it comes to these sorts of events, just to ensure that things go smoothly and none of the kids act like fools. Plus, she’s getting paid for “covering” a class three periods in a row –not a lot, but it’s certainly better than nothing. 

Her task is to just walk the aisles and keep an eye on things. Talk to some of the representatives, thank them for coming to the school, encourage kids to talk to them too. It’s easy enough, and she jokes with many of the representatives that she’s getting her steps in today.

“Miss!” One of her students practically screams, running up to her and grabbing her arm. A gaggle of sophomore girls are trailing behind, carrying pamphlets for the Navy. “Have you seen the military guys?”

She peers over the heads of the students, towards the back of the gym, where the recruiters are. She can sort of make out their faces, but she’s not truly all that interested.

“I haven’t made my way over there yet,” she offers, pulling her arm free from the girl. “Why?”

“They’re hot.”

“You know, normal teenagers don’t tell their teachers when they find people hot,” she points out, rolling her eyes.

She’s suddenly surrounded by teenage girls, and she wishes for a moment that the kids didn’t like her half as much as they did. Boundaries are important, and teenagers have no idea how they work. They tell her things she truly does not want or need to know –though it’s a double edged sword. For all the weird, practically feral comments they make, they tell her things that are important to know. How their lives at home are, if they need help, if they’re struggling. She reminds them that she loves them, but they need to remember they’re not friends.

“Yeah but we’re not normal and you’re our mom, so like…it’s fine.”

They call her the school mom, which is…better than being their friend, she supposes.

The girls are insisting she go and talk to the recruiters, or at least look at them, so she throws her hands up and heads over. But she tells the girls they have to talk to three college representatives if she does that –they agree quickly and hurry off, though they’re watching to make sure she actually goes over there.

Rolling her eyes, she holds her hands behind her back and strolls down the aisle until she sees the banner for the Navy –then below it, a sign advertising the United States Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor Program. She thinks that’s a mouthful, though also knows the program is highly sought after by many of the students at the school. Being the closest high school to the naval air base will do that, though.

As she approaches, she can hear two of her students talking to the recruiters –one tall, blonde and holding a helmet that’s labelled “Hangman.” He’s confident, and he’s cute (she’ll give him that much), but she doesn’t particularly like how he’s talking to the boys in front of him. Beside him is another pilot, she assumes, since she’s wearing her flight suit and the helmet in front of her says “Phoenix.” She’s trying to cut in, but Hangman seems to be more interested in bragging than anything else. She catches the tail end of their conversation, something about their call signs and what they are. 

Beside Phoenix, however, is someone who looks too sweet to be in the military. He’s talking to a junior, showing him something on a tablet that looks like blueprints. But he’s smiling ear to ear, seemingly enjoying whatever he’s talking about. His glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose, but he’s too caught up talking to the student to notice. 

He, she thinks, is cute. And he’s nice to the students, which is important to her.

She steps around the student, standing to the side as she waits for them to finish up. From this angle, she catches the name on his tag –Floyd –and makes a mental note. However, it’s Hangman who finishes up first, and approaches with an award-winning (and cocky) smile.

“Well hello there,” he offers, extending his hand. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin, at your service.”

She takes his hand politely, shaking it, and introducing herself. “Nice to meet you, lieutenant. I was just stopping over to thank you guys for coming out. It means so much to the school.”

His colleague Phoenix, extends her hand next, smiling as well. “Lieutenant Natasha Trace. It’s not a problem –we love coming out and doing stuff like this.”

“So you’re all pilots?” She asks, motioning towards their helmets. 

“Me and Phoenix are –Bob over there is a Weapons System Officer,” Lieutenant Seresin explains, though he’s smirking some as Natasha –Phoenix –elbows Bob to get his attention. 

Bob looks up, as if suddenly realizing she’s not a student and she’s an adult, and he turns a bit pink in the ears as he sets down his tablet.

“I’m sorry about that, ma’am,” he offers, then extends his hand to her. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd, though most people just call me Bob.”

She takes his hand and offers a real smile –not that she wasn’t smiling properly to his colleagues, but Bob seems sweet and it's hard not to offer him a proper one. She reintroduces herself one more time.

“It’s a pleasure –like I was saying, I just wanted to thank you guys for coming out and doing this. Future Fest is our big thing and the kids really love it. Having you guys join us is a big deal.”

“Oh, I love doing stuff like this,” Bob offers, and the smile on his face just hasn’t gone away.

She’s a bit distracted, caught up in just how genuinely interested he seems to be in the whole thing. Most people aren’t terribly excited to spend their day talking to high schoolers –but Bob actually seems to mean it. And she appreciates that, because she’s someone who also enjoys working with the students (though it would be a shame if she didn’t, given she’s a teacher). It helps that he’s got the prettiest blue eyes she’s ever seen, and he’s got some sort of accent that she can’t place but it’s nice to hear. 

Was it weird to flirt at school? She vaguely remembers her mom saying they used to flirt with the firemen when they came to her school, so it can’t be terribly inappropriate. It’s not like she’s doing anything lewd –she’s just talking. And smiling. 

“So what does a Weapons System Officer do, Lieutenant Floyd?” She asks, both because she’s interested and because she wants to keep hearing him talk. 

“Here we go,” Hangman says, rolling his eyes but Phoenix elbows him as they turn their attention to a student who approaches.

Bob beams at the chance to explain, taking up the tablet again and holding it out to her. “So WSO’s –that’s what I do –are responsible for manning the weapon systems of the F/A-18F Super Hornet strike fighter from that jet's aft seat. That’s just the back,” he explains, pointing to where he must be stationed when he’s in the plane. “Depending on the mission, when designated as the mission commander, I’m the one responsible for all phases of the assigned mission, especially if there are multiple aircraft involved.”

“So you’re in charge?” She asks, leaning against the table and zooming in on the inside of the plane. Though truthfully, she has no idea what she’s looking at. It’s just a lot of buttons and numbers she doesn’t quite understand. She’s certain, however, if she asked, he would explain it step by step to her.

“Like I said, it depends on the mission,” he offers, pulling the tablet back in front of him to show her something else. 

She must be staring, because from a few feet away, she hears her name being called, a handful of giggles and then,

“Ooh, miss! Get it!”

She blushes. Bob blushes. Hangman and Phoenix are paying attention suddenly and laughing.

“Savannah Johnson, you absolute menace,” she scolds, standing up straight. She turns to Bob, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry about that, Lieutenant Floyd. You’ll have to excuse me; I need to go remind the kids that they can’t be unhinged in mixed company.”

“Only in mixed company?” He jokes, but the blush has spread from his cheeks down his neck.

“I keep a running list of all the things they say in class all year,” she offers with a laugh, and she’s very aware that she’s being watched now but can’t help it.

“I’d love to see it,” he says and she really can’t help it now as she picks up a business card with his name on it.

“This your cell phone or your work phone?” She asks, holding it up in front of him. 

Bob swallows hard and shakes his head, but takes the card from her and a pen from his shirt pocket. He scribbles his number on the back and hands it back to her, almost timidly.

“I’ll send you a few when I go to lunch; then you can decide if you want the whole list.”

“Sounds great, miss.”

She turns on her heel to walk away, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks, as her students practically scream at her. She shoos them away, telling them they need to act better if they’re in public. 

The bell rings for lunch, and she’s waiting for the students to exit the gym, when he approaches her this time. She turns and smiles when she sees Bob, standing just a few inches taller than her, with a shy grin on his face. 

“Sorry to bother you, miss. I was just…,” He hesitates but she just smiles, waiting. “I was just wondering if you would like to have lunch with me? Phoenix and Hangman went off campus, but I brought my lunch.”

She bites her lip and nods some. “That sounds nice, actually. I usually eat in my classroom, if you want to go up there with me.”

She’d have to tell her velcro kids they need to go elsewhere today, but they would understand. Or they’d sit outside the door –either way. Bob nods and they make easy conversation as she leads him through the hallways of the school. She explains little things that he asks about –murals, artwork on display, awards. Everything he asks is tinged with actual interest and it makes her heart pound. 

There’s four or five kids sitting outside her door when they get upstairs, and they all look up at her in confusion as she opens the door. Bob waves at them politely.

“Sorry guys –I have a guest today,” she explains, though she still motions them inside. “Grab a snack and off you go.”

They huff and puff but grab whatever they need from a drawer at the front of the room, then leave with a flurry of goodbyes and thank you’s. Bob watches them for a moment before taking a seat at a desk. She leaves the door open –if anything because she doesn’t need anyone assuming the worst (and the kids will). Then she grabs her lunch from the mini fridge in the corner, setting it on a desk in front of him and turning it around.

“I haven’t sat in one of these in a long time,” he chuckles, taking out his very neatly organized meal. It makes her thrown together lunch look kind of sad, honestly. “I can’t imagine sitting here every day again.”

“They hate them, but I’m hoping I get some grant money to get something better next year.”

“It’s a shame you have to get grants just to have decent things in the classroom.”

“Well, all that military spending does make a dent in the education fund,” she teases, and she’s grinning at him playfully as she does it.

“Ouch,” he puts his hand over his heart, wincing some at the jab. “I don’t know what to say outside of I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reassures him, taking out her phone and opening her notes app. “Okay, you ready to hear some of the feral things high schoolers say when they’re way too comfortable with you?”

“I don’t know,” he laughs, leaning back in the seat. “It can’t be that bad, right?”

She gives him a look of warning, then scrolls down…and down…and down…

“That is…a long list,” he comments, peering over the top of her phone. He almost sounds concerned.

“Oh, it is,” she promises, then stops to find her favorite so far. “‘Laws are temporary but friends are forever.’”

Bob chuckles through a bite of his sandwich. “That’s not so bad.”

She puts her finger up. “‘His parents are getting divorced. I hope neither of them want him.’”

“Oh my god.”

“‘I’m going to be a legal pot dealer after college.’”

“What does that even mean?”

“He wants to be a pharmacist,” she explains with a laugh. “I’m just happy he isn’t dropping out.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” he concedes, motioning for her to continue.

“‘I learned the other day that my dad looks up goth girl ASMR online.’”

She pauses and looks at Bob, who's trying not to choke on his sandwich. Setting her phone down, she leans back and opens up her bag of grapes with a laugh. For a few minutes, that’s it —they’re eating and laughing. When they stop laughing, she reads another and they laugh again. This goes on for most of the lunch period, up until her alarm goes off to warn her she has three minutes before the bell rings. 

“Oh shit,” she says, quickly packing up her things. “I have to actually teach now. I didn’t realize what time it was —,”

Bob quickly stands and packs his own stuff up, then flips the desk around with ease for her. She stares for a moment, watching how his arms flex as he lifts the desk without issue. Oh dear. 

“I don’t want to be too forward,” he says as students are trying to trickle in. He quickly shuts the door, looking down at her. “But I…I would really like to take you out on a date, if you’d let me.”

Kids are peering through the little window, knocking on the door. She waves them off a bit, looking up at him with a soft smile. 

“I would really like that.”

He nods, opening the door now. Kids are pushing through to get settled in, but he’s awkwardly standing in the doorway with a boyish grin and a blush. She pushes him gently out the door, but follows him out as she waits at the door for stragglers. 

“I’ll text you after school.”

“I look forward to it.”

She waves him off, smiling dreamily as she watches him walk off. He turns and walks backwards for a moment, waving at her before finally disappearing out the hallway doors. 

When she shuts the door and returns to her classroom, her students are staring at her with wide eyes. 

And then the chaos ensues.