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umseb · 2 months

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The Day Sebastian Vettel Decided To Retire From F1 — Then Annoyed Aston Bosses With Climate Campaign

Two years ago, Sebastian Vettel decided to bring an end to his glittering F1 career, so picked up the phone to Matt Bishop, then Aston Martin comms boss. He details the ensuing scramble and Vettel's increasing determination to speak out

Just over two years ago, on Wednesday July 27, 2022, I was forced to do something that I really hate doing: at the eleventh hour I had to cancel a long-standing dinner arrangement with my husband and two of our dearest friends, who live in New York and were on holiday in London for a week. The reason was that, at 5 pm that afternoon, I received a phone call from Sebastian Vettel telling me that he had decided to announce his retirement from Formula 1 in the Hungarian Grand Prix paddock the following day. I was Aston Martin's chief communications officer at the time, and, when something as big as that is sprung on a Formula 1 team's most senior comms/PR operative, he or she has to drop everything and focus on briefing colleagues in confidence, writing press releases, planning social media content, arranging press conferences, and formulating comms/PR strategies designed to optimise the management of a tricky news narrative that in this case would surely unfold rapidly, and perhaps also trickily, over the next 24, 48, 72, and 96 hours. I have written above that Vettel had "sprung" his decision on me, but, although the imminence of his announcement was a surprise, its content was not. Four months earlier you will recall that he did not travel to Jeddah for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, since he was recovering from a bout of Covid-19. His place was taken by Nico Hülkenberg, who, despite race-rustiness caused by his not having competed in F1 the previous year, did a typically excellent job.

Seb had made no secret of his disapproval of the Saudi regime when we had all gone there the first time, in December 2021, and, not surprisingly, in March 2022 rumours soon began to spread to the effect that he had invented a Covid-19 diagnosis so as to avoid racing there a second time. The truth was that he had indeed had Covid-19, and that he was indeed still unwell; however, was he disappointed to have had to skip the 2022 Saudi Arabian Grand Prix? No, he was not. Two weeks later, in Melbourne, he was back. On the Thursday before the Australian Grand Prix, in the Albert Park paddock, I gave him his comms/PR briefing, as was my habit on the Thursday before every grand prix. We discussed media matters of moment, including his not having raced in Jeddah. "The truth is that I was ill, honestly," he said, "but I admit that I don't like or approve of the country, so if I was going to have to miss a race because of Covid-19 that's probably the one I'd want to miss." He paused, smiled, and added, "I'm pretty sure I'm never going to race there again." Then and there I realised that 2022 would probably be his final season as an F1 driver. Not only was the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix going to be a fixture on the F1 calendar for years to come, but also one of Aston Martin's principal sponsors was Aramco, Saudi Arabia's state-owned national oil company. Missing that particular race without a 24-carat excuse would henceforth therefore be impossible for any Aston Martin driver. So, axiomatically, it followed that the only way he could make sure that he would never have to race there again would be to retire from F1 at the end of the year.

On the morning of Thursday, July 28, 2022, having worked until 3 am the night before, my comms/PR team and I issued a video in which our much loved four-time world champion announced his F1 retirement in his own words, and he posted it on his then brand-new Instagram channel at the same time. It included the following sentences, which he spoke with his usual eloquence: "I love this sport but, as much as there's life on track, there's also life off track. Being a racing driver has never been my sole identity. I want to be a great father and a great husband. I believe in change, and progress, and that every little bit you do can make a difference. We all have the same rights, no matter where we come from, what we look like, or whom we love. I'm an optimist and I believe that people are good, but, in addition, I feel that we live in very difficult times. How we shape the next few years will determine the rest of our lives. Talk is not enough. We can't afford to wait. I believe that there's still a race to win." The race to which he was referring was his growing and accelerating commitment to doing whatever he could to leverage his fame and popularity for the good of the inhabitants of planet Earth. That may sound grandiose, but it is also entirely valid. In the two years during which I worked with him, 2021 and 2022, we won awards for the inspirational way in which he did just that.

Just before the 2021 Styrian Grand Prix, helped by local schoolchildren, he created an F1 car-shaped 'bee hotel' at the Red Bull Ring. Three weeks later, straight after the British Grand Prix, in which he had raced hard for forty laps until his Aston Martin's Mercedes engine had terminally overheated, he led a group of volunteer litter-pickers to clear the Silverstone grandstands of the trash that irresponsible spectators had left behind. A month after that, in Hungary, infuriated by that country's new anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, he wore rainbow-coloured sneakers in the F1 paddock, and he donned a similarly hued T-shirt bearing the legend #SameLove as he took the knee on the grid before the race. Throughout the weekend he had talked to journalists and TV crews intelligently, thoughtfully, and compassionately on the subject of LGBTQ+ rights, equality, and inclusion. In May 2022 he visited and spoke inspirationally at HMP (Her, or now His, Majesty's Prison) Feltham, a young offenders institution in a suburb of west London, formally opening a new workshop in which the teenage inmates could learn how to become car mechanics as part of their rehabilitation. Immediately afterwards he and I took a South Western Railways train to London's Waterloo Station, sitting among regular commuters, so that he could spend time with the pupils of Oasis Johanna Primary School, which is in a disadvantaged part of inner London, and after that we went by Uber taxi to a church in Hackney, in the East End, where the BBC's prestigious political television talk show Question Time would be filmed. As the TV cameras rolled, he conversed fluently on the subjects of Brexit, the UK's cost of living crisis, the then-Prime Minister Boris Johnson's 'partygate' shenanigans, and even Finland's desire to join NATO, consummately out-arguing one of his fellow panellists, Suella Braverman, who was then the Attorney General for England and Wales and the Advocate General for Northern Ireland.

In addition, as the months went by, he continued to speak out in support of what he saw as humankind's collective global responsibility to address the climate crisis, doing so with increasing regularity, vehemence, and fearlessness, with the result that he began to irritate the very most senior people at Aston Martin, even though what he said tended to please most journalists and fans. "I don’t care," he said when he learned of his big bosses' disquiet. "I must do what's right." Behind the scenes what he did was perhaps even more admirable. F1 teams receive communications from troubled people all the time. You try to do what you can to help them, but sometimes their difficulties are of the type that human kindness alone cannot resolve. I am thinking of recently bereaved people, terminally ill people, profoundly disabled people, people with debilitating mental health issues, etc. Sometimes all you can do is send them a team cap signed by a driver. It is not much, and it breaks your heart that you cannot do more, but it is better than nothing.

Yet Vettel always tried to do more. On one occasion, I had been contacted by a young man who was deeply depressed. I told Seb about him, and he said, "Let's do a Zoom call with him." So I arranged it. I had thought that Seb might speak for five minutes or so, but no. He chatted animatedly for more than twenty minutes, with touching humility and heart-warming empathy, and I feel confident when I say that those twenty-odd minutes were significant in expediting the lad's mental and emotional recovery. A few months later, Seb hand-wrote the boy a four page letter. He gave it to me at a grand prix-I cannot remember which one-and he instructed me to post it on when I returned to the UK. I read it before I did so, and the tenderness and beauty of Seb's prose brought me to tears. There are many other examples of his remarkable generosity and sensitivity: too many to mention, in fact. This column has been about Vettel the man, not Vettel the driver. He was fast and clever in the cockpit, and I may well write about that side of him one day. I could write much more about Vettel the man, too, for I have dozens of stories that I could tell on that subject, because I worked very closely with him for two years and, more importantly, because he is a truly great man. In my long career I am lucky enough to have spent time in F1 teams with four world champions-Seb, Lewis Hamilton, Fernando Alonso, and Jenson Button-and they are all fantastic guys in their own, very different, ways. But, in my 61 years on this planet, I can state with confident and emphatic certainty that Sebastian Vettel, from the small town of Heppenheim, south-west Germany, is one of the most impressive people whom I have ever had the pleasure and honour to know, whether that be inside or outside F1. As he is fond of saying, "You can't always be the best, but you can always do your best." As a maxim to live by, it is hard to beat.

article by matt bishop

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grogumaximus · 4 months

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It works like this: Verstappen already announced last year that he would have a motorhome built so he could stay in it during European races.

Nice and close to the circuit, in relative anonymity and fully equipped. This weekend in Imola he will retire to it for the first time.

Internet connection tested

Of course, a good night's sleep is incredibly important for a sportsman, so Verstappen didn't waste any time and chose an excellent bed. But the most important part has been installed in his motorhome in recent days: a simulator to participate in sim races. And, not a small detail either: the internet connection has already been extensively tested.

With his Team Redline, Verstappen is participating in the virtual 24 Hours of the Nürburgring, which starts on Saturday. Only, he also just drives a qualifying and the next day a race at Imola?

"Of course I don't have a lot of time, so we have to see how it works out. I expect that there will be four of us 'sitting' on the car. I'll probably do two stints between two and four hours. No, of course not at night. I have to go to bed on time and get my hours to start Sunday well rested.”

Verstappen is an avid sim racer and gamer and regularly sits behind his computer during Formula 1 weekends, and this weekend in his own simulator, to relax. Given his track record in Formula 1, it is clear that his performance on the real track will not suffer.

“Whether I had to ask permission? No, ultimately I decide what I do. I also can't decide for other people what to do on a Saturday evening. People can go somewhere to eat or drink and do crazy things. It's my free time. I am professional enough to see for myself what is and is not possible.”

He calls the fact that he now camps near the Autodromo Enzo e Dino Ferrari 'more relaxed'. He is also not afraid of any comments if the Grand Prix on Sunday turns out to be a disappointment and people say that he has not been focused enough.

“Then people just say that, it doesn't matter to me. Like I said, I'm professional enough. I also don't think in scenarios like: 'I did something yesterday, so that can influence today'. Look, if you don't go to bed and you don't sleep, it's not going to be good. But with so many years of experience, I really know what I can do. In the last few matches I also started playing games in my spare time and you don't hear anyone about that.”

#this is soo funny afaghdn #'excellent bed' n 'internet being tested' 😭😭😭#he is actually INSANE #like he said im not slacking i know what im doing 😭#let him play his video games <3 #max verstappen

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wosoamazing · 3 months

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Alessia & Olympics - Part 2 Option 2

Part 1 - Part 2.1 - Part 2.2

A/N: I did two part twos and couldn't decide which one to do, so I'm posting both. (There may also be a part 3 IDK, also if you have any requests fro anything send them through. I still have like a month to write and I seem to really be getting back into the swing of things.) Warnings: Collapsing, Vomit, Sickfic, thats all I think

You did it, the past 47.59 seconds felt like absolute torture for Alessia, she wanted to close her eyes almost, but she couldn’t, she watched, everything else around her didn’t matter when you crossed the finish line, you had just broken a 39 year standing record, but to her that didn’t matter, you were currently on all fours trying to catch your breath, clearly struggling, your chest was heaving quite badly, and then you collapsed onto your side, several of your competitions were by your side immediately and they quickly signalled for something, the next second a medical golf cart was out on the track, helping you in, before your coach sat on the back and you were gone.

Alessia was crying into her Mum’s shoulder when there was a tap on her back and she turned around to see a lady she recognised from the most recent family & friends event, she was part of the British Family Services Team “Alessia right?” There was a pause and Alessia offered a small nod, as she wiped her tears away, “Is it okay if you come with me?” again Alessia nodded slightly and the older women wrapped her arm around Alessia’s shoulders, guiding her somewhere, “I’m going to take you back to the village, she will most likely be with the medics at the village, and if she is you will be able to see her, especially because she has finished now, it’s most likely not serious, they have increased the medical procedures this year, they’re most likely worried about Lactic Acidosis, I’m assuming you know what that is,” there was another silence, “As I said I’m assuming you know what Lactic Acidosis is but it is different being the athlete experiencing it to being family, I understand you’re probably scared, but she is in excellent hands, just one second sorry,” the lady said as her phone rang, Alessia zoned out as they now stood outside the stadium, in some sort of behind the scenes area, she couldn’t help but think she could’ve been one of those the athletes walking around her in the ‘behind the scenes’ areas, they were so close yet so far, “okay,” Alessia startled a little “she is back at the village and they have actually already organised a cart for us, she has asked to see you, she is okay though, as I said Lactic Acidosis, but it’s only minor, and after the immaculate performance she just gave it is honestly no surprise really, but the most important thing is that she is okay and it’s only minor, its only a short trip to the village and then you can see her okay,” alessia nodded as she bit her lip nervously.

“I’ve got Alessia Russo here, she is here for Miss Y/F/N Y/L/N,” after a few moments Alessia was now walking with one of the recovery leads, down a series of hallways, as she was told what the plan for you was for the next 24 hours, she saw several athletes walk out of one particular bay as they came to a stop but she didn’t think much of it.

“Okay, thank you so much,” Alessia replied, having learnt that for safety you would be kept in the medical facilities overnight, and that she could stay with you as long as you didn’t deteriorate. “She is just-” “Lessi,” you weak voice interrupted the ever so kind Lady and Alessia looked at her gaining a quick nod before she moved to open the curtain for Alessia, you were sat on a physio type bed, your back and head rested against the bed, which was positioned so your upper body was more upright, a therapist was working on massaging your legs, helping you with your normal recovery considering you could no longer do it yourself. A cardboard bowl rested on the bed next to you, it almost was the exact same as the one alessia was sent home with a few weeks ago after her concussion.

“Hey baby, how are you? You did absolutely amazing out there, I am so incredibly proud of you,” she spoke softly as she came to your side.

“Thank you, ’m ‘kay, might throw up again soon,” you told her, even speaking seemed hard and Alessia felt so bad for you, you were meant to be celebrating, not sitting in a bed hooked up to an IV and monitoring machines throwing up.

“Again?” she was slightly concerned, “mmm” was all you replied as you clumsily nodded before your eyes slipped closed, you reached up for her hand and she quickly took a hold of yours.

“I know vomiting seems concerning but in this case it is good, it means her body is working to get the lactic acid out, her heart rate is getting better, its not at her base rate but its good, her oxygen stats are almost back up to 100 and she is talking, communicating, she might seem like she is out of it but she is just tired, we did the alertness tests and she got perfect scores on all of them. We just got the second round of blood results through and her levels are going down quickly, it's good. Her body is doing what it needs to, it just took a bit longer for it to start doing it’s job,” the recovery lead reassured Alessia.

“Lessi, ‘m going to be sick,” your girlfriend immediately jumped into action, holding the bowl under your chin as you were sick.

“That’s it, baby, I’m here, you’re okay,” Alessia said as she rubbed your back, you slumped back into the bed as you finished and Alessia quickly got rid of the bowl.

“Right, that's you done for now y/n, I’ll be back when you are feeling a little less sick and do your arms and back for you,” The therapist told you before leaving and Alessia made quick work of slipping in underneath you.

“Go to sleep baby, I’ll be here with you when you wake up, hopefully feeling a lot better.” she whispered softly in your ear, with her help you rolled over so your front rested on hers, you tucked your head into the crook of her neck and you quickly fell asleep.

—

As you walked with Alessia hand in hand out of the medical area and into the foyer you were greeted with a surprise, many of your teammates were in the foyer, clapping you, and your hand was let go suddenly as Alessia stepped back and smiled at you, you were handed the biggest bouquet of flowers known to mankind and your medal was placed around your neck, you had missed your medal ceremony because you were sleeping off your sickness and so the British Olympic team had rallied together to make you a makeshift medal ceremony. You posed for some photos as most people dispersed, once photos were over Alessia walked over to you, wrapping her arms around you from behind, but you turned in her arms to face her, placing your forehead on hers as you did, before leaning back and looking into her ocean blue eyes, “I do not want to see those photos, they really couldn’t even give me the chance to shower first, I was throwing up a few hours ago,” Alessia just shook her head and leant in for a kiss but you put a finger on her lips and shook your head, “Did you not just listen, I was just throwing up a few hours ago,”

“I know, I was there, but I do not care, you are my person, and you have just fucking won a gold medal, and broken the world record, which is older than us mind you. I fucking love you and I don’t think I have ever been more proud of anything in my life, I love you so much and so I’m going to kiss you, I don’t care,” you laughed as your lips connected and you knew that you wanted to be with Alessia forever.

#woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine

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kiarastromboli · 8 months

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Teach me 4 (Chris Sturniolo x y/n)

Part. 1 Part.2 Part.3

Mesterlist.

Warning: Bit of angst, Smut content, don’t like it = don’t read it :)

Summary: Two years have passed since Chris and Y/N's breakup. Many things have changed, but apparently not the feelings Y/N has for Chris. But how will her return to Boston for the summer holidays unfold when she knows she hasn't moved on?

Note : I'm sorry for making you wait so long for this fourth part. I just wanted to make sure I did it right. Despite everything, I'm still afraid this part won't please you as much, and I apologize if the result isn't what you expected. I did my best.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

"Julia, stop, that's enough," I said, bursting into laughter at the excited screams of my best friend on the other end of the line.

"Stop?? It's been almost 2 years since we last saw each other, y/n. How do you expect me to keep calm when I'm going to see you in less than 24 hours?" She said, overexcited, and I could hear her fidgeting in every direction.

Indeed, it had been a while since I left Boston. After my parents sent me to the other side of the country, I started researching universities nearby. At the end of high school, I wasted no time in enrolling and starting my studies.

I had successfully completed my first year at the university, and now it was summer vacation. My parents agreed to let me return to Boston to enjoy my break with them and my friends.

As for my relationship with my parents... Let's say things are different, but the distance imposed on us did me good. I had finally started to live for myself, and many things had changed in my life. As for them, they were content because my results were excellent, and they could see that I had gained autonomy and maturity since my departure.

Anyway, two years had passed, and my life had changed a lot, but I was so happy to finally be back in Boston.

"Yeah, I know," I said, chuckling. "I can't wait to see you and the others," I said, turning around to lie on my back in my bed.

"We'll have to organize a party for your return!" Julia screamed in my ears.

"No, Ju, please, that's enough," I said, moving the phone away from my ear a bit, which she had just shattered again.

"Huh huh, anyway, you don't have a choice. Mom's not here for 3 days, and it's perfect for the party we're going to have when you get back!" She said, emphasizing the word 'party.'

"Juliaaaa!" I said, sighing. "Who are you even planning to invite to this party? It's not like I had a hundred friends back in high school," I said, laughing.

"We don't care, y/n. Who would refuse a party in a big house during summer vacation? I'll invite our group of friends and then check with the old art group from high school." She started to say, "Oh, and why not the football team! And the lacrosse team and the school mascot! Oh my god, I wonder if he still has his costume; that would be hilarious!" She said, laughing.

The Lacrosse team, Chris.

From that moment on, my mind went on pause, and I didn't really pay attention to what Julia was saying.

It had been so long since I had heard about him. After my departure, I hadn't received any news from him. And it was my fault. Every time Julia tried to talk to me about him, I immediately shut down. I thought with time the pain would fade, but it was false. Four months after my departure, my heart still bled as much as the last time he passed by my window. I had done everything to stop thinking about him and turn the page, and I had done it so well that I almost forgot that by returning to Boston, I would also be returning to him.

"Y/n, are you listening?" Julia said, raising her voice, bringing me back to reality.

"Huh? What? Sorry, Julia, I'm exhausted. I think I need to rest for tomorrow; the journey will be long. Can I call you back later?" I said, stuttering a bit, still destabilized by my thoughts.

"Yeah, sure, don't worry. See you tomorrow. Love you, bye," she said warmly.

"Love you, bye," I said with a small smile before hanging up and placing my phone next to me.

Chris.

Is it normal that my heart still bleeds so much for a high school crush? Am I just too sensitive? Is it because he's the only man I've ever let into my heart until now?

Questions kept piling up in my mind, and no matter how much I shook my head, they wouldn't leave me.

Anxiety eventually took over the excitement. What will happen if we see each other again? Will we even meet? Does he still think about me too? Is his heart still bleeding as well? Did he drown in sorrow when our story ended?

More and more questions. I better close my eyes; tomorrow is a big day...

_______

My morning passed extremely quickly. I woke up a bit late, so I was in a hurry. I got ready quickly, gathered my things, and said goodbye to my roommate not to miss my flight.

My parents picked me up at the airport, and I didn't expect warm hugs, but it was still hurtful to barely get a 'how are you?' The whole ride to the house was filled with discussions about my results and how my life was going there.

It had been a while since I saw them, so I just decided to suck it up, smile, and play the perfect little girl I always portrayed in Boston.

"No, I'm just saying that just because your results are satisfactory doesn't mean you don't need extra courses, you know, those things look good on your record," my mother continued to ramble when we finally arrived home.

God, this journey felt longer than my high school years!

"Yeah, I know, Mom. I'll think about it; can we discuss it later? I'm tired," I said before leaving the car.

Once my suitcase was unpacked, I thought I would have a moment of respite to finally collapse into my bed and rest from this exhausting start to the day. But that was without counting on the stormy arrival of my best friend.

"Y/NNNNN!!!" she screamed, rushing towards me to hug me.

With fatigue and confusion, it took me a few seconds to realize it was indeed her standing in front of me, and suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by my emotions. Tears started to well up, blurring my vision.

"Oh my god, Ju'!" I said, stammering and nervously laughing.

"If you start crying, you know I'll cry too, so stop that right now," she warned me, furrowing her brows not to start crying herself.

"Sorry, sorry!" I said, chuckling and wiping my eyes. "I missed you so much!!" I said, shaking my hands before hugging her again.

I spent the rest of my day with her, talking about everything that had changed in my life since my departure, and for the first time in a long time, I felt genuinely good.

I felt like I was recharging, regaining all the positive energy I had been missing.

"Anyway, you know me; I wasn't going to let a jerk like him talk to me like that. So, I preferred to end our relationship, and it's for the best!" Julia told me.

She had just told me about her latest relationship with one of the lacrosse team players from our high school, and as usual, I couldn't help but think of him.

"Are you sure everything's okay, y/n? Since I started talking about Tom, I feel like you're not really here anymore?" she asked, concerned.

"No! Well, yes, it's okay; don't worry. It's just that—" I began to say before cutting myself off with a sigh. "It's nothing; it's just my return here made me rethink everything that happened before I left," I confessed.

"You mean what happened with Chris?" she said, giving me a sympathetic look. "Sorry, I know we're not supposed to talk about him. Excuse me, I forgot—" she added before I interrupted her.

"No, Julia, it's fine; it's okay. I'm better; I assure you it doesn't bother me anymore," I lied, smiling and grabbing her hand. "I'm better, I promise it doesn't bother me anymore," I lied.

"You know I love you," she said, smiling and squeezing my hand.

"Yeah, I know, I love you too," I replied, chuckling.

After this little discussion, Julia stayed overnight at my place. I eventually gave in and agreed to have the party at her house.

Deep down, I had a bit of hope to come across Chris. I know I shouldn't, but it's stronger than me...

I mean, I would like to know what he's become. Has he continued with lacrosse? Did he go to university? Or has he found a job he's passionate about? Does he still smoke? Has he rebuilt his life with other girls after me?

In a way, I wanted to know to reassure myself that he was doing better and that what I did didn't hurt him too much.

But on the other hand, selfishly, I hoped he had waited for me, that he hadn't seen other girls, and that he was still hoping, just like me, that one day we would meet again.

And God, I know how contradictory it is of me to hope for that when that night I made it clear to him that there would be no chance of things working out. But no matter how much I fought against what I wanted, I knew that my heart was still in his hands, and his alone.

I hate myself for being so stupid and not being able to move on, even though it was just a relationship between two completely lost teenagers for a few weeks.

But I had never experienced anything so genuine. Every conversation, every look, every caress, and every kiss haunt me...

They're still there in a corner of my mind, even though I try to push them away and tell myself it's for the best. My soul screams at me to find his. Maybe that was my punishment—for making him believe that our story could last, for making him believe that the girl he truly loved existed when it wasn't the case.

_________

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you that the lacrosse team is here tonight?" Julia asked me for the hundredth time today.

After our little pajama party at my place last night, we went to her place in the afternoon to prepare for the party tonight.

We were finishing getting ready, and people were supposed to arrive any minute.

"Ju', as I've repeated to you throughout the day, it's fine, it doesn't bother me. And besides, if you don't invite the lacrosse team, what excuse will you find to invite your little Tom and make him regret it?" I said mockingly to tease her.

"Ahaha, very funny. You know very well that I would have found a way, one way or another, to make him regret it!" she added, giving me a playful punch on the shoulder, making me chuckle.

"No, more seriously, y/n, if you're not ready to see Chris tonight, I don't mind kicking the lacrosse team out of the party," she added, becoming serious again.

I sighed before responding, "You know, anyway, I can't ignore him for the rest of my life."

"Julia, I know you're worried about me, but it's behind me, I promise it'll be fine," I reassured her with a reassuring smile.

She began to open her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell at the entrance.

"Well, it looks like the party is about to start!" she said all hysterical, and I followed her downstairs to welcome the first people.

In the span of thirty minutes, the house filled with teenagers ready to have a blast.

There were mostly people from our old high school; we barely knew half of them, but as Julia had told me, no one refuses a party in a big house like hers during the summer vacation.

It quickly turned into chaos; people were absolutely everywhere, and bottles of alcohol were aplenty, but still no sign of Chris on the horizon.

The party was in full swing; it was almost midnight, and in my despair of not seeing Chris show up, I ended up giving in and joining the game like everyone else, downing drinks one after another, which was not really in my usual habits.

Maybe it was better this way; the more alcoholic beverages passed through my throat, the less Chris haunted my mind. After all, maybe that was my solution.

"Oh, shit, sorry!" I said, bumping into a guy with my head down, making him drop his phone.

I bent down to pick it up before him, and when I raised my head, I came face to face with a face I knew all too well.

"Y/n?" the tall brunet said, looking surprised.

It took me a few seconds to realize it was indeed Matt in front of me.

Chris's brother...

"Oh my god, Matt," I said, surprised. "You're the last person I expected to see tonight!" I said, chuckling.

"And I thought you were on the other side of the country!" he said, also chuckling before opening his arms to hug me.

"What are you doing here?" he asked once our embrace was over.

If I had been a little more sober, this situation would probably have worried me, but at the moment, I was just happy to see him. Matt and I had spent very little time together, but just enough for meeting him at this party to make me super happy.

"I came back for the holidays," I replied, smiling.

"Oh, that's great," he said, smiling too. "You could have at least let us know!" he added, laughing.

"Hey, relax, I just arrived yesterday," I said, rolling my eyes.

Our conversation quickly ended, giving way to an awkward silence. So, without really thinking, I asked him the first question that came to my mind, "Did you come alone ?"

"Oh, um..." he began to say before taking a pause, as if he didn't really know if he should continue or not. "No, I came with my brothers," he said, clearing his throat and running his hand over his neck.

Chris is here.

Suddenly, everything clicked in my head; it was obvious how stupid my question was.

My head started spinning; alcohol seemed to take hold of me even more. It was as if realizing he was there for real had suddenly spiked my blood alcohol level.

"Are you okay, y/n?" he said, placing his hand on my shoulder, looking worried as he saw me pale.

"Um, yeah - yeah, don't worry, I'm just - I've had a bit to drink, you know, it's not really my thing!" I said with a nervous laugh, trying to hide my distress at the moment.

"Do you want me to get you a glass of water? Or something else? I'm sorry if it's me who put you in this state by talking about—" he started to say before I cut him off.

"No! - Matt, it's fine, everything's okay, it's not your fault. I'm just, I just need some fresh air, that's all," I added.

"Um, okay, do you want me to come with you?" he asked, and I could feel how uncomfortable he felt for me at that moment, and that was really the last thing I wanted.

"That's really nice, Matt, but it's okay, thank you. I'll be fine," I told him with a smile before walking towards the exit.

As I moved through the crowd, I prayed not to run into Chris. I didn't want to see him. I thought I was ready and that it was what I needed, but the state I am in right now proves otherwise.

Fuck this shit, I'm going to need more alcohol for sure to handle this.

In my rush towards the exit, I grabbed the first bottle of alcohol I saw lying around, whiskey - it couldn't get any harder.

Damn, will I ever manage to move on? Am I destined to feel like this for the rest of my days?

Finally reaching the front door, I felt my eyes fill with tears, making my vision completely blurry.

Once outside on the porch, I placed the bottle on the small coffee table there, sat on the outdoor couch, and allowed a few tears to flow.

I could hear the muffled sound of music inside, and paradoxically, the cicadas and the silence of the night outside.

A few minutes ago, I was fine, happy, enjoying the party with my friends, and it took me going back to thinking about him to ruin everything.

Physically, I wasn't doing that bad; I didn't feel the need to vomit or anything. I just had a bit of a spinning head and trouble standing up.

Mentally, though, it was a different story.

My sobbing was interrupted by a noise coming from a little further in the garden.

I raised my head with a start to scan the surroundings, wiping away my tears. I especially didn't want anyone to see the only girl crying at this party. I was already not considered a cool girl at school, but this would have been the icing on the cake.

There shouldn't be anyone outside; Julia had made it clear that she didn't want anyone in her mom's garden.

I spotted a silhouette in the dark, and eventually, I caught the smell of a joint. So, I sighed before getting up to get closer.

"Get out of here, idiot! Julia doesn't want anyone in her garden. It's not that complicated to follow such a simple rule," I shouted at the stranger, rolling my eyes.

He approached me until he reached the point where the porch light could illuminate him.

I took a step back, completely thrown off when I recognized his face.

"Sorry, I just got here. I didn't know we weren't allowed to hang out in the garden," he replied softly, keeping a reasonable distance from me.

"Chris?" that's all that could come out of my mouth at that moment; I was completely bewildered. What was I supposed to do at that moment?

My tears started to flow again, and I couldn't do anything to stop it.

Chris stood there, not saying anything. He was as lost as I was at that moment, but I could see that seeing me cry was far from a pleasant thing for him.

He seemed hesitant, shook his head, and muttered to himself, rolling his eyes, "Fuck this."

The next moment, he took me into his arms, letting my head rest against his chest. It was as if he understood without me needing to express myself.

I broke down, letting my tears flow; that's what I needed—his arms around me. He held me tight, and I simply didn't want this moment to end. With my right hand, I clung to his t-shirt as if my life depended on it.

"Y/n, shhhh," he whispered, caressing my hair when my breathing became irregular due to my sobs.

I couldn't breathe; I felt suffocated. The more tears that fell, the worse it got, but, on the other hand, it felt good. All these emotions I had buried, all these tears I had prevented from flowing, were finally coming out.

"Y/n, calm down," he said, grabbing my cheeks with his hands and bringing his face to mine to look me in the eyes.

"Hey, look at me, look at me, breathe, everything's fine," he reassured me, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

"I-I'm so—" I tried to speak, but I couldn't stop crying.

"I'm so sorry, Chris," I said with a broken and fragile voice, shaking my head.

"Y/n, it's okay, stop," he said, pinching his lips, and I could see tears welling up in his eyes, despite his efforts to suppress them.

"What I did—" I started, trying to calm down, "what I did to you—I had no right to do that. I'm sorry, Chris," I said, letting my head fall once again against his chest and starting to cry even harder.

"Y/n," he said, seizing my face again to look at me, "Y/n, I’m not mad at you. Look at me, I'm fine, everything's fine; it's behind us."

"It's not behind me, Chris," I told him, shaking my head and stepping back.

"It's not behind me at all. It continues to eat me up inside every day! I tried for two years!" I told him with a forced laugh, wiping my tears. "Two years, Chris, two years trying everything to get you out of my head and to stop hoping that things would go back to normal!" I added.

"Y/n—" he said, passing his hand over his face before I cut him off.

"How can you not resent me after what I did to you!?" I said, completely lost.

"Because that's life, y/n!" he said, raising his voice and advancing towards me.

"Because people come in and out of your life, tearing your heart out against their will!" he added, and I just closed my mouth; I didn't expect him to express himself like this.

"Y/n, I could have chosen to hate you, yes, it's true! I could have chosen to keep acting like an idiot and keep destroying myself slowly, as I did in the first months after you left!" he continued to say, carried away by his emotions.

"But what would it have served? What would it have served to keep making the same mistakes all my life?" he asked, and I simply nodded, dumbfounded.

"Y/n, I tried to hate you to make the pill go down more easily, believe me. But how could I hate a girl like you?" he asked, tears in his eyes.

"How could I hate the only woman who managed to open my heart and show me that there's always hope?" he continued, this time advancing towards me, and my heart started racing in my chest.

"I got my act together because you deserved someone better. You deserved to know that I was doing well, and I knew! Believe me, I knew how much you blamed yourself," he said, wiping my tears.

"That night when you told me straight in the eyes that you no longer loved me and that you no longer believed in us, I knew you were lying to protect me," he said, and I felt tears flowing again.

"You lied to me to protect me without even thinking about yourself. You put me before you, where no one had done it before," he continued, tapping his chest.

"Chris—" I said with a weak voice.

"No, I don't blame you, y/n. I don't blame you because I know you simply didn't have the choice to do that," he said, wiping my tears.

"And these last two years, I lived in doubt because I wasn't sure 100%, but when I saw your gaze on this porch, all my doubts flew away, and now I know," he said, plunging his eyes into mine.

I looked into his eyes; I had managed to regain normal breathing, and everything he had just told me had calmed my heart.

The open wound in my chest, bleeding and letting all my distress pour out, was closing.

I didn't know what to add; I didn't know what to say to him. It felt like a million things were happening in my mind, but what could it possibly mean?

And then my thoughts escaped my mind, fixating on his blue eyes, his pure eyes, his sincere gaze fixed on me.

I had forgotten how beautiful this man was.

I became aware of his warm hands on my cheeks; my heartbeat quickened, and I thought I saw a glint of desire growing in his eyes.

The silence became heavy, yet neither of us wanted to say anything.

Our faces slowly approached, and my eyes juggled between his and his lips.

What was happening? Was it supposed to be good? Or bad?

I wanted to throw myself at him, yes, but was it correct? Was it the alcohol? Did I misinterpret what was happening?

"Chris—" I said in a soft, almost inaudible voice before he closed the gap between our lips.

Shivers ran through my entire body; it was soft and so good.

His soft lips moved perfectly against mine.

One of his hands resting on my cheek slid down to the small of my back.

Meanwhile, my two hands found their place on his chest, and our kiss deepened.

This kiss, originally meant to say ‘welcome home’, quickly became more profound.

Our tongues collided; things escalated. The hand that rested on my waist descended to grip my hip, while one of my hands left his chest to settle on the side of his neck.

I felt something reignite in me, something I hadn't felt in a very long time: desire.

I became aware of what was happening, and I snapped out of this trance by stepping back and opening my eyes.

I caught my breath before telling him, "Chris."

"I'm sorry," he said, catching his breath too.

"We can't do this; we can't revisit this. I'm back in Boston only for the holidays," I said, shaking my head, trying to think of something else.

"Sorry, I don't know what came over me; I shouldn't have." he said, running his hand through his hair.

"It's okay," I said, stepping towards him and placing my hand on his shoulder.

"I just found you again when I didn't think I'd have this chance; I want to do things right," I confessed.

"So, does that mean we're friends now?" he asked, and his question tore at my heart because, of course, I didn't want to be just friends. But things were too complicated for us to allow anything more.

"Yes, it means we're friends," I said, smiling slightly, and he returned a smile.

"I missed you," he said, hugging me.

"Missed you too," I replied, "feels like it's been ages since we last caught up," I added, chuckling.

"You must have hundreds of things to tell me then," he said, separating and smiling.

"I don't want to spoil your evening with my stories; it can wait," I told him, running my hand through my nape.

"Y/n, I went out to smoke a joint alone because this party is really lame," he said, rolling his eyes, "so believe me, I'd rather sit here with you and listen to everything you have to tell me."

"Hey, it's my comeback night, you're not allowed to say it's lame!" I told him, offended, giving him a shoulder punch.

"Okay, okay, sorry!" he said, laughing, before sitting on the couch, and I followed suit.

He took a joint out of his pocket, and before lighting it, he turned to me. "Hmm, want some?"

"Oh no, thanks, I'll stick to this tonight," I said, grabbing the bottle I'd left on the small table.

"Whiskey?" he said, surprised, "who are you?" he joked.

"Shut up, idiot, I grabbed the first bottle I came across on my way here," I said, rolling my eyes.

The conversation flowed naturally between us; it was almost as if we had never been apart. Of course, in two years, both he and I had changed a lot, so it was a bit strange. However, that connection, that complicity we had, seemed intact.

I'm not sure how long we stayed on that porch, talking, but the bottle I had drunk was already half empty, and Chris must have been on his third joint since the beginning of our conversation.

"I can't believe you told him that!" Chris said, laughing.

"I warned you; I'm not the helpless little girl I used to be," I replied, chuckling and shrugging.

"Yeah, I saw that," he said, gradually stopping his laughter.

The silence returned, and I was lost in my thoughts, already quite tipsy and in a curious mood.

I had been hesitating for several minutes, debating whether to ask him a question. The more I drank, the more I wanted to ask, even though I knew it wasn't the best idea.

"Chris?" I finally said softly, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?" he simply replied, turning his head towards me.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked him timidly.

"You just did," he said with a smirk.

"No, seriously, stop it!" I said, laughing and giving him a shoulder punch.

He straightened up, turning completely towards me, resting his head on his hand with his arm leaning against the top of the couch. "Seriously, I'm listening," he said, still with that sly smile.

His eyes were red and squinted because of the weed, and I won't lie, it made him quite sexy... or maybe I had had a bit too much to drink; what was I even saying?

"Have you dated other girls since we broke up?" I asked, instantly regretting it.

"Y/n—" he began before I cut him off.

"Sorry, that was a dumb question. I don't know what got into me," I said, hiding my face with my hands.

He chuckled at my action. "It's okay; I don't mind answering if you answer too..." he said, shrugging.

I removed my face from my hands to look up at him.

"But are you sure you really want to hear my answer?" he added.

I just nodded.

"I've slept with other girls, yes," he began, and I cut him off without thinking.

"How many?" I asked, sitting up.

"I don't really know, two or three, but they were just casual things, especially at the beginning when I needed to distract myself," he explained, feeling the need to justify himself.

"Okay... and why?" I asked.

"Why what?" he asked, confused.

"Why casual? In two years, you had plenty of time to find another amazing girl to be with. You can't make me believe that as the first one to fall for you, no other girl wanted you," I said, rolling my eyes.

"I didn't want to..." he confessed to me. "I— " he started before sighing, "I'm not sure if it's a good idea to explain why," he said, looking away.

"No, tell me; I want to know now," I urged him.

"Y/n," he said, looking me in the eyes.

"Chris, please, it's okay; we're just talking," I said, eager to know more.

"None of those girls were comparable to you," he admitted, "and I know it sounds silly, but it's just the truth. I couldn't get interested in those girls, and it wasn't their fault; they were interesting, and in another context, it might have worked with them," he said honestly.

"But my mind kept comparing them to you; none of them talked like you," he started saying, "none of them laughed like you," he added.

"None of them kissed like you," he said, looking at my lips, and I felt my panties dampen at that. Fuck.

"Every time I slept with another girl, I couldn't help but think of you, your body, and your moans," he said, lost in his thoughts.

"I couldn't stop thinking about how your lips wrapped so perfectly around me," he said, and I had to slightly open my mouth to get more air.

He shook his head, snapping back to reality. "Anyway, until now, I haven't been able to settle down with another girl because the only one I have in my mind is you," he said shyly.

I stared at him, mouth agape. I was dying to have him; everything he just told me had me way too excited.

"And you?" he asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"What?" I said, clearing my throat.

"And you, have you dated other guys?" he said, chuckling.

"Oh!" I said, blushing. "No, none," I replied timidly.

"None?" he repeated, surprised, and I simply shook my head from side to side.

"And how many guys have you slept with then?" he asked.

I took a moment to answer, embarrassed by the situation.

"Y/n, it's okay; you can tell me. I just told you mine!" he said, rolling his eyes.

"I-" I said before sighing and biting my lip, and he furrowed his brows.

"None..." I said softly.

His eyes widened at my response.

"Are you serious?" he asked to make sure.

"Stop it; you know very well that I'm not the type to sleep around," I said, feeling awkward.

"No, I know that; it's just hard for me to conceive that you've managed two years without sex," he said with a smirk.

"Wait, what does that mean?" I said, furrowing my brows.

"Y/n, when we were together, you played the innocent a lot, but you can't deny that you were just as horny as I was, if it’s not more…" he said, laughing.

"Chris!" I said, bringing my hand to my mouth before chuckling as well.

"No, I'm not saying it's a bad thing; on the contrary, it was something I loved about you," he said honestly.

"I even found it rather sexy..." he added, shrugging.

I squeezed my thighs together at that moment, and Chris noticed because I saw his eyes leave mine and land on my thighs.

"We should change the subject," I said, taking a deep breath and running my hands over my thighs, a bit embarrassed.

"Sorry, I didn't know it would have that effect on you," he said, unable to help but smile.

"It's okay," I said, biting my lip.

We looked at each other for a moment, both feeling a bit awkward.

His eyes briefly shifted to my chest, and that was the last straw for me.

Without thinking twice, I straddled him, immediately connecting our lips. He didn't waste a second to put his hands on my hips, making me moan.

He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth, and I started rocking my hips against him, making him groan in response.

His hands came to grip my hips to stop my movements, eliciting a frustrated groan from me.

"Y/n, this isn't right," he said, separating our lips.

"Chris, I don't care," I said, reconnecting our lips instantly. I was too hungry to stop there.

My hip movements resumed, and I could feel his erection through his jeans.

My hands were on his cheeks, and his hands firmly held my hips.

"You said we should do things right and that we were friends," he said, separating our lips again.

"Y/n, you've been drinking, and I don't want it to be something you regret tomorrow," he added.

"Some friends sleep together sometimes..." I said innocently, playing with his necklace.

He bit his lip and looked away. If there was one thing that could make this man weak, it was my way of acting innocently with him.

"Y/n," he said, closing his eyes and letting out a frustrated groan.

I knew I could make him crack; I just had to tease him enough.

I buried my head in his neck to kiss and leave a few love bites.

He tossed his head back to give me better access. "Fuck..." he whispered, and I slowly resumed my hip movements.

"Y/n, stop this," he said weakly, still with his fingers dug into my hips.

"Make me stop," I whispered in his ear before leaving a trail of kisses on his jawline.

"Y/n," he said in a firm voice this time, grabbing me by the neck to make me face him. "Don't play with my nerves like that."

"Chris, please," I said, gripping the wrist of the hand around my neck.

"I'm the one asking you. It's just a favor we're doing each other as friends," I said with a slight moan. "You help me fill the void I've felt for 2 years, and I give you the opportunity not to have to just imagine fucking me for once," I added.

"You said it yourself, no girl moans like me, no one kisses you like me, and their lips don't wrap around you as well as mine do," I continued to convince him.

"It's just a one-time thing. After that, I swear we'll be just friends for real, please, Chris, I need you," I pleaded.

I don't know if it was the alcohol or simply the lack of sex, but I never thought I'd be capable of saying such things to a guy in my life.

"Just a one-time thing?" he asked.

"Just a one-time thing," I replied, nodding.

"Fuck, this is so fucking wrong, y/n. What are you doing to me?" he said before kissing me again without removing his hand from my neck.

He slid his hand under my dress to grab my ass and massage it while helping me grind against him.

"Mmph, Chris," I moaned into our kiss.

"Shhhh," he said, slapping my ass.

I started pulling at his T-shirt to signal that I wanted him to take it off.

"Not here, princess," he said, smiling against my lips before separating them. "Stand up," he ordered, and I obeyed.

He stood up as well, firmly grabbing my hand before guiding us inside.

We quickly made our way through the crowd, passing by Nick, who tried to stop us, but Chris simply ignored him, too busy at that moment trying not to bend me over one of the tables in the house to fuck me in front of everyone.

We climbed the stairs, and Chris opened the first door he saw, which happened to lead to Julia's room. If she finds out about this, she's going to kill me.

He slammed the door shut behind us, making sure to lock it.

Then, he pressed me against that door, tightening his grip around my neck just enough to restrict the blood flow, causing my head to spin.

He wasted no time in forcefully removing my dress, it was so abrupt that he could have torn it if he wanted.

"Chris, be careful, take it easy," I said, chuckling, before he silenced me with yet another kiss.

"Don't ask me to fucking take it easy when you've spent the last 10 minutes teasing me on that damn couch, y/n," he said, removing his T-shirt.

He took off my bra, adding, "I fucking missed you."

The next moment, he slid his hands to the back of my thighs and lifted me, making me moan in surprise. It seemed like the hold he had on me back then hadn't changed.

He reconnected our lips, heading towards the bed where he tossed me, making me moan again from the sudden force.

"Chris," I sighed in a heated breath as I sat up, facing him at waist height.

But before I could reach for his belt to undress him, he violently pushed me back. "You'll move when I tell you to move. Have you forgotten your manners?" he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

His gaze was dark and intense; he could have threatened to kill me, and I would have moaned because of how much he affected me.

"Touch yourself," he ordered.

"What?" I said, feeling my face turn all red.

"Don't make me repeat myself; you heard me," he said authoritatively.

I swallowed hard before starting to take off my panties.

"I didn't tell you to remove your panties," he said, interrupting me.

"But—" I began to say before he cut me off.

"Is it so hard to be a good girl, Y/n? In two years, have you forgotten everything?" he said, shaking his head.

His words made me even wetter; I dreamed of one thing only: feeling him inside me.

"No, sorry," I said before starting to make circular motions on my clit through my panties.

He licked his lips, slowly removing his belt without taking his eyes off me.

"Stand up," he ordered.

Without hesitation, I stood up, still looking at him innocently in the eyes.

"You are so fucking beautiful, Y/n," he said, holding me by the chin.

His compliment made me immediately smile and blush.

"Your wrists," he asked, letting go of my chin, and I handed him my wrists.

With his belt, he tied my wrists together before kissing me.

He leaned towards me without breaking our lips to signal me to lie down on the mattress, which I did.

He separated our lips for a brief moment to press my arms above my head. "Don't move," he whispered before sliding his lips into my neck.

"My poor baby, I can't believe you've abstained for 2 years," he said before descending his kisses towards my chest.

"Now that I'm here, I'll take care of that for you, my princess," he said, circling one of my nipples with his lips to kiss it.

"Chris, please," I moaned, wriggling a bit.

"Shhhh, be patient, believe me, I won't stop there," he said before starting to descend his kisses towards my lower abdomen.

The closer he got to my thighs, the more I felt like I was losing my mind. It had been so long since I had felt that burning desire between my legs.

"Fuck, Chris, stop, please, I need you," I pathetically begged when he started to kiss my pussy through my panties.

He just chuckled at my pleas before removing my panties and diving his head between my legs.

He surrounded my clit with his lips, and I couldn't hold back the moans that escaped my mouth at that moment.

Lost in my own pleasure and especially completely carried away by the sensation of his tongue against me, I brought my two hands, still tied, to his hair to hold on.

He lifted his lips from me, making me raise my head towards him. "No, don't stop, Chris!" I said desperately.

"I told you not to move, Y/n," he reminded me, placing my hands back above my head.

"I'm sorry, I had—" I was interrupted in the middle of my sentence by his hands abruptly grabbing my waist to turn me over.

"What are you doing?" I said in a surprised moan when he grabbed my hips to put my ass in the air.

"This way, you'll have a much harder time moving," he said, and I could hear the smugness in his tone.

He kissed the base of my lower back, making me shiver, ensuring that my head remained pressed against the mattress below me.

He then placed a few kisses on my ass before resuming his work between my legs.

One of his hands kneaded my ass while he teased my entrance with the fingers of his other hand.

"Oh my—Chris," I said when he accelerated his tongue movements.

The sensation in my lower abdomen that I hadn't felt in so long was building up again; I was extremely close.

"C-Chris, I'm gonna cum," I moaned, burying my head in the pillow to try to muffle the sound of my moans.

"Give it to me, baby," he said, inserting two of his fingers into me and reconnecting his tongue to my clit.

"Fuck, Chris!" I exclaimed, feeling my legs tremble, and within seconds, my orgasm overwhelmed me.

Chris didn't detach his lips from me; he continued, and his fingers didn't slow down either. "Chris, I- I can't," I told him, breathless.

He detached himself from me at the sound of my words and turned me over again onto the mattress to kiss me.

I put my hands, still tied behind his neck, to bring him impossibly closer to me, which seemed to amuse him, judging by the way he smiled against my lips.

"You taste so fucking good, baby," he complimented me between our kisses, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

I was still very sensitive, but I wanted more, I needed more.

So, I tightened my legs around his waist so that his erection pressed against my pussy.

"Are you that impatient?" he chuckled before reaching between our bodies to unbutton his pants, and I just nodded.

He straightened up to completely remove his pants and boxers before returning to position himself between my legs.

"If it hadn't been so long, I would've edged you for hours," he said, rubbing his tip against my thighs without entering.

"Chris, please, stop talking—" Before I could finish my sentence, he entered me without warning, making me moan in harmony with him.

"Oh my god, y/n, fuck, you're so—" I didn't let him finish his sentence, immediately capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

He started moving inside me slowly, taking care to go all the way in with each thrust.

Our lips were still connected, our tongues perfectly synchronized—everything was perfect with him.

His pelvic movements accelerated, prompting me to throw my head back to moan once again.

"God, I'll never get tired of the sounds you make. Fuck, it's too good," Chris said, moaning as well, his head completely immersed in my neck, where he left fiery kisses.

"Chris—mmph," I started to speak but couldn't formulate my words correctly. Chris fucked me so well that I lost my words.

"What, baby? What do you want?" he said, seizing my chin to make me look into his eyes.

"I want to—fuck!" I said, moaning and closing my eyes. I felt him everywhere in me; it was too good.

"You can do it, sweetheart. Take your time," he said with a smirk, not slowing down.

"I want to touch you," I said, moaning again. "Please, Chris, I need to feel you," I begged.

He momentarily straightened up without pulling out to unfasten the belt around my wrists.

"Here you go, baby," he said in a soft voice before kissing me again.

This time, my hands went into his hair, neck, and back. I dug my nails into his back and biceps, completely controlled by my pleasure, and began to feel all these sensations invade me.

"Chris, oh my god, I'm so close!" I whined.

He sat up on his knees without pulling out. I moaned as he grabbed my legs and pulled them closer, penetrating even deeper.

"Mmmh, Chris," I moaned, raising my head to look at him.

"Shhhh," he said, placing my legs on either side of his head and encircling my knees with his arms to make sure I couldn't move.

He began thrusting into me at an unbearable speed, and the new angle allowed him to go really deep. His eyes were fixed on the lower part of my belly, where he could see himself entering and exiting. "Fuck," he exclaimed, keeping his mouth open.

"Chris! Chris, fu—god, don't stop!" I said, feeling my orgasm hit me hard when I started clenching around him. He spread my legs again to kiss me while still penetrating me, allowing me to ride out my orgasm.

He gradually stopped his pelvic movements while continuing to kiss me. Our kiss was tired and messy, but he didn't stop there.

We were both catching our breath. He separated our lips, pressing his forehead against mine. We stayed like that for a few seconds before he straightened up and withdrew from me, making me moan because I was still extremely sensitive.

I expected anything but what he did the next second. He grabbed me by the hips and turned me over again, pushing me on all fours.

"Chris, what—" Before I could finish my sentence, he started pounding into me without mercy, making me cry out in surprise and pleasure.

"Oh my fuck, Chris, I can't!" I told him, burying my head in the pillow once again.

"Yes, of course, you can. I know you have one more for me," he said without slowing down this time, bringing his fingers to my clit, making my eyes roll back in my head.

It felt so good, but I was still too sensitive; he didn't give me enough respite. I felt like my heart was going to give out from the intensity. I couldn't help but moan, even though I was unsure if I really wanted him to stop because I could already feel my third orgasm approaching.

"Do you really want me to stop?" he said in my ear, slowing down and pressing his chest against my back.

When he slowed down, I felt my orgasm slipping away, and I thought I was losing my mind. "No! Don’t stop, I can take it!" I said, shaking my head.

He wrapped his arm around my throat to hold me in place "that's my girl," he said and sank his teeth into my shoulder, mixing pleasure and pain in the best way possible. He sped up again, his fingers massaging my clit, and his shaft going as deep as possible, making me see stars.

I was close, and so was he; I could feel it in the way he moaned. "Y/n, oh my—"

"Chris, I'm so close," I cried, feeling my orgasm on the verge of exploding.

"Give it to me, baby. Fuck, cum for me, princess," he said, and that was all I needed to climax. This one was more intense than the others, stronger and more hypnotic.

After a few more thrusts, Chris also came, moaning my name in my ear. "Oh my god," he said, breathless, before pulling out and collapsing beside me.

I didn't move a muscle, too exhausted from everything that had just happened. "Are you okay, baby?" he asked, concerned, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just need to catch my breath," I replied, chuckling.

He laughed too before getting up to find something to clean me up. After a few minutes catching my breath in Chris's arms, we decided to get dressed and join our friends downstairs before someone noticed our absence.

And when I say someone, I obviously mean Julia, who will probably kill me when she finds out I slept with Chris in her bed.

Before leaving Julia's room, Chris kissed me one last time. "I missed you so fucking much," he said.

I chuckled before replying, "I missed you too, but we need to leave this room now." I said playfully, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder.

We finally left the room, and our paths separated when we arrived in the living room because Nick needed to talk to Chris privately.

I was about to join my best friend when I felt someone grab my arm.

I turned to see who it was and found myself face to face with a girl with brown hair and light eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked me, full of rage.

I was completely confused because I didn't know this girl at all, and I didn't understand why she was addressing me this way.

"Hmm? Y/n, who are you?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

Her eyes widened when she heard my name, and she let out a fake laugh at my response.

"I'm Tess, Chris's girlfriend!" she said with a big smile before approaching me. "So I suggest you keep your distance from him if you don't want me to bash your little depraved slut face!" she said, pushing me before turning on her heel and walking away.

Chris's girlfriend?!!

What the fuck?

Taglist: @chrisloyalgf @christopherscamopants @blahbel668 @thematthewlover @mattsturnioloarchive @carolinalikesthings @bernardsgf @whicked-hazlatwhore @hearts4chris

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo edit #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #smut #teach me

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shanastoryteller · 1 year

Note

Happy birthday Shana!!! I wish for a continuation of the Lady Mo story if you have any inspiration. Otherwise I would love any untamed promt!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

"Are you hurt?" Sizhui asks anxiously, jumping off his sword to tun towards Lady Xuanyu.

"Nah," she says, wincing as she stresses. "Well, nothing important."

"You're bleeding!" Jingyi shouts at a really unnecessary pitch. He unsheathes his sword and points it at Song Lan. "What did you do?"

"Stop that," she scolds, knocking his sword down. "Go get Xiao Xingchen and the girl. He's probably really confused right now."

Song Lan's expression clears and he bows to her before flying off.

His father jerks as if to go after him and Lady Xuanyu calls out, "Leave him be! He's doing what I said."

Lan Wangji hesitates, but nods and finally descends to join them. He towers over Lady Xuanyu, looking down at her with a fierce glare that makes Sizhui cringe even though it's not directed towards him. "What happened?"

"Found Xiao Xingchen, found Xue Yang, Song Lan killed him," she says, not even so much as lowering her eyes. "Xue Yang, not Xiao Xingchen, obviously. Wasn't this guy supposed to be killed during the war or something? It was a little before my time, so to speak."

"Song Lan is unharmed and you are not," his father says, lifting a hand to press it against the sluggishly bleeding wound in her shoulder.

Lady Xuanyu hisses at the contact but doesn't pull away. "He's a more experienced cultivator. Give me a couple hours and they'll be all closed up."

It used to take days for Lady Xuanyu's golden core to heal anything more complicated than a paper cut. She's strengthened it to the point that what would have been weeks of healing is reduced to just a day.

"He should have protected you," Sizhui says stubbornly. He'd rather she didn't have to heal at all. "Why did you run off with him anyway?"

"Had a hunch and figured I'd be back before you noticed," she says. Jingyi sputters. "Also, I don't need him to protect me, geez. He's a more experienced cultivator, but I still am one. I've gotten more hurt in training."

It's true, but Sizhui doesn't like that either. To harm ones body without cause is against the rules. Perhaps it's not entirely without cause, considering her rapid growth, but none of their teachers had ever beat them as badly as she demands the disciples beat her, and their cores had all turned out fine.

"What hunch did you have?" his father asks.

She winces and says, "Oh, you know, womanly intuition."

It's a lie and not even a very good one.

Lan Wangji's eyes narrow but they're interrupted by Song Lan returning with two people balanced precariously on his sword. Sizhui assumes the other man clad all in white must be Xiao Xingchen but doesn't know who the blind girl that looks to be about his age is.

"Xuanyu!" the girl calls out joyously, causing him to reevaluate his assessment of blind. She's being awfully familiar with his step mother. The girl leaps from the sword before it's fully on the ground and goes running towards them, shoulder pass Lan Wangji to body slam into Lady Xuanyu. "You're still alive, right? You said you would be!"

Lady Xuanyu laughs, closing her arms around the girl's shoulders. Her shoulder is bleeding again now that his father isn't keeping pressure on it. Cant the girl see that she's injured? "Yes, yes, I'm still alive. Excellent work keeping Xiao Xingchen out of the fray, A-Qing. I knew I could depend on you."

The girl - A-Qing, apparently - glows under the praise, beaming up at Lady Xuanyu, still with her arms around her waist.

What's her problem anyway?

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #otakuwithlife #untamed

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sea-wolf-coast-to-coast · 11 days

Note

Hi there, this will be the 4th year I've done this challenge but this year a lot in my life is going wrong and I'm finding I don't have the motivation to write at all, I'm so behind on it and can't find the motivation to catch up and with the 24 hour deadline coming into effect it all feels like too much... Do you have any words of encouragement or advice? I'm really struggling

I'm so sorry to hear that life has been rough 🖤 I'm sure that a lot of people have been feeling that and can relate in a big way.

My biggest piece of advice is to go easy on yourself!

If the thought of catching up feels too big, then forget about catching up ❤️ On days where you have the energy and/or inspiration, focus on that prompt alone as if it's the only prompt that exists. And if writing just isn't going to happen today, take a deep breath and tell yourself that it's okay. That in not writing today, you're choosing to prioritize yourself and your mental energy/health above all else - which is the best thing that you can do for yourself when things are tough. If it feels like too much then it's probably too much 🫂

If a community of fellow FFxivWrite participants would help, there are a handful of excellent FFxiv fanfic discords who actively participate and encourage each other throughout the challenge.

In fact, if y'all know of some great FFxiv fanfic discords that have really helped you with motivation during FFxivWrite, reblog and tell us all more!

#ffxivwrite2024 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv writing challenge #ffxiv fanfiction

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binart · 1 year

Text

Space Ranger Partner's Adventures Chapter 1

(First) (Next)

A marriage proposal from a complete stranger in the middle of a top-secret alien spy base was, surprisingly, not the strangest thing to happen to Lance in the past 24 hours.

The strangest thing was probably that he was even here. He'd been proposed to a handful of times after his part in the war efforts largely ended; Adoring fans, of course. But in under a day he'd been flown from his family home in New Altea, introduced into the very secretive very select ranks of the Blades of Marmora, got his ass handed to him by some cat alien who was currently standing 10 feet away and therefore very likely his new teammate, and—possibly most surprising of all, realized he was going to have to ask his buddy keith out because apparently he'd gone off and gotten hot in the past three years.

"No, no. I told you no proposals." From beside him, the very same Keith Kogane—his ex-teammate turned leader—lurched forward and extracted Lance's hand from Torat, one of his new teammates. Though the alien stood well over a stocky 8 feet, he had dropped to one knee before asking Lance to spend the remainder of his apparently short life with him. His large hands had all but encompassed his own, but were shockingly gentle.

"Have I.. conducted myself improperly within the ritual..?" Torat questioned in a small voice, much to Keith's clear chagrin.

"You forgot a ring!" Kestin, another of Lance's new teammates—their pilot—helpfully supplied.

"Not supposed to do it in front of a crowd unless the other person says you can!" To the right of Kestin, Hedrox joined in. They'd met yesterday, and the blade seemed all too happy to join in on the fun.

"...Yh.." The lanky cat alien, En, stood stiffly next to Hedrox, slightly turned away from everyone. He'd been that way since he and Keith entered the room just moments before. "You cannot simply ask a h-hu-human being to join into such a pact! T-There are numerous prerequisites—to say nothing of the time needed to be spent with the other individual—before such a momentous proposal can be made!" They turned their head to look directly at Lance—Or so he assumed; All members save for himself and Keith wore masks covering their entire faces. Then they gave a human soldier salute. "Lieutenant, Sir!"

Lance had no idea how to respond to any of this. "Y-Yeah. Uh.. Uh. Yeah. Sorry." Man, he really hadn't been around anyone except for his family for a while. He felt rusty. He gave a weak salute in return, before a memory from the evening prior bubbled to the surface of his mind.

"I will do my utmost to familiarize myself with human naming and title customs-"

"It's fine, man."

Oh. Maybe that was related.

"Okay, guys, enough." Thankfully Keith cut in, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're not here to—propose to Lance, alright?!" He wiped a palm down his face as if to try and banish the redness creeping in. "We're here to see all the time and effort we've been putting into this project finally see some results."

The room quieted, and everyone stood tall, and tense. Hedrox, however, seemed excited.

"That we are, Commander!" There was a table with a digital surface separating Keith, himself, and Torat from the other three, and Hedrox slapped their palms down onto it. Immediately, several large rectangular screens coated in Galran projected into clear view. The room automatically darkened. "I'm very pleased to say I've been at the helm of this—which, er, Commander? Do we need an explanation for those who are new?" His voice held a pleasant watery lilt to it, and if it weren't for the horn protruding from their forehead Lance would have guessed they were a half-Galran half-merperson or something.

Keith crossed his arms and gave his throat a quiet clear. "I've only briefed him on the basics. Floor's yours."

"Excellent. Gather 'round, team. Here's what we're doing." With deft hands they tapped away at a console and began pulling up several images, as well as additional Galran text Lance struggled to quickly translate. He'd all but mastered Altean since he retired (thanks mostly to Allura teaching him, but sometimes he wondered if the marks she gave him when she thought she was going to die contributed to how effortlessly he learned), but he'd only just started learning Common Galran half a year ago. Frustratingly it was way more context based, and very, VERY heavy importance was placed on sound emphasis. There were also over three hundred individual characters to memorize, whose meaning could vastly differ depending on what other characters were next to it. He was actually pretty glad to have something else to fill his time now; A great excuse to avoid slamming his head against the language every day. He could make out.. Eta-17 pa-facilty..? Facility? Facility. He squinted. Why was that familiar?

"..For the last year, we've been surveying a Galran anti-coalition outpost at the edge of the Ornitier System, which we know is serving as a key point for filtering and channelling intel. I've been doing what I do best and systematically replacing tiny components of their communication terminals with the tech the green paladin and I co-designed.” There was something strangely human about the way he spoke, despite the mild alien accent.

“And now, we stand nearly ready for a seamless takeover.”

Hedrox held up two small devices. "These. Are my baby children. Months of hard work. Cleared—and might I add complimented—by the green paladin. When both are installed into the facility's internal security network and main processing core respectively, they're undetectable. We'll be able to spy on enemy intel with them none the wiser." The ground beneath them gave a weak lurch. Lance could feel the familiar pull of motion, even if he couldn’t confirm via a window; No one paid it any mind, so he assumed it was normal.

“So that's why we're here today. They're too complex for my little helpers to remotely install.” Tiny clicking erupted then spilled from Hedrox's hood; At least thirty floating mechanical looking creatures no bigger than sunflower seeds circled his head. “I've altered the security rounds the sentries take to facilitate an easy infiltration and installation, and as long as they haven't gone and scrambled their normal routes, this should be an easy in and out.” The blade then motioned towards Lance. “The commander had research and development outfit a sniper rifle with a scrambling code that will temporarily freeze any sentries it hits and reroute them in case there's any hiccups in the plan, or someone's about to get caught.” Among other things; the knife and pistol in their respective holsters reminded him of their weight.

“Their monitoring and sentry patrol systems ‘refresh’ once an hour—so, that’s our time limit—and we need to get in so I can upload a new set of instructions to a pre-existing program that will facilitate—That is, uh. It’s—It’s a virus? The green paladin called it a virus. Am I using the term correctly?”

Keith nodded, scratched the back of his head and turned to Lance. “Basically, we need to get in so Hedrox, En, and Torat can upload a virus that’ll make it so we can track down their headquarters eventually.”

From the other side of the table, En growled. “The malignant remnants of the accursed empire and their cowardly tactics..! Always on the run, attacking colonies before fleeing. They’re filth, and we will find them, and cut short their worthless excuses of lives..”

The room grew quiet, and stuffy. There was the whir of machinery and motion from all around. Keith cleared his throat.

“Right. So, the security network room and main processing core are in different locations, but the area where Hedrox and En need to work together will have more foot-traffic. You'll be giving them cover.”

Hedrox brought up additional panels, this time with a 3-D map of several alien-looking floors. He traced what Lance read as “entry-point” labelled in Galran all the way over to the right. “Here's where you'll be stationed with the Commander—route A. First, Kestin brings us in. The Commander and Lieutenant follow route A and get into position and provide cover fire as needed. Torat goes through route C, and En and I head to B. Easy!”

Lance smirked. “That's it? I take out sentries from afar while the hacker blades do their thing? Just like old times?” With a fond smile, Keith let out a puff of air from his nose.

“Just like old times. I’ll be there next to you since—uh, I was originally going to take your spot.”

Lance blinked at him. “Huh? I didn’t know you were good at—“

“I’m not. Just, making due with what we had. Things’ll go much more smoothly now that you’re here watching our backs, and I can focus on troubleshooting if anything comes up.” Keith’s complete faith in him left Lance light on his feet, and he hung his head and chuckled nervously.

“Cool, that doesn’t actually sound all that bad. ‘Think I can handle it.” Keith gave a surprisingly gentle nudge with his arm against Lance’s own.

“You got this, Lance.” He turned to the rest of their team. “ETA?” This time, Kestin spoke up.

“Approximately 20 minutes, sir.”

—

Pre-mission anxiety, long forgotten, made its unwelcomed return.

Lance sat pressed against the dark wall of an unsecured entry duct alongside Keith, Hedrox, and En; Though the tallest of them gave him a wide berth likely due to the events of the night prior.

Good. He might have acted the bigger person, but Lance very much did not like having his ass handed to him. He’d get a rematch from them at some point.

His stomach gave another uncomfortable lurch, and he pressed a palm to his abdomen to will the discomfort away. They had to wait for Torat’s initial sweep of the place before they could advance to their own spots; Surprisingly he seemed to be the stealthiest out of all of them despite his size.

“You alright?” Keith’s quiet voice filtered through the internal comms system in his suit. Though now masked, Keith tilted his head back to glance in his direction. He gave a weak thumbs up.

“Nerves. It’s been a while,” he quietly admitted. Three years of therapy had made it surprisingly easy to talk about his feelings, even if years ago he would have balked at the idea of showing weakness to Keith. But things were different now.

Keith reached a gloved hand over, and rested it on Lance’s forearm. Firm, but comforting, somehow. “Hey, you’ll be okay. I’m right here beside you the whole time, right?”

Things really were different now; Even his voice was doing things to him. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. Thanks—We got this.”

“In position.” Torat’s whisper of a voice interrupted the singing in his chest, and prickles of anxiety returned to gnawing deeper into his stomach. “Sentry patrol routes seem randomized.” Hedrox gave a light click of his tongue.

“..I knew they’d start doing it to all their bases eventually, but I was hoping we’d have more time before it got to the ones we compromised..” The blade brandished from his thigh pouch a strange, tiny black capsule that was barely the size of Lance’s thumb. “Guess there’s not enough leeway to sticky our fingers a bit, huh?” Lance furrowed his brows.

“Uh, what?” Keith made a dismissive gesture towards him.

“Pidge’s new tech. They’re tiny, but we use them to collect huge chunks of inorganic matter—usually servers or data storage. Not today, though. Come on, clock’s ticking.”

“Yes, Commander.” Featherlight and silent owed to their suits, the four advanced. En and Hedrox split off into the seemingly endless halls, while Lance trailed behind Keith. Weapons were a last resort, but if anything went wrong; Lance felt the pistol’s weight heavily on his right thigh, and his knife on the left. He’d dealt with sentries hundreds of times before now, and so despite how queasy he was starting to feel, the idea of potentially fighting some of them left his pulse surprisingly steady.

Keith took a sharp turn left to a dead-end, then motioned for Lance to use him to boost up to the small maintenance shaft in the corner. Right, the nest was up in there. Despite himself, Lance felt his cheeks flush and was grateful that they were hidden while he sat on Keith’s shoulders for the short time needed to remove the panel. He slid in with plenty of room to spare, and the other man soon followed.

After half a minute of near-silent upwards crawling, the shaft opened up into what would be Lance’s vantage point. There were seven large, curved window like panels punched out of the metallic dark purple walls, with a dimly shining object rested off to the side on a wall. He made his way over and picked up what was clearly a blade issued rifle, shockingly alike to the one he had practised with the day before. Adjusting to it wouldn’t be an issue, then, other than—

“This doesn’t shoot bullets, so—no kickback?” Lance turned to face Keith, who was now peering through the open panels into the massive facility below; From Lance’s precursory glance he saw walls upon walls of wires and oblong towers lit up in Galran code. The hood on Keith’s head bobbed in affirmation. From behind, he could see just how broad his shoulders had gotten..

“Got you in my sights, Hedrox.” Keith looked around. “Where’s En?” With that, Lance realized he should be doing what he was brought there to do and got into position. He raised the sights and took in the area below, scanning for the wayward blade.

“Eight o’clock, Commander.” He couldn’t hide the satisfaction in his voice, and Keith followed the point of his rifle until he spotted them emerge from a small maintenance shaft. Another pleased half-laugh.

“Good eye, Lieutenant.”

“‘S what I’m here for.”

“Uh, do you—“ Lance turned his sights toward Hedrox working to pull apart the base of one of the strange techno-towers while he spoke in a jovial watery tone. “We have a private line on our comms, Lieutenant, in case you and the Commander want to—Y’know what nevermind.“

“Focus.” Keith crossed his arms and looked away. “Torat, how’s that upload?”

”Forty percent, Commander.” His already quiet voice was a hush of a whisper. Then, “..Patrols have necessitated my heavy cloak function for five dobos—minutes and counting.”

Keith's masked view immediately shot to his wrist with a quiet hiss. Their regular cloaking built in to their exo-suits dampened sounds and turned the outer coating into something like a mirror, but the heavy cloaking function removed any and all methods of detection that the Galra were currently known to use, Keith had explained on the way there. But the power cost was enormous, and could only last fifteen minutes when drawing from the suit’s internal battery. Best used in short bursts, since completely depleting the suit’s power meant no oxygen, and no protection from the ravages of space if they had to be jettisoned out in an emergency.

“Hedrox, anything you can do to help speed it up from there?” Immediately tension shot through the air, and Lance listened with a growing sense of helplessness. “Lance, your left.”

A sentry getting too close to the others, quiznack! He held his breath, took aim, then fired. The rifle didn’t flinch, but the sentry’s head immediately bent at a strange angle, it twitched while standing upright, then turned around and began heading back in the direction it came. He got too caught up and Keith had to bail him out, he realized shamefully. He readied a quick apology on his tongue, but voices buzzed back into his mask.

“Working on it. Not great at multi-tasking though. En, gimmie a hand.” Hedrox’s normal ease had sharpened into something else. The cat-eared blade made their way to his side and took the panel passed to them before typing away nearly as quickly as their partner. “Couple yottabytes of code to implement Commander, this is gonna take some time on both ends.”

Quiznack. Another two sentries from either side. Inhale, hold. Position, fire. Position, fire. Another sentry turned the corner just as soon as the other two turned away. Exhale, inhale, position, fire.

“Torat, are the sentries letting up?”

”Forty-two percent. ..No, Commander.” Inhale, position, fire. Lance spared a quick glance at Keith, now clearly growing more tense. He returned his focus. Man, there were so many! Three more marched in a group to Hedrox and En’s flank, and there was only a narrow gap of space to get them as they approached. Exhale, inhale, position, fire, position, fire, position, fire. The sentries turned away, and so did Keith.

“We may have to call this.” Keith's tense body language betrayed the even way he spoke. Inhale, position, fire.

Lance could hear En’s breathing pick up as they typed furiously away beside Hedrox in between shots. There was a shocking number of sentries, and Lance couldn’t help but wonder if having less bases to work within meant the anti-coalition Galrans could stuff the ones they did still have full of them. “An entire Deca-Phoeb worth of operations, wiped away..?! Commander there must be another way.”

“No. Torat, abandon the upload when your suit gets down to two minutes. I’ll extract you.”

Inhale, position, fire. Silence.

“Torat.” An authority from Keith Lance hadn’t witnessed before emerged from his suit. “Is that understood?” Harsh. No room for further discussion.

“….Yes, Commander.”

In between breath after dizzying breath, the seconds and then minutes ticked by as everyone worked in frantic silence. He watched as Hedrox and En practically glued themselves to the small walls of the gutted tower, hands flying over keys faster than even Lance’s eyes could keep up with. Distantly in his ears, Torat updated the upload percent every sixty seconds as he, too, typed away. Sweat beaded then dripped down his neck as stiffness crept up it. His rifle smeared and shifted until it looked like his old bayard, and Lance ignored it and continue to fire.

Thirteen minutes in, it was clear to everyone there wouldn’t be enough time. Keith’s steadying presence had knelt next to Lance by that point, intently watching the battery of Torat’s suit drain and pause, then continue draining via a small screen on the underside of his wrist. He stood up, and shook his head.

“I’m calling it. Torat, abandon the upload, rendezvous at the extraction point.” A muted, miserable sound. En? Inhale, position, fire, position, fire, position, fire, exhale. No, Torat.

“We must succeed, you have worked too hard, Commander.”

“There’ll be other outposts. Now, soldier.” Again, silence. Inhale, position, fire, position, fire.

“..Failure here, for a life that may not even see il’E’s newest sun.. No, black paladin sir. For this I would gladly go without its warming rays.” Keith froze. Lance glanced at him, then back to his scope. Shit, shit, what was happening?! Inhale, position, fire, position, fire. “If ever you are able to retrieve my capsule from the vent below, have my family bury it under the spire by our sea.”

Before Lance could even register what was said, he was pulled. Keith vanished from his view and he felt a hand grip the back of his suit’s chest piece before being yanked very quickly from the room. It happened so quickly that he nearly fumbled and dropped the rifle, but managed to keep his hold. He was then hoisted up by—he realized now it was Keith—and manoeuvred until he was then sliding down the shaft he and Keith had crawled up before. “En, Hedrox, heavy cloaking, now. Keep your work out of sight. Abandon mission when I give the signal.” Steady, clipped.

“Yes, sir.” Keith was sliding behind him now even though he couldn’t hear or see him; The heavy press of his palm against his side to keep him steady nearly burned. He felt pressure lift his hand and press down on his palm—oh, right, the button to cloak himself. Then, in through his mask,

“Get your pistol ready, set it to stun, follow me.”

They shot out from the end of the maintenance crawl and Lance tore after the back of Keith’s head.

“The upload will proceed as planned. It’s been an honor, sir.”

Keith did not respond, only sprinted and twisted down the endless hallways as they dodged around sentry after sentry. Lance had strapped the rifle to his back and readied his small pistol as commanded, even though he didn’t understand. Were they going to extract Torat? He tapped the side and slid a piece into place to ensure it was set to stun. He trusted Keith, he knew what he was doing, and he could—he wanted to help in whatever way he needed him to.

The sound was different, somehow, but Keith’s voice once again came into his ears, panting with exertion. “He’ll have to uncloak for at least half a second for the capsule to recognize and capture him. When you see him, I want you to shoot him in the forehead where his eye is, Lance.”

The capsule? The one for.. inorganic matter? If organic matter like a person was compressed into it—wouldn’t that definitely kill them? Through the adrenaline, it distantly clicked what Torat was intending to do, but he couldn’t waste time thinking about it. “O-Okay.” Lance hooked his arm against a corner and pulled, narrowly missing a towering sentry as he caught up to Keith. Half a second to make a shot when he was practically wheezing though; Hesitation crawled up his spine. “How far—until we—get to him?”

“End of the hall, dead left.” Keith showed no signs of slowing, and Lance through the haze of it all wondered if he was cut out for any of this, and what would happen when he failed. If he failed. He was going to mess this up. He was going to get Keith killed somehow, wasn’t he?

Their feet silently pounding against the neon lit floor came to the end of the hallway. As they did so, Lance took in the most even breath he could muster, prayed his pulse wouldn’t throw off his aim, whipped his pistol up to the left, and aimed. Keith jammed his palm against their open com channel and flashed back into view.

“Torat, look at me—That’s an order!” The blade in question materialized suddenly in front of them, holding the same thumb-sized black capsule in front of his chest. Time slowed. In that millisecond of a moment, Lance realized he didn’t have a clear shot of Torat’s third eye. The capsule glowed a clear enough target, easy to shoot out of his hands, and his thumb was still hovering over the button on the top. Time moved another inch, and the hulking blade twitched, then could not help but turn his head towards his commanding officer.

“Forgiv—”

Lance took the shot.

—

Debrief was quiet.

No one spoke except for Keith. Lance, foolishly, felt like he was eight years old again and in trouble, for some reason. A memory of something his therapist said to him once drifted into his mind as Keith grumbled out a report. Lance couldn’t even remember the exact wording, but it was something to focus on while he ignored the ache in his entire body, and his pounding headache, at least. What was it, again..?

Hyper aware of mental states of those around him.. Discomfort around emotions regardless of where it was directed..? He couldn’t really remember. While he was reflecting, he decided to explore the room they always met in back in New Altea; Two o’clock sharp every Friday, warm room facing the sun, post-modern in decoration and very comfortable. Photos of her family on the desk, two dogs. Always enough tissues when he went there because he couldn’t cry around his family who would worry, but he could cry around a stranger who didn’t matter.

A stranger he would outlive, since she was fully human.

Torat swayed next to him, but soon righted himself.

“Understood. You have completed your mission, if nothing else.” Kolivan’s ever serious visage stared down at them from a bizarrely massive screen. Did it need to be that big? If he had nose hairs Lance would have been able to see them. “Dismissed.”

They were supposed to meet in the rec room after showering and, if needed, a trip to the med bay; A Keith mandate since his team was supposed to set an example that it was normal and good to relax after a mission, but.. was that still okay to do?

Lance probably had some of the best aim in the universe, if he was being honest, but with that aim he had just shot one of his teammates in the head not even an hour ago! The suits obviously had eye protection, but Torat dropped like a rock back in the facility, and they only managed an evac without being seen thanks to Keith’s ridiculous half-galra strength. While he dragged the unconscious Torat, Lance covered them with the rifle, and somehow En and Hedrox finished up on their end without being seen.

They did everything they set out to do, but it really felt like they failed.

The silence was broken with a soft clearing off Hedrox’s throat. “Wellll, I’m beets. Time for a shower, then uhm. Whoever feels like it meet up at the usual spot..?”

En pointedly kept his sharp gaze toward Torat, who did not look up from the ground. Sneering displeasure was evident on his now unmasked face, but he eventually turned to face his horned companion. “…The correct term is being ‘beat’ as in ‘beaten, and exhausted.’” The taller blade pressed his palm to his other set of fingers and stretched his wrists as he began to walk away. “But yes, I shall await you in the showers.” Hedrox jumped comically before slapping En’s arm.

“Don’t say it like that, shh!”

Lance blinked as he watched the two aliens saunter away, with Kestin soon to follow after giving Torat a sympathetic look. How was it Hedrox seemed like the most human out of all of them? Lance felt awkward, and guilty, and didn’t know what to do with himself.

He looked over at Keith, who ripped his furious gaze from Torat and regarded Lance with an unreadable expression. His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked like he wanted to say something; He only shook his head, turned, and marched off, leaving only Lance and Torat remaining in the room. Lance peered up at the blade and saw he couldn’t entirely hide his trembling.

“..Hey man, is your eye.. Did I—hurt it?” He wanted to apologize, even though he knew he’d done the right thing. Keith must have realized the only way to keep Torat from.. killing himself was to knock him unconscious, and he needed Lance’s arm to make sure the job got done correctly. Lance wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but there was still guilt shining through. Above all else, he really didn’t like hurting people.

Torat gave a nearly imperceptible twitch, then brought his large palm over his masked eye. “Bruised, but unruptured. I will be fine, Lieutenant, thank you. Please excuse me.” Quietly, the larger blade nearly tiptoed away through the opposite door of Keith.

Lance wanted to go after him, even if he wasn’t sure what to do or say.

There’d been times back in the castle of lions where he used to catch his teammates sulking alone, or when Silvio was upset and would hide in his garden, and he always went after them to at least make sure they didn’t feel alone. He could only crack stupid jokes, and maybe he annoyed them more than he helped, but it still felt like something he needed to do.

A shower, first, Lance decided. Then, he’d track down Torat and—at least make sure he went to the med bay or something. After that, if there was time, rec room with the others.

He wanted to spend much more time scrubbing the sweat and grime off of his aching body in his shower, but tingling urgency didn’t allow a long stay. Lance popped into his most comfortable hoodie and grey sweatpants, slipped on his sneakers, then began his search.

First, he went to the obvious location, Torat’s room. No one was in, so he went to the med bay next (after signing a few autographs from some fans on the way) and once again did not find his teammate. It was at that point Lance realized that despite how the mission turned out, Torat might have just gone to the rec room. Maybe Keith was trying to foster a more tight-knit team unit thing, but before all that, and even now, Lance was pretty sure death in the Blades was a very common occurrence.

Approaching the hallway connecting to the rec room, a loud slam sent Lance a foot into the air. A sharp cough came from just around the corner before he heard a growl that undoubtedly belonged to Keith. Was he in trouble?!

“—That was the whole reason I even formed this unit in the first place!” Keith hissed, and there was another grunting cough. Lance sidled up against the wall and tried to figure out if he was needed.

“Your work is—ghh—more important than my life, Commander..!” That was Torat’s strained voice. There was some shuffling, and Lance could at least piece together that they were having an argument.

“You don’t get to call me that. My work, is showing the rest of the blades that we can do our job without throwing away our lives for the sake of—knowledge. Understand?! No matter the mission, you keep yourself alive.”

Quiet pulsing buzzing from the blue-tinted lights above hung in the air. “..I-I.. If—this is what you wish, Commander.. I shall.. try.”

A dull thud, then footsteps. “No, you’re off the team. I’m not risking keeping someone on who’s fine with killing themselves if it means the mission succeeds.”

Torat gasped. “Commander, please..! Allow me to stay—I shall make up for my transgressions, this I swear..!”

Should he leave?! Lance felt like he shouldn’t be hearing any of this.

Boots scuffing on the waxy floor. Keith turned back towards him? “Make up for it by staying alive on a different team.” His clipped footsteps faded in the opposite direction. Lance needed to leave, right now. His throat was feeling hot, and it was getting too hard to focus.

He couldn’t help Torat at this point, that was becoming obvious to him.

The muffled sounds of the rec room and even quieter alien cries faded from Lance’s fuzzy mind as he stumbled back into his room and hid under his desk.

Breathe. Deep breaths. In through the nose. Count to—how long? He couldn’t remember. Okay, okay. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus. Try to breathe.

Keith flashed into his vision, an impossible view of him in the cockpit of a tiny cruiser as Lance watched him try and fly into the barrier at Naxzela. His death in exchange for the mission succeeding. They never talked about it.

Allura in the Blue lion, about to be killed; A split second decision to trade his life so Voltron could go on with its heart intact.

Keith was a hypocrite.

No! People could change their minds. It had been years since he pulled that stunt. People could change. Lance mushed his soggy face into his palms and shuddered.

Stupidly, all he could think about was how terrifying it was for Keith to be so close when he shot Torat with the stun round. With Keith’s armor, even if he had somehow accidentally missed and hit him, he couldn’t have killed him. There was no way. But his dreams were always so vivid and he was always accidentally killing Keith. To be there next to him in that situation felt—surreal.

Lance managed to get his breathing under control. It took a few minutes, but eventually he calmed, and shuffled over to the bathroom to wash his face.

He thought for a second about going and meeting up with the rest of the team, but shut that thought down almost immediately. Instead, he slipped into his pyjamas and slid into bed.

The empty ceiling greeted him without his familiar stars.

And Lance thought back to Torat, holding the small capsule in front of his chest, ready to ensure the blades could eventually track down and eliminate the remainder of the empire with his tiny sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.

And Lance realized he didn't disagree with Torat's decision.

😳👉👈

DID U LIKE....

#klance #vld lance #vld keith #voltron #vld #keith x lance #srpa #bina's writing

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thalialunacy · 4 months

Text

[for the @calaisreno May Promptosaurus Rex; cw for toddler stuff, eg 💩 & 🤮]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) 19: weather (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

'A-ha! We did it!' John says, possibly too chuffed as he holds up a freshly changed and dressed Rosie. 'We--'

She makes a very distinctive face, then grunts. John eyes her. 'Tell me that face doesn't mean what I think it means.'

Then he does the sniff test, and yes. Yes, it does mean that.

He lays her down yet again, fond exasperation tugging at his lips. 'Wee girl, why do you do this to me?' His mum has used the endearment on Harry their whole lives, so it's comfortable on his tongue as he reaches for wipes and a new nappy -- only to discover the stashes depleted. As in… nill.

John rolls several expletives around his teeth. But then Rosie giggle-gurgles up at him, and he swoops in to expel his breath instead on her cheek in the form of a huge raspberry. He almost doesn't hear the knock on the door.

He pauses, but then shrugs and picks her up. 'Sorry, sweetheart. Let's go see who's at the door, yeah?'

She is notably non-nonplussed. 'Livery?'

'Might be,' John replies as he reaches the building door and opens it. 'And it is!' His daughter claps and immediately reaches out for the spotty young man trying to wrestle a rather large box. 'Whoa, there.' John reins her back in; she wants to be friends with everyone, which is both endearing and alarming.

'Do I need to sign?' he says to the carrier, who, now that John's looking, isn't wearing any sort of uniform. He looks like a dishboy haphazardly and temporarily promoted.

'No, sir. I'm to bring it up to the flat.'

A seed of a thought germinates in John's head. 'That was your instruction?'

The lad nods, clearly trying not to show his impatience. John holds back a sigh, and opens the door wider to let him pass. 'By all means.'

And it's as John expected: Wipes, diaper rash cream, and nappies. They're even--though he really shouldn't be surprised--the correct size.

As soon as Rosie's changed (again), he's got his phone out.

'I trust the delivery made it in time?' Mycroft answers.

John spares them both the niceties. 'How?'

'Nothing untoward, I assure you. Sherlock texted me.'

'Right. And where is he?' They may have an… evolving relationship, but Sherlock is still Sherlock, and John can also admit he only vaguely remembers what the detective had said when he'd left earlier in the day.

'I believe the words "spleen" and "unidentified poison" are involved.'

'Excellent. Listen.' He clears his throat. 'I'll pay you back.'

'My mother would call that "vulgar," as you know.'

'And she's a lovely woman, but--'

'Discuss it with Sherlock, please. I've got work and must get back to it.'

He rings off. John stares at his phone.

Death by Holmes. That's it. That will be how his life ends.

---

Rosie has broken the laws of physics and/or cloned herself. She has. She must have done.

That's the only explanation for the sheer reach of mess he finds waiting for him after his clinic hours the next day. 'Bloody hell,' he breathes, standing in the flat's doorway and taking it in.

It's more than the usual whirlwind that happens when Sherlock's between cases and takes Rosie for the day - He claims loftily that he's putting her through intellectual paces, but really he just indulges her every whim, including her lack of enthusiasm for cleaning up. And it's not as if the flat was shining and organised to begin with.

John doesn't even have the bandwidth to log all the bits of chaos surrounding him. For heaven's sake, he hadn't even known they owned bubble solution. But, then again, they don't now, judging by the rather large soapy stain on the rug in front of the window, and the family of tipped-over empty bottles next to it.

'John!' he hears from Sherlock's bedroom. 'Come join us!'

He rolls his eyes, but goes anyway. The noises make it clear as to what they're doing, and John hangs his head before pushing open the door. He'd been hoping to at least have one nice mattress in the flat for a bit longer.

But no, currently Sherlock is holding onto an absolutely delighted toddler while, obviously, jumping up and down on the bed like he's seven. Actually, John fleetingly wonders if Sherlock even got to do such things when he was seven--

'Come on, John!'

--and the unabashed joy in Sherlock's eyes tells him his answer. With that, the resistance whooshes out of him. He toes off his shoes and joins them.

'We're testing the durability,' Sherlock explains, loudly, then swoops Rosie like an aeroplane.

John laughs, huffs of air as he jumps and watches his daughter. She seems to be enjoying herself, except-- 'I think she might--' He stops, reaches out. 'Sherlock, she's going to v--'

With a small noise of surprise, Rosie is, indeed, sick. The remnants of whatever they'd had for tea form a lovely puddle on Sherlock's expensive sheets.

The grown-ups both manage to avoid it, scrambling backwards and into each other, somehow. John, lungs tight, reaches for his daughter, not caring that she's got sick all down her front. 'My girl,' he says, going for soothing, knowing her reaction could go either way. 'Did that surprise you?'

Rosie, wide-eyed, lets out a small hiccough. Then her face crumples, and she starts to sob.

'Oh dear,' Sherlock says faintly.

John, because he's a bastard, feels laughter start to bubble up in his lungs.

Then he hears Sherlock repressing chuckles next to him, and the floodgates are open, them laughing together like errant schoolboys.

'We musn't giggle near an ill child!' Sherlock admonishes, but it works no better than it had the week they met. John bumps Sherlock's shoulder and curls Rosie into his chest, rubbing her back and putting his lips to her forehead in between breaths. She's not feverish, she just likely got swooped about like an aeroplane too soon after tea, so John relaxes and lets himself go, laughing like an idiot in dirty sheets with a dirty baby and a spotless Sherlock (somehow, the bastard).

Then there's a knock at the door. The door of the flat, not the ground floor.

He and Sherlock exchange glances, no longer laughing; even Rosie has geared down from wailing to whimpering. John shrugs.

'Come in,' Sherlock says, loudly, because of course he does; he doesn't give a toss what people think of his cleaning habits. 'We're in the master bedroom.'

A formidable grey-haired woman with a tight chignon and very no-nonsense shoes appears in the bedroom doorway. She takes in the situation, and then she tuts. Actually tuts, in a distinctly Edwardian way that John hasn't heard since his grandmother passed. 'Just as Mr Holmes suspected.'

Sherlock purses his lips. 'Mycroft sent you?'

'He certainly did. Now, out of those clothes and into the bath, please, all three of you.'

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest but the Look she gives him has him shutting it with a snap.

John would laugh if he had the fortitude. 'Beg pardon, ma'am, but he sent you because…?'

'Because you lot are a mess, a fact of which you seem to be unaware.'

John and Sherlock exchange another look. 'Fine,' Sherlock says curtly. 'But could you be so kind as to leave the room while we undress?'

'Certainly.' She gives a short nod, then turns on her heel and exits down the hall.

'Hang on,' John whispers loudly as they start to unbutton and unzip. 'Mycroft sent us a nanny?'

'I'm relatively certain she's his housekeeper, and just on loan for this evening.'

'I guess I should be surprised.'

'No, you shouldn't, as you're not entirely without wits.'

'Such flattery.'

'Dull.'

'It's almost sweet of your brother, really.'

Sherlock points a finger at him. 'Don't you dare.'

John's lips quirk. 'Don't worry, I won't send him a fruit basket or anything. I just-- I appreciate that he indulges a child he hardly knows, that's of no relation to him.'

Sherlock clears his throat. 'Yes, well, be that as it may, I say we take full advantage.' He pulls the now-naked toddler out of John's hands and heads towards the loo.

John watches them go, feeling quite swirled around by the last half an hour's events. But then he shakes his head at himself and his navel-gazing, and follows them.

---

John's phone buzzes while he's at work the next day, and he doesn't pay it much mind until he sees it's the day nursery. After he reads the message and is able to breathe again-- Jesus, being a father is not for the weak, is it-- he thumbs one to Sherlock.

Did you get the updated pickup address from the minder? Trip to park rained out.

He doesn't get a reply, not right away or in the next few hours.

This could, of course, mean a few things. John firmly puts away the worst case scenario, and reckons a case has taken priority, seeing as Sherlock knew John was available for pickup if necessary.

So, needless to say, he's surprised when he arrives at the given address. One, because Sherlock is there waiting. And two, because it's…

John stares.

'John,' Sherlock says after a moment. 'I'm afraid my brother has outdone himself.'

'Yes, well.' He coughs. 'I'm afraid he's turned an indoor football pitch into a Disneyland for toddlers.'

'As I said.'

'Jesus Christ.' He wonders how long Mycroft's been planning this. 'Wait-- Was this just because of the rain today?'

'Knowing Mycroft? Yes. Is that not a proportional response?'

John can hear the amusement in Sherlock's voice. 'Definitely not,' he replies, but his cheeks hurt from repressing a smile. 'Hang on,' he says. 'Why are you here? You didn't return my texts, I figured you were in the middle of a corpse or something.'

'Mycroft told me to stay put.'

John snorts. 'Didn't you think he might be using trick psychology to get you here?'

Sherlock scoffs. 'Soft science, that.'

'Sure.'

'Daddy! Sherlock!' John looks away from Sherlock at that particular mispronunciation of his flatmate's name, and is barreled into by a clumsy sparkly dervish.

'What--' He automatically reaches down to pick her up, then does a double take at the elaborate butterfly painted onto nearly her whole face. It's basically a work of art, honestly, and he has no idea how someone got her to sit still for that long.

'They are hired for speed,' Sherlock says to him, and he laughs, still impressed after all these years.

'Incredible.'

Sherlock glances at him. 'Whether you mean the artwork or my deducing your question about the artist, you are correct.'

John ignores him and listens to his daughter chatter enthusiastically. The words "bouncy castle" and, somehow, "golf" filter out of it, and John chuckles.

Then he hears her say something that makes him double-take. 'Pardon? Say that once more, sweetheart.'

'Uncle Mycroft!' she repeats. Or at least, most of those letters. Enough to confirm.

John's jaw clenches. 'Did he tell you to call him that?'

She nods enthusiastically. 'He's fun!'

This jars John from his confused dismay, and he hears Sherlock snort, too. 'I suppose he can be, in his own way.'

'Don't lie to your daughter, John.'

John tries not to laugh, and nearly succeeds.

You're going to have a hard time topping this for her next birthday, he writes to Mycroft. He doesn't get a reply, but he supposes that's fair.

They get halfway through the relatively short walk home. Halfway. Before the heavens open up, changing from an aggressive mist to actual splotchy rain.

John swallows a curse, ducking under an awning and already anticipating Rosie wailing about prematurely losing her face art, about being cold and wet and out of doors.

But when he looks at them, at Sherlock swinging his daughter down from where she'd been perched on his shoulders, he sees nothing but joy on her face.

Joy, and wet streaks of glittery violet paint. She's clinging to Sherlock's hands, and Sherlock looks -- Well, he looks really bloody happy, if John had to label it. But he hesitates in doing so, and resigns himself to just enjoying the moment.

'What,' he says once he's recovered his voice, 'Mycroft can't have a drone deliver us an umbrella?'

Sherlock chuckles, then sobers. 'He does adore her, you know.'

John looks at Sherlock, not quite hiding his surprise. 'And you're alright with that? With "Uncle Mycroft"?'

Sherlock's eyes flash with something, but John isn't quick enough to categorise it. 'A child should have a variety of influences in their life.'

'True, but--'

'And an expanded support structure they can rely on. I daresay Mycroft qualifies, don't you?'

John nods shortly, finding himself unable to form useful words.

Luckily, Sherlock does it for him. He sweeps Rosie back up into his arms and boops her nose, which makes John's eyes cross with cognitive dissonance but there it is all the same. 'Shall we continue walking and enjoying the rain?' the detective asks Rosie. 'And then have a nice bath and some tea? I'm sure your father will make up a fire, too.'

John swallows. 'Sure, yeah.'

Heart warm enough to hurt, he follows them out from under the cover and into the storm.

Time's too short, he reckons, to fuss about dreary weather.

[ <3 ]

[inspiration: Richard Shindell's 'The Weather'. Also consulted bubbleinc.co.uk, obviously.]

#it's gonna be MAY 2024 #May Prompts 2024 #MayPrompts2024 #Johnlock #Parentlock #BBC Sherlock #This is just meandering Parentlock folks

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