#department of the air force careers

[healthandwealthonline]

The Force of Care "Developing Presence and Well-Being"

1. Investigating Care: Figuring out the Training and Benefits    – Prologue to care: definition, starting points, and center standards.    – Advantages of care for mental and actual prosperity, including pressure decrease, further developed center, and improved close to home guideline.    – Outline of care methods, like contemplation, profound breathing, and body examining.    – Genuine…

[ryescapades]

aubade · ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ°࿐ | kaiju no. 8

— there is you, and then there is him. as dawn breaks, love lays its claim.

fluff prompt: palm kisses <3 characters: hoshina soshiro x gn weapon specialist!reader

genre/warning: fluff, mutual pining, ooc hoshina prolly, indirect confession, takes place after the sagamihara operation's celebration party, narumi cameo bcs why not

a/n: specially made for my lovely moot @/spookuna <3 i'm a bit attached to this one ngl..

2.9k wc

they say it is a soldier's pride to be able to serve the country they've sworn their lives on. duty, honor and discipline; these are all necessary in order to bring out the best in oneself to protect what matters to them.

expectedly, it is no different in the jakdf. bound by duty, the officers, no matter what position or department they're in, are well aware of the obligation they have to adhere to. they hone their skills and take pride in their abilities to be the best version of themselves so as to protect the lives of the people from the onslaught of kaiju in any way they can.

however, as a defense force officer yourself, your pride lies in your weapons. specifically, the weapons that you made.

ever since you were a mere child, all you've ever known was the forging of heated metals and the whirring sound of machines. the you from years ago used to enjoy watching the process of weapon-making, both machinery and man-made alike. hence, it is only natural that you grew up pursuing a career born out of your interest; a weapon specialist in the jakdf.

you were one of their best, in fact. hardworking and dedicated, you were deserving enough to be stationed at the first division base, where all the cream of the crops reside. studying and researching together with your fellow engineers in the process of making kaiju-specialized arsenals have become as natural as eating your daily meals.

additionally, discussing about the weapons with the soldiers themselves for any improvements is something you'd grown to enjoy doing.

and unbeknownst to most of those around you, you might just have the slightest bit of favoritism towards one soldier in particular...

"how was it, the blaze round? or is the explosive one still better?" you inquire during one afternoon in the testing lab. the first division officer turns to you while holding the rifle containing said blazing cartridges, half of it already emptied after the shooting trial.

"it's working well, y/n-san! your idea of flaming bullets is really doing wonders, seriously. but i do think the design could be better though, for instance..." as he drones on about what upgrades you could add to the gun, you listen with rapt attention, jotting down new ideas on your notebook. after the testing session ends, you mull over your notes in the silence of the now-empty lab.

a curious voice, fused with a bit of bafflement then brings you out of your headspace that is previously filled with a bunch of chemicals, kaiju remains and mechanical parts.

"you're still doing tests on that fire gun-thingy?" you lift your head up to see captain narumi waltzing in, the usual air of confidence and nonchalance sticking to him like a second skin.

you perk up, throwing him a quick salute. "yep, as usual! still got a long way to go though. there's so many stuff i need to fix, especially the cartridge and the substance formula. and there's the barrel part too—"

narumi grimaces, "okay, okay, chill, y/n. i'm only here to pick up my weapon, not to hear you nerd out about your little experiment," he huffs, walking over to the corner of the lab where his bayonet case is kept. you only give a responding chuckle and a lighthearted apology.

being the nosy ass that he is, narumi peeks over your figure to glimpse at what you're working on. however, his magenta hues latch on to your hands. in all the years he's known you, narumi has only ever seen you with your gloves on but today, your hands are bare and free from the confine of those military-issued fabrics.

with the case now slung over his shoulder, he's about to interrogate you about the lines he'd just seen on your palms when your phone that was sitting on the desk rings, a familiar name flashing on the screen.

the captain clicks his tongue. "the heck does this asshole want from you?" he questions in annoyance, albeit while sliding the device to you all the same just as you ask him who's calling.

he takes note of the way your eyes light up when they land upon the name of the caller, a smile quirking up on your face as you feel your heart skipping a (few too many) beat. you immediately slide a finger across the screen to put the call on speaker so that you can still look over your findings and talk to him all the while.

right, speaking of favoritism...

"vice-captain hoshina?" you cheerily greet, and narumi forces himself to hold in a gag (spoiler: he fails) when the man on the other line speaks up, "hey there. you free right now?" internally, you almost punched yourself at how giddy you get after hearing the smooth and light baritone of hoshina's voice.

you send your captain a glare before shooing him out with a wave of your hand. gruntling under his breath, the bicolor-haired man rolls his eyes as he pushes the door on his way out. "damn lovebirds,"

you ignore his not-so vague comment, fully focused on the one you're currently in love speaking with. "no, not really. i was just testing out some new stuff. why?" you query.

"you've heard about the sagamihara operation, right? well, ya see... one of my blades broke while i was fightin' no. 8, and the other one is pretty scratched up. i'm afraid i'd have to get the spare ones you keep at the hq," hoshina explains, and your eyebrows raise in shock.

"what? i've only heard that the mission turned out quite the struggle in the end, but nothing about no. 8 showing up. are you okay?" hoshina finds himself to be a lucky man, for you're not there with him to see how wide he's smiling, his cheeks practically hurt from your expression of concern for him.

"i'm all good, don't worry, dear. and besides, i won't be taken down so easily like that, ya know? have some faith in me, yeah?" you blush slightly at the nickname and his teasing tone before letting out a small laugh. "sorry, sorry. i do have faith in you, vice-captain. you hold that 'strongest close-quarters combatant' title for a reason, no?" you muse, not even bothering to keep the sheer honesty from flowing out.

the grip on his own phone tightens, relishing in the subtle praise sneaking behind your words. throughout his years in the defense force, people have complimented him on his hand-to-hand skills, sure. more often so now that he's a high-ranking officer in the third division. but when it comes to you, it just feels... right. assuring, somehow.

hoshina chuckles breathily, "you're right. so, about my swords... should i go there to pick it up or will you be sending a courier for it?"

for a moment you contemplate, weighing over your decisions. on one side, you really don't have any other purpose to go all the way to tachikawa apart from delivering the weapon. plus, your schedule is not exactly flexible enough to be making such impromptu visits to another base.

on the other hand, going to tachikawa means you get to see him. and deliver the weapon, obviously. but the way you see it, meeting him is enough reason for you to confidently set your choice.

"actually... you know what? i'll be going to tachikawa myself,"

if it were anybody else, you would've reprimanded them for disregarding their duties so carelessly like this. why do something so pointlessly time-consuming when there's a more effective way of doing it? or something along the lines of 'you should stick true to your obligation as a defense force officer, something something, blah blah...'

but who could blame you, really. for hoshina soshiro, you would take the tiniest crumb of chance to see him standing in front your very eyes, only to remind yourself time and time again that he's the one your heart longs for.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the hour clock strikes around six in the morning when you step foot onto the third division's turf, the sun still on its way to reach above the horizon for the incoming dawn.

you had taken some good five minutes of lecturing yourself about impulsively making a trip to another base, hands gripping tight on the steering wheel as you eventually came to terms with the fact that you were, indeed, driving by yourself from the ariake maritime base straight to tachikawa.

being the responsible officer that you are, you informed captain narumi of your little quote unquote adventure, which he only cackled at. you definitely did not bribe him with a new disc game of his choosing for his bs5 if he promised not tell on you to your superiors...

now, as you settle your belongings in the third division's library, you suddenly feel the nerves wrecking inside. it's quite a silly issue, really. it's not like this is the first time you're meeting hoshina. truth be told, you think you've seen more of him than captain ashiro, even though the latter is the more frequent visitor to the main headquarters out of the two.

you can't help it. everything about hoshina just makes you feel nervous, shy, but warm and happy all the same. your heart would beat a thousand miles per hour when he's near, heat rushing to every part of your body as if you had just burned yourself. well, maybe that's partly accurate, with how stupidly and ridiculously hot hoshina soshiro is—

a knock on the door interrupts your train of improper thoughts.

a figure stands at the huge opened entrance, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed against his— oh, sweet lord... he's wearing that compression shirt again. it takes every ounce of your willpower to not let your eyes stray anywhere below the turtleneck-line, lest you're in for a lifetime of teasing by the man.

you're a bit unlucky, it seems. because when you finally look at him, there is a knowing glint in his wine-tinted irises, as if he understands exactly what goes on in your mind, though he produces no word to address it.

"vice-captain, hi," you start, then proceed to mentally smack yourself because what the heck is that lame-ass greeting?

hoshina smiles, and your eyes greedily take in the sight of his curled up mouth. "hi yourself. how was the drive? i was worried for a second when ya said you're comin' here alone. you could've taken the shinkansen... or better yet, i could've gone there myself," thin eyebrows furrowing slightly, he approaches where you stand in the middle of the room where a metal table sits among others.

you laugh sheepishly, scratching gingerly on the skin of your cheek. "traffic was okay, thanks. and this is kind of an impulsive idea, really. i went straight to my car without thinking instead of going to the train station. plus, i wanted to give these to you myself," you say, mentioning to the leather sheaths sitting on the table.

hoshina tilts his head, giving you a confused smile, "why so? aren't they the same ol' blades like the ones i've been using before?" he asks, which causes your expression to brighten.

grabbing the weapons in your hands, you excitedly unsheathe the twin swords before displaying them in front of him. the blades are familiar, marked as his signature weapon SW-2033, gleaming sharp in the dim light of the library and shaped as similarly as his old ones.

"they are, but i added some touch ups to them too! i did some tweaking in the metal constitution of the blades to make them lighter, but more sturdy and tough to cut through harder things. they're supposedly more responsive to any change in your combat power too. the new composition has some kaiju remains in it, but you didn't hear that from me, okay?" you whisper the last part cheekily.

hoshina laughs, comfortably taking the swords when you hand them out to him and slowly turning them back and forth for observation, awestruck with your creation when suddenly a small detail catches his eyes. "what's this?" he mutters curiously, bringing the handle of the swords for a closer scrutiny.

you immediately straighten up at his attentiveness, your arms sliding behind your back and your fingers starting to play with the hem of your gloves from the jitters. "ah, that. well, i figured the swords would hold out much longer this time. so i thought it wouldn't hurt to do a little mark of ownership on each of them," you mumble, holding your breath while gauging his reaction all the same.

there, beside the jagged, razor-sharp edge of the dark steel blade, a small and intricate swirl of his first name is carved, along with a pressed mark of your own initials just above the izumo tech logo at the hilt.

there's a lump his throat, his slanted eyes widening in surprise.

bashfulness washes over you when he doesn't say anything, still staring at the weapons. "o-of course, i can remove my name if that's what you're concerned about! the hilt is easy to be swapped so—"

"no, they're perfect... thank you," he breathes.

your own eyes widen, gulping down the nervousness that is starting to dwindle down a bit, thankfully. you inwardly smile, relieved at how this is turning out. "think nothing of it! it's just something i thought to do in passing and it's not like there are many others in the defense force who specializes in swordsmanship." your hand reaches up to brush it off.

hoshina suddenly freezes when his eyes latch onto your gloved hand, the piece of stitched up cloth slightly nudged up from your earlier fidgeting to reveal a smidgen of your palm, causing you to tense slightly. you move to hide your hand from his view but your speed is no match against his; the man snatches it into his own, frowning deeply.

he puts aside the twin blades and takes a step towards you. one of his slender, much longer fingers slides under the dark fabric, exposing more and more of your palm to his amaranthine gaze at such a slow pace that it just makes the embarrassment to settle even deeper, simmering in the depth of your stomach and causing shivers to run down the length of your back.

eventually, the glove comes off and his eyes rove over the skin of your palm. it's soft to the touch, hoshina thinks. even so, he can't help but to stare at the lines upon lines of raised skin, ragged and roughly positioned on the surface. your hand is severely scarred.

you try to clench your hand into a fist and pull back but the swordsman seems persistent enough that you just relent, looking away to avoid his eyes. "it's bad, isn't it?" you smile, no mirth whatsoever.

play with knives, and you're bound to get nicked, you'd heard once.

his downturned expression remains. "it is. did you get them while refining my new swords?" he questions quietly into the air between you. your teeth catches on your bottom lip before you let out a low hum, "i always get them when i refine your swords.” the space around you grows tight, and the next thing that happens causes your chest to be even tighter.

hoshina moves closer into your space, your forehead almost knocking against him as he brings your palm to his lips. your mouth dries and feels like sandpaper as the airy, featherlight sensation continues to descend on various spots on your skin a few more times, your pulse quickening as he trails them to your wrist. he's careful with his fangs, but the sudden appearance of his tongue has you gasping slightly. it's wet, and it's warm against your skin. "w-what..." you stammer.

"it's beautiful. you're beautiful, y/n," hoshina murmurs, causing the sharp intake of your breath as the blood in your veins pumps in a frenzy.

he glances up to see your fluttering eyes and reddened cheeks. with those as the only indications he needs, he closes the distance to press his lips onto yours in a shy, tender kiss.

finally, your foolish little heart wants to scream. after months of lingering eye contacts, of shy touches, whispered praises and not-so-platonic gestures. after months of dancing around these intense, dizzying feelings.

the softness of your mouth gives to the pressure of his, dancing unhurriedly against each other as you savor the heat he emits. hoshina holds you close, your imperfectly perfect hand cradled protectively against his chest as his free hand comes up to steady a palm over your warm cheek.

he pulls back slowly to give you space and take a minute but you follow him, eyes still closed and lips chasing after his in an attempt to be connected once more. hoshina breathes out a chuckle and calls out for you, fondness seeping out from each syllable of your name that has you opening your eyes to peer at his own.

and here, as the first rays of sunlight pour through the windows of the library, casting a golden hue across the room and painting him in such an exquisite way it leaves the air rushing out of your lungs. the bell chimes somewhere in your mind, the musical vibrations synchronizing with the love you hold for the man in front of you.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve never thought so beautifully of your hands ever before.

what i would give to be otp with hoshina like i'm his actual gf ... *cries in non fiction

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[ktficworld]

Behind The Red Curtains

Pairing: soft dark! Steve Rogers x actress! reader

Summary: You come to know that your success might not be solely because of your talent.

Warnings: 18+, dub-con, forced relationship, bondage, size kink, degradation + praise kink, choking, oral(f receiving ), unprotected sex( it's fiction, your life's not), dirty talk, explicit language, explicit sexual content.

(Let me know if I forgot something)

Prompt: Oral sex, overstimulation, praise, Mob au, Blackmail + Cum play + “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I think you even enjoyed it.”

A/N: So, this is my entry for the cum together extravaganza hosted by @labella420 and @stargazingfangirl18

I wanted to write this for a long time after the provocation by @biteofcherry 👀. I hope you all enjoy and this is my first time writing smut so, be gentle.

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Main masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

“Johnny Storm was seen with the new sensation in the modelling industry yesterday night. Rumor has it-”

You pressed the switch-off button with more force than needed as the squeaky voice of the anchor finally died down. Throwing the remote across the bed, you groaned in agitation.

You were dating Johnny Storm. Everything was going well, the meeting was story worthy, he was handsome, charming and had some good qualities you were looking for. This was the first relationship you got into since entering the film industry. Because you may be a hopeless romantic, but you were also choosy.

You didn’t know what happened in the process that just torpedoed your budding relationship. One day you were walking out of a cafe hand-in-hand and the next day, he was fucking some modelling sensation. Maybe you got lost in translation.

Or maybe he was just a fucking asshole. No matter what happened it showed you his true colors. That or instead of coming to you to talk out his issues, he went around, fucking and ghosted you.

Oh, but that was not the problem. The real problem was that you were shooting a movie with him. A romantic movie, with sex scenes. And you have no idea how you would be able to show any affection or chemistry on the screen without being awkward as fuck. This would be the best test of your acting skills for sure.

“Why do you look like you regret being born?” your friend and manager, Wanda asked as she entered your room.

You glanced at her and rolled your eyes. She was trying to lighten your melancholic mood but, it was of no use. “You know damn well why.”

She sighed. “I know, but you’re a great actress. You could easily pull off a serial killer then a rom-com is nothing for you. Don’t get worked up about it. Just imagine your celebrity crush instead.”

You laughed at that. You worked with people whom the masses considered celebrity and if you had a crush, you’d simply ask them out. So, you’re stuck in that department.

“I appreciate your support and I’ll get over this. Just give me some time. Is that why you came here?”

Wanda shook her head with a smile. “No, actually the PR guy told me to tell you to go to partage restaurant. Someone wants to meet you.”

You frowned. “You know if I started giving time to ‘someones’ then I won’t even be able to breathe. I need the specifics.”

“He didn’t tell me. Said the person didn’t want to be known till you meet them. But he said you need to go or they’ll be pissed and it could pose a problem to your career.”

Some rich asshole again. You pinched your nose in frustration. People really glamorised a celeb’s life but if they knew that you all have to play rich people’s puppets, they wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about it. 

“Fine, I’ll go. What time and day?”

“8 p.m Sunday.”

“Great. Now get lost, I need my beauty sleep.”

Your heels clicked on the floor as you stepped inside the restaurant to utter silence. 

The usually bustling restaurant was deserted. There was no violin swimming in the air, mingling with the chatter of the expensive people, the polished tables had no spilled drinks and the fine plates had no leftovers. The lobby had no sight of a reception and all the staff had evaporated out of existence. You were half doubting yourself that maybe you arrived at the wrong time or date. Maybe the restaurant was closed.

But all of them vanished when a prim and proper lady approached you. You had never seen her before but you didn’t care to ask if she was new.

“Good evening, ma’am, you may go to the VIP area upstairs. Sir is waiting for you there.” She said in a professional voice.

“Yeah, sure. But can I ask why the restaurant is empty?”

“He booked the entire restaurant.” She said like it was the most normal thing in the world. It was not like this place costed more than the top-paying actors in the Hollywood.

You thanked the woman with a polite smile you went upstairs to get to the VIP section.

The he made you shudder from inside. Another sleazy old man who thought that you would open your legs for him just because he was rich was awaiting you and judging by the stunt he pulled. You’d have to be more tactful.

Reaching the shiny golden doors with a lion emblem, separating the demi-gods from the gods, you knocked on the door of the VIP room.

“Come in.” A thick and deep voice called out, making you frown. How come an old man has such a great voice?

Oh, but how wrong you were. Because, as soon as you opened the door, in front of you, sat a man who was far from aged. He was pure muscles. His rings sparkled in the chandelier lights. Draped in the finest black suit with his blonde hair combed back, sat none other than Steve Rogers, the mafia lord of New York. The one who you have been trying to avoid your entire career. Who posed as a successful businessman but everyone was aware of how he earned his dollars. Just, they were too afraid to acknowledge it.

You couldn’t move an inch, frozen from fear and surprise. You had only met him once, during the premiere of your debut film and people had acted like he wasn’t someone who could wipe them off from the face of the earth without even blinking an eye. That night, his eyes were glued to you like Hades's gaze on Persephone. So intense and consuming that you never wanted to see him again.

And now, here you were.

“Sit down, darling.” He husked out, the sound of alcohol filling his glass reverberating through the walls.

Breaking out of your trance with a gulp. You pulled out the chair and sat down across from him while your heart was in your throat. “Good evening, Mr. Rogers. What brings me the pleasure of your company.’ You managed to get out without your voice cracking.

He smirked and leaned back on his chair. “It’s your beauty, your talent and your creativity that brings you here, sweetheart. I’m a big fan of art and beautiful things, you are both of them.”

“Thank you…” You drawl out, expecting him to continue.

“I liked you the moment I saw you. In your pink dress, you looked so innocent, so shy. Overwhelmed by the media attention. I knew you would do something big so I gave you the freedom to shine and shine you did. However, it looks like your freedom has got to your head.” The last sentence was said with a lower voice and an ominous smile.

Your hands became sweaty as they clamped down on the armrest. “I’m not getting what you are trying to say.” You whispered out. 

His chuckle only made your heartbeat faster as he leaned forward and his gaze bore into your soul. “Let me rephrase, I claimed you the moment I saw you. But I knew you had potential so I let you go but your little dance with Johnny Storm made me realise it was time you became mine.”

“What-what did you do?” You choked out but you weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer.

You yelped as he yanked your chair closer towards him till your knees were touching. Your chest moved rapidly as he leaned closer, his hands covering yours on the armrest.

“Awww, don’t play stupid, honey. Johnny, he’s a himbo and you are mine,” He said as his left hand moved to caress your cheek as you flinched away from his touch. “So, I pulled some strings, fed some mouths with dollars and your cute little on-set romance came to an end.” Your eyes widened in horror as he was the one that ended your relationship with Johnny. 

He gripped your face in his big hand and turned your head so that his eyes burned through yours. “Trust me, honey, I was generous with him. I could have him disappear and no one would have given a shit.”

“No.” You whispered, wrenching his hands away. You suddenly stood up from your chair, effectively surprising him.

“No?”

“That is not happening. I don’t want to be with you, I’m sorry.”  You stumbled back to the door but before you could touch the doorknob, you were whirled around and pushed against it.

“When did I tell you, you could say no?” Steve growled his hand wrapping around your throat. “If you think you can reject me then you are sorely mistaken, darling. Don’t forget that the production house you work with the most is mine.” 

You gasped. How could it be his? It was of Tony Stark, you scorched the earth and back and found no such connection. 

Steve noticed your reaction and tsked.“You didn’t know? Don’t worry, you are not stupid sweetheart. The public doesn’t know that Stark is nothing but my pawn.” His other hand snaked around to squeeze your ass through your jeans and you screwed your eyes shut as his touch sent tingles through your body and your breaths became shorter.

He tugged you closer to him with your neck, his breath fanning over your skin. “Now, do you still want to be stubborn?”

Now, you were no dumbo. If Steve can jeopardize your relations with his production then he can also ruin your entire career. Mob involvement in the film industry is an unsaid rule. However, you didn’t know their claws were so deep and sharp.

“And what if I leave? Leave this industry?” What could be more precious than your pride?

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Then you’ll just be the wife of Steve Rogers who was an actress. Remember princess, I’ll never leave you alone. If I held onto you for three years what makes you think I’ll not find you and drag you to my hell?” 

Tears threatened your waterline as you murmured. “You are really forcing me?” What a stupid question to be asking a mobster.

He let out a throaty chuckle and moved his hand from your neck to his pant pocket however he was still invading your private space as his lips were inches away from your lips. “I’m giving you options: either come willingly or I’ll force you. Your choice, darling.” 

He fished out a silver card from his pocket, tracing the sharp and cold edges of it on your face, meandering down your neck and stopping only when it reached the valley of your breast. You gasped harshly when he slid the card inside your bra, the chilled hard paper resting against your warm skin.

“My number, call me when you make a decision. You have one week.”  He whispered against your lips before sealing the unspoken vow with a kiss.

With that he slipped away from your body and took his seat again like dark clouds gilding away from the moon before shortly, engulfing it once again. He resumed sipping from his glass like nothing serious happened and said nonchalantly. “You can go now.” 

You ran to your car like you were burned. Which you were, your soul was burning. Burning from the choices you were given. Which was essentially choosing which cage you preferred better, golden or grey.

“Did you like the dinner?” Steve asked in his deep voice as he sat across from you at the dining table.

Blinking your eyes away from the full moon that shone outside the dining room window, you glanced at Steve and nodded. “Yes, I liked it.” 

You did come to him willingly in the end, after all, what choice did you have? The moment you admitted your defeat and called Steve flashed in front of your eyes. His smug and triumphant words ringing in your ears.

“Nice choice, princess.”

“You seem to like the moon a lot,” Steve observed as his piercing gaze never left you, noting your every move and reaction.

You looked down at your hands, clasped in front of you. His presence still sent chills of fear down your spine. His imposing figure and intense gaze made your heart race. Not to mention the way his eyes sparkled with desire and lust whenever they laid upon you.

“Yes, the night is beautiful.” You replied softly.

“Do you want to go upstairs? In the balcony for a better view? I also have a very pretty garden.” Steve offered and you refrained from frowning. 

From the moment you accepted his advances, Steve has been acting like the perfect lover. Sending flowers, expensive gifts, wanting to have nice and deep conversations and supporting you in your work. But still, you couldn’t decipher if he was actually being nice or plain manipulative.

However, you had grown tired, sitting and chatting in the room, the walls suffocating you. “I would like that.”

Steve grinned and stood up from his chair, taking a few long strides he reached you and offered you his hand. “Let’s go.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, slipping your hand in his, you got up. You sucked a sharp breath when his hand tightened around your smaller one and his eyes grew darker. You ignored the building tension as he led you upstairs, to the balcony.

His mansion was spectacular, painted beige with marble murals. It resembled old French castles with intricate paintings from Greek mythology on walls to railing carved with various plant and flower motifs.

When he said he enjoyed beauty, he wasn’t bluffing.

Stepping on the top floor, there was a lounge area with a fireplace on the right and a couch on the left. In front was the glass door leading to the balcony. Steve opened the door and you had to hold back your gasp as the view was absolutely breathtaking. 

It had the same marble railing as before and also had a sitting space for two people with two chairs and one glass table, perfect for a cosy morning or evening. The balcony ran along the entire top floor, connected with all the rooms.

However, the main highlight was the enormous garden that stood before your eyes. Tall trees were perched vertically of all types, some bearing fruits, some flowers and some none. Speaking of flowers, bright, colourful flowers adorned the garden like jewels. Rose, jasmine, sunflower, etc scattered all over with moonlight pouring on them.

It was straight out of a princess movie and you could spend your entire life wandering inside it, reading books under the tree shade.

“It’s gorgeous.” You whispered to Steve as you stepped forward, leaning on the railing.

“I know, my mother made it. She wanted me to keep the garden big and flourishing. So, I put everything I could to keep it perfect.” Steve revealed and moved behind you, his body pressing against yours.

You were so engrossed in gazing at the garden that you missed his hand coming to cover yours and he laid a soft kiss on your cheek.

“What are you doing?” You questioned as you tried to step away from his grip but he had you trapped.

“Enjoying my view,” He said as he gripped your hips and pressed them against him, his semi-hard cock pressing against your ass. “See what you do to me?”

His lips trailed down, kissing and sucking on your neck. His left hand travelled from your hips to your breast, he squeezed the underside of your tities while grinding his erection against your bottom. Your breathing was getting heavy as he continued to massage your boobs and sucked on your neck, collarbone and shoulder.

You had to refrain from biting your lips. His strong body and demanding moves were making you unwillingly wet. But he forced you into a relationship you didn’t want, you didn’t want this, right?

“I don’t want to do it.” You whispered despite wanting nothing but his hands under your scarlet dress.

“No?” He chuckled. “Let’s check, shall we?” He whispered seductively in your ear.

Your eyes widened as you thrashed in his grip but he stopped all your attempts to deny the truth with a hand around your neck and a squeeze that made you go still. His other hand glided under your dress and found your panties damp.

“Your pussy proved you wrong, princess.” He said with a smug laugh. He sucked at your pulse point as his fingers moved your lace panties aside and caressed your folds. The suddenness made you let out a choked moan as your hold tightened on the railing.

His words embarrassed you but you couldn’t deny that his touch was making your body betray you. He played your body like an instrument.

His fingers ran along your petals, spreading your arousal and brushing your clit, his index finger teasing your entrance when he abruptly stopped.

You blinked, gasping and panting. You were about to glance at him in confusion when he bent you over, your head resting against the marble railing as he went down on his knees, bunching up your dress around your waist. He ripped off your panties, the sound heating your cheeks with humiliation.

“You deserve to be punished.” He said through gritted teeth as he slapped your clit, making you jerk at the delicious sting as he spread your legs wider for him so your pussy was on full display. Wet and ready.

“Spank your ass till it’s burning for going out with that pathetic excuse of a man Johnny or have Bucky watch you as I fuck you senseless. He’s also a fan after all." He spread your labia and sucked on your clit, making you moan out loud as your stomach flipped.

“But I can’t, because this pussy is too tempting of a distraction.” He lamented as his lips went down to your pussy and his tongue teased your cunt with slow yet precise strokes.

Your left hand moved to his hair and tugged on the blonde locks as his administration made your clit pulsate with need. You couldn’t decipher whether you wanted him to stop or continue.

He tutted on you pulling his hair. You whimpered at the loss of his mouth on your pussy when the clicking of his belt echoed in the empty space. He yanked both your hands behind your back and secured them in place with his belt, the grip firm but not harsh. 

“No.Touching.” He growled in your ear as his words were accentuated by a slap on each of your buttcheeks, making you whimper in pain and pleasure as you let your forehead rest against the cool marble and he knelt again.

He took your clit in his mouth again but with more ferocity as your pussy clenched around nothing, “Oh my god, Steve yes!” You mewled.

“Captain or I won’t let you cum.” He commanded as his fingers joined in and drew slow and teasing circles around your cunt.

“Captain, please.” You pleaded as your orgasm started to build up in your stomach.

“Good girl, that’s my good girl.” He finally eased his index finger inside of you, his thick and long finger filling your pussy and you were afraid as to how you were going to take his cock as his finger alone stretched your vagina.

He pumped his finger in and out of you all the while kissing and sucking your clit. When you bucked into his finger he added another one, exploring your velvety walls to find your spot that would make you sing. He curled his fingers when you dripped around his fingers and mouth.

“Mhmm, captain. Feels so good.” You cried out as your climax was approaching you faster, your skin glistening with sweat under the pale moonlight. It was so embarrassing, being this crying and moaning mess he had turned you into. His hands kneading your thighs and ass.

“Are you going to cum, princess?” Steve asked in a husky voice as he kept up his pace, replacing his mouth with his thumb to grow circles around the bundle of nerves,

Your skin was on ablaze, the coil tightening in your belly as you were tethering on the of falling apart. “Yes, Captain. Please let me cum.” You requested, spellbound. He didn’t need to ask you to beg, you were already sliding into your subspace. His finger found your g spot as he twisted his fingers, making you whimper as your breath shuddered.

He snickered, sending vibrations through your body. “I didn’t know you were so obedient, good to know.”His hand came down on your clit and it was the final straw that threw you over the edge. 

You came with a loud moan as the blinding pleasure brought tears to your eyes and you gushed around his lips and fingers, coating his chin. He lapped all your juice, his pace not halting as he drank your nectar greedily.

Your body was quivering from the force of your orgasm, your heart racing as you tried to collect yourself.

Steve got up on his feet and you almost collapsed when he wrapped a sturdy hand around your shaking body, pressing you against his chest. He jutted your chin up and grinned down at you. “Aw, you already look so fucked out darling but it’s just the beginning, we have the whole night.” He smashed his lips with yours, swallowing your tired whimpers and moans.

After devouring your mouth and leaving you breathless. He picked you up and started walking to his left. You were too dizzy to notice your surroundings till you were hitting silk bed sheet and plush mattress. You glanced at Steve through your hazy vision as he stood at the end of the bed.

He smirked down at you. “How about you return the favour, sweetheart? Strip.” He ordered and it was enough to clear your mind of any hangover.

Your hand snaked to your back and you slid down the zipper and pulled off your dress, your breast clad in red lace coming into view as you completely removed the dress and discarded it on the floor.

You then unclasped your bra, trepidation and anticipation mingling together as your boobs spilled out. Now, you were completely naked, your panties already torn and tossed away.

“On your hands and knees.” He commanded as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, his abs and chest made your mouth water and you wanted to grab and touch him but shook away the thoughts.

You got on your hands and knees, clothes rustling till the bed dipped behind you. Steve ran his hand up your spine, sneaking underneath to grop your breast. You mewled as his thumb tweaked your pebbled nipples, twisting and flickering the buds till you were writhing under him.

His other hand smacked your ass, causing you to whimper. “Spread your legs more, I want to see that pussy.”

You spread your legs some more, displaying your glistening cunt to Steve’s hungry gaze. “You have such a pretty pussy.” He said as he played with you enough that you were whining before he rubbed the tip of his cock over your cunt, spreading your arousal and his pre cum.

You shuddered, you had an inclining that he was big but how much? That you didn’t know since you couldn’t see his dick from your position.

He slapped the head of his cock on your pussy and you visibly shuddered. He did it a few more times before you were dripping for him and was on the verge of sobbing in frustration. 

“Such a shame that it is about to get ruined by my big cock.” He declared and pushed the tip inside you. You moaned as you awaited your eventual mounting.

You clutched the silky sheets as he slowly bottomed out, your walls spasmed as they tried to accommodate his length. You were so full already and he was gracious enough to give you time to adjust. All the while he explored your body, kissing your spine, kneading and spanking your thighs, ass and breasts. His touch was electrifying and in no time, you were whimpering for him to move.

“Ah, someone is getting impatient.” Steve mocked but began moving out of your hot channel. He was slow and deliberate, his girth dragged through your walls and your pussy fluttered.

He hissed. “Don’t do that darling if you want to walk the next day.” He pulled out all the way, only the tip remained inside. Pushing your head further into the pillow as he slammed inside your cunt in one stroke, taking your breath away.

“Look at your pussy, pulling me in and clenching around me,” He grunted as his hold on your hips tightened. He looked where you two were connected and sighed in awe. “I didn’t know you were such a slut, you look so innocent. But look at you now, dripping around a man’s dick you barely know,” He pulled out again and thrusted back in with the same power. The slow yet rough pace he set made you cry out in pleasure as your climax started to stir in your lower belly again. “But I like how cockdrunk you are that you just don’t give a shit anymore.” He groaned and pulled out.

He changed his angle slightly and when he thrusted back again, he hit your g-spot and you screamed, flames of pleasure intensifying. He tugged you by the hair, pressing you against his toned chest. “Tell me that you are my slut.” He growled in my ear.

“I’m your slut, Captain!” you said breathlessly as his deep thrusts made you gasp.

His hand came to your clit and his thumb started drawing circles, making you tremble in his grip. “Yes, you are my slut. My fuck toy, who would let me do whatever I want and whenever I want with her because I own you now. Repeat what I have said.” He thrusted harder and if it wasn't for his strong grip, you would have fallen down. 

“I'm your fuck toy. You can do whatever you want and whenever you want with me because you own me now.” You cried. 

“Such a good obedient girl- Ahh, taking my cock so well. Now, you are going to ask me to make you cum.” He groaned his thumb sped up. Leaning down, he sucked on your pulse point, surely leaving a hickey, marking you as his.

“Please Captain, let me cum! Let me cum around your big cock.” You squealed out. Tilting your face upwards he kissed, hard and rough, you moaned against his lips as you tasted yourself on him.

“Good girl, now cum for me.” He demanded as fingers and thumb pinched your clit, his cock hitting your sweet spot in quick succession.

You shrieked ‘captain’ as you came around his girth, squirting on his dick. “Good, what a good little slut for your captain.” He moaned in satisfaction as he nibbled at your earlobe, fucking you through your release. 

He let go of you when your shaking died down. Your face fell on the pillow as you tried to catch your breath. Your fucked out mind didn’t register that he didn’t come till you were being flipped on your back. Coming face-to-face with his annoyingly handsome face.

“You didn’t think it was over, did you?” He rasped with a smirk as he plunged into your cunt once again, but this time with more fervour.

You instantly mewled but the overstimulation and coming two times had worn you out, you weren’t used to this. You attempted to scoot away from Steve. “I-I can’t, too much.” 

He pulled you back down on his cock, wrapping your legs around his waist. He restrained your hands over his head with one hand, leaving you unable to escape the pleasure he was giving you. “You can and you will. Get used to it, sweetheart. I’m being gentle right now,” He growled as he moved on top of you.

The pace was rough and fast, the bed rattling with each thrust, your boobs jiggled from the speed. He placed his hand on your lower stomach. “Do you feel me here?” He asked, the belly bulge sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, I do, Captain.” You managed to choke out as he pounded in your pussy mercilessly.

“Then enjoy it, honey. Enjoy, writhing and moaning underneath me. My cock stretching your tight cunt, because that’s where you belong. Taking my cock like a good little fuck doll.” He husked as the force of his thrust increased with each passing second. The pain and pleasure mixing made tears fall from your eyes, the knot tightening yet again.

Steve leaned over you, kissing your tears, trailing down to your neck and then your boobs, groping and licking the plump area before taking your pebbled nipples into his hot mouth.

“Oh my god!” Your back arched, pleasure zapping through your body like thunder as his hot tongue sucked on your nipples and his hand massaged your other breast. All the while his thick cock rammed into you, his pubic areas brushing your clit.

Your hands jolted to touch him but he had your hands pinned above. You shut your eyes and enjoyed the unyielding pleasure he was bestowing upon you as pressure built up for the third time in your stomach. Your moans and his grunts bounced off the wall, so did the clapping sound of skin slapping against the skin.

Suddenly, his grasp loosened before coolness touched your ring finger. You looked up as he slid a beautiful sapphire ring into your finger, sealing your fate with his forever. You managed out a surprised gasp. He brought your hand down and pinned it to your side, giving you a proper view of the ring as it sparkled under the stark glowing moon.

“Imagine me, sweetheart,” Your breath caught in your throat as his speed grew frantic, his cock hitting the deepest part of your cunt as he chased his own release. “Imagine me when you have to romance on screen with some pitiful A-list actor.” He whispered in your ear, intertwining your hands with his as he kissed your lips. It was softer than the previous ones but no less demanding.

“Imagine me when you have to pretend to fuck someone on set. Because I know,” He whispered against your lips before lowering his hand to your clit and he drew fast circles on the bundle of nerves to help you fall apart. 

Steve cursed under his breath and thrusted faster when your walls clenched his dick. “Because I know that I have ruined you for any other man. Ruined this pussy for anyone except me. So, imagine me when you kiss a man and realize that he’ll never make you feel this good.” You nodded along his words as tears streamed down your cheeks, smearing your eyeliner and mascara but he paid no heed to it. Rather, enjoying your fucked out state.

The fullness of his dick inside your pussy and the overwhelming stimulation finally tipped you over the edge as you came the hardest and it hit you like a tsunami.

After some more brutal thrust, he came inside of you with a loud groan. His hot cum spilling inside your abused cunt as it milked him dry. He pumped into you a few more times, giving you every last drop of his seed and staying inside your warm channels till his cock softened.

He put his forehead against yours as he finally pulled out and you almost whined at the loss of dick but restrained yourself as his cum leaked out of your hole.

Only heavy breaths echoed in the spacious room as both of you caught your breath. You were beyond regaining your previous strength as you couldn’t even move a muscle. However, Steve recovered shortly afterwards as he kissed your forehead and whispered smugly. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I think you even enjoyed it.” 

You didn’t answer because he was right, you enjoyed every bit of it even if you didn’t want to. Before you could drown yourself in self-pity. Steve picked you up and took you to his bathroom to soak you in a nice, warm bath…

[lou-struck]

Heatwave

Hawks x reader

WC: 1.1k

~ It's the hottest day of the year, and you are stuck roasting on Zoom calls; if only you had a hero to save you from your inconvenience. 

You hate this…

It's the hottest day of the year, and you are cooped up in your tiny apartment with a broken air conditioning system. All morning long, you have been tied up with Zoom calls and team meetings, forced to wear an itchy, lightweight cardigan for the sake of professionalism. At times like this, you are thankful that your laptop's camera quality is so poor, your forehead is covered in beads of sweat, and the crappy little navy blue desk fan you have perched on a stack of books is doing little to cool down.

Your manager leading this meeting looks relatively comfortable in his little window. His tie is actually fluttering from the consistent airflow from the top-of-the-line air conditioning unit he was bragging about having installed.

Damn him

You were only half listening to the call when his dull voice came drones through your speakers. "Alright, everyone, we're gonna step away for 15 minutes or so; feel free to turn your cameras off, and we will resume shortly." 

Your heatwave-fueled rage festers within you as you mute yourself and turn off your camera. Your thoughts shift to what website mailing lists you could add his email to when your front doors burst open. 

Your boyfriend, Keigo Takami, known to the public as the Winged Hero Hawks, comes in loudly. "Damn, it's hot out there; what is the commission trying to do having me patrol out there in full uniform? Turn me into Fried Chicken?"

"You're telling me," you pant, taking a large chug of your ice water and slipping off your scratchy cardigan. Discomfort and pain twist on your features as you chase the weak airflow from the fan with little success.

"What's up with you?" he ass shucking off his flight jacket. It hits the floor with a thud that tells you that it has absorbed more than its share of sweat today. 

"Debating a career change," you groan, craving the cold. "M' gonna move to the Arctic and think up new ice cream flavors."

"Sounds chilly," he chuckles, tucking his wings to his back and striding across the wooden floor. "Mind if I join?"

"No," you groan. "You are too hot, Kei. You would contribute to global warming." The heatwave may be destroying your ability to think rationally, but your sarcasm is still delightfully intact.

"Awe, Angel, you wound me." he chuckles, placing his hand in front of his heart. His avian-like eyes peer into yours, full of love and mischief. "Wouldn't you miss me out there, all alone in the cold?"

"You know I would," you chuckle as a bead of sweat rolls down your chin. "But it's too warm to want to do anything else."

He spots your blackened camera and steps away shyly from the view of the screen. "Wait, are you in a meeting?"

You roll your eyes as you once again remember the cause of your discomfort. "Unfortunately, all the other departments have the day off today, but I have been stuck popping in and out of meetings for the last few hours."

"That's rough, and it's not exactly cool in here, is it?" he coos, making a B-line to your freezer and pulling out one of your ice pops. Peeling off the wrapper, the color is revealed to be a bright red, rivaling the rich color of his wings. "Nice, I got cherry." He grins, biting the sweet treat with his teeth making you cringe slightly. 

"Psychopath," you mutter, "why do you have to eat it so quickly?"

"I can't help it," he laughs, wiping a bit of cherry juice with the back of his hand. "It's hot out, and I gotta speed up that Brian freeze. You know, my place has some pretty decent air conditioning. You'd be way more comfortable if you moved your set up there." 

"True, but your apartment is much nicer than mine, and my coworkers would notice," you frown. Your relationship with Keigo may not be considered a secret by you; you would prefer it if your coworkers didn't know about it. People tend to get kinda weird when they find out you are dating one of the country's top heroes.

"I get it; you just want to keep me all to yourself," he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you. His stubble tickles your skin as he presses soft cherry-flavored kisses to your warm skin.

"Keigo, it's way too hot for this kind of affection," you whine, squirming in his hold. 

"You mean your little fan right there isn't taking care of you?" he teases, eyeing your only warrior in this fight against Mother Nature. You don't know how it happened but the weak little gust of air seems to be getting weaker by the moment. 

"The fan sucks, Kei," you mutter, tapping the center lightly with your finger, urging it to pick up the pace.

"Then it's fired," he says, pulling its plug and tossing it over to the couch, where it bounces on the plush cushions.

"Hey, I needed that, it may suck, but I really need it to make it through the day," you say, noticing the movement on your screen as your coworkers slowly begin to get back on the call. 

"Ooof, duty calls?" he asks, peering at your screen. You are thankful that your camera and microphone are off.

"Looks like it," you frown. "Can you grab my fan for me, please, so I can hop back on without roasting to death?"

"Nah, I won't be doing that." he teases, his honey-colored gaze boring into yours. "But if you need to cool off a bit, I have something in mind." The hero's wings twitch in amusement as your brows pinch together in confusion. 

~

Fifteen minutes into the next round of your call, you are surprisingly comfortable as a strong, silent breeze bushes against your skin, cooling you off lovingly as you listen to your coworkers ramble on and on about topics that could easily be an email.

Your boredom is subdued, however, when you catch a glimpse of your manager. Whose state-of-the-art air-conditioner seems to have given out, and now he is sweating buckets, having to mute himself occasionally to hide how out of breath he is.

Keigo sits just on the other side of your desk, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. Glorious red wings outstretched as they beat softly into the air. Fanning you far better than any air conditioning unit.

You can tell that Keigo is over the moon getting to help you like this. You feel refreshed and full of energy as you notice your manager is growing more and more uncomfortable. You have a feeling this meeting will be coming to a close fairly soon. 

Once you are free from your corporate shackles, you'll have to find some way to thank Keigo for his invaluable assistance. 

Maybe with some ice cream for dinner?

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @sleepyyshroom @anjodedesgostoeerros @isaacdaknight @qardasngan

[j2hoes]

A Twisted Romantic Fairytale (Wally Clark x Reader

Word Count: 3K

A tragic tale of two star-crossed lovers.

Warnings: Death

The homecoming game of 1983 was a tragic tale of two star crossed lovers perishing beside one another. It’s a story for the history books and one Split River High would remember in the years going forward. One that students remember as a devastating if not twisted romantic fairytale. Two young lovers bound together for eternity.

Homecoming Game - 1983.

Excitement runs rampant through the air as everybody floods into the stadium, eager chattering of students combined with the cheerful melodies of the marching band fill me with joy. It’s not as if I haven’t been here before, I’m no stranger to the blinding lights of Split River football stadium. In fact I’ve been cheering on the sidelines at every football game for the past four years or so, but tonight is different. I’m unsure of whether the electricity I can feel within the air has always been there and I have simply never noticed, or if it has something to do with the fact that this is my last homecoming game of my high school career. It’s the one night that counts. After all, it’s hard to miss the countless recruiters already situated within the stands.

“There you are! God, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Upon hearing the familiar voice, I can’t help but smile. Turning my attention away from the water fountain where I had previously been filling my water bottle, to see the dark haired jock that makes my heart race.

Wally Clark. Where do I even begin to describe this boy? 

I first met Wally on the second day of senior year. My family had just moved to Split River from Amber, Nevada, following my father’s transfer within the police department. Having accepted a promotion, despite the fact it meant we had to uproot our entire lives and move almost two thousand miles away.

It’s fair to say that I had been a complete mess, struggling to find my feet in a town that was the complete opposite to everything I had been used to. Not to mention the constant arguing between my parents caused by the stress of the move. Feeling so overwhelmed by my entire life changing so quickly, I couldn’t bring myself to attend first period and instead found myself tucked away in the bleachers, smoking a cigarette with shaky hands.

It was at that moment that Wally had found me, with a warm smile on his face, he comforted me. Welcomed me to the strange new town of Split River. Offered to sit with me in the cafeteria at lunch despite being a total stranger. However, something about the way things took place felt incredibly natural. As though this was the way things were meant to be.

Wally and I became inseparable from that moment forward, he encouraged me to join the cheerleading team. Insisting that it was only because he knew it was a passion of mine and not because it meant I would be forced to go to the football games that he just so happened to play. And how could I say no to that charming grin?

Throughout the years, we both learnt a lot about one another. He listened and supported me as I discussed my turbulent homelife, detailing how my parents seemed to be getting closer and closer to divorce by the day and how in turn I became practically invisible to them. I was there for him following every argument he had with his mother, reminding him that his sole purpose in life was not just football. Ensuring he knew that he had other talents and qualities that were just as good if not better than his football skills.

We weren’t best friends, we were each other’s rock through thick and thin. So when he kissed me on the field, following yet another win for the team, I felt like I was floating on air. Unearthing all of the feelings I harbored for the jock, even if I had spent all that time trying to bury them.

Wally’s heart is so pure and full of love. Being on the receiving end of that love to the fullest extent is the greatest joy I will ever be able to experience. To have someone be such a bright light in your life is truly a blessing.

So if I had to describe Wally Clark? I’d say he was an angel brought down from heaven just for me.

“Excited for the big game my love?” Wally asks as he finally reaches me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and placing a soft kiss on my temple.

“More nervous than excited. Kristine’s had us practicing a new move and with all the recruiters, I’m just scared I’m going to let the nerves get to me and mess up.” I admit, reaching my own hand up to hold his that remains over my shoulder as we begin to stroll through the crowds towards the locker rooms.

“You’re a superstar!” Wally exclaims, to which I’m unable to contain my laughter. “I mean it! You’re gonna smash it, honestly. I’ve never seen someone make cheerleading look as mesmerizing as you do. It’s borderline hypnotic, I’m telling you.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever you say.” I reply, tone sarcastic, yet his words of encouragement do make me feel ten times better. “Anyway, what about my favorite player? Are you feeling okay?”

I don’t miss the pained look that flashes briefly crosses his face before returning to his usual winning beam. I’m sure he’s just ready to get the game over with, wanting to return to some sense of normality and let loose at the dance. No longer having to deal with the overwhelming amount of pressure that his mom places on him to be the best.

“I guess I’m a little worried. My knee has been playing up for the past few days and coach said I needed to rest it, which is what I’ve been trying to do. I don’t know, I just don’t want to let anyone down, especially not my mom. Or you.”

As Wally finishes speaking we reach the doors of the locker room and I remove myself from his embrace to stand in front of him. Taking his hands gently in mine as I gaze up at the sweet boy. Noticing the slight gleam of worry and shame hidden deep within his coffee brown eyes.

“Whatever happens out there, you won’t be letting anyone down, I promise.” My voice is soft as I speak to him, wanting him to truly understand how little his performance matters. “Your mom may be disappointed but she’ll get over it. As long as you’re happy, healthy and alive, that’s the most important thing. Just don’t push yourself too hard, I know how important it is to you that you make your mom proud but she’ll be proud of you no matter what. I mean, how could she not be? You’re amazing Wally Clark.”

The footballer smiles, wrapping his arms around me before pulling me into his body tightly. Resting my head against his chest, I close my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to relax in his embrace and breathing in deeply to take in the deep oaky scent that is Wally. He rests his head atop of mine and I can feel him squeeze me gently, hands scrunching up the fabric of my t-shirt as he does so.

“Wally Clark, better get yourself in that locker room right now! It’s almost showtime!” I hear the coach yell and my boyfriend sighs, slowly releasing me from his tight hold.

“Now go show everybody just how amazing you are.” I whisper, lovingly gazing up at him.

He nods as though in confirmation with my previous statement, before taking my face in his hands and slowly leaning down to interlock his lips with mine. Delicately and with the remaining hint of nerves racing through his body, his lips move gently with mine. My cheeks feel burning hot compared to the brisk coldness of his hands, caused by the icy fall winds, though I don’t seem to mind. Embracing the sweetness of Wally’s mouth and the tenderness of every move he makes.

It’s with much reluctance that we pull away from one another, however, after catching a glimpse of the coach’s disapproving look, I know the moment is over. Sending the jock to get himself ready with a swift peck to the cheek, him offering me a cheeky wink in return as we both slink off to our respective locker rooms.

The next time I see Wally is when the team makes their grand entrance onto the field. A big cheesy grin rests on my face as I hear the crowds' screams of support, waving flags and homemade banners to cheer on the team. With a few cheers of my own, a couple of the girls and I begin to hype up the crowd even more, jumping wildly and encouraging their yells.

As I shoot a quick glance over to the field, I’m able to spot my boyfriend easily, even with his helmet on. Smiling brightly at me even as he runs towards his team to discuss their play. My heart flutters knowing that he still makes an effort to look for me even as the game is about to begin.

“Alright girls, you know what to do!” Kristina shouts, alerting us to take up our positions and prepare for the first routine of the night.

Noticing the game is about to commence, I feel myself worrying less about messing up the performance, focusing solely on Wally and his uplifting words from moments earlier. Sharing gleeful smiles with my fellow cheerleaders, I can’t help but feel a sense of excitement as the music roars through the stadium.

The next few minutes pass by in a blur, with the Split River football team taking an early victory and our routine flowing perfectly without a single fault or mistake. It’s almost too good to be true.

With our final move only seconds away, I feel the nerves return once more as I boost myself into the hands of the other girls. Their hands wrapped around my ankles and calves to ensure my safety and support whilst in the air. It’s only when I’m hoisted into the air that my stomach twists. Something doesn’t feel right but I’m unable to do anything. Everything happens in slow motion and as I catch sight of the ground looming towards me, I’m hit instantly by the fact that I’m not going to make my mark. I’m not going to land firmly in the hands of the girls beneath me.

I suppose the one good thing about all of this is that I only have a split second to panic before my body plummets to the hard asphalt below my feet. The thump my body makes as it slams against the ground is enough to make anybody squeal.

Cheerleaders scream. Music cuts off.

Then I simply feel nothing.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wally’s the first to notice the chaos unfolding at the side of the field. Distracted by whatever seems to be taking place, he doesn’t notice the opposing team's player bolting towards him. He lands with a grunt, knee buckling and sending a sharp shooting pain through the length of his leg.

As he rises to his feet, he hears the whistle blowing repeatedly, noticing the chaos begin to grow larger. With furrowed brows he finds himself jogging towards the crowd, even if it does cause him a significant amount of pain that he tries desperately to hide.

Pushing through the screaming group of footballers and cheerleaders, it’s at that moment that he sees her. Lay unmoving against the concrete, his heart stops momentarily. Feeling sick to his stomach at the sight of his beautiful girl lifeless, body contorted in ways he didn’t know physically possible. 

Wally drops to his knees, students stepping away from him as he does so. Not knowing how to comfort the poor boy in this time of need. The physical pain he is feeling in his leg is nothing compared to the emotional turmoil he is going through right now. Dragging her body on to his knees and cradling her delicately, in fear of breaking her anymore.

With clouded vision, he stares down at his love, body releasing wails and sobs he had never once made in his life. Blood stains his hands, his jersey, his trousers and yet he doesn’t care. Overwhelmed by his grief, watching the color drain from her skin. He doesn’t think anything could be more painful, nothing in his life could compare to the trauma of his girlfriend sprawled out in his arms.

Wally struggles with the ambulance crew as they begin to remove her body, his coach restraining him as they place her in the back of an ambulance. The jock barely acknowledges his coach telling him that he’s been benched as he watches with heartbreak as the ambulance drives away and in his distress all he can do is cry on the sidelines.

With his mom standing behind him, badgering him about winning a scholarship and needing him in the game, Wally feels nothing but rage. All his life, he’d done right by his mom, wanting her to be proud of him, wanting her to acknowledge his successes but right now, he wanted nothing more than to tell her to close her mouth.

Instead, he finds himself marching over to the coach, begging to be put back into the game, arguing that he needs something to take his mind off what he just witnessed and that he is in fact in the correct headspace to win. And somehow, his efforts pay off much to his surprise. Back in the game, Wally has more strength than ever. Fuelled by his rage and his grief.

Whilst he finds it distasteful and disrespectful that the game continues despite his sweet girl losing her life only moments before, he plays with the knowledge that she’d want him to win. She would want him to succeed and so he tries. He tries for her because if not for her, then he has no other reason to keep going. She was the one good thing in his life that kept him from going off the deep and without her, he doesn’t know how he will continue. So for now, he simply focuses on the game.

The sharp pain in his knee grows stronger and with every passing minute he struggles more and more. Trying desperately to ignore it, he claims the ball, running at full speed towards the touchline and yet as he runs directly towards an opposing player, he makes no effort to slow down. Not thinking about the potential consequences of his actions.

He hits the ground with a devastating blow. World shrouded in darkness almost immediately. However, he feels more at peace than he ever has.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I watch with bated breath as Wally tumbles aggressively to the floor, the crack ripples throughout the stadium and I can’t help but gasp. Throwing my hands across my mouth as I fixate on the footballers rushing to his aid. My mind races at one million thoughts per minute, why did he go back out onto the field? Why didn’t he move out of the way? How could he be so reckless?

I’m so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I almost miss the tall jock standing watching over his own body as people hopelessly attempt to resuscitate his cold body. Before I can even react, I’m slowly walking towards him, even with his back towards me I can tell he’s in pain. Hands in his hair, tugging slightly as he comes to the realization of what has happened.

My hands are shaking the closer I get, breath caught in my throat as I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not entirely sure why I’m scared, perhaps simply afraid of what this means for us now?

“Wally.” My voice is small, timid. Hands clasped together over my chest as I anxiously await his reaction.

As though he doesn’t believe it, Wally’s body goes stiff. When he finally faces me, his mouth falls open in shock, eyes holding the same softness that they did in life and I smile hesitantly. He’s the first to break the tension, scooping me up in his arms and holding me tighter than he ever has before.

“I’m sorry Wally, I’m so sorry, I promise I didn’t mean for this to happen.” My voice breaks as I speak, tears staining my cheeks. “I should’ve tried harder and then this would never have happened. You’d still be alive. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Darling it’s okay. We’re together now, yeah?” Wally states, placing his arms on my shoulders as he fully takes me in, holding me at arm’s length as if he’s checking I’m okay. Not that it really matters now.

“What were you thinking? Going back out was so stupid and irresponsible and reck-”

“I didn’t want to let you down.” Wally whispers, eyes falling to his feet in shame. “I wanted to make it all worth it, I wanted you to be proud of me because I knew you’d be looking down on me.”

“Wally, I-”

“I don’t think I could live without you sweetheart. I don’t think I’d want to.” He admits, bringing one hand to my face, thumb stroking my cheek softly. “Seeing you there, all limp and lifeless, I didn’t just lose you. I lost something within myself too.”

“I’m so sorry.” I sob, allowing myself to release all the emotions built up inside of me.

“I still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.” Wally confesses, smiling adoringly at me. “I still do.”

A quiet giggle escapes my mouth, pulling the tall boy towards me and pressing my lips roughly to his. Wanting, no, needing to feel him against me. To feel the way his mouth dances with mine and the way his hands tenderly caress my waist. I just need him.

“So where do we go from here?” The jock questions, our foreheads restings against one another as we catch our breath

“I don’t know, but as long as you’re with me, I don’t really care.”

[goodstuffhappenedtoday]

Deaf Santa travels the country so deaf kids can be heard at Christmastime

When Charles Graves was 5 years old, his parents took him and his four siblings to see Santa Claus at Randolph Air Force Base near San Antonio.

Graves was diagnosed as deaf when he was 3 months old, and although he couldn’t hear Santa’s voice, he was looking forward to meeting him and sitting on his lap, he said, recalling that afternoon in 1975.

He said he patiently watched his brothers and sisters interact with Santa as they each told him what they hoped to find under the Christmas tree that year.

Then it was his turn.

“I was so excited, but when I stepped up to Santa, he dropped his smile and gave me a blank face,” he said. “He had no idea how to interact with me.”

“At that moment, I felt like the only deaf person in the entire world,” added Graves, who communicates through American Sign Language and is now 53.

“Why was I different from the others?” he said. “That memory stayed with me and is something I can’t forget, no matter how much I try.”

More than four decades later, Graves found a way to turn that sad Santa visit into a way to help others.

Graves now travels around the country and offers children the experience of visiting Santa and sitting on his lap — and communicating what they’d like for Christmas — no matter if they can hear or not.

Graves’s Santa career started after he decided to grow a beard and people in his town of New Braunfels, Tex., told him he would make a great Saint Nick. In 2019, he accepted an invitation to play Santa at an annual Shields for Kids holiday event organized by the San Antonio Police Department for children in need, he said, noting that a sign language interpreter helps him to communicate with hearing kids.

That led to other Santa gigs, including visits to Gaylord National Resort in National Harbor, Md., last year and this year on Dec. 13. The hotel chain paid his expenses for both Maryland visits and trips this year to four other Gaylord resorts in Texas, Tennessee, Colorado and Florida.

“By putting me in Santa’s chair in major locations in public, we’re validating that Santa Claus can be deaf,” Graves said.

More of the story at this gift link.

[usafphantom2]

Blackbird pilot recalls when his SR-71 Flew so Fast that he and his RSO Landed at Beale AFB almost a Day Before They Took Off from Kadena AB

SR-71 Pilot tells the story of when his Blackbird flew So Fast that He and his RSO arrived at Beale AFB almost a Day Before They Left Kadena AB

The SR-71 Blackbird

The SR-71, the most advanced member of the Blackbird family that included the A-12 and YF-12, was designed by a team of Lockheed personnel led by Clarence “Kelly” Johnson, then vice president of Lockheed’s Advanced Development Company Projects, commonly known as the “Skunk Works” and now a part of Lockheed Martin.

SR-71 T-Shirts

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

The Blackbird design originated in secrecy during the late 1950s with the A-12 reconnaissance aircraft that first flew in April 1962 and remained classified until 1976. President Lyndon Johnson publicly announced the existence of the YF-12A interceptor variant on Feb. 29, 1964, more than half a year after its maiden flight. The SR-71 completed its first flight on Dec. 22, 1964.

The Blackbird was designed to cruise at “Mach 3+,” just over three times the speed of sound or more than 2,200 miles per hour and at altitudes up to 85,000 feet.

Blackbird pilot recalls when his SR-71 Flew so Fast that he and his RSO Landed at Beale AFB almost a Day Before They Took Off from Kadena AB

David Peters in SR-71’s cockpit

The incredible speed of the SR-71 Blackbird

So, it comes as no surprise if, thanks to its astonishing flight characteristics, the aircraft has set numerous speed and altitude records throughout its career.

To give a real perspective of the incredible speed the iconic Blackbird could attain, SR-71 pilot David Peters tells the following, fabulous story.

‘We were TDY to Det. 1 at Kadena AB, Okinawa. One of the birds was scheduled for swap out and my back seater, Ed Bethart, and I were to fly it home. The replacement came in on Friday and we were to leave Saturday morning. So, in true Habu tradition we welcomed the incoming crew and went to happy hour Friday evening at the officers’ club.

SR-71 Pilot tells the story of when his Blackbird flew So Fast that He and his RSO arrived at Beale AFB 17 1/2 Hours Before They Left Kadena AB

David Peters and Ed Bethart

A true story

‘We got up Saturday morning and got ready to go home. Departure was scheduled for 1000. Everything went well and we departed right on time. Headed out to do a pass through the Korean DMZ then into the tankers in the Sea of Japan. Good refueling and climb out headed for the Sea of Okhotsk and the Kamchatka peninsula of Russia and from there to more tankers off of Adak in the Aleutian Islands. Another good refueling and on to Beale AFB California.

‘We arrived with a low approach pulled up into a closed pattern and landed. Following de-suiting and debrief we deposited our classified flight documents jumped in a car and arrived at the officers club for Friday night happy hour at 1630 17 1/2 hours before we left Kadena.

SR-71 print

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. SR-71A Blackbird 61-7972 “Skunkworks”

‘Try that in any aircraft other than the SR-71. Besides this is actually a true story.’

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Twitter Page Habubrats SR-71 and Facebook Page Born into the Wilde Blue Yonder for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

Photo credit: David Peters and U.S. Air Force

@Habubrats71 via X

[simp-ly-writes]

Safety Hazard

─────── · ·

Pairing: Partner!Trevor Evarts x Can't-Cook!Partner!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You cannot cook to save your life so much so that it even endangers others when you do not mean it to but good thing you have a patient boyfriend who is more than willing to help!

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, no use of (y/n), light swearing, fluff, domestic fluff, short, attempt at comedy (near death experience for Chef!Josh /sarcastic).

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 585

─ · · A/N: Thank you for this hilarious ask anon! This pic inspired me so much and I truly embraced the chaos on this one LOL 🤣

─────── · ·

↳ Trevor. You loved your boyfriend for being the most supportive of your failed culinary career but you adored taking pictures for the Smosh and Good Mythical Kitchen marketing team- it was your newfound passion and helped you to get through the office's endless teasing about you practically married to a guy who can cook very well and then you who burns water somehow.

↳ (But you wouldn't change it for the world, there was nothing like eating meals cooked personally from a literal chef every meal of the day and Trevor was more than happy to serve and watch you eat the food he made, it was a major love language shared between the two of you).

↳ Fun Fact! You met Trevor by being kicked out of culinary school after being deemed "too much of an endangerment to your fellow staff and students." But what they really were meaning to say was that you were just too good of a chef that they couldn't handle your heat in the kitchen (or at least that was what you told yourself to sleep better at night).

─────── · ·

Trevor did not have the heart to tell you that you were quite frankly terrible at cooking but you were an excellent baker... while under supervision (of course). But all the rest of the Smosh cast and crew would think otherwise often steering you clear of the communal kitchen or distracting your very kind offers to help by doing other tasks.

Some had even had the guts to say it, albeit very nicely, to your face that you should not be in the kitchen. Yet Trevor insisted that you were fine as long as he or another trained staff member was there to supervise your culinary explorations.

It quite frankly became a joke around the office, so much so that even the marketing team but up anti-(name) signs, your face in a red circle with a line through it, to show that the kitchen was off limits except it you were with Trevor.

Other departments got creative, the set-design crew made a finger-blender that Shayne used cos-playing as you during a Try Not to Laugh episode recently that had you howling with laughter. The next best was the Games Team forcing you to play overcooked with Trevor and Josh from Good Mythical Morning and then half-way-through switching to real life.

Everyone on set that day lost hair and years off of their life. You swore to see Josh growing grey hairs by the end of it and Trevors loving eyes but shaking and nervous hands and smile pinning you down as you barley missed your fingertips every time you chopped a vegetable or turned the over up way to high to steam a fish.

But the greatest of them all was you and Trevor all completing the 'Can't see, hear, or talk challenge' in the Kitchen with the rest of the Good Mythical Morning Kitchen staff. Trevor played the can't hear character as you choose the cant speak one and Josh the can't see.

At one point you were waving a knife around trying to prove your point without the ability to speak as Trevor panicked, throwing his hands up in the air and shouting as Josh felt around almost getting attacked accidentally by you before everyone was calling the shoot off and even debating of airing the video. (They eventually did and it raised to the top of trending over the culinary section on youtube, take that culinary professor!).

─────── · ·

─ · · TREVOR TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @thevintagefangirl @maricarorp @uniquely-haunting @laurasdrey

[shaarlslec]

me and the devil

words: 4554

introduction/part 1 | part 2 | part 4 | part 5

warnings/notes: charles leclerc x reader, friends to enemies to lovers type of a thing, both of them being pricks, slight manipulation;

inspired by: Soap&Skin - Me And The Devil, The Neighborhood - Afraid, The Academic - Why Can’t We Be Friends?, lovelytheband - i like the way, The Wombats - Turn , Wallows - Pleaser

masterlist

“I came here because I–” Charles paused, backing two steps away from you. Fuck, even the idea of your bodies being departed just inches away drove Charles mad because he wanted for that space to not even exist in the first place, and yet he had to keep it cool around you – that what was he was advised, “Your war declaration impressed me.” 

Summer break came and gone with you two not even exchanging a single text. There was no room for that anymore. You were at war now. At least, that is how Charles has put it in the words of his newest interview for GQ during the summer break.  

“You have quite a tight gap between you and your teammate, and as far as everyone remembers it – that has not happened for you in the last two years. What changed within the team due to that? What has happened in between the two of you because as we all know it – you used to be Y/N mentor.” The interviewer dared to scoop; camera pointed to only Charles who was comfortably seating down nodding his head slowly as the words flooded the room. 

“Mentor is a huge word to use here.” Charles has confidently responded, eyes piercing the camera as if he was talking to you and not an entire audience, “Y/N is an extremely talented driver, and I had the chance to watch that closely since the beginning of her racing career – and I am grateful for that.” Your teammate spoke with tensed back and shoulders, “The team priorities remined the same as they were at the beginning of the season – that is to win another championship, and to answer all of your questions,” Charles then paused, shortly inhaling the heavy air in the room as if you were there to witness the words, “I and Y/N are at war, and we will do our best for our mutual feelings to not scrouge the team’s priorities.” He added, eyes titling down at his shoes for a while to take another breather before glaring up at the interviewer again, “Next question.” He ended, almost demanding. 

“He is a fucking child.” You muttered as you watched the interview next to your manager who basically forced you to watch the video, “How am I younger than him and yet the one to abstain herself from such comments?” You voiced with that burning aching feeling of your chest deepening as Charles’ heavy breaths stood as main remainders of the last time you saw each other back in the hotel room, “We are adults for God’s sake, not children playing Warzone.” 

An amused side-eye came from your manager whose phone went back into their back pockets for their hands to fully lock on their torso, “Can I say something, Y/N?” They asked, waiting patiently for you to nod, “Charles angers you – and that is good.” They added, “That is if you keep it professional.” 

Your eyes rolled, figuring out that you do really hate this phase. Does not sound like us, Charles’ voice reverberated in the back of your mind, “What if I do not?” You questioned, thinking about all the times in which you were almost ready to give up the whole professionalism into your being in front of him. 

“You have to deal with the consequences of trying to beat the one you lose your mind for inside and outside the track.” They uttered, both of you knowing damn well that means trouble for the career you fought so much to pave.  

“Enough about Charles.” You spoke, being the demanding one now, “Let me enjoy the last couple of days before I have to face him again, don’t mention him for this time being.” You added, and you could swear that you heard your manager saying “as if you don’t what that” underneath their breath.

You fought a paradox that was not only yours to bear, thoughtless of you to think that you were the only one tormented by the idea – Charles was too. Is just that Charles Leclerc had a different coping mechanism that you did. While you were trying to avoid anything online remotely linked to your teammate, Charles preferred to keep in-check your social media and to engage in every single conversation that you were mentioned in. No matter how cold and assertive he would have wanted to look when any questions about you was directed towards him, Charles enjoyed being put in such position. The Monegasque loved to be challenged, and what such thrill that you were the one to do it. You pushed him to strive for the better at the same time as you were alarming him. 

“Does she bother you that much?” Arthur asked his brother watching Leclerc scrolling through your Instagram before dinner, “That you have to watch her every step even if you are not competing?” The youngest Leclerc had inquired in almost silence as he was careful of the others gathered at the family dinner to not hear them speak, “Kinda stalk-ish, if you ask me.” He then mocked, eyebrows playfully twitching up. 

“Well, I did not ask you.” Charles replied as the phone was placed back in the pocket, “And yes, Y/N does bother me.” Your teammate declared, switching glare with his little brother who happened to be one of your closest friends within the sport. Yes, you had a thing for the Leclerc’s brothers. 

“Then, let me be the first one to tell you that she will drive you insane.” Arthur amplified with a sharp look towards his brother who was confusedly staring back at him, “I know you two well enough to figure out who will be the one to snap first.” Arthur mumbled, and then the conversation got interrupted by the arrival of the food and the fuss that created around the table. 

Charles weighted Arthur’s words. Arthur was quite right. Being that close in age with Arthur, you two grew up basically together through the junior leagues of F1. And yet, you were two steps ahead of the little Leclerc ever since the beginning. You got into F2, Arthur followed two years later despise the age gap and the relations the family had. You got into F1; Arthur struggled for another two years into F2 before making it into a midfield team alongside you who was already signed for Ferrari at that time. You were cunning, and both Leclerc were pretty much aware of that. 

Charles has watched you being ahead of his brother throughout the years, and yet Arthur never quite lost his mind over you as Charles did. Arthur had always kept it calm, and your friendship was never affected by who scored the most points or who was the best amongst the two of you – why was it different for Charles? 

Your teammate circulated around that question for the entirety of the dinner as everyone was trying to grab his attention with whatever question that ended up being answered by Arthur rather than Charles. He is stressed, don’t mind him. Arthur would say, trying to switch the focus from his brother to literally anything else. 

Yes, Charles was extremely stressed out, but not over whatever people at the table thought that evening. It was not about the following races or even about winning the championship anymore – it was all about you and the way in which you bothered him that seemed to be very much very different from the way in which you made Arthur behave towards you.  

Charles had enough time to pick his brains about this inquiry until the next time you saw each other (a couple of days down the road). You met him before practice for that weekend’s race due to your media duties. You two had to film a C2 challenge that consisted in who was the teammate that knew the other the best through answering questions about the other. You huffed as your colleagues showed you the question prompts. What were Charles’ favorite food, movie, ideal date, and celebrity crush. When did Charles won his first grand prix, what corner is his favorite out of the corners at Monza and so on. They also passed you a sheet with all the answers – and they did the same for Leclerc in other room. 

“I don’t need this.” You both spoke, pushing the answer sheets away, “Most of these are wrong, anyway.” Charles and you added, glaring over your PR team.

The filming set was simple. Two chairs standing one in front of the other in the Ferrari’s garage. It was supposed to be like that, no big fuss or huge thing. You needed to show the people that were watching you that you still get along, that what happened before the summer break has no impact on you whatsoever. Those were the instructions you both received before entering the garage, now seating one in front of the other with cards gripped in both of your hands, not daring to look at each other now. 

“Ok Charles, you can start.” Someone announced, and the cameras rolled. Charles begun with the introduction; eyes fixed on the camera before turning them on you. You almost flinched when Charles shifted his glare, and yet you knew that you needed to prove (to you mostly, and to him) that he was not moving you in any shape or form. Do not stand in my way. You gulped, the sweet tone that Charles was using was quite different from what he has portrayed back in the hotel room. 

“We are here to find how much we know about each other.” Charles intoned, leaning back into his chair as he was piercing you, “Do you feel confident that you can win this too?” He asked, and that was for the very first time when he was addressing you after three long weeks. 

You sustained the man’s glare, “How about we turn this into a speed-round?” You asked with an arched brow, “See whoever answers faster.” You teased, giving a side-eye to your managers and the team who was confused as for why you were changing the rules of the game but agreeing with your plead anyhow as soon as they heard an affirmative answer coming from Leclerc. 

“Sure, why not. Five questions per person, half a minute for answers.” Charles confidently spoke, and you could swear you were the only one to see his small smile turning into a nifty smirk with the intention of intimidation. 

Charles Leclerc was not intimating to you anymore as he was back in the days – it was the other way around now. You were the one who troubled him the most, and not vice-versa. 

“Favorite dish?” Charles inquired, knocking his knee with the edges of the cards, 

“Pasta, easy.” You immediately spoke as you slightly rolled your eyes, “But not anything that involves seafood in them, especially well-cocked shrimps.” You added, mimicking his pose as you relaxed your back in the chair as well. 

Charles nodded proudly, and he kept doing that as long as the questions were asked, and your answers never fail to impress him and everyone around. You knew him, oh you knew him too well.

“My turn.” You declared, leaving the cards to fall on your knees as you crossed your arms at your chest, “Favorite spot to hang out after a race?” You inquired, not starting as easy as he did with the questions about himself. 

“Trick question right from the start.” Charles laughed, “Depends on the city we are in – sometimes is some tiny hidden restaurants deep in the center of the city, and sometimes is up-hill somewhere.” He spoke, and you were not expecting him to remember all of that right from the start, “Also, when you are racing home – you always take the car and drive around the city for whole hours.” Charles replied, adding more to the answer perhaps for him to prove that he can beat you at this game as well or for you to know that he had as much attention as your stories at you had at his. 

You nodded, “Very good, Leclerc.” You breathed before getting into the next questions that Charles answered in the same fashion as you did his – some of them even better. 

The whole crew let you talk while your mangers were exchanging worried glances. That was the interaction of two people that are deeply interested in each other (the amount of effort you both put into remembering all those details about the other was insane). It was clear for them then, as it was for the whole team that you only pretend to despise each other. No person who hates the other could have known what their first childhood memory was or that they hate the taste of salted caramel cappuccinos. The game went on as a speed-round for a couple of minutes, until it was Charles’ turn again to ask you the questions. 

“What is your relationship with my brother?” Charles suddenly inquired, and all eyes widened in the room (that type of question was nowhere on the cards). 

Your eyes widened too, “Is this question about you or me?” You replied with a nervous laugh. 

“It implicates us both.” He answered back, glare as sharp as a knife and voice steady as if he was almost scolding you.

“It implicates me and Arthur.” You spoke, hearing the cameraman shutting the camera down with a click as the atmosphere thickened between you and Charles, “If you are that curious – you should ask your brother then. I am sure you are closer with him that you are with me.” You muttered, wondering if it was jealousy you sensed in the tone of your teammate or simply new-found curiosity. 

“You are the one in front of me now – I am asking you.” Charles fought back, but his intentions were cut shut by the Communications Manager. 

“Ok guys, enough content for today.” She spoke with a little amused smile on her face, being one of many wondering what your answer is if this conversation continues any further but knowing that a scoop into your personal life would not be the best way to promote your relationship to the public, “Go take five, you two have other interviews to attend before the practice.” 

“And for God’s sake,” Your manager interfered after a heavy breath, “Can you two behave for five whole minutes without attacking the other?” They asked, watching you already leaving your seat while Charles’ glare never budged from where you stood, “Y/N wait –” They rushed, following you out of the garage back into your motorhome. 

“Why are you getting so worked up for?” They questioned you once they breathless caught you from behind, you were quicker than any normal person not only when driving but when you were walking too, “It was just a silly question—” 

“Leclerc has no reason to be jealous.” You confessed, leaning your body on one of the walls, “Why does he act the way he does in front of other people too?” You inquired, temples pounding at the verges of your head, “Why does he care about my relationships with other drivers, have I ever asked him how well he gets along with other girls? No.” You vented; your manager perplexed shutting the door behind you two. 

Charles stood from his chair after you left the room, everyone in the room was eyeing him. He adjusted his voice by coughing twice, “I guess we need to film the outro for the video some other day.” Charles simply said to your Communication Manager. 

“There is no need, we will figure out something without you two in the same shoot.” She implied with furrowed brows, “But perhaps –” She paused, watching Leclerc position both of his hands at his hips, “Keep your cool in front of the cameras with Y/N, alright?” 

“What do mean? Have I said something wrong?” Charles inquired, looking around the room for someone to back him up. Yet, no one did so. 

“Not exactly Charles.” She answered, “But if looks could kill, you would have murdered Y/N right in front of us.” 

Charles’ gulped his words before he could say something, the realization kicked in. Arthur was right – you were driving him insane. The worst part of all that? That everybody around you two was seeing that, and yet Charles acted clueless. 

Focus was on the race on Sunday, after one successful qualifying session during which you got third place on the grid and Charles first. Yet, Charles had PU changes that pushed him five places back in the grid. You were ahead of him, and you were planning to keep it that way. No matter how much Charles managed to anger you outside the track, you had to take all of that and put in inside of it. 

You had a good start, pushing Max on P2 and now you were chasing Russell. As you were not seeing Charles’ car in your mirrors, you kept your calm for half of the race when you took the opportunity to pass Russell too in a tight corner – exactly how Leclerc has taught you before. 

It was a tough race for Charles, but a very good one for you. The minor PU changes seemed to not perform as well as the team expected on Charles’ car, so he struggled in P4 for most of the race.

It rarely happened for Charles not to be on the podium, and he needed that now more than ever for his own ego because your finish in P1 meant equality in points in the championship if he was not to pass Russell ahead of him. Xavi announced him that through the radio, while your race engineer spoke just these words to you: Y/N please abandon the fastest lap. 

And yet, Russell was unyielding in P3 pissed by Max passing him five laps before the checked flag and you were angered by your team’s message. Leclerc must be in P4 still, you thought. With an open distance and a considerable gap between you and Max, you pushed all the limits of your body and that car to disobey the team’s orders without saying anything back to them as a reply.

You took P1 and you took the fastest lap of the race too. One point ahead of Charles Leclerc in the championship, and oh how much would that upset sweet little Charles. 

The crowd was in awe for the second time in a row, and you were more than pleased to take the fourth trophy home for the season as well as you were thrilled to be asked how it feels to lead the championship for the first time through your F1 career before hopping on a well-deserved podium. 

“What do you think your teammate has to say to this swift in points?” The Sky interviewer asked, and you would have wished for your punch to knock that man right then and there. It was your time to shine, yours and yours alone. And yet, of course – they had to ask about him, cause how can someone take the spotlight from their dearest champ? 

You furrowed your eyebrows; the thought of Charles has not crossed your mind up until this stupid question. What managed to anger you now was not your teammate, but your foolish team orders. And yet, you had to give them what they wanted. Meaningless to say, you loved the chaos as much as Charles did especially during high rushes of adrenaline as now. 

“As he declared – we are at war, aren’t we?” You giggled, whipping the sweat off your forehead with a smirk sprinkled on your wet face, “All of us are here to win.” You added, saved by the bell of timing as Max was asked to replace you. 

Charles watched from the side, and within even his own surprise – a small smile split his face as the answer flew to the man’s ears.

Oh, the game is on.

Xavi went to apologize to Charles at the exact moment when the people in your team were hugging and congratulation you. 

“I don’t need apologies, Xavi.” Charles spoke, eyes watching your every move as you went up to the podium, “I need solutions.” The Monegasque then declared, leaving the spot next to Xavi who he left wordless to go and wait for you in front of your motorhome. A warning for you seemed to not be enough, therefore Charles has decided to step up his game seeing that you did that on your own. 

You were startled once you saw him at your door with his race suit half on and arms locked at his chest, “You again.” You almost sobbed beneath your gutted breath, “What do you want now?” You questioned, passing by him to open the door for him to follow you inside, another tantrum was not ideal to be witnessed by people passing, “You need to stop following me in such fashion – people might think that you are in love with me or something.” You teased, turning on your heel for now to watch him closely inches away from you as he stopped his steps right before your bodies could have tinged. 

Charles said nothing to your remark. You rolled your eyes at his silence, “It is just a joke, you don’t even know how to joke anymore?” You continued, undressing from your racing suit as he was watching. Putting it half down just as him, you placed both of your hands on your hips with an annoyed look on your face, “Have you come here just to stare?” You wondered, Charles’ silence weighting as seconds passed by. 

“I came here because I–” Charles paused, backing two steps away from you. Fuck, even the idea of your bodies being departed just inches away drove Charles mad because he wanted for that space to not even exist in the first place, and yet he had to keep it cool around you – that what was he was advised, “Your war declaration impressed me.” 

You huffed, “You are the one who did it first, Leclerc. Don’t pretend that I am the one who put us in such position.” 

“Oh, so you have been watching me.” He promptly replied, your eyes rolling again as the grin on Charles’ face extended.

“Don’t gloat.” You spoke despite all the cravings inside of you that commanded wiping that man’s smile with a slap or a lock of mouths, “You are the one who has been stalking me on social media.” You replied, an immediate reaction on Charles’ face in the form of a twitched eyebrow and a nervous chuckle. 

“I got my answer then.” Charles breathed, back now glued on one of your walls putting as much distance as he could in between the two of you, “You are that close with my brother so that he can rat me out to you.” He continued, one of his hands stretching the back of his neck.

Nervous, you made him nervous once again. You knew you would, and you were smart enough to figure out that the Leclerc brothers had been talking about you over the summer break for Arthur to send you a text saying What have you done to my brother that your name pops up first in his searches? 

“What was with that question, anyway?” You asked with your shoulders tensed up, being impossible to fully relax all your body underneath the man’s gaze even after the race’s rush of adrenaline wore off, “You know that I and Arthur are friends, he was the one who introduced you to me.” You recollected, flashes of your first talk with Leclerc flickering in the back of your mind: when he was sweet, kind and caring, and when your crush on him started. 

“I needed answers, Y/N.” Charles sighed, switching his weight from the back foot on the one standing closer to you as he made its way back into your space. Damn, Charles Leclerc was indecisive, “Why it is different for me than it is for Arthur when it comes to you.” He declared, hand up in the air now to touch your cheek. 

You were startled at first, of course you were. Three weeks ago, Charles seemed to you like he could not even stand the idea of you touching his hand, and now his was on you. And yet, you caved in as his hand cupped your already rosy cheeks. No matter how much you would have liked to resist, your body told the story. He pulled your head up, close to his mouth. Oh, so damn close.

“Maybe because you are different people, and I and Arthur always have known where we stand.” You spoke, watching the little reddened spots that were still on Leclerc’s face from wearing the helmet, “You and I?” You added, touching the reddish line with the tips of your fingers, “We have yet to find out.” You continued, getting up on the edges of your foot to match Leclerc’ energy and to make the distance in between your lips to slowly fade away, “Too bad that we will not find that very soon.” You added, lips almost caressing before you snatched away from Charles, leaving him all hot and sweaty in front of you, “I know what you are doing, Charles.” You warned, steps away from him now. 

“What am I doing?” Charles innocently and all confused spoke, arm hanging out around his body having none of you to touch anymore. 

“You are trying to find my weak spot.” You explained with almost watery eyes, “That is you.” You acknowledged after a short breath, “You made me not care about you in the same way as I did before two years ago when you decided to play the devil card.” You continued with what were full-blown lies told to Charles in the most convincing tone, “You are not going to make me go easy on you for the remining races by making me fall in love with you, again.” You demanded as your heart broke, “Dare to touch me again when you really mean it.” You intoned, “Or do not touch me at all.” 

Charles’ stare sharpened, “That is not what was I tryin—” 

“Get out.” You managed to speak, “I need to change.” You lied, all you needed was a moment of peace caused by the turbulences of your heart jumping back and forth just as Charles’ steps towards you. 

“Fine then.” Charles spoke, “If that is what you want.” He added, turning his back on you but not before throwing the following words behind his shoulder, “Just be aware that you are the one who is playing the devil card now – turning into me.” 

Your eyes remined fixed on Charles’ back until he was out of your sight. When Charles did so, giving one last look over the shoulder – Charles’ hand went to his heart first before balancing around his body. Yes, you figured out your teammate’s plan. Charles came to find you to suede you, and yet the impact of his throbbing heart hurting within his chest was something he was not expecting to feel. 

Charles needed another plan for him to not become the one who’s played by his own intentions, and yet what he saw inside your flaming eyes when your lips were so close to him aroused Charles’ entire body. Fuck, how could Charles had convinced you that part of him was really meaning it – that touching you was everything he needed, wanted, craved with or without his third title.   

[merbear25]

A still beating heart

Dread and turmoil mix into a deadly elixir which is drunk by the masses. Whilst two wandering souls seek out refuge in this unforgiving world, finding each other by chance feels too good to be true. You’ve started crumbling at the feet of your health complications, and although you are in need of his support, distrust deludes the gift of his companionship.

a/n: This is heavily inspired by the movie Repo! The Genetic Opera because it’s a masterpiece and Caesar would thrive in this world. Divider made by me.

CW: Repo man AU, gn!reader, angst, horror themes (mentions of gore, murder), yandere undertones (kidnapping, possessiveness, Stockholm Syndrome), reader has health conditions, some romance and fluff, no sexual themes.

The city bathed in the moonlight, but even still there were crevices that remained absent from its rays. Having been traced and hunted down, the shadows were the only things to bear witness to the woman’s pleas. Choked cries painted the cold bricks, now weeping for her when no one else would, for the hands that played as judge doubled as her executioner. The predetermined verdict being brought on by a lack of funds had sealed her fate after contracting her life in the hopes that something more would come of it.

Others shared the same lack of foresight: choosing to turn a blind eye to the repercussions if they failed to keep their end of the bargain. Even so, they all willingly gave these cosmetic corporations an ungodly amount of power, which in turn had these lost souls collapsing like dominos—each spreading the word of such wonders being gifted to them all while deluding the dangers which came with it.

As the sprouted weeds in the pavement drank the spilled life, the blood would only stain the hands of the reaper who’d slain and even then, the deed would bear little weight on his conscience. With the sobs of the recently departed fading into the late hours of the night, they received no pity as the man’s hands collected the organ for bounty money.

With such negligence making these companies swell to the brim in cash, it was no wonder why they relied on repo men such as him; casting down on them swiftly while also being morally numb to the horrors they were unleashing were qualities scarcely coupled. However, once found, they would be cherished, perhaps flourishing under the watchful corporal eye.

Trudging through the bleak city, even the sun peeking over the buildings did nothing to relieve this world of the melancholy plaguing it. With such a tarnished reputation, there were few other prospects residing outside this one, whether career wise or personal.

Finding yourself in an elongated hallway, the lights above were dim, just barely giving you leverage to see what lurked beyond. Calling out, there was no answer—there never was, and yet you kept trying to connect with someone, anyone.

The chill pricked at your exposed flesh, making you wince. As you wandered down the hall, you noticed the walls were bare—stripped of the potential portals you could’ve unlocked. With only being given two possible directions, the gravity of the decision was weighing you down, sinking you into the floor. The further you sank, the dimmer the lights were. Isn’t there anyone there? Despite all your might, your words fell silent.

Couldn’t there be a reason for this? Why were you given the short end of things time and time again? The self-loathing only pulled you down deeper into the floorboards, making you gasp for air as you dipped below them.

Drifting in the void of your own dismay, you made one last attempt to cry out, “Who am I meant to be?” The doubt of being able to live in this world without acquiring the essential brutality cascaded on you, further forcing you into the depths of your awaited despair. In a shrill voice, you shrieked, “Isn’t there anyone who can tell me who I am?” Although faint, your desperation made its way to the surface.

A beacon of light lifted your head, enticing you to follow, but the closer you got, the top remained out of reach. With your arms tiring and your will running on fumes, you debated whether or not to push forward. Before being given the choice, your eyes shot open.

Parting your curtains, you were met with thick clouds of smog obstructing your view of the park, albeit the grass and flowers had browned and wilted long ago. Despite promptly reclosing them, it didn’t change the dread that awaited you. No matter how many times you shielded yourself from the reality you were born into, the cruelty of the world persistently seeped through the paned glass with doubts of it ever changing poisoning your already rocky optimism.

In spite of the climbing bills regarding your medication, it was still better than opting out for a heart transplant. After all, going without your medication could be risky, but it paled in comparison to the organ being ripped from your chest. With that in mind, today of all days when the smog seemed to be the thickest it’d been all month, venturing to the pharmacy to retrieve your medication was a necessity.

Even with taking precautions, the polluted air restricted your breathing, tightening your chest as your heart struggled to fight against the harsh conditions. Pushing forward, you kept reminding yourself that the pharmacy wasn’t far, meaning you’d be able to regain your composure once entering. However, upon reaching the door of your temporary sanctuary, the bolt was fastened and no one was inside.

Panic at the unforeseen turn of events set in, looking around in a frenzy made matters worse, as your breathing grew more shallow. Clenching helplessly at the fabric around your form only further drilled hopelessness into you. Staggering along the walls, you stumbled to your knees. Tears beaded at the corners of your eyes as you huddled in a ball on the pavement. As you laid there clutching at your chest, a robed figure came into view before the bleak city surroundings dimmed into a haze.

A barely audible voice crept in as you came to. “What to do, what to do…” Shuffling could be heard in the distance which was then followed by clinking glass. When your eyes fluttered open, the light shining down on you was unpleasantly bright. Squinting from the abrasion, you caught sight of a tall figure in the shadows.

Scanning the surroundings of which the light touched, the understanding that someone had dragged you back to their home jumped out at you. With such a conclusion, other more frightening ones followed suit. Kept for ransom, sold on the black market or forced into slavery: all seemed plausible given the hard times everyone was continuously finding themselves in.

Even when gingerly shifting yourself, creaks of old springs sounded under your subtle movement. Although the figure blended into the dark, the outline was still jagged enough to separate itself from the still backdrop.

As the stranger’s hand eased its way onto the counter top, their head shifted and even though your vision was obstructed by the fluorescent bulb, the dreadful feeling of eyes being on you was unmistakable.

Restraining yourself from shouting for help, demanding answers, and bursting into tears was whirling within you, pulling you in too many directions to focus on one tactic to break free. Instead the trembling dread was kept bottled up, making you shake from the building pressure.

“Don’t get so worked up,” his voice alluded to a disinterest in your wandering thoughts.

“Who are you? Where am I?” Your assertiveness prevailed over quivering lips.

Tilting his head back and forth as if contemplating whether or not to answer, he remained silent.

When you failed to coerce an answer from him, your chest heaved from the burdening assumption that you’d found your eternal resting place. Putting your trust in a higher power that would somehow pull you out of this was like grasping at straws. Such powerful beings had never casted their grace on you before, but they appeared to be the only ones in whom you could place your faith.

Closing your eyes to the terror surrounding you, you said a quick prayer, mumbling your pleas in hope that they’d reach the ears of some pure entity. “Please,” you begged to yourself, “Is this really how I’ll die, Lord?”

A curious smile stretched his lips at your increasingly labored breathing. Turning slightly towards you, he couldn’t help but chuckle at your feeble attempt at appealing to the heavens. “Do you honestly think anyone is listening?”

Refusing to acknowledge his obvious attempt at getting under your skin, you irked him. However, it led him into thinking of your tenacity as a challenge. Inching out of the shadows, his unconcealed contempt burrowed into you.

Leaning down, his words dripped with anticipation of you admitting your lack of faith. He spoke just above a whisper, “Tell me, what kind of God would bestow such hardships onto one as frail as yourself?”

With contorted lips, you failed to stop the tears from streaming down your face. Pressing your forehead against your laced fingers, you were tempted to fall victim to the seeds of doubt he was planting. “There must be someone out there who cares.”

Furrowing his brow, he huffed a bit at your self-pity. “The sooner you realize there isn’t, the happier you’ll be.”

Wiping the stinging sorrow from your eyes, you cautiously asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

Looking down his nose at you, he wondered that himself. “Why indeed.”

Risking a glance, you hastily averted your eyes. His golden orbs were burning into you with searing intensity. His sudden reach made you flinch. He paused briefly before fully extending his arm to the end table. With a soft clink, he retracted from you, yet his eyes held on, studying each subtlety you exuded.

“Drink it,” he commanded. However, his tone shifted slightly when your eyes held distrust. ‘It will help you feel better.”

Seeing as he wasn’t going anywhere until you downed the liquid he gave you, gulping it down left your tongue coated in bitterness. Pleased with your compliance, he allowed you time to rest, giving you some much needed solitude. 

Once he left the room, your ears followed his footsteps through the wooden corridor. He hadn’t locked the door, though taking it upon yourself to leave felt more like bait if anything. Instead, you held tight, looking about the room you found yourself in.

With the muffled sounds echoing throughout the house, your curiosity got the better of you. The walls were cool to the touch, leading you to believe you were in the basement and although the room was seemingly empty, there were drawers in the disheveled desk.

Poking around, you dared to uncover any shred of who this man was. Stumbling upon a collection of documents, you unfastened the folder securing them. Thumbing through them carefully, the names of their faceless owners were becoming overwhelming. “Why would he have such papers within his home?” you muttered to yourself.

There were papers containing medical information, addresses, places they frequented, all of which were filling your head with the glaring truth as to who this man was.

Thuds traveled down the hall, alarming you that they were marching your way. Fumbling with the evidence stacked against him, you shoved them into the folder and quietly shut the drawer. Jumping on the sofa, you were just able to control your racing heartbeat in time for him to enter your dwellings.

Closing the door behind him, his gaze was fixated on you as he approached. Before he could get a word in, you spoke out against him holding you there. “When can I leave?”

Stopping in his tracks, he was less than pleased to be greeted with such an ungrateful attitude. “If you want to leave, there’s the door.”

“I can just go? You won’t stop me?” Your questions held your disbelief. When he nodded, something about the situation chilled you to your core.

Smirking at your hesitation, he asked, “What’s wrong?” Watching your eyes dart between the exit and him, he informed you, “There’s no trick, no trap.”

Smiling down at you - as unsettling as it was given the circumstances - gave you an ounce of courage to motion off the sofa.

“If you’re sure in your abilities to find your way back without any help or medication, then by all means, you have my word to let you go.”

The fact of the matter was you were in no position to go anywhere, and he wanted you to understand that. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rested your forehead against them.

With triumph wafting off of him, he glided towards you, requesting you to tilt your head up. He patted your knees, signaling you to put them down to allow him an easier time checking your vitals. Checking your eyes and pulse, his hands then wandered over the sides of your ribcage.

Inhaling sharply, he asked if the pressure hurt. Truth be told you weren’t quite sure if the gasp was brought on by pain or the sudden touch. Letting him know that there was a slight pain issued for more probing: his fingers pressed at the front and back of you in an attempt to find any other pockets of discomfort. When none were left, he leaned back to fully take in the marvel you were presenting yourself as.

With a slight nod, he whispered, “Good.” Getting up, he looked back at you. “If you’re in no hurry to leave, you can either spend the rest of your time down here or I can show you where the spare bedroom is.” 

Despite his gracious offer to extend more of his home to you, the aura emitting from him gave you reason to proceed with caution.

When you absentmindedly bit your lower lip, he shrugged off your doubt. “Stay in this room, don’t stay in this room, it makes no difference to me.”

“No!” Your own burst of enthusiasm made you recoil. “I-I’d be grateful for a room.”

Ushering you to follow him, his chuckles trailed alongside the both of you. Reaching the top of the stairs, the lavish style all but took your breath away. The embroidery along the ceiling and the fine details on the furniture had you awe-struck.

“Who’d you have to kill to be able to afford all of this?”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is. Well, so long as you know how to play your cards right.”

Leading you to the door you’d be calling yours for the time being, he followed on your heels as you aimlessly sauntered into the room. A sense of pride swelled within him, while he watched you stand there mouth agape. 

The ivory window sills complimented by the forest green curtains suited the cream-colored carpet and speckled bits of gold across the wallpaper. Sitting yourself down on the bed, comfort and serenity dispersed around you, having you pondering if you ever wanted to go back to your decrepit apartment.

Folding your hands in your lap, you looked at him with a sincere smile. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

The gentleness to your demeanor pierced his once thought to be dead heart, reigniting the life lying dormant within it. In a meek attempt at hiding his contentment from your appreciation, a short nod was all you were issued as he swiftly left you alone with your thoughts.

Grinning, you threw yourself back on the clouds surrounding you. Being under the crushing weight of the world for as long as you had, there’d been little to dream about. However, this was the first moment in perhaps a decade or more when fresh air was allowed into your life, soothing your woes.

Such ease washed over you, their waves carrying you out to sea. Although the tide started out calm, the storm clouds on the horizon were cause for concern. The rough water crashed into your boat, forcing you to brace yourself against the oncoming malice.

Pouring rain blinded you to the tidal wave gaining speed in the distance. The full weight of it submerged you deep beneath sea level, forcing the air out of you on impact. As you thrashed your way towards the surface, your body gave out, going limp in the storm ridden waters.

Lifting your eyelids, you stirred under the covers. The streetlamps were shining through the crack between the curtains. Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you looked around for a clock. Carefully making your way down the steps, there appeared to be no sign of your host anywhere.

Stumbling around to the front windows, headlights bathed the parlor. Thinking it must be him, peeking out came instinctively. A long black latex trench coat was cloaked over him, his long hair partly matted to it after having fallen out of the ponytail it was thrown up in.

There was no denying who those uniforms belonged to—the repo men who stalked the streets.  The nail in your coffin was being hammered in as he stepped across that threshold.

For a moment, he hadn’t even noticed you standing there. Taking his coat off gingerly so as not to loosen any missed droplets of blood onto the floor, your trembling form caught his attention.

“What are you doing awake?”

“I was just…I couldn’t sleep is all.”

Folding his coat over his arm, he sauntered across the arch way, keeping his eyes on you. “Shouldn’t you know it’s bad manners to snoop in your host’s home?”

“I wasn’t snooping, I promise!”

Him disappearing around the corner caused the hair on the back of your neck to rise. His footsteps were no longer audible and the still of the night was deafening.

“What are you most afraid of at this moment?” His voice seemed to be everywhere at once, leaving you feeling completely surrounded.

“I’m afraid of dying,” you choked out. With the room closing in on you, you were backed into the corner. 

“And what is it that you want most of all?”

The tightening in your chest was making you dry heave from the stampede of terror trampling you. While you struggled to control your breath, you sank down to the floor. His stoic form stepped into the night’s rays peeking through, his golden eyes being illuminated by the cross light.

“I don’t want to think about the pain I’m feeling anymore.”

“Then why not let me lighten your load?” You showed a shred of reluctance, which invited him to kneel down by your side. “You can either accept my help and my conditions, or you can become another forgotten name lost to time.”

Offering you his hand, you saw no better option waiting for you, even if placing your faith in this man was contractual.

“Why did you help me?”

“It was a lapse in judgment.”

“But why do you continue to do so?” 

He did not answer, only letting the air between you grow stale. You were being given the opportunity to interpret the nonsensical ways of his generosity, although this wouldn’t go without pitfalls of suspicion.

Looking at the hand he was still offering you, you threw caution to the wind and placed your hand in his. When your eyes met, a somewhat genuine smile stretched upon his face while he gently eased you up from the floor.

With the days and nights spent with him on seamless rotation, the unknown reason of him permitting you to stay with him burdened you. There were times that you wondered that perhaps the logic behind it was lost even to him. But the longer you remained with him, the more uneasy you got. Not understanding why, you were there left questions to build up in the darkest corners of your mind: “When could he lose interest?”, “What could make him lose interest?” and the grave reality of “What will happen to me if he loses interest?”

Dark clouds swirled above from the lack of clarity of where you stood with him. As bleak of motivation as it was, it made you contribute around the house, trying to add to whatever worth he originally saw in you, eventually leading him to taking you under his wing of professional guidance. 

Despite the unwavering gratitude you had for him, being in his debt had hooked into your immortal soul. With the metal having sunk into your flesh, you were being brought down to the brimstone lined caverns where he was.

Through the anguish you kept secret from him, you persevered, allowing an unwanted yet natural talent you held to unearth itself.

As your lack-luster eyes fell on the fading life sprawled at your feet, he sensed you pulling away from the life you were building together on the backs of those who closely resembled yourself.

“Do not pity those who knew the risks, yet did nothing to prevent them. Time eats all his children in the end, my dear.” His words, albeit cruel, rang true. With each moment shared together, his disdain for the world and those in it wore off on you more and more.

Self-loathing emitted off of you and was misplaced onto him, souring the air. “I cannot help it, but when I look at you, I grow distasteful. The ruthlessness you cast is only seen as mercy to yourself.”

Taken aback by you bearing such a festering grudge against him - the man who’d shown you the utmost kindness - made him grind his teeth. Frowning at you, he spoke without having first collected his thoughts. “And yet here you are by my side. Here you are soaked in the blood of the less fortunate, and you have the gall to throw blame onto me?”

Closing the gap between you, his breath was hot against your ear. “You’ve willingly shredded any ounce of innocence you held over me long ago. Tread lightly, for you’re beginning to reek of self righteousness.” His warning lingered in your ears.

Maneuvering through this minefield was wearing on you. Caught up in your own self-indulgent pity party, you nearly missed glimmers of him being heavily affected by such barriers separating the two of you. Even if his demeanor was rigid and his stare cold, there was a sense of feeling isolated emanating around him.

He sat in his armchair, while he mulled over the precarious justification of having dragged you here all those months ago. Following your descent down the stairs, he drummed his fingers on his pursed lips, leading himself to believe this was to be your farewell to him.

Ignoring the daggers behind his eyes, you kept in mind that he was just as damaged by this world as you were. “I’ve come to apologize.”

Cautiously lowering his guard, you’d piqued his interest. “I see how my behavior has been unjustifiably disgraceful towards you and the second chance you gave me.” 

Seeing his eyes wandering over you, you proceeded. “You’ve helped me understand that in this world, one must take center stage and you can either steal the spotlight or fade into the background.”

Choking back the rising emotion, you divulged your soul to him, “I don’t want to fade with the others.”

“You won’t have to.” Easing out of his chair, he opened his arms to you. Holding each other tightly, it dawned on you that this was the first embrace you ever shared.

While his hands caressed your emotionally drained form, your frets were plucked out of you, leaving behind tranquility. “This feels nice,” you admitted in a hushed tone.

Humming at the comfort you found in his touch, such affection was surreal for the life he led. As your arms wrapped around him, he smirked at the resolution to the issues you shared. Looking up at him, his thumb stroked your cheek. His words carried such delicacy, “I trust this means you have no intention of leaving me?”

“I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Two souls deemed undesirable by society.” Leaning down, his lips briefly ghosted yours. “What better match could I have asked for?” Sealing your union with a long-overdue kiss, any lingering doubts of who you thought you were supposed to be dissipated. The ash of your former self, along with your prior morals, circled you as your kiss deepened. Collecting at your feet, you paid them no mind. 

The man who’d brought forth a new perspective on this dreary world captivated you. Together you would stay in the spotlight, sharing it as you danced under its beam. Your devotion to each other would keep the shadows at bay, for your adoration would outlast their persistent attempts at tearing you down with the others who were being forgotten to time.

[jcmarchi]

3 Questions: From the bench to the battlefield

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/3-questions-from-the-bench-to-the-battlefield/

3 Questions: From the bench to the battlefield

Pursuing an Undergraduate Research Opportunity Program project (or two or three) is a quintessential part of the academic experience at MIT. The program, known as UROP, allows students to be “shoulder to shoulder” with faculty, graduate students, and affiliated researchers in MIT’s labs.

Given the plethora of research options and disciplines — everything from getting a crash course in advancing quantum computing to developing neuroprosthetics — it’s no surprise that over 90 percent of undergraduates end up doing a UROP by the time they graduate.

The half-century-old program continues to evolve, adapting to student interest. Consider the experience of rising senior Alexander Edwards, a nuclear and mechanical engineering student and cadet in the Army ROTC program. The Alabama native leveraged his military training thanks to a new fellowship with the Institute for Soldier Nanotechnologies (ISN), an endeavor in which MIT, the U.S. Department of Defense (DoD), and industry partners work together to develop technologies that advance the protection, survivability, and mission capabilities of the U.S. Armed Forces. That fellowship is thanks to a gift of alumnus and ROTC graduate Aneal Krishnan ’02, who commissioned as an infantry officer in the U.S. Army. Here, Edwards and Krishnan describe the unique UROP experience and offer advice for future students.

Q: What was special about having a UROP focused on the challenges that a soldier in the field might face, such as the decades-long challenges of managing excess weight while also having proper ballistic protection?

Edwards: Having a UROP specifically designed for MIT ROTC cadets has allowed me to grow my technical skills while also helping contribute to national defense. The ISN works on an array of different interesting research projects related to defense technologies in any and every STEM discipline.

Team members collaborate on basic research to create new materials, devices, processes, and systems, and on applied research to transition promising results toward practical products useful to the war fighter. U.S. Army members at the ISN also give guidance on soldier protection and survivability needs and evaluate the relevance of research proposed to address these needs.

These collaborations help identify dual-use applications for ISN-derived technologies for firefighters, police officers, other first responders, and the civilian community at large.

Krishnan: The ISN was founded at MIT in 2002, and since its founding, the ISN’s research has been the genesis of over 140 patents, more than 50 startups, and dozens of major transitions of fieldable products. Through the MIT ROTC/ISN fellowship, the ISN benefits from the work of exceptional science and engineering students from MIT, who will also be future military leaders and can bring a real-world perspective to their work. The ROTC cadets benefit by pursuing research as part of their degree in areas in which they are passionate, and that will benefit them in their endeavors after graduation. An overarching success of this fellowship is that there is now a connection between ROTC and MIT’s DoD labs that did not exist in my time as an undergraduate. As a tangible success in this regard, in March 2024, Lt. General Maria Barrett, the commanding general of U.S. Army Cyber Command, conducted a visit at MIT coordinated by both ROTC and the ISN, further elevating the profile of the Institute amongst the DoD top brass.

Q: What was your specific project? 

Edwards: My project for the past year has been related to calculating the losses on a radio-photovoltaic thermo-nuclide generator (RTG), also known as a nuclear battery.

My classmate, fellow Army ROTC cadet and fellowship recipient rising junior William Cruz, worked with nanocomputing and piezoelectric fibers to create heartbeat-sensing clothing. He and I can attest that both projects have been incredibly fulfilling, both personally and professionally.

Alongside the UROPs, Mr. Krishnan took us on a day trip in January to Washington D.C., where we were treated to a host of amazing networking opportunities at an array of organizations that seek to transition innovation out of the lab and into the front lines such as Silicon Valley Defense Group, JP Morgan, Peraton, and from In-Q-Tel, the global, not-for-profit strategic investor for the U.S. national security community and America’s allies, hosted by fellow MIT alumnus David LoBosco ’02.

Q: What lessons or takeaways did you gain from this experience? What advice might you share with other students?

Edwards: My main takeaways from all these meetings were, first, the importance of proper communication between the private sector and the government, something that has been lacking of late, and secondly, how I may be able to apply my technical background to consulting, investment, or many other fields.

Overall, I would recommend this program to future MIT ROTC cadets, and both Cadet Cruz and I are exceedingly grateful to Mr. Krishnan and the ISN for the opportunity.

Krishnan: Cadets Edwards and Cruz will now be able to share their experiences with the next class of prospective cadet researchers, thereby increasing the fellowship’s reach and impact. Future initiatives are to expand the fellowship to MIT’s Air Force and Navy ROTC programs, schedule more visits of senior military leaders to both ROTC and ISN, and connect fellowship recipients with ISN startups for career opportunities. And for my part, I’m incredibly fortunate to have met such outstanding Americans as cadets Edwards and Cruz. I’m excited to see where life takes them and hope to be a mentor along the way.

[accord-vn]

RSEC 3rd Gen "Janissary" AIU

The Janissary is the primary combat unit of the Republic of Stauros ExoCorps, the military force associated with Stauros's Department of the Exterior.

Pilots are selected through the prestigious Janissary program, wherein adolescents who fit the necessary criteria are chosen to become career soldiers. The crux of the program relies on teaching pilots to effectively utilize ext-SYN/TRA, a crude yet minimally invasive application of Stauros's synaptic transfer protocol. While more advanced applications of SYN/TRA are afforded to elites within the program, because of the inherent risks involved in its use and the fact that only an estimated 3% of humans have sufficient bio-compatibility, it does not see widespread use.

As the military arm of the Department of the Exterior, the ExoCorps's primary aim is to secure national interests regarding extraplanetary resources, transport, and exploration, which extends to maintaining Stauros's monopoly on space travel. Because of this, Janissaries are designed to be capable of combat both in and out of atmosphere.

Their propulsion is fueled by a single Tokamak reactor, which heats air for a jet engine within atmosphere and vents plasma outside of atmosphere. Because of this, leaving atmosphere unaided significantly reduces the life of the combat units, reinforcing their role as being primarily planetary forces.

Art is a WIP sketch by @himecommunism

[blurredcolour]

The Night Moves | Part One

The Night Moves Masterlist

Alternate Universe

supernatural!Bradley Bradshaw x Female Reader; supernatural!Jacob Seresin x Female Reader

Summary: An internship with the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History should have been the highlight of your academic career. The perfect addition to your resume while you worked on your doctoral thesis. An interdepartmental assignment, however, sees your reality ripped apart by incomprehensible forces. Five tumultuous days will leave you forever changed and inextricably linked to two men born centuries apart.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Violence, Blood, Gore, Supernatural Themes, Historical Inaccuracies, Institutional Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ Only

Author's Note: Typically I provide sanitized versions of my more violent scenes however they are rather crucial to this entire series so please heed my warnings and do not engage with this series if you are not interested in reading blood and gore. Thank you for your understanding!

Word Count: 4053

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

-Tuesday-

The sound of fallen leaves skittering across the pavement behind you would have brought a smile to your face if the card reader at the staff entrance of the National Museum of Natural History would only function properly. You had tried sliding your personnel card marked ‘intern’ through it quickly, slowly, repeatedly, and every attempt ended in two buzzes and a red-light signaling failure.

You were expected in the lab in five minutes and at this rate you were going to be late – not the impression you were hoping to make on your first inter-facility project. You took a step back and inhaled deeply, turning your head to your right to appreciate the brilliant orange leaves tipped in red barely clinging to the trees on the boulevard. The days had been unseasonably warm lately, though the arrival of a crisp north wind was heralding a change. Grounded and refreshed you approached the card reader once more and pulled your keycard forward, the lanyard around your neck taut, trying a slow, smooth slide through the slot. The resulting chirp and green light had you sighing in relief.

“Finally…” You uttered and wrenched the door open, hurrying down the stairs and through the corridor to the room number that had been provided via email. Stopping just outside, you took a moment to fill your lungs with air and smooth your lab coat before stepping inside calmly.

While you had reviewed the parameters of the assignment numerous times, nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting in that room. A catastrophic fire in a Virginia church two weeks ago had unearthed a lead-lined sarcophagus, which initial investigations had determined dated from the War of Independence. It had been delivered to the department of forensic anthropology for examination on Thursday of last week and as the initial scans of the vessel revealed there were artifacts contained within, the project had expanded to involve the National Museum of American History as well.

While your position as an intern had not garnered you an invitation to the opening of the sarcophagus, you had been fortunate enough to be assigned with the initial cataloguing of the items found within. Nonetheless you were still taken aback by the sight of a mummified corpse laid out on a wheeled exam table with the rest of the artifacts set out on other tables beside. The most striking thing of all, however, was the utter lack of damage to the artifacts one would expect from them being locked in a box with a decaying body for two-and-a-half centuries. From your vantage point they appeared aged and worn, to be sure, but otherwise very much intact.

A chill rolled through your body as you stepped further into the sterile room, and you heard a poorly smothered laugh. Turning quickly toward the sound, you spotted two forensic anthropology interns, Brett and Raj, whom you recognized from the Smithsonian-wide orientation meetings in the spring.

“It’s freezing in here to keep the smell down.” Brett, a strawberry-blond with a smattering of freckles across his nose, explained with a hint of apology in his voice. “We don’t often get remains like this…”

“With so much meat on them, he means.” Raj, with his black hair falling carelessly into his eyes, clarified.

“Ah.” You replied simply, not entirely certain how to reply to a statement like that.

“There is clothing on the remains to be catalogued but we have a few more scans to run, would you mind starting with the other items while we finish up?” Brett continued, despite the callous nature of his colleague’s words.

“Not at all, the majority of it seems to be on the tables anyway.” You nodded, gesturing to the objects that had been unpacked by people high above your pay grade.

You stepped aside as they rolled the table past you and through the doorway, murmuring their thanks as they pulled a sheet over the body respectfully. Brett’s sneakers squeaked slightly on the tile floor, the sound fading as they grew further away.

 Accustomed to working with their belongings rather than the long-dead directly, you immediately found it easier to breathe as soon as you found yourself alone. You grabbed an unoccupied chair from the corner of the room, reaching down to pull the lever beneath to seat and raise it to its highest setting. Retrieving your laptop from your bag, which you left hanging on one of the racks of hooks in the corner, you set it on your makeshift workstation. You walked along the row of tables filled with items awaiting cataloguing to the furthest from the door planning on working your way back to the gap the remains would eventually return to.

Sliding on a pair of gloves from a box on the counter that ran the rear perimeter of the room, you carefully picked up a pocketknife from the exam table, turning it in your fingers slowly to search for any unique characteristics. The initials ‘J.S.’ were carved into the wooden inlay on the underside, which you quickly added under the item’s notes on your laptop.

Retrieving the digital camera from the deep pocket of your lab coat, you took several photos of the knife before repeating the process with a pile of British notes and coins, a clay pipe, a pouch of tobacco, and a small black ledger with pages of accounts that would need further study, before coming to stand in front of a British regular’s uniform jacket. A private’s rank from what you could tell at first glance. Looking back toward the door, you furrowed your brows in confusion having sworn that the corpse was wearing a South Carolinian infantryman’s jacket.

“Odd…” You murmured in puzzlement, turning back to the task at hand.

You were nearly through with the loose items on the tables when the rattling of caster wheels from the hall announced the return of Raj and Brett with their charge. They replaced the exam table to its original spot in the room, locking the wheels with a series of clacks before folding the sheet back to lay at the corpse’s feet.

“You’ve got it from here?” Raj asked halfway out the door, not waiting for an answer before he was gone.

Brett scoffed, shaking his head as he signed off for the both of them on a clipboard, setting it down on the counter beside the body before looking to you. “Don’t forget to fill out your portion of the paperwork. We’ll lock up when you’re finished.”

“Will do, thank you.” You nodded before taking a fortifying breath, reluctantly moving over to the exam table.

Your eyes immediately fell upon the blue coat with red lapels, confirming your initial glimpse. Dressed in the uniform of the South Carolina Continental Army, with the ivory breeches and tall black boots to match, the presence of the red coat in his rucksack was all the more mystifying. But the shape occupying the artifacts, though desiccated, was still undeniably human – a fact that was deeply unsettlingly.

Embarrassingly, your hands took on a slight tremble above your keyboard and despite all wisdom to the contrary you found your eyes drifting towards the deceased soldier’s face. Logic told you the twisted expression resembling pain was from the contraction of muscles as they lost their moisture, but it nonetheless evoked a sense of deep suffering. Yet despite the years spent in that metal box, silken strands of golden hair still framed his face, the longer pieces pulled back into a tight plait at the nape of his neck, barely visible from your current angle.

The only sound in the room came from the faint hum of the fluorescent lights and light-headedness washed over you as you realized you were holding your breath. Wrenching your eyes from that tortured look, your gaze ricocheted about the room for something safer to focus on before landing on the dull, mud-splattered leather of his boots. You took a breath and slowly typed the color ‘black’ before exhaling slowly and describing the worn condition of their soles. Another inhale and exhale bracketed your estimation of the shoe size.

Employing similar tactics, you worked your way up the articles of clothing, one by one. Inhaling, exhaling, typing, photographing. Given that you were not authorized to touch the remains, you had to rely on the visible angles of the clothing, crouching and stretching, craning your neck and circling the table to take in as much detail as possible. It was yet to be determined if further investigation of the remains, including cleaning of the bones, was warranted and it was entirely possible these clothes would remain on the body for reburial, so you were diligent in your work.

Well, as diligent as the oppressive feeling of ill-ease that was cloying at your senses would allow. So grateful to be finished your work, were you, that you ripped off your gloves and were almost halfway out the door when you remembered Brett’s instruction to sign off on your portion of the paperwork. Swearing under your breath you clenched your fists and forced your feet to turn back toward the body and retrieve the clipboard from the counter beside it. You hastily flipped through the pages, willfully ignoring the seemingly anguished face to your left.

The careless speed which you employed in desperation to remove yourself from that room was not without consequence; the fine edge of the top sheet of paper catching the plush edge of the pad of your index finger. You hissed at the sting as blood welled up immediately, snapping your wrist in a self-chastising movement, unaware of the scatter of droplets you sent through the air before pulling the wound between your lips to stop the bleeding. Setting the clipboard down on the countertop with a clatter, you rapidly initialled through all the sections pertaining to you before noting the time of ‘7:05 pm’ and signed out.

The day had melted through your fingers, and it was now well past the normal time you went home. Your feet carried you back up the stairs, moving just as rapidly as you had hours before, this time driven by a desire to leave that room and its corpse behind. The air outside was anything but fresh, the humidity so close to one hundred percent that moisture hung in the form of mist, thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. Yet you had never been so grateful to be outside. You eased the pace of your aching leg muscles, making your way down the street towards your regular building to hang up your lab coat, collect your things, and head home for the evening.

The tension in your shoulders eased with each step, the heaviness in your chest feeling lighter as the staff door to your usual place of work was in sight. You were nearly there when a hand fell heavily upon your shoulder, making you yelp and whirl back defensively.

“Where the hell is my body?” Raj sneered at you petulantly, the question so preposterous that you blinked up at him not fully comprehending it for several seconds.

“What are you talking about?!” You finally found the wherewithal to answer. “Right there on the exam table where I left –”

“This sort of thing might pass as humor in your building, but it is most certainly not funny, come with me.” He interrupted coldly and thrust an authoritative arm forward in a commanding gesture, leaving you no choice but to turn back toward the basement you had just escaped from. You had been so close.

Retracing your steps, with Raj’s furious form at your back, you were filled with a sense of foreboding as your keycard once again acted up. With an infuriated huff he swiped his card aggressively from behind you. Even the door bowed before his rage and promptly unlocked. He flung it open, and you flinched out of the way reflexively before darting through the opening, not wanting to fan the flames of his ire any hotter. You flogged your brain, begging it to produce a reasonable explanation for the problem he was presenting you with but all it produced was the unhelpful buzzing of fear in response to Raj’s threatening presence behind you and the memory of that tortured soldier’s face in the basement.

Yet he had spoken the truth. When you stepped into the room, the exam table was empty, the sight making your stomach fall straight through the floor. All the other artifacts remained saved the most pivotal. You turned quickly to defend yourself.

“I swear to you, I signed out at 7:05 and got the hell out of here. I couldn’t bear to spend one more minute with that body…” Your palms grew damp as you spoke, trying to focus on any possible, rational, logical explanations. There were few.

His dark eyes narrowed, looking you over, calculating for a moment before he nodded. “Well, your signature is the last on the sheet and now it’s gone. So, you’re going to help me find it. And if it wasn’t your poor taste then it most certainly had to be Brett’s. You take this corridor and I’ll take that one.” He gestured in opposite directions as he spoke, making your throat spasm anxiously.

“Are you sure, I don’t know this building very well –”

“Just get on with it, you’ve already kept me here late.” He snapped and turned, walking off in his chosen direction, leaving you to yours.

Swallowing dryly, you turned with trepidation before forcing one foot in front of the other, trying doors as you went. The majority of them turned out to be locked, your key card of no use in the face of a traditional keyhole, so you continued on further and further away from the stairwell, from Raj, from the exam room. Reaching what you assumed was the end of the building you turned the corner and felt the shock of ice water in your veins. A pair of legs, lying prone on the floor, sneakers on their feet, peered out from around the next corner in the distance.

“Brett…?” You called out hesitantly, voice cracking, as your memory summoned the image of his footwear from earlier in the day. Clearing your throat, you hastened your steps and tried again with more volume. “Brett?!”

Rounding the second corner the air was punched from your lungs as the torn flesh of his neck and the gush of blood from the wound filled your eyes.

“Oh fuck!” Your voice was high pitched and you would have mortified you in normal circumstances – yet these were anything but. You dropped your bag and yanked off your lab coat, viciously fighting with the sleeves as they snagged on your wrists until you finally wrenched the fabric free. Balling it up, you pressed it tightly against his neck in a pathetic attempt to staunch the bleeding and started shrieking for help.

Your voice was hoarse by the time you, at last, heard the sound of quick-paced footsteps and heaving breaths growing closer. The security guard who appeared from around the corner might as well have been a fleet of medics, for all the relief his arrival brought you. He quickly summoned an ambulance using his radio and dove in immediately to assist you in trying to stop the bleeding.

“Help is coming, Brett, hold on…” You tried to soothe the wide-eyed man, who’s mouth was gulping for air not unlike a fish out of water.

Futile gurgling sounds were coming from his throat, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips and you felt hot tears pricking at your lash line as you got a solid look at how dire his situation was.

“They’re almost here, just stay still…” You choked out, regretfully registering the splatter of blood droplets that had infiltrated the cheerful freckles across his face. “We’ve got you.” The acrid tang of panic flooded your mouth as his noises grew faint, the light in his eyes grew dim, his body grew still. “Nononono…Brett…” Your voice fractured as the tears you had been thus far keeping at bay flooded your eyes.

“He’s stopped breathing, there’s no pulse in his wrist.” You vaguely registered the voice of the guard behind you. “I’m starting CPR.”

As he began compressions there was a sickly crunch as Brett’s ribs snapped, a wave of nausea roiling through you before his body convulsed with each successive blow. All the manual beating of Brett’s heart achieved was to drive more blood from his neck wound, rapidly soaking through the wad of your lab coat and onto the institutional tiles of the floor.

Silent sobs wracked your body as you struggled to maintain pressure against the wound, the fabric in your hands quickly drenched as a flood of humanity poured down the hall. A firefighter was hauling you and your bloodstained hands out of the way, sitting you against the opposite wall beside the sweat-drenched and dazed security guard. It was not much longer before pair of paramedics arrived, all manner of life-saving tools employed on the horrifyingly motionless figure on the floor until the flurry suddenly stopped. They started pulling away.

You watched, numb, as two of the firefighters draped a sheet over Brett until one of the medics – a woman with kind eyes and an angular face with the name patch ‘Zambrano’ on her chest – was right in front of you, asking your name. You murmured it robotically before swallowing tightly.

“Is…is he…?”

“I’m so sorry. Can I give you a look over? Are you hurt at all?” She eyed the blood on your hands, and you shook your head quickly.

“It’s… it’s all… his.” You stuttered and wiped your eyes on your sleeves. “Oh god…” You whispered, looking up as several police officers crowded into the already cramped hallway.

The next few hours passed in a blur punctuated by brief moments of clarity – the medic helping you wash your hands, one of the firefighters wrapping a blanket around your shoulders when you could not stop shaking, Brett’s body being wheeled down the hallway, a series of questions from the police. It was past midnight by the time you found yourself leaving your building, forcing a half-disintegrated granola bar from the bottom of your work bag down your throat – not from hunger but because the rational side of your brain dictated you needed nourishment.

You barely registered the splash of water as you stepped off the curb onto northwest Madison Drive before frigid water seeped into your shoe. You looked down and sighed deeply as the moisture quickly dampened the fabric of your sock, lurching forward to avoid the puddle with your other foot. The Mall was eerily quiet, the only evidence of the tourists that normally occupied the space was the scattered trash in the process of being collected by a handful of sanitation workers.

The Washington Monument was illuminated a ghostly white in the distance as you came to the top of the escalators leading down to the Smithsonian Metro Station when your faculties at last returned to you; finally processing the fact that there were no trains after midnight.

“Fuck me…” You breathed and turned to trudge back to the street, shoving a hand into your jacket pocket to retrieve your phone, crying out as you crashed into the muscled bulk of a man clad in a brown suede jacket. You jerked back, feeling your centre of gravity tilt off balance as your body erupted once again into the shakes you had eventually subdued an hour ago.

“Whoa, sorry!” Came his gravelly exclamation as his hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you closer lest you fall backward down the escalators. “You alright there, sweetheart?” He asked as he guided you over to the safety of the grass, tilting his head to get a better look at you, revealing his face in the process.

You swallowed roughly taking in his kind, coffee-colored eyes, the curl of his chestnut hair, and the way his mustache caressed his upper lip. There was something soothing about his very presence – the warmth radiating from his hands on your shoulders, the hint of sandalwood in his cologne. The effect was calming, fortifying. You exhaled deeply in response to his question, the quivering in your muscles subsiding.

“I’m sorry it’s…it’s just been a day.” You shook you head at the inadequacy of your statement, watching his lips quirk up slightly in response.

“It hasn’t been day for quite some time.” He teased gently, releasing your shoulders now that you were steadier on your feet.

“Ha,” You laughed once and nodded in agreement. “You’re telling me.” Resuming your quest to pull your phone from your pocket, you finally succeeded, pulling up your rideshare app. “Missed the last train, and now…well my luck is consistent. The next available car is fifteen minutes away.” You submitted your ride request and let your hand drop to your side in defeat.

“Let me wait with you, it’s a lot quieter out here than I expected.” You eyed with warily a moment until he offered his hand to shake. “Bradley Bradshaw, pleased to meet you.”

You glanced between his face and his broad, extended palm before placing your hand in his, replying with your name as he wrapped his fingers around yours. His handshake was the right mixture of strength and confidence; not too aggressive but firm enough to raise the temperature of your skin.

“Let’s go sit on that bench at the bus stop so your driver can find you easily.” He gestured before guiding you in that direction with his hand at the small of your back.

“So, you expected it to be full of tourists out here even at midnight?” You asked, mimicking normal human conversation despite the weariness you felt all the way to your bones.

He chuckled and shrugged. “Not sure what I expected honestly, just moved here and came out to get the lay of the land.”

You sank down heavily onto the bench the instant the pair of you reached your destination and looked up at him with a tired grin. “Well, if you want to see the museums you’ll have to come when we’re open” You laughed, a thrill fluttering through your stomach as he grinned in response.

“Might just have to take you up on that.” He sat on the bench beside you, legs spread wide enough that his knee brushed against yours. “The way you said ‘we,’ I take it you work in one of them?”

“American History.” You nodded, clearing your throat as your voice still bore the aftereffects of prolonged shrieking.

He looked up at the row of buildings across the road before glancing at the same behind you, across the Mall, before mistakenly pointing at the Museum of Natural History.

“So close…” You smiled and gently guided his forearm to point at the correct building, swallowing tightly at the firmness of his arm, palpable even through the layers of his clothing.

“Aha, right next door to that one then. I was close. What do you do there?”

Unwelcome images of dead bodies and dying colleagues and lab coats soaked with blood flooded your mind and you shook your head, trying to clear it.

“It, it varies but I mostly deal with historical artifacts and do research for the permanent staff as needed.”

He nodded thoughtfully, looking up as a set of headlights illuminated the pair of you. “Your ride?”

You compared the license plate number on the car with that in the app before nodding and forcing yourself to your feet. “Hey thanks…thanks for waiting with me, you’re ok to get home?”

“Oh yeah, it’s a short walk.” He nodded reassuringly, leaning forward to open the car door for you.

Smiling weakly, you slid in, confirming your name with the driver as Bradley shut the door behind you. The car pulled away before you realized you had neglected to exchange numbers with the handsome man who had not only kept you from falling to your death, or at least grievous injury, but also waited in the dark with you until your ride showed up.

“Dammit! I just cannot win today…” You hissed, knocking your head back into the headrest in frustration.

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

Read Part Two

The Night Moves Masterlist

[crownmemes]

Fringe Sentences, Vol. 1

(Sentences from Fringe (2008-2013). Adjust phrasing where needed)

"The department isn't a massive fan of office romance."

"It would be nice to think that your tenacity in this case is a by-product of remarkable and robust professionalism, but I can't help but think otherwise."

"Genetically, humans and cows are separated by only a couple of lines of DNA."

"I picked that up reading books. You should try it sometime."

"I'm so sorry that I can't offer you a less dangerous solution."

"No, I don't want to do that. In fact, I'd rather not! I'm just saying that I can."

"I still think this is deeply irresponsible - and believe me, I would know!"

"Your skin tone suggests you might be suffering from arterial hypertension."

"Whatever punishment you think I deserve, I swear I have already endured it."

"Look around. Do you see all these people going about their lives, no idea what's happening around them or what they're in the middle of?"

"I don't think you can go back to the way it was before."

"I consider myself a fairly intelligent guy, but I'm not following you here."

"I thought you had a way with women?"

"When was it that you lost your imagination?"

"The corporate mind always looks for quid pro quo."

"You're a smart boy, but there is much you don't know."

"What is the optimal voltage for cardiac resuscitation?"

"One of the inherent pitfalls of being a scientist is trying to maintain the distinction between God's domain and our own."

"You're self-medicating with homemade drugs?"

"I like to consider myself a fairly good poker player, which requires me to read my opponent's tells and know when he's bluffing."

"Forgive me, I like to have an open mind, but I have a hard time accepting your theory."

"This little task force that you and I call our day job sometimes requires some, shall we say, bureaucratic manoeuvring to keep it alive and free from political modelling."

"If I'm going to do this job, I need to know what it is I'm dealing with."

"Why would there be metal in his blood? That's not normal, right?"

"I suspect someone has continued my research."

"Of all the possible career choices, how did a girl like you end up in law enforcement?"

"You know, they say the psych profiles of cops and criminals are pretty much identical. Ever considered a life of crime?"

"I think it's time for some intracranial penetration."

"This won't hurt. It'll just feel a touch odd."

"Turn around and put your hands in the air now!"

"I'm sure you can understand why I don't want to go through the other channels."

"If I know you at all, this isn't the only reason you're here."

"I don't do well staying in one place. You know that."

"Must you always be such a smartass?"

"If I attempted to explain it, you might think me mad!"

"Must you always be so small-minded?"

"Whatever it is you want, I don't think I'm going to be able to give it to you."

"What's the most pain you've ever felt in your life?"

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

In Memory of Miss Patricia Dickson 🇺🇸

November 12, 1965 — September 18, 2024

Dear Miss Patricia,

My heart is broken and my eyes are filled with tears hearing the sad news that you passed away. I've been thinking of you almost every day since the election and now to learn that you went home to heaven back in September of this year (2024) just breaks my heart. I'm thankful you are Home Free but sad for those of us who were touched by your beautiful smile and your common sense commentary. I have fond memories of stories about your life experiences. For example, you shared how your wayward nephew came to live with you and he came home with news that his teachers/school administrators were "afraid of you." 😂

Thank you for sharing your beautiful spirit, for your service to our country, and for your fearless truth teller videos. We learned from you and you made us feel like we knew you. May God comfort your loved ones and may your memory always be a blessing. Looking forward to meeting you in heaven. Well done good & faithful servant. 🇺🇸👑

Condolences

"Patricia Dickson was born to the late John Reddick and Anna Studivant in Paris Tn. Patricia’s parents transitioned early in her life, therefore she was blessed to have been adopted by the late Frank and Daisy Dickson. Patricia transitioned from this life on September 18, 2024, at Maine General Health in Augusta, Maine. Patricia loved school as a child and was very active with all school functions. She moved and finished growing up in Covington, Tn. Where she attended and was a faithful member of Collins Chapel CME Church. As a young girl Patricia wanted to become a minister and throughout her life she studied and took courses towards her goal. Paticia graduated in 1984 at Covington High School. Then she went on to further her education at the University of Tennessee at Martin for a year. Before restructuring her career path by enlisting into the Army for 10 years. Then I decided to change branches and enlist in the Air Force for an additional 11 years. For a grand total of 21 served and dedicated years. Patrica retired from the Air Force military base in 2009. She was so passionate about her work. She continued to work with the military as a civilian in Logistics Manager for the next 11 years before finally retiring in July 2023. Patrica always had dreams and the drive to complete as many goals as she could before departing from here. During her life work, she studied at World Harvest Bible College, received a Associates Degree in Business at Riverside Community College, a Bachelor Degree of Arts in Psychology from Chapman University, and a Master's Degree in Business Administration and Management, with a Minor in Organizational Leadership from Brandman University Patricia leaves to honor her memory is her beloved sister Dweellia Henslee of Paris, Tn, devoted brothers Bobby Jones of Louisville, Ky, George Studivant of Nashville, Tn, Randall Dickson and Thomas (Diane) Edwards of Covington, Tn and her aunt Ruthie Porter of Paris TN. Her legacy extends to her nieces, nephews, and wide circle of family and friends. She preceded in death her birth parents and adopted partners, brothers Isaiah Studivant, and Lorenzo Studivant, sister Jackie Strickland."