#passion for hospitality service

[humming-fly]

Every now and then I'm reminded Real People with Actual Jobs use tumblr and I've always been legitimately curious what all you weird adults are up to when you're not on this site and with tumblr's New Poll Feature I can finally get an answer! (or the closest approximation of an answer possible with only 10 available options h a)

[ageorwizardry]

Are there any companies that actually value excellent work? Or do they all just say they do while actually going for making you do as much work as quickly as possible as shoddily as they can get away with?

[ch4nb4ng]

Marital Duties

Pairing: Chan x afab!reader

Word count: 9.4k

Genre: Established relationship, married

Warning: SMUT (18+ only), phone sex, sexting, car sex, mention of boobs, oral sex (f. receving), penetration, swearing, mention of cum, mentions of pussy, kissing, praise

Note: ok i kinda nervous to post this but yas! Here is my inspo (here) (here) (here) warning it’s literally p word.

Tagged: @seo--changbin @j-0ne25 @cb97whoree @kpopsstuffs

Summary: Having a job that meant travelling and spending time away from your husband made the absence grow much fonder for you and your needs, as well as your husbands.

Work conferences were the bane of your existence. Yes you were away from your kid and sometimes it was hard, but being away from your husband was harder. There was no doubt about your job. Being a world renowned forensic psychologist was amazing and something you wanted for a long time. Sometimes though, it was nice to just curl up on the couch, read a good book, watch a comforting movie; there was nothing wrong with indulging in self-care, you just did not have the time to do so. 

The recent promotion into becoming head of the north-west region of mental health care was a big step up from your previous job. No one than you was more qualified for this. Everyone, colleagues and board members put your name up. Psychology was your life, but your family was bigger. 

Highschool sweethearts, you and your husband had been inseparable since what felt like the dawn of time. Meeting at 15, having your first dance at 17 at prom. Graduating and going to college together; If you had a dollar for everytime you accomplished a big milestone with him or because of him, you would be swimming in luxury. When the two of you got married, things just fell into place even more. The doubt of being able to help people mentally after graduating from your post grad made you nervous, but then again, you never thought that you would be married to such a wonderful man. A dream job at your local hospital fell into your lap, and your husband became the nurse that everybody wanted to assist them with their care. Working in close contact with him everyday was just another blessing in disguise; you simply could not get enough of him. It was impossible to get sick of him.

That was when you decided to have your first child. What could be a better mix than the two of you combined? The first 4 years of parenthood came with its challenges. Nevertheless, it was the best decision you ever made, and you couldn’t think of anyone better than to share the unfamiliar journey with.

The promotion, however, meant that you wouldn't work with your husband as much, and spending time with your daughter was a little limited, but you knew he would never tell you to turn something down, and in a way it was the best decision for your marriage. The times together were shorter, but it also meant that every moment was savored tenfold. The time was better quality, the acts of service more thoughtful, and the sex. The sex, was that much more passionate, just like the first time he made love to you. He would always find ways to surprise you. Whether it was the way he grasped, grabbed you on the fibers that lingered to be touched, the way his body pressed upon yours, lips lingering on new places. You were always amazed with how much he could do, and what he was capable of.

These are the ideas that tortured your mind when you were away on business trips. Calling him and hearing his voice, seeing his face through the tiny phone screen was not enough. It didn’t matter how long you had been together, you always craved and missed him significantly.

“Hang on,” he whispered through the phone speaker, “someone wants to say hi to you.”

Your heart beamed with joy every time you saw her little face on the screen. God she looked like her dad, and you knew she'd  grow up to be a beautiful woman.

“Hi mommy,” she giggled, fingers crinkling then uncrkinly as she waved at the camera, “I miss you mommy.”

“Aw baby,” you pouted, “I miss you too. Mommy will be home tomorrow. Now it’s time for you to sleep.”

“Yes,” he cooed, “and daddy is going to read you a bedtime after you say goodnight to mommy.”

Your baby squealed with joy, running out of the frame and to her room. You could do nothing but chuckles, careless that she was that excited over a book of words that she forgot to say goodnight.

“Let me call you back at 15.”

You nodded, pressing the red cross before rolling on your back and looking up at the ceiling, admiring the off white paint color, heart beating out of your chest every second that the callback was not made. It’s not that you were worried he wouldn’t call back, you just felt that longing you always did when you weren’t looking at him.

The vibration on your chest was extra sensitive. You rolled back over, now lying on your front with your hand resting on your chin, other hand holding the phone as you answered. 

“Hey baby.”

“Hiiii,” you whispered, a smile on your face impossible to be rid of.

“She was out like a light.”

“I’m glad.”

“How was your day, baby? I want to hear all about it.”

You giggled as you saw him get up, walking into the bathroom of your house as he placed you against the bench next to the sink. Chan wasn’t shy. He thought it was completely normal to remove his scrubs and leave his upper body bare as he bent down to the bottom drawer, taking out his skincare and placing it on his face. Chan was your husband. You had seen him shirtless 100 more times than you could count. It should not affect you this much. It should not make the temperature of your cheeks rise. It should not cause a sudden sharpness of change in your breath. It should not make your eyes bulge, and it should definitely not send you into a head spin when his biceps flexed when washing his face. Being a clinical psychologist meant having pristine precision and concentration, so if anybody got a hold of this live footage right now, they might question your profession.

“Y/n, Y/n?”

You blinked, quickly snapping your head to get back in the game. It was too late, however, your husband was already smirking at your distraction. You could try and play it off, but the both of you knew that he was too smart to fall for that.

“Sorry babe, I’m a bit distracted.”

“Oh yeah? What’s distracting you?”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, “you know exactly what you are doing.”

“Me?” He gasped, placing a hand on his chest, flexing his opposite bicep, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his obvious attempt to woo you over, the subtle flirt. Sometimes it was easy to resist, but in this case, it was easier to play along, feign innocence until he truly told you what he wanted. The two of you liked to play such games, especially when you were on the road. It was time for you to sit up, placing Chan on the lamp atop of the bedside table before placing yourself on the edge of the hotel bed. The buttons on your shirt were suddenly feeling a little tight. The smirk on your husband’s face grew the moment he saw the first two buttons undone, a sneak peak of your cleavage making its debut for the night. You stopped there, gently pulling down the fabric, stretching the collar of the shirt, consequently putting your chest on full display. 

“Two can play that game Mr. Bang.”

A deep chuckle escaped his lips as he walked over to your shared bedroom, placing his phone in similar fashion to yours before removing his bottoms, your husband now in nothing but his boxers as he laid down, stretching out his legs before lifting you again, wanting the closest view to your fingers continuing to remove one button at a time, a painfully slow movement to your fingertips. Fuck. Now he kind of regretted starting this game with you tonight. A gasp of gratification spilt from Chan’s lips as he watched the satin material that made up your shirt slither off those, in his words, gorgeous shoulders of yours. The black lace bra, the one being your husband’s favorites out of pure coincidence the only garment covering your chest. 

Chan loved every part of you, make no mistake. He would worship every part of your body 24/7 if he could. He simply could never get enough of you, but your chest, your breasts were on a whole different level. Chan loved your boobs. It didn’t matter what the two of you were doing, promiscuous acts or not, if he could have his hands on them, he could. Cuddling, sex, hugs; call him a pervert, but he didn’t care. It was his wife for god sakes. He would feel abnormal if he wasn’t attracted to them. Conveniently for you, this was something you could play to your advantage. Didn’t want to do the dishes? Show him your cleavage. Needed to put your daughter to sleep but you wanted him to do it? Promise him to show your cleavage after he does so. It was a convenient weapon to use, and this was the perfect time to use it. It was fair, seeing as he was using the weapon of his own to try and get you where he wanted.

“Aw come on,” he whined, “you did that on purpose?”

“Did what,” you smiled, fingers gently tracing the lace attached to the strap, “I didn’t do anything.”

Tapping the phone screen, you sighed. It was like, and your flight home was something that required you getting up much earlier that you would ever prefer. You should go to sleep. Hang up on him. You were going to see him tomorrow anyway, surely you could suppress your urges until then. 

But then you saw your husband redirect his palm from the outside of his undergarment, which was obvious to the eye, to the inside, a gentle slap against his skin as it dived past the waist band. Fuck this was cruel now. Not only because you could see his hands subtly tumbling underneath, he drew attention to how hard he already was, and you didn’t know what aroused you more: his probaby pulsating length or the fact that he was as aroused as he was because of you. It didn’t matter how many times it occurred, Chan always had a way of making you feel special. Physically, emotionally, intimately; it was part of his aura, and one of the main reasons that you were so attracted to him in the first place.

“Baby,” you gasped, hands traveling up waist and to your chest, gently kneading the mass in an attempt to match his slow pace that he was palming himself, “you’re so naughty. I have to go to bed.”

“Aw come on baby,” he groaned, head resting atop the headboard, gaze even more piercing at the angle his head was at rest, “I haven’t seen you all week.”

“I know Chan,” you sighed, your next words going to be knowingly disappointing for him, “I have to check out at 3am and it’s already almost 10. You know what I’m like when I don't get my beauty sleep.”

Chan gave you a disapproving pout as he took his hands out of boxers, a shiny ring reappearing from the undergarment as he took the phone with both and lay flat on his back, sinking under the sheets and head gliding onto the pillow. He was humbly accepting defeat, most likely because he would see you tomorrow anyway; that’s when he could have his fun.

“I know baby it’s ok,” he smiled, bringing his face as close as possible to the camera, lips still pouting, “let me give you a kiss goodnight.”

“Thank you baby,” you giggled, also leaning forward to kiss the phone screen simultaneously before whispering a small, “goodnight.”

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, and the adrenaline from your almost raunchy rendezvous over the phone wore off quickly. You weren’t that young anymore. Getting tired was much easier. There was much less energy, especially after getting riled up like that. Even if it was what you saw while you were sleeping in your dreams, and you only have to wait 12 hours to see your beautiful husband in the flesh. 

***

The alarm caused a fright, a deep groaning sound of annoyance bellowing from you, but that quickly wore off. The immediate thought of seeing Chan and your beautiful daughter being the main reason for your sudden change in temperament. Your bags were already packed and you organized your brain knowing that you would be too tired to do it in the morning The smile on your face couldnt dared to be wiped off once you were in the taxi. The cool breeze of the warm summer hitting your face as you pushed the window in the back seat halfway down. Summer was your favorite time of the year, especially since it was the time you got to spend with your family that was of the best quality. All of the aspects of your job you loved, even the times you traveled. However, your heart did sink a little when you had to travel at this time of the year. The school holidays always felt too short, so when you had to travel, the amount was even shorter.

A ding from your phone brought out of your somewhat solemn daze, heat creeping to your cheeks immediately:

[hubby <3] 7:00 am Can’t wait to see you, hope there aren't any delays at the airport.

*one attachment*

Jesus fuck. Now sending a full blown dick pick with your daughter in the car, which you assumed was there, was definitely not the way to go; and thank god your husband knew that. But that did not let him off the hook. It was a photo of him, in the mirror, with his face cut off and only his lips in the frame. He was wearing a black sleeveless tank and those fucking grey tracksuit pants. Call yourself cliche, but nothing turned you on more than that particular piece of clothing. Chan had one hand on the camera, the other hand at the base of his hardened length. He always did this. As mature as Chan was, the times he chose to be inappropriate truly were the most inconvenient for you. A loud gasp escaped your lips, head almost hitting the chair in front as the driver came to a halt.

“Everything okay back there?”

“Uh yes,” your head snapped towards him, nodding furiously as a terrible attempt at acting in the norm, “why did we stop?”

“We are at the airport, miss?”

His tone sounded one of question, kind of looking at you in the rear mirror like you were one of the strangest passengers he had. You looked outside, a ferocious laugh escaping your lips as you decided it was better to say nothing and just pay, get out, and grab your own luggage. The awkwardness left your mind in shambles. How dare he send such a photo. Your husband. It was most likely to get revenge from last night, because he knew you would have to sit on the plane and suffer in silence.

Your luggage was checked in quickly, security easy to get through; there was plenty of time to wait in the boarding lounge. At first you were annoyed by the message. The sexual frustration that had already accumulated from your absence away from him was enough, but if anything, it felt like this was an extra punishment for last night.

But then you opened it again, started analyzing it (if you could call it that) until your finger was subconsciously in your mouth. It didn’t matter how many times you looked at him, your husband, he was always going to do it for you, every single time. The ache that has been coming and going throughout the week returned, and it made you annoyed. So annoyed that you found yourself lifting your butt from your chair, walking to the bathroom and locking yourself in one of the stalls. Gripping the bottom of your shirt, you pulled it down as much as you could without taking it off, mimicking a downward looking angle in an attempt to copy your husband, lips down as the camera clicked, off silent. Fuck. It’s fine. The idea that people may have heard the sounds of you taking a photo in the toilet. You were too fueled with a horny rage to think of the ramifications as you sent your photo, giving in and responding to him.

[Y/N] 8:30am No delays. Make sure you’re there on time.

*one attachment*

Oh, he was gonna hate that. Chan had patience for a lot of things. But short, dry messages were something that made him mad. Serves him for sending you that first. You knew exactly what his reaction would be as well, but at least you could board the plane in peace.

**

It was around 3 hours before the plane arose from one location and landed in another. The plane ride was painful. You tried to do the things you usually would. Create drafts for your patients, read a book, watch a downloaded netflix movie, and just sink into your non-reclining chair and relax; but you simply couldn’t.

The brain rot that was the simple image of your husband’s half naked torso should not be affecting you this much. But that was the problem too. It wasn’t just the picture. That image was the catalyst for the sexual rumination that had been numbing your brain for the past week. The want to get home was even stronger now knowing that you really had something to look forward to.

Of course, to your dismay and longing, the baggage claim took forever, security had a long line, and by the time all of that had been completed, it was, of course, an hour schedule that you told your husband to come and pick you up. The look on his face was sour to say the least. There he was, leaning against the exterior of your shared four wheel drive, drinking his probably now lukewarm coffee. The tingle instantly came back to your core, feeling like a teenage girl again. The scene was just like old times. Chan, waiting around the corner from your house to come and pick you up. The only thing that was different was that it was slightly taller, and had a few more wrinkles. Nonetheless, he looked super hot. Still wearing those grey sweatpants, and a fucking black tank. A fucking blank tank that was probably the tightest fitting pieceing of clothing in his fucking closet. His stance was strong, biceps, triceps, and ¾ of his pecs bulging out in public, and it was truly making your brain dizzy. You walked over quietly, the jarring sound of your suitcase wheels rolling along the parking lot concrete ruining the suspense of your arrival. Chan’s head snapped, eye widening the moment you appeared in his vision. 

“Hi baby, sorry I’m late the customs took for-”

The interruption was welcome as Chan shoved his phone in his pocket, apparently with an empty takeaway coffee cup falling to the floor as he enveloped you into his arms, a groan of admiration falling from his lips as they immediately attached to yours, your body to relaxing against his, eyes fluttering shut at his touch. God, it was only a week. One week, but you craved his touch more than anything in the world. It truly was the little things such as his calloused textures, the warmth of his skin, his smile. Holy fuck his smile was, in your opinion, the greatest thing in the world that ever existed. 

“Mmmh,” you hummed, gently pulling away, hands snaking across your husband’s waist, a smug smile on your lips, “I missed you.”

“Missed you too baby,” he growled, morning raspiness to his tone, “how was your flight?”

The implication of his question made your eyes ogle, the visual image of his text message imprinting on your brain. The smirk that developed on his face formed the expression of realization that hit you. Suddenly his grip on your waist was tighter, and Chan was pulling you in even closer, leaving you to feel everything; yes, everything. 

“It was good,” you giggled, knowing that you had been caught, “what was not good was your behavior since last night.”

“Hmm is that so? I don't see this being a one-sided activity?”

Your right hand left his torso, smacking him on the chest before taking a step back and walking to the car. It was fun to pretend to be annoyed, especially because you knew it would work your husband up even more. Chan hated when you sulked, especially when he playfully called you out. Chan always liked games, and so did you, because you knew that there was always one thing it would lead to. The longer the game went on, the more passionate the ending to this game would be. You walked into the car, peacefully sitting in the passenger seat as you left your husband to take your suitcase and place it in the boot. Serves him right for being a smartass. There was no sound except for the car door once the two of you were inside. The ignition was turned on, and so were you, watching your husband's arm reach over to the shoulder of your car seat, his head turned to look behind him. This was so dumb! You really should not be aroused by this; you’ve seen him do this thousands of times.

“You okay babe?”

You shook your head, snapping yourself out of this lustful daze, “yeah, why?”

“Ok it’s just,” he paused, shifting into drive, then placing his hand on the inside of your thigh, “you’re staring at me like a piece of meat.”

“I am not,” you scoffed, “you wish I was staring at you like that.”

He said nothing, a light chuckle following as the car fell into another silence. A comfortable one at that, well, to an extent. His thumb was gently nudging at your skin, knuckles inching closer to your center. There was something in the air, and the longer it lingered, the harder it was to ignore it. The want. The need to have him. It was impossible. You knew that even if you did get home soon that your daughter was home, and there was no way you were going to traumatize her like that; kids remember everything. If you took too long in the car, your father would get suspicious. He was one to get on your nerves like that, especially if he spent more time than agreed to watching your beautiful child. 

“I got your text message this morning.”

Chan’s eyes were on the road, which forced you to keep yours. Your eyebrows furrowed however, knowing that the street he just turned down was not the right way to your house. Instead, Chan turned the opposite direction, the car coming to an immediate stop at a lookout, but not just any lookout. The lookout east. The two of you came from a small town, meaning there weren't many spots to go; that was until the lookout east was uncovered. Back then it was the talk of the town, the go to hookup spot for many. You have seen it yourself. It had a beautiful view however, and most of the time you and Chan would go just to admire the view, but did not mean that every time would be an innocent one. The two of you had not been in years, and there was a big question mark as to why you were here right now. Chan said nothing, getting out of the car and walking over to your side, opening your own door before opening the back door, crawling in with you following. The two of you got comfortable, that was, until Chan pinned you down to the back seat, lips once again attacking yours as he pressed his horny groin into yours, a deep groan bellowing from your husband's chest. His dominance was easy to comply with, the desperate moan falling from your lips a culmination of feelings from the past 12 hours. This really could have been the horniest you have ever been in your whole entire life, even including the times of excessive sexual hormonal changes during pregnancy. His tongue snaked past your lips, without any slight of permission as his hips fell into a gentle rhythm. Chan moved with such delicacy and poise, yet somehow he was able to convey his ultra high level of arousal. Now you were in big trouble; it was serious business when Chan pinned you down like that. It meant he had serious business to take care of. 

“Chan,” you tried to speak, his lips interrupting each word, “what, are you doing?”

He pulled away, sitting up. Chan said nothing, eyes fixated on your chest as he grasped your wrist to pull you up, your body clumsily falling into him as you fixed your balance. Chan was quick to attack your lips again, hands making light work as they gripped onto the edge of your shirt. Your arms lifted unconsciously, allowing the kiss to break as he took off your shirt, your upper body in nothing but your undergarments. Your husband was like a kid in a candy store the moment he saw the slightest bit of cleavage. Chan’s arms wrapped around your back as he effortlessly unclasped the unwanted fabric, lips immediately attaching to your left nipple. A gracious moan fell from your lips, a hand tickling the back of the hair at the base of his skull, keeping a guidance. At first this tongue was small, gentle. A few kitty licks right in the center. Although it was minimal touch, you were one to have more sensitive nipples, so the feeling was already heaven enough. It wasn’t until his entire mouth was attached, a parietal noise of vacuum escaping his lips each time your tit went in and out of his mouth. 

“Mmmmm,” you hummed, back arching slightly at the subtle texture of his teeth, “you’re like fuckin newborn.”

“Mhh can’t help it,” he huffed, out of breath, hand replacing his lips for a brief moment, “makes me want to have another kid.”

Chan gave you no time to reply, lips resuming their position, but now on the opposite nipple. His fingers never stopped moving, either on your shoulder, running up and down your arms, but mainly on your breasts, doing whatever he can to feel you. Each squeeze of the mound brought a whine to your throat. His statement ran through your mind and just stayed there. Having another kid was not really something the two of you had ever spoken about. It wasn’t that it was off the table, no. It truly was just something that had not come up in conversation. You could understand why he wanted to have one, and in this moment especially, it had nothing to do with having an actual child. 

It is true that when you met your husband, your body shape resembled more of a P, but when you were pregnant with your daughter, Chan was on another planet. Any chance he got, his hands were on them. Call him twisted, but he loved how much bigger and softer they got when you were deep into pregnancy.

When you came back out of thought, and the major distraction of your husband's lips on your body, you pushed him away gently. You followed the sort of harsh motion with a gentle peck to his lips, arm wrapping around his neck as you smiled at him in disbelief. The last chance the two of you, well more him, had been so reckless like this was so long ago you would not even be able to recall. This didn’t mean you hated it though, if anything, it satisfied that little part of your adolescence that lingered. The adolescence that was always sparked whenever you were away. Whenever your calls turned to a lustful space. The photos. The phone calls. Usually the ‘rebellious’ behaviors were to compensate for the distance. But now, Chan was hungry for you, even when you were right in front of him.

“Babe, what has gotten into you?”

Your husband buried his face into your chest, a large breath filling his nostrils, your scent deeply satisfying him before he responded. 

“I just missed you a lot, baby. And that picture you sent drove me fucking wild.”

A smirk appeared on your lips, legs hovering over your husband's waist before encasing the lower limbs around his waist, a light amount of friction created by the swift move of your hips makes him hum in pleasure. Your eyes, now sitting on top of his lap, gazed over, looking down on the poor man. There was a slight emotion of guilt there. Depriving him of getting what he wanted. You didn't really care though. If anything, pissing him off usually led to better sex after, and there was nothing in this moment that you wanted more. 

“Mmmh, as much as I want this,” you mumbled, another soft kiss in between your sentences, “I need to go home and see my daughter which I have not seen in a week.” 

“You’re right,” Chan chuckled, “I am getting a little bit carried away, aren't I?” 

Yeah he was impatient, but he understood, and it was one thing you really loved about him. He was extremely empathetic, sometimes to a fault. Able to put himself in everyone else’s shoes. So as soon as you mentioned wanting to see your daughter more, he understood. He passed you your bra and shirt, quickly helping you put them back on, not without stealing another mouth watering kiss, and hopping back into the driving and passenger seat promptly. 

The drive was once again peaceful; which lasted around 30 seconds. Maybe it was a better idea to just fuck in the back of your car, because the ache between your legs, when reflecting on the past week, was at the most intense it had been. Maybe this was your karma for withholding your body from your very eager husband. It didn’t matter now because whether you liked it or not, all of this was going to have been scheduled at a much later, uncertain time.

Chan’s hand was placed on your thigh like before, the light background and the noise somewhat distracting you, but not for long. Your husband’s grip was getting stronger and stronger, inching closer and closer to your wanting pussy with each second. A sharp gasp left your lips when his middle finger traced over the hem of your jeans, your level of arousal heightened to the point where even the breeze most likely was enough to partly satisfy yourself.

“Chan.”

“Y/n.”

“Stop it,” you whined, fingers coincidentally fidgeting with the button of your jeans, following the same direction with your zipper before the pair of pants were below your waist, your bottom undergarments now on display. You looked down, embarrassed at the mass wet patch coating your panties. Your husband's hands took a little bit of a wander, but froze almost immediately when he felt that familiar patch he had felt oh so many times. The digits were quick to act, another moan spelling from your mouth as soon as he got you in the exact spot he knew to touch. That were the perks of having a husband, because whether the time of orgasm was long or short, he knew exactly where to touch you to make that happen.

“Your body is having the opposite reaction,” he smirked, “and my eyes are strictly on the road.”

“And keep it that way.”

“Mhmm,” he ignored, fingers somehow able to push your panties to the side, raw fingertips now spreading open those pussy lips. God you felt dirty, nasty. How could you do this in your fucking car? Too horny to even wait until you were in the comfort of your bedroom. You were much too harsh on yourself. It was most definitely your husband's fault for opening that can of worms the moment he rocked up on the facetime camera without his shirt on. Therefore, your humility was minimized, there were always much worse things you could have done. Chan was easily able to find that wanting little entrance of yours, two fingers effortlessly plunging themselves inside, the unsympathetic texture of his hard working fingers gently scratching the velvet interior of your walls, hips now gently rocking back and forth on him. Your hands came to your breasts automatically, pinching, twisting, flicking the sensitive buds in any way possible that could create a replica of Chan’s mouth from previous moments. Fuck, no one else could do you like your husband, even yourself.

“Fuck Chan,” you whimpered, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Shh it’s okay,” he cooed, coaxing you through his honey textured tone, “just let it feel good, worry about other things later.”

Just as you let your head fall against the headrest, eye fluttering shut, the car came to a halt. Eyes flying open, a mound of disappointment when your visual fields were filled with your front yard. To your dismay, your husband withdrew his fingers from your pussy, a large squelching sound in the moment as he placed his hands on the gear shift, placing the toe of your into park before turning the car ignition off. The look you were giving your husband now was one of sadness, despair, making him laugh. He loved when you were dramatic.

“You’re not happy to be home?”

“Shut up,” you huffed, redoing your pants up before storming out of the car, forcing your husband to grab your suitcase as you stood impatiently at the front door, waiting for him to open it. It would be impossible to wipe the puffed up look of content on his face, knowing that he got right under your skin. Games were fun to play, but you simply knew that if he didn’t give you what you wanted soon, the house would fall into chaos. It was one thing to wind you up, but this time it was too far to push through, then stop just when things were getting good.

A fake smile plastered on your face, the refreshing thought of seeing your daughter coming back into your mind as you walked through your abode. It faded however, unable to see or hear anything that resembled your little baby. It wasn’t until you walked down your long hallway that led to your kitchen that you saw the note on your marble bench. It read the following:

Hi Darling, hope you had a safe flight!

I have taken my beautiful granddaughter to the park for a playdate with a couple of her friends and the other available parents. 

We are leaving at around midday, and won’t be back for a few couple hours. Apologies you will have to wait a little longer, but I couldn’t say no to her beating eyes when she asked me.

I'll see you when I’m looking at you.

Dad

“Chan!”

Your timbre was loud, somewhat frightening your husband as he rolled your luggage across the floor, meeting you in your shared kitchen. He was kind of worried. Chan knew that your dad was taking care of her while he went to pick you up, but he never said anything about taking her out. He stood next to you, trying to analyze your expressions before you spoke. You missed your daughter a lot, there was nothing false about that statement. Nonetheless, when the smug look came to your face at the thought of what having an empty house implied, you couldn't help yourself. 

“Did you know that my dad took her to the park?”

Oh fuck. Chan thought he was in trouble; big big trouble. 

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress your smile at how hopeless he looked. Being the medical professional you were, it was easy to read your husband like a book. And after his actions, which were already on the verge of crossing the threshold of what you would put up with, he was in his every right mind to react this way. Walking on eggshells was the right way to go. From his friskiness on the phone, to sending an almost naked picture to you in public, to publicly groping and prodding at your highly aroused body in the discomfort of your car, to now delaying your reunion with his daughter; my my my did he dig himself a massive grave that he would not be able to dig himself out of this one. 

“No,” he answered, hesitance leaking from his tone, “she must have asked him after I left.”

“Right,” you paddled, handing the note your dad had left to your husband. A sigh of relief in the form of his chest falling from the fat breath he sucked in before dissipating from his chest. Taking a step close, your husband ignored, focusing all his efforts on the written material until he felt the texture of what was your fingertips find a place on his torso, index fingers ‘accidentally’ finding a way underneath the hem of the thin material that made up his shirt. The note was removed from your husband’s face in the form of a toss with his own hand, eyes piercing into yours the more and more the skin of his torso was being exposed to the light. Your palms then became a part of the conversation, gently pressing against your husband's groin as you could feel his length awake from a light slumber.

“Why am I sensing that you’re not mad now?”

“Me,” You gasped, feigning ignorance as you finally pulled the flimsy material over your husband’s head, “I was never mad?”

“You weren’t?”

“No Mr. Bang,” you giggled, wrapping your hands around your husband’s neck once more, “Mad that you have been teasing me for almost 24 hours straight?”

Chan didn’t answer, instead sweeping your legs off the floor and into your arms, carrying your bridal style back down the said hallway, bedroom door conveniently already open as he laid you down on your back. A hum of happiness fell from your lips at the familiar feeling of your own bed sheets encompassing your back. You were brought out of those thoughts quickly however, your husband left you little to revel in bed texture, removing his sweats immediately before lifting you by the armpits again, leaving you to stand and him sitting on the edge of your shared mattress. The invitation of your barely dressed husband with a pressing erection straining his boxers was a very enticing seat. One that you took without a second thought as his hands were straight for your throat, a gentle squeeze as your lips connected first, legs cloaking his waist once more, the both of your tongues fighting for dominance over each other. Chan’s mouth vibrated as he relaxed into the sensual nature of the kiss, hands drifting away from your upper body and right to the outside of your thighs, a gentle tingle of fingertips dancing across your heated skin as you pulled away from a brief moment, wanting to match at least half of his body in the lack of clothing. Your husband helped as he withdrew his hands from your body for a brief moment, deciding to, rather than pull your nice shirt over your head like a normal person, he pulled the seams apart, splitting the shirt into two before using one hand only to unclasp your bra this time. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t impressed by it everytime.

“I liked that shirt,” you pouted, “did you have to rip it?” “I’m sorry y/n,” he chuckled, hands snaking up your sides another time, “I just want you so badly.”

There was no time to react as your husband gripped your hips, spinning you around and pinning you into the mattress. His second attack followed impeccably, hands fumbling on your jeans before getting them undone, panties groped in unison as they hit the side wall. That was an irrelevant detail, because Chan was lying on his front, abs rubbing against your core as he brought his hands back to your tits; his most favorite thing in the world. The man could not keep his hands still, mouth slobbering all over the sensitive skin as he began his second attack of the day on your nipples. 

“Never gets old,” you giggle, a gentle moan following after at the contrast of your flimsy mounds and rock hard nubs. Chan’s hands felt like no other, and when he had them on you, it was the time when you felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Your husband’s chuckles followed closely to yours. Seeing his wife happy was one thing, but knowing that he could make you feel this good aroused him to another level. His admiration deepend, yes, but it was somewhat of an ego boost for him. Knowing that he was that good with his fingers. 

Your husband’s lips, like his hands, began to wander, a strip of wet kisses trailing down the center of your stomach, causing him to crawl back further and further until his lips were just above your core. Chan brought his fingers right back to where he had them in the car, easily able to slip in two fingers without warning, a deep groan gritting his teeth at the way your back arched for him monumentally. The sight was one that he had been craving, one that you craved yourself. It did not matter how far apart you were from your husband, his appetite for you would never change. If he wanted to be close, he wanted to be close. If he wanted to be far, well that was just simply not plausible. As much as he wanted to pleasure you, make you feel good, like the diligent role of a husband should be, it was the closeness that motivated him every time. Chan longed for these moments, especially since the introduction of your daughter restricted the ability to do so. At any possible moment, Chan would demand to do whatever he could to profess his love, and it was always done with his mouth; his tongue to be more specific. 

In this scenario, rather than speaking with tongue, it was sticking out of your husband’s lips, flattening as he dived in head first without hesitation, your hands automatically rummaging through the thick mound of curls that supported the top of his head. His tongue was heaven, spreading your pussy lips farther and farther apart and he used that ferocious organ to fiercely suck on your wanting nub. A monstrous moan escaped your lips at the contact, a gratifying humm coming from his throat at the way you tugged on his locks. Your eyes were barely open, unable to prevent yourself letting your eyelids dance back and forth from open to shut, mesmerized at the current view you had when hunching your neck to see. Chan could see the way you were desperate to view his fulfilling prophecy that was going down on his wife, making sure to lay his chest flat on your bed, ejecting his fingers from your cunt and hooking each forearm around each leg, compressing them into the mattress, giving you the perfect perspective of the combination that was his lips and tongue simultaneously pleasuring your aching core. If this was going to be the result after pining for each other for around 12 hours only, you would never think about it twice. 

“I love being married,” you whined, another humorous hum escaping your husband’s lips, “tongue feels so good.”

“Mmmh,” he mumbled, half of his face muffled in your pussy, “you taste so good.”

“What was that?”

He took away his tongue for a brief moment, looking you deep in the eye before repeating his statement.

“You taste so good.”

He didn’t want to take much time away from making you, his wife, feel good, let alone waste his breath on 3 words. His tongue snaked across your inner thigh, the organ licking a gentle strip up each leg before descending back onto your gushing pussy. The smile on your face at his works was impossible to wipe off, your moans through the pearly whites getting louder and louder at the same time with your core, the accumulation of your slick and Chan’s oral fluids contributing to the squelching sound that was bringing you closer and closer to peak arousal. His lust was simply one of trance and dedication. It genuinely could not be explained enough how much he loved seeing you like this, knowing that he was the one that was doing so. Your lips contorted, unable to keep the smile as your bite down on the skin below your bottom lip, harsh enough to leave a line of marks before you were sitting up, hands leaving his hair and dominating his face, palms spread across either side before pressing a kiss to his lips. Your nose crinkled, easily identifying the taste of you on his tongue before giving him one last look, eyes completely open as you crawled backwards on your elbows, left index fingers curling in a come hither motion. The invitation was simply too divine to resist. Your husband turned into a predator, jumping on top of you like he had just caught his prey. His moves were delicate, making sure to not crush you underneath him. His lips were itching to be on yours again, and the feelings were returned, tongue automatically parting his lips and dipping inside his wanting mouth as his hands left your figure for a brief moment, slipping the thin material down his legs and over his feet, fingertips, like magnets to his wife’s skin, straight back onto you. Your own hands were now back on your husband's body, fingernails digging into the large mound of muscles that was his upper back as his fully erect length pressed against your heat. A moan slipped out of your mouth and straight into his, causing him to pull away.

“Fuck you really missed me, didn’t you?”

His smirk was fucking priceless. So annoying, but it would just be a flat out lie if you said you were not attracted to it in the slightest. Cocky did not look good on most people, but it 100% suited your husband. Your nails buried themselves deeper into his flesh at his statement, a poor attempt at humbling him in the slightest as another moan fell from your lips as he began slightly rocking back and forth, the tip of his pre-cum soaked tip hitting your extremely sensitive nub. You went to open your mouth, a failing endeavor of speaking a sentence when the only thing coming out being sounds of pleasure.

“Don’t tease me Mr. Bang,” you mumbled in between each groan, bucking your hips to create a larger friction between your two bodies. Chan was getting impatient himself, but god, did he love to tease you. Your husband had no trouble making you orgasm over and over, he just had displeasure in making you cum so quickly. Your body was sensitive solely to him, even after all these years, it didn’t take much to get you there. Therefore, teasing you made the process so much more enjoyable. Watching you squirm was something that he really enjoyed. 

“Hmm Mrs. Bang,” he hummed, lifting his hips off of yours, one hand now wrapped around the base of him, “you’re so cute when you’re all hot and bothered.”

Your eyes formed into a squint, annoyed at how easily he was pinning you down, “stop playing games and fuck me. Preferably today before they get home.”

“Oh fuck,” Chan chuckled, prodding at your pussy hole with his length, “you’re right, let me get to business.”

It was funny when previously mentioned that Chan left to tease and see you squirm, because once his length was comforted by the strength of your tight walls, your husband was a mess. He couldn't help it. Your pussy, after being with you for so many years, molded exactly to the shape and maneuvers that Chan needed. He tried to maintain a slow pace, allowing for your cunt to stretch perfectly around him, wanting you to feel every inch of him; but it simply was too irresistible to resist. Chan wrapped his hands around your ankles, lifting your limbs in the air and stretching them as far as they could go before kneeling on his knees as he began to flat out pound your busy. His pace was not as fast no, by the velocity of the thrusts was truly toe curling. Your jaw dropped to the floor if it could, the bedhead surely denting the walls at the arms as each time his hope made contact with your contact, a large noise resembling a slap occurred. Your husband was usually not as rough, but it’s not that you’re complaining at all. It was rare that he would just throw you around like this, usually if he was frustrated or that you had been away. So really, you should have seen this coming. Maybe it was what provoked you to reply to his lustful text in such a similar manner; whatever you have been doing it was right seeing as he was making your pussy cry with arousal. 

Chan’s teeth sunk into your left calf, a string of large huffs and puffs escaping from his chest as he put all his mighty effort into each thrust, your husband breathing heavy at the combination of his force and pleasure he got from fucking you like that. His eyes ogled however, at how easily your tits bounced back and forth.

“Fuck,” you shouted, “s-so rough.”

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, keeping your legs in the air as your pulled him by the neck, foreheads accidentally smashing foreheads together with a significant force, “you’re fucking me like you want to put another kid in me.”

“Maybe I do,” he grunted, pressing a kiss to your lips in between, “maybe I should put another kid in you.”

God the way he talks, especially like that, turns you on so much. Your hands now travel back to the familiar spot of his back, pulling his chest against yours as he picked up his pace, thrusts much smoother with rhythm as your eyes fluttered shut, head hitting the back of the pillow ad your husband relentlessly fucked your pussy. A deep breath blew from your lips, an insufficient try to maintain your composure as your husband refused to set a forgiving speed.

“Fuck your pussy,” he growled, unable to finish his sentence.

“Yeah baby?”

“Mine,” he huffed, his own eyes fluttering shut as he pinned your upper limbs next to your head, head dipping down back to your breasts, a ferociously lick on your left nipple before he continued, “Fuck I’ll fuck another fucking child into that fucking pussy if you want me to.” 

Chan became a menace when he reached his peak horniness, and during this timeline, that was right now. Anyone who met or knew Chan, as a well-respected friend, colleague, or even a stranger, knew that was one of the most polite people that you could possibly have the pleasure of meeting. Not one to swear, always use his manners and respect other people’s time and values. However, it was only you who got to see the truly feral side of him, like this, cursing his head off. It was only at this point did he forget that facade of a well-mannered gentleman. Chan was certainly not polite or gentlemen like when he fucked you, and it was a guilty pleasure of yours. It always aroused you to hear him say ‘fuck’, mumble a ‘motherfucker’ or ‘shit’ under his breath, even just in normal dialgoue. So when he said it during sex, it truly was one of the hottest fucking things your had ever seen. 

“Do it,” you mumbled, unable to use your full voice, “put a kid in me.”

“Really?”

His head snapped up immediately, lips moving back to your own, pecking you one more time, but with his eyebrows raised in surprise, “Are you being serious?”

“Yes,” you smiled, fingertips spreading across your husband’s cheeks, “you have my permission.”

“Oh fuck,” he grumbled, “you really shouldn’t have said that.”

Chan’s hands snuggled under your back, scooping you and placing you up right on him, cock still inside of you as he sat up himself, keeping you close to his torso as he scooched the end of the bed. He let out a groan as he stood up, hands trailing to your hips as began to bounce you. A new level of sound escaped your lips at the new angle he was hitting inside of your pussy. It was smart to keep your arms enclosed around his neck, head buried into his chest as he still managed to keep the same pace. You really didn’t know how much more of this you could handle; the pressure in your body was building. The pit of your stomach was making its way to your final high, and your muscles were tightening in conjunction. The room’s scent was full of sweat, but also passion. Sweet sweet passion and sweet sweet love filled the four nostrils in the room, bringing you even closer to the edge. 

“Chan?”

“Y/n, you okay baby?”

“I’m gonna cum baby,” you whined, “I'm gonna cum so hard.”

“Oh me fucking too baby,” he fritted through his jaw breaking teeth clench, “I’m about to blow so fucking hard.”

“Yeah?”

“All in this pussy,” he whined, placing you back down on the bed, “my pussy.”

“Mhm, all yours.”

Your husband kept your back arching off the edge of the bed, making sure that when let go of himself, that nothing but even a drop would drip out of your hole. His hips became erratic; you could tell that your husband would not last much longer. Not that you were far off either, but you know that the release of his seed would tip you over the edge. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, hard, “Y/n I’m so sorry I’m gonna cum first.”

“It’s ok,” you whined, “I need your seed inside of me so fucking badly.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you clenched, eyes dark with lust as he kept his gaze on you, “put a fucking kid in me.”

“I fucking love my fucking wife so much,” he spat, jaw falling agape as his load exploded, the ropes of your husband’s orgasm roping over and over inside of you, “I fucking love you so much.”

“Fuck Chan,” you screamed, your own orgasm washing over and sending you into a haze, “it feels so good inside of me.”

Your whine was so attractive to Chan that he leant down to kiss you one more time, before withdrawing his aching cock, falling to your side in a heavy breath. He was quick to get back into action, however, falling off the bed and grabbing your ankles again, lifting them off the floor and onto the bed, ensuring that not a lick of his load would fall out. A fat giggle escaped from your lips when you watched him do so.

“Fuck you were serious about that kid hey?”

He was already gone, annoyingly leaving you by himself. He was quick to come back however, returning with a glass of water and a banana from the kitchen bench, handing over to you without a second thought. Your lips turned into a smile automatically, practically chugging the water down to quench your thirst before peeling the banana open. Your husband took his spot next to you, lying on his side as he watched you with admiration. All of a sudden you felt self-conscious, hesitating before putting your lips anywhere near the fruit.

“I’m starting to think you got this fruit for a particular reason.”

“No,” he chuckled, “just eat it.”

You looked away from him as your lips ‘accidentally’ slipped down the banana, much past where necessary to take a bite. You could see your husband's jaw clenching out of the corner of your eye as your motion.

“What,” you mumbled, mouth full of food, “you were asking for it.”

“Fuck your lucky that your daughter is going to be home soon.”

[wispythreads]

I did catch on to that part of it with him bouncing between jobs so frequently, and some of the other things like the fridge freezer, but they were still included in the jumbled up thoughts I listed out partly because I was thinking about them before coming to an answer, and partly because I'm not fully sure if those answers are all there is to it.

Cause, yeah, there’s the newspaper clipping rebuking him for being “unprofessional and brash” (which damn that’s also just rotating in my head because Vince was clearly reading this specific clipping earlier and blatantly lied saying Rody hadn’t been mentioned at all, later scribbling out the section talking about the waiter), he’s very clearly messy and unkempt in pretty much every aspect of his life, and even if he gets the to-go question right in the tutorial, Vince appends the "Good work." with "keep tone in mind."

But, the thing is, he does know a lot of the basics. Much of the tutorial is really just for the benefit of the player to know how the mechanics of the game works, Rody meanwhile nods along and does whatever task is needed without comment, only getting tripped up when Vince mentions the way the menu for his bistro works, and when the aforementioned customer asked if he could get boxes to go or call in his order ahead of time. Which I think are reasonable things to get tripped up on! Those seem like things that would vary depending on the establishment he was working for.

I keep thinking about his reaction when Vince pivoted the conversation of "do you actually like your job" onto Rody. His awkward response that it paid him money. Vince voicing specifically “I doubt you wanted to wait tables for a living-”, and that being met with how there was “something” Rody went to school for, that he was too hesitant to tell Vince, feeling he’d get made fun of. The impression that its some passion he had that just didn't work out. The revelation later that the “something” in question was him majoring in hospitality.

He was afraid he'd be made fun of for actively going to school and choosing to study for skills that, either ironically or purposefully, would've been useful for his current job of waiting tables. A goal that he flunked out of. He has had 28 jobs in the service industry over the course of 7 years. He keeps losing his job, but he also keeps getting hired.

I keep thinking of the post-credits scene of the Best Served Hot, whisky lemon cake ending. "I can't keep watching you ruin any semblance of progress you make with yourself while trying to make me happy, it's exhausting-"

He's only 4 days into this job when he approaches Vince for a raise. He already figures he'll have enough to do something nice for Manon, his "girlfriend," by the end of the week, but he wants more to make it really special. He is very clearly told 'no.'

On the 5th day, when his shift is finally over and done, we don't next see him as we usually do, back at his apartment. He's still at the bistro, all the lights turned out. The only other person presumably being Vince hacking away at the meat in the freezer that'll be used for the meals in the morning. The first time I went through that night, I presumed Rody had just been selected to stay late and help clean up for the night, with whatever Vince was doing in the background ominous horror ambience to be unsettled by.

But we can't really do anything while there that would support this initial assumption. There are only two things you can do. Snoop around in Vince's office, and... steal from the cash register. Whether you avoid doing the latter as I did or not, it has no bearing on whatever ending you get, but just the fact that it's even an option to Rody...

How many other times did he allow his love for Manon to rule over his decisions, making choices in the pursuit of what he believed would make her happy, no matter the cost, before finally facing a price for his obsession beyond the scope of his worst nightmares?

...

And after all that I do want to defend the rollerskates a bit because

Rollerskates in restaurants are kinda a thing, in the 1960s (the year this game is set) they were a pretty popular gimmick/tool for diners in the U.S. at least, not sure about elsewhere in the world unfortunately

Yeah he canonically brought and proceeded to wear rollerskates to work at a fancy bistro. But that also means Vince watched him show up to work one day, wearing rollerskates, and just let him do it. Just watched Rody roll around his fancy bistro attending to customers that expect the highest of professionalism, and said nothing.

[clifairysims]

zara evans.

traits: creative, dog lover, family oriented

aspiration: party animal (specifically hostess)

Zara Evans is a compassionate and creative stay-at-home wife who navigates life with an anxiety disorder, supported by her loyal psychiatric service dog, Winston, and her devoted husband, James. Despite her struggles, Zara thrives in hosting elegant events and nurturing her artistic passions. Her close-knit relationships with family and friends anchor her, making her home a hub of warmth and hospitality.

[saintescuderia]

pancakes (pt. 3)

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: don't come for me. i love daniel. it's all for plot. (also, if the timeline seems odd it’s bc creative liberties have been taken 😌)

P3 - stairmaster endurance

As you walked down the steps to the Drivers Gala in your stunning red dress, you were unaware how one Ferrari driver couldn’t take his eyes off you. Looking at you smiling elegantly to one of the reps who greeted you, Charles realised just how much of a mistake he had made. Carlos was at his side, saying something that was back ground noise. All Charles could focus on was you. Your flowing hair, your eyes glinting in the light as you smiled your beautiful smile at whoever was talking to you. You always spoke with such passion. Charles always loved that about you. He would always love every little thing about you—

The alarm went off. 

You blinked and stopped the timer notification that essentially shook you out of the deep rabbit hole of F1 fanfiction you had found yourself falling into. Closing the purple app, you wondered why you still remained on Tumblr even after the 2013 hype of it died and everyone shifted to Twitter. Let alone the fact that your Tumblr had become your closeted way to fangirl about the sport you had dedicated your life to.

Then again, what were you to expect? The algorithm clearly picked up on your interests. That or the government was listening in and knew that Formula 1 was your day-to-day. That would explain how, one day, you were simply scrolling through the random, niche memes and BAM! You were met with the completely random gif-set of Arthur Leclerc and Oscar Piastri sat in an interview for Prema. 

It had caught you off guard, seeing that come up on your phone screen. It had also been a while since you had seen Arthur. For the whole duration of that single and endless moment, you didn't know how to react.

So your thumb double tapped the screen.

And maybe it was your fault for liking it, for encouraging the algorithm. But you could’t help but smile at the gif of Arthur confident and proud of his 18 hour screen time. That boy had no filter and never gave a fuck about the social norm. That and he often just didn’t read the room. Even after all these years, and his climb up the motorsport ladders, that youthful element about him had remained. It made you smile. You always liked that about him.

However, with that gif-set came more stuff. Innocent stuff. More F2 bits - you really missed those boys - and then everything else. Funny bits of Max at Red Bull. Carlos and Lando. All the Guenther Steiner moments. It was a little weird to be liking gifs of a team principal, you were well aware, but if anything it just made you feel proud of how far the German-Italian had come.

Back in the old Red Bull days, Guenther would always tell you about his dreams of directing his own team. It was nice to see him finally achieve that. It was also an endless source of amusement for you.

For example: the day Kevin had shattered the door.

When it happened, though, it was definitely not a laughing matter. You had been just finishing up the lunch service at the Haas motorhome - making sure to pack up some food for the drivers and mechanics who still were in a meeting - when you had heard the loud noise. Mack, the sous-chef, had stopped and looked at you with wide eyes.

You had both exited the kitchen to walk out to the main space of the motorhome and see other Haas employees equally as confused and whispering. Not getting a clear answer, you patted Mack on the shoulder and returned to the kitchen to finish plating up Kevin and Romain’s lunch for later. 

Fifteen minutes later, however, and you had gotten your answer when Guenther stormed into the kitchen fuming. “He does not slam my fucking office door! What am I going to do? Call Gene and tell him his drivers are some fucking idiot babies?!”

You had simply stared at him, blinkingly.

Guenther had then spied a plate of food sitting on the bench. “That fucking driver doesn’t deserve any of your fucking food!” And he picked the plate and dumped plate with its contents in the bin.  

“Guenther," you had began in a calm voice, "that was my lunch. Kevin’s plate is in the fridge.”

“Well eat his fucking food! Or—" Guenther reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit card and slammed it onto the table in front of you. “Go to a fucking five star hotel and have lunch there on that fucking idiot baby's pay.”

And the two of you had actually done so.

Even after he calmed down, Guenther had been adamant to take you to lunch which, admittedly, wasn't the most odd thing ever. Guenther was removed enough from all the driver drama and you had known him a for long time. You were the reason he had helped in the debut in 2016 anyway.

Still, no matter how Guenther Guenther was, Kevin was still a driver. You knew how it might look.

Said driver, however, had thankfully just dismissed it when you offered to pay him back. "Make me those mini pizzas next time you're with us and we're good."

And so when you clocked on this morning to see you were covering Haas, you immediately smiled and went to make good on your promise to K-Mag.

You always loved working in the Haas motorhome. If only half the stuff you saw Guenther did and said ended up in gif-sets on Tumblr.

Pushing yourself off the stool, you pocketed your phone and grabbed the oven mitts to pull out the mini pizzas. You had made extra for the engineers since there was an issue with Nico’s PU and knew they would be up late working on the engine. It wasn’t a secret that your pizzas were a coveted snack, being low-carb and high protein enough for even the drivers to consume. You were half expecting Fred Vasseur to pop in and steal some. He did love these pizzas. Any time you were stationed at Alfa Romeo, it was a guarantee you would be making them at his request.

Though, now Fred was moving to Ferrari. So you weren't sure if he was still going to be nice to you. Mattia Binotto had always treated you like the fucking plague.

"Ah, Y/N. For fuck's sake!" You heard the German accent and felt your mouth curve up into a smile as Guenther arrived on scene. He was dressed in the Haas gear for 2023, lanyard around his neck. "You still here running the coffee when you can beat any of these idiots in the car."

You gave him a fake two finger salute. "If I drove, no one would stand a chance."

"Well maybe you could help us score some fucking points." Guenther said. Immediately, he got down to business. "Harry Kane did well last night. Scored two fucking goals."

You snorted. One of the many reasons you and Guenther bonded so well was that you one of the few people amongst this Paddock that took football seriously. Almost as seriously as Formula 1. Almost.

"Didn't see it." You said, shaking your head. Bundesliga was lower on your list of priorities when it came to games. You only paid attention to the German league when it came to teams making it into Champions League. Besides, Guenther should’ve known what game you were watching last night. Still, you reminded him. "The Reds were playing."

He rolled his eyes, though unsurprised. "Of course you're going to watch English fucking football."

"Hey, only because of Salah.” You reminded him and hit your chest proudly, “I gotta represent."

"That much is fucking obvious." Guenther said. One of the many reasons you liked working in Haas so much was that it was by far the most relaxed garage out of them all. For example, you hadn't yet taken off the hoodie you wore which had, on top, the number 10 Liverpool jersey. It looked unprofessional, having a t-shirt over a jumper like that, especially mixed with the headscarf you had tied on your head like a durag, but Guenther couldn’t care less. If anything, he was probably just offended at your choice of EPL team.

“United is fucking Red.”

"Ah, Guenther. You know my heart really lies." You reminded him.

Your uncle, with his love for football, had brought you up following the iconic Real Madrid. He literally visited the hospital with a teddy bear and Bernabeu membership, adamant he would get his newborn niece into the sport. No matter what.

From the moment he found out your number one team, Guenther was salty. “Los Blancos.” He scoffed. “The fucking villains of football." He came round to see the circular pieces of bread covered with sauce and an array of different toppings. Guenther picked one up - and immediately dropped it. "Fuck!"

"It's hot." You said, dryly. You took out another tray and set it down. You closed the oven door and turned it off. You flipped the towel over your shoulder as you watched Guenther now at the sink, running water over his burnt fingers.

"You don't fucking say." Guenther blowing on his fingers.

“Stop being a baby.” You laughed, bringing up your hands to your head to fix your headscarf.

Guenther ignored that comment. "Fred fucking loves these things. Don't tell him you made them. I don't want him in here stealing them."

You said nothing and turned around to pretend to busy yourself with the trays of mini pizzas. It was best to just remain quiet sometimes. Bahrain testing had kept everyone occupied and at that start of the season F1 Hospitality were usually running around after Stefano Domenicali and the FIA Co. for last minute set up. It was only into the race calendar that Hospitality were eventually went around to the teams.

So, no. You hadn't seen Fred. You hadn't seen anyone. You were just grateful that your first race of 2023 was in the safety of Haas. Nico and Kevin were older and, therefore, a little more out of it when it came to driver drama. If they knew anything, they were old enough to be mature about it.

Though, that couldn't be the same of others from their generation. You were already losing sleep from the feelings that arose from seeing Daniel in Red Bull gear. It didn't help that the last time you two had spoken, things hadn't exactly been civil.

You were on the stair-master. The clock on the machine read 37:48. The sweat was dripping off you.

Your grey jumper had darkened in shades, wet from the sweat. You kept your hands on your head as you stepped and stepped and stepped and stepped. Angsty rap music blasted into your ears. Tinnitus was likely to worsen, but you would take that over the shit storm that was currently breaking all over the Paddock. 

I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press statement late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract for Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year. 

Oscar hadn’t even yet joined Formula 1 and he was already stirring trouble. That was a problem. For you. You were supposed to lay low. The whole point of this was to lay low and not drawing any attention to yourself. The agreement was that you could still be there if only in the role of Hospitality. 

And the idiot had tweeted that and then, ten minutes later, decided to follow you.

How he even found your Twitter was surprising? It wasn’t very personal - your profile picture was solid black - so no fans would be able to recognise you. But the Paddock? The FIA and your bosses? They were raising confused eyebrows that Oscar Piastri would drop that bomb and then follow you.

You could already imagine what Otmar was going to say. God, the 2023 season hadn’t fully started and you were already dreading walking into the Alpine home. And then Jos Verstappen was rumoured to be attending more races this year and who could forget about Daniel coming back to Red Bull? The universe apparently needed to give you some character development, it seemed.

Your legs ached, begging to stop. Your mind thought about pressing the red emergency button, to just end it. But you knew better. You knew this was all a mind game. Pain is an allusion. Keep going. Shit hurts but you push through. Keep going. Keep going. Keep fucking going. It's what you always told yourself. It's how you got yourself through everything. It's how you'll get through all of this. If you can push through the pain of the stairmaster, then you can push through the pain of anything. You had learned that pain was temporary and it was just a mind-game. You could always go longer than you thought possible. You just had to keep reminding yourself of that fact. So, right now, it was just practice. Each step you took right now was practicing the endurance of pain from this stairmaster fucking filling your legs. If you could get through this, you would be able to handle any drama in the future.

Unfortunately, drama walked through the door before you could make it through the current pain of said stairmaster.

Daniel Ricciardo stormed into the Driver’s Only Gym, knowing all too well that this was where you would be. He had been the one to tell you about this fucking place in the first place. Before everything, you had always loved working out and exercise was part of the reason you two ended up as you did. Now, you didn’t have the luxury you did before. You didn’t have the lanyard.

So, now, you had to workout in the shadows.

That didn't mean Daniel didn't see you. Didn't hear you. Didn't know what you were doing every single day of every weekend the both of you avoided each other at the Paddock. He knew you still wore your sneakers according to the race location. He knew you still wore headscarves when in the Middle East and covered your tattoos when in Japan. He knew you still avoided Charles just he like he knew you still avoided him. He knew you.

So Daniel knew you woke up at 4am every day to work out. And after Zak Brown told him the news, he spent the night dealing with his spiralling career through a bottle of Jack Daniels. Then he had the idea to come out from the four walls of his hotel room and see you.

Because Daniel knew you had made your pancakes for the rookie, that fucking Oscar Piastri. And Daniel was one of the few people who knew, who fully understood just what that meant to you.

Drunk and emotional, Daniel planted himself right in front of the stair master. He stared at you, caught like a deer in headlights and got right to it.

“You must be fucking happy.”

It was the first time he had directly spoken to you in five years.

So it took you a second to process what was happening.

Daniel Ricciardo was right here, in front of you, at 4:50 in the morning as you sweated your body weight out through the repeated steps you took on the machine.

Suddenly you were aware that you had rolled yourself out of bed with a little less motivation than the norm. You had been extra tired, hitting snooze more than twice. You hadn’t washed your face and you wondered if Daniel would be able to spot the stain of egg yolk on your hoodie. It had been some time since he had been this close to you and you were in bike shorts and currently on a bulk. Suddenly, you wished you were on a cut. Why did the one time he came this close to you had to be so big and puffy?

"Excuse me?" You found yourself saying, shifting one headphone off your ear. “Can I help you?”

"Did you know?" Daniel asked. He didn't give you a chance to respond. "Of course you fucking did."

Without even thinking, you pulled the red plug your mind had obsessed over and jumped down. The pain was already here so there was no point going through any more than necessary. You looked up at Daniel, panting. He, too, was exhaling a little heavier than normal. Too angry and, judging by the smell of his breath, drunk to be stable.

There was no point lying to him. Aside from the fact that Daniel was emotionally charged (and drunk - and he got super passionate when he was drunk) you knew he would immediately pick up on it. You don't spend three years with someone and not know them like the back of your hand. And, unlike him, you can safely say that you hadn't really changed since 2018. If you lied, he would know.

"I signed a NDA, Daniel." You said simply, walking to your gym bag sat on the red bench. You picked up your bottle to take a sip, your throat dry. You tried to keep yourself calm and not shaky. Do my legs look too big? God, Please don’t let me smell like BO. Your thoughts were still running rampant. Despite the extensive cardio, your body was buzzing from the anxiety of having Daniel so close.

Daniel. To think you had once been so deeply in love with the man stood before you.

"Fuck off." He spat. You recoiled. "No one gives a shit about that."

"I do." You said, trying to keep your voice from growing small. "Sorry I care about my job."

Daniel let out a sardonic laugh. You braced yourself, knowing what was to come. You had experienced this many times before during your fights. "What? Making coffee and fucking washing the dishes? Yeah, great job you got there, babe."

"Don't call me babe." You spat back. "And can you not be a dick for two fucking seconds, Daniel."

You said it. His name. When was the last time you had said it? It made you both take a second to process what was happening, to acknowledge how long it had been since the two of you had actually spoken to one another, how long since you had addressed the other as a human being that actually existed.

In that moment, Daniel finally seemed to lose a bit of anger and, instead, show a glimmer of vulnerability. "I lost my seat. I don't know what I'm going to do."

You looked down at your shoes at show of helplessness. New Balance 350s. Red and yellow. They had been on sale. You liked them for stable LISS circuits but hated the colour way. Now, they were the most interesting thing to look at.

Everyone knew that Daniel Ricciardo was always all smiles and that, no matter what, he was optimistic. Happy. He never showed any weakness.

Except, you had seen him when the smiles fell away and the laughter died. In the safety of your private hotel rooms and Daniel could just be, you saw him vulnerable, you saw him hurt, you saw him stress, worry, cry, swear and be open to how he was really feeling. Like right now.

“Daniel I—“

"You didn’t even think to fucking tell me."

You looked up at the change of tone and how he was frowning-- no, sneering at you. This made you change and any remorse, any pity, you felt for the man in front of you immediately vanished. You weren’t in a hotel room. You were in the gym. And it had been five fucking years.

"Are you fucking blaming me right now?"You snapped back. "What the fuck do I owe you, exactly?"

"I’m the reason you’re here!"

By now, your heart was racing. And not from the exercise. This, this was it. You finally had your moment to say it.

"Yes, exactly, Daniel. You’re the reason that I am, as you said, making coffee and fucking washing the dishes! If it weren’t for you, we both know where I would be right now. But you got fucking scared of Max and blamed me for it!"

This hit a nerve. "I was not scared of Max! I outperformed Max!"

"Yes, on the weeks I fucking trained you!"

"Fuck me,” Daniel was shooting straight daggers at you despite the wry grin on his face, “do you really think that was all you?" 

You put your hands on your hips and squared up to meet his eyes, narrowing your own. "Considering how your teammate took me on as a trainer and then became the number 1 driver, yes, I will take some fucking credit for that." Daniel's face dropped when you said it. And you knew it was a low blow, but you couldn't help the words before they tumbled out from your mouth. "The world’s fucking moved on from Monaco 2018. Maybe you should too."

"Fuck you!" He shouted.

"Fuck you!" You shouted back. You grabbed your phone and found yourself tapping onto a recent chat and speedily composing a text. You hated how your fingers shook. You also hated how you were texting for help.

"Well, clearly you haven’t moved on from Monaco if you’re bringing it up." Daniel said, no longer shouting, but his tone still as icily. "You’re going to be mad about that until the end of time?"

You closed your eyes and willed your eyes not to think of the image of him with her, the pain you felt walking in and seeing that. Instead, you opened your eyes and stared him dead in the eye and spoke as calmly as possible.

"Jos Verstappen will be coming to the races more often this year. That means I won't be able to work in the Red Bull garage. If I'm at AlphaTauri, do not fucking come."

Daniel ignored this, undeterred. Instead, he kept grinning down at you thinking he found something. "You seriously aren't over it, are you?"

"No, the memory of you putting your dick into another woman still keeps me up at night." You rolled your eyes despite how it still did admittedly hurt. You pretended it didn’t and hoped he believed it. "Please stop thinking so highly of yourself. Remind yourself of why you're here, right now, talking to me."

Daniel's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to say something but the sound of the doors opening had him closing it. You grabbed your gym bag and finally made a move to turn around and escape the gym.

Ignoring the looks of one very confused Carlos Sainz as you breezed past him.

"I have to go deal with idiots who can’t tell me what’s wrong with the engine." Guenther said. You had brought forth two plates and slide two pizzas onto each.

"Here. For you and Nico." You said, knowing Nico would join the meeting about his car. "I'll bring a tray in a little bit for the rest of the engineers."

"Make me and Nico some coffee, please." Guenther said, taking the plates. "And pour in some fucking whiskey." You laughed and watched him disappear down the hallway of the offices set up. Haas' lack of financial support meant their motorhome was mediocre at best. Still, you loved being here more than anywhere else. It was the safest, really.

Wiping your hands on the towel, you went outside to where the coffee cart was situated. Another example of Haas' lack of funding was needing a Formula One coffee cart and not having an in house machine like everyone else did. You went about preparing the coffees like how you knew Nico and Guenther liked - as well as making yourself one while you were at it.

"No Real Madrid today?"

You found yourself jumping at the familiar Spanish lilt of the other Ferrari driver. Carlos Sainz was someone you never really paid any close attention to. He wasn't close enough to either Daniel or Charles' circles to ever have been on your radar. He had left Red Bull before you did and since he was Ferrari associated, it meant you never really had much to do with him.

Still, he was pleasant and nice. He always had been. He was one of those drivers that if word had spread to him - and it was very likely that it had - he didn't show it. Or care enough about it. Any time Carlos saw you around the Paddock, it was with a warm smile and a quick small-talk question about your thoughts on Real Madrid's latest match. But that was really ever it.

Until that time he had walked in at 5am to see you and Daniel Ricciardo screaming at each other.

"Uh, no. Liverpool was playing yesterday." You said, wondering if he knew you also cared about the Scouse team. Admittedly, you didn’t have the same love for them as you did for the Spanish legends, but you couldn’t have Egyptian heritage and not care about Mo Salah.

"You're Egyptian, no?" He asked. You focused on frothing the milk, unable to really look him in the eyes so soon after this morning.

"Yes." It was there in the mix, yes, but you really weren't up for explaining the complicated heritage of your ethnicity this morning. Looking at the milk circling in the silver jug, you realised your face was heating up. You were slightly surprised he even knew you were Egyptian in the first place. Unlike with Guenther or the splattering of other football fans in the Paddock, you and Carlos only ever had brief snapshots of Real Madrid small talk.

Still, this wasn't an odd conversation, you had to remind yourself. You were talking about the one thing you and him ever talked about. But, again, this was after Carlos had walked in to see you, a Hospitality worker, arguing with a driver.

"Please don't tell anyone about me being in the gym." You finally said, turning off the frother to gently tap the metal jar against the bench and settle the bubbles in the milk. "I could get into a lot of trouble since it's only for drivers."

Carlos waved a dismissive hand and shook his head. When it was clear he wasn't going to, you breathed a small sigh of relief. But then he leaned against the cart and you felt yourself starting to get anxious again. There was a quiet moment for a second as your poured the latte for Nico. Carlos' eyes followed your hands.

"I will say something if Ricciardo upset you." He said in a quieter voice.

You immediately shook your head and finally looked him in the eye. "Please don't. There's enough complication with... everything." You finished lamely.

"So I've heard." Carlos said.

You looked away. He knew.

"So then you'll know I don't need anymore complications." You said through gritted teeth, hating very much the confirmation that word had spread about what had happened.

"You haven't done anything wrong, though."

This caught you by surprise. It was the first time anyone - or, at least, a driver - had said those words to you. At the start, everyone had immediately pointed fingers at you. You were shunned and blamed. Some saw your position with the Formula One Group as part of Hospitality too light a punishment for what had happened. For the longest time, it was the confusion as to why everyone had reacted that way that did that hurt you. You hadn’t thought you had done anything wrong. Not really. You struggled to understand why no one else saw it that way. Least of all any of the drivers that knew what had happened.

Hearing Carlos say that really threw you for a short second. Carlos even caught it. He said your name and you finally looked up at him when you heard him say your name.

"Sorry it’s just - uh, Carlos, man.” You laughed a dry laugh. “You're probably the only driver who thinks so."

"I'm not." Carlos crossed his arms. "I might be the only one who has said so, but if I've understood correctly... then I'm not."

You looked down at metal jug in your hand with the extra milk you had frothed for yourself. Suddenly, you didn't feel like any caffeine. Your anxiety was already through the roof.

"Do you want a coffee?" You asked, sounding, again, very lame as that was your response to Carlos' comment.

The Spaniard looked back down at the spoon and jug in your hands. He nodded. "Have you had one already?" You asked. He shook his head and so you went about pulling down another paper cup to make his piccolo.

"You remembered." He said, laughing slightly.

"First coffee is a piccolo. Second and third are black." You recalled his order. Carlos smiled at you as you poured the milk. "I know everyone's coffee orders."

You didn’t catch how his smile lessened slightly at that.

You looked back at him and tried to ignore the thought of whether his kindness was exaggerated for your sake. A pity thing or something. Carlos accepted the coffee and then he actually offered a thank you in Arabic. You found your lips turning up hearing the marhaba on his Spanish tongue. “Es un placer.” You came back with his own native language.

You don’t work in Formula 1 without picking up a few things here and there.

Hence how you could recognise the German swears that sounded from within the motorhome as Guenther suddenly appeared.

“Where is that Y/N? Liverpool fucking tops the league and thinks she can take her time with— ah, you Ferrari fuckers!” Both you and Carlos looked to where he had come up behind the driver and slapped a friendly pat on his back. “Tell Fred he can’t have any pizza.”

“Pizza?” Carlos asked and looked down at you. “You made your pizza?”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before some Haas engineers appeared behind Guenther and called for you and him. Carlos took this as his sign - he was technically on Haas territory - and nodded at you and Guenther, holding up his piccolo in salute. Guenther had already taken the coffees you’d made for him and Nico and disappeared behind the sliding doors. You made a move to follow when Carlos called out.

"I want to try some famous Y/N pizza!” He said, turning on his heel as he walked backwards and called out to you.

You smiled and shook your head, walking back into the Haas home. You went back to the oven and set about plating up the pizzas to be a little more presentable to them. You also made sure to put some aside especially for Kevin. This was supposed to be for him.

You thought idly of saving some for Carlos when some Haas engineers you vaguely recognised walked past.

"Oh nice!" One engineer said, coming up and immediately reaching for one to stick it in his mouth. You watched him do the same blunder that Guenther did.

The other engineer, a woman with a thick Irish accent? was staring at you. Smug. "Damn, who got you smiling like that, missy?"

"What?" You asked, eyes going wide. You hadn't realised the wide smile on your face that was likely the direct result of one Carlo Sainz. Your face became hot again and it took every ounce of will to not seem affected by her words. “No one.”

"Mmm. If you say so.” She said in a sing song voice. “Well and me Mr Cool over here,” she gestured to the the other engineer trying to breathe through the hot pizza, “are heading to the garage now to see Kevin. Can we take them?"

"Yeah." You nodded. "Go ahead."

"Not saving some for anyone?"

"No." You shook your head firmly. "Take them all."

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[mothwingwritings]

Doppo, Shibukawa, Motobe, Biscuit, And Yujiro As Your Sugar Daddy 💄💋✨

Hi everyone!!! Sorry I dipped out for a moment, I had an eventful past two weeks (but some of the event has been writing stuff, so that’s something at least lul) and now I come back offering whatever the hell this is lol. The idea of the Baki men being sugar daddies came to me in a vision while I was supposed to be working, so of course as the responsible individual that I am I focused on that and started writing this and here we are now! :D It’s for all my dilf/gilf lovers out there. You are all lovely little treasures and I adore you all. :*

As you can probably tell by the subject matter of this one, 18+ only please!!!

Thank you for reading!!!

Warnings: Sex, sex work/reader is a sex worker, mentions of various sexual acts, possessive/obsessive tendencies from your clients, dubcon, mentions of noncon, Yujiro Hanma being Yujiro Hanma, mentions of threesomes and open relationships, very little editing.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Doppo Orochi˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

·         Doppo would be an exceptional sugar daddy. He’s attentive and kind to you, both when you are out on dates and when you share private time together, and you can always tell he’s truly excited to spend time with you (even when sex isn’t involved). He loves to spoil you and has the money to back it, gifting you whatever your heart desires, all you have to do is say the word.

·         He’s a big family man, and as such he may push the boundaries a bit of what your relationship is. It’s hard to see him as just a benefactor when he’s sending you good morning and good night texts, inviting you over for home cooked dinners, calling you just so he can hear your voice and talk about silly things, checking in on you to make sure you are safe and happy. It may be pushing the line of what is appropriate and what isn’t for your relationship, but you can’t lie and say it isn’t nice feeling so cared for.

·         That being said, you know Doppo has a wife that he loves very much, so there is no confusion of your role as just a sugar baby in this dynamic. In most cases such a strong spousal bond may cause trouble on your end, but luckily for you Natsue is as fond of you as Doppo is. She’s definitely not as into the sexual aspect of your company as Doppo is, but get ready for plenty of passionate threesomes should the three of you find yourselves together and in the mood.

·         Doppo is very open about sharing his life with you. He invites you to all his matches, you have free access to Shinshin Kai dojo, and after a certain level of trust is reached, he’ll even give you a key to his house. At first it felt strange, like you were bordering on something taboo having so much access to his private life, and you worried you were taking advantage of his hospitality. But as time wore on you realized that his fondness for you was just so great that he wanted you to be a part of his life as much as possible, regardless of what the typical sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship was. However, if the familiarity and closeness ever made you uncomfortable he would end it immediately, reverting back to business as usual (though it would make him extremely sad).

·         His main downside is that he’s definitely very ‘dad-like’ and sometimes you feel more like a child he is over protective of then his beloved sugar baby. His fatherly advice and guidance can be a bit overbearing, and it takes all you have not to roll your eyes at his griping over some of your decisions and future plans.

·         If it doesn’t end up working out with Doppo, he has a hot son you can fall back on :)

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Gouki Shibukawa˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

·         Shibukawa truly is a wild card. You have no idea what to expect when this man calls on your services. He’s hired you for things as mild as enjoying afternoon tea with him and as raunchy as participating in the most degenerate sexual roleplay you can possibly imagine (consensually, of course).

·         So even though he’s one of your older benefactors, he is certainly far from boring. In fact, you can’t help but get excited whenever he reaches out to you, wondering what he may have in store for your meet up.

·         Shibukawa is one of the less sentimental of the sugar daddies. There is definitely no mistaking that your relationship is strictly for pleasure, and as a side effect of that his private life is a virtual mystery to you. You have your suspicions about what he does with his spare time, but should you pry too much he’ll swiftly and efficiently end the conversation, focusing his attention instead on the sweeter side of your affair.

·         However, he is far from cold. Shibukawa always treats you extremely well and pays you even better, so he quickly becomes one of your favorite clients.

·         Also, he’s extremely interesting. This man could make a story about what he ate for breakfast sound like the most fascinating thing on the world, so even if nothing big or exciting happens in the time you spend with him, at the very least you know you won’t ever be bored.

·         Don’t let his age fool you-he is a beast in bed. With age comes experience, and that has never been truer than with Shibukawa. You don’t think you’ve ever quite felt the thrill you get when you have intimate time with Shibukawa with any other client, let alone actual romantic partners you’ve had.

·         His downside is that his mood towards you is always fluctuating. He will be in constant contact with you for weeks at a time and then fall off the face of the earth, only to pop back up expecting you to prioritize him over your other clients. It’s a bit obnoxious, especially if he is your best paying client and you are relying on him financially, yet he refuses to keep you in the loop of any plans he wants to involve you in or meet ups he may be concocting.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Motobe Izou˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

·         The KING of pet names. I honestly don’t think this man has ever called you your actual name once. Baby, sweetheart, dove, little one-the list goes on. If you called him a pet name back, he would probably have a heart attack brought on by the sheer amount of joy that would bring him.

·         He may not be as wealthy as some of your other clients, but his care and devotion to you are off the charts. Each time he calls on your services he always greets you with flowers or chocolates, and each date he takes you on is to a place you like or recommend, prioritizing your favorites over the stuff he may prefer. He’s at your beck and call; willing to drop everything should your schedule open up and you have the time to spend with him.

·         He’s very protective of you, having legitimate concerns over whether any of your other customers are overly handsy or make you do and participate in things you are uncomfortable with. He tries to play it cool and ask about your health and well-being nonchalantly, but you can tell by the nervous undertone in his voice and the bags under his eyes that his fretting over you and your profession wears heavily upon him, affecting his day to day life.

·         He’s also low-key scared that you prefer other clients over him (even though you have never done anything to make him perpetuate this idea), so he stresses himself out over that as well.

·         Motobe is an incredibly intimate lover. He takes his time with you, committing to memory which of his actions brings you the most pleasure so that he can use them time and time again to drive you wild. Every caress of his hand and kiss of his lips is gentle and loving, he treats you as if you are the most precious being on the planet earth and it never ceases to make you melt.

·         That being said, he has the toughest time distinguishing boundaries in your relationship, constantly blurring the lines between professional and personal. Anyone that interacts with the two of you can see just how head over heels for you he is, and more often than not when out and about people just assume you are spouses based solely on how openly affectionate and lovey dovey he is with you. His doting can be rather heavy-handed, not to mention disconcerting, especially when you work so hard to establish clear boundaries with him.

·         … But still, you can’t find yourself being too upset at Motobe. Even when he takes things too far, Motobe is certainly the most caring client you’ve had, earnestly watching over you and taking the best care of you he can with the limited time he has with you. Even with all his quirks, you have a definite soft spot for the man.

·         And who knows? Maybe someday when you seek another line of work and leave this one behind you can go on an actual date with him? He’ll most certainly be waiting on you, more than ready to make it official. :)

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˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Biscuit Oliva˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

·         If Biscuit is yoursugar daddy, my dear you have it MADE.

·         He is the IDEAL sugar daddy. He’s handsome, sweet, wealthy, and not afraid to lavish you in all of the finer things. It’s not uncommon for you to go out on a date with him only to come home in a new designer outfit of your choice, decked out in a varying level of jewels he let you pick out yourself.

·         And it’s not just material possessions, he loves taking you on all kind of exotic trips and vacations, taking you to places you never dreamed you’d be able to go. It makes his heart swell seeing the excitement in your eyes the moment the plane touches down at each new locale, your unbridled joy spurring him to feel just a thrilled by this adventure as you do (even if it’s to a place he has been countless times before).

·         But even when he’s not whisking you off to fun and foreign places, he always makes every date exciting. Regardless of if it’s small meet up, or a full on whirlwind adventure, there is never a dull moment with Biscuit.

·         Being with him is like an honest to god fairytale, you feel like some kind of royalty whenever you are in his presence. He dotes on you to the extreme, showering you in affection, praise, and gifts. You’ve never felt more beautiful or important than you do when you are with Biscuit.

·         All that being said, this man really makes you earn the title of sugar baby. His sex drive is off the charts and he has an insatiable attraction to you, which means the moment he sees you, he’s on you. Of course he shows decorum out in public, presenting as the perfect gentleman on any dates he escorts you on while out in the public eye. But the moment you two are behind closed doors? Prepare to be absolutely ravished. You probably won’t be able to walk for a few days once he’s done.

·         Like Doppo, you are aware that Biscuit already has a special lady in his life. As such, Biscuit made sure that you were someone that Maria was not just OK with, but someone she genuinely liked. You take that kind of as a badge of honor, as Maria has a tendency to be very picky with the people she surrounds herself with. But the two of you hit it off within minutes of meeting each other, which is a huge relief to both you and Biscuit.

·         You’re not expected to participate in the ‘sugar’ end of the deal with Maria, but should you show interest in Maria in that way, Biscuit would be over the moon. Whether it be a threesome or just the two of you together while he watched, he’ll be absolutely delighted either way (and expect to be handsomely compensated for the good time. ;). Just don’t start liking each other more than him, OK? He would probably pass away from heart break if the two of you left him in the dust. ^^;

·         The biggest down side to having Biscuit as your sugar daddy is that he can be a bit… much. He’s exceptionally clingy, to the point that you have to completely silence or shut off your phone sometimes because he’s always calling or texting you for some reason or another-even when you are with other clients. He also HEAPS on the affection so much that you feel suffocated by it, which is a lot on its own, let alone from a person you aren’t even in a committed relationship with. When you try and ask him to ease up, or even just straight up ignore him for a bit, it only makes his dogged affection worse. :/

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Yujiro Hanma˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

·         The fact that you even became the Ogre’s sugar baby is baffling, and honestly a rather scary and precarious situation for you to be stuck in.

·         The thought that he would actually pay for something so many people would willingly supply to him, or that he could simply take from another person, must mean he finds you extremely interesting. Whether that’s a good or bad thing is to be determined.

·         You don’t ever get a heads up for your liaisons with Yujiro-the man just shows up when he desires your company and that’s that. It doesn’t matter if you are sleeping, with another client, or otherwise engaged, Yujiro ALWAYS takes precedence and you better remember that if you want him to keep paying you.

·         That being said, he gets rather territorial of you when he sees you or hears about you with other clients. Not necessarily jealous (what is there to be jealous of? He’s leagues better than those losers and everyone knows it), but definitely disgruntled that despite his patronage you still choose other men to attend to. You should feel honored to have him as a patron, indebted to the point where he is your soul focus. The fact that you aren’t definitely pushes his buttons.

·         As stated, being Yujiro’s sugar baby is definitely a perilous situation to be in. He is interested in you enough to spend time and money on you, but you would never delude yourself into thinking he held any sort of romantic attraction towards you. You are merely a source of pleasure and entertainment, which in and of itself is fine, that is your profession after all.  But once your use to him ended… where does that leave you? With all other clients they simply moved on, but Yujiro is like an untamed beast. If he gets upset with you in anyway, getting extremely hurt by him is a very real possibility.

·         Also- he’s the strongest being on the planet. He could kill you without batting a lash, whether by accident or on purpose. Merely being in his presence is a daunting experience, and while you’ve dealt with strong and/or questionable clients in the past, Yujiro is a breed all his own. Simply put-he scares you, and he is by far the most dangerous person you’ve ever had to interact with.

·         Everything about your relationship is filled with uncertainty. Sometimes your dates are good- he’ll take you out to nice places to do exciting things and may even get you a gift or two. But more often than not his ‘dates’ (if you can even call them that) are chaotic and abrupt, leaving you in pain and out of it for days.

·         He’s EXTREMELY demeaning as well, calling you whore or slut more than your actual name. He especially likes to belittle you during sexual acts, reminding you of what a useless and weak piece of meat you are as he pounds into you mercilessly. The berating gets even worse when/if you start to feel pleasure from the acts. He enjoys it immensely when you put up a resistance to his advances, only to becoming a slavering mess, completely drunk off his cock.

·         Receiving money from Yujiro is very dependent on his mood and how much fun he had while in your company. There are days when you leave your dates loaded with cash with very little effort, and times when you go above and beyond to please home only to receive a small amount of income. Honestly though, the days when you receive more cash can be worse than when he barely pays you-he is apt to lord it over you and expect more unsolicited favors from you in response to his act of benevolence.

·         The worst part of this whole arrangement is that you don’t have a say in any of it. Any person in their right mind would reject Yujiro as a client no matter how attractive or wealthy he may be, but you were never given that luxury. The moment he took an interest in you, you became irrevocably tied to him with no hope of shaking him.  You would be forced to serve him until he grows tired of you- you just hope that when his interest in you wanes it means your freedom and not your untimely demise. :)

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (20) Do-Over

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 20)

Summary: Rosie comes home in the middle of the night, and realises that her parents have kept a horrible secret from her.

Twenty Years Old

I tried my best to be quiet when I locked myself in at three in the morning. The intended sleepover at Clare’s had ended abruptly, when her brother had stumbled in around midnight and broken two of his fingers when he tried to find his way in the dark. Being familiar with injuries of all kinds, I insisted on accompany him and a rather hysterical Clare to the closest A&E. That sorted, I decided to go home. Clare’s parents, who had attended a party, were summoned to the hospital as well, and my services weren’t needed anymore. 

When I heard muffled sounds from the living room, I was puzzled. I couldn’t quite discern if one of my parents was talking on the phone, or if they were talking to each other. And then I heard sobbing. Dad. I froze and all kinds of thoughts soared around in my mind.

Had anyone died? Nana? Pops or Granny? 

I didn’t even dare thinking about uncle Myc or Molly. Papa’s words stopped me from opening the door and inquire. His voice was thick with emotions, clearly crying himself.

“I’m sorry, John. I wish she’d never been born!”

The last sentence was delivered with passion and venom.

Who the hell was he talking about?

“It’s not your fault, my love,” Dad croaked. “You didn’t remember her. She knew what she was doing. Stop blaming yourself.”

“But you’re still suffering, and it’s been years,” Papa protested, the devastation pouring out of his voice.

“Only a vicious nightmare because of the events earlier today, Sherlock. She can’t harm us anymore now,” Dad soothed. “Let’s go back to bed.”

I exhaled shakily, only then realising I’d been holding my breath for too long. Slowly, I ascended to my room, knowing that sleep wouldn’t grace me with its presence tonight. Only one option, then.

Are you available? Need to talk. I’m home.

A car will pick you up in twenty minutes. UM

***

No sounds were coming from Dad and Papa’s bedroom when I snuck down the stairs twenty minutes later. A nondescript driver nodded at me when I slid into the back seat of one of my uncle’s cars. I was surprised to see that the car stopped outside uncle Myc’s house and not the Diogenes Club. I suddenly felt bad for interrupting his sleep.

“No need to apologise, Rosamund,” uncle Myc assured me before I’d even said a word. “We had just woken up. Gregory was called away to a crime scene.”

“Right. Perhaps for the best,” I said hesitantly, while I curled up in one of the comfortable armchairs.

“Your parents don’t know you’re here,” he stated.

“No. Hopefully I managed to sneak out soundlessly. I…overheard something when I came home. Unexpectedly. I was supposed to spend the night at Clare’s, but a trip to the A&E put a stop to that,” I sighed.

Uncle Myc cocked an eyebrow at the mentioning of the hospital.

“Clare’s brother. Broken fingers. She went hysterical, so I…”

“You took it upon yourself to accompany them. Being a comforting presence. Just like your father,” he summarised.

Despite my distress, I had to chuckle a bit. I wondered if he was aware of how much he reminded me of Papa in such moments. Probably, I concluded.

I gave him a clinical summary of what I’d heard back at 221B. He inhaled sharply and clenched the armrests so hard his knuckles whitened. His eyes closed and a pained expression manifested on his face. Years of practise paid off because when he opened his eyes again, he was his normal calm self. 

He told me about his and Papa’s sister Eurus and what she’d done as a child and that she’d been locked up at a place called Sherrinford. I was shocked beyond belief, and braced myself when uncle’s look got even more sombre, after he’d uttered the words: “and then she managed to escape.”

“Dad was trapped in that well, and Papa…”

I had a hard time grasping all this mind-blowing and horrific information.

“Yes,” uncle interrupted.

There was no need to tell that tale one more time.

“So, why now, do you think? Dad’s nightmare, I mean.”

“Ah, yes. I got a call from Sherrinford yesterday. Eurus fell into a coma. She never woke and died a few hours later. We all went there yesterday to confirm and bury her,” he told me and clenched his jaw tight.

She was his little sister, I thought, and tears started to stream down my cheeks.

“Don’t,” he said fiercely when I was about to rise and go over to hug him. 

“But, uncle Myc, she was your…”

“She was a predator, a manipulator, a cold-blooded killer. Eurus stopped being my baby sister long ago, Rosamund, and I’m glad she’s dead. It means that one of the heavier burdens I’ve been forced to bear, is finally lifted off my shoulders.”

“I still want to hug you,” I whispered. “We could both need one, I think.”

Uncle Myc stood and opened his arms. He held me tight, and I buried my nose in his chest and inhaled the familiar scent of his luxurious aftershave.

“Thank you for keeping us safe,” I murmured and rubbed his back.

“A privilege, my dear,” he assured me with a steady voice. “The guest room is ready for you. No need to go back to Baker Street at this hour.”

“How can anyone think of you as a heartless person, Mycroft Holmes?” I asked fondly and stroked his cheek.

His blush and muteness spoke volumes. He was just as sentimental as his younger brother.

(Canon do-over)

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

More tags in the replies

[scotianostra]

On 24th February 1923, the world famous steam train, the Flying Scotsman, went into service.

From the 1920s the train was considered the height of luxury. Onboard there were first-class restaurant facilities, a cocktail bar and radio equipment, so passengers could hear the horse-racing results.

There was even a hairdressing salon where men could have their facial hair shaved with an open razor, made possible because the barber's chair was set in such a position that there would be "no jolting". I'm not sure I would have a shave in a moving train!

The train's hairdresser was reportedly known as "Sweeney Todd of the Rails", given his precarious trade.

In 1928 the train broke the record for the longest regular non-stop train journey in the world, when the LNER ran an express service for the entire 393-mile route.

This record would last until 1948, when, unintentionally, the train broke its own record. The Flying Scotsman ran for 408 and a half miles in May of that year when flood damage to the main line caused diversions via St Boswells and Kelso.

Throughout World War II The Flying Scotsman was one of the few titled trains that continued to operate along the East Coast - it carried troops between London and Scotland, although the headboards and roofboards were removed for security.

And, on 21st June 1958, in a historic move which would signal the decline of steam, The Flying Scotsman was hauled for the first time by a diesel locomotive.

The service is currently run by government-owned East Coast.

In May 2011 they relaunched the service, painting one of their locomotives, the Class 91 No. 91101 with Flying Scotsman branding.

At the launch East Coast said the move was "part of our policy of bringing back train names and restoring pride, passion and even a touch of glamour and romance back to the East Coast railway".

It's not all a romantic journey though, just last September there was, what the called a "slow speed” crash with another heritage train hours before visitors were due to board it.

It happened lwhen the ocomotive was being shunted into place to be coupled with the Royal Scotsman train carriages, which were stationary.

A spokesman for Royal Scotsman train owner Belmond described the collision as “minor” and said there had been no major injuries.

"We are grateful for the prompt attendance by paramedics who were on site to assist the few passengers and team members who sustained minor injuries,” the spokesman said.

"One passenger and one team member are attending hospital for a precautionary check-up.

"All passengers have been transferred to a hotel where our team is on standby to offer support and to assist with our guests’ onward travel arrangements."

Last year ater travelling 10,000 miles across the UK as part of its centenary celebrations, world famous locomotive Flying Scotsman will spend the first part of 2024 on static display at the National Railway Museum in York before resuming rail tours later in the year.

The custodianship of The Flying Scotsman is up for tender later this year, so by this time next year I may be telling you about new "owners"

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

It all comes down to this

Carmy and Syd have much more in common than their passion for food.

They both grew up without one of their parent figures and regardless of the reason why that happened, the end result was the same for both: an absent parent and having to learn to live with that deep wound at a very young age. Pivotal.

Both had alcoholic parents (this is my educated guess about Mr. Adamu seeing as he drinks soda, the other option is that he doesn't drink alcohol because of religious reasons, which I don't think is the case). Only Emmanuel is a recovered alcoholic and Donna, well... she's Donna. Also pivotal.

The catch/difference is that these factors caused trauma in Carmy, however in Syd's case, since she was raised by a loving parent who has overcome his addiction (probably because of her) she didn't develop a trauma response like Carmy did. She did develop a G-Woman complex though, but that is something I will probably address in a later post because this one is about certain Sydcarmy parallelisms not solely about her.

They both developed another trait (by compensation) they have in common: A need to take care of other people, thus they both work in the hospitality and service industry. And they both developed a coping mechanism: Creativity. Whether that is through drawings or through coming up with recipes. The culinary arts are all about creativity as well, but not just about that, also about service and about KEEPING THINGS UNDER CONTROL, which is also another thing they have in common, they both want that, chase that. But they act differently when they don't get it and act the same way when they lose it. Aka: Review 1x7.

Their paths meet in more ways than one.

They understand each other and speak the same language. And even though none is a master in communication skills, they can definitely manage to understand each other without using words. Even so, as their relationship evolves, that should change.

Should be really interesting to see them both overcome their shadow aspects together, through working together and growing together, not just professionally.

If they didn't wanna do that, Braciole 1x8 would have ended differently.

If they didn't wanna help each other, they wouldn't have said this, because we all know it wasn't easy for them to admit it:

That's why, as I mentioned here and here, the show is about the FOUND FAMILY concept and about overcoming loneliness. No one achieves the level of growth the main characters have to achieve, alone.

[topguncortez]

9-1-1, what's your emergency? || Whumptober Day 14- J. Seresin

whumptober masterlist

synopsis: the hospital used to be one of your favorite places to be at. . . that was until someone took the joy right out of helping people

word count: 2.6k

@ailesswhumptober prompt: field medicine

warnings: mass shooting, vivid description of being shot, death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of a psychotic break, mentions of being held in a psych ward.

Y/N looked peaceful, and not like her mind was running a mile a minute. Ever since that day, the day her whole life changed. It was like Y/N was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for some other evil to walk through the doors and unleash their wrath. This was supposed to be a safe place. The place where people go to treat their injuries, not to receive them. No matter how hard Y/N tried to forget, she couldn’t shake that day. 

It was burned into her mind. 

— — — 

The day started like every normal day. For the first time in a long time, neither one of them had spent the night at the hospital. Being an intern, Y/N found that she was sleeping more in on-call rooms than in her own bed. The feel of soft silk sheets and the warmth of the body next to her, made Y/N want to curl up and never leave. 

The sun was poking through the curtains, making the bleak white bedroom seem even warmer than usual. Jake had only lived in the house for a couple of months and hadn’t got to decorate his room yet. He looked down at the gorgeous girl in his arms, her dark curly hair sprawled over the pillows. Her pink lips slightly parted as soft snores left her mouth. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“I love you,” Jake whispered to her, running his thumb over her cheek. Y/N nuzzled into the warmth of Jake’s hand, her eyes slowly starting to flutter open. She peered up at him, meeting those gorgeous forest-green eyes that she loved so much. A sleepy smile rose on her face. Jake’s green eyes always seemed to be a lighter shade of green when he looked at her. 

“I love you,” She said, her voice thick with sleep. All Jake could do was lean down and kiss her. 

Jake hadn’t said those three words out loud yet. They were always right at the tip of his tongue, but for some reason, he couldn’t say them yet. Y/N, on the other hand, loved telling Jake that she loved him. She loved the way his eyes would light up and a blush would crawl on his cheeks. It was something that rolled off her tongue in the morning over coffee, at dinners in the cafeteria, or drinks at The Hard Deck, and even those steamy moments in the on-call room. Y/N loved Jake with every fiber of her being, and Jake knew that. 

It never bothered Y/N that Jake didn’t say it back. She knew that this whole relationship thing was new to him. He was the hot-shot Cardio surgeon who did the Lord’s Work and slept with anything with a vagina. Y/N knew that he was going into uncharted territory and that feelings for him were complicated. Hell, the whole thing between them was complicated, but she was going to stay by his side for the long ride. 

“You’re on your brother’s service today?” Jake asked as the two of them walked into the hospital. Surprisingly, they had gotten there on time, after a passionate romp in the sheets beneath the morning sun. They always stopped for coffee at their favorite coffee cart, right outside the hospital. 

“Yes I am,” Y/N nodded, heading behind the nurses’ station to grab her charts, “Fixing crooked noses and giving old housewives new boobs.” 

“I do more than boob jobs,” Bradley chided, as he leaned against the counter, “We’re gonna have fun today, little sister.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes and looked up at Jake, “See you at dinner?” 

“Of course,” Jake winked and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “Try not to lose brain cells while doing nose jobs and boob jobs to cougars.” 

“I do more than boob jobs!” Bradley yelled as Jake walked away, waving him off. 

Jake was planning on telling Y/N tonight. He had planned the perfect night, a candlelight picnic out on a piece of land he bought when he first moved to California. It was up in the hills and overlooked the beach. Jake knew how much Y/N loved sunsets and it was the perfect place to watch it. He was going to tell her as they shared a bottle of wine and ate chocolate-covered strawberries. He was going to tell her how much he loves her and how she’s it for him. They hadn’t been together long, but Jake knew that Y/N was going to be the one he would spend the rest of his life with. 

If only he had been watching where he was going. 

Jake was looking down at his pager, his eyebrows furrowed at the word “lockdown”. Maybe a baby was missing? Or maybe some psych patient decided to venture to the cafeteria by themselves again? 

“Oh shit,” Jake cursed as he ran into someone. He stumbled back a bit, and looked at the older gentleman who was wearing a dark coat and had a troubled look on his face, “Sir, can I help you?” 

“You forgot who I am,” The man spoke evenly, “How could you forget me when I didn’t forget you?” 

“Sir, I-” Jake couldn’t finish his sentence when the man raised his hand and pointed a gun at him, “Shit!” Jake turned, trying to protect his important organs as the shot was fired. He felt the bullet pierce his skin like it was lightning. The brunt of the bullet caused him to go crashing to the ground. 

Now Jake truly knew what the sentence a slug to the chest meant. 

His vision went black for a moment and he had to force the air back into his lungs. Jake quickly pressed his hands to his chest, remembering some of the years of medical training he had under his belt. He could feel his lungs filling with his blood as his body was screaming at him in pain. Mustering up whatever strength Jake had in his body, he crawled his way to the elevators, pressing random buttons and hoping to hit the right one to open the doors. He prayed to whatever God was there to protect him and get him to someone. 

His mind was running as he stared at the ceiling of the elevator, withering in pain, Who the fuck shoots someone at a hospital? He thought. Did the man shoot someone else before he shot him? Was there some crazed gunman running around the hospital? Where was Y/N? 

“I never told her. . .” 

— — — 

“What the hell does lockdown mean?” Y/N asked her brother, walking up to the nurses’ station. The one surgery that was on the docket had been postponed due to the sudden lockdown. 

“Probably a baby misplaced in the cabbage patch,” Bradley shrugged, “Why? You said you don’t get to do a cougar’s boob job?” 

“Got jokes now don’t you,” Y/N playfully shoved her brother. 

“Sir,” A nurse called out. Y/N looked over her shoulder as a man in a dark coat was walking up the stairs, “We’re on lockdown, you can’t-” 

Loud shots filled the air as the man unloaded his gun into the lobby. Bradley quickly covered his sister’s head, pulling her down to the floor as patrons, doctors and nurses took off running in different directions. Y/N crawled away from the front of the desk to get behind it, where she found a nurse who had been shot in the throat. 

“Oh god,” Her hand trembled as she reached out to check for the nurse’s pulse, “Oh god, oh god!” 

“We gotta go!” Bradley grabbed his sister’s hand and pulled her away from the dead nurse. They got up to their feet, Bradley still covering his sister as they walked toward the elevator. Bradley punched the button repeatedly, cursing the elevators to go faster. The second the elevator opened, Y/N felt her heart stop in her chest. 

“Jake. . .” Y/N breathed out, seeing her lover bleeding from a gunshot wound to his chest, “Oh my god!” She fell to her knees, putting her fingers to feel for a pulse, “He’s alive.” 

“Get in,” Bradley shoved his sister farther in the elevator, pushing a button for a lower floor. When the elevator doors opened again, Bradley moved to put his arms under Jake’s armpits and dragged him out, “Go open the conference room door,” Y/N stood frozen in her spot staring at the blood on the floor of the elevator, “Now! Doctor Bradshaw, move!” 

Y/N nodded and moved out of the elevator, as Bradley dragged Jake’s body. Jake let out a guttural scream at the jostling of his pain-ridden body. 

“Go get that med cart in the hallway,” Bradley commanded, and Y/N complied. Bradley hoisted Jake’s body on the table. 

“Don’t. . . kill. . . me. . . dickhead,” Jake said through clenched shut teeth. 

“I’ll try not to,” Bradley said, as Y/N came back in with the med cart, “He’s got a tension pneumothorax, I gotta get in a chest tube.” 

Y/N crawled on the table next to Jake, “We got you, baby, we got you. I love you so much, okay?” Y/N pressed her lips to Jake’s chapped ones. 

“Hold him down,” Bradley said as he got things prepped to give Jake a chest tube, “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, Seresin.” 

Y/N grabbed his arms as Bradley took the scalpel in his hand. She closed her eyes tightly as Bradley lowered the blade to Jake’s chest and began to make the incision. Jake screamed in pain, as he thrashed on the table. Y/N used all her strength to hold him down so Bradley could work. She knew Jake was strong, but she underestimated just how strong he truly was. 

“Shut him up!” Bradley grunted, trying to hold Jake’s other arm while trying to set up the chest tube. Jake’s screams seemed to grow louder the deeper Bradley cut, “Y/N!” 

“I’m trying!” Y/N yelled and grabbed some sterile rags to shove in his mouth, “Please pass out. Please pass out.” She said over and over like a prayer. 

Jake tried his hardest to keep his eyes open, looking at the beautiful girl in front of him. The beautiful girl he never got to tell he loved. The beautiful girl who was watching him die right in front of her eyes. 

“Please, pass out,” Y/N said again. Jake seemed to nod his head, letting his eyes flutter shut, “Oh thank god,” Y/N sighed in relief. 

“He’s losing too much blood,” Bradley shook his head, “I need meds, and blood and-” 

“I’ll go,” Y/N volunteered, looking at her big brother, “You’re the actual doctor. You can actually save him. . . I’ll go.” 

Bradley looked at his sister. She had been the wild child. The one who liked to push the limits and see how far she could get before she got grounded by her parents. She had always been the one who looked fear in the face and laughed. 

But now, all Bradley sees is a little girl, who lost her parents way too young. The little girl who would sneak into his bed during thunderstorms. The little girl who thought he was a hero and wanted to grow up to be just like him. 

“Please, Bradley,” Y/N pleaded. 

Bradley looked down at his friend and then back to his sister, “Right there and right back. If you see that fucking psycho, you run. You run as fast as you fucking can and don’t think about coming back.” 

Y/N nodded her head. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Jake’s lips, whispering that she’d be right back and that she loved him. Then she hugged Bradley tightly and promised to be right back. 

“Bradley. . .” Jake whispered, his eyes still shut, “You gotta. . .” He opened his heavy eyelids and looked at his best friend, “T-t-ell her. . . I love-” 

“You’re going to tell her yourself, you hear me?” Bradley said. He grabbed Jake’s shaking hand and held it tightly, “You’re not gonna die on my table, you got that, asshole?” Jake let out a light chuckle.

“I need you t-to. . .” Jake’s eyes started to flutter as the grip on Bradley’s hand loosened. 

“No, no, no, Jake, stay with me, please. Jake!” Bradley yelled, as Jake’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his hand went limp.

— — — 

“She awake yet?” Bradley asked, walking into his little sister’s room. 

“Not yet,” Jake sighed stretching and sitting back in his chair, “Still sleeping soundly. Whatever the hell is in that IV bag must be the strong stuff.” 

Bradley snickered and sat down on the other side of Y/N’s bed. Jake who was still healing from surgery, had been by Y/N’s side for the past several days. He refused to leave, to sleep, and to eat. Other friends and family had been coming by in shifts to see Y/N since Bradley and Jake thought it was best to have her committed, but Jake had refused to leave. 

“How’s everything going?” Jake asked, looking at Bradley. The two had gotten closer these past couple of days, both of them keeping a close eye on Y/N. Plus, Jake felt like he owed his life to Bradley. 

“Good. There’s this new trauma guy who we all have to talk to and get cleared by to be able to go back to work. Do you think you’ll be returning soon?” Bradley asked him. 

“I’m not sure,” Jake said honestly, “How the hell am I supposed to walk these halls? The halls I almost died in, where your sister almost got shot in, where. . . people did die. It just seems easier to walk away from this whole place.” 

Jake had been put on mandatory leave, due to the injury he had sustained in the shooting. He had heard from Bradley and Natasha about Y/N having several breakdowns while at work. Y/N had freaked out on a patient and had worried the counselor during a counseling session. Jake had done her best to take care of Y/N at home; holding her while she screamed at night, making sure she ate a balanced meal, and comforting her when she broke down and cried from just being tired. 

“But you don’t want that. You don’t want to leave.” Bradley said, looking at the way Jake looked at Y/N, “You love her too much to leave.” 

“Is it obvious?” Jake smiled, looking at his dark-haired girlfriend. 

“You have love-sick puppy eyes when you look at her.” Bradley smiled, “The same eyes my dad had for my mom. And the same eyes she has for you.” 

“I never told her to her face,” Jake clenched his jaw and looked down at his hands, “She’d say it all the time. Over breakfast, in the car, in the middle of the hallway. But I was such. . . I was such a fucking coward,” Tears started to fall down his cheeks as he looked at his sleeping girlfriend, “I should’ve told her. I should’ve told her that morning like I was planning to. But I got scared and then I almost-” 

“She knows, Jake,” Bradley said a soft smile on his face. Jake looked up at him, and Bradley nodded towards his sister, who was starting to wake up. 

Jake moved quickly and kissed her, pulling her tightly into his arms. It had been 3 days since Jake had seen those honey-brown eyes he had fallen in love with. 

Jake cupped your cheeks in his hands, running his thumb over the supple part, “I love you, Y/N Bradshaw.” 

taglist: @els-marvelvsp @sarahsmi13s @topgun-imagines @cassiemitchell @xoxabs88xox @seitmai @a-reader-and-a-writer @bradleybeachbabe @kmc1989 @senawashere @beautifulandvoid @ohtobeleah @rogersbarnesxx @oatmealisweird @dempy @devil-angel-winchester @gillybear17

[burntsecrets]

The Slushie Incident

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Reader

Word Count: 1574

Prompt: Girls are red, and boys are blue. No making purple at chu–. What? You never said anything about tongues. 

Summary: Got your attention with that prompt, huh? Lol. You and Eddie swear you were going to tell everyone you’re dating. The timing just hasn’t been right. They found out anyways, in the most embarrassing way. 😳

Warnings: making out, heavy petting, both over 18, tons of fluff, mention of homelessness, mention of murder, mention of mobs, mention of Vecna, mention of demobats

This thing between the two of you was new and exciting. You both swear that you had every intention of telling the Scooby Squad when the time was right–which never seemed to happen–ya know, with saving Hawkins from Vecna and Eddie’s recovery in the prison hospital while everyone worked tirelessly to clear his name in Chrissy’s murder. 

Eddie had been out for five days before you two were finally alone. It took you five minutes to confess your feelings and fifteen before your head stopped spinning, and you could breathe from the breathtaking makeout session that ensued. 

Ever since then, the two of you were inseparable. To be honest, you were surprised no one in the Scooby Squad had figured out what was going on between you and Eddie. Since his uncle’s trailer was destroyed–the school gym doubled as temporary housing–Eddie had gotten into the habit of sneaking into your bedroom by climbing the flimsy trellis on the side of your house. 

Each night Eddie was the perfect gentleman. He’d hold you in his arms, and on the nights the nightmares of the demobats were too much, you’d hold him in yours and stroke his hair while whispering that he was safe and home with you. Well, as safe as anyone can be in Hel–I mean Hawkins. 

During the days you volunteered with the cleanup of Hawkins. It was another way for you to be close to Eddie while he served his community service–for being a fugitive and not turning himself in. It was a small price to pay because he was alive and hadn’t been made an example of by the close-minded fear-mongering mob led by Jason. 

Before meeting up with the gang on the weekends, you and Eddie would stop by the corner convenience store. You’d grab slushies while Eddie grabbed a pack of smokes, much to your annoyance–since you had an hour to kill before what you personally dubbed the Scooby Squad Sessions. 

You’d both sit in the parking lot of the convenience store, you on the curb, Eddie on the edge of his van’s sliding door facing you. You’d both drink your slushies, and he’d smoke a cigarette before heading over to the Wheeler’s. 

This week was a bit different, you had both gotten your slushies, but instead of your normal routine, you had convinced Eddie to drive to your spot in the woods. From the moment Eddie pulled out of the parking spot at the convenience store, you weren’t able to keep your eyes off him. 

Sometimes, you liked to just admire him. This was one of those times. 

He was singing along to Ballroom Blitz by Sweet, pitching his voice to match the vocals of Brian Connolly and making up hand movements. The sun glinted off the rings on his hands and illuminated some of his curls, turning them golden brown against the deep chocolate of the rest of his hair. 

He glanced over at you, the dimple in his right cheek prominent as he sang, “cause she thinks she’s the passionate one…OHHHH, YEEAAAHHH.” He grabbed your hand and shook it with the yeahs before the chorus broke out, and he let go to use both of his hands to beat on the steering wheel. 

You bit the straw of your slushie as you admired him. Your hands itched to touch him. You leaned over the armrest of your seat, the seatbelt taut across your chest, as your lips grazed his cheek. You could feel the dimple form under your lips as a smile stretched his. 

An expulsion of air escaped your lungs as you felt the jerk of the seatbelt as the van pulled off the road and into an empty lot near the entrance to the woods. 

The next thing you knew, your face was encased in the warmth of Eddie’s hands as his lips crashed onto yours, his tongue languidly thrusting and stroking along yours. He tasted like blue raspberry with the barest hint of nicotine. “I could stay like this forever,” you thought lazily. 

The click of your seatbelt coming undone brought you out of your haze, and you broke the kiss as the seatbelt went whizzing over your head, barely missing your nose and face. Eddie was already climbing out of his seat and into the back of the van. Once in the back, he outstretched his hand to you. You took it, and he gently helped you get over the center console and into the back of the van. 

He touched his forehead to yours and closed his eyes, “You have no idea how much you mean to me, baby.” Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. 

As Eddie's warm breath brushed against your skin, you couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions. His words resonated in your heart, and you knew he meant just as much to you. The way he looked at you made you feel cherished, and you couldn't imagine being anywhere else at that moment.

Still holding hands, you both settled into the back of the van, nestled in each other's arms. The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting a soft glow around you. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this intimate space.

Time seemed to slow down, and the world around you became a blur as you spent the afternoon lazily making out. As much as you wanted to stay in this moment with Eddie forever, you knew you had to rejoin the world outside.

With a sigh, Eddie broke away from you and twirled a piece of your hair around his fingers, breaking the spell. "As much as I'd love to stay here, we should head to Wheeler’s house," he said, his voice filled with regret.

You reluctantly nodded, knowing he was right. "Yeah, they'll be wondering where we are," you replied, trying to hide the hint of disappointment in your voice.

You both made your way back to the front seats, a sense of contentment lingering between you. The van roared to life before it rolled back onto the road. You stole glances at Eddie, his hand resting on the gearshift. Imagining where that hand had been mere moments before. 

The drive to the Wheelers’ house was filled with laughter and light conversation, but the energy between you and Eddie was palpable–electric. You could feel it course through your body, especially in your fingertips. 

As Eddie pulled up alongside the curb of the Wheeler’s house, you noticed that Steve and Robin were just getting out of Steve’s car, their Family Video vests still on. As Dustin and Max walked out of the Wheeler’s garage to welcome them. 

You grabbed the remainder of your slushie and hopped down from Eddie’s van, the door slamming shut behind you. “What’s up, nerds?” Eddie shouted lovingly at the group gathered outside. 

As you got closer, you joined the conversation Steve was having with Dustin about the next steps in the campaign. You stood over by Max and Robin, listening in and chewing on your straw. Your eyes raked lazily over Eddie’s form as he animatedly talked with the group. “Ugh, why is your tongue purple?” the question Robin directed at Eddie broke you from your staring. Your brows furrowed, “Purple?” 

Eddie looked around the group, “Hmm. Is it really?” Before he stuck his tongue out, Gene Simmons style, giving everyone a good look. 

You laughed with the group at Eddie’s antics. “Geez, so is yours!” Robbin exclaimed at you. You could feel the confusion on your face, “Mine too?” 

“Yeah, it is!” Robin exclaimed. “Did you guys drink purple alcohol or something?” Steve asked jokingly. 

“No, we just had slushies,” Eddie explained.

Dustin cut in, “Purple slushies?!”

Max’s head whipped toward Dustin, “I didn’t know they made grape-flavored slushies!” 

“Ummm. I had a blue raspberry slushie,” you explained. “And I had a cherry one,” Eddie proudly stated. 

“What? How does that make any sense?” Robin asked, a bit frazzled. 

It was at that moment that the color drained from your face as you put together what happened. 

You saw the smirk form on Robin’s face as she figured it out right before Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh. My. God.” Eddie looked between the three of you, “What?” 

Steve put his hands on his hips, activating what you all called his “dad mode” before asking, “Eddie, what did you and Y/N do today before coming here?” 

“We went to the park, and we drank our slushies,” Eddie explained slowly. 

With everyone focused on Eddie, you began to frantically shake your head no at him–trying to get him to stop talking. “And then?” Steve prompted. Eddie finally looked at you, confused as you mimed zipping your lips and locking them and throwing the key. 

You saw the moment it all clicked for him as to what happened as a lazy smile crossed his lips, and the tip of his purple tongue peeked out as he wet his lips.

“Oops, guess you guys caught us,” Eddie said before striding across the circle to where you stood. He cupped your cheeks in his hands, smiling down at you, before landing a searing kiss on your lips. 

You briefly heard Dustin make a retching sound before blocking everything out and giving yourself over to the kiss.

You relaxed into the kiss, dropping your slushie cup and what was left to the ground.

If you're wanting to be on a tag list for a fandom or character, please fill out this form here.

Author's Note (A/N): This was inspired by a TikTok I saw sometime in 2022. I don't remember the name of the user as all I wrote in my notes for this was "tongues purple. slushies red and blue."

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Martin Pengelly at The Guardian:

Protesters calling for Israel to cease fire in its war with Hamas who have disrupted US public events and infrastructure are practicing “leftwing fascism” or “leftwing totalitarianism”, a senior US House Democrat said, adding that such protesters are “challenging representative democracy” and should be arrested.

“Intimidation is the tactic,” said Adam Smith of Washington state, the ranking Democrat on the House armed services committee. “Intimidation and an effort to silence opposition … I don’t know if there’s such a thing as leftwing fascism. If you want to just call it leftwing totalitarianism, then that’s what it is. It is a direct challenge to representative democracy now.” Smith was speaking – before the outbreak this week of mass protests on US college campuses, many producing arrests – to the One Decision Podcast and its guest host Christina Ruffini, a CBS News reporter. Ruffini asked Smith about protests in his district, including vandalism at his home and a town hall meeting disrupted by protesters demanding an end to the Israeli bombardment of Gaza prompted by attacks by Hamas on 7 October. Disruptive, aggressive protests are “illegal … completely wrong … and enormously dangerous”, Smith said, adding: “I really want people to understand – and I put out a statement after they shut down a town hall meeting that I was trying to have [in March] – what’s going on here. “And everyone’s like, ‘Well, you understand their passion and all that. And I do understand that, I do. This is a life-or-death situation. It is certainly not the only life-or-death situation that I and all policymakers deal with. But it is one that is important. But that’s not what [the protesters are] doing. “What they are trying to do is they are trying to silence opposition and intimidate decision-makers. I’ve been doing town hall meetings for 34 years now, in some pretty hotly contested environments … [but] I have never had a town hall that I couldn’t keep under control enough so that people had the chance to say their piece. “But [the protesters’] goal and their objective was not to get their point across. It was to silence anyone who dared to disagree with them, to make sure that only one voice was heard. And their other goal was to intimidate. That’s why they’re showing up at member’s houses.”

[...] “I got two words into it and they started screaming at me again. So this is a different thing than your standard protest. In my view, the solution to it is if they are committing a crime – which by the way, shutting down a freeway, shutting down an airport, intimidating people, there’s a crime – [they] ought to be arrested.” Protesting at public figures’ homes should also be subject to arrest, Smith said. “The point of it is intimidation. And I think it is harassment. It’s a crime, and I think [they should] be arrested for it. “… But you know, when you are shutting down freeways, shutting down airports, frankly putting people’s lives at risk – If you’re an ambulance trying to get through to hospital – then that’s going beyond getting your point across, and you’re trying to intimidate and silence people in a way that I think is troubling.”

Excuse me, Rep. Adam Smith (D-WA)?! Pro-Palestinian protesters on college campuses are not the ones silencing the opposition, but pro-Israel Apartheid apologists like you are the ones squelching freedom of speech.

Your call to arrest the protesters reeks of fascism!

[apeekintothepantry]

Meet Violet Fielding, my original historical character from 1918 Boston!

I've been doing some workshopping with my custom historical characters because I've been a little bored with AG's historical offerings of late, and because it's a fun excuse to dig into moments in time that interest me personally, but AG probably wouldn't produce a similar character themselves. (I say that, but my 1940's Hawaii character predates Nanea, so who knows! Maybe I'm manifesting some future stuff I can borrow for my gals.)

Violet is the youngest of three siblings. Her older sister Alice is in her early 20's and either a nurse or a Hello Girl, leaning towards nursing because I'm not sure I want her to go overseas and she could work at a hospital in Boston during the war. Her older brother James is 19 and enlists in the Marines once the US enters World War I. I think by Violet Saves the Day, he's returned home dealing with quite a bit of "shellshock" and that becomes a somewhat major theme.

Her parents are pretty wealthy, and the family lives in a brownstone on Beacon Hill in Boston. Her dad is a doctor and mom is a suffragist who also gets involved in causes supporting the war effort. Both parents are very supportive of their kids following their passions and getting themselves out there in this still relatively new century, which is why Alice has been allowed to go to school instead of immediately marrying some wealthy guy.

Vi herself is a precocious and creative kid. I think she likes to draw and paint and generally be crafty and creative, which comes in handy when brainstorming ways she can support her brother overseas and the war effort more broadly. While she's not afraid to get her hands dirty, she does like typically girly things like having teatime and looking at catalogs filled with new dresses. Her book series would theoretically cover 1917 through 1919 or so, and touch on the war, Women's Suffrage, the Spanish Flu, shellshock, and possibly the Boston Molasses Disaster.

Currently I'm trying to come up with a best friend character for her, as she really needs a Nellie or Ruthie in her life with the age difference and both siblings being off doing exciting and scary things without her. There are a lot of different directions I could go in with said friend - fellow wealthy-ish kid feels boring, Boston had a lot of new immigrant communities in the 1910's, some of whom did live in a specific part of Beacon Hill, Boston historically struggles with insidious covert racism but was still a city with a number of prominent Black and Jewish communities - and nothing's quite clicked as perfect just yet.

Violet is a Marie-Grace doll with a Nanea wig. Someone was selling her on a Facebook group a few years ago and I immediately felt like she was a Violet and needed to join my crew. Her last name was inspired by Lady Dorothie Fielding, a British woman who drove an ambulance during WWI and received several awards for bravery and service. Fielding's letters home were published after her death and are a really fascinating look at what it was like on the front lines doing this incredibly dangerous and important work. I used it as a major primary source for an educational interactive I helped develop in one of my previous jobs.

[wrishwrosh]

re: tags on labor in historical fiction post, would be very interested to hear what the four examples you mentioned are!!

ok u know what that tag WAS bait, thank you for taking it. technically speaking these aren't works dealing strictly with labor in historical fiction, they are my four treasured examples of BUREAUCRAT FICTION (so not NOT about labor in history?) i was gonna try to make this post pithy and short but then i remembered how extremely passionate i am about this microgenre i made up. so sorry.

bureaucrat fiction is not limited by genre or format but criteria for inclusion are as follows: long and detour-filled story about functionary on the outside of society finding unexpected success within a ponderously large and powerful System/exploring themes of class and physicality and work and autonomy and what it means to hold power over others beneath the heartless crushing wheels of empire/sad little man does paperwork. also typically long as hell. should include at least one scene where the protagonist is unironically applauded-perhaps for the first time in their life-for filling out a form really good. without further ado:

soldier's heart by alex51324. the bureaucracy: british army medical corps during wwi. the bureacrat: mean gay footman/new ramc recruit thomas barrow. YEAH it's a downton abbey fic YEAH it's a masterpiece. i've talked about it before at length, my love has not faded. the crowning moment of bureaucracy is a long interlude where thomas optimizes the hospital laundry (this actually happens twice or maybe three times)

hands of the emperor by victoria goddard. the bureaucracy: crumbling fantasy empire some time after magical apocalypse. the bureacrat: passionate late-career clerk from the hinterlands cliopher mdang. i reread this book every winter bc it is as a warm bath for my SAD-addled brain and every time i neglect all my responsibilities to read all nine billion pages in three days. it puts abt 93% of the worldbuilding momentum into elaborating all of the ministries and secretaries and audits necessary to run a global government and like 7% into the magic and stuff. there are also several charming companion novellas and an equally long sequel that dives more into the central relationship between cliopher and the emperor which i highly recommend if you like gentle old man yaoi and/or magic, but there's more bureaucracy in HOTE.

the cromwell trilogy by hilary mantel. the bureaucracy: court of henry viii. the bureaucrat: thomas cromwell, the real guy. curveball! it's critically acclaimed booker prize winning rpf novel wolf hall! mantel is really interested in particular ways of gaining and maintaining power in delicate and labyrinthine systems like the tudor court, specifically in strongmen who use both physical intimidation and metaphysical manipulation to succeed. under these conditions i do think my best friend long-dead historical personage thomas cromwell counts as Bureaucrat Fiction (as do danton and robespierre in a place of greater safety. bonus rec.)

going postal by terry pratchett. the bureaucracy: fantasy postal service of ankh-morpork. the bureaucrat: conman, scammer, and little freak moist von lipwig. this is definitely shorter and lighter than the other three entries on the list, sort of a screwball take on the bureaucrat. but the mail is such a classic bureaucracy thing? who doesn't love thinking about the mail? also contains a key genre element which is a fraught sexual tension with the person immediately above the protagonist in their hierarchy, who is also their god-king and boyfriend-dad. you can't tell me vetinari isn't torturing moist psychologically AND sexually.

anyway sorry about all this. if you've read any of these come talk to me about them. bureaucrat fiction recs welcomed with the openest possible arms.

[communistchilchuck]

Ahmed reached out to me to help share his fundraiser. He is urgently trying to raise money to help evacuate his displaced family from Gaza. He has currently made $14,415 out of his $80,000 goal! Please donate, and if you can’t donate, please share!

From Ahmed’s GFM:

Hello everyone, my name is Ahmed Abuzaid I live in Richmond TX I'm fundraising on behalf of our in-laws Al Madhoun family from Gaza. The family from Gaza faced multiple forced evacuations, each more difficult than the last. They walked 17 kilometers from the north to the south of Gaza, surviving bombings and snipers along the way. Upon reaching the Nusirat Camp, they discovered their home had been destroyed by Israeli forces. They found shelter with relatives, lacking basic necessities such as water, food, and clothing, they had nothing but their national IDs and passports.

Al Madhoun family: Khaled Almadhoun (59) is a hypertensive who is currently struggling to afford his life-saving medication. Unfortunately, his medication was lost last month, leaving him without vital treatment especially as he recently underwent a coronary angiography. Elham (56) is a dedicated housewife who selflessly cares for her entire family around the clock. Despite her tireless efforts, she carries the weight of worry for the future on her shoulders. I am highlighting the story of a passionate and ambitious dentist Fatmaalzahra (26), who devoted her skills to serving refugees through UNRWA. Unfortunately, she is now facing unemployment as a result of the catastrophic circumstances. Mahmoud(31) is a devoted employee who has served with Mercy Corps (Gaza Sky Geeks) for over 5 years. Unfortunately, his contract has been interrupted due to the ongoing conflict. Amidst these challenges, his pregnant wife, Wisam (26), is living in constant fear as many hospitals are out of service. They also have a 3-year-old son named Daniel who needs care and protection. Mohammed(33) is a talented graphic designer who has lost his source of income due to the lack of electricity and internet during the conflict. His wife Sally (27) and their young sons, Khaled (6) and Zain (3) have already experienced the devastating impact of multiple conflicts. This family is struggling to make ends meet and provide for their children during these challenging times. Despite multiple evacuations, they continued to face hardships and injuries. With little resources and a desperate will to survive, Fatmaalzahra and her family were forced to evacuate to Deir-Al Balah. During their evacuation, tragedy struck as a neighboring house was brought to the ground, causing Fatmaalzahra to sustain severe injuries to her head, arm, and shoulder from sharp debris. The once-skilled dentist now faced a grim reality as her dominant hand was affected, hindering her ability to perform her work and earn a living. Despite the physical and emotional scars she would carry from that fateful day, Fatmaalzahra refused to give up hope. With determination and resilience, she slowly began to heal from her wounds, knowing that the memories of that traumatic experience would always be a part of her. She emerged from the ashes of destruction, a testament to her strength and unwavering spirit in the face of adversity.

With no time to mourn and nothing left to lose, they are desperately seeking refuge with over 30 individuals in a cramped room that lacks even the most basic necessities. There is no electricity, no water, and no food or medicine available to them, leaving them in a constant struggle for survival. They have lost all hope of finding a safe place within Gaza. Every corner of Gaza is fraught with danger, leaving them with no option but to evacuate to the overcrowded city of Rafah. However, even in Rafah, finding shelter is a challenge as the only available option is unaffordable. People are forced to sleep on the streets in the harsh rainy weather, with children suffering in the freezing temperatures. They are far from their destroyed home, unable to return, and constantly on the move from the North to the South with no safe place to shelter. The situation is dire, and their desperation grows with each passing day.

Despite their already dire circumstances, they have been battling illness for the past three months without access to medical treatment. The pollution, lack of clean water, and scarcity of basic essentials only compound their suffering. With nowhere safe to shelter in Gaza, Almadhoun's family hopes to get out of Gaza legally through the Rafah port. They have registered their name on an exit list. However, with barely any money left they can’t afford to travel to Egypt and start a new life from scratch, the funds from your donations will be used to pay for travel expenses and help them start a new life outside of Gaza, away from the constant danger and uncertainty they have faced. The family is relying on the generosity of others to help them begin a new life and find a place of safety and stability. They have faith in relocating with your generous assistance.

Your donations cover:

-passport fees to renew and issue new ones

-visa paperwork

-Rafah border fees

-document transfers

-necessities (water. food, baby supplies)

-Transportation (buses, trains, taxis)

-Hotels, apartment accommodations

-Food, clothes, shoes, medicine

-School tuitions, uniforms and supplies for children

Your generosity can make a real difference in the lives of these individuals who are in desperate need of help. By contributing, you are providing them with a chance at a brighter future and the opportunity to live in safety and peace. Your support is invaluable and will be greatly appreciated by those who are struggling to survive in the Gaza Strip. Please consider making a donation or sharing their story to help them get the assistance they need. Thank you for your compassion and willingness to make a positive impact on the lives of others.

On behalf of the Almadhoun family, thank you for considering extending a helping hand to this family facing uncertainty and fear. Thank you for being a beacon of hope in times of darkness.