#Making Electric SUVs

[ross-hori]

Got a hankering for an SUV?

Fancy a stylish crossover?

Want to be able to fit in parking bays, go down narrow roads without having a heart attack and not sit in a car so big it has an echo?

Suzuki Hustler. For those "big enough" moments.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tesla's Dieselgate

Elon Musk lies a lot. He lies about being a “utopian socialist.” He lies about being a “free speech absolutist.” He lies about which companies he founded:

https://www.businessinsider.com/tesla-cofounder-martin-eberhard-interview-history-elon-musk-ev-market-2023-2 He lies about being the “chief engineer” of those companies:

https://www.quora.com/Was-Elon-Musk-the-actual-engineer-behind-SpaceX-and-Tesla

He lies about really stupid stuff, like claiming that comsats that share the same spectrum will deliver steady broadband speeds as they add more users who each get a narrower slice of that spectrum:

https://www.eff.org/wp/case-fiber-home-today-why-fiber-superior-medium-21st-century-broadband

The fundamental laws of physics don’t care about this bullshit, but people do. The comsat lie convinced a bunch of people that pulling fiber to all our homes is literally impossible — as though the electrical and phone lines that come to our homes now were installed by an ancient, lost civilization. Pulling new cabling isn’t a mysterious art, like embalming pharaohs. We do it all the time. One of the poorest places in America installed universal fiber with a mule named “Ole Bub”:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

Previous tech barons had “reality distortion fields,” but Musk just blithely contradicts himself and pretends he isn’t doing so, like a budget Steve Jobs. There’s an entire site devoted to cataloging Musk’s public lies:

https://elonmusk.today/

But while Musk lacks the charm of earlier Silicon Valley grifters, he’s much better than they ever were at running a long con. For years, he’s been promising “full self driving…next year.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

He’s hasn’t delivered, but he keeps claiming he has, making Teslas some of the deadliest cars on the road:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2023/06/10/tesla-autopilot-crashes-elon-musk/

Tesla is a giant shell-game masquerading as a car company. The important thing about Tesla isn’t its cars, it’s Tesla’s business arrangement, the Tesla-Financial Complex:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

Once you start unpacking Tesla’s balance sheets, you start to realize how much the company depends on government subsidies and tax-breaks, combined with selling carbon credits that make huge, planet-destroying SUVs possible, under the pretense that this is somehow good for the environment:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

But even with all those financial shenanigans, Tesla’s got an absurdly high valuation, soaring at times to 1600x its profitability:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/15/hoover-calling/#intangibles

That valuation represents a bet on Tesla’s ability to extract ever-higher rents from its customers. Take Tesla’s batteries: you pay for the battery when you buy your car, but you don’t own that battery. You have to rent the right to use its full capacity, with Tesla reserving the right to reduce how far you go on a charge based on your willingness to pay:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/09/10/teslas-demon-haunted-cars-in-irmas-path-get-a-temporary-battery-life-boost/

That’s just one of the many rent-a-features that Tesla drivers have to shell out for. You don’t own your car at all: when you sell it as a used vehicle, Tesla strips out these features you paid for and makes the next driver pay again, reducing the value of your used car and transfering it to Tesla’s shareholders:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/2/6/21127243/tesla-model-s-autopilot-disabled-remotely-used-car-update

To maintain this rent-extraction racket, Tesla uses DRM that makes it a felony to alter your own car’s software without Tesla’s permission. This is the root of all autoenshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

This is technofeudalism. Whereas capitalists seek profits (income from selling things), feudalists seek rents (income from owning the things other people use). If Telsa were a capitalist enterprise, then entrepreneurs could enter the market and sell mods that let you unlock the functionality in your own car:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/11/1-in-3/#boost-50

But because Tesla is a feudal enterprise, capitalists must first secure permission from the fief, Elon Musk, who decides which companies are allowed to compete with him, and how.

Once a company owns the right to decide which software you can run, there’s no limit to the ways it can extract rent from you. Blocking you from changing your device’s software lets a company run overt scams on you. For example, they can block you from getting your car independently repaired with third-party parts.

But they can also screw you in sneaky ways. Once a device has DRM on it, Section 1201 of the DMCA makes it a felony to bypass that DRM, even for legitimate purposes. That means that your DRM-locked device can spy on you, and because no one is allowed to explore how that surveillance works, the manufacturer can be incredibly sloppy with all the personal info they gather:

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/03/29/tesla-model-3-keeps-data-like-crash-videos-location-phone-contacts.html

All kinds of hidden anti-features can lurk in your DRM-locked car, protected from discovery, analysis and criticism by the illegality of bypassing the DRM. For example, Teslas have a hidden feature that lets them lock out their owners and summon a repo man to drive them away if you have a dispute about a late payment:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

DRM is a gun on the mantlepiece in Act I, and by Act III, it goes off, revealing some kind of ugly and often dangerous scam. Remember Dieselgate? Volkswagen created a line of demon-haunted cars: if they thought they were being scrutinized (by regulators measuring their emissions), they switched into a mode that traded performance for low emissions. But when they believed themselves to be unobserved, they reversed this, emitting deadly levels of NOX but delivering superior mileage.

The conversion of the VW diesel fleet into mobile gas-chambers wouldn’t have been possible without DRM. DRM adds a layer of serious criminal jeopardy to anyone attempting to reverse-engineer and study any device, from a phone to a car. DRM let Apple claim to be a champion of its users’ privacy even as it spied on them from asshole to appetite:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Now, Tesla is having its own Dieselgate scandal. A stunning investigation by Steve Stecklow and Norihiko Shirouzu for Reuters reveals how Tesla was able to create its own demon-haunted car, which systematically deceived drivers about its driving range, and the increasingly desperate measures the company turned to as customers discovered the ruse:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/tesla-batteries-range/

The root of the deception is very simple: Tesla mis-sells its cars by falsely claiming ranges that those cars can’t attain. Every person who ever bought a Tesla was defrauded.

But this fraud would be easy to detect. If you bought a Tesla rated for 353 miles on a charge, but the dashboard range predictor told you that your fully charged car could only go 150 miles, you’d immediately figure something was up. So your Telsa tells another lie: the range predictor tells you that you can go 353 miles.

But again, if the car continued to tell you it has 203 miles of range when it was about to run out of charge, you’d figure something was up pretty quick — like, the first time your car ran out of battery while the dashboard cheerily informed you that you had 203 miles of range left.

So Teslas tell a third lie: when the battery charge reached about 50%, the fake range is replaced with the real one. That way, drivers aren’t getting mass-stranded by the roadside, and the scam can continue.

But there’s a new problem: drivers whose cars are rated for 353 miles but can’t go anything like that far on a full charge naturally assume that something is wrong with their cars, so they start calling Tesla service and asking to have the car checked over.

This creates a problem for Tesla: those service calls can cost the company $1,000, and of course, there’s nothing wrong with the car. It’s performing exactly as designed. So Tesla created its boldest fraud yet: a boiler-room full of anti-salespeople charged with convincing people that their cars weren’t broken.

This new unit — the “diversion team” — was headquartered in a Nevada satellite office, which was equipped with a metal xylophone that would be rung in triumph every time a Tesla owner was successfully conned into thinking that their car wasn’t defrauding them.

When a Tesla owner called this boiler room, the diverter would run remote diagnostics on their car, then pronounce it fine, and chide the driver for having energy-hungry driving habits (shades of Steve Jobs’s “You’re holding it wrong”):

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

The drivers who called the Diversion Team weren’t just lied to, they were also punished. The Tesla app was silently altered so that anyone who filed a complaint about their car’s range was no longer able to book a service appointment for any reason. If their car malfunctioned, they’d have to request a callback, which could take several days.

Meanwhile, the diverters on the diversion team were instructed not to inform drivers if the remote diagnostics they performed detected any other defects in the cars.

The diversion team had a 750 complaint/week quota: to juke this stat, diverters would close the case for any driver who failed to answer the phone when they were eventually called back. The center received 2,000+ calls every week. Diverters were ordered to keep calls to five minutes or less.

Eventually, diverters were ordered to cease performing any remote diagnostics on drivers’ cars: a source told Reuters that “Thousands of customers were told there is nothing wrong with their car” without any diagnostics being performed.

Predicting EV range is an inexact science as many factors can affect battery life, notably whether a journey is uphill or downhill. Every EV automaker has to come up with a figure that represents some kind of best guess under a mix of conditions. But while other manufacturers err on the side of caution, Tesla has the most inaccurate mileage estimates in the industry, double the industry average.

Other countries’ regulators have taken note. In Korea, Tesla was fined millions and Elon Musk was personally required to state that he had deceived Tesla buyers. The Korean regulator found that the true range of Teslas under normal winter conditions was less than half of the claimed range.

Now, many companies have been run by malignant narcissists who lied compulsively — think of Thomas Edison, archnemesis of Nikola Tesla himself. The difference here isn’t merely that Musk is a deeply unfit monster of a human being — but rather, that DRM allows him to defraud his customers behind a state-enforced opaque veil. The digital computers at the heart of a Tesla aren’t just demons haunting the car, changing its performance based on whether it believes it is being observed — they also allow Musk to invoke the power of the US government to felonize anyone who tries to peer into the black box where he commits his frauds.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

This Sunday (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

Image ID [A scene out of an 11th century tome on demon-summoning called 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros. Anno 1057. Noli me tangere.' It depicts a demon tormenting two unlucky would-be demon-summoners who have dug up a grave in a graveyard. One summoner is held aloft by his hair, screaming; the other screams from inside the grave he is digging up. The scene has been altered to remove the demon's prominent, urinating penis, to add in a Tesla supercharger, and a red Tesla Model S nosing into the scene.]

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tesla_Model_S_Indoors.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[cerisereids]

𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗼𝘀- 𝘀.𝗿. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟭]

pairing- spencer reid x fem!reader

wc- 3.5k

summary- you meet spencer reid while he's in your hometown on a case. you share one day before he has to leave. what happens when you can't stop thinking about each other?

warnings- sfw, reader is referenced as a woman, canon typical case discussion/emotions, fluff to angst, no happy ending (for now...) takes place in massachusetts for this first part, lmk if i missed any!

a/n- so. i ended up making this multiple parts. it's just too long. here is part 1 enjoy 😚

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. 

The soothing sun of an east coast spring morning bathes your skin in warmth, releasing some tension you have carried in your muscles since you first arrived at your desk this morning. The wind rustles through the trees, the idyllic scenery around you in motion with the breeze. The plants in the rose garden, the leaves and petals swirling around, they all follow the gusts in time, and you wish your morning was so easy. Your eyes fall shut, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks as you recall that initial feeling of dread, the way it seeped through your bones when you arrived to work, met with a ransom note left on your desk. One million dollars. That’s how much the sender was demanding. One million for the safe return of Charles Anderson, local politician, diplomat, and the man who owns and funds the very library you manage. 

At first, you were convinced it was a prank, refusing to let in the pure panic pounding at your heart until you were certain something was very wrong. Asking for $1,000,000 from a local library almost seemed like a joke to you at first, like a teenager made it up to spook you. It wouldn’t be the first time. You took the note to your boss’ office, eyes widening, panic in full force once you saw the state it was in. Papers everywhere, desk drawers flung open haphazardly, and an open window. Your heart nearly stopped as you raced back to your desk to dial 911. 

Your eyes flutter open, back to reality as the tires of a black SUV screech against the library’s parking lot, coming to a halt right before you. You instinctively back away as a group of polished professionals exit the car, guns and badges strapped to their clothes. Your fingers find the pendant of your necklace, nervously fiddling with the small pearl resting on your chest. You greet the man in the suit, who introduces himself as Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. You walk the group of concerned faces over to your desk, where the note was originally found. They bag all evidence, and soon you’re left with only two agents. One is a kind woman with black hair who introduces herself as Emily, and the other is, quite literally, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your entire life. His brows furrow and his big brown eyes bore widely into yours, checking for any and all signs of distress as he shakes your hand, introducing himself as Spencer. 

His hand lingers, his warm palm resting in yours for the briefest moment. A jolt of electricity shoots through your veins all the same. You yank your hand back, not out of disdain, but because of the unfamiliar comfort of his touch. You hardly know this man, only so much as his name, but the mere touch of his calloused palm floods you with warmth, with comfort, as if you’ve known him your whole life. It scared you, but the reassurance in his eyes now puts you at ease. He knows. He feels it, too, you can tell. 

Emily can tell, too, apparently. She clears her throat, effectively popping the golden, glittery bubble that surrounded you and Spencer in that moment. Her eyes flit between the two of you and your cheeks burn, you avert your eyes until the embarrassment passes. You suppose this is what it must be like being surrounded by profilers all day, your thoughts and feelings constantly on display. If it were a certain profiler, though, you’re not sure you’d mind so much. 

“Ooookay…” Emily trails off, accusation lacing her tone, “I’m going to take a look in Anderson’s office, there could be something there that'll help us find him. Reid, you’re gonna stay here with this lovely lady until we get the all clear,” she nods towards him. Spencer Reid. You replay his full name in your head on a loop, it’s pretty, like him. 

His head snaps up toward his coworker, brows furrowed as he stutters, “b-but I thought Hotch wanted me to-”

“Stay with her? While I go investigate? Yes, he did,” Emily finished for him, eyes boring into his in an attempt to send an unspoken message.

You’re no profiler, but now it’s your turn to flit your eyes between the two people before you, deciphering the unspoken words between them. From the blush creeping up the apples of Spencer’s cheeks and Emily’s knowing glare, it’s safe for you to assume she’s throwing him a bone here. Thank God for that.

As she turns to walk away, a lightbulb goes off over your head, “b-but-” you stop Emily as she walks away, and she whips around with an inquisitive look on her face, “is it safe to stay open? I mean, they broke in here and took Charlie-uhm-Mr. Anderson- and I don’t want our patrons to be in danger.”

“That’s an excellent question, Miss,” Emily responds, and the calming tone of her voice puts you at ease, “from what they’ve found at the station, the threat appears to be towards Anderson personally, not any of the institutions he owns. We’d like to keep it open so as to not cause public suspicion, the attention could make whoever’s taken him panic and kill. If anything happens, we’re here, and we have emergency teams on standby.” You nod, fingers once again anxiously fiddling with your pearl as Emily heads into Charlie’s office. 

The first few minutes after Emily leaves you two alone is painfully awkward. The two of you stand still at your desk for a beat, both sets of eyes avoiding the other as much as possible while a thick silence settles between you.

“Uhm-” Spencer’s voice cracks as he attempts to use it, he clears his throat before continuing, “you can-you can keep doing what you normally do. I’ll just be here to protect you.” 

Your eyes drift to his biceps, which are unfairly toned for such a lanky guy. You wonder how the cotton of his shirt would strain against them while he wrapped his arms around you, protecting you from whoever left the note on your desk this morning. The chaos of this morning would at least be worth something if it leads you there. 

“What, like a security guard? I thought you were supposed to be some FBI hotshot,” you flirtatiously test the waters, teasing him gently. Your sparkling eyes now scan back up his neck, to his lips, then back up to his own eyes, and the contact makes you nearly dizzy. 

“Oh! Well no-no not necessarily a security guard. Security guards became more popularized in the 1840s when a man named Allan Pinkerton founded the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, which is now one of the largest private security companies in this country, actually! Their primary focus is on protecting institutions and artifacts,” he fidgets with his fingers as he rambles, and your heart grows three sizes. 

“Bodyguards, on the other hand, originated over 2,000 years ago during the reign of the Roman Empire. They protected royalty and leaders, so a bodyguard would be a more accurate description.” He finished his thoughts by clasping his hands together, interlacing his fidgeting fingers, while a flat smile appeared on his mouth. He looks almost guilty, like he’s said too much and is afraid you’ll laugh or tell him to shut up. 

Luckily for him, though, he’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met, so you smile and say, “that's really interesting, Spencer, I had no idea," you see him relax a bit at your validation, so you keep going.

"You said bodyguards protect royalty?" it's nearly breathtaking how enthusiastically he nods, his soft hair moving with him, "so I can be, like, your queen for the day, hm?” you raise a brow at him as you fiddle with the end of his tie, and his face is nearly red as a tomato by this point. 

“Yes!” he nearly jumps out of his own skin at the contact, and you nearly melt from how endearing it all is, “well, your safety is incredibly important so maybe you can just pick up from where you left off before we got here,” his voice picks up in speed and your heart could burst at the fact that you’ve worked him up this much while doing so little, “you can pretend like I’m not even here, I’ll just be sure you’re safe, while the rest of my team works to safely return Mr. Anderson,” he slows down a bit towards the end, taking a breath and giving you a smile, a real one this time. 

You return it, “thank you, Dr. Reid. You being here has already helped more than you know,” he finally initiates eye contact himself this time, his head snapping up automatically, before he could decide not to.

“Go-good,” he clears his throat once more, “I’m glad to help. That’s my job.” You exchange another set of smiles and you wonder how long it will be before you just can’t take it anymore.

“Well, unfortunately, though, there is nowhere for me to pick up on, because the first thing I did when I got here was call you guys,” your smile only widens as he shakes his head, cheeks tinting once more, “oh-no-no of course, yeah that makes sense.”

“Lucky for you, though,” you poke at his chest gently, “it seems as if my first task of the day is restocking the nonfiction section, let’s go!” you chirp as you march along, rolling the cart full of returned books.

“Why is that lucky for me?” he trips over a cord in his attempt to catch up with you, and you giggle, reaching out a hand for him on instinct. To your surprise, he links his pinky with yours.

“For someone who knows as much about security guards as you do, I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you like nonfiction,” you say while you swing your arms back and forth, and he mumbles in agreement. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. 

“Wait a minute, so-let me get this straight,” you stop and turn away from the bookshelf to face the tall man behind you. Over the past hour, you’ve reshelved your way to the romance section, “so you have three Ph. D.s, two B.A.s, and you’re working on your third? While working for the FBI?” you push the cart further down the aisle as he walks beside you, leaning against the parallel bookshelf when you stop.

“Yep-yeah, that’s-that is correct, yes. I-uh- I have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory. You were accurate in your assumption about nonfiction,” he jokes, a sweet smile on his face. His smiles have grown more confident in the past hour, the more you two exchange niceties, anecdotes. You revel in those smiles, soaking in each one like a cat laying in the sun.

“I love that, education is so important,” you remark, and his blush deepens. Whether it’s because of your compliment or the shirtless man on the cover of the pirate romance you’re reshelving, you’re not sure. All you know is that this man before you makes your heart twinge with a longing you haven't felt in years. You want to see that blush on those cheeks everyday for the rest of forever. 

“Is that why you wanted to work at a library? Because education is important?” he questions. You can tell he's desperate to keep the attention off his reddening cheeks, the blush now making its way to his ears. You could die at the way the tips of them turn pink, but you choose to answer his question instead.

“My mom always told me that education sets you free. I think it’s so true, no matter how you go about seeking that education. When you know better, you do better, y’know?” you pause, and he nods like you’re the most important person in the world, “I wanted to be able to encourage that in our patrons. I think I’ve done a good job,” you smile as you think back to the successful programs you’ve run through this library: book clubs, after school science fairs, and more. 

“I’m sure you have, I can tell that there is immense love and care poured into this building on a daily basis. Your passion shines through you, y’know,” Spencer dotes, and you nearly forget how to breathe. His compliments seep through your skin, making its way into your bones. You shudder. This man is something else. 

“So, what made you decide that the FBI was where you wanted to use all this knowledge?” you ask as you ruffle his hair gently, eagerly drinking in yet another smile. This one’s shy, aimed at the ground. A blush he’s so desperately trying to hide creeps up to the high point of his cheekbones, despite his best efforts to conceal his flustered nature from you. 

“I had a mentor, he founded the unit back in the 70s. Hand picked me from the academy,” he lets out a nostalgic chuckle at the memory, and you wish you could bottle it up like a perfume, “we were really close, he’s the only person who could beat me at chess, actually," he's looking down when you turn to face him, his foot kicks around at a stray pebble that's made its way inside from the courtyard. You can tell he's not sure if he should say more. You hope he does. 

"He quit a few years back without warning, he lost someone he cared about and couldn’t take it anymore. It really wrecked me at the time, but people move on, I guess…” he trails off, sheepishly looking once again towards his Converse. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he's wearing that same guilty face from earlier, as if he’s afraid he’s said too much. It’s not possible, though. You want to know every detail, glimpse into every nook and cranny of this man’s peculiar life. 

“I know what you mean,” you start delicately, so he knows you mean it, “Charlie-uhm- Mr. Anderson-” you corrected, “he came to speak at one of my grad school lectures, what, probably five or six years ago now?" you chuckle at the memory, unbelieving that it was already so long ago, and Spencer smiles with you. It makes you feel like the queen of the world. 

"From the second he began speaking to us about this library, I fell in love with it. I spoke with him afterwards and it was an instant fit. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to him,” the dread from this morning slowly creeps back into the pit of your stomach as you turn to Spencer with sad, wide eyes. 

“My team is some of the best in the world,” Spencer reassures you, a hand resting on your shoulder that eases the erratic beat of your heart, “they are doing everything they can to find him and return him safely.”

You greedily lean into his touch, savoring the feel of his forearm against your cheek, “‘m worried about him,” you croak, eyes glossing over, “he’s older than he used to be, y’know. He’s stubborn, but he’s not so spry, especially compared to when I first started working for him. I’m scared,” you confess, tears finally spilling over your lash line.

“Come here,” Spencer whispers mainly to himself, but you pick it up. Butterflies swarm in your stomach as he envelops you in the sweetest hug known to man. 

His arms fit perfectly around you as you cuddle into him, utilizing him for every last bit of comfort he’ll allow. You turn your head so your temple rests on his chest, eyes scanning over his biceps, now flexing and straining against his printed button up. You allow yourself to indulge in the tautness for just a moment, before you wrap your arms around him in return. He takes this as a sign to pull you in deeper, tighter, a large hand soothing the expanse of your back in calming circles. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers into your temple, and you shudder at the way his breath hits your skin. You want to feel it all the time. 

Once he releases you, you reluctantly return to your shelving. You thank your lucky stars that your back is facing towards him, lest you give up all your cards so quickly. Now that you’ve had that contact with him, you’re not sure you’ll be able to go without it. You can still feel the warmth of his skin as he wrapped himself around you, the softness of his forearms, the way your arms wrapped perfectly around his waist. A giddy weight sits heavy in your stomach, you’re breathless, like you’d been touched by an angel. Maybe you were. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. 

You thank your lucky stars that Spencer was right. Later in the afternoon, his team had found Charlie in an abandoned warehouse by the bay, the men who took him are in custody, and now you’re sitting in a plastic, sticky hospital chair as the steady beeps of an EGK machine torment you from across the hallway. You pick at your nails, desperate to pass time until Charlie’s family gets here. You promised you’d stay with him, why wouldn’t you after everything he’s done for you? What you don’t understand is why Spencer has stayed behind with you.

“You don’t have to be here, y’know?” you say, even though you desperately want him to stay. You nudge his knee gently when you see a small smile form on his lips, “wouldn’t you much rather be closing out this case with your team?”

“I’d rather be anywhere you are, making sure you’re okay,” he tells you matter of factly, eyes looking directly to yours. 

Those agonizing big brown eyes have plagued you all day. Every time you catch even the slightest glimpse, an overwhelming ache punctures through your heart, right in the middle. You imagine it’s what being shot with Cupid’s arrow is like. A heavy silence falls between you then. You both know what comes next. Spencer and his team close the case, and he goes home. You both turn your gazes forward, avoiding the other’s sad eyes, avoiding his departure. 

A sudden clapping noise jumpstarts you back to reality, and you reluctantly turn away from Spencer to find Charlie’s wife behind you. Her hands are clasped, eyes glassy and wide. You’re frozen at the sight of her, the true gravity of what you’ve experienced settling in fully. A pit sits in your stomach like a rock at the bottom of a lake. You know you must look foolish, but your body can't move, all your energy has been usurped by the otherworldly events of your day. Your red, dry eyes meet her glassy ones, and you wish so desperately you could be of some sort of use.

Spencer thankfully takes over, patting your knee like he can read your mind as he directs Charlie’s distressed wife to the room across the hall. You sit, now alone, with your back to the wall. You feel outside yourself, like you’re floating above the hospital, not actually in it. You’re not blinking, you’re pale as a ghost. 

You watch half heartedly through the glass as Spencer explains to her what’s happened. You know he’s told her he’s okay by the way she gasps, pulling him into her arms without a second chance. You feel ridiculously jealous at the sight of it.

When he exits the room to give her some privacy, that same, all knowing silence dawns upon you two again. He stops in front of you, crouching down to meet your level. You keep your gaze on your loafers tapping against the linoleum floor. Spencer takes your wrists in his hands and moves them apart, leaving you no choice but to accept your vulnerability. Your now glossy eyes reach his, and it’s like you can see the ache, the longing for what never was and never could be. 

“I-” Spencer starts, but his voice croaks, so he clears his throat and continues, “I had the best time keeping you safe today. I’m really happy we were able to find your boss, I know he means a lot to you,” his voice is gentle, kind, and you want to strangle him for it. Your life has been turned upside down, irrevocably changed, and this is all he’s leaving you with? You foolishly anticipated a grand confession, for him to sweep you off your feet and vow that 90 minutes isn’t that long of a flight, that you could make it work while he’s in Quantico and you’re here. That was your mind’s fairytale, though, and this is real life. 

“Goodbye, Spencer,” you whisper through an embarrassing onslaught of tears, “I hope you fly safe.”

You disassociate once more, only pulled back to reality by the feel of Spencer’s soft, chapped lips against your forehead. Then, he’s gone.

[reidsdimples]

Strictly Professional | Part 4

Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

18+❤️‍🔥 MDNI ‼️

You go see Spencer in his hotel room after a case is wrapped up.

Part 1, 2, 3

“You’re staring,” JJ says, startling you.

“Wha-“ you say absentmindedly.

She nods towards Spence who is leaning against one of the black SUV’s talking to Rossi.

His legs are crossed at the ankles, his sleeves rolled up, and his hands are shoved into his pockets. The streetlights above his cast his features in stark shadows. It was… distracting to say the least.

“It’s the pants right? They’re more form fitting,” JJ laughs. You turn to her with your mouth agape.

“I wasn’t…”

“Come on, you’d have to be blind not to see how good he looks,” she nudges you.

“Aren’t you married?” You ask playfully,

“Married, not blind,” she winks.

You smile and roll your eyes.

“Yeah it’s definitely the pants,” you surrender.

“So make a move,” she says and hands you a piece of gum.

You’re all waiting around for Hotch and Prentiss to call you into the house a block down which they are staking out.

“No way, we’re coworkers,” you make an effort to sound appalled and hope she doesn’t pick up on the insincerity.

“Oh please, it wouldn’t be the first time romance struck the BAU,” she says. You give her a blank and confused stare. “Kevin and Penelope?”

“Oh right, but they work in different units,” you point out. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not interested in him like that,” you decide to shut the conversation down.

“What are we talking about?” Morgan hops in.

“Nothing,” you and JJ say in unison.

“Damn, okay,” he laughs and holds up his hands feigning innocence.

“He’s got the girl, we’re going in,” Hotch comes over the ear pieces. You all jump into one of the SUVs.

Morgan drives and Rossi takes the front seat.

You, JJ, and Spencer cram into the back in a hurry. You slam into Spence when you stumble over the middle console, your face colliding with his chest. JJ is shoving herself into the space next to you.

“Sorry,” you push yourself off of him and sit up. He lets out a soft laugh.

Your bulky vests make the whole thing awkward as the car speeds towards the unsubs house.

You’re in the middle, pressed into Spence who is looking everywhere but towards you. You inhale his familiar scent and your body comes to attention. It recognizes him, craves him. You adjust to pull your arm out from between the two of you and he lifts his arm to help. He props it on the head rest behind you but doesn’t touch you. He’s close enough that the heat and electricity starts buzzing between you. He clears his throat and you swear he’s adjusting himself by shifting his legs. You nearly smirk because you have the same effect on him.

The car stops abruptly and you’re all piling out of it. You get back on your A-game and pull your gun from the holster.

Somewhere in the house you hear Rossi reasoning with the man who comes into view.

The 10 year old little girl is trembling under his knife, her face streaked with tears.

“Hey Kelly,” Spencer begins quietly. You glance it him, unsure what he’s doing. The unsub seems put off too.

“Can you tell me how you feel, tell him how what he’s doing is hurting you,” he says gently. His gun is holstered.

The unsub had taken the little girl after his own daughter was murdered. He was trying to create a new life with a new child to fill a void. He didn’t profile as someone who would hurt the child.

“I don’t like it, it’s scary,” the girl cries.

“It’s going to be okay Kelly, we’re going to get you out of here,” Spencer says softly. She nods and sniffles.

“Lionel you hear that? You don’t want to hurt her the way they hurt Maya do you?” Rossi reasons.

“I want my daddy,” she cries again. Her small frame rattling with fear.

Lionel is looking frantically around the room, trying to find a way out.

“There’s no way out, you need to let her go. We can help you,” you say, keeping your gun centered on him.

“No one can help me!” He bellows angrily, causing Kelly to whine.

“Maya wouldn’t want this. You know you can’t replace her,” Spencer says.

That seems to break something in the man who drops his arm in defeat.

The girl sprints towards your team, immediately latching onto Spencer who allows her to grab his arm. She looks back at you with big teary eyes.

“You’re safe now,” you whisper to her.

The man is on his knees and the gun is kicked aside while Prentiss makes the arrest.

You and JJ walk with Spencer and the little girl outside where CPS will work out getting her home.

Cases didn’t always have happy endings but this was as close as it got. The mad had killed two other girls who didn’t fit his delusion but your team was able to save Kelly and stop him. It felt good.

“Good job in there,” you tell Spencer and offer him a fist bump.

“Thanks,” he reluctantly returns the odd gesture with a shy grin.

-

The team returns to the hotel and you’re so tired you can hardly think straight. The weight of the last week and a half finally starting to dissolve with the cases conclusion.

Once again you’ve had radio silence from Spence outside of professional interaction. Two weeks had passed since Penelope caught you red handed and you expected never to hear from him again.

You sigh and pour yourself a glass of red wine as you sink into the bathtub. You convince yourself it’s fine that he hadn’t made a move, you were fine with not having him. It’s fine.

But then time passes and you’re half a bottle of wine in, your mind wondering to the way those damn pants hugged his hips. The way it accentuated his ass and his long legs. You’re biting your lip when your hand drifts down into the water and over your clit.

Images of him with his vest on, his gun raised, his mouth moving as he talked had you squirming.

Then you remembered how good he always felt inside of you. How you’ve never cum so hard as when he fucked you. Ugh.

You become frustrated and stop rubbing yourself.

Fuck it.

You throw back another half glass of wine and pull on your pajamas. His room was three doors away. You would just march over there and antagonize him. Screw waiting for him to make a move. You were sick and tired of waiting for him to need you. It was your turn.

You knock lightly on his door so as not to alert the rest of the team in the other rooms. It takes a moment but he opens it after looking through the peephole.

“Hey,” he rubs his eyes.

He had been asleep, his hair tousled. He was wearing nothing but pajama pants and your eyes couldn’t help but trail to his stomach.

You place your hand on his chest and push him backwards as you step inside. Your eyes pinned on his. He immediately acquiesces to your command, especially when you push him against the wall and kiss him hard.

It’s clumsy, unpracticed. But you don’t care, you need him. His soft mouth melts and moves against yours until his hands trail up the small of your back.

“We really shouldn’t keep doing this,” he whispers but kisses you again.

“It’s so bad,” you agree.

It was bad, your addiction to one another.

“Mhmm,” he moans drunkenly as though intoxicated by you.

He lifts you up so your legs wrap around his waist, you slam your hand against the wall as you kiss him harder. Your tongues sliding together in teasingly slow motions. God he tasted so fucking good, you could devour him for an eternity.

You roll your hips against him where his erection is pressing into you and a sinful groan escapes him.

“You looked so fucking good today,” he praises as he carries you towards the bed. You’re licking and sucking at his neck, needing to taste him.

“You did too” you purr when he lays you flat on your back.

“How much did you drink?” He asks thoughtfully as he stands above you, taking you in.

“Just a couple of glasses of wine,” you wave your hand dismissively. You move your feet up his chest until they’re resting on his shoulders.

He abruptly grabs your ankles and drops your legs from him before walking out of view. You sit up, confused.

The he takes a seat in the chair behind the desk on the other side of the room. The desk has been covered in books and paperwork in the 10 days he’s occupied the room. It was so him that you grin.

“You came here because you wanted me,” he muses as he lifts his hips to pull down his pants. “Show me how bad you want me, pretty girl.”

He lounges back in the chair, his cock just out and ready for you. You bite your lip nervously but move over to him. He rolls the chair backward from the desk to ensure there’s plenty of room. He looks glorious bathed in the moonlight from the window.

You step out of your pajama shorts in straddle him, taking his face in your hands.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he pushes.

“I think I want you like this all of the time,” you whisper as you grind your wetness against his length.

He grips your hips as you begin to align yourself with the tip of his cock. You lower yourself down and he tries to slow you by digging his nails into your skin. He sucks air through his teeth and throws his head back as you take him completely.

“So tight,” he shudders. Then you rock your hips forward, your clit against him as his cock throbs inside of you.

You continue to roll your hips, keeping him as deep as possible as you find the exact rhythm you need.

You begin to move up and down his length and he groans when your grip his hair.

“Use me, make yourself cum,” he whimpers.

It’s a softer, needier side of him that you hadn’t seen before but you love it. So you do just that. You begin riding him and grinding down on him. Not caring necessarily about what feels good to him but about what feels good to you.

One of your hands trails down the column of his neck and you gently squeeze. His hands find your nipples and he squeezes them hard as he fights to keep quiet.

He’s a mess of groans and whimpers. You throw yourself forward and bite down on his shoulder as you fall into a desperate grind against him as you chase your orgasm.

You moan against his skin as you climax, your walls tightening around his cock in a way that has him squirming beneath you, one hand pulling at your hair while the other digs into your thigh.

“Fuck Spence,” you whisper and roll your head back.

You can feel your cum all over him and it feels so good as you continue to rock your hips back and forth.

“Hold on,” he says, his voice husky.

You do, you prop your hands on the chair behind him as he lifts your hips so you’re halfway up his length.

Then he starts thrusting up into you fast and hard until you’re biting your tongue to stifle your moans.

You have a hard time holding yourself up as he thrusts mercilessly into you, the sound of wet flesh slapping together filling the room. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold on as he pulls you closer. He doesn’t let up, his stamina unmatched as he pounds into you harder.

Your eyes roll back as you attempt to absorb the pleasure beating through you. He buries his head between your tits, his jagged breathing fanning against your skin. The two of you are absolutely lost in each other, unable to get enough. You’re moaning softly, trying to stay quiet when his nails dig into your back.

The sensation is enough to send you over the edge again.

“Baby, fuck baby,” he bites out as you orgasm over him again. He’d never called you that, it’s heady, it makes you smile.

His rhythm slows as you pull him to his climax until he’s cumming inside of you. You roll your hips down on him as he pumps his cum into you, knowing how good it must feel to be as deep as possible while he finished.

“Fuuuck,” he shudders.

His eyes are wide and his mouth is open as he watches you roll your hips the last few times, greedily taking all his cum.

Your eyes linger on each other as the moment softens. You lean in and kiss him, delighted when he kisses you back. It’s more passionate, less needy.

You pull away, not wanting to get lost in the labeling or feeling behind anything. You get off of him and hurry to the restroom where you start the shower. The mixture of both of your releases is running down your thighs and you need to focus on cleaning up rather than whatever you’re feeling.

Something like sadness washes over you, sadness that this can’t be more, that it isn’t more because he doesn’t want it to be.

You’re washing your hair when Spencer steps into the shower.

“Oh,” you startle.

“Is this okay?” He asks.

You nod, taking in his beautiful body as you pull him under the water.

You turn away from him and wash your face. That’s when he wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you flush against him. You stare down at his forearms overlapping across your stomach. He fits against you so perfectly as you lean back into him. He sways gently but doesn’t speak. The intimacy of just holding you seems to be what he needs, it’s not a side of him you’ve seen very much.

“You want me like this always too?” He whispers.

It takes you off guard, the vulnerability in his voice. It’s as though he’s searching for some clue that he means more to you than you let on.

You turn in his arms and reach up to smooth back his wet curls.

“What if I do?” Your voice is hoarse.

“I don’t know how this can be more,” he shakes his head.

You got it, you understood how much it would complicate things. When emotions and favoritism came into play amongst coworkers it could be distracting.

“What do you want Spence?” You decide to be brave and ask him.

Your bodies are pressed together, the warm water trailing between you.

“I want…” he looks at you with what can only be described as puppy dog eyes. Some mixture of fear and sadness painting his beautiful features.

“Reid,” comes Hotch’s voice with a swift knock on the door.

He jumps back, his eyes wide.

“Shit,” you whisper.

Spencer rushes out of the shower as panic consumes you. Why would Hotch need to talk to Spencer at one in the morning!?

[faeriekit]

Immediate Roadside Assistance Required

Phic phight fill for sapphireshield (no tumblr listed)

Warnings for: extremely mild depictions of domestic violence

The car that pulls over is a SUV. Beige. Kind of grimy. There’s a mom at the front; inside, Dani bets there’s probably one or two kids.

The mom rolls down the window. She looks nice. Kind of soft. Tough, in a kind of mom sort of way, but soft enough to see a girl with her thumb out at the side of the road and actually pull over. It’s a sweet gesture; Dani has a vague idea that hitchhiking hasn’t been trendy since the eighties, so this’ll have to do.

The mom sticks an elbow out the window and looks Dani up and down. “You alright, sweetheart?” she asks, a different twang on her tongue than the vowels Dani’s been used to all her (short) life. Dani might be out farther than she thought.

Dani grins. For this mom, it’s nice ‘n sweet. “I’m good! I need a ride, though; I’m trying to get to my stepparent’s place. Tryin’ to get as far as the border.”

The woman flattens her lips. She probably thinks Dani’s a runaway, but she’s not. Dani’s something a lot worse.

“You sure?” The mom looks up at the sky, even as her kid squeals about something snack-related in the back. “It’s about to get dark out, honey. Storm’s coming.”

Dani’s grin doesn’t let up. “I’m gonna go meet my brother! I already know where I’m gonna lay up, so don’t worry!”

The mom is for sure worrying; worrying her lip between her teeth, and worrying over a scruffy kid in a torn-up hoodie. “...Well. ‘Long as I get to see him when we get there. Hop in.”

Dani grins, and hops up in the car.

It’s a little warmer in there. Smells like cheerios; there’s a baby, Dani notices, in the back seat. It’s got her middle two fingers in its mouth and big brown eyes.

Dani waves. The baby stares, since babies do that, and Dani occupies herself by making funny faces over the shoulder of the passenger seat, eager to elicit a giggle from a little kid. She loves little kids. She wishes she’d been allowed to be one.

“You might want to turn around and buckle in, young lady,” the mom drawls, wiping stress off her forehead. “Don’t want you to die if we end up in a crash.”

I can’t, Dani doesn’t say, because she’s nice. I’m already dead.

So she turns around and buckles herself in. The mom flicks on the radio, and a woman’s voice starts growling over an electric guitar and a roughed-up drum kit. It sounds fun.

This ride’s going to be good. Dani grins, all teeth and brimstone. There’s a storm rolling in, bad luck hanging in the air like vapor and sparks. Lightning’s on its way.

It’s a long way to the state border. Dani’s going to enjoy every minute she can with the window down, electricity in her fingers, and the quiet humming of the driver singing along.

*

They make it to a rest stop about three quarters of the way there.

Dani’s not against stopping, so she just peeks out the window, watching cars and exhausted drivers slog through the paved flats of the rest stop parking lot. “What’re we doing?” Dani asks, entertained in her own way. Maybe this nice mom is going to try to hand her off to CPS!

It wouldn’t work, but, you know. It would be kind of annoying, if ultimately well-meaning.

“Diaper change for the baby,” the mom offers, and, yeah, that’s practical. “Vending machine break for me. Bathroom break for you, probably.”

Oh, that checks out. “Alright!”

The child lock pops, and Dani hops out of the car; she waits, patiently, for the mom to bring out the baby, who looks even more luminous asleep and spitty than when it's awake.

“It slept through a lot of Rock ‘n’ Roll,” Dani admires. The baby gets held to mom’s chest, a blanket wrapped around them both. “That’s cool.”

“He’s heard a lot of Joan Jett since he was born. I’d be shocked if he couldn’t sleep through a hurricane at this point.”

Dani trots after the mom, patient in her wake. They don’t look too much alike, so maybe there are other people wondering if they even know each other at all, or if Dani’s getting kidnapped or traded away for cigarettes. Or probably they just think Dani’s getting babysat, helping watch a baby while the mom ends up driving them over and away from wherever Dani’s landed herself this time.

The diapers the baby uses are a thick, sort of plush material. They look soft. There are little pastel teddy bears on them: one blue, one pink. Dani gets to touch one when the Mom asks her to pull one out of the big blue bag. There are a whole lot crammed in there; they’re packed in so tight that it’s hard to pull one out of the stack without pulling out all the others, but the baby can only wear one diaper at a time!

“Thanks, sweetheart,” the mom says. It’s the nicest anyone’s been to Dani in ages. She’s glad she lived long enough to hear a soft mom call her sweetie and sweetheart for no reason other than being convenient. “You have to go?”

Dani shakes her head. The mom gives her a look. “We’ll be in the state for another hour. You want to try, at least?”

…She hesitates. The baby doesn’t notice, busy playing with its toes as its mom tries to wriggle it back into its butt covering for the sake of covering its butt. She doesn’t usually have bodily functions that actually…function. But the mom lady didn’t know that.

Whatever. She’d play a game of Snake in there. “‘Kay.”

Dani goes into a stall, flicks open her phone, and manages to eat like twenty little pixels before she actually runs into her own little snake body and dies. Ugh. It doesn’t take up too much time— how much time are humans supposed to spend in the bathroom, anyway??— so she fires up a new game and almost gets through it before she hears someone yell. Dani jolts.

The baby starts crying, faint and far away. Dani quickly grabs herself together and puts the phone away. If something’s happening— something happening to the mom and the baby—

Dani dashes out of the bathroom. There’s a guy at the door. There’s a guy holding the baby by the arm so that the baby is dangling and the guy is yelling at the mom who’d driven Dani here, physically pushing her when she tries to get her baby back.

The instinct to hit him is impossible to wrangle. It’s too bad, but Dani has to help the baby and the mom. Hitting him might hurt the baby, if she isn’t careful— doubly true if she uses an ecto-blast.

She goes invisible instead.

Carefully pulling the baby intangibly through the man’s grip is a quiet, tense process. The baby keeps crying and crying and crying, but the more she hides it, the quieter the cries seem.

And then there’s a baby shallowly crying in her arms.

The guy doesn’t even realize, too busy shoving and hitting the mom who’d done nothing wrong. Dani hates this guy. He reminds her of Vlad— too angry that he isn’t getting his way, and never understanding why no one’s obeying him fast enough.

Dani hoists the baby into one arm, mirroring the way the mom had carried it into the rest stop when they first came in. The hold doesn’t feel as secure as Dany thinks it ought to, but it frees up a hand.

Dani grabs the mom’s hand.

The woman disappears into thin air. The guy looks so spooked.

Dani giggles. Either way, it’s super easy and simple to fly the mom and the baby through the bathroom walls, and hiding them in the bathroom cleaner closet seems safer than hiding them in a stall. Dani doesn’t pause when the mom gasps, frightened by the change in scenery; she pops the baby into her arms and disappears back the way she came.

Dani Phantom has a guy to beat up.

There are lots of ways to scare humans, Dani finds; humans are afraid of the dark, and afraid of what they can’t control. They’re afraid of pain, and they’re afraid of loud noises. Humans aren’t afraid of everything all the time, but they can be afraid of more things when they’re combined than when they’re not.

So Dani flexes her aura. The lights flicker in the main room of the rest stop. The man stops, but his hand is still raised.

He looks to see where the baby is, and realizes that he’s empty-handed. The woman is gone.

The lights go out.

Dani loves being seen sometimes. She doesn’t like being bothered, but she loves attention when she knows no one can call the cops on her; so she drips green. She lets herself glow, gloopy and malformed, as she pulls herself through the wall. She turns melty eyes onto the man who took the baby from its mom.

The guy kind of looks like he’s going to piss himself. Good.

Dani starts to fake cry. It starts out as little sniffles— and then moans, and sobs, Dani clawing herself out of the wall until she’s floating, midair, half-formed and wailing. She kind of hopes she looks super spooky, like one of those CGI gross guys from Stranger Things, or that girl who walked down the stairs in a spooky backbend one time.

The guy steps back. Great. Dani inches forwards. The guy steps back again, face pale as a china plate, looking inches from giving up the ghost and bolting off to the parking lot.

Excellent.

Dani takes her hands off of her face to show melting, distorted features. And she screams.

The guy is gone in seconds. He should just be a sprinter instead of bullying moms and their little babies! Dani huffs, hands on her hips. Whatever. As long as he’s gone, he can do whatever he likes.

Dani barely remembers to set her face right before going to get the mom and baby out of the closet. It doesn’t matter how human she looks, though, because when she opens the door back up for them, the mom looks like she’s seen a ghost.

Dani grins, and probably her teeth aren’t showing anything too weird or spooky. “That guy left! Can we go now?”

The mom takes a deep, rattling breath. She does that thing where she touches her forehead, her chest, and then the air above her shoulders. No one’s told Dani what that means so far, but she’s seen it a lot.

“...Sure, sweetheart.”

Dani beams.

They make it to the edge of the state just as the rain starts to pour down. The mom is still looking for Danny by the time Dani points them into a gas station, but Danny’s not here; Dani made him up long enough to get a ride as far as she thought she could get tonight. The mom is still peering through the gloom of the driver’s side window as Dani turns herself transparent and flies out and away.

The mom was nice. The baby was nice. Dani liked this ride.

She walks, intangible, through the rain. The highway is dark, and wet, but Dani’s optimistic; sometimes people feel bad for her, so she gets more rides in a thunderstorm than on a sunny day. After an hour, somewhere on a rural road she’s never seen nor heard of before, Dani sticks her thumb out for a low little car going exactly the speed limit.

The car has a little old couple in the front and passenger seat. They look like grandparents. The grandpa rolls down his window, white eyebrows pushed together. “You need a ride, honey?”

Dani grins.

[brownskinlemon]

can you write aaaa… dominic fike x reader/gf surprises him after a show overseas and they have sum great ‘i mmissed u’ sex ? 💋✨

pairings: dom/fem!reader gf

word count: 2,047

warnings: smut, multiple 0rg@sms, fluff, swearing

authors not: this was super fun to write! ty for the requests <3

Bass boosted through the venue, an electric guitar riffing in the distance as you watched your boyfriend through a small tv in the green room. You were sitting on the couch, excitedly toying your fingers against the worn leather as you waited for Reed to give you the okay to head to Dominic’s hotel. It was 9pm already, you had been here for an hour, all without Dom’s knowledge. You had to see him perform before heading there to surprise him.

It started with the expected loneliness that filled your apartment when  he left for tour, and then a not-so-silly idea as he joked on the phone.

“I wish you could come see me in New Zealand.” He chuckled, you two talked for a bit more until you decided to pretend to head to bed. As he headed to sound check somewhere in Europe, you stayed up late, searching for the nearest ticket to meet him in New Zealand. It had taken some sneaky conversations with Reed and some planning but you had formulated a plan to surprise him in NZ.

Now, here you were, pulled out of your trance by Reed poking his head into the green room.

“He’ll be off in about 25. Driver’s outside and it’s about a 15 minute drive away.” He smiled softly.

You hopped up, following him down a dark hallway and exiting out through a side door, swiveling your head around as you headed to a blacked out SUV, surprised to find no fans waiting outside the venue.

“They’re on the other side.” Reed chuckled, reading your mind. “Here’s the hotel key. Now shoo!” He joked, urging you into the car.

The ride to the hotel was calm and beautiful, the sights of Auckland keeping you in awe. You arrived at the Sofitel hotel, trying to maintain your composure at how grand and pristine the building was. The lifestyle that Dom had created for you was still too much to take in at times.

After checking in, you headed to the bar to pass time, wanting to give Dominic time to shower. You knew how hard we went at shows, and you figured he’d want to be clean and refreshed to be surprised. The sexual tension that had been laced in you two’s recent texts hinted to you what tonight could look like.

While waiting, you got a text from Reed:

“He headed up to the room about 15 ago, you should be all good to go. Good luck xx.” You were suddenly overcome with nervousness as you made your way to the elevator. You two had been together for about 2 years and you still couldn’t help the nervousness that overcame you when you were reunited with him. You chewed gently on your bottom lip, tapping your foot as the elevator made its way to the penthouse suite. After tapping your key, you gently opened the door, closing it behind you and crossing your fingers in hope that he was still in the shower. As you made your way through the suite, you were met with ever growing sounds of music echoing in the bathroom, paired with the steady pour of the shower. You tiptoed past the bathroom door, making your way to the bedroom, gently closing the door behind you. 

You kicked off your shoes, eyes catching yourself in the mirror, eyes scanning over the tight sundress you had decided on for today. Your eyes scanned over the room, suddenly met with a view that couldn’t be described as anything less than stunning. It was a top floor view, overlooking the whole city, the colorful lights gently illuminating the dim room.

You were taken out of your trance by a sudden deep voice behind you.

“What the fuck” 

You turned on your heels, eyes caught onto Dom in the doorway, clad only in pajama pants and his jaw agape as he tried to register that you were here, right in front of him.

“Surprise…” You said breathlessly with a shy smile, heart racing in your chest as if you were seeing him for the first time.

He strided over to you silently, lifting you up into his large arms, engulfing you in his scent. He dug his face into your neck as you wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing each other tighter than ever. After a few moments, he placed you on your feet gently, hands laced behind the small of your back as he ogled down at you like a schoolboy with a crush.

“You are fucking insane! How did you pull this off?” His voice slightly raspy from his concert earlier in the night.

“Blame Reed. He’s sneaky and an enabler. I came to him as a joke and he helped me figure it out.” You chuckled, smiling up at him. 

“I missed you so much today you have no idea.” He sighed contently. He leaned forward, kissing you slowly, leaning back a moment later to leave his forehead on yours.

“Is that so? Wanna show me how much?” You slyly remarked, suddenly hyper aware of the desire pooling your insides and raising your temperature.

His eyes shifted between yours, a darkness began to circle them as he realized what you meant. He nodded silently, grabbing your face with his hands and kissing you fervently, almost making your knees buckle. Your tongues danced together and he pulled you up into his arms again, finding the desk near the window to sit you on.

He pulled himself to stand between your legs, grabbing your neck gently and tilting it back for easy access to mark you. He switched between lightly ghosting over your most sensitive spots to littering marks all over your neck, driven on by the whines that left your throat.

He pulled back to scan over your body, hands running up and down your inner thighs..

“This dress looks, really fucking good on you. And it's…” His hand ghosted lightly over your clothed clit, making you gasp. “Easy access.” He smirked innocently at your reaction.

You whined at the loss of contact, hands gripping onto his biceps and eyes pleading up at him. He understood what those whines meant, cueing you to lift up as he gently pulled your panties off, throwing them somewhere in the large room. Your breath stalled in your chest at how he lowered himself onto his knees, keeping eye contact with you as he teased between your inner thighs, extremely close to where you needed him most. 

“Dom please I-” You were suddenly cut off by his pink lips wrapping around your clit, making you let out a high pitched sound at the sudden surge of pleasure, arching up into arms and leaning your head back onto the window behind you.  

You couldn’t help the way your hips grinded up into his tongue that circled you so skillfully, one hand laced in his curls, the other dug into the edges of the desk, desperate to find anything to hold onto. He hummed into you from contentment, enjoying the sounds spilling from your mouth, as you became a babbling mess of moans and echoes of his name. Your eyes rolled back as he slowly and gently worked one, and then two of his long fingers into you, pressing deeply at your g-spot not losing his rhythm between your legs.

Your legs tensed as a coil in your abdomen began twisting and alerting you and him to the way you were about to become undone. 

“Cmon baby...look at me..” He cooed gently, not stalling his pace. You forcefully looked down at him through squinted eyes that were threatening to close at any moment. “Give it to me, pretty girl.” Your breath ran ragged, the way the lights danced across him, the innocent look in his eyes despite what he was currently doing sent you over the edge. Your eyes squeezed together as you thrashed in his arms, coming undone with a series of ragged moans, riding out your high as he began to draw back on his torture between your legs. 

Your head stayed laid back and eyes stayed closed as you attempted to catch your breath. You heard Dominic shuffle to stand up. Your head snapped up and eyes caught onto his as the tip of his length gently rubbed the entrance of the ache between your legs. One hand held the small of your back up while the other held the base of his length. He groaned quietly at the sight of your wetness that had pooled between your legs. He gently let you adjust to his size, working into you inch by inch, eyes trained onto your face to watch for your reactions. You both moaned in unison as his hips met yours, his hands leaning over to the window behind you, hiking your leg up. 

“You feel so amazing my god “ he groaned. His thrusts began gently, rocking into you at a steady pace. You looked up at him, mouth agape, as he coaxed you through it gently. “So p-pretty. Good girl.” 

“Harder Dom- please baby, please.” You begged. He didn’t stall, picking up his pace, the sound of his hips colliding with yours and your increasingly loud moans filled the room. You clung to him, hands around his back as he pounded into you. His lips collided with yours suddenly, the kiss filled with passion.

“I love you..i love you..i love you..” He mumbled desperately against your lips, moving deeper than before.

“I l-love you” You managed to get out through your moans.

He kissed you deeply again, leaning back to gently pull out and flip you to stand on your feet facing the window. You felt his breath ghost over your ear as he whispered gently.

“The view is almost as pretty as you. Wanted you to see it too..” He said, gently smirking at the way your body shivered from the kisses he traced down your neck and  back, gently teasing the tip at your entrance again before sliding back into you, leaving your mouth agape. He gently pressed down on your back, queuing you to relax over the desk. He resumed his earlier pace into you, kneading at your ass that was positioned up to him. One hand made its way around you to grip the sides on your neck, the other finding its way between your legs.

The combination of the delicious pressure on your neck coupled with the circling of your clit left you feeling dizzy and your knees buckling.

“Holy shittt” You whined, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. If he kept going the way he was, you weren’t going to last for long. Your hand went up to cup his hand around your throat gently.

“Can you give me one more baby? I know you can..c'mon..” He cooed in your ear,relishing in the way that his words made you clench down on him.One particular thrust made you finally come undone for the second time, forcing you up on your tippy toes, eyes rolling back as you cried out Dominic’s name like a mantra.

He finished soon after, pulling out with a gasp, and finishing on the curve of your ass. He leaned over you, placing his head on your shoulder as you stood shivering, trying to come back to reality.

“Good job baby.” He smiled as he kissed your cheek.

You smiled gently as you came to, opening your eyes to fully take in the view in front of you.

“What happened to your fear of heights?” You toyed, turning in his arms. 

“Fear of heights can’t beat the orgasm I just had not gonna lie.” He deadpanned, making you weakly laugh. He scooped you up, forcing you to pee while he ran you two a bath, shortly making both of your ways to relax in the water with your back against his chest.

“I feel lucky, so many girls wish they could have.. that but only got an autograph.” You smiled lazily

“Oh trust me you got a few signatures of your own” He smirked, pointing at your neck “Seven to be exact.”

You jokingly rolled your eyes. Relaxing against him, you were just grateful to be back in his arms again.

[lovelyhan]

— bad habits ⟢

pairing: joshua x reader

summary: it’s common practice to not sleep around with your ex months after you broke up. too bad you and joshua are terrible at doing things by the book. 

word count: 1.3k words

tags: exes with benefits, pining, mild angst, smut

warnings: graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: this is shorter than my usual work, bc i really just wanted to get shua out of my system..... smut tags are under the cut!

smut tags: car sex, fingering, protected sex, praise kink, soft dom joshua

It's Friday night when you tell Seungkwan that you're going out for a quick grocery run. When he asks if you're going alone, you don't really see any benefit in skirting around the truth.

"They're just errands," you say when you catch him glaring daggers at you from his comfortable nest on the couch. "I had my car fixed the other day, remember? He just happened to be in the area and offered to give me a ride to and from the supermarket."

Your best friend-slash-roommate scoffs. "When has it ever been just errands when you're left alone with him for more than five minutes?"

You love Seungkwan—really, you do. But there's something about his too-appraising stare and too-critical words that makes you want to do the things you aren't supposed to even more.

Then, you remember you're not that petulant. Of course you aren't constantly keeping in touch with your ex-boyfriend for the sole reason of going against what Seungkwan tells you. If that were the case, things would be much, much easier.

But life doesn't always turn up daisies, things don't always go as planned, and part of you doesn't always think it's a bad thing to fuck Joshua Hong in the backseat of his SUV.

"Jisoo," you whisper, a name he only ever lets those closest to his heart address him with. Half a year later, it seems that you're still on the list. "More, please."

You're perched on his lap, thighs splayed wide right atop his own as he loosens you up with lithe fingers. You can't see the way Joshua smirks, but you can feel how his lips twitch against the column of your throat, pressing a featherlight kiss across your fever-pitched skin.

"Always so good for me," he murmurs, thumbing at your clit in a way that has you squirming in his grasp. "You're so worked up today, baby. Have you been thinking of this? Of me?"

"Yes—" you gasp when he curls his digits inside you, the pads of his fingers grazing a spongy patch of flesh that makes sparks of electricity crackle beneath your skin.

Joshua catches on to your reaction quickly, letting out a soft chuckle before he increases the intensity of his thrusts. You feel like you should be ashamed of how your pussy squelches with each pass of his long fingers, but instead, you cant your hips in time with the rhythm he's set. Your head has soared right into the clouds, as you sigh out breathless whispers of please, so close, more, more, more—

Then, you topple over the edge—free-falling from the height of release because, just as good as you are to Joshua, he's just as good to you.

Never one to tease too much; always giving you the satisfaction that you constantly crave without expecting anything in return.

A hint of rationality prickles the back of your mind—saying that perhaps the reason you keep coming back for more is because Joshua is all too willing to give it to you. But the thought is lost in the tidal wave of your orgasm, washed away at sea before you can even spot it from the shore.

Your body tingles with oversensitivity, yet the spot where Joshua is holding you steady by the hips burns with need. Your clothes suddenly feel ten times more stifling, and you gaze down at Joshua like you want him to leave no inch of skin untouched.

But even in the midst of post-orgasmic bliss, you're not foolish enough to think this is more than just a quick fuck to him.

Joshua maneuvers you onto your back, laying you down on the leather seats as gently as he always does. Your heart aches at the way he looks at you—soft, with a hint of reverence that has no place in the setting you're currently in—and you forcefully tamp down the visceral emotions threatening to spill out of your chest.

You don't know when he even undid his jeans, but Joshua is already slipping on a rubber when you snap out of it—sighing as he glides the head of his cock along your glistening slit. You have half the mind to remind him that he doesn't need to use condoms, but you know he's doing this for a different purpose entirely.

A boundary. A tangible reminder that you and him only belong to each other in this moment, and nowhere else.

"So beautiful," he sighs once he slips himself inside you—pressing your knees to your chest before surging ever-so forward. "So perfect."

Sometimes, you wish he was as into degrading you as he is with praising you. If everything that came out of Joshua's mouth during sex was filthier than what you could take, it might've been easier to walk away from such a fucked up arrangement.

But all that spills from his lips and into your ears are honeyed words that make you forget every reason why you shouldn't be tangled up in the first place.

You're afraid that you'll never get tired of how he deliciously bucks his hips into yours—spreading your cunt open with each inch of his perfect cock. It doesn't help that he's such a talker. Each unforgiving thrust, he times with the sweetest of words. Taking me so well. Baby, you're just made for me, aren't you?

From the start, it was already a losing battle, and you'll gladly give Joshua all the spoils.

There's always something calculated in how Joshua pulls you apart every time. He never comes first—always wanting to feel your pussy squeeze the release out of him in the riptide of your orgasm.

It's no different now, when he reaches between your two slotted bodies—already cramped in the limited space of his car—and rubs your oversensitive clit in quick, precise circles. Your teeth catch on the curve of his shoulder, right over his shirt, to muffle the moan he inevitably rips out of you.

"Good fucking girl," he half-moans, half-growls before his vigorous thrusts come to a halt.

You try to ignore the sinking sensation that comes with feeling Joshua fill up the condom with white-hot release. You try not to remind yourself of the strict boundary he's maintained.

Most importantly, you avoid thinking about why he hasn't once tried to kiss you since you started fucking around all those months ago.

By the time you're both sated and dressed, the supermarket was already closed, and Joshua makes an off-hand comment about your misplaced priorities. You laugh with him for the sake of laughing with him, but deep down, you can't help but agree.

He drops you off in front of your apartment, smiling like he didn't just wreck you in more ways than one. You roll your eyes, pointing out that his ride reeks of sex, and that he should air it out before giving anyone else a ride.

"Then let's just take it somewhere else next time," he says so casually, you nearly trip on your own feet on the way out.

The two of you exchange goodbyes like two, well-meaning friends before he pulls up the window of the passenger seat and speeds away. You wonder if Joshua's heart twists the same way as yours.

Seungkwan is still awake when you make it back home—munching on a bag of baby carrots with a whole lecture about making better life decisions locked and loaded. But he never gets to present it when you collapse right next to him on the sofa, sobbing into his arms just like the day you broke up with Joshua.

He sighs, putting his food away before offering solace that you probably, definitely don't deserve.

But you have a bad habit of taking everything that's freely given to you, and you don't think you'll stop anytime soon.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

What a difference 62 years makes juxtaposition of Jeep Wagoneer Custom, 1963 & Jeep Wagoneer S, 2025. Stellantis have revealed images of their new all-electric SUV that uses their new, highly flexible, BEV-native STLA-Large platform. The original Wagoneer was the industry’s first modern SUV 

[thesamoanqueen]

Unholy

Raiting: 18+

Warnings: smut, angst, mental disorders, a bit of Stockholm syndrome.

A/N: It was born by chance, starting from a dirty prompt, passing through the hypercritical mental disorders of an OC who I don't know if will have another ff, with a healthy dose of angst, sins, smut for @alyyaanna and @harmshake

She heard a car and then another. It had become the routine since her dad had made those deals in the big city and his factory had started to finance the county election campaign. None of his business partners ever stopped by at their house, there were few voters there, but they were there. They were always there, day and night, on working days and on holidays, "to support him" dad said, Y/N knew why instead. They kept a close eye on him, they trusted no one, even her, that's why even when her dad wasn't around there was always one of them.

The car had arrived, the other had left, but she still hadn't heard from anyone. Must have been the youngest, he never spoke and when he did it, was almost worse. He made her anxious like almost everything, but if she knew he was there maybe she could do it, at least he was not… him.

Just thinking about him made her shake her head, trying to physically push away memories that were already making her eyes and something else sting. She didn't have to think about him. She left the clothes she was taking care of, hoping to see the now familiar blonde locks circling their property, but nothing. Maybe he was already inside.

- There’s something wrong? – a hoarse voice inquired from behind her and Y/N clung to the window with a yelp, throat suddenly dry and heart racing.

Why he was there? He came by a few times a month and it hadn't happened in a while, he had bigger issues than her dad, more powerful people to deal with directly in the big city and usually he never came without a specific reason, they usually warned when he was coming. Everything had to be perfect for him, in order, ready, just knowing he would be there made the air electric, heavy and when his big expensive suv finally took up the entire driveway, Y/N still crumbled asking herself if everything had been done.

- N-no, I heard the door... I wanted to know who was... - she spluttered quickly, with a faint voice, gaze unable to stay fixed on him, hands passing from the edge of the window to her horrible dress.

Her anxiety was already punching her and she felt like floor beneath her was shaking, trying to swallow her up and rip the air from her lungs. It wasn't going well, there was nothing ready for his arrival, house was a disaster, she had no idea what dad had done that time to make him come, what she had to be sorry for and now Roman was there, in front of her, who hadn't even had time to make herself presentable, decent.

- Were you expecting someone else – was that a question? An insinuation? A complaint, a reproach? She didn't know it, but she moved her head, saying no almost to the point of hurting herself, eyes still lowered.

-No, no, I didn't know you were coming...- she tried to explain, feeling overwhelmed by his presence, by the anxiety of having that brown eyes on her once again.

He always looked at her as if he knew where to dig, where to press to bring Y/N to her knees and shatter. Roman stared everyone with arrogance, pity at times, everything about him suggested that he didn't breathe the same air as anyone else, his attitude, his aura, the way he spoke, those eyes, those two brown pools, Y/N didn't know how it was possible but they were capable of such pressure that they could bend anyone and she had never been a strong person. With him less than with anyone else.

- I'm here sweetheart – he urged her, words like velvet as he advanced, blocking her where she was, without mercy.

She saw his shoes, yet another pair she had never seen, entering her vision and one of his fingers lift her chin, with an impossible delicacy for a man of that size, pushing her to raise it, high, so high, to look him straight in the face. The smell of him, that dark tattoo that stood out on his arm, dark beard, dark shirt painted on his huge shoulders, everything about him gave her shivers, shivers that she shouldn't have felt, that brought tears to her eyes and broke her breath.

From the height that separated them Roman stared at her for a long moment, stroking her full cheek with his thumb without speaking, forcing her to acknowledge his presence, that no one could run away from him, not even for an moment, not even to take a breath and try to keep emotions at bay. Y/N already knew it, she had tried to do it, staying away from her dad's business, barricading herself behind that silence, in household chores, among people even if she couldn't stand being in company, never as with him had she prayed to being able to disappear and not be found. And every single time Roman had trampled on her clumsy, desperate attempts, planting those eyes on her, holding her where he wanted, picking up piece after piece to shatter Y/N again as he wanted.

- Someone told me that you are spending a lot of time outside, you go to church almost every day. Your father is convinced it will help with elections... I wonder if it's not for another reason – he said, examining every inch of her face, giving her the attention she always tried to hide from.

It almost seemed like he was thinking out loud, like it was a thought like any other, but something inside her immediately clicked, like a switch being flipped.

- I would never do that! No! – she swore, finding strength to deny that allusion with chest threatening to explode and hands clinging to the window.

Roman moved his eyes on hers, staring again, dangerous, menacing.

- … I would never talk about family business with anyone…- she promised again, trying to have a firmer voice, to prove him that she wasn't that kind of woman and failing anyway.

She knew limits, she didn't go around chatting with anyone and she would never do it even if someone asked her to. Not about those business, not about what her dad did with Roman and his family. Never. She would never have done that. He had to believe her, she couldn't bear the idea that he didn't think she was loyal to… him.

- What about me? Did you tell the pastor about me?

That question caught her off guard, like a shot fired at an unaware animal. With no mercy.

He was talking about business… he had come because he didn't want problems… he wasn't there for her, right?

She gasped for any sign in his expression, praying to find it, to avoid that conversation, but nothing and a pang gripped her chest, hands trembling, face burning. She tried to move her eyes somewhere else uncomfortably, pressing herself against the window, while her mind brought those moments back to the surface. They had been the most beautiful moments she had ever had, the most beautiful she would ever have, but just thinking about them filled her eyes with tears. It had been too much, it was still too much, she couldn't handle the pressure, everyone said it, she wasn't able to bear emotions and Roman was too much for anyone, she was hopeless. Like wax in his hands, Y/N felt him lift her round face again, grip firm on her, gaze still locked.

- I asked you a question. I pretend answers when I ask you something – his voice was always so firm, imperative, dominant.

- I d-didn't… never… I-

- Though you was a good girl… taking care of your family, your dumb-ass father, accepting us in your house, but they said a good girl doesn't do those things and you did'em with me. More than once – he was pushing her over the edge, even though he knew what she had inside, he saw it, but he wouldn't stop, he didn't stop and Y/N knew she should have at least tried to run away and instead there she was.

She couldn't run away, she wasn't able to with him. His presence, Roman, was stronger than her anxiety problems and fears, stronger than any block common sense and her hypercritical mind had ever imposed. It was a pointless fight and Y/N had already fallen months ago when he had invaded her space for the first time and taken everything. Over and over again, yes. Everywhere, whenever, not caring who was around or not, breaking down any limits and inhibitions she had and then leaving her to pick up pieces with a caress and his own smell on her.

In those moments the walls she had built around herself all her life had fallen, opening doors she didn't even know had, making her want things that no, a good girl shouldn't have and that later made her feel like she had to clean her soul. And she had tried, really, seeking comfort and still failing, because she couldn't regret having been that kind of woman if she had been that kind of woman for him.

Remembering made her tremble and it was of no help not being able to blush, there was nothing in her that didn't betray the torment of that moment, feelings that took control again and made her a toy in his hands. She didn't even feel tears slide down her face until Roman wiped it away with his thumb, then passed it over her mouth to let her taste them.

- Did you tell him our secret? How did you take care of me too? – he inquired, placing a kiss on her red eyes and Y/N moved her head, slowly, slipping into the trap without looking back, silencing any teaching received.

She knew that it was wrong, that she really shouldn't have done certain things and it would be like that with anyone else. She would have locked herself in her own room, barricaded in the bathroom, sobbing until she was sick, mind full of thoughts that she shouldn't have had, but not with him. His temptation was too strong, hands so soft around her face, still on those round hips that she hated and he seemed to like.

- I swear… Roman please… - she begged, as if God was him, looking with heart in her throat and like a God who doesn't answer, his eyes kept to dig into her, without giving relief, tearing a sob from her when even his hands threatened to leave - I swear, I did nothing, believe me, I did nothing, ain't that kind of woman-

She fell to her knees, begging for forgiveness from him and not for what he might do to her family, to those people, destroyed by the weight of knowing that he was all that really mattered in her miserable life, more than herself, more than her conscience or soul.

Trembling at the idea that he might walk out of there and look at her with the same pity with which he looked at everyone else, the one with which everyone looked at her, begging to know peace, until his hand caressed her head with affection.

- Sshh breathe, it's okay… I'll not allow anyone to know but I need you to prove me you want it too – his condescending tone, gaze soft again, were all that mattered and enchanted she nodded, torturing with fingers the edge of his trainer to keep him from move away.

- Yes sir

Something in him seemed to light up with those two words and Y/N hid the joy of having made him satisfied, eager to give him more, everything, as she had never dared with anyone else before.

- Lets wash away those sins huh? – she heard him proposing, gently pushing her closer, stroking her messy hair and her hands moved without having to think too much.

With trembling fingers she slipped under his shirt, loosening the thin lace, looking at him in hope of receiving a nod, a reassurance, but she already knew that she wouldn't come, not at that moment at least. She felt a weight in her throat, heavy breathing and rigid body, while she, uncertain, lowered them along his muscular thigs and then freeing him. The sight of his half-hard member pushed her to swallow and squeeze her legs together, panties getting wet just at the idea of perhaps being able to welcome him inside her.

In silence, her eyes wandered from the piece of meat in front of her to Roman’s face, who with a patience unknown to her, was observing without moving, his full lips curved in a grimace that Y/N didn't know if it was of satisfaction or pity. Doubt made her hands reach out again, taking him in her palm and marveling as the first time at how heavy and warm he felt. She moved, remembering what he had taught her, rubbing up and down a few times, before placing it against her lips and taking a tentative taste. Only then she feel Roman tighten his grip on her hair, pull her closer with more force, and she opened her mouth, swallowing a good part of him.

- That's it… - he approved and Y/N bobbed her head, feeling him get more and more hard, her mouth more hot as she tried.

Y/N began to run her tongue around, first along the length and then over his head, feeling the pungent taste knead her throat and soften her tense body. Breathing in through her nose, she reached up to massage his balls, watching in awe as his brow furrowed in pleasure, tongue sliding across those lips she wanted to kiss more than anything. With more and more conviction, she traced the outline of raised veins, stroking the skin where it was softest, fingers running through the curls, shyly trying to touch more, to find the courage to do what she wanted. Without realizing it she lost herself in that sensation, in the heat he was giving her, feeling his body slide inside her even if not where she wanted most, Y/N moved her hips, pressing against what she could, seeking a relief that didn't was coming.

Roman's hoarse laugh at her movements brought her back to where they were without mercy and instinctively she tried to step away, ending up feeling only his fingers tightening in her hair, blocking and forcing her to recline the head.

- You like me right? Don't run away… not even try… stay and take it – he growled menacingly, letting go a moan of indecent pleasure, as he pushed himself down her throat.

She gagged but Roman flicked his tongue, a sharp reminder, which instantly set her straight, forcing Y/N to relax her throat and take him all. With red eyes, she watched him place a hand on the window behind them for support and even though anyone could see them from there, even though her center was begging to take that punishment, throbbing around nothing, Y/N kept to indulge him, to please him, even sucking.

- This pretty face deserves to be fucked… yes, keep going, mmh

Every growl, every obscene word and gesture from him should have made Y/N run away, yet she couldn't and wouldn't. Obedient, she began to follow the movement of his hips which were now pushing into her throat, causing the slimy mixture of her saliva and his juices to drip down her neck and lips. Y/N squeezed her legs, stifling the needy moans of her body, the discomfort of her panties, fighting the temptation to slide a hand between her thighs for relief. Refusing to lose that contact with him, she sought support on his legs even though she was now pressed between the wall and window, swallowing moans and tears, putting up Roman's increasingly unsteady run. Each time he seemed to slip deeper and deeper into her throat, soul, erasing every thought to reduce her to an empty shell that existed only to welcome him. She didn't even realize that she was shaking, that she had reached her climax undone, with nothing but his presence until she felt him tighten his grip again, head down, staring at her.

- Swallow – he ordered seriously, just before cumming inside her throat.

She felt all of his body heat flowing into her, salty, thick, and she closed her eyes, accepting it. In the grip of that trance she waited for Roman to finish emptying himself before moving to clean him devotedly with her tongue, prolonging a contact that she knew would end in a few moments.

In the silence of the room, his hand leaving the window and then her hair, to tidy up the misplaced shirt was like a countdown and fighting anxiety, Y/N tried the impossible, hesitantly stretching out her fingers to touch him again, to keep him with her, but stopped mid-air.

- You're smarter than your father… stay home tomorrow - she heard him warn from above his position, as he tidied his clothes and, uncertain, she too got back on her feet, returning to grab the window - you heard me? – he asked again, this time with more force, pushing her to nod.

She didn't know if it was true, but she wasn't so sure that that order was due to the too many walks she had done in that period. She had a bad feeling or maybe it was just the melancholy taking control of her again, because the countdown was over, the confession was over and he was already leaving the room again like he always did.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @angelreigns444 @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @love-islike-abomb @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @reignsx @reigns-central-blog @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @spritelucozade @tribalchiefdaily @2baddies2furious @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @usosthetics @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41

[totothewolff]

Grand Prix Elite Academy (2/10)

+18 | professor!Toto x reader fem!student, sewis, carlos x reader, collegue au | romance, smut, comedy, gossip, betray

Summary: Your life turns 180 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One College, designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the faculties, and try to win this year's Elite Cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes, all while befriending your eclectic classmates, join the wild parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Race to Greatness! Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fic set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program called WomenOne and have lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold. Becoming the outcast new girl is always challenging, especially when all of you live on one campus.

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Chapter 2: Gone with the Wolff

The sun starts to ascent over Monaco's luxurious skyline in the early hours of the day, casting a golden glow over the buildings.

As you go through the security checkpoint at the campus gates, you feel an intoxicating mix of nerves and excitement brewing in you. Besides feeling like an alien, being the only one there arriving on foot as you watch the endless line of expensive sports cars and SUVs with chauffeurs drive past you and the parking gate.

Today marks the beginning of your journey at the Grand Prix Elite Academy, a heaven where speed and ambition merge.

—You got clearance, miss Y/LN —the muscular security man tells you; stepping out of the security booth, he has a cold and formal attitude and way of speaking. —They need you at the Student Affairs offices. It's on the first floor in the main building —he points towards the large facility down the entrance road. —You need to wear this at all times, no excuses, till your new ID and student badge are ready —he instructs you, handing you a metallic purple "visitor" access badge.

—Oh, thank you.

-

Stepping for the first time onto the campus grounds, you can't help but feel in awe by the magnificence surrounding you as you pay attention to all the details.

The buildings' architecture combines Monaco's classical style blend with modern facades full of massive glass walls facing the different gardens.

There are many lanes for pedestrians, bicycles, and electric scooters. Beautiful palm trees, flowers, and acres of perfectly maintained green grass complete the view.

The campus is full of energy and student life. People read and work on their computers and tablets in the different sitting areas, which are filled with picnic tables and expensive outdoor furniture. Others lie on the grass, chat in groups, or walk fast to somewhere. People get in and out of the buildings, and many line up in the Starbucks inside campus.

—Y/N! Carlos calls your name from a step on the main building's ample stairs, sitting beside Esteban. Judging by all the students sitting on them, the stairs look like a popular gathering spot.

You start walking on their way while Carlos rushes down to welcome you with a hug, his prince-charming hair flowing in the wind as he reaches you. You two became good friends after spending the Homecoming Gala dancing your asses off and partying with the rest of the group.

—Are you an early bird, too? —you ask him as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells sweet and floral.

—Not really! Mattia scheduled our faculty meeting in the auditorium at 7 a.m. That Italian is insane! I swear he is constantly testing our sanity, so if you pick "Motor Vehicle Engineering" as a subject, expect those kinds of tricks from him.

That explains why almost everyone on campus right now is wearing red. —How did it go? They didn't ask for my assistance, so I guess I can cross Ferrari off my list —you ask.

—The usual "Winning can't wait! Blah blah, we need to defeat Mercedes, blah blah, I'm not accepting B grades, no exceptions blah blah" sabes? Well, you don't, actually; you are new, haha —he answers, a bit bored.

You laugh at his faux Italian accent as he makes his best Mattia impression. —Very Mario Bros of you. —You joke with him while admiring his expensive-looking Ferrari uniform, a crisp red blazer perfectly tailored to accentuate his fit silhouette, with Ferrari's insignia delicately embroidered on the breast pocket.

Complementing his blazer is a classic white shirt crafted from the finest cotton. Carlos' trousers, also tailored from a deep grey fabric, are paired with Italian leather brogue shoes.

"Gosh, he is so handsome!" You think.

—Still no news, cierto? —he asks you, glancing you down. He notices you are wearing the grey faculty-less, GPEA rookie uniform, as most newbies are.

—No! —you pout. —Have you heard something? The red uniform sure looks beautiful.

—I could ask around; maybe Sebastian can give us info; he is in Student Affairs this year!

—Oh, great! I will ask him myself. I'm about to meet him there. I have to pick up my badge, sign lots of stuff, and get my dorm access.

—This is my number —Carlos bumps his phone with yours. —Text me when you learn who your roommate is! I will give you the receipts and tea.

—Oh! Thanks! Let's hope for the best!

-

As you make your way inside the main building to the administration floor, you admire the elegant blend of class and innovation.

The hallways hum with the chatter of fellow students, their gossip muffled by the occasional roar of a passing racing car on the nearby track, where free practices occur. That sound makes your blood rush.

-

Once you arrive at your destination, you knock on the glass doors, which is a bit dumb because they can see you before you step in.

The staff points you to a cubicle, where you find Sebastian Vettel sleeping in his office chair under an Aston Martin jacket. The room's air conditioning makes it feel like a freezer.

You pinch him on the ribs, teasing and waking him, making Seb jump, you little shit!

—Oh, you made it here! Hi! —his kind smile greets you.

—Hi, lazy ass! Ow, did I wake you? —you joke.

—Where is your sorority? We sisters must stand together. Seb gets on his feet and goes to find your badge inside a giant blue plastic container with tons of those. —I also need to take your biometrics, but you must read and sign these first. It's for the use of personal data, etc.

—Sure —you answer as he prints the papers and hands them to you.

—Take your time—he drops himself back on the chair and slides near you.—Did Lewis give you rookies the campus tour yet?

You deny shaking your head.

—Oh! That man! —Seb rubs his forehead, exasperated. —I love him, but he drives me crazy sometimes —Vettel picks up his radio and tries to reach him. —For sure, Carl is still at the gym instead of doing his job! I desperately need to hire him an assistant, he almost forgot his mom's birthday the other day. Thank God I bought her the present in advance! —Seb pushes the signal button once more, waiting for Lewis to pick it up, and he turns to whisper to you. —I heard the new trainer is fucking hot —Vettel raises his eyebrows up and down suggestively several times while grinning.

A couple of beeps come before he starts speaking. —You are still at the gym, aren't you?

Lewis's distorted voice comes through the radio. —Yes, I told you I'm trying this new workout for you, remember? Longer, more lifting required, less cardio. Our hardcore sessions are working wonderfully, my love. Didn't you tell me you love my muscles as much as you love my coc…

—Woa, woa, Y/N is here; she is listening! —Seb quickly interrupts him, and you start to laugh.

—Sorry about that —Seb tells you, a bit red.

—No worries! I feel a little jealous, tho. I wish I had someone; you guys seem very in love.

—You will soon! This place is full of hot and horny people and too many parties and alcohol. Oh! In my good ol' slut days, I used to hook up a lot and be given blowjobs under the benches at the racing circuit.

—I'm still here! —Lewis interrupts, quite amused.

—Lewis, please hurry! This place is enormous, and I have no idea where anything is! I need to pee! Where are the bathrooms?! —you talk to him on the radio before Seb takes your fingerprints.

-

Your orientation activities begin half an hour later.

Lewis shows up and gathers you rookies in the main lobby, where the collection of trophies and awards of the Academy are displayed in a fancy museum way, as he welcomes you and tells you about the campus and the glorious history of this institution.

You are not surprised to see only ten new students beside you. This place's tuition is so fucking expensive, and it's a niche business.

Soon, you discover that only some people want to become racing drivers; the rest want to be part of the motorsports world and teams. The GPEA curriculum is so vast that it covers everything from team management, aerodynamics, engineering, sports marketing, finances, and more.

Lewis takes you all on tour, on foot, where you dazzle at the display of facilities, from the incredibly modern library, full of study stations, desks, and immersive display computers, to the massive sports center, the place where future champions are getting in shape, it looks like the Olympics inside there; it's a state of the art huge physical training center with the newest and most tech pieces of equipment as well as an extensive swimming pool and a complete wellness center with an upscale spa, massages and sauna included.

Almost all classrooms have ocean views, luxurious and comfy seating, ample desks, and smart boards; everything looks pristine, trendy, and bright.

But the lab! Oh! The lab! It's a wet dream! It's full of the highest-tech simulators, which are to die for. It's the most immersive and authentic experience you've ever seen.

The cafeteria has become your second favorite place. It's the most fabulous room, full of culinary experiences and areas. It's enormous, with high-end restaurants, many to-go options, and several bars serving vegetarian food and healthy snacks.

There is even a juice therapy concept zone that looks interesting!

The nap pods, comfy puffs, slides, lounge areas, and lots of art installations make it an eclectic and chic place.

You also visit the race circuit, garages, and the Mechanics building, where you feel at home. This hallowed ground is where legends are born.

You stand amidst the sleek machines, their vibrant colors and flawless designs are testaments to the craftsmanship and skill that define the racing world.

In that moment, you sense a deep connection forming, a kinship with the machines that would become your companions on this exhilarating journey.

You wish Lewis would let you spend more time there, but he takes you to the dorm buildings, which are basically 5-star hotels.

Your "shared rooms" are bigger than your house. You would describe them as luxurious apartments for two.

The dorm buildings are next to "the social hub," a compound of several establishments (bars, restaurants, and a social club, obviously) located near the marina and harbor. Yatch culture is big there, too!

-

As Lewis wraps his speech once back in the main lobby, Horner reaches him, whispering something to his ear, patting his shoulder, and then walking towards you.

Your hands shake slightly as he politely lets you know Red Bull is not the faculty for you.

-

A bit bummed out, you take the elevator up to the last floor, where the main lecture hall is. It's the largest one, and it is reserved for subjects that students of different years and careers share.

It's your first class of the day, and you are in awe of the panoramic view that greets you as you step in. To your left is a sweeping vista of the sprawling race track at a distance, impeccably maintained and stretching toward the horizon. You observe it through the floor-to-ceiling clear crystal panel windows.

As you settle into your first lecture on "Electrical Engineering," conversations flow effortlessly, fueling your collective enthusiasm and igniting friendships as Professor Otmar delivers an exciting class.

Almost by the end of the class, your phone buzzes on your desk as you write memos on your iPad; Leandra texts you to meet them at the "Turn 17 Lounge" in the marina after classes.

-

Soon, you find yourself surrounded by laughter and the clinking of glasses inside the vibrant, contemporary lounge. It's packed since most students finished their schedules, and it's the first day back.

You sit in the pricey furniture beside your new friends near the chic bar area while enjoying the panoramic waterfront views.

The place's ambiance is lively and energetic. A trendy playlist sounds in the background as you are handed a menu with a range of innovative and Instagram-worthy cocktails and appetizers.

You look at them, shocked at the prices and amused at the pompous names, and resign yourself to ordering just a Coke with ice or a Coke on the rocks, according to the carte.

You find out the lounge hosts themed events, live music nights, and interactive experiences to cater to the preferences and desires of the student crowds.

—What up, babe?! —Leandra greets you. She is wearing her faculty activewear. Her gym shirt is crafted from breathable red fabric, showcasing sleek black accents, while the Scuderia Ferrari emblem is proudly displayed on her chest. Her gym shorts are designed for optimal movement and feature a mix of black and red detailing. —I don't feel my legs, not in the sense I would like!

You laugh at her comment.

—Pippa Gasly, Y/N —She introduces you two. A cute blue-eyed French girl waves her hand at you sitting across the coffee table; she is Yuki's girlfriend; you witnessed them devouring each other at the Gala. —The new coach is so fucking hot; the rumors are true, I stretched way too sluty for him during his training, and he stared me down. Should I give him a private tour of the dock area? —Leandra gossips you two.

—The dockyard has a very secluded lighthouse. It's the perfect spot to discreetly fuck or hook up with someone if you don't want the entire campus to find out —Pippa explains.

—I heard it was under the benches —you add.

—Not anymore. Security parol those now. Thank you, Lando!

—I'm proud of my legacy! —he and Max join you.

—I fucked a very loud girl in there and got caught by security —he admits to you, shrugging his shoulders. —Massi made me publicly apologize in the commencement speech that year. Can you believe it?! Far worse things have happened, and he didn't even bathe an eye then! But he made an example out of me. But, in the end, he knew he needed my parents' money and donations, so he stayed in his lane.

—Where the fuck is Charles?! —Max addresses Leandra, looking a bit concerned. —He is not answering my DMs.

—Still with his grandpa, he will arrive soon; all his things arrived at our dorm today.

—Talking about that, I have a roommate! —you notify the group, and all eyes set on you.

—WHO?! —everyone asks at the same time.

—It's a girl, thank God, her name is Naya Lauda.

Their eyebrows go to the roof. Lando's face is a poem.

You look at them, feeling now concerned. —What?! You guys, WHAT?!

—This is about to get awkward —Lando speaks while sipping his beer. —She is a persona non grata.

—Don't mention it to Lewis —Pippa advices you.

You look at Leandra with a "please explain!" face. —Naya is best friends with Nico Rosberg; he is the mean girl of this school, a total douch, and also Lewis' ex; those two were THE thing back in the day, the most popular and prodigy couple on campus, but in reality, they were highly toxic and harmful to each other —many nods come in response as she explains.

—All this before Lewis came to his senses! —Pippa adds.

—He changed a lot for the better once he started dating lovely Sebastian and split from those two —Leandra resumes explaining. —Naya took Nico's side on the divorce, annihilating his friendship with Lewis in the process.

Lando then interrupts to give you more input. —To Toto's displeasure, the whole thing fractured Mercedes' unstoppable all-star team! The three of them used to be inseparable and insufferable.

—Yeah, they only talked to each other and pushed away anyone who tried to get close or be friendly with them. Including old friends —Max joins the explanation.

—Talking of which… —Pippa adds.

—Oh yeah, I forgot about the Toto thing —Lando mentions.

—Naya is also Toto's protege; she is exceptionally talented, intelligent, and top of the class… —Max says.

—And fucking hot —Leandra admits.

—And..? —you instantly ask, sensing there is more.

The group exchanges a couple of looks.

—There was a rumor. Leandra brushes your arm. —But it's just a rumor; nothing has ever been proven.

—That Naya was the reason why the Wolffs split. Those two have a weird dynamic, to be honest —Pippa finishes. —She is a bit possessive of him, and seeing them by their side on and off campus is usual.

—They go everywhere together —Leandra bluntly corrects.

—Also, Max has been in love with Naya since childhood. He used to gift her bouquets after every karting race, always cheer for her at the benches, and even let her win while driving against each other, which in Max's language is a "Will you marry me?" —Lando declares, and Max huffs. —Don't pretend you don't!

—Fine! YES! I did, but that was in the past.

Oh boy.

-

After taking a relaxing bath and washing away all the nerves and stress of your first day, you get comfortable on the cozy sofa in your dorm's living room. On your way there, you grab a bag of chips and place your laptop on your legs. You are wearing the GPEA oversized T-shirt, tiny shorts, and your hair wrapped in a towel, thinking you are there alone.

—Filling up your schedule? Choosing your core classes? —you hear a velvet voice behind you, making you jump a little.

—Yes, any suggestions or tips? —Naya gets closer to peek at your screen. She is a gazelle, a very sexy and gorgeous girl who exudes confidence and grace in her every movement.

Her magnetic gray eyes capture, and her great posture commands attention effortlessly, while her impeccable style embodies sensuality and elegance, provoking an unforgettable impression on anyone who crosses her path.

You get why she got Toto's attention; you feel like a troll beside her. Until now, Naya seems kind and polite but not very social or talkative.

—"Aerodynamics I," "Thermodynamics I," and "Materials Science" are perfect for your entry-level. "Mechanics II" is quite advanced, are you sure? —Naya tells you, and you nod. —Your optional elective classes, "Data Science" and "Strategy and Leadership," are both hard to get into, especially Torger's!

—Wish me the best, then! —you say as you hit the submit button.

-

—How on earth did you get accepted into Toto's class?! —Sebs looks impressed as you two finish breakfast at the cafeteria while he reads your assigned schedule, giving it the heads up!

You feel slightly cocky and proud of the accomplishment.

Then Seb glances at his smartwatch. —Better be leaving, Y/N! You don't want to be a second late for it. Toto is extremely picky; he got Lance expelled from the subject for being two minutes late once. Forget about missing class or not delivering a report!

—Oh shit! —your eyes go wide as you grab your things and rush there.

-

You walk inside the luxurious lecture hall on time and out of breath; for sure, your hair looks like shit now.

For obvious reasons, you tried your best to put on a decent-looking outfit and even makeup, which you aren't a fan of, lol girl, as he will notice you, let's say you aren't the most stereotypically called "girlie girl," lacking the mom's touch and being raised among mechanics, not to mention that all beauty products are damn expensive.

This hall is entirely different from the one at the top of the building. It is smaller and intimate but way fancier, with opulence and functionality blending seamlessly.

The hall boasts plush, leather-upholstered seats with individual desks, offering maximum comfort to each student.

The walls are modern and sleek, and large screens display live feeds of races and analyses with cutting-edge audiovisual equipment and an advanced sound system that provides an immersive learning experience.

The spacious layout ensures an unobstructed view of the front podium, where Professor Toto is about to impart his class. He looks crazy hot in that white fitted rolled-up sleeve shirt and tight beige pants, which he is wearing while adjusting his earset microphone.

-

Toto starts his class by presenting a rather complex and compelling study case, grabbing the attention of the small group in just a couple of minutes.

—You must solve the problem, minimize the impact, and land the new course of action —he explains, walking around the room. —In real life, you would only have a couple of minutes to discuss with the entire team and command the driver to follow the needed change in strategy. There's no safety net. How would you solve it? Let's start with you, Mr. Rosberg.

You all give different input until a proper answer is formed, and then Toto moves to theory.

You try your best to concentrate and absorb the knowledge he is sharing and not get lost on his attractive backside, that back, those shoulders, and veins.

-

While you pick up your things as the class is dismissed, you catch his gaze set on you.

—Miss, Y/N —fuck, your name sounds hot in his mouth. —You are so tempting —your mind goes to another place while he bends in front of your seat, forearms on the wood surface, his muscular arms flexed, leaning closer to you over the desk. —You had the most impressive start! You can be an exciting addition to our faculty, but I need you to answer some questions first. Could you join me at the campus bistro on Thursday?

—Oh, y-yes —you barely answer.

—Good, see you there at 7 p.m —he smiles at you and exits.

WHAT?!!

-

Since your arrival at the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the excitement of the first days had begun to dull into the routine of classes, homework, and training sessions.

As you step in, the bistro buzzes with chatter and laughter, and the scent of freshly prepared meals fills the air. Amidst the chaos, you spot Toto sitting alone at a table.

He is wearing a navy blue blazer that perfectly hugs his lean frame and a crisp white shirt neatly tucked into matching slacks.

He gets on his feet to greet you as you reach the table and waits for you to sit; he is a total gentleman. He orders two glasses of sparkling water as he hands you the menu.

—Let's start with some appetizers, shall we? —he suggests, smiling. —There's a delicious caprese salad, and the fish cakes are to die for.

You inspect the menu, scanning the unfamiliar dishes listed. Most of them are exotic delicacies, some requiring ingredients sourced only from the farthest reaches of the globe. But that's part of the charm of attending such an exclusive institution: the exposure to cultures and experiences vastly different from yours.

—Caprese salad sounds perfect —you decide, handing the menu back to Toto. He nods approvingly and waves down a passing waiter.

—Two caprese salads, please —he instructs. —And bring us some bread, too. Oh, and a bottle of that Pinot Grigio, would you?

You study Toto closely as you wait for your food. He is commanding, yet his mannerisms hint at a softer side. When he speaks, his timbre is soothing, and his choice of words is deliberate.

He has something magnetic, a quality that draws people in, regardless of how guarded he initially appears. You listen to him intensely as he shares anecdotes about his racing career and the highs and lows he has encountered along the way.

His contagious laugh echoes in the dimly lit restaurant. It's almost disarming, making you forget the nervous tension that had built up inside you.

He glances at you occasionally, his eyes dancing with mischief. You can sometimes sense his interest, a silent invitation to reveal more about yourself.

Yet, you remain cautious, guarding your vulnerability under layers of carefully chosen words. In return, Toto offers tantalizing tidbits about his life and motivations.

—So, Y/N, tell me about yourself —Toto asks gently as the waiter places your dishes on the table. A fragrant medley of tomatoes, basil, and fresh mozzarella floats upwards, causing your stomach to rumble audibly.

Toto smiles knowingly, motioning for you to dig in. The juicy tomatoes burst with sweetness, harmoniously mingling with the creamy cheese. Each rich mouthful sends shivers down your spine like the flavors are awakening sensations long buried beneath your consciousness.

—Where did your love for racing originate? —Toto starts between bites.

—Well, it started when I was barely four years old. My father watches Grand Prix races religiously, and eventually, I joined him. We'd sit together on the couch, our hearts pounding in sync and in awe, as the drivers navigated tight bends and straights; that's when I fell in love with the sport, the thrill of watching them push their limits, the suspense of waiting for the checkered flag to wave.

—Sweet —Toto responds. —It's incredible how the love for racing can manifest itself in someone so young —He pauses, reaching for your glasses of wine and offering you a sip. You gladly accept, relishing the crisp taste of the pinot grigio as it slides smoothly down your throat. You could feel the warmth spreading through your body, melting away the nerves.

—Do you have a favorite driver? —Toto asks, swirling the contents of his glass thoughtfully.

—My favorite driver is Senna. I admire his raw talent and aggressive driving style. His determination to win is inspiring and captivating.

Toto raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your answer. —Ah, Senna, quite a classic —he echoes, giving a knowing nod. —He's certainly an interesting character; he's got the guts and skill to make a lasting impression. His smooth driving style and natural grace make him stand out in a generation of aggressive competitors. You're a traditionalist, aren't you? You appreciate the artistry and elegance of the sport.

—Yes —you admit.

—Senna embodies the essence of racing, displaying a combination of raw talent and refined technique. He was an extraordinary driver —you add.

—A true gentleman on and off the track —Toto concludes.

Your conversation flows effortlessly, weaving in and out of topics ranging from the intricacies of car engineering to the nuances of team dynamics. Toto's insights and expertise are fascinating and provide valuable perspectives.

As you listen attentively, you notice the subtle change in Toto's demeanor; his posture becomes more relaxed. Yet, you can't shake off the feeling that Toto is deliberately testing you.

—So, Y/N, why suddendly quit? —he leans closer, truly curious. —Why stop such a promising career so suddenly?

—My mom's sickness and, after her passing, a lot of debt. I'm here on a scholarship. I'm not wealthy.

—I see. And were there no other options for you to be able to continue?

—Well, I don't know. I felt lost for a while; depressed is the word, so yeah, I stopped racing.

—I see. How has your experience at the Academy been thus far? —Toto switches topics; a twinkle in his eye suggests that he already knows the answer to his question.

—I must say, things here are pretty competitive —you admit, after a brief pause. —Everyone seems driven by ambition, constantly seeking to prove themselves. It's an environment that demands excellence.

Toto nods. —Indeed, the Academy is known for fostering a culture of competitiveness and exceptionalism.

—I feel overwhelmed by the pressure to perform and excel. It feels like everyone around me is doing everything possible to reach the top —you add, with a hint of concern creeping into your voice.

Toto leans back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. You can't help peeking at his biceps. —Well, that's precisely the nature of this place, Y/N. The environment is designed to challenge you in a way you don't think possible. After all, the ultimate goal here is to nurture champions. To achieve that, we need to create a breeding ground for fierce competition. It's crucial to foster resilience and adaptability in our students.

—I feel privileged to be here —you add honestly and smilingly.

Toto pauses to take a sip of his wine. —We all want you to succeed, but you must realize it takes a village to raise a champion.

—Yes, I agree —you reply, shifting in your seat. Despite Toto's reputation as a tough-as-nails professor, he exudes a calm demeanor.

—So, have you considered your goals for this term? —he asks you.

—I've been thinking about improving my handling of high-speed situations and refining my understanding of aerodynamics. I'd also like to enhance my ability to work effectively under pressure.

Toto's eyes widened. —Those are ambitious goals. We have some excellent resources at the Academy to help you achieve these objectives. I highly recommend you check out the advanced simulations. Not only does it teach you how to handle extreme speed, but it also gives you a safe space to experiment with your techniques.

—Thank you! Your advice means a lot to me.

—No problem, he replies. —Don't hesitate to ask if you ever need assistance. I believe in your potential, and I'm confident you'll achieve great things here at the Academy, but not with Mercedes; our faculty requires a different mindset to accept you.

—A different mindset?

—Yes, you don't have the mindset we are looking for. You gave up your dream too quickly. Quitting is not a trait at Mercedes; we believe there is always another option or way to achieve a goal. You appear to be drawn to a more traditional approach, and we are trying to innovate and push forward the sport. You struggle with pressure, and this is an environment full of it. Your starting point is behind the other rookies for the hiatus you experienced. If you don't perform well, there is also the high risk of losing your scholarship, and our investment in you goes nowhere —Toto answers, shifting his attitude from the charming "I'm your friend" facade to the version of him everyone told you about.

He was paying attention to your every word, wasn't he?

—You have a bright future ahead of you. I will be thrilled to witness your progress, Toto says, draining the last drops of wine from his glass and gently setting it down on the table. —Don't get me wrong; I wish you the best —he adds, feeling the conversation is over and preparing to leave.

Of course, this meeting was pure business; what were you expecting? Not to be judged and scrutinized? To make a friend?

—Losing a parent is not easy —you add, getting on your nerves at the lack of empathy.

—It's also not an excuse. In this career, you will face many adversities and problems. You are not the first or last driver to lose a family member. You are still spineless and lack emotional intelligence.

—You don't know me.

—You aren't that difficult to read. Just a simple and honest conversation like this is getting under your skin. I'm hardly ever wrong.

—I have proven wrong your kind before.

—My kind?

—Judgmental and entitled rich men with big opinions.

-

—Holy shit! You didn't call Toto THAT! —Leandra almost spits her orange juice the following morning as you two settle down on the grass beside Carlos. You lean on his shoulder while he gives you soft pats on your back, comforting you. —Bitch, you play no games, huh?

You shrug, a bit sad. That introduction with Toto went sour.

—Sharl is here! —Carlos says, looking to your left.

You see Leclerc jogging towards you.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; let me know! Merry Christmas, Wolffies!

[nayziiz]

Team Dynamics | LN4

Summary: To celebrate the launch of their 2024 car for the upcoming F1 season, McLaren hosts a masquerade gala event that sees two souls connect and lead to a whirlwind romance. Unfortunately, the pair realise soon after that they are to work together quite closely after they agreed it would only be a one-night thing.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, one night stand, unprotected sex

Pairing: Gemma (I don't like writing with Y/N or reader) x Lando Norris

Series Masterlist

PART 7

As the week leading up to the Canadian Grand Prix unfolds, Gemma and Lily make plans for another karting session. The girls, eager to share their enthusiasm for karting, decide to extend the invitation to Lando and Oscar, transforming the girls’ day into a full-blown group activity.

Gemma and Lily, having bonded over their shared love for racing, have previously enjoyed karting together several other times. Lily, under Gemma's guidance, has become more comfortable manoeuvring the kart around the track. Now, they envision a fun day on the karting circuit with Lando and Oscar to spice their adventure up. The group activity becomes a refreshing break from the intensity of the Grand Prix weekend, allowing them to indulge in their shared love for speed and competition in a more relaxed setting.

“So, who’s going to be the fastest?” Lando grins, his hands gripping the steering wheel of their rental SUV with an eagerness that mirrors the impending thrill of the race.

“I have my money on Gems.” Lily chimes in, her playful confidence adding to the pre-race banter. Oscar, seated next to Lando, nods in agreement, a smirk playing on his lips

“Honestly, same.” Oscar declares, fueling the friendly rivalry.

“Wow, I’ve never felt so loved before.” Gemma teases, a mock expression of surprise on her face as she glances at Lando.jokes once she sees Lando’s fake displeasure in the rearview mirror.

“Now you just have to prove it.” Lando challenges, his eyes locked on Gemma's, a wink accentuating the playful dare.

As the group approaches the karting track, the atmosphere becomes charged with an undeniable tension between Lando and Gemma. Despite being surrounded by friends, the magnetic connection they share persists, creating an undercurrent of unspoken understanding that lingers in the air. Whether engaged in casual chatter or dancing to the beats of the music, their interactions inevitably gravitate towards each other, the invisible pull between them palpable to those who observe.

Upon arriving at the karting facility, Lando expertly parks the vehicle, the engine's purr momentarily drowning out the electric energy between him and Gemma. The group excitedly exits the car and makes their way to the relatively quiet track. Amidst the anticipation, the tension between Lando and Gemma is heightened as they change into their sleek racing gear.

Gathering at the karting centre, Lando's attention is immediately drawn to Gemma's new karting race suit. Charcoal grey with vibrant hints of fluorescent yellow and orange around the edges, it not only reflects a sense of style but also hints at a competitive spirit ready to be unleashed on the track. The way the suit contours to Gemma's figure adds an unexpected layer to the charged atmosphere.

The stage is set for a thrilling day on the karting circuit. The roar of engines, the smell of burning rubber, and the sight of winding tracks create an ambiance of pure adrenaline.

“New suit?” Lando queries, unable to contain his curiosity.

“Yeah, I thought it was time to get a new one.” Gemma replies, her eyes briefly studying his reaction.

“I like it.” Lando declares, appreciating the sleek design and the confident aura it exudes.

“Of course you would, it's your yellow.” She informs him with a grin.

As Gemma scurries away to join Oscar and Lily, the sound of her laughter echoes in the air, a playful melody that adds to the lively atmosphere of the karting facility. Lando watches her go, a bemused expression on his face. The banter between them is a familiar dance, one that Gemma navigates with effortless charm.

Left standing alone, Lando chuckles to himself, a fond smile playing on his lips. He throws his head back in playful defeat, a theatrical gesture that conveys both amusement and a genuine appreciation for Gemma's ability to engage him in their banter. It's a game they play, a dynamic that has become second nature.

The subtle acknowledgment that Gemma holds a certain sway over him lingers in the air. It's more than just friendly banter; there's a nuance to their interactions that goes beyond words. As Lando watches Gemma join their friends, there's a flicker of something in his eyes – an unspoken understanding that their connection is unique, a dynamic that adds an extra layer of intrigue to their friendship.

Undeterred by the playful banter, Lando decides to follow Gemma towards the four karts awaiting them for their karting adventure. His strides are purposeful, a mix of determination and a subtle acknowledgment of the connection that seems to persist between them. As he reaches her kart, the atmosphere is charged with a unique energy, a blend of anticipation and unspoken understanding.

Taking on a supportive role, Lando assists Gemma as she settles into her kart, his hands deftly helping her secure the straps of her helmet. Gemma, in turn, reciprocates the gesture, a silent exchange that goes beyond the mechanics of gearing up for the race. The shared moments of assistance create a tangible sense of connection, a bond that extends both on and off the track.

As Lando kneels beside Gemma's kart, their eyes meet for a fleeting moment, an unspoken acknowledgement passing between them. The click of the helmet strap resonates in the air, a sound that becomes a metaphor for the unspoken dynamics weaving through their friendship. The simple act of assisting each other becomes a subtle dance, a prelude to the exhilarating karting experience that awaits them.

“How does it feel?” Gemma vaguely asks Lando.

“What?” He responds, still kneeling beside her.

“Knowing you’re about to eat my dust.” Gemma chirps and Lando pauses before he responds. “What? No quirky response from you? Have I actually won in life?”

“If I beat you, we get to go out to dinner, just the two of us.” Lando quickly fires back.

“And, what if I beat you?” Gemma counters.

“Then you get to play with my feelings a little longer.” Lando mumbles.

Lando's unexpected admission hangs in the air as he walks away, leaving Gemma momentarily speechless beside her kart. The playful banter, which had been a constant companion throughout the day, has now taken an unexpected turn, revealing a layer of emotions that adds complexity to their friendship. Gemma is left to contemplate the weight of Lando's words, a swirl of thoughts and emotions echoing in her mind.

As the lights go out, signalling the start of the race, Gemma is momentarily caught off guard, allowing Oscar to swiftly overtake her around the first corner. Her focus momentarily shattered by Lando's unexpected revelation, she grins at Oscar's triumphant manoeuvre, appreciating the playful competitiveness of the day.

Gemma snaps out of her momentary lapse, and a newfound determination sets in. She accelerates down the straights with full force, swiftly overtaking Oscar within a few minutes. Lando, still maintaining his lead, becomes her next target as she manoeuvres through the twists and turns of the track with precision.

As the race progresses, the adrenaline builds, a group of spectators watch in awe as Gemma closes the gap between her and Lando. Approaching the final laps, Gemma, fueled by the competitive spirit that now surges within her, decides to make her move. The air is charged with excitement as she attempts to overtake Lando, and they go wheel to wheel in a thrilling battle for the lead. The two drivers skillfully navigate the track, pushing their karts to the limit in a display of skill and determination.

In a nail-biting finish, Lando manages to secure victory by a few milliseconds. The competitive spirit between Gemma and Lando has reached its peak, creating a memorable and exhilarating karting experience for the entire group. The cheers and laughter of the spectators fill the air as they celebrate the hard-fought race.

“Good effort, Mayfield.” Lando comments once they're out of the karts and have their helmets off. His voice carries a tone of satisfaction, clearly pleased with his victory on the track.

“Good choice.” Lando, maintaining his confident demeanour, smirks in acknowledgment.

“Maybe I just felt like a good dinner.” Gemma, undeterred by the narrow defeat, retorts with a playful grin

The banter continues, adding a light and playful touch to the post-race atmosphere. The shared thrill of the karting competition has created a moment of camaraderie, setting the stage for a celebratory dinner that promises to be both competitive and enjoyable for Gemma and Lando.

As Gemma and Lando settle into a quiet Japanese restaurant for their dinner, the atmosphere is a blend of relaxation and anticipation. The soft glow of ambient lights casts a warm ambiance over their table, creating a serene backdrop for their conversation. Lando, seated across from Gemma, casually peruses the menu, seemingly at ease. However, Gemma's thoughts linger on the unexpected comment he made earlier about her playing with his feelings.

The menu, filled with an array of tempting Japanese delicacies, serves as a momentary distraction. Gemma glances at it, contemplating her choices, but her mind is preoccupied with the enigmatic dynamics that have unfolded throughout the day. The playful banter on the racetrack, the admission about feelings – it all adds a layer of complexity to their friendship that she hadn't fully anticipated.

Lando looks up from the menu, catching Gemma's gaze. There's a subtle acknowledgment between them, an unspoken understanding of the uncharted territory their banter has treaded. Gemma can sense that beneath his calm exterior, there might be more to the comment than meets the eye.

Their orders placed, the restaurant's tranquil atmosphere envelops them. The aroma of freshly prepared Japanese cuisine wafts through the air, adding to the sensory experience. As the first dishes arrive, Gemma takes a moment to break the silence.

“Lando.” She begins, her voice a mixture of curiosity and sincerity. “About what you said earlier—”

“Yeah?” Lando interrupts her as he glances up from his plate, meeting her gaze. His expression is a mix of openness and a hint of vulnerability.

“What did you mean by 'playing with your feelings'?” Gemma continues, choosing her words carefully.

Lando pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. The restaurant, though filled with a gentle murmur of conversations, seems to hush as they navigate the unspoken territory between them.

“That was just a stupid joke.” Lando speaks softly, his eyes meeting Gemma's with a sincerity that softens the weight of his earlier words.

“It’s not my intention, Lan.” Gemma adds, her gaze reflecting genuine concern. Lando, sensing the need for reassurance, reaches across the table. His hand gently envelops hers, offering a reassuring squeeze.

“No, no. I was just teasing you earlier.” He assures her, his eyes conveying a mixture of warmth and lightheartedness. The tension that lingered between them begins to dissolve as their hands find a comforting connection.

His gentle grasp offers comfort, and though Gemma doesn't immediately respond, she allows him to hold her hand as they both return their attention to their meals. The subtle connection, expressed through the warmth of their intertwined fingers, adds a layer of comfort to the atmosphere of the restaurant.

Lando, ever attentive, releases Gemma's hand only when he needs to pour her a glass of wine. The exchange, though brief, carries an undercurrent of sincerity and unspoken emotions.

“You were pretty feisty out there today.” Lando comments, a playful glint in his eyes as he revisits their karting adventure.

“One more lap and I would have beat you.” Gemma retorts, her competitive spirit still shining through.

“Good thing there was only ten laps.” Lando chuckles, his confident demeanour intact. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t an absolute turn on.”

“I’m flattered that you feel threatened by a little old me.” Gemma taunts him, deliberately sidestepping his last statement.

As they conclude their meal, the atmosphere between Gemma and Lando is one of genuine connection and ease. The unspoken complexities that lingered earlier in the day seem to dissipate with the warmth of shared laughter and the satisfaction of a delicious dinner.

On their walk back to the hotel, the cool night air provides a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the restaurant. Lando, ever attuned to Gemma's presence, wraps his arm around her shoulders. Gemma leans against him, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort and bond that has grown between them. As they walk back to the hotel, the conversation takes a more personal turn. Lando glances down at Gemma, his curiosity piqued.

“You never told me why your last relationship didn’t work out.” Lando mentions with a hint of sincerity in his voice.

“Ah, Lucas.” Gemma breathes, a brief pause before she continues. “He wanted to focus on himself. Said he wanted to achieve his dreams, whatever they were. He was just an apprentice accountant.”

“And, you were together for three years?” Lando continues to ask.

“Correct.” Gemma nods.

“And, was marriage ever a topic of discussion?” Lando wonders.

“His mom brought up getting engaged at a family dinner and a week later we broke up.” Gemma explains.

“Sounds like he has commitment issues.” Lando replies.

“You’re telling me.” Gemma chuckles.

“Do you ever think about him and what could have been?” Lando enquiries.

“Not really. Honestly, not since that night with you.” Gemma replies, causing Lando to combust with laughter from the thoughts racing through his mind. “Come on, tell me what you just thought.”

“I don’t want to disrespect you.” Lando chuckles.

“Lando, just tell me.” Gemma urges him, nudging him ever so slightly in the ribs.

“I fucked that man right out of you.” Lando whispers and the heat instantly rushes to her cheeks.

“Sure did.” She confirms causing his breath to hitch.

“Do you ever think about me?” He asks her once he catches his breath.

“More than I should.” She replies as she looks up at him. “I’m not trying to play with your feelings, Lan, but I just can’t give you what you want right now.”

“You’re in my life, that’s all I need right now.” He assures her. “And, I don’t mind admiring you from afar. Gives me the perfect view of your ass.”

“You’re also welcome to grab it from time to time.” She informs him.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that. That’s hot.” Lando tells her.

Gemma's smile lingers, radiant in the gentle glow of the streetlights as they continue their walk towards the hotel. There's a comfort in Lando's presence, an unspoken assurance that wraps around her like a warm embrace. His arm remains casually draped over her shoulders, a simple gesture that speaks volumes about the genuine connection they share.

In Lando's company, Gemma finds a refuge where she can be her true, silly self. His easygoing nature and the effortless banter they exchange create a space where laughter flows freely, unburdened by the complexities of the outside world. He is more than a friend; he is a confidant, a person with whom she can be unapologetically herself.

However, beneath the surface of their banter, Gemma grapples with a hesitancy that tugs at her heart. She's aware of the depth of Lando's feelings for her, the unspoken declarations that echo in his gaze and linger in the pauses between their conversations. The connection they share is undeniable, and she can't ignore the genuine care he showers upon her.

Yet, despite having fallen fast for him, Gemma hesitates to express her own feelings. The uncharted territory of romantic entanglements feels both thrilling and intimidating. The vulnerability that comes with laying bare her emotions is a precipice she has yet to navigate. The fear of changing the dynamic between them, of risking the friendship they've cultivated, holds her back from taking that leap.

As they stroll along the quiet streets, Gemma's internal dialogue echoes the rhythmic pattern of their steps. She glances up at Lando, appreciating the way his presence provides a sense of security and ease. The unspoken words linger on the tip of her tongue, a confession waiting to find its voice.

As they reach the entrance of the hotel, Lando holds the door open for Gemma with a courteous smile. The chivalrous gesture adds a touch of old-world charm to the moment, a reflection of the thoughtfulness that underscores their connection. Gemma acknowledges the gesture with a grateful smile, appreciating the small but significant moments of consideration that Lando consistently offers.

The lobby, bathed in soft, ambient lighting, exudes an elegant charm that sets the tone for the rest of the evening. Tasteful decorations enhance the atmosphere, creating a sense of warmth and sophistication. Gemma and Lando navigate the lobby with easy familiarity, the unspoken understanding between them adding a layer of intimacy to the surroundings.

As they approach the elevator, the anticipation of the night ahead becomes subtly palpable. The hushed conversations of other hotel guests and the muted sounds of elegant music create a backdrop for the unspoken tension between Gemma and Lando. Each step towards the elevator seems to carry the weight of unexpressed emotions, an undercurrent that adds both excitement and a touch of uncertainty to the atmosphere.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a plush interior that echoes the sophistication of the hotel. Gemma and Lando step inside, the confined space lending an intimate quality to the moment. The air between them is charged with a subtle energy, a blend of shared laughter, lingering glances, and the unspoken question of what the night holds.

“Well, this is my stop.” Gemma states, a hint of reluctance in her voice. Lando nods, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. The elevator slows to a halt, and Gemma steps towards the doors.

"It was a wonderful evening, Gems. I'm glad we could spend it together." He tells her, a genuine smile playing on his lips.

“Yes, it was. Thank you for the lovely company, Lan.” She agrees as she steps out of the elevator. The doors begin to close, but she turns to face him one last time, her eyes holding a promise of something more. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”Lando replies, his tone warm and sincere.

The elevator doors slide shut, separating them for the night. As Gemma walks down the corridor to her room, she can't help but replay the moments of the evening in her mind.

[the-teddy-roosevelt]

Let me tell you a little thing about cars.

I have had a gripe against modern car design, at least here in the States, for the longest time. Recently I have seen the utter abominations of the 21st century be more and more common and finally decided to share my stance to the wonderful world of the internet! So, be prepared for a lot of reading because this is a full scale rant with the occasional photo.

And now: Why Modern Car Design is Going to Kill Us All.

I have been doing much research these past months as I continued to observe more of these "newer designs" I have spoken so much about, and there are a few things I need to delve into.

The Flat Front

Supersize Me 2: Not so Electric Boogaloo

Elon's Bastard of a Car

1

The Flat Front

So, these cars I have been talking about, just to be more specific, are SUVs and Light Trucks/Pickup Trucks.

You see that massive, flat front in the image above? Well, believe it or not, that is causing more deaths in car-related accidents yearly! Due to being so boxy, when a pedestrian is hit, they are more likely to break bones around the torso/head, then pull the person UNDER the car rather than how a car normally would hit the person's legs, then they would hit the hood of the car.

These can also create massive blind spots/zones where you can't see what is right in front of you.

I shall dive more into this in the next section.

2

Supersize Me 2: Not so Electric Boogaloo

So, onto the next section. As you can see above you, this is a comparison of two cars, only 24 years apart(end of Escort to start of F-350). Only 24 years, and it had a 246% increase in weight, was 91.7 in. or about 7.64 ft. longer, and 26.8 in. or about 2.2 ft. taller.

This is a dramatic increase for little to no reason other than to "protect the drivers". As we have discussed in section 1, this is not the case. In fact, if one of these larger SUVs were to hit another, usually smaller car, it is more likely for the smaller driver to be killed, or at least seriously harmed by the bigger vehicle.

Speaking of smaller, children:

Children are one of the biggest victims of these larger cars with them being run over either in frontovers or backovers, most often by their own parents in a driveway.

If you don't fully believe me that these cars are truly big enough to run over the younger side of children, an entire experiment was done, putting kids in front of parked cars, and just look:

Terrifying.

I addition to this, the larger frame of these cars means that they create more pollution. Let me explain: The bigger cars needed more fuel, that means more fossil fuels being burned, and due to the US's car based infrastructure, there are more cars being produced, that is even more fossil fuels for both production and upkeep, and more pollution.

But oh dear reader, these SUVs and Light Trucks are not even the worst of it...

3

Elon's Bastard of a Car

Gentlemen, women, and all of you folk in between, I give you: The Tesla Cybertruck.

This... Thing, is the bane of everything I hate about modern car design, from the boxy shape going throughout the car, to being an "indestructible" vehicle, and its ability to kill anyone.

Okay, that is a lot I am claiming, so lets break it down.

We have already talked about how dangerous the box design is, but the Cybertruck appears to be a geometry problem found in high-school. This is unbelievably dangerous, making any crashes with other cars much more likely fatal.

The fatalities can also be helped by the fact the damn car is made of STAINLESS STEEL and "indestructible" according to advertising. Most cars are made to be able to crunch in order to let the force of impact be more spread out throughout the vehicle. Yes, it will cost quite a bit to fix, but hey, you're alive. Meanwhile when it is made out of such a hard material, such as steel, that crunch isn't going to happen and only kill the people inside the vehicle, and the people crashing into the giant steel block.

The company claims it can go from zero to 60 miles per hour in 2.6 seconds, which, if true, would mean it has a faster acceleration than most NASCAR and Formula 1 vehicles, with none of the accompanying engine roar to warn anyone that it's coming. The headlight, meanwhile, is one single bar of light, which some experts are already worried will blind oncoming drivers.

There are so many other things about this utter abomination that I would love to talk about, but I think this is where I'll leave off.

One last thing, I just want to say how this is mostly my experience and research from the United States of America, and not the rest of the world. Also, I do not see these things getting much better unless somehow the US removes all of its car based infrastructure.

Thank you for reading my friends, and remember, fuck monopolies.

[rosewaterandivy]

Everyone But You - a Life as We Know It au

Ch. 2 - I've Got That Lefty Curse

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Summary: hey, you know what a funeral is decidedly not for? gettin' your dick wet. | OR eddie munson's no good, very bad lay. Pairing: e.m. x f!oc w.c.: 4.9K warnings: NSFW / MDNI, immersive second person narration w/ a name and background but no physical description mentioned, grief, character death, funeral, jason carver mention, badly repressed emotions, poor emotional regulation skills, bathroom antics inspired by the moves of Paris Geller and that one scene from Catch & Release tagging: @powderblueblood for coming up with Eddie's nickname for the rover 😘

The garage door trundles open as Eddie twirls the keys in a flourish. You squint behind your sunglasses, bringing your phone closer to avoid the sun’s glare as you triple-check the directions to CPS.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Eddie grouses as the car comes into view. It’s big, some kind of SUV, a Range Rover apparently, if his grumbling is to go by, one that is impeccably clean.

“What’s the problem?” You walk toward the car as it chirps to unlock, “Keys,” You point to his outstretched hand, “Driver,” You point to him and finally gesture to the car, “Vehicle.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Right, sure. Lemme drive this car that’s worth more than my life, that’ll go real swell!” He choruses in false cheer before his face falls, “Yeah, no. Think fast,” He lobs the keys toward you which you step to avoid, and the pair of you watch as they rattle to the floor.

“Well shit, Sherlock, y’know you’re supposed to catch things as they’re thrown at you.”

You roll your lips between your teeth and raise a brow, “I don’t drive.”

“Riiiight,” Eddie says, scooping down to collect the keys. “Of course you don’t, your majesty. Wouldn’t want to sully ourselves with something so pedestrian.” He yanks the driver’s side door open and hauls himself inside.

Settled in the passenger seat, you buckle your seatbelt and pair your phone to the bluetooth in the car. Eddie adjusts the seat and mirror before deciding on a Sirius station for the fifteen minute journey to downtown.

“For the record,” He says, pulling out onto the residential street, “I have a driver’s license, not a boating one. This thing is a goddamn behemoth.”

The car lurches forward as he navigates toward the stop sign at the end of the block, the seatbelt seizes against your chest, jerking you backward into the seat.

“Munson, sort your shit out! There’s going to be an actual baby whose well-being we’re responsible for in here, you know.”

He kisses his teeth and huffs in exasperation, “Sorryyy, I can’t figure out the damn clutch on the S.S. Fuck The Planet, princess. Jesus H. Christ.” 

You make a mental note to have the insurance policy switched over and update the title on the cars as well. Swiping over to the notes app, you tap out a reminder and add a trip to the grocery store for good measure. The list is titled: HOW TO SURVIVE IN HAWKINS and has such gems as: whole foods - where?, research moving co.’s NYC, check out brownstone, contact attorney & set up will, utilities & electric??, and baby books!!!

While you prepped for the impending arrival of Zoë and a prolonged stay in the Midwest, Eddie prattled through the house like Jacob Marley’s ghost shuffling from one vacant room to the next. He’d sent something off to his agent and editor via email about pushing the deadline back for his current novel, and had thrown his duffle in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, the one furthest from Chrissy and Jason’s room, naturally.

You’d settled in a room close to the nursery and across the way from Eddie. The guest bath was conveniently at the end of the hall just before the staircase. Neither of you bothered unpacking after Max left, just threw your bags upstairs and scrambled to the garage to pick up Zoë as soon as possible.

The ride smooths out, eventually, Eddie seeming to get a hang of the clutch or whatever it was, and soon enough you’re being escorted back to the caseworker’s office at CPS. 

She instructs you to sign the form with your intention of temporary custody just until the court can set a date with the judge to award full custody. Until that time, a caseworker would be checking up on Zoë and your care of her, the findings of which would be presented to the judge at a later date.

“And if you’ll sign here as well, Mr. Munson.” 

Eddie scribbles off his disaster of a signature just as Zoe is brought in.

“Oh,” You sigh, relieved as you rise from the chair. “There she is.” You adjust the strap of your tote on your shoulder and leave the room, gently taking her from a woman with a nod of thanks. Keeping your voice soft and low, you greet Zoë. “Hi, sweetheart. Hi sweet girl!”

It’s rare that Eddie ever hears you like this, voice pitched just so as not to hint at any sadness you may be grappling with currently. And Zoë, she looks so pink and cute— footsie pajamas decorated in little hearts. 

“Oh, honey. It’s so good to see you.” You brush back her downy blonde hair just as she begins to fuss, blue eyes falling to Eddie, who is rendered speechless in the office. He sniffs to clear any welling tears and quietly thanks the caseworker before joining you in the waiting room.

“I know, I know,” You soothe, rocking her back and forth, watching as Eddie steps beside you. 

Zoë continues her soft cries, not nearing meltdown territory yet, but rather expressing her confusion or discomfort. Eddie’s hand cards through her wisps of blonde hair as you turn and say, “Hey, look. Hey, look – it’s Uncle Eddie!” Which seems to placate her somewhat, as chubby arm reaches toward him.

Lifting her from your hip, you continue to narrate: “Wanna go see him? Good, he’s right here.” And place her squarely against his chest, his hands coming to grip her sides as she tucks herself against him, little fingers gripping the worn fabric of his shirt.

You watch as he holds his goddaughter, her soft cries falling away to nothing as she nuzzles into his neck. “Okay,” You breathe, “We should really get her home.”

The car seat, however, proves difficult. Eddie has grimaced and groused his way through various belt to lock combinations, determining all of them to be useless.

“Who designed this thing, a fuckin’ Space X engineer?”

Leaning against the car with Zoë, you decide fifteen minutes is more than enough time for Eddie to dick around with the car seat. “Shove over Elon, this is getting ridiculous.” 

Seamlessly, you set Zoë in the car seat and buckle her in. “See?” You ask, a taunting lilt to your voice, “Was that so difficult?”

“Well, that’s because I eliminated all other possibilities, so obviously you—”

“Shut it, Munson. And drive.”

You’re nearly back to Loch Nora when a cop lights up behind the rover. “Really, today? C’mon man!” Eddie pulls off to the side of the road, going for his wallet before stopping short. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh shit? What do you mean oh shit?!” You whisper frantically, “This isn’t really on ‘oh shit’ type of moment, if you hadn’t noticed!”

“God, would you shut up for, like, two seconds so I can think?!”

“Please, let’s not pretend you think.”

An intentional elbow jabs into his ribs with enough force for him to hiss. He’s about to snarl something not fit for tiny ears back at you when two raps on the window shocks you both into silence.

Eddie reluctantly rolls down the window with a pained smile. 

“Morning officer, what seems to be the problem?”

There’s a pause before a bellowing laugh. “Munson!? Well, of all the gin joints in all the world—”

Eddie’s face flushes pink, “Uh, right. Hi there, Hop.” He clears his throat, “How are… things.”

“Bout to ask you the same thing, kid.” He pockets his aviator glasses and leans against the door, propping one arm to rest on the roof. “D’you know you rolled through that light down on Main before turning onto Pinebow?”

“Uh, no. Sorry, must’ve been distracted.”

“I’ll say,” The officer peers into the car, gaze falling on you. “Morning ma’am. Mind getting me the registration from the glove box?”

“I, uh,” You supply, uselessly. Eddie leans over to do it himself before you can ask what a registration would even look like. Your eyes dart back to Zoë still sleeping soundly. 

“I need to level with you Hop,” Eddie says, handing the paper over to him. “This is not my car, this is not my beautiful wife, and my license is expired.”

“It is!?” You ask, furious. How could he be so irresponsible? There is a child riding in the backseat! Before you can rip him a new asshole, the officer chuckles.

“Can’t say I’m surprised Ed. Shame about the wife bit though.” He reads the registration and passes it back to Eddie. “But considering the circumstances … I’ll let this one slide.”

“The circumstances?” You prompt, wondering how the hell a traffic cop would know about Chrissy and Jason’s accident.

“My condolences,” He says with a frown and furrowed brow, as if the very idea of their absence unsettles him. “It’s a small town, I’m sure everyone’ll know by day’s end.”

Hop puts his glasses back on and steps back from the vehicle. He nods to you with a small smile, before his eyes narrow on Eddie. “You need to get this taken care of, Munson.” Slapping the roof of the car, he turns on his heel and walks back to the cruiser, “See you Friday!”

Eddie waves him off and pulls back onto the road. Offering positively zero explanations as to why this man you’d never met before today would be showing up to the house later this week.

“Munson, why does that cop think he's coming by the house later?”

“Hmm, oh, Hop? He’s not just a cop, he’s the Sheriff.” 

As if that made it any better.

“Do I want to know why you’re friendly with the boys in blue, er, khaki? Thought you were the commander and chief of ACAB.”

“That,” He says, punching the button to open the garage as the house comes back into view, “Is a story for another time. But for now, just chalk it up to the fact that Hawkins is a verrrry small town, princess.”

By Friday, your bags still remain unpacked by the door to the guest room. It would be so easy to call a car, book a flight and just leave, like it had never happened in the first place.

You’re pretty sure that’s what Munson is expecting you to do. He doesn’t trust you, nor you him. How can you? It’s not like you were ever friends. And it’s not like you’ve seen him in that way since—

A soft knock from the door has you turning to find him holding Zoë in the crook of his arm. She’s smiling and sleepy, fresh from her bath. One that had left you positively drenched, prompting a hasty retreat to find a change of clothes.

“They’re, uh, driving up now.” Eddie mumbles, and though he hasn’t said it, hasn’t complained one bit, you can see how exhausted he is. Essentially dead on your feet from your first night with Zoë. 

She’d cried and wailed all night, or so it felt, and you were sure you’d wake up to a noise complaint or violation of the HOA’s quiet hours or some such shit. Eddie had volunteered to stay with her that night, elected to sleep on the couch in the nursery because he’s “slept on worse.”

He’s said it as if he didn’t already have dark circles under his eyes, as if they hadn’t been awake for over 24 hours, and you want to refute it, to say you can keep the baby monitor on you instead, but the look in Eddie’s eyes tells you this isn’t just about staying the night with Zoë. 

It’s that he wants to make sure Chrissy’s daughter is safe, to protect her daughter in the way he wasn’t able to protect his best friend last night.

“Could you just sleep in—” You tilt your head toward Chrissy and Jason’s room, it’s closer to the nursery anyway. But you don’t get to finish your thought before he’s swept in to the room and settled Zoë in her crib for the night. The conversation effectively over.

“Right,” You say, peeling off the door frame to leave, “Forget I asked.”

But that was last night, and you’d be remiss to say that you’d made it much longer on your own. The room was far too quiet, the sheets too stiff, and you couldn’t find your sound machine to save your life.

It’s two o’clock when you stumble into the nursery, nearly tripping over Eddie’s prone leg because he’s too tall for the small couch, but he doesn’t wake. You make yourself comfortable on the plush white rug, the one Chrissy had sworn felt like a cloud and rest your head on the pillow you’d snuck in from the guest room.

Maybe it’s the white noise machine looped to Zoë’s crib, or maybe it’s the proximity of being close to her that brings a sense of calm that’s enough to lull you into sleep. And maybe, it’s the soft snores and snuffles that fall from the tangle of limbs precariously close to slipping off of the couch.

Regardless, you and Eddie had somewhat survived your first day as guardians. Had struggled through feedings and diaper changes, nap time, and seemingly endless loads of laundry. You’d read Chrissy’s parenting books and ordered more to be delivered tomorrow. Eddie had returned victorious from a Target run and you’d each set about slapping sticky notes and scribbling furiously on a huge tear away calendar— you’d even assigned colors: you were purple, Eddie was neon green, Zoë was pink, naturally.

Max, Eddie’s friend and the estate attorney, had apparently rallied the troops for a family dinner for that evening. You and Eddie were to do nothing, under strict instructions from someone named Nancy to relax and focus on Zoë. You could hear the front door opening as people made their way inside for dinner. 

Gently, Eddie passes Zoë off to you and helps you wrap the sling around your torso. After watching several tutorials on YouTube, you felt confident that everyone would feel more comfortable this way. Plus, your arms were killing you— who knew carrying a baby around could be so tiring?

Once downstairs, introductions are made. Eddie names off everyone in attendance as they stare at you like a new exhibit at the MoMa, or maybe the zoo is more accurate. Immediately, you can see that you don’t belong. Everyone is dressed down casually in jeans and t-shirts, their shoes kicked off by the door.

Whereas you, on the other hand, announce your presence with the click-clack of your heels on the floorboards. Swan into rooms with impeccable posture and sport dresses never more than a season old, unless they’re archival vintage, of course. A bold lip and manicured nails, not a hair out of place.

To the assembled people of Hawkins, you sure cut the figure of a Stepford wife.

“Hi,” A voice pipes up from the man to your right, “I’m Ste—”

A metallic clang sounds out, muffling whatever he had to say. Quickly followed by an exasperated, “Oh, goddamit!”

You smile at him, “The pleasure is all mine. Dean, you said it was?” 

“I, uh,” He stammers out, unable to land his gaze anywhere on your person.

“Right,” You say primly, hearing more cursing from the kitchen, “If you’ll excuse me.”

And, of course, the source of the cacophony is none other than Munson himself. He’s got the hood fan going on the stovetop, and there’s smoke pluming from the oven. Company has been here all of ten minutes and he’s already going to burn the house down.

You grab the sheet pan he’s using to dissipate the smoke from the alarms on the ceiling and narrowly avoid smacking him upside the head.

“I never took you for an arsonist, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.”

He coughs into his shoulder, his hand waving through the air uselessly. But before you can tell him to shove over and let you handle things, people stream into the kitchen. Eddie is shuffled from the stove by a kind woman named Joyce, only to be pulled away by an older man, his uncle Wayne, while Hopper takes over in the kitchen.

Windows are opened by Max and Lucas, allowing the smoke to dissipate. And eventually, Joyce offers to take Zoë and put her to bed after her dinner of mashed peas and carrots. Begrudgingly you let her, dropping a kiss to her downy blonde curls before she’s whisked away.

Dinner is nice as is the company, even if conversation is a bit stilted and awkward given the circumstances. You don’t say much and no one expects you to, but every so often Wayne will catch you gaze and offer a small smile. It’s easy to appreciate his silence, to see it as a comfort because god knows his nephew is normally anything but.

You’re on your second glass of wine for the evening, listening to Robin as she details the various hijinks of what she refers to as the Scoops Troop. But she keeps mentioning someone named Steve and you have half a mind to ask her who that could possibly be. Dean, for all his lack of being mentioned in these stories, laughs along good-naturedly.

It’s when you yawn for the second time in five minutes, that Eddie suggests: “Hey, you should go up and get some sleep.”

You scowl, confused and pleasantly buzzed but stand up all the same. “Fine, but no promises, Munson.”

It had been decided that you’d give the eulogy for the service today. Eddie sits with Zoë in his lap – she's dozing off and you’re thankful – and when Eddie stares up at you, you can feel your heart in your throat. Initially, it seemed that Eddie would deliver the eulogy, this was, after all, his hometown and this church was full of people he’d known most of his life.

But when he’d come to you two nights ago after Zoë had finally fallen asleep, shaking like a leaf with crescent hollows beneath his eyes that the moon would envy, and he’d said in a voice so broken and empty: “I just can’t do it. Please don’t make me.”

And so you didn’t.

Halfway through, while the crowd is chuckling sadly, politely, at your anecdotes about Chrissy and Jason. Things are going well until Zoë begins to hiccup and throws a tantrum. Ellie, Chrissy’s mom, scoops her up into her arms easily and carries her out of the church. Over her shoulder, Zoë’s arms stretch out toward the front of the church, her face crumpled as she cries for her mommy and daddy.

Me too baby girl, me too.

You force yourself to look back at Eddie, and his eyes meet yours. It's a moment of understanding that goes straight to your gut and steals the breath from your lungs; Chrissy wasn’t ever coming back.

The wake is held at the house, a tasteful catered affair courtesy of Jason’s parents. Everyone thought it best for Zoë to be in a familiar setting to try and stick to her routine. People mill about downstairs stopping every so often to shake your hand and offer their condolences, thoughts and prayers, or claim that their hearts are with you during this difficult time.

It’s all you can do not to scream as you hold Zoë like a life raft. So, instead of snapping something at someone’s handsy uncle who has had you cornered for the last five minutes or so, you talk to Chrissy in your head.

What were you thinking Chris? This wasn’t the plan at all, in fact, you’ve jumped the gun by about sixty-odd years y’know. If you care to recall, we said we’d outlive our husbands and buy a place on the Cape. Descend into spinsterhood in style, and then haunt the shit out of that property, as is our right.

Ellie checks in on you with a soft touch to the arm, ushering pervy uncle toward the hors d’oeuvres. Small miracles. You can feel the tears gathering on your lashes, and you know that your tolerance for these platitudes is quickly dwindling. You haven’t seen Eddie since he fed and changed Zoë an hour or so ago.

He’s been distant since that night, the one where you’d refused him and drawn your line in the sand.

Catching sight of Robin, you tell her that Zoë is going for her nap and she promises to make your excuses. She latches on to that guy she seems permanently attached to, (Dean, you wanna say?) and they begin to spread the word in an attempt to clear everyone out.

You take the stairs slowly, not wanting to shift the dozing girl in your arms too much, as you step onto the second floor landing. Turning into the nursery, you set her down on the changing table and rid her of her funeral dress.

No little girl should ever have one, much less be given the opportunity to wear it.

Back in her comfy pjs, you sit on the rocking chair and kick off your heels. Zoë nuzzles against your neck as you hum softly. Sooner than you’d anticipated, the rhythmic rocking to and fro has eased her into sleep. Rising as gently as you’re able, you lay her down in the crib, turn on her sound machine, and step out of the room with baby monitor in hand.

Downstairs, you can hear rumblings of conversation overridden by a male voice: “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” 

Chuckling, you duck into the guest bathroom before any of the hangers on can spot you as they take their leave. Back hitting the door, you allow yourself a moment or two to breathe. Surrounded by people all day on what has arguably been the worst day of your life to date. Smoothing down the skirt of your dress, you pull the shower curtain aside and step into the basin of the bathtub. Once settled, you draw the curtain closed again and let your head rest against the tile wall.

“Why did you leave me alone like this, Chrissy?” You say, voice ricocheting off the bathroom tiles. “You know I can’t handle anything without you.”

Not two minutes later, and someone comes barreling in. Huh, guess you never did lock that door. 

Before you can alert them of your presence, a high-pitched giggle sounds out followed by the scuffling of feet. The door is shut, and the lock is thrown as the giggle turns into a high, breathy gasp. They sound closer now, if the wet sounds of tongues battling for dominance is anything to go by.

Rearing back, you sink into the corner of the tub and will it all to go away. The noxious, ringing laughter continues unabated only punctuated by the sounds of a belt buckle clinking against the sink, a zipper being pulled down.

If you were so inclined (which you are decidedly not), you could simply turn your head to the left and feast your eyes on the shadow sexual escapades of one—

“Oh, Eddie.”

For fuck’s sake! As if this day could get any worse.

But, oh wait, it does.

“Sock it to me!” 

Biting the heel of your hand to quell the rising laughter, your eyes blow wide at her litany of ‘sock it to me’s’ – it’s as if that’s the only thing her poorly wired brain will allow her to say mid-coitus. Eddie’s laughter, understandable given the circumstances, devolves into an attempt to shush his conquest from what has got to be the most unimaginative dirty talk you’ve had the misfortune to be privy to.

When she finally reaches her peak (“Yeah! That’s so good!”), you’ve already mentally catalogued the ways in which you could have a) killed yourself in the interim, b) killed Eddie, and c) killed this poor woman, in all likelihood saving her from a life of mediocre sex at funerals.

“Thanks.”

Well, at least she’s polite.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

Eddie sounds embarrassed, voice tight and you can imagine he’s doing that thing where he drums his fingers against his thigh, impatiently waiting for this all to be over. His lips are probably tucked between his teeth while she washes her hands, eyes anywhere but on her.

There’s the sound of the door being unlocked and the throw away line of “Call me,” and with that, she’s gone.

The sink runs again, Eddie muttering to himself under his breath, and for the briefest of seconds when you dramatically pull the shower curtain open, you could’ve sworn you saw something akin to regret (or was it disgust?) as he looked at himself in the mirror.

“Fuck!” 

He jumps back, startled at your Houdini-esque appearance. All too calmly, you step out from the bathtub, gaze fixed on him all the while. You pluck the joint from his fingers and stow it in your pocket. 

And you haven’t launched into him yet, so maybe this isn’t the verbal crucifixion that Eddie thinks it’ll be. There’s a curl to his lips that says he’s going to be a problem, that he’s going to make a joke out of this, as if he hadn’t buried his best friend earlier today and then gone and screwed a cater waiter in the bathroom of her house during the wake.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't my Lady Disdain,” He drawls, arms loosely crossed against his chest, “Are you yet living?”

It is only in deference to Zoë that you don’t go scorched earth on his ass right then and there. There’s a soft squawk from your other pocket where the baby monitor is as she likely rolls over in her sleep.

“I am only going to say this once, Munson, so you better get it through that abomination you call a skull.”

Briefly, someone attempts to enter the bathroom, the door nudging open only to be forcefully shut as you, in an impressive feat of balance, slam one Manolo Blahnik clad heel against the door and shove it closed.

“Occupied!”

You wait a beat or two, leg slotted against the door to be sure that whomever was on the opposite side did not attempt further entry. 

If only your yoga instructor could see you now.

Releasing your hold on the door, you flip the lock and take measured steps back to Eddie who is now crowded back against the pedestal sink.

“Did ya have some fun? Get you rocks off? Add another notch to the bedpost?” You seethe, and he knows better than to interrupt when you’re like this. “What a fitting way to send off Chrissy, huh? By defiling her home because you lack something called self-restraint.”

“Hey, that’s not—”

“What, is that not accurate Munson? Because from where I was sitting, it sounded like you couldn’t wait bust your nut into the next woman who batted her lashes at you, who maybe, juuuust maybe,” You take one step closer, a mere breath away from him. “Suffers form an undiagnosed brain injury and lowers herself to slum it with the likes of you.”

“Tell me how you really feel, sweetheart,” He sneers, “All those years of therapy seem to be doin’ wonders for your self-esteem. Because you’re too high and mighty to count yourself one of the crowd, right?”

“You have no right—”

“I have no right? Are you kidding me? I'm not the one who shuts down at the first opportunity, who would rather run away than stay here and deal with this!"

"It's not like I’ve left! I'm here, aren't I?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" He demands. "We are not just playing house here! And you can’t pretend that we’re not partners in this. If you’re so scared, why didn't you say anything?”

You storm toward the door, unlocking it as you turn the knob to leave. To get away from him and his pitying looks, his judgment.

"Because I don't need you!"

Eddie’s hand covers yours, “Maybe I need you!" He snaps, almost shouting. "Maybe I need you to work with me instead of against me. Maybe I need you to stop doubting yourself, because there's already so much to worry about and I can't help worrying about you. Maybe I need you to stop being so damn independent and self-absorbed. Maybe I need you to realize that you're not the only person here who lost a best friend."

The heartbreak on his face is so painfully clear that you can feel it in your chest; you can't believe you didn't noticed it before.

The door creaks open.

"Hey, are you guys – oh, sorry."

You turn from Eddie to see Robin on the stairs, hesitating. You clear your throat and blink away any tears, as you step through the door. "Can I help you?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting," You say, turning toward her and smoothing down your dress.

"Okaaaay." She looks doubtful. "Everyone’s cleared out, leftovers are in the fridge. I checked on Zo and she’s still zonked out."

You nod, “Thanks, for everything.”

“Happy to help.”

You wait until her footsteps fade away, and the front door shuts. Gritting your teeth, you watch as Eddie steps away from you and avoids making eye contact, your jaw clenched tightly enough to hurt.

There's something empty and aching at the base of your throat, and no matter how much you swallow, it won't go away.

[gamingavickreyauction]

It's often said, as a truism, that while climate change is caused by systems, your individual choices can still make a difference, but might not actually be true- not just that you are small, but that the difference your consumption makes is actually zero.

Standard economic analysis

The standard economic analysis is that if you buy more carbon-intensive goods, that has two effects: it increases the total quantity of carbon-intensive goods sold, and it increases the price of carbon-intensive goods (only marginally, because you are small).

This means that while you buying one unit of carbon-intensive goods doesn't increase the amount of carbon-intensive goods as sold by one, it still increases them, and the amount it increases it by depends on the price elasticities of demand and supply (i.e. the slopes of the curves). If supply is very inelastic, we expect it to make close to 0 difference, and if demand is very inelastic we expect it to make an almost one-for-one difference. Suppose PED = PES and you emitted one extra tonne of CO2, the net effect of that is only an extra half tonne of CO2.

Aside: do these diagrams actually work? Yes. This result seems counterintuitive: the price of electricity isn't going to be put up just because you used more electricity this year, so it isn't going to result in others using less - there will be no offset. And this is correct, the world comes in discrete changes. But if enough people use more electricity, prices will go up, and you have no way of knowing whether you're the one who'll push it over the edge or raise the price of electricity from 29p to 30p. So we just look at averages, and on average you will raise prices by the amount shown on this diagram (i.e. very small, because you are very small, but enough to offset an amount of consumption that matters for our purposes).

Accounting for the government

But this standard economic analysis takes place in a policy vacuum. I mean, the same welfare effect would also hold if the government's climate policy was optimal because something something envelope theorem, but the government's policy is ummmm not optimal. In any country. Governments are not trying to set a socially optimal rate of carbon tax (which would be crippling to many industries) they are trying to do something more like reduce emissions enough to satisfy an electorate that doesn't care much, and no further, because they don't want to shrink the economy.

In an idealised version of this strategy, individual actions actually have 0 effect, regardless of PED or PES, because of the policy feedback mechanism: a British person emits one less tonne of CO2 so the UK government go 'oh look an extra tonne of CO2 we can emit without exceeding our internal targets' and spend less on mitigation to cancel it out.

Whilst your individual effect is small and unlikely to be noticed by policymakers, many people's changes will be noticed, and your emissions might be the straw that broke the camel's back, so we can treat the government as if their targets are responding to your individual emissions, just like in the aside. Note it isn't the official targets that matter, but how much governments privately feel they can get away with.

If the government are decided to emit 500MTe, then 500MTe are going to be emitted by someone, regardless of if you're the one doing it. You didn't help the Bangladesh farmer who's losing their livelihood because of harsher monsoon seasons, you just helped Clyde who wants to pay less tax on his SUV.

This argument hinges on this policy feedback mechanism actually being one-for-one, which we don't know, and which is fundamentally an empirical question. Specifically in the long-run. I'm sure it's not actually one-for-one- and if we model the government as maximising some utility function of economy and environment, it can't be.

We would also need to multiply this 'do your actions have purpose (because government is a fuck)' coefficient by the 'do your actions have purpose (because markets is a fuck)' coefficient to find out the actual effect of your actions. The crux of my argument is that the government's fuck coefficient is likely to be very small.

What is the government's fuck coefficient?

The long-run government fuck coefficient is built up over years of repeatedly adjusting policy to look more like what the government wanted to do anyway: if the government undershoots their carbon budget one year, the government will want to take that as license to emit more the next year, and whilst this won't be one for one- it might be quite small- over many years it will add up to mean emissions were basically what they would have been anyway.

Policy and emissions are slow to adjust- maybe a year after you reduced emissions by a tonne, policy change adjustments have only offset it by 10%, leaving a government fuck coefficient of 0.9 which seems pretty good (it means you had 90% as much effect as you thought your were having). Then the next year the government has 0.9 extra tonnes in their budget, and again their policy only offsets 10% of that, leaving a government fuck coefficient of 0.81 after 2 years. This continues year after year, so that in 30 years time, the government fuck coefficient is 0.042- i.e. you think you've saved a tonne of CO2, but because of the policy feedback mechanism, your net effect is only 42kg. Lets call this 10% figure the government fuck decay rate (GFDR).

Maybe the GFDR is lower than that, which would mean your individual consumption has more impact for longer. But as long as this GFDR is constant over time, your impact exponentially decays over time. The government fuck coefficient goes to zero. Remember, this isn't your effect on annual emissions decaying over time, it's your effect on cumulative emissions - this means your individual actions really are being undone. Not that annual emissions adjust back to the status quo but cumulative emissions do.

The government fuck coefficient after t years is (1-GFDR)^t

Self criticism like some kind of Maoist

The one weak point in this analysis I can see is it assumes governments' emission preferences care about cumulative emissions, not just annual emissions - i.e. that governments will think they can get away with doing less this year because they did more last year, or ten years ago. This is what gives a GFDR that isn't 0. If they largely don't think like this, the GFDR could be way less than 0.1 per year, leading to a government fuck coefficient that isn't near 0 even decades in the future (and what really matters is what the effect is decades in the future when hopefully governments will doing the right amount of mitigation, at which point there is no more decay).

The GFDR might also decrease over time, as after a certain amount of time historical emissions may basically be considered water under the bridge.

But if the GFDR is anything close to 0.1, we have to accept that, bizarre as it seems, saving energy today doesn't actually result in there being less carbon in the air in 50 years.

This doesn't mean we should do nothing, but it means our actions should be entirely focused on shifting government preferences, rather than on changing consumption habits. Assuming my analysis is correct.

[possibilistfanfiction]

Chef Au! A date night with fast food (chosen by Ava) and cheap wine (chosen by Bea)

it's not that beatrice's little chef outfits aren't simultaneously endearing and also hot, but when you open your front door and see her in sunglasses and a comfortable crewneck sweater, light, loose pants cuffed casually — although you're sure she was exacting about those too — and sneakers, you realize that you've kind of been missing out. or, really, maybe, she's a fuller person that you could've ever really imagined, only seeing her at her restaurant and a few vineyards nearby you'd tasted at together.

she smiles, a little hesitant, and hands you a simple, beautiful bouquet of lavender wrapped in newspaper and tied with twine. 'from my garden.'

'that's so gay,' you say, before you can stop yourself — but then she laughs and scratches at the back of her neck and you lean forward to kiss her cheek. 'i love them,' you amend. 'thank you.

she nods. 'of course.'

'let me put these in some water and then we can head out.'

'you can dry it, if you want.' she clears her throat, nervous and fidgeting with her watch. 'it's good for simple syrups and reductions. or baths.'

'that sounds dope. i love baths.' you wink and know she's blushing as you put the bouquet on your entry table — artfully cluttered — and then lock the door and turn back to her. 'ready?'

'yes,' she says, unlocking a practical and perfectly spotless electric small bmw suv, and then opening your door for you.

'why thank you, sir knight.'

she rolls her eyes and closes the door, then walks around to her side. 'where to, your royal highness?'

you grin, take her hand in yours while she starts the car. 'arby's.'

'fair enough.'

'i was going to pick panda express, but that seemed... weird?'

she laughs, which delights you. you don't think you've ever heard her laugh like that before. 'i love their orange chicken, honestly. but that's a god tier secret, okay?'

you mime zipping your lips and throwing away the key, which keeps a smile on her face. while she's driving, you get to take in the whole of her, greedily: her dark brows and the gentle sharp of her jaw, the soft buzz of her hair, the tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of her sweater, the freckles across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. and her hands: sure and precise, even just on the steering wheel. she's beautiful, and you're a little overcome. you count your blessings that you wore your favorite bralette and overshirt, wide-leg jeans that make your butt look incredible. your eyeliner is perfect and when you're at a red light, she turns and smiles at you like there's no one else in the world.

it knocks the breath out of you a bit, and you cannot start crying over how pretty a girl is within seven minutes of a first date; you thank your lucky stars when she fiddles with her phone and then some music starts to play.

'shit,' she says, scrolling desperately.

'carly rae?'

'i didn't mean to play that. i don't even know why it's in my liked songs.'

'here,' you say, and put your hand out for the phone because the light is about to turn green. you laugh when you see every single carly rae jepson album fully saved in her liked songs, and you take in the delicious pink of her cheeks when you look over at her with a laugh. 'well, emotion: side b is probably the best album of all time, so no judgement here.'

she bites her bottom lip.

'what were you trying to play, though? what did you think would, like, seduce me?'

'who says i'm was trying to seduce you?'

'well, the gay little flowers, for one. and the fact that you agreed to this silly plan in the first place.'

she waits until the next red light to lean over the console and kiss you — short, and gentle, and very sweet — and you revel in the feeling.

she backs away and turns her attention back to the road in front of you as you start to move again. 'is it working?' she asks.

you laugh.

/

you settle into her trunk after she parks on the overlook; she's put comfortable blankets and pillows in it so you can eat and watch the sunset, and it's tender and thoughtful and she puts a little fisherman's beanie on that softens her, even more, and it's all driving you a little bit crazy.

'well,' you say, after you both settle in with your chicken fingers, curly fries, and ranch — your order, which she'd promised she would eat — 'please break out the perfect wine to pair with the best dinner of all time.'

she nods very seriously, going along with your antics; beatrice is ultimately extremely serious in the kitchen, even if her food is playful: she hasn't gotten to where she is — one of the youngest chefs to be nominated for a james beard, among a billion other accomplishments she refuses to mention and you had only found out about through a recent write-up about the soft opening of her restaurant — without incredible determination and focus.

she's more playful than you had imagined, full of laughter and willing to be silly; willing to indulge the goofy idea you'd had for this date. she reaches around behind her and pulls out a small cooler filled with ice, then presents the wine with a flourish: 'only the very finest three dollar trader joe's chardonnay. it pairs wonderfully with chicken.'

her little posh accent and her genuine smile make the whole routine even better. 'that is... incredible.'

'you know,' she says, 'i've never failed an assignment.'

'now that i believe.'

she fishes out two red solo cups — which makes you laugh even harder — and unscrews the top of the wine before pouring it carefully. 'do you want to give your review?'

you go through the motions of how you would normally taste a wine, all a little exaggerated. you're one of the most sought-after sommeliers in the world: you can make or break vineyards and their yearly releases; you've been a part of a handful of opening restaurants that have won every award in the book. and, even with all of that, 'this might be one of my favorite bottles of wine i've ever had.'

bea scoffs. 'this wine is absolutely horrendous.' she pulls apart a chicken tender and dunks it in ranch, though, eats it without any complaint.

'sure,' you steal one of her fries even though you have a whole pile of your own. 'but the company elevates the entire thing.'

she turns toward you, the sunset fading orange behind her, turning her eyes gold. 'you make everything better.'

it makes you a little breathless. 'plus, you have to admit, these chicken fingers slap.'

it gets her to laugh, just like you'd wanted. just like you think you could spend your entire life wanting. 'maybe we'll put this pairing on my menu, then.'

'lilith would love that.'

'you know, it could be worth it, just to see her face.'

you scoot closer to her, talk about how her partnership with a local farm is going, how she's sourcing her cod from a fisherman nearby; you talk about your favorite vineyard, a tiny one tucked into the oregon coast — and those things are safe. those things are more of what you already know: she cares deeply about the earth and how her food fits into it; you want to share a stormy grey day and perfect pinot noir at a firepit with her.

and you eat your greasy fries and drink wine that is surely going to give you a headache in the morning. you talk about how she felt finally herself when she finished cooking school and took a job on the line, young and eager and fabulously talented, at a kitchen where she had support, where no one yelled at her, where she had a mentor that cared. you talk about the wine grapes you remember your grandfather growing in your small back yard, how you would eat them when you were small and describe the taste while you sat on your mom's lap. she teaches you her favorite word in chinese and you teach her your favorite word in portugese.

the sun sinks below the river, and you love her.

'do you — ' she bites her bottom lip — 'do you want to come back to my place? for dessert?'

'depends,' you say, and watch her face fall for a split second; you kiss her jaw to rectify that, 'what's on the menu?'

she huffs a laugh. 'i bought nestle chocolate chip cookies, for the occasion. they're in my freezer.'

'oh, fuck yes,' you say. 'i'm so in.'

'and, my company.'

'well, yeah, sure.' you roll your eyes playfully and pull her in for a kiss: cheap wine and grease and the softness of her skin under your fingertips. 'and that too.'

[ladyveronikawrites]

Scar - Chapter Five

PAIRING: Jolly Karlsson x Sam (ofc)

What if your teenage daughter's fantasy became your reality?

Summary: Samantha surprises her daughter, Lyric, with tickets to see her favorite band for her sixteenth birthday. What's supposed to be one the best days of her daughter's life, also becomes hers.

CW: none, just dadomens trying to find momomens

happy bday jolly💛

Masterlist

word count: 2.3k

Sam’s chest tightens as Jolly’s carefree laughter fills her car. It feels like an eternity since someone other than Lyric was sharing the front seat with her, let alone another man. She tried the online dating thing– but with her crazy work schedule and Lyric’s after-school and weekend practices– it doesn’t leave her much time for dating.

“So how long have you lived here?” Jolly’s sudden and intriguing question softens the pressure in her chest. No other man has asked me that before.

“I grew up here, but left when I graduated high school,” she sucks in a shaky breath as she continues. “Fate would have it that I would come back when James did; we always knew we wanted to raise a family here.” 

“James sounds like a really great guy and a wonderful father to Lyric,” Jolly says softly as Sam pulls into the hotel parking lot. 

“He was the best at everything,” she confesses as she pulls her SUV into the nearest parking spot to park. “The best father, the best handyman around the house, a supportive husband…” Jolly watches as her green eyes shimmer bright before a tear wells and cascades down her cheek. 

Swiftly, he unbuckles slipping from the seat belt to lean closer to Sam. His hands hesitate as he ponders if she is comfortable with him touching her but when he catches the small nod he moves in to cup her face in his hands, wiping away her tears with a gentle brush of his thumbs. 

“Thank you,” her whisper fills the space between them. 

He would give anything to take away her pain and sorrow, but all he can muster is a small smile that he hopes conveys how he feels. As Jolly begins to pull away, he finds moist lips pressed against his. He tenses to the touch at first but when she parts her lips for him, he’s done for. He leans in, mouth hungry, tongue ready to explore more. He licks at her bottom lip, threading his fingers through her hair, pulling her in closer. And he stops. Shit, what if I went too fast? What if I misread the signs? Wait, did she actually kiss me?

Something stirs in Sam when Jolly touches her face. His hands are so warm and comforting that the tears she was holding back finally break. An unfamiliar emotion bubbles in her stomach as Jolly leans forward; the scent of him overwhelms her senses. Before her brain can stop her heart, she leans. His warm lips against hers sparks electricity down her spine. She can’t get enough. She melts into Jolly when he runs his fingers through her strands. His tongue is moist against her bottom lip and she is more than ready to let him in. Her lips still burn when he abruptly pulls away. When her eyes pop open she finds Jolly with a pained expression on his face. 

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “Did I overstep?” His thick accent accentuates the concern in his voice.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sam reassures the Swede with a smile.

Suddenly, the tall guitarist yawns, stretching as best he can in the small space, causing Sam to do the same. “Wanna go up to my room?”  With a shy giggle and a playful punch to Jolly’s arm, Sam agrees. 

Jolly opens the door of his room with a sweeping gesture of his arm, “Welcome to my crib.” His husky tone turns into a snicker when Sam smacks him in the arm as she steps by.

“You’re a dork,” she huffs a laugh as she enters the room. 

“I know,” he winks at her before threading his fingers to hers and leading her further into the room. There’s a large white bed against a navy blue accent wall and across from it hangs a flat-screen TV. An L-shaped couch fills the space under the window next to the bed. 

“This is where the magic happens so make yourself comfy, Sam. There’s water and booze in the mini fridge and the TV remote is on the bedside table. I’m going to take a quick shower.” She makes a small noise in understanding but doesn’t move from the window as she takes in the view of her small hometown. The shrill of the tap turning on pulls her from her nostalgia so she makes her way to the bed. She steps out of her beloved Converse, settles into the covers, and starts to scroll through the TV guide. 

Loud knocking stirs Sam awake. Rolling to her side, something digs into her stomach. Her eyebrows scrunch together when she finds the remote strangled in a death grip. Way to go, Sam, you fell asleep clutching onto the remote, like an old grandpa. 

Groaning, she slides out of bed and stretches rubbing her neck. Fuck me. I’m going to need to see my chiro on Monday. I hope she can squeeze me in. God, I hope Jolly doesn’t think I’m lame. Wait, did we kiss-

“You’re awake!” Jolly’s bright voice breaks through Sam’s post-nap brain fog. When she turns her head following the sound she gets lightheaded. Swaying slightly, she grips the arm of the couch and settles herself onto the furniture, hoping Jolly didn’t notice. If he did, he was gracious enough not to say anything as he continued. “The guys are heading out to see a movie, want to come?” 

“Sure!” she says without hesitation, ecstatic to spend more time with Jolly. But soon insecurity takes its rightful place in the pit of her stomach. “But let me fix my hair real quick,” she rushes by him, nerves bubbling in her stomach– but when Jolly grips her wrist, it’s not forceful, but just enough that she stops dead in her tracks. The setting sun casts a warm glow on Jolly’s long brunette hair forming a halo of light around him. 

“You look beautiful, Samantha.” Jolly takes a step closer closing the space between them. He tucks in a lock of hair behind her ear before brushing the pad of his thumb over her cheek. Sam feels her cheeks warm to the delicate touch and finds herself leaning into him. Looking up at him, his expression is soft- the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles at her. She sneaks a glance at his lips and back at his eyes hoping he didn’t notice. She wants him to kiss her, wants to feel more of his touch, wants to feel love again– but her old heart is so scared. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears as Jolly leans down, willing her eyes shut she balls her shaking hands into fists. “Stay”, she tells herself “don’t run.” His hot breath is warm against her cheek. Her heart feels like it’s going to burst from her chest– suddenly she jumps when there’s a knock at the door.

“Hey lovebirds, you two ready?” Noah yells from the other side of the door. Sam’s cheeks flame red at the nickname and she curls into herself overcome with shyness. 

“He’s an ass, isn’t he,” Jolly chuckles squeezing Sam’s shoulders. Her small smile spreads into a wide grin, “yeah he is.” He pulls her into him and she unfurls her arms to hug him back. For a few breaths, they remain as her heartbeat steadies, the scent of him soothing her senses and her nerves. 

“Ready?” he hums as he twirls his fingers in her hair. 

“Yeah,” she says softly pulling from the embrace. This time she doesn’t stop herself from threading her fingers into his as they walk to the door. When the pair reach the lobby Sam finds the rest of the band lounging on various couches and chairs and Matt is pacing. 

“The Uber is late,” Matt groans pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I’ll drive!” Sam chimes in as she squeezes Jolly’s hand despite her insecurity still looming in the back of her mind. 

Matt stops dead in his tracks, “Are you sure?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I'm sure,” she lets go of Jolly’s hand to walk past Matt. “Come on.” She waves over her shoulder for the band boys to follow her. Jolly meets up with Sam to open the car door for her. Before he ducks out he pecks a kiss to her cheek. She giggles as she settles in the driver's seat. 

“Alright boys, buckle up please.” She grins, looking up at the rearview mirror as Matt, Noah, Nick, Nicholas, and Bryan pile In.  A mutual groan rumbles through the car. “Yes mom,” they grumble and groan in unison. 

There are a scattering of families and couples in the theater as the pair stroll in behind the rest of the guys. Sam is about to slide in beside Nicholas when Jolly grips the back of her elbow causing her to stop. 

“Come on,” he nods his head to the top dark corner row of seats which happen to be vacant. 

Butterflies dance in her stomach as they ascend the dimly lit staircase. It’s impossibly warm when she sits down and Jolly follows suit, their knees brushing together when he hands her, her drink. Sam takes a few sips hoping the soda will quench her thirst and give her some relief; unfortunately, it does not. 

As the opening credits start, Jolly’s heart pounds in his chest as the opening credits start. He’s been waiting anxiously for this movie for as long as Nicholas has been ranting and raving about it. The one show all of them seemed to like and a tour favorite, so when Noah mentioned the movie, he could only hope that Sam would want to come too. In the corner of his eye, he sees her start to fidget with the popcorn bag nervously. Absentmindedly, he places his hand on her thigh as the scene starts.

Sam busies her hands by eating some popcorn, almost too aware of how she chews, she grips the bag a little tighter when suddenly Jolly’s hand rests on her thigh. Her body tenses to the touch. She wants to say something, to ask him to move his hand, but instead, she goes against every fiber of her being when she sets down the popcorn and places her hand on his.

“Oh, sorry,” Jolly jumps slightly when their hands touch, pulling his hand away. When Sam looks up at him, concern furrows his brows and creases the corners of his eyes. His eyes look nothing like her late husband’s and at this moment Sam has come to terms with it. She finally gives in to what her heart has been telling her all along. The pads of her fingers graze his cheek and for a few heartbeats, they exist in the space between them where nothing else matters. Her gaze drifts to his plump lips and back to his eyes. 

She nods, silently saying Yes! Please! I want to kiss you! Before pulling him in closer, their lips just barely touching. Sam squeezes her eyes shut and presses her lips onto his. When Jolly kisses her back, it’s soft yet cautious. She tilts her head, clasping his head between her hands to pull him in. A giggle erupts from her throat when his stubble brushes against her cheek, making Jolly pull away slightly. He puts a finger to her lips just as a nearby shh echoes from a few seats away. 

Jolly leans in, “I have a way to keep you quiet,” he whispers in her ear, his hot breath and suggestive tone send a shiver spider crawling down her spine. His lips ghost her cheek before replacing the finger to her lip. She invites the heat of the kiss, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt as his tongue parts her lips. When the pair are both breathless, he places a chaste kiss on her cheek. He kisses the tops of her knuckles before they find their resting place on his thigh. The world melts away in their soft embrace, hands entwined and hearts beating as one. 

Sam blinks a few times as her eyes adjust to the theater lights flickering on. Sure she has no idea what happened in the movie, but she couldn’t care less as long as she was next to Jolly. She doesn’t know what will happen next between them and right now she’s okay with that. Jolly gathers their trash and she follows closely until she can slide her hand back into his. When they reach the other guys outside, she spots them climbing into their Uber. Her stomach drops when the reality hits her that Jolly will be leaving too. She can’t help when a lump forms in her throat and her eyes prick with tears. 

“It’s time-” Jolly stops dead in his tracks when he spots the tears cascading down her cheeks. Before his feet step off the curb he turns and pulls her in tight, arms wrapping around her waist. 

“I got you,” he says low and calm as she starts to shake. “I don’t want this night to end either, Samantha. These last few days have been some of the best days on tour and I can’t thank you enough. This is not goodbye, ok?” 

He pulls back to wipe away her tears, caressing her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Smile, pretty girl,” he smiles when she giggles and pink washes over her cheeks. “We play only a few hours away tomorrow and I snagged you VIP if you want to come. I know it’s a school night but I still wanted to offer.”  

Sam doesn’t hesitate when she wraps her arms around his neck in excitement. She knows she will be dead tired come Monday morning-thankfully just an in-service day before the end of the school year- so she can show up a little late. 

“Yes, yes I’ll be there!” 

“I can’t wait!” Jolly leans down for one more kiss. “Good night, Sam.” 

“Good night, Jolly,” she says before kissing him back. She watches as the full moon illuminates his path to the others. She smiles to herself, smitten- a feeling she hasn’t felt in so long. 

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