#is it working am i doing it good am i am i am i
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You can always recognize an office worker in a customer bc these guys felt so put upon and affronted by being asked to stay home during all of that that they just fucking forgot how to act in public. They demand things and say things to my face that they never would have before. I've been directly called a bitch and physically threatened more times in the last 4 years than I was in the entire decade of working in service positions beforehand.
I used to like people, man. People would act like we were beneath them for being service workers sometimes but before all that I think a majority of people were polite enough. I just don't give a shit about the complaints of people who were not essential workers unless those complaints are that they want to go back to working remotely because covid isn't fucking over. There is no complaint they can possibly have that can compare to having to be face to face with 100s of people every day that made it abundantly clear that they were (and are) willing to sacrifice your life for their convenience.
im not saying office jobs aren’t bad in some ways but its always very telling when people treat it like the WORST job at the bottom of the rung…because they have never had to face manual labor as a real option they would ever be forced to take.
#And I have one of those “good” service industry jobs#Not retail or food service#I spent 6 months wading though an endless sea of assisting distraught people#with obituaries/death certificates/filing for unemployment while having to fend off idiots throwing shouting hissyfits#about how we weren't offering other services at the time or wasting a bunch of time with services that they#and I cannot stress this enough#could have done remotely#I caught covid twice. I'm lucky I'm not dead.#Some of my co-workers did die and I was expected to just like...be chill with the lingering specter of death I guess.#We had to fight to get the company to implement the plexiglass temporary screens or provide any masks.#Customers would sit there and profess that we were such heroes but they couldn't even handle standing six feet away.#If you asked someone to please comply with literally any safety standard they were ignoring#you were taking your life into your hands bc “what if they attack me for that?” was a real possible thing you had to consider.#I'm not a hero to them because they did not care!!!#The company said it first but the general public also made it abundantly clear!!#They did not give a single fuck if EVERYONE who worked there died!#They made small talk about it!#The Economy#You have to pretend to agree with them bc you can't have personalities or opinions on the work floor#Why yes sir I do think it's great that you can still come in here for virtually no reason#And give me a highly infectious deadly disease#Bc you're bored#I sure am happy to stick it to the libtards#By dying#And don't even get me started on how the public feels about the fact that I still wear a mask at work#I hate it here#I am banging on the walls screaming#You've got holidays and weekends and you only have to deal with your boss and your direct co workers!!!!!!#I know work in all it's forms is coercive and shitty#But PLEASE have some fucking PERSPECTIVE
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welp!
Kind of unbelievable that this is happening, but I have some bad news! LOUIE ARMSTRONG'S ESTATE has ordered that the song we made for the credits sequence of BRBA:VR, "What a Breaking Bad World", cannot exist. the video as it is cannot remain. there are a few options. I could remove the video and re-upload it, losing all of the traction its gained, all of its comments, etc. I really do not want to do that, for obvious reasons! Alternatively, I mute the audio in the end, resulting in a very jarring ending, and in my eyes, ruining the video.
I do not want to do either of these, but unfortunately, I am going to have to do something more akin to the latter. The good news is is that I have a road to a final solution that will not leave the video permanently flawed. I have to silence the song for now as demanded by the estate, but we are going to work on a fully original song that still fits the ending, one that's not directly derivative of any other work. Once it's done, we have a means to add it to the YouTube music library - allowing us to swap in audio and repair the ending into a new version.
This will take some time, so unfortunately there will be a period where the video is messed up. But it won't be forever, at the very least.
#wayneradiotv#rtvs#brbavrai#bbvrai#socpens#hollowtones#baaulp#mastergir#hlvrai#radio tv solutions#erarg#trog#mirakurutaimu#logmore
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Hi 👋
For those who have not seen on my other social medias, we were involved in a house fire on the 31st of last year. A grease fire started in the apartment below us and spread to our apartment causing extensive damage to the living room, kitchen, and smoke damage to every other part of the house.
My cat, and one of my roommates cats and pet rats were in the building still during the fire, (smoke was bad enough there was only time to grab one cat, I was out getting the mail when it started) but thankfully all animals were rescued and got vet visits.
Unfortunately we are now in the moving process again, so I will be unable to work on things for a time. We have renters insurance, however due to the damages we might still have to pay for a lot of things, plus the cost of moving to a new apartment, so once we’re more settled in, I am toying with the idea of small emergency commissions (chibi head icons or something akin to that) while I get back to work on my Patreon related things and other bigger commissions to help mitigate the financial impact.
Some people on other social medias have asked if there was anything they could do to help, and currently all I can do is plug my Patreon and commission info. Nothing is expected of course since I will not be able to work on things for a bit, but if you’d like to get a commission set up or would like to support me on Patreon, any help is greatly appreciated, including reblogs.
Thank you all in the meantime and I hope you all have a good 2025 and stay safe out there!
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other side of the moon - chapter three | formula one imagine
chapter three: home away from home
pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli
back in monaco for the first time after the crash, y/n reckons with ghosts from the past and the uncertain future.
MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | PART ONE | PART TWO
despite the hefty price tag of the cat carrier, brando looks less than impressed. y/n continued to try and coax him in with a treat but the cat was suspicious to say the least.
“please get in the carrier brando,” she waved the treat in his face again, “we’re going to see max! you love max and you don’t mind kimi, yeah? remember them? we just have a short 16 hour drive because your lordship doesn’t like planes so can we please get in the carrier?”
brando bit into the treat and slowly made his way into the carrier looking sorry for himself. the biggest and final chore was now done with minimal guilt, she would take that. y/n wasn’t moving to monaco - no, she prided herself on being one of the only drivers to not make that jump, but she also didn’t exactly know when she was coming back.
there was less than a month until car launches and tests and max insisted on hosting some team-bonding sessions for her and kimi. it was probably just an excuse to see her before she is ‘tainted by mercedes’, but y/n found herself excited to see the dutchman again.
the suitcases were by the door and the plants had been watered, it was now or never. crossing the boundary of her front door, it dawned on y/n that her life was changing again. there wasn’t quite the excitement she had leading up to her first race in formula one, but she could feel the butterflies threatening to return.
the door clicked shut and the next phase started. in the lobby of her building, y/n approached the front desk.
“hi frank,” y/n said to the concierge, “i’m going away for a little while so could you keep all of my mail together for me?”
the older man smiled up at her. frank had been working at this building since y/n first moved in. he had tried to hide that he was a formula one fan but wasn’t quite successful. he had stuttered when she had turned up one evening, cap low on her head and oversized sunglasses despite the darkness.
“miss y/ln, would you like me to help you with your bags?”
y/n had frozen when frank said her name. frank had taken his hat off, trying to sort out the salt and pepper freckled hair on his head.
“i’m so sorry miss y/ln, that was unprofessional of me. as you now know, i am aware of who you are, i hope this does not make you uncomfortable. we will do anything you need to be comfortable here.”
y/n had also taken off her hat and looked frank in the eye. she deemed him sincere and allowed herself two minutes of respite from her burning anger. “no worries,” she looks down at his name tag, “frank. i would love some help, maybe on a better day i can sign something for you? other than these bags, i’d really love if this being my home was just something we keep between us.”
frank mock saluted and started grabbing bags.
“you won’t be gone forever will you, miss y/ln?” frank asked, pulling y/n back. the older man looked uncharacteristically worried.
“and miss our scintillating conversations? i would never! i assume you’ve heard i’ve taken the job with kimi? i’m going to do some ‘team-bonding’ with him in monaco and then i’ll be back”
frank took one of her suitcases, helping her to the garage.
“monaco you say? you wouldn’t be staying with the handsome dutchman by any chance,” frank said, raising an eyebrow in question.
“i might be?” y/n opened the door of her pink cadillac, “was it you who let him and kimi up without my permission, frank?”
“guilty as charged ma’am, but they were there with good purpose so i just had to”
frank continued loading the car with her suitcases, opening the back door and securing brando’s carrier in place.
“he also gave me a signed pair of race gloves, sorry!”
y/n exclaimed as she shut the door of the car. “i knew he was bribing you! but yes, i guess i am glad you let them up - for now.”
frank pulled y/n in for a hug. she let it linger before clearing her throat and pulling back.
“i know i’m just an old man, but it’s nice to see you excited about something again. you came to me three years ago a broken girl with a constant face like thunder,” frank pinched her cheek, “but here you are, ready to conquer the world again. i am proud of you. but don’t get too lost in your new role to not see what’s right in front of you.”
y/n was confused. frank continued, “the crash took a lot from you, but it did not make you unloveable. give people a chance.”
the older man stepped back and gave her a wave.
“make sure you make enough stops and get some sleep, it’s a long drive to monaco. say hi to max for me.”
frank turned and made his way back into the building. y/n sighed and climbed into her car. the pink cadillac was hardly subtle but she had banished all of her other cars to a different garage three years again so it would simply have to do.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・
yourusername
liked by maxverstappen1, kimiantonelli and 11,304,788 others
yourusername: sixteen hour road trip ahead of us, i hope brando is ready to get real acquainted with taylor swift's discography
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user1: she’s so cute
user2: it’s the pink caddy!!!
user3: y/n is back in formula one and is driving the pink cadillac - never kill yourself
charles_leclerc: okay miss active on instagram
yourusername: had to come back and steal all the likes from you obviously
charles_leclerc: oh yes please remind me how you still have double the followers i do when you haven’t posted in three years?
yourusername: idk sounds like you have a skill issue to me
charles_leclerc: sixteen hours and you’re back on my stomping ground… watch it missy
yourusername: i will watch
yourusername: because i know you and you will grovel
charles_leclerc: maybe…
charles_leclerc: i’ve missed you, sue me!
yourusername: i just might!
charles_leclerc: wait-!
user4: all these reunions are making me sappy
user5: i’m stuck on the fact that y/n is driving all the way to monaco?
yourusername: brando doesn’t like flying 😕
user6: oh to be a high maintenance cat of a rich person
maxverstappen1: jimmy and sassy are eagerly awaiting your arrival
yourusername: awwww i’ve missed them
maxverstappen1: i was talking to brando…
yourusername: rightttttt
maxverstappen1: but i am eagerly awaiting your arrival
yourusername: as you should be
maxverstappen1: i stocked up on all your weird english biscuits and everything
yourusername: you’re too precious
user7: oh to have a bond like theirs
user8: i fear it’s a trauma bond
user9: it’s still cute!
kimiantonelli: can’t wait to get started miss y/ln
yourusername: please call me y/n kimi you’re making me feel so old
kimiantonelli: oki
kimiantonelli: miss y/ln what kind of pasta do you like
kimiantonelli: *y/n what kind of pasta do you like
olliebearman: you are such a failure omg
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:・
the road was quiet, with taylor swift’s voice filling the silence. y/n had exhausted the conversation with brando, who was tuckered out in the backseat. by now the pair we deep into france, y/n had stopped being able to translate the road signs many miles ago.
the thought of returning to monaco was daunting. there would be ghosts around every corner and memories that y/n wasn’t sure she was ready to confront. y/n wasn’t even sure which drivers even lived in the principality any more - however, she knew that her former teammate did.
lando norris was a bit of an enigma in y/n’s life. there were early growing pains in their friendship? work relationship? but as the 2021 season rolled around, she thought they had finally been ironed out. the gap was slim, but lando had outscored her in 2020, so his ego was still intact and that made him a little more enjoyable to be around.
y/n wasn’t sure who or what had pushed lando over the edge of accepting her as a teammate and not just a mere annoyance, but january 2021 was night and day from her rookie season. y/n had a sneaking suspicion that lando had been subject of some heated PR meetings over the christmas break, but as long as she wasn’t in them, she didn’t really care.
suddenly there was a shift in the atmosphere. lando spoke to her outside of meetings, in between video takes and checked in over the breaks. suddenly lando knew the name of her friends, where she had gone on holiday and her favourite food. y/n didn’t think much of it at the time. but then came everything else.
july 2021.
y/n didn’t tend to spend long on social media, why open herself up to the opinions of stupid people just because they were loud? one morning, a sunny one in monaco, y/n received a flurry of texts from her trainer luca. ripped from her yoga session on max’s balcony, y/n checked her texts.
luca: is there other strenuous activities i need to be aware of?
luca: tiktok.com/userlandonorris/reposts
luca: if this is a thing, should jon and i coordinate training plans?
huh?
y/n clicked the link and was taken to lando’s tiktok page. she felt like an old woman trying to navigate the app but finally found the reposts. the first few she saw were edits of herself? and then a couple talking about “finally being understood by that person” and some other more charged in nature.
what the fuck. there wasn’t a normal day in this team it seemed. y/n pulled back the door and went to find max. the dutchman was tucked into bed, still sore from silverstone just two weeks earlier.
“have you seen this shit?” y/n said, shoving her phone in max’s face, “i mean what does this even mean? 69? i didn’t even know lando could count that high?”
“i think he’s referencing sex, y/n”
“i know he’s referencing sex idiot! why is he referencing having sex with me?!”
“i don’t know, you’re the dumbass who joined that team - he’s probably trying to like get you on side after the shit he pulled in austria and is doing it in classic dumbass lando fashion.”
austria had been eventful. both lando and y/n had somewhat slow starts to the season, with just one podium to their names by the time they pulled up to the red bull ring. the two papaya cars lined up fourth and fifth on the grid, with y/n managing to edge in front of her teammate, which meant the two were subjected to the word teamwork 72 times in a 45 minute meeting (y/n had counted).
when the lights went out, y/n got the jump on the ferrari of sainz ahead of her, wrestling her way past the spaniard and up into third. with cleaner air, max had already wrangled a healthy three second gap back to her and was hunting down lewis, so she focused on keeping the prancing horse behind her. as they approached the steep incline, carlos jerked out to the right and tried his luck up the inside. the spaniard was heavy on his brakes, burning up his tyres as he missed the apex and shunted his front wing into y/n’s front right tyre.
the contact didn’t manage to cause a puncture or any terminal body damage, but the push had made way for carlos, lando and charles to slide past her as she strained to keep her mclaren from going into the gravel trap.
“what the hell was that?” y/n asked down the radio, keeping her eyes focused on charles’ ferrari down the road. “do i have any damage?”
“no damage that we can see. hang back for a couple of laps, the ferraris are eating their tyres and will fall back to you.” jude, her usually cool race engineer, had a bite to his voice.
taking the corner as tight as she could y/n barked back, “surely he has to give that place back? he forced me off the track?!” y/n was practically vibrating, with anger or from the force on her tyres, she wasn’t sure yet. “just keep your head down, we’ll get back to you,” hugo replied.
the ferrari of charles was getting further and further down the road. “hugo their tyres aren’t falling off, can i hunt them down yet? what about this penalty?” it was like talking to a brick wall as the pit wall didn’t reply. y/n bit down the urge to swear up a storm and put her foot down with renewed vigour.
by the next lap y/n had managed to battle her way into charles’ drs and was priming her tyres for a late move further down the track. charles tried to cut off the slip stream and predict which side y/n might choose, but it wasn’t enough as the mclaren breezed past charles before they even hit the apex.
unbeknownst to y/n the silence from hugo was indicative of the larger argument happening on the pit wall. despite putting massive flatspots on his tyres, lando had yet to make his way past sainz’s ferrari. will, lando’s race engineer, was deep in discussion with him over the radio (which would’ve made quite entertaining viewing for y/n after the fact if it didn’t concern her so deeply).
“lando we are confident that sainz will get a penalty. y/n has cleared charles, we need you to back sainz into y/n so she can overtake. when she does we want you to give the position back.”
and if that wasn’t the sentence that summoned the shitstorm.
“why should i give the position back? i did nothing wrong?”
lando kept his foot down and increased the gap between himself and sainz. will’s voice rang out on the radio again,
“lando. sainz pushed y/n off track and you all gained positions, the right thing to do is to give the position back.”
that was a red flag to a raging lando. he let off a spiel that had made the post-race debrief and all media duties torture for the pair of them.
“carlos did nothing wrong and i did nothing wrong. y/n needs to learn we won’t just let her past like schumacher did. tell her to hurry up if she wants this position back, i won’t give her a podium just because she can’t defend.”
there was silence on the mclaren radio for a few moments. there was even silence on the broadcasts. no one quite knew what to say to that.
y/n had closed in on sainz, hundredths away from being in the spaniard’s drs range. her radio finally crackled back to life, “y/n you have full permission to use your tyres, we aim to pit soon. you are free to race with lando.”
excuse me? on one hand y/n was glad, there had been a couple awkward moments already this season where she had been told to hold position and not fight. however, that was her position, lost through no fault of her own?
“i am free to race? he should give me that position!”
“you are free to race. head down and clear sainz before we discuss again.”
this was bullshit. she knew it, hugo knew it, zak brown knew it, the broadcast team knew it and deep down lando knew it too. sainz was an easy pass for y/n in the end as she pipped him on the start finish straight. lando had a three second advantage which meant that y/n had some free air to cool down her tyres and get ready to fight her teammate. she would be clean but she was finishing on that podium whether he liked it or not.
within two laps y/n had completely dropped sainz and was breathing down the neck of lando. she was within his drs range as they rounded the final corner but before she could launch an attack lando swerved into the pit lane. that was an early stop? y/n quietly thought to herself that it seemed all too convenient that he was called into pit just as she was about to catch him… not that it really bothered her all too much, the over cut was more powerful at austria, so if she kept her good pace, she should come back out in front of her teammate.
many laps later and a late pit stop for y/n, the younger mclaren driver proudly picked up her second podium of the season. she hauled herself out of the car in parc ferme and immediately embraced max who had once again managed to win his quasi home race, catching lewis with ten laps to go.
once she had been weighed, y/n made her way to the interviews, glad to see it would be jenson conducting them - he always gave her nice questions.
“up first we have our third place finisher, the incomparable y/n y/ln! what a stint on those mediums, i thought for a second you were going to go all the way on them!” jenson said with a wide grin.
“thank you jenson! yeah… after the first lap i thought my race was pretty screwed… the fia took their time with carlos’ penalty so i had to regain my positions myself… but i think all in all it was a good race i’m glad to being going into my home race on the high of a podium and i’ll be looking to do even better there!”
jenson smiled at her but started to pick at his nails, a telltale sign he was going to have to ask a question he didn’t want to ask. “not to bring you down after a great race, but i must ask, what do you make of lando’s comments on the radio?”
y/n was puzzled, and her face showed that much. she started stuttering and shrugging. one of the production assistants behind jenson passed her a phone and pressed play. y/n held the phone up to her ear and felt the words rush over her.
“carlos did nothing wrong and i did nothing wrong. y/n needs to learn we won’t just let her past like schumacher did. tell her to hurry up if she wants this position back, i won’t give her a podium just because she can’t defend.”
oh. okay. y/n knew she needed to take a couple breaths before she responded or she would say something she would regret. people would probably forget about lando’s comments by next week but if she said something like that she’d be stuck with the brat label for the rest of her career.
“that’s disappointing for sure to hear. third and fourth is a good result for the team and it ended how it should’ve. we’ll discuss this with the team but for right now i’m going to celebrate my podium and drink some champagne!”
jenson gave her a nod to say she did well and beckoned over lewis. y/n walked back to the side of the podium pen and slid in next to max.
“who the fuck does he think he is saying that? i’m being serious, someones got to knock some sense into him,” max said under his breath, aware cameras were still on them.
“i know, it’s bullshit, but i doubt they’ll say anything severe to him.”
just as y/n was making peace with the fact there would be no severe consequences for lando, her and max turned to see the man himself in the media pen. intrigued, both listened in on his interview.
“it sounds bad on the radio, yes. but i stand by the message, maybe not the delivery. this is formula one and y/n needs to know that you can’t just bat your eyelashes and be let by.” lando’s PR handler cuts the interview there and drags him back towards the mclaren garage, barely concealing her anger on her face.
“well, well, well.”
max groaned from under the blanket he had wrapped over his head, snapping y/n out of it.
“yes he was a massive knob in austria, as per usual, but i don’t understand how implying he’s sleeping with me makes it any better? it makes it look so much worse!”
“can you stop bothering me about it i think you just retriggered my concussion.”
“i don’t think that’s a thing, max,” y/n said and then her phone chimed, “speak of the devil, he’s asked if we can go for some lunch to ‘discuss the season’ whatever the fuck that means”
“good leave me alone”
“we’re going to luigi’s do you want me to get you some carpaccio to go?”
“i actually take it back, i love you - yes.”
y/n refilled his water and got his painkillers from the kitchen before she slipped on her shoes and made her way out of the complex. this is what was confusing about lando. he was more than happy to berate her on the radio but then would set up meetings like this like nothing had happened. usually y/n could write it off as a heat of the moment thing - she had once called mick an ‘incompetent cunt with shit hair’ on the radio so she definitely understood it. but it never stopped there, media duties were the death of lando and y/n was interested to see how he aimed to worm his way out of this one.
luigi’s was surprisingly busy for a tuesday afternoon but y/n spotted lando easily with his big jumper in the july heat. lando didn’t stand up to greet her so y/n just sat down as soon as she got to the table.
“do you know what you want to order?” lando snapped the menu shut and looked over to her.
“i’m doing well lando, thanks for asking,” y/n muttered sarcastically, “i’m just going to get some of the salmon, it’s good here.”
the waiter turned up just as she put the menu down and y/n ordered the salmon, a juice and the carpaccio to go. lando had ordered some chicken salad and a water. once the waiter had left he hissed at y/n, “did you order that on purpose?”
“what?”
“the salmon.”
“are you allergic or?”
“no?”
“then what’s the big deal? i like salmon, it’s good for you.”
“i hate fish. everyone knows i hate fish. i invited you here to sort things out and you’re already starting with the mind games.”
y/n’s mouth fell open. he was actually being serious.
“you know not everything is about you right? salmon is in my meal plan and they cook it nicely here. i don’t think about you in everything i do.”
lando huffed, whispering a ‘that i’m sure of’ to himself. this was so childish, and y/n was very to let lando know that. “do you want to repeat yourself lando? or are you going to continue to be a child?”
lando was taken aback, “me being a child? says you! i wanted to talk this out after silverstone like we planned? you were going to come to see my family and everything. they were so excited to meet you, especially my sisters. but no, you let me, let us down!”
y/n actually laughed in disbelief. “i told you i was sorry about silverstone and i was, but max needed me and in that moment he was who i had to be with.”
“it’s always max, isn’t it?”
“he was airlifted to the hospital lando, i’m sure he would’ve preferred me hang out with your family than have to do that again.”
lando had started to rip apart the napkins, a sign he was desperately trying to regulate himself.
“you always choose him! you choose him then, you only stay at his when you’re in monaco - you’re even picking up food for him on our date!”
“our date? are you kidding me? i’m going to ignore that,” y/n took a sip of water,” and for max? i care about him deeply and he was in hospital after a very dangerous crash!”
“then why don’t you care about me? huh?” lando was getting choked up, “you’ve never been there for me when i’ve crashed?”
now y/n was even more confused. lando had wanted her to be there for him when he had crashed but also couldn’t stand to be around her longer than necessary until this season. this boy was such a headfuck.
“you fucking hated me last season lando. and the way you’re acting here and how you acted in austria don’t really tell me that you like me any more.”
lando huffed and crossed his arms like a child. y/n continued, “this is what i don’t get with you. you can’t stand me all last season, literally refusing to call me by my name, only calling me rookie and running from meetings as soon as you can but now, now! i need to be there for your every need. now you can repost dumb tiktoks and fuel rumours about us?”
“they told me we needed to look closer!”
“so you decided to tell the world we’re fucking?”
“i didn’t say that!”
“you basically did, i saw the reposts. and for your information i would never fuck you in a million years.”
“no, that’s for max only isn’t it?”
“what is you people’s fucking obsession with thinking i am sleeping with someone on the grid? is it that inconceivable that i might be able to exist around my fellow drivers without trying to sleep with them?”
“well you should stop acting like you are then!”
y/n stood up abruptly, scraping the chair across the floor. she hastily grabbed her stuff and slotted her sunglasses back.
“you can send me what i owe for the lunch, i don’t feel like sitting here and being berated because you can’t handle this season. you know who actually has something to be stressed about, the guy actually in the title battle, who is in bed still recovering from a crash. so goodbye lando, i’m going to go take care of my friend who actually cares about me and can talk to me without belittling me.”
she sweeped out of the restaurant, the waiter at the entrance saw her coming and passed her the carpaccio. the heat of monaco was sweltering but the drama between her and her teammate was heating up even more.
present.
y/n was still none the wiser about how she felt about lando, even all these years later. something inside of her wanted to reach out to him, reassure him that he was good enough, especially after how 2024 had panned out, but then the memories of their time together at mclaren come flooding back and she feels content with her silence.
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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and charles leclerc (italics)
little birdy told me you’re back in monaco
by little birdy i mean your instagram post
omg have you considered a career switch to being a detective?
you’re mean
anyway!
cocktail night at mine tonight
i guess you can bring your losers too
yes that includes ollie before kimi asks
wow that’s a big assumption that i’m going to say yes
drinking on my dime? when have you ever said no?
you have a good point
i’ll be there at 8 - losers in tow
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“we get to go to a cocktail night at charles? oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”
kimi squealed down the phone to y/n, “hold on let me tell ollie, we’ve got to get ready!”
y/n could hear him shuffling through their shared flat, “it doesn’t start for another like three hours kimi!”
the two boys had started excitedly discussing outfits and which cocktails are the ‘cool’ ones.
“we’ll swing by yours at 7:45, be ready we won’t wait.”
y/n hung up and turned to max smiling, they were so cute. the two of them had been curled up on the couch with the cats for the majority of the afternoon as y/n was catching up on sleep. the brit turned to max,
“oh i forgot to tell you,” max perked up, “guess who came to my apartment after the GQ thing?”
max shrugged, throwing a toy for jimmy.
“lewis.”
“hamilton?”
“yeah!”
max’s eyes sharpened, “why would he be at yours?”
“wouldn’t you know? you’re the one who gave him my address,” y/n replied, trying to make eye contact with max who was avoiding her gaze.
“yeah i thought he was going to send you like condolence flowers or something not show up unannounced?”
both of them had sat up at this point. brando was sat between them, looking between them confused.
“he showed up and complimented my dress. i asked him if he was sad he missed me at mercedes and he like proper leaned in and asked what i could possibly teach him? kissed my hand and left. it was weird.”
y/n laughed as she recounted the story but max wasn’t laughing.
“it’s funny max, you’re meant to laugh.”
max forces out a sarcastic laugh.
“what’s wrong?”
“nothing. i just think it’s weird. food for thought.”
“don’t worry he won’t replace you. you’ll always be my favourite.”
max smiled at that. he piled on top of her, with brando squished in the middle.
“you’ll always stay at mine in monaco right? i’ll always be your best friend on the grid?”
“always,” y/n said, tucking one of max’s hairs behind his ear, “beside where else would i stay? in kimi and ollie’s bachelor pad? i’d rather die”
max let out a laugh and let his head fall on y/n’s chest, her hands immediately tangling in his hair.
“i’m sorry for that. i just love you and our bond, i get jealous that mr seven titles might steal you away.”
“away from you? they’d have to take me kicking and screaming. you’re the only one who had my address, you’re the only one i spoke to in the three years. don’t think i’ll ever not have you first.”
the cocktail party was nearing, but the pair were content to stay tangled on the couch, with a grumpy brando tucked in between them. outside of the apartment, the ghosts of monaco still lingered. maybe it was a good thing charles had a weird obsession with cocktails and his at home bar, y/n could use some liquid courage tonight.
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charles_leclerc
liked by maxverstappen1, pierregasly and 2,304,667 others
tagged: yourusername
charles_leclerc: it’s been three years and she still can’t mix drinks.
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user1: war is officially over
user2: i hope nothing bad happened between them but it is stuck in my mind that they didn’t talk in the three years
user3: i’m hoping she just flat out wasn’t speaking to anyone but max and charles did nothing bad
user4: his tribute post is still up which others can’t say so
kimiantonelli: i think her drinks are just right!
yourusername: i think we’re gonna work so well together
kimiantonelli: i think so toooooooooo
olliebearman: he’s just really drunk?
yourusername: so he’s not always like this?
olliebearman: loud? not really. but hanging off every word you say? yeah that’s pretty normal
user5: oh how i’ve missed my beautiful wife
user6: lando’s beautiful wife
user7: nuh uh george’s
user8: what about the guy who actually posted it
user9: i actually think you all should kill yourselves!
yourusername: i’m really not that bad you just have bad tolerance
charles_leclerc: i have measuring tools right there and you insist on doing the ‘y/n pour’
yourusername: does the ‘y/n pour’ get the party started or not?
pierregasly: yes because everyone is pissed by 9pm
yourusername: is that not the aim of a party
charles_leclerc: this is a sophisticated soiree - i even bought olives for this
yourusername: oh please
maxverstappen1: i think it would be funnier to watch everyone drunk stumbling around y/n
charles_leclerc: okay well we’d all be a bit more chill if you didn’t gatekeep her for three years
maxverstappen1: don’t care 😛
user10: max is the level of unbothered i need to be right now
user11: he’s on necks even in the off season
user12: so who else is to come?
user13: please please please let the brits be there i need my dose of y/nlando
user14: they're meant to be i swear
user15: oh my sweet summer child
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fin.
note: enjoy my quick updates while you can i am back at my big girl job tomorrow :((((( but i will try to keep up with this pace where i can!
taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 instagram au#f1 x you#f1#f1 social media au#charles leclerc#max verstappen#kimi antonelli#ollie bearman#lando norris
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Oh, absolutely, I 100% agree that fanfic has huge amounts of interiority, "looking at the characters' thoughts that we never get to see" is a huge part of why it's written! What I'm referring to with "fanfiction bad habits" (if they can even really be called that, because they're not always bad habits if you're actually writing fic!) is stuff like overdescription of appearance or gesture. Fic authors are trying to indicate that the character on the page is the same character as is on the screen, and part of what is distinctive about the character on the screen is their appearance/physicality. For instance, in SPN Sam Winchester has long(ish) hair as... more of an appearance note than anything else? you can dig for character meaning but the show really doesn't do that, but it's one of the most iconic elements of his character, so it gets referenced in fic a LOT and often in places where on a technical level it's either unnecessary or actively slows down a scene. Same goes for trying to exactly describe character outfits. If you switch to original prose and aren't trying to match a character who primarily exists in visual media, you don't need to be constantly describing their hairstyle or walk or appearance, but the habit is there and might be hard to notice or break.
HOWEVER I also completely agree with your statement that a lot of authors (ahem ahem SANDERSON) are writing like they really want to make a movie or TV show, I don't have anything to add but. yeah. that's definitely something I've noticed as well.
A lot of fiction these days reads as if—as I saw Peter Raleigh put it the other day, and as I’ve discussed it before—the author is trying to describe a video playing in their mind. Often there is little or no interiority. Scenes play out in “real time” without summary. First-person POV stories describe things the character can’t see, but a distant camera could. There’s an overemphasis on characters’ outfits and facial expressions, including my personal pet peeve: the “reaction shot round-up” in which we get a description of every character’s reaction to something as if a camera was cutting between sitcom actors.
When I talk with other creative writing professors, we all seem to agree that interiority is disappearing. Even in first-person POV stories, younger writers often skip describing their character’s hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, memories, or reactions. This trend is hardly limited to young writers though. I was speaking to an editor yesterday who agreed interiority has largely vanished from commercial fiction, and I think you increasingly notice its absence even in works shelved as “literary fiction.” When interiority does appear on the page, it is often brief and redundant with the dialogue and action. All of this is a great shame. Interiority is perhaps the prime example of an advantage prose as a medium holds over other artforms.
fascinated by this article, "Turning Off the TV in Your Mind," about the influences of visual narratives on writing prose narratives. i def notice the two things i excerpted above in fanfic, which i guess makes even more sense as most of the fic i read is for tv and film. i will also be thinking about its discussion of time in prose - i think that's something i often struggle with and i will try to be more conscious of the differences between screen and page next time i'm writing.
#hi yes I'm going through the notes because I am actually fascinated by this discussion don't mind me#it's a balance. not all fic writers do this#there are a LOT of good ones (both fic and authors) that are enormously talented and don't#but it's an attempt to translate visuals into words and what is good in that specific scenario isn't always good#when you're starting with words to begin with#anyways as a fanfic writer myself I HAVE noticed that yeah I do have a nasty tendency to overdescribe How The Imaginary Actors Are Moving#bc I'm THINKING in terms of How The Actual Actors Are Moving#which leads to both complications with physical description AND with depictions of other characters#like if I want to get REALLY technical about it coming up through fanfic has DEFINITELY affected how I show emotion in characters#bc film/TV doesn't just state emotion or conflict or describe the thought patterns that can be interpreted#the actor has to SHOW it by acting#and so when I write I feel like the character has to also show it via body language that needs to be described#which CAN lead to some cool passages but as I mentioned earlier#I have a huge problem with constantly describing where everyone in the scene is Looking bc I'm trying to describe Subtle Acting#even though acting isn't a part of the artform I'm working in at all!#...anyways wow apparently I have a lot of thoughts on this issue um. feel free to ignore me if you don't like them I guess?#writing
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader
↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi
summary | Joel hates change, but you introduced the idea that letting someone else take charge isn't always bad.
author's note | horrible summary but just know that man is dow horrifically bad. i don't think i need to explain what inspired this. i recommend a mix of father figure by george michael and i'm on fire by bruce springsteen on a constant repeat while reading this, for the vibes <3 thank you @chaotic-mystery for beta'ing and constantly making me laugh
content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!joel, no outbreak, power dynamics (he's your boss), age gap (shocker), lots of open communication, vague plot, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, creampies, cum eating, restraints, joel eating the puss with no hands, use of a cockring, joel's a real good boy, open-ended
word count — 7k
“You ever thought about lettin’ someone else take control?”
Tommy’s staring over the dirtied tupperware in his hands, the heel of his boot squeaking against Joel’s cluttered desk, who’s staring down at the mess of paperwork before his eyes flick up briefly at his brother, glaring.
“And run this place into the ground?”
“Joel, look at this place,” Tommy gestures lazily toward the space.
It is a mess—paperwork misorted, information scribbled on a calendar long forgotten underneath the pile, sticky notes scattered throughout, and Joel’s brain running a million thoughts per second on top of the physical work he’s providing throughout the company.
He’d taken on the position thinking it would be a good thing, a breather, after years of working only physical labor—extra money, more security for his daughters as they entered college, always feeling the support of him even miles away. But, it had slowly begun to overtake his life, his weekends that used to be spent watching football games and drinking in his backyard, were forced into four walls.
He can’t even remember that last time he’s had the chance to have a night out.
Gone on a date.
Hell, even sex was nonexistent.
“Hiring someone means training and you and I both know we don’t have the time—”
“That’s why you hire someone with experience—and vet ‘em. You know what, I’ll ask Maria if she can help out with finding someone. Lord knows you’ll never make a decision.”
“I am your boss, remember?” Joel threatens lightly, tossing a dry, unusable pen on his desk, mirroring his brother as he raises a foot on his desk and leans back, arms crossed over his chest, “Maybe work would be less of a pain in the ass if I jus’ fired ‘ya.”
“Yeah, but then who’s gonna deal with all your cryin’?”
Joel tosses a balled up napkin at Tommy’s head, one that he dodges with ease as it flies over his head, barely missing the trashcan on the other side of the room as it slumps to the floor.
“Just try it out—ain’t nothing bad about change, brother.”
For Joel, it meant relinquishing the control he wasn’t ready to offer up.
–
You fidget nervously in the chair in the front office, heart hammering in your chest.
First impressions were always nerve-wracking, but with Joel, and the preface you were given by both Maria and Tommy, who had led you through the hiring process, made it seem like he was nearly unbearable at times.
The door to his office creaks open right on time, not a second after.
He’s dressed up, slacks and a tight button-up paired with loosely slicked back hair, peppered with grays that dissolved into his trimmed facial hair, a permanent scowl on his face as he greets you, head down and following you as you slipped by his large, stocky frame.
As the door clicks closed, he begins with audible uncertainty, “I’m not sure what all my brother and his wife told you, but—”
You interrupt firmly, attempting to assert your unique approach at dominance when men like him, slinging your bag into one of the two chairs positioned in front of his desk.
“So—I manage the day to day. I can handle calls, within reason, unless you like doing that yourself,” Truthfully, it wasn’t his favorite thing although it was the most important—selling the company, getting the customers, Joel could be a smooth talker when he wanted, “for paperwork, I’m scarily organized and I’ll take care of all,” You look around at the tornado of receipts and contracts scattered around, “this.”
“What about lunch?” Joel inquires jokingly.
“And breakfast,” You answer nonchalantly, “Listen, I’m here to help you.”
“I’m used to handling all of this alone, so forgive me if I’m—”
“Territorial,” You finish for him, eyebrows raising inquisitively as Joel cracks a faint smirk.
You cross one foot over the other and clasp your hands together, connecting with his gaze as he stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, and he opens his mouth like he wants to argue or protest against the word, but you smile knowingly.
“I’m used to it,” You assure him, “Mr. Miller—Joel, I’m not…sure what you prefer. The goal is balance, your brother mentioned something about you sleeping here sometimes.”
“Just Joel is fine,”Joel tells you, glancing sheepishly at the messy couch, a blanket and pillow balled up on one cushion.
“That’s not happening anymore,” You assure him, “and don’t think you’re overwhelming me. I need a list of everything you want me to cover—I’m your assistant, so if helping means grabbing you breakfast every morning, I’ll do it.”
It takes an hour of conversation and convincing before you finally manage to lead Joel toward his desk, inadvertently organizing some of the paperwork as he wrote down a list that grew and grew as you talked, giggling to yourself as he would occasionally scribble out a word and then rewrite it down.
You’ve dealt with plenty of men like him, an unwillingness to hand the leash over, gripped tightly around his hand—Joel just needed a shove and some reassurance.
And within a few weeks, after you’ve managed to introduce an entirely new filing system to keep things organized, color-coded his calendar, and started taking calls while he would make his rounds to check on the employees posted at different locations around the city, he realizes that he can breathe a little easier.
It’s also a mighty big plus that he doesn’t have to spend twenty minutes in the pick-up line for a black coffee and bagel or concern about lunch before deciding to skip it entirely.
You spend most of your time with him, learning subtle nuances and quirks that help you decipher his steely expression and non-existent personality. Tommy, who was outwardly joyful and shamelessly extroverted, was the complete opposite of Joel, who was reserved in all aspects of his life.
“Forgot how greasy these damn things are,” Joel gripes lightheartedly as he pulls the paper away from the double cheeseburger, sipping at his soda as you tap away quietly on his computer, watching him briefly from the opposite side of the desk as you took up residence in his chair for the moment, “what’re you doin’ again exactly?”
You silently pass him a napkin which he grabs wordlessly.
“I’m scheduling a week off for you and clearing your schedule so you won’t have to worry about anything,” You tell him, the line returning between his brow as he chews.
“I didn’t approve that,” He says around a mouthful, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the crumpled napkin, “besides I ain’t got the time—”
“The last time you took off was,” You pause for an extended amount of time, searching back through the calendar before you spot it, “two years ago for…”
“Graduation,” He answers quietly, “for Sarah and Ellie.”
His daughters, who he always spoke of fondly, pictures scattered around his office.
You were a few years older, wondering if the reason he was so reluctant to your help was your age, wondering if you truly had the experience to handle the workload.
“Exactly,” You answer sharply, “And your birthday falls within that week, so you’re not going to argue with me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You grin triumphantly, snatching a fry from his to-go tray.
–
By September, Joel has fully settled into having you around. It’s only been a few months and he’s already able to spend more weekends at home and occasionally get back to more physical labor when his body agrees with it, unfortunately the company was heading toward a rush, a quickly moving train with no end in sight.
It was the third late night in a week after Joel had returned from his much needed vacation and you’re working quietly at writing down a plethora of dollar amounts to work out on the white board beside his desk before he huffs, leaning back in his chair as he curls his fingers behind his head and grimaces at the stress, forehead shining with a sheen of sweat.
Oh, yeah—and the AC was broken.
They were scheduled to fix it at the end of the week, but for now, it was thin dresses and loose fitting clothing and Joel, who was sticking to jeans and a casual, worn-out shirt. Your hair was tossed over one shoulder as your head tilted, arm extended up as the marker squeaked against the board, unknowing of his eyes that dragged along the expanse of your body.
He’s never shown any interest, not really. Almost always respectful, sometimes too much.
He’s asked about your life, your interests, whether you were thinking of marriage or not—it all felt wholly casual. You knew he had never been married, that he’s raised both of his daughters alone aside from the help of his brother Tommy, and that he rarely went on dates.
You tried helping him once, even scheduling his work day around the date to accommodate and allow him the opportunity, but you were ultimately greeted with his sour expression an hour after lunch.
“She kept tellin’ me how much I reminded her of her ex-husband,” Joel had told you, your hand covering your mouth in both shock and amusement, watching as he slumped into the chair and loosened the cuffs on his shirt. You weren’t sure how anyone could pass up on that.
Now, you can sense his discomfort. Like an aura.
Lately, you’ve felt like an extension of him. He sensed it too, with you seeming to say things he’s thinking, in your own words, always knowing exactly what he needs, whether it was just a moment to himself or a day of you handling other work while he hid away in his office to handle the overload of calls.
You’re not sure why you stop writing, but you do. The pull guides you to him, moving silently, watching as he leaned forward on his desk, head slung down as he rolled his neck and quietly, your hands curl around his shoulders to squeeze, digging deep into the knotted muscles.
He’s quiet for a moment, both savoring the feeling and processing the situation.
First, he speaks your name, like a warning.
“You’re stressed, let me help,” You comfort him, watching as his shoulders relax with the effort of your hands, now completely slouched against his desk as your hand drags around his shoulder blade and back up, thumbs pressing into the base of his neck as he groans quietly, “does it hurt?”
Joel shakes his head, allowing the press to continue before he slowly pushes up, reaching blindly for your hand before you swat it away, “It’s just a massage, Joel. Relax.”
That wasn’t the issue.
He won’t admit it either, his face blushing as he leans his head back, feeling the delicious pinch of skin as you work out the difficult and stress-filled knots, eyes closed as his lips part.
You smirk slightly, watching the mess of his soft brown curls caress your breasts and he situates himself in his chair, slowly curling your fingers over his shoulder as his bottom lip quakes, shivers.
He whimpers.
He hears it, you hear it.
Joel’s eyes peel open in apology but you shush him, the cold touch of your fingers dragging along his neck, in perfect position to take hold and you’re almost positive Joel wouldn’t try to stop you.
“Don’t—don’t say it,” You nod to reassure him, dragging your other hand over his clammy skin, pushing his hair away from his face as you tug at the strands gently.
Joel nods obediently, swallowing as his hand glides over his crotch, rubbing through the denim of his jeans, cock swelling slowly underneath as he presses the heel of his palm against it for a sliver of relief.
You both ignore how quickly the lines have blurred, glaringly aware of the unlocked door to Joel’s office as the massage transforms into something much more nefarious, your fingers slipping underneath the fabric of his shirt and against his skin, through the coarse hair on his chest, not a single reaction as his right hand curls around the back of his chair to twist around your thigh, pulling your knee up on the armrest.
With the slight adjustment, you notice his hand squeezing tight at his jeans, desperately trying to avoid his obvious want, attempting to stifle the desire and not acknowledge it.
“It’s been a while, huh?” You ask softly, too scared to startle him.
Joel nods, blinking slowly as his eyes fall on your lips and the way they curl slightly over your teeth and into a thin line at his response.
“Since someone touched you like this?” You inquire further, feeling his fingers squeeze at your thigh as your hands work like magic over his skin, trailing down his chest and twisting into his hair, his eyes fluttering closed at the interaction.
“At all,” He admits, “s’been so long—m’sorry, sweetheart.”
“Don’t apologize,” You tell him, sensing the regret as it invades his thoughts, quickly quelling the feeling, “I think—I think I can help you.”
Joel sighs, breathing out through his nose, “I’m your boss.”
Obviously, you think.
“On paper, maybe—but you’ve had no problem listening to me,” You tease, the slightest hint of shame on his face at your words—he’s guilty, he knows it—”in fact, I don’t think you realized how much you liked it, until now.”
The voice trailing along the hallway breaks you both out of your trance, slowly pulling your touch away as your leg falls, Joel’s fingers yearning for a final touch as they dig into your skin.
“Easy,” He cautions, looking down at his desk as he pulls at his jeans, adjusting the obvious discomfort of his stiff cock as it waned, “not—not here.”
“Gimme your phone,” You urge, holding your hand out expectantly.
He hands it over with an air of skepticism, your finger tapping against the screen quietly before you pass it back to him, the device dwarfed in his large palm.
“If you’re not busy tonight,” You say quietly, increasingly careful as you hear Tommy’s voice carry throughout the office, “I put my address into your phone, it's in your favorites. Should be easy to find.”
An invitation.
Like dangling a treat in front of him, waiting to see if he’d take the bait.
-
He’s starving, fortunately.
He sits through dinner with Tommy and Maria, a regular occasion as Joel is often horrible at taking care of himself, surviving on very little sleep and a couple meals a day, often supplied by you.
He should take better care of himself. He knows that.
Regardless, he’s jittery as he pulls up to the apartment complex his phone led him to, parking in the garage attached as he sends you a single text around ten o’clock that night.
Your phone dings on your kitchen counter, finishing up pouring out your glass of wine as you pull it toward you with a single drag of your finger.
Joel: Here. Apartment number?
You chuckle at his straightforward nature that translates loudly through the tiny letters on your screen, quietly tapping out a response before you push your phone aside.
As you’re rounding the counter to head toward your couch, the deep knocks follow, wondering if he’d already been perusing and got lucky he was near.
You turn the knob and pull the door open as you press the glass to your lips, taking in the sight of a man who looks and feels entirely out of place.
His eyes follow your state of undress, assuming you were ready to climb into bed with the silk shorts that clung to your hips and the scantily cropped top to match, barely covering your breasts.
He’s changed since work, only trading the denim for a much softer material to cover his legs, a fresh shirt, his hair mused like he’s been running his fingers through it with worry and unsurety.
“How was your night?” You ask casually, moving to allow him the room to step inside your apartment, closing the door behind you as you head toward the fridge, silently grabbing for a beer—his favorite just happened to be your own, so it worked out perfectly.
“Fine,” He grumbles, watching as you hand him a now opened beer and push by him, but not before your fingers drift against his own, pulling him alongside until you reach the couch.
His fingers curl around yours without a second thought.
“You started talkin’ about football and Tommy went on one of his rants again, didn’t he?”
He’s used to it by now, how well you can assess him.
“S’almost like you were there,” He chuckles, tipping the beer to his lips and taking a long chug, “did I bother you? I know it’s late.”
You shake your head, allowing him to finish up a decent amount of his beer and your glass of wine before you’re plucking the glass from his hands and tucking it away on the table.
“Have you done this before?“ Joel asks softly, a deep gravelly timbre to his voice as your ass angles up, leaning off the couch to dispose of the drinks before you’re climbing over his lap, quietly raising your hands to cradling his face.
He doesn’t look at you for too long, not allowing the weight of the situation to settle quite yet, selfishly roving the expanse of exposed skin, feeling your hands grip his own to guide them to your hips.
“Does it matter?” You ask, dragging your thumb along his beard, rubbing at the bare patch of skin on his cheek, “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”
“No.”
A small sliver of tongue peeks through your teeth as you bite down, grinning openly at him and his sheepish gaze.
“You’re my first—is that what you wanna hear?”
You can feel the bluntness of his nails dig into your skin at your words—oh, he that is exactly what he wanted.
“I’m just—M’not sure what I’m supposed to do here, sweetheart.”Joel responds instead, licking his lips before they pull together in a tight line.
“Would whiskey help? I got whiskey,” You respond cheekily, “I’ll get you some. Stay put.”
Joel chuckles nervously, “Yes, ma’am.”
You climb off his lap and disappear into your kitchen, reaching into the cabinet for a glass before crouching down to retrieve the liquor hidden away, hearing the soft and subtle rustling as Joel adjusts more comfortably on the couch, his shoes now removed and tossed haphazardly toward the coffee table.
“If you—if you haven’t done this before,” Joel pauses as you return, making immediately room for you on his lap as you press the glass into his waiting hand, “why’d you offer?”
“Men pay me to boss them around, plenty of men like you,” It was a loose description, but it was the one strong suit you’ve prided yourself in, corralling stubborn men, “I like it and I’m good at it.”
“Clearly.” Joel comments under his breath, a small scoff of astonishment slipping past your lips as you force the glass to his own lips in a silent command.
“I don’t make it a habit to have sex with them, f’that is what you’re really worried about. They’re all married, miserable, but married. And I don’t like the mess of getting involved. Any time I’ve moved on it’s been because of that.”
Joel continues to drink by your aid, downing the rest of it as you continue to speak.
“You’re not married, you’re not complicated. You’ve been respectful. This isn’t you approaching me—I made that move, I just gave you an offer. One, which, you can still bail on and I won’t be upset. I won’t quit, either.”
As the liquor takes hold, Joel seems to relax, the tension in his body dissipating as you slowly trace the lines of his face and body with your fingers, explorative within reason.
“I guess we should set some ground rules,” Joel grunts at the mention, slightly more handsy as his fingers meet at your back, dipping a centimeter below the waistband, “If we do this—I’m in charge, completely. That’s the only way this works, or helps you. And it should be a given, but I’m clean and on birth control. But, it that reassures you—I’d rather you hear it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Joel groans, feeling the immediate loss of his touch as he rubs his hands over his face before stretching them out over the back of the couch.
“I’m just…covering the bases, I’d rather not have the question come across when you’re an inch away from putting your dick inside me, you know?”
“Coverin’ your bases?” Joel echoes, slightly amused.
You grin, climbing off of him slowly as you reach for your phone, fumbling through your playlist before you find a slow, sensual tune to fill the quiet air.
Hey, little girl, is your daddy home?
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
I got a bad desire
Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire
“Do you dance?” You ask curiously, wandering toward your kitchen for the open wine bottle, half-empty and begging to be consumed.
“Not much—not…not anymore,” Joel doesn’t know he words it so cryptically; he danced, just not well.
“Tommy told me how, at least, before the girls, how often you two would go line dancing,” Joel’s fingers curl around your hand as it extends, bring the wine bottle to your lips with the other, “now that I have to witness.”
“You and Tommy sure do talk a lot,” Joel notes, looking down at you as your fingers drag along the hair at his nape, “anything else he told you?”
You shake your head nonchalantly, bottom lip jutting out slightly as you sway your hips in time with the lyrics, Joel’s hand covering the full expanse of your own as it wraps around, constantly mesmerized by the sheer size.
The goal was to shake his nerves out, but he seemed to stiffen with your progressive movement as you twirled yourself around, one long gulp of wine before you set the bottle aside and relent, dragging your finger up the fabric of his shirt before you squeeze at the collar, pulling him closer.
“Either you dance with me,” You begin, “or I’m dancing for you—your choice.”
His non-answer is enough, forcing him back onto the couch before you’re shoving the table out of the way and turning up the volume to the rhythmic tune.
You’d convince him eventually, dying to see those skills come back to life, even if it was just a glimpse.
“Put your hands under your legs,” You instruct him casually, eyes tracking up as you watch his chest puff out with the motion, fitting his hands under his thighs without argument.
Huh, that was easy.
Time was a teller, though, and you were curious how long it would last.
—
He’s seen glimpses of it before, the soft hum under your breath as you sing the catchy tunes playing on the radio in his office, a subtle sway as you flip through a stack of paperwork or at his desk, the tiniest movement.
But here, now, he’s mesmerized.
He gets it, this is what you wanted.
Joel’s fists have balled up under his thighs, watching you turn away as you dance, the swaying movements pulling at the already short fabric as his eyes follow the way you bend, giving him a full glimpse of your ass.
You giggle softly at his lack of reaction, which wasn’t entirely true, watching his knees widen at the action, subconsciously making room for you despite your distance.
Yearning. He was yearning for you.
You drop to your knees, crawling toward him slow under the low, ambient light of your living room—a faint glow of pinks and purples, transforming into greens and blues, filtering slowly through colors as your hands grip his knees, sliding up the inside of his thighs tantalizingly slow.
“So…” Your finger trails around the drawstring of his pants, “at any point that this gets too much or you’re not feeling it, just say stop.”
“That ain’t somethin’ you gotta worry ‘bout.”
“Communication is a good thing, Joel,” You explain, “it’s important—to make sure we’re both benefiting from this. I’m not enjoying this unless you are, alright?”
Joel nods, a raised eyebrow offered in return.
“Yes,” His voice cracks slightly, clearing his throat, “uh—yes, ma’am.”
“A simple yes would have worked, but I appreciate the manners,” You tease him, knowing he’s always been stuck in his ways, old fashioned and polite. It comes naturally.
Your fingers fold around his waistband and tug, his hips rising at the motion and you hear the breath he’s holding release as his cock springs free, leaking at the tip and begging to be attended to. You grinned, tongue peaking out to lick along the head and around, salty precum hitting your taste buds as you look up at Joel, his eyes falling shut as his hand wraps around your forearm in desperation.
You pull back instantly, gently moving his hand away.
He seems to realize his misstep, silently tuck his hand away under his thigh again as you nod, pulling his pants the rest of the way down and off before you’re licking him from base to tip, fingertips wrapping around his shaft and squeezing alongside the delicate suction of your mouth.
He groans, so deep and guttural you think he might come now, peeking your eyes open to see his head resting back, eyes closed. The sight was too much, having to force some reprieve on himself as you worked your mouth down his cock, head bobbing at a slow, tortuous pace until your throat can relax and take him fully, nearing around eight inches and thick, feeling the stretch of your cheeks alongside the ache in your jaw.
You pull away with watery eyes, a long string of spit connecting you to him, speaking, “If you feel like you’re about to come, say it, don’t lie to me.”
With that, your thumb rubs over the slit of his head, feeling his cock pulse in your hand, squeezing at the tip while his face contorts, lips parting as he breathes out shakily.
“Oh, fuck—yes—yes fuckin, ma’am.”
He’d rip the stitching in your couch if he gripped it harder, losing his hold on reality as he watches your head move through bleary eyes, the buzz of alcohol tingling his brain as you gag against his cock, held in the back of your throat before he’s stammering out desperately, the familiar tug in his gut that proves just how long it’s been for him, ready to come after only a few minutes of your mouth on him.
He’s embarrassed, the words falling from his lips in a rush, “Stopstop—fuck, stop.”
You pull away quickly, the urgency in his voice startling you as your face contorts in concern.
“Fuck—not like, stop. Jus’ I was about to come. Sorry—sweetheart, I panicked.”
It calms your worry, nodding in response to his words.
“I’ve…actually I have an idea, if you’re okay with it that is.”
He’s suspicious of the glint in your eyes, rising on sore knees as he sat there naked from the waist down, your eyes dragging over his firm, muscled legs before they took in the sight of his cock again, standing proud as it rest against his stomach, the shirt slightly bunched at his chest.
You make the short trek to your room to retrieve the item you were looking for, coming back to Joel massaging his sore wrists, a subtle worry in his eyes that he’s done something wrong.
He eyes the bag in your hand suspiciously, brow raised.
There were a few items, but the one most notable he reaches for initially, dangling it between two fingers as he asks, “You have that just layin’ around?”
It was a cockring, flexible material that he stretched his fingers before you politely snatched it away.
“What? I picked out a few things. Besides, I couldn’t get you anything for your birthday so consider this a late gift,” He sees right through the sickeningly sweet smile, pushing the bag into his hands as you straddle one thigh, the silk material of your shorts dragging along his bare skin.
“I dunno,” Joel’s hesitant, but not entirely close-off to the idea, “s’that even safe?”
“It is,” You assure him—Joel doesn’t really question it either, “You trust me, don’t you?”
He tries to stifle the small chuckle at your act, batting your lashes as you reach for his hand, settling it against the center of your chest underneath your shirt, the soft press of your breasts squeezing his hand and Joel has to resist the urge to explore further, rifling through the bag one-handed, pulling out a thick piece of cloth, a rich, plum stained fabric.
“You’re in good hands,” You smile, leaning forward to brush your lips along the shell of his ear, “I promise.”
–
He does touch you now, though careful of his hands wandering too far, spreading you out on your bed sheet with hesitance, sensing that this wasn’t just a moment of uncertainty, but rather unfamiliarity.
“It’s been so long,” He admits, not lost on you, “I’ll try—jus’ might need some remindin’.”
Be vocal, he pleads without asking. Let me hear you.
Done and done.
His hands grip at the back of your thighs, pulling you near the edge of the bed before they’re pushing up, forcing your legs apart as he settles on his knees, stripped of his top and nude, a stark contrast to your clothed state as he pressed his face into the fabric of your shorts, his nose prodding at the seam of your pussy, teeth biting lightly into the fabric.
His eyes trail up, the bottom half of his face obscured as he pressed his mouth into the heat of your cunt through the silk, awaiting your command.
“Grab,” You sigh, his kisses trailing along your thigh and down, lips kisses at the sensitive skin of your ankle, “the bag—the bag,” You point vaguely, forcing him away gently with your opposite foot.
You’d dropped it on the floor beside Joel in the mess of limbs, the bag hidden underneath his disposed shirt and as he thrusts the small paper bag into your hands you fish for the binding balled up at the bottom of the bag, tossing the rest of the bag aside as you sink to match Joel’s position, gently grabbing his wrists as you guide them behind his back.
“Just to make sure you keep your hands to yourself,” You inform him, face heating under his heavy gaze, looking up at him innocently as you knot the fabric blindly behind his back, tugging when you’re satisfied enough and rising to meet his face, nose brushing against his own at the close proximity, “Do you want a taste, Joel?”
“I’ll take whatever you give me, sweetheart.”
In this light, under the soft glow of streetlights that spilled over into your room, it was like you were seeing a different man, not at all the confident and defiant man you challenge on a day to day, but a man dedicated to you, an eagerness in his expression that you’ve never seen.
“Oh, honey—you’re gonna work for it.”
You crawl back on your hands, rising to perch on the edge of the bed with your legs spread, one foot perched against the mattress as Joel shuffled forward slowly, “Can’t taste you through those shorts, might help if you—”
“Get creative,” You urge, haphazardly pulling your top over your head and throwing it aside for incentive, breasts bouncing softly with the movement and spotting the way Joel swallows, hard.
It made him feel young, this desire that didn’t show itself often. He’s resigned himself to months, years of handling himself; jerking himself off with his hand to satisfy that urge, but never more. He rarely had time then, lucky if he could manage a full eight hours of sleep.
He leans forward, his teeth digging into the fabric at your hip as he pulls, wrestling with the material as he drags it down your thigh—innovative, you think. You giggle softly at his steadfast gaze, a stubbornness in his scowl as he rips the fabric off.
Joel doesn’t waste time, licking a long stripe through your already damp underwear, accumulated slick ruining the fabric as he greedily laps you up through the garment, but he hisses when your hand grips into his hair, pulling him back as his scowl grows deeper.
“All of it.” You demand.
You watch as his teeth gripped at the front of your underwear before he’s dragging them down, tossing them aside even more impatiently, like a dog with a chew toy, before he’s pressing his face into your cunt, leaning most of his weight into you as his strong, angular nose presses against your clit, his tongue dipping inside of you instantly, like he was trying to consume you.
A mix of a broken laugh and gasp leaves your mouth as he groans, a slight shake to his head as he attempted to force himself deeper, the movement shifting his nose of your clit in a way that has your entire body curling in on itself, his eyes closed, lost in the taste of you and the warm cradle of your thighs around his head, foot smoothing over his back as you pull him in.
He suckles at your clit as he shifts up, the wet expanse of his tongue sliding over the sensitive bud, responding with a soft noise as your fingers dig into his hair and tug, ““Fuck, you love it like this, don’t you?”
Joel responds with a noise, ignoring your question as his tongue swirls over your clit, repeating the motion repeatedly as your breath hitches, gasping loudly.
“I asked—asked you a question,” You interrupt, pulling him back defiantly, “I’d like an answer.”
“M’sorry, I do—I do,” Joel apologizes, mouth shining with your slick, his beard wet and his cheeks flushed, “jus’ taste so good, sweetheart. Wanna make you feel good—am I doin’ alright?”
“So good,” You tell him softly, your hand cradling his chin as you slide your thumb over his wet lip and through the dampness at his chin before you’re pushing your fingertip into his mouth, letting the pad of your thumb press against his tongue, closing his lips around you finger to suck, “You’re always so messy, you know that?”
Joel chuckles, pulling his mouth away as you slowly guide him back toward your cunt, pulsing around his tongue as it dips inside of you once more, like a tease before he returns the attention toward your clit, groaning as your thighs squeeze tightly around his head, feeling the creeping sensation of your orgasm as it coiled in your gut.
“A damn good meal if ‘ya ask me,” Joel comments, too entranced to chastise his comment as your orgasm spills over, the rush of fluids hitting his tongue as you cry out, his unrelenting tongue making your vision go white.
“That’s good, baby, keep doing that. Just like that,” You encourage weakly, legs shaking with overstimulation as he glares up at you through his half-lidded gaze, his nose smushed against your cunt.
Your fingers sift gently through his hair as you come down, feeling the weight of his head against your thigh as he speaks, “You’re shakin’ like a leaf, sweetheart—y’alright?”
“I am,” He can hear the elation in your voice as you rise slowly, “does it hurt?”
Joel pulls at the binding, loose enough that there's no straining or pinching, he shrugs noncommittally and answers, “If I say yes will you take ‘em off?”
You tilt your head at his subtle mischievous tone, “As long as you’re being truthful.”
“I wanna touch you, if ‘m bein’ honest,” Joel admits.
He’s such a smoothtalker, even now.
“Fine—but, I’m not finished,” You warn him, “so don’t get any ideas.”
“Oh, yes ma’am.” He agrees wholeheartedly, feigning seriousness.
It shouldn’t be this easy with him, but it was.
–
“I’m tryin’ to help you out,” You tease him, fitting the ring around his cock, settled underneath his balls as he stifles the groan of your touch against his overly sensitive skin, having been so close to the edge and losing focus that he’s fallen soft, resting back on his palms as you rub your hand over his chest and down, fingers rolling along the underside of his sack before your fingertip trails along the seam and up, following the thick vein that led to the head of his cock, “Is it good when I touch you here?”
“S’good,” He answers shakily, watching your hand press flat against your tongue before you’re gripping his cock tight, jerking him firmly, his hand flying to your hip, trailing up blindly as you press your chin against the top of his head, feeling his hand tangle into your hair, cradling your face with a desperation, “I’m fuckin’ sufferin’ here, sweetheart.”
“Not yet,” You counter, leaving his now hardened cock to bounce freely against his stomach as you reach for two items sprawled on the bed, gripped in your fists as you straddle him, his cock sliding through your wet folds and nearly sending him over the edge, “which one?”
Choices, he thinks. He hated making a decision.
Sight or touch, he debates the two items.
“If you don’t pick I’m choosing both,” You warn him playfully.
“Not bein’ able to see you feels like a punishment,” Joel admits.
You hum thoughtfully, “You’re right—and what a good boy you’ve been, huh?”
“Real good, sweetheart,” He agrees desperately, feeling his cock pulse against your cunt, fighting the restraint it was taking him not to sink into you now and plow you into the bed underneath him, but that wasn’t the point of all of this.
So, the decision is made.
Joel settles against the headboard as you restrain his arms behind his back in a similar manner, his eyes following your movements carefully as you leave soft, light kisses along his skin before you straddle his hips, hovering over him for a brief moment before you’re wrapping your hand around his cock and sinking down onto him slowly, adjusting to the stretch as his eyes flutter shut, face pinched up.
‘It’s not too tight, is it?” You ask, moving your hips at a tortuous pace as your fingers curl around the back of his neck, his head shaking at your question, focusing so innately hard he can’t answer, as much as he tries.
“S’probably the only thing keepin’ me together,” Joel forces out, “all I could think about at dinner earlier was you—this, s’fucked up, ain’t it?”
Your eagerness wins over, bouncing on his cock at a quicker pace that has him panting into your skin, a pathetic whine ripping from his chest, “And I spent—spent all evening thinking about how you’d look when you came—and how stubborn you’d be—”
Joel chuckles pathetically, moaning weakly against your chest as you grip the headboard above him, the sharp slap of skin against skin as you ride his cock.
“Turns out you’re pretty receptive,” You continue, “‘s’good—I like it.”
Joel murmurs an acknowledgment as his neck strains back, slamming against the headboard as he forces his eyes open, panting heavily as he watches your body stretch above him, one hand sliding down to spread out against your thigh as you head falls back to mirror his own, moaning loudly as his cock pulses with need, your walls fluttering around him.
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Joel speaks drunkenly, mesmerized, “M’never lettin’ you go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, watching him nod as his eyes squeeze shut, that familiar ache in his gut growing as his cock throbs with the need for release.
You lean forward, working your fingers through the knot of the restraints and speak softly against his ear, “Y’gonna listen? Yeah, like a real good boy?”
Joel nods fervently, sighing with the release of his hands as they immediately latch onto you, still and unmoving but like a relief for the both of you as his hands press hot against your skin.
“What should your reward be, huh?” You coo, “Should I let you come?”
“Sweetheart, please—”
You lean back slightly, riding him with fervor as you nod your head, cradling his lulling head between your hands, “Tell me how good you’ve been,” You encourage gently, his skin damp with sweat as you slide a hand down his chest, dangerously close to the point where you’re joined together, “let me hear it.”
“So good, sweetheart. Bein’ such a good boy for ‘ya,” Joel complies, his breath hitching as he feels the tight ring around his cock loosen, thrown to the side, slipping out and back in without skipping a beat, like you’d never left.
“Right there,” He warns, “fuck—baby, I dunno if I can—”
“It’s okay,” You whisper softly, hearing the pain in his voice and the way his arms wrap around you like a vice, “I’m gonna make you clean it up, anyways.”
Joel groans at that, nearly lifting off the bed as his hand steadies behind, pumping his hips into you jerkily as he comes inside of you and coats your walls, gasping sharply at the feeling of his blunt nails digging into your skin, riding him gently through the aftershocks before he falls lifeless against the bed, panting heavily.
You sigh with elation, though exhausted, slowly moving back as you lean on your elbows and gently poke at his thigh, his hand covering his softening cock as he grunts, grumbling some unintelligible.
“You’re not finished,” Joel chuckles lowly, his hand wrapping around your ankle as he pulls himself up, eyes immediately locking on your swollen cunt, cum spilling out as your walls squeeze, your own fingers spreading through the mess before you’re dragging it toward your mouth, licking your fingers clean before reaching for his hair, mused from sex as you yank him closer and demand, “clean up your mess.”
“Gonna need you to schedule another week off for me,” Joel admits, dipping his tongue inside of you without hesitation, his hands squeezing around your thighs to pull you in, “and you.”
“Why’s that?”
Joel grins as you glance down, speaking confidently against your cunt, “Got a few messes I wanna make, that alright?”
You pause, a moment of hesitation, “I’ll consider it.”
Joel growls into you, nipping gently at your clit as you squeal loudly.
You relent quickly, swatting his head playfully.
After all, he was still your boss.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#the last of us#the last of us fic#tlou fic#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#my writing
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ೄྀsome of you STILL don’t understandೄྀ
you must get comfortable in your god state to really succeed
ೄྀPART I | STOP NEGOTIATING WITH THE 3D
To get comfortable in your god state you need to understand that it is you ALONE that manifests. Stop consuming and spreading misinformation, you don’t have to “meet in the middle”with the 3D for your manifestations.
“If you want your dream bod to be manifested you have to stand firm AND workout”
“If you want to manifest clear skin, it’s good to visualise but you should also be focusing on skincare”
“If you want to manifest good grades you can affirm but you actually have to study”
“You can’t expect to manifest when you aren’t bothering to do anything in the 3D”
bullshit. absolute bullshit
although it’s important to still take care of your necessities, there’s no such thing as meeting halfway for your desires. If you think that you don’t understand what manifestation is. And with the assumption that it is, means that you don’t understand your full potential. As soon as you think of a desire it’s yours, no negotiating needs to be done with the 3D. All you have to do is stand firm.
Why are you making deals with the 3D?, “okay, okay if i workout in the 3d and manifest my dream body in my 4d it will come” that just isn’t needed
“okay but it does help things move faster” “it does help things become a little easier” nope, still wrong!
you don’t have to lift a finger for something that’s already yours. never. same goes for inducing pure consciousness, you don’t have to spend hours saturating your conscious mind in order to shift. You can have the worst day and still induce pure consciousness because that’s all it is: a state of consciousness.
ೄྀPART II | EVERYTHING YOU DO IS PERFECT
To get comfortable in your god state you must also understand that you’re doing it all right. Stop asking dumb questions, you’re doing everything correct. The fact that you rely on bloggers to tell you if you should do this or that as if they’re your god shows that you don’t truly understand (and it’s getting really frustrating).
“will i still be able to induce pure consciousness if I lay on my side rather than in a starfish position?”
“do i have to affirm?”
“what if i don’t do this one blogger’s method to the minute details, does this mean i won’t shift?”
asking stupid questions like these confirms that you still don’t understand the extent of your power, you still don’t understand who you are.
And if you don’t understand, you will never progress, treating this like a chore that you have to perfect is where you go wrong. As a god, everything you do is correct, you could even induce pure consciousness by standing straight up and singing heavy metal at the top of your lungs, because what ever you say goes.
Stop sitting back up after minute 5 of it “not working” to check if you’re doing that method correctly. Why does you living your dream life depend on other people’s rules, are they the gods of your reality or is it you?
And you do know this still counts as you putting the void state on a pedestal? There are people who find out about pure consciousness and induce it that same day. Get your head in the game.
1: You don’t have to lift a finger for your dream life
2: You’re doing everything correct, you are “I AM” trust that and you’ll induce in no time
Both of these things, negotiating with the 3D and asking if your doing it right in YOUR OWN reality are signs that you don’t trust yourself enough. Learn to actually trust yourself and accept your fate as a god and you’ll have everything you dream of
NOW GO GO GO, GO GET YOUR DREAM LIFE
🍵🪷To understand and succeed you must trust yourself
#salemlunaa#shiftblr#reality shifting#shifting#permashifting#void state#loa#law of assumption#success story#the void#void concept#respawning#pure consciousness#loa tumblr#loablr#shifting consciousness#shifting awareness#god state#i am state#the void state#void#void state tips#voidstate#desired life#desired reality#shifters#shifting community#manifestation
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I am humbly crawling to your page to confess my latest obsession: serial breeder!Joel.
no outbreak!universe Joel without Sarah, an old creep who lives in a lone house where every woman goes to get bred.
basement breeder
joel miller x f!reader, 1k words
Ty for this delicious thot. Almost sounds like you know who 🍃 in another life where he has them coming and going at all hours as gossip says. Standalone. WARNINGS: 18+ PWP imagine, break-in, manhandling, breeding piv, degradation, praise, mating press, carries you, pet names.
Imagine going there to get bred while you're consciously on birth control, and he gets obsessed with impregnating you specifically. You show him a positive fertility test, and he gets more aggressive. God damn, he's gonna make this work. Meanwhile, you don't seek him out the next time you (would) ovulate, and he notices, wonders if you're giving up or letting some other guy take a shot. That ain't gonna fly. . .
He quietly breaks into your dim basement while you're folding laundry on your dryer, wearing earbuds. From behind, a hand clamps over the lower half of your face. You scream into his massive palm while his other arm wraps around you, biceps bulging, stretching his white tee. He pins you against the dryer, and the warm, hard shape you feel through his pj pants sends a rush of need to your core.
With you pinned there by his clothed arousal, the arm around you falls away. His free hand brushes the shell of your ear then nudges your earbud out. He reaches to repeat this on the other side, then wraps his arm around you again and gives your breast a squeeze. He brings his mouth close to your ear, and his voice is deep and low. "Stayin' home like it ain't the most important day'a the month."
Oooh, is he mad? God, he's hot like this.
When you struggle, he adds, "Or *did ya* stay home? ... You some kinda cumslut now?"
You subtly shake your head 'no', with your nostrils brushing against the edge of his hand.
"Nah," his hips push forward, "you want this cum," he grinds.
You go quiet and relax your body. He thrusts against you at a slow rhythm, and you're getting wet. A little "Mm?" slips from your lips into his palm.
"Yeahh, that's right," he continues, "Want it bad, don't ya, pumpkin?"
"Mm," you just barely nod.
"Good girl," he says and takes his hand away from your mouth.
You clear your throat. "I was just tired."
"Tired," he laughs. "That's a good one."
He's normally good about foreplay--with you, at least - your body and your scent turns him on so bad. His hands are incredible, and he touches you just how you like it. He's even been known to bury his face between your legs. But this time, he's fully on a mission.
He hikes up your skirt and pulls your panties aside, then spits on his hand and pats the saliva between your legs.
"Ooh," he reacts to your warm, wet cunt against his lingering hand. "Didn't needa do all that, did i? Shit, you're always ready for me." He tugs down his pj pants, then his warm, smooth cockhead prods at your cunt, smearing precum into his saliva and your desire. You bend forward and rest your forearms on the clean laundry abandoned in front of you, then scoot your feet back to give him a better angle.
"Good girl," he whispers.
He buries his length in you with a groan, and your insides spread around his girth. "I'll knock ya'up, baby." He holds your waist, and with a punch of his cock he bottoms out, "Ahh." When he withdraws a few inches, you spread your feet, tilt your hips, and push back on him. "Hell yeah." He bottoms out again, then grabs your hips with both hands and pounds you.
He's on a mission - he's not trying to make it last. And he's been aching hard ever since he got it in his mind to do this. He was palming himself over his pants for relief as he walked up to your basement door.
He's giving it to you hard and stiff, weeping precum into your poor stretched hole with every powerful thrust. "Yeah, take it, baby," he breathes, and promises, "put a baby in ya," making you twitch and throb, close to bliss. When he picks up the pace, pummeling you near jackhammer speed, his words are broken by his rhythm, "ahhh, yeahhh--- cum on this cock." When you whine he says, "yeahhh, you want this cum," and you see stars.
You unravel and moan his name, feeling your face heat up after it slips out.
"Fuck yeah," he breathes, pounding you through it.
He abruptly pulls out, and you whimper at the loss. You start to protest, but he takes your panties all the way down, leaving your twitching pussy bare. He forces you around to face him, then bends his knees and you put your arms around him as he lifts you. You wrap your legs around him, and he sinks you onto his stiff cock, letting out a grunt as he bottoms out. After adjusting your weight, he walks you to your nearby bed. With each step, your clit rubs against him.
He lays you down and folds you into a mating press. His thrusts are hard and deep. "ungh," he grunts, "yeah," another thrust, "ohh fuck, " he bottoms out and throbs, warmth gushing into your depths. "God damn, baby." With another hot burst, he deepens the mating press, determined for his seed to take. Your thighs feel a deep stretch. He hovers over your face, and a drop of sweat hits your cheek.
Breathing heavily, he inches back then thrusts forward again, repeating this action a few times as his balls empty. The last thrust ends with a sigh. With his work done–for now–he stays inside and keeps you in the mating press. He wets his lips, admiring your face. “God damn, you look hot like this.”
"yeah?" You reply.
Nodding slowly, he dips his head and scans your body with hungry eyes. He can't help but pull his hips back an inch to admire the sight of your cunt spread around his fat cock. And God damn, what a sight. Not planning on pulling out any time soon, he fully sheathes himself with a low, soft grunt.
"shit, I oughta clear my schedule," he muses, glancing up from where your bodies are joined. He subtly nods and shifts his eyes around as though thinking it over, rocking his hips absent-mindedly. "Yeah," he concludes, "if this don't take ... take ya to my place 'til it does."
--
--
--
Basement Breeder Adjacent
Night walks Joel has breeder energy but only with reader.
For breaking into your basement, Sleeping Beauty - CNC home invasion / somnophilia with another night walks doppelganger.
For serial breeding, a post-outbreak one shot, the old fashioned way, a different Joel and he's a real professional, not a creep.
TYSM for reading, friends. And truly, thank you for your engagement and support. You're a light in my life when it's in shambles lol. Love y'all 🫶🏼
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#dark!joel miller#toxicanonymity ☠️#cw dubcon#night walks!joel#cw fertility#humble crawler anon
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𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
summary_ when you declined to play Ddakji with a man, the least you expected was him stalking you, even less expected when you oblige him to lick your bleeding wound after seeing him kill a man and escaping him.
warnings_ MDNI, age gap (not specified but legal) reader is a foreigner (implied American but not specified again), stalking, blood play, dom!salesman, switch!reader, toxic till the end, sexual innuendos, manipulation, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls, NO PROOFREAD YET
notes_ I’ll just drop this fic and leave it there bc why am i feeling so horny for an Asian sociopath? me la estoy pasando bien raro (i like it)
♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 this man
✰ Index (+ fics here)
ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Everything was irritating. The class you had was canceled last minute, the crowd at the train station was loud, the tapping of a kid in a window was constant, and the message you received asking for your campus ID to keep using your student account was sudden and required immediate action. Your cramps and migraine only aggravate everything.
You were steps away from the stairs when you stopped to take the damn picture of your ID and be done with that. But of course, you couldn’t find your wallet at first glance, so you moved aside to take a better look.
You worried about kneeling and ruining your black coat with the dirtiness of the floor at the station, but at the same time, you thought it was just stupid.
A trail of curses flooded your mind as you tried to find your wallet, making you oblivious to a random man walking in your direction.
“Excuse me, Miss… Would you like to play Ddakji?” Said the man asked you in Korean. You were occupied with a hand inside your thrifted designer tote, and your mind unconsciously prepared an answer in English.
“Sorry, I don’t have time” When you realized your mid-answer you sighed, just as you fished out your wallet. “For every win of yours, you’ll earn a great sum of cash”
Once you stood up, you met the face of the man who now answered in English as well. Very tall, handsome, innocent smile and in a suit; a businessman. You knew it was wrong to judge but there was something behind the smile he offered you that resulted eerie.
Like behind that seemingly blameless expression, the man was hiding his true intentions.
Might’ve been your eyes or hair that caught his attention. You weren’t native, and he didn’t want to think he could take advantage, yet his feet dragged him to you.
Placing your bag over your shoulder again, you grab your glasses and phone with tangled EarPods. You give the man one last look. You are not having a good day and you don’t have time to deal with this.
“What do you say?” He asks feigning kindness, eyeing you subtly without your knowledge.
“No, thank you. I don’t even know how the game works”
“You look like you are a natural. You might be surprised if you try. You just have to pick a color and try to flip the opposing tile”
The rich always trying to fuck the one who isn’t. This was just a new way. The urge to roll your eyes grew but you remained still.
“Look, I’m sorry. But I bet you do this just to see how desperate people who need money can go. I won’t be one of them. If not, sorry for misjudging you” you harshly say before putting on your EarPods and leaving the station. You leave him perplexed, huffing in disbelief and igniting a fire of curiosity inside him.
And you completely forgot about the Ddakji man as you made it to your little apartment, not knowing he would turn upside down your upcoming days.
…
Warm days in winter were exciting for you. They boosted your energy and made you want to be out all day.
You had the luck of living in a beautiful complex because it was once from a friend of your mother who married years ago and now had her single apartment for rent.
It had long warm hallways that hosted at least eight apartments by floor. With orange and pink subtle lights and uneven edges. It was truly a sight despite how little the apartments were. One bedroom with closet and bathroom, a tiny studio, small kitchen, enough space for a dining table, another small bathroom, and a half sized living room with balcony.
Your loneliness was well-balanced because you loved your home. But even on warm days, you wanted to be out.
Your red shoes contrasted with everything you stepped on. You carried a bag with a bunch of books and another one with thrifted clothes you bought.
At the park you always walked by, there was a fair amount of people as usual. You don’t care much to look around but someone makes you stare longer than needed.
The same man who asked if you wanted to play a game at the station was in the park. Another impeccable suit dressing him, looking attractive like the first time and already looking at you.
He offered you a smile, to which you didn’t reply. You looked at the ground, feeling like you had frozen.
What a weirdo, he offered bread and a random paper to a lonely man.
Simultaneously, you wondered if the man found you attractive enough to stare like that. With your mind that often became nihilistic, you thought you were delusional and that you should just keep walking.
His eyes remained glued to you. As his prey was thinking about what was better to choose, he contemplated you walking again.
The salesman realized he had made you nervous and that made him feel eager to end his job and follow you again.
Once he realized you lived in a good neighborhood, where his elegant suits matched the vibe, he got even more excited to see you again.
So now, was like it was meant to be.
How sweet, sophisticated, and innocent you looked.
Something shifted, as you passed by his side, only having a view of his back, you assumed he was worked out, his hair looked perfectly fine, and his big hands offered two things. Perhaps you had misjudged him and he really wanted to help. But your inner voice said otherwise. In a sudden change of events, you decided to look back once you were almost at the exit of the park.
With his deep gaze still set on you, your lips formed a smile.
And he took it as a first win in the games that had begun between you two.
…
Once again, you find yourself in the library. Inside one of the biggest malls you’ve been to, you are leaning at a counter, asking if they have an English translation of a book you were interested in.
Your Korean isn’t good enough yet, so as the nice librarian disappeared to find your request, you are working on your next reply, with a translation app.
“Do you recommend me this one?” your back arched as a startled reflex. You quickly stand straight and turn around to see the person you grew anxious to avoid and see again. The salesman is there, looking down at you with a perfectly orchestrated smile.
“Huh?” you ask disconcertingly, he shows you a book, his face looking like he had found a wounded little bird. But it was only you, startled and nervous by his strong presence.
The book is The Divine Comedy. Dante Alighieri.
“Certainly is a good one. A lot of heavenly justice…” you say trying to sound confident, looking at the cover of the book. Displaying the layers that separated heaven from hell. “Do you believe in heavenly justice?”
“I don’t know. We can’t call someone a sinner without a proper trial beforehand” he chuckles, which makes you frown for a second. He truly was unpredictable and you didn’t like that. “Ah, sinners. Always misjudged and harshly punished for being the ones who have the guts to make things…” his deep voice and tone made you wonder if he was self-perceived as a sinner, which made you feel worse.
“You sound like an ethnocentric…”
“I don’t think I’m far into that type of thinking, y/n” Your eyes almost popped out, leaving your hands in an anxious tremble.
“How is it possible that you know my name?” Before he can even answer, you add more. “You are stalking me”
His demonic smile makes your heart stop. The smile you once thought had innocence can’t blind you anymore. He isn’t innocent. He literally confirmed he was stalking you and you didn’t know how to feel.
“I don’t like the idea that conveys the word ‘stalking’. We can call it predestination…” you huff in disbelief. “What do you want with me?”
“I would like to get to know the woman who rejected my Ddakji offer. And ask for one more game” Your lips form a line, and quietly you are hating how much you are enjoying the conversation.
“Hmm, I’m bad at most games, so I’m afraid I will reject you once again” You turned back again to see if the librarian was coming when you felt him stepping closer, which made you feel nervous again.
“I might believe you. I always win…” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers through your spine and creating a lot of tension.
Your psycho mode almost made you lean forward again, daring to see if some friction was possible. But you didn’t, trying to be prudent and acting sane.
“I would’ve wanted a normal first interaction and this time you should’ve asked me out on a date. That’s how it works where I come from but… here, I guess not” he stepped aside as the librarian handed you the book. And as you thanked her and turned to leave and pay somewhere else, he took out a card and handed it to you.
“I’m sure we can work on some sort of arrangement. Here, you may call me…” slightly irritated that he didn’t say much about your inquiry, you snatched the card and walked away.
The cathartic feelings of wanting to keep talking to him and running away from him at the same time resulted in excruciating. It didn’t make sense, the point of him was to nowhere. Being clueless about his age, name, and everything made it feel wrong. Yet, curiosity was starting to burn you.
…
Like a miracle, the heavens moved and sprinkled some luck above you. You found some friends on campus, they spoke English like you and were foreigners as well. One of them was a friend of the owner of a club and invited you for the night.
The invitation made you forgetful about your salesman, whom you hadn’t talked with since the encounter in the library. The card he handed the last time rested between the book you bought the same day, making you unable to read more because it reminded you of the encounter with him.
It resulted unknown to you when was that your life had turned over the edge of becoming twisted. Your feelings for a mysterious man who seemed more accusable than appeared remained undecided.
He made you feel like a wildfire and a caged bird at the same time. Delicate but menacing.
He seemed older than you, professional in a field, mature and imposing. Which you didn’t mind when he appeared to ask you about The Divine Comedy. Either way, you were playing but couldn’t risk anything. Especially in a country where you didn’t know how everything worked.
After getting out of the shower, your thoughts on the salesman are completely faded. You slip on a sequin dress and paint your eyes with glitter and a smokey style.
Thereafter, at the club you let yourself go and have a wild night. Between classes, essays, and the issue with the salesman, you needed a time out.
Everything feels nice when you take a bathroom break and you smile at your reflection. You know you are close to being drunk, it’s the most enjoyable stage of ingesting alcohol.
“Hey, let’s go dancing, I couldn’t find you before!” Yells one of your friends after you reunite with the little group. You nod excitedly, taking her hand and letting her take you to the dance floor.
The music reminded you of that time when spinnin records were a trend and everyone played their mixes at parties back at home. As you move along the track, you don’t look at anything in particular, you just feel interesting and sexy. But your eyes end up giving a quick glance at one table, almost making you stop your euphoric moment.
You swore you saw your salesman.
Looking around you don’t see him, so you return dancing but the odd sensation in your chest doesn’t let you rest.
“What happens?” Asks another friend, looking worried.
“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone. Never mind…” you shake your head, smiling and convincing them that everything is fine.
But once they got more drunk, you walked out, despite curiosity, you wanted to confirm if the tall gorgeous man was near you.
Rarely you bring up to question your life decisions. Not because you thought you were perfect, but because you easily accepted your errors.
And it wasn’t hard to accept you completely messed up by getting out of the club. Where the night was colder, and some steps away from the main entrance, the crowd was loud. A man could be heard pleading and sobbing, which made you fearful but eager to see what was happening.
You peeked at the alley beside the club. A wave of shock flooded you once you noticed another man was punching the one who yelped and sobbed for forgiveness.
Your salesman was the attacker.
“Please! I’ll pay everything back!” Your mind raced back to the moment you spotted your salesman inside the club minutes ago.
His dark grey suit didn’t fit the aura of the place, but he seemed to be talking with the same man he was now punching.
It was obvious at that point that he wasn’t a good man. He made fun of making people play his seemingly innocent games to later laugh in the face whenever they lost. He was never flirting with you, the odd feeling of uncertainty you felt with him was right.
You had to go. You had to burn the card he gave you, avoid the station where you met him, and forget about his face.
There’s panic in your system, your heart beats fast and nausea starts coming up your throat.
You want to get immediately drunk and forget everything you saw with a hangover. You need it.
But you don’t get very far. Midway through the stairs that conduct to the club, a hand holds your forearm with extreme pressure and drags you inside a private room.
Your salesman finally found you.
…
“You just killed a man!” you almost yelled as soon as he pushed you inside and closed the door.
The room was very fancy like the club. It had a big desk near a window, flower-shaped hanging lamps, black sparkly floor tiles, and a sage velvet couch.
Your salesman slides his fingers through his hair and looks at the ceiling before turning to you. One hand still carrying the murder weapon.
“He deserved it” was all he answered and you take a breath. In need of an alibi, you opened a random fridge in the room and grabbed a beer. Your salesman watched how you sipped at the can. He knew you were feeling a mix of curiosity and disgust for him.
Once you drink at least half of the content, you sigh, brushing aside some hair and walking towards him.
“Who are you?” you ask pleadingly, desperate to know how far you’ve gone for him.
“Eventually you’ll know” he sounds cold, calculating, and menacing. “You didn’t call…”
He was taking advantage of your vulnerability.
“I met you a week ago, I don’t even know your name” you admit with shame and dissatisfaction.
For the first time, he genuinely touches you. Hands straight to your waist, making gasp in surprise.
“You’re smart and will eventually understand. You’re my good girl”
His good girl….
What was left to do when you have a sociopath holding your waist with the same hands he had used to kill a man? Play along, even if you are terrified.
What had been your horrified face, slowly ends up in a smirk, tilting your head, squandering cheekiness. “I’m not your good girl, sir”
He slowly leaned back, taking a seat on the sage couch, one of his hands going straight to rest behind his head, against the wall. He twirled the knife against his knee, making you uneasy, but confident about your upcoming words.
“If I walk away, you can’t do much with me, I’m a foreigner. Sure the authorities would dismantle whatever dirty job you’re into and that’s a big no-no” you explain, and feeling a little too bold, you step between his legs.
“Your lack of ignorance amazes me” he admits, offering you a cocky smile. “It makes me even more infatuated”
Your left knee pushed aside his hand twirling the knife. He remained still but sure seemed slightly surprised when you ended up straddling him. With your hands glued to his dark tie, putting it into place.
“Hmm, well, be careful. I am no threat, I barely have valuable skills to get rid of you but I know I could be a problem. So I guess I won, sir…” you allow yourself to smile, following a path with your fingers, from his tie to his cheeks and nose, softly tracing his pale skin.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart” You knew he was trying to be in control, and the best part was that you weren’t fighting for it.
“There’s a lot I might not understand. I’m just a girl who happened to be in this city for a temporary academic project” When your lips brushed his, you couldn’t deny he was so fucking hot, you wished he wasn’t so weird and probably part of a mafia or cult or whatever. “You are the grown-ass man who got obsessed with me”
“I just find you an odd but interesting player, sweet girl” he tried to use his innocent smile but it was useless when you grabbed him by the shoulders and finally dared to kiss him.
He controlled it the moment he touched you again. His hands had a possessive sting and firmly grabbed you by the hips. One of them still holding the knife.
Feeling bold, with adrenaline flowing freely, you softly bit his lower lip. You knew it was over when he almost let out a moan, and after checking he had his eyes closed, you literally jumped away from him.
Without looking back, you started running. Your clumsy steps turn frantic, knowing damn well he would start following you soon. As you literally start pushing people to get out, your heart beats faster than ever and you have a growing anxiety, begging you to stop and breathe.
Once the cold air hit you, as you took a cab and saw no sign of your salesman, confusion struck you and you saw the blood in your chest and arm.
“Are you alright, girl?” The driver asked, also watching your bleeding state.
“Yes, just an accident, I’m okay” he nods unsure, but starts driving after you give him your destination.
His knife must’ve sliced your skin when you stood up from his lap. When he moved one of his big hands to caress your chin.
It wasn’t that you were scared of him, of your salesman. Although you should be; but you weren’t. Could it be that the worst part was that you were attracted to him? Even after watching him kill a man? You were screwed.
You realize the reason why you always ran away from him is because you don’t know how to face his unpredictable demeanor.
At that point, you didn’t know what he wanted. Only that he was obsessed with you. But his intentions remained a mystery unsolved.
Before getting out of the cab, you pay and send your friends a message that you left early because you got a headache after vomiting. This didn’t happen, but would’ve been better to experience it as a young woman in her twenties.
…
When you opened the door, he was already inside. The worst part is that you weren’t surprised anymore. You only stood at the feet of the door, looking at him with uneasiness.
“You got me worried,” he says, stopping his movements around your table. “You left some blood stains and I thought it was serious”
“You accidentally showed me your true nature. A little bit of blood shouldn’t scare you” his shirt indeed had some bloody spots, his blazer was gone, and the sleeves of his messy shirt were rolled up. You hated that your first thought was that he looked very hot.
He moved and took a seat at one of your tables. He sighed and you realized that perhaps he was also screwed up. For letting himself go too far for you.
“I don’t regret any encounter we’ve had,” he says. “Me neither”
He can’t stop staring at your bloodstained dress and you notice.
Fuck everything, you thought.
I’m attracted to him, he’s attracted to me, What’s the worst thing that could happen? (I don’t want to know).
“Silly boy, look what you did to me,” you say looking at the soaked fabric.
Something possessed you at that moment. Your hands went straight to lift your dress. His eyes trailed your sparkly underwear, your lower belly, and your ribs that rose and fell as you breathed.
Your hands twirl behind your back to unhook your bra; also soaked, throwing it to the floor.
Your salesman is quiet, his innocent smile about to fall because you know you have taken him by surprise.
Likely you’ll get a scar. The would-be slightly deep, an uneven line that passed from your neck to your shoulder.
You step forward, confidently eyeing him.
“Clean it” he tried to stand up, probably to grab a med kit but you stopped him with your heel. “With your mouth. Lick it clean…”
He gulped.
His manspread became the only thing you could care about. How he eyed you with lust and possession for some seconds, and then to lean forwards.
Once again his hands landed on the curves of your hips and he made you step up, leaving him inches away from you.
Your sudden surgation grew and his hot tongue finally made contact with your skin.
You savored the feeling of his tongue, knowing he wouldn’t clean anything but the semi-dry blood over your breast. He was only making a mess.
Then, he lifts his head and catches your lips in a sullied kiss. The way he held you, made you understand how he always wanted control. Above anything.
“I will be gone within time. You can ruin me while it lasts…” you blurt out, panting for air.
“I’ll ruin you. But I don’t want to rip you apart. That’s pointless…” he admits in your lips, blood near your chin that he wipes out. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in years. My little toy…”
“Alright, I’ll be your toy” he nods, kissing you again. “Know that my lips are sealed when it comes to you”
“And you won’t have to worry about anything again…” you moan on his lips when he pulls your hair and finally makes you lay on your once new carpet, now displaying some splotches of blood.
“I don’t need your money”
“Don’t you want to make your mother proud and relieved from student debts? From rent?” You can’t think straight. “It’s not correct…”
“None of this is, y/n. Now shut your mouth and spread your legs, toy”
It’s wrong, immoral, a complete madness. You know everything will change once the night dies and the morning comes. But as much as you tried to communicate to him that you weren’t scared, you knew it was over, you’ve gotten too deep into his shit.
“Farewell to my purity” you whisper in his ear and it’s enough to make his eyes turn darker, full of lust.
Everything that consoles purity would be gone from you. And the fact that you were ready scared you. But once his hands started meeting places across your body, you welcomed the sin.
As well as your mind seized thinking. Not caring about the consequences.
_______________________________________________
If you ask for more I will provide
Quién me manda a escribir estas mamadas? I’m just ovulating.
#gong yoo x reader#the salesman x reader#squid game x reader#squid game x y/n#squid game x you#gong yoo
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prompt: you intentionally rile him up to get him to be a little rougher with you.
pairing: park jongseong x f!reader
genre: oneshot
warnings: smut [mdni!!], unprotected sex (put a rubber on it!!), degredation, praise, p in v, pet names, provoked mean dom!jay, slight bratty!reader.
disc. lowercase intended. not proofread. @choisanswife this is for you shawty 🫵🏻😼
now it’s not like your sex life with jay wasn’t absolute heaven on earth, but some nights you wish he would be just a little rougher with you. so tonight of all nights, you decided it’d be a good idea to poke and prod at his nerves just to see how far you could take his patience.
“y/n, not now.” he uttered while batting your hand away gently. that only caused you to groan.
“oh, come on, jay. it’s not like i’m asking for much. it’s just.. you took so long getting me to cum that i felt like i was dying.” it was a dramatic statement on your part, but you could tell it was getting under his skin and that’s exactly what you wanted.
his brow darted up as he slowly turned to you, a slight mumble leaving him, “oh really?”
and the next thing you know? you’re bent over the back of the couch with nothing but your panties around your ankles and his cock buried deep inside you. there was nothing but the sound of skin slapping against skin and your pathetic whines of pleasure.
“this is what you wanted, right? to be my little fuck toy? hm?”, he grabbed you by your throat and pulled you up off the back of the couch, hovering his lips by your ear so you could hear every grunt that left him.
you nodded because that was all you could do. he was finally being rough with you and you loved every second of it.
your hand reached behind you to grip onto his waist because you wanted to feel him, wanted to let him now just how well he was doing. he knew that though. if it wasn’t for the way you clenched around him and the whimpers that left you then maybe he’d be a little curious, but he knew.
“f- fuck.. baby, i’m cumming-!” and that was all jay needed to relentlessly pound into you even harder than he was before, tightening his grip on your throat and wrapping a hand around to circle your sensitive bud at the same speed he was thrusting.
“go on, pretty slut, cum for me. make a mess on my cock.”
that was enough to push your over the edge, your body trembling as the coil in your stomach snapped and you came all over his cock just the way he wanted.
he looked at your slumped over figure with a chuckle, pulling out of you right as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, “let’s get you cleaned up, angel. you were so good for me.”
“i love you.”
“i love you more, darling.”
despite how bratty you could be, he never left you unsatisfied. never once and that was something you absolutely loved about him.
© leehsngs. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, or translate my works.
author’s note. i literally thought of this idea at 4 am due to personal experiences rip. this is also my first time writing something like this so feedback is very much wanted and appreciated! hope you all enjoyed!
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Track Walk
landoscar x content creator!reader
part 1
series summary: You were invited to the Miami GP for your Track Walk series on social media, what follows after you run into a certain Papaya boy, no one could prepare you for...
series warnings: cursing, angst, smut, making out, mentions of people you may not like, mmf, threesome/throuple, if there is more let me know... ;)
a/n: this a long 4 part series, but the chapters will be released daily!! also... there is no hate to anyone mention in this story, it is a work of fiction and any hate towards the characters/people will be deleted.
Miami 2024
“Hello lovely F1 fans!” You said to the camera you were holding quite close to your face, “We’ve got a bit of a different setting today, because we are at the…” You took the camera away from your face to show the full setting, “Miami GP!”
You were a small F1 content creator who had become known for your at home ‘track-walks’. Every Thursday you would walk around your neighbourhood or get on the treadmill and walk the length of the race circuit for the weekend.
“This is my first ever GP, as you all know, and I just can’t explain to you all how excited I am. A big thank you to Liquid IV for sponsoring this trip, and this video. We are starting at the P1 box, because obviously. We’ve got a total of 5.4 kilometers to walk, so let's get to it.”
Throughout the walk you filmed information on the track, the city, the race, and even some snippets of fans who happened to know who you were.You were doing a light run when at one point in the video you saw a group of papaya and flipped the camera at them and slowed to a light jog, “I think those are our papaya boys, if I’m not mistaken.” You whispered into the mic. As you jogged past them you looked up and saw it was just Lando with some of his team.
“Good luck this weekend.” You called out as you surpassed them. “Cheers!” Lando called out with a small smile. You smiled back and continued with your jog and video. “Meeting Lando Norris, can check that off the bucket list.” You laughed softly to the camera. When you made it back to the P1 box you started to end the video. “Well that was so much fun, thank you again to Liquid IV for bringing me out here. Cheers to a hopefully amazing weekend.”
An amazing weekend it was indeed. That Sunday you watched Lando Norris get his maiden win. It was safe to say you were crying in the VIP box as he crossed the line. That night you went back to the hotel with endless happiness, your life couldn’t get any better. Or so you thought.
You woke up that morning to your phone buzzing relentlessly. Every two seconds it felt like someone was liking, commenting, and following you. You sat up in shock logging into tiktok to see that your most recent track walk video had jumped from a few thousand views and likes, to millions of each, and your follower count was soaring as well.
You went through some of the comments laughing at them saying this was your first grand prix and it was the best one ever. Some said you wishing him luck was the reason he won and you replied to those comments teasingly.
It was a few hours later when you were getting ready to head back home that you saw the best notifications.
Lando Norris liked your video
Lando Norris commented on your video
You were thoroughly freaking out. You opened tiktok for the hundredth time that day to see if your eyes were deceiving you, they were not.
Lando Norris: "Maybe this was my lucky charm. Thanks for the good vibes! 🧡"
You screamed in the comfort of your hotel room as you read it, replying back.
“I’ll need to come to a lot more races this season if this is the outcome. Congratulations! 🧡”
Hungary 2024
A few weeks had passed since Miami and everything that came with it. You still continued on your content journey with track walks and other videos with your new following. “Hello lovely F1 fans, old and new. We are here with another special edition track walk!” You cheered showing your surroundings. “I’ve been doing some overtime and made my way to the Hungaroring, so let’s go on a walk…”
The walk itself went as normal, shared some info, showed the surroundings, and made it seem like a facetime time call. It was almost comical how when you were walking off the track you actually bumped into someone, that someone being Oscar Piastri. “I’m so sorry, I was not paying any attention.” You apologised immediately. He just chuckled, waving you off. “Don’t worry about it. Making a video?” He said looking at the camera. You nodded shyly. “Yeah another track walk.” He nodded at the information, slowly getting awkward. “Well, in true fashion. Good luck this weekend.” You bid and he thanked you with a chuckle.
Once again, it was a Mclaren win. This time, it was for Oscar. You were starting to go a little crazy. How was it that everytime you came to a race McLaren won? Again your video blew up, and like clock work, Oscar commented.
Oscar Piastri liked your video
Oscar Piastri commented on your video
You opened the video and tapped on the comments to see what he had put…
Oscar Piastri: Guess I owe you a huge thank you for the good luck wishes. Let's see if this works every time!”
You giggled lightly at the comment before writing a reply back…
“I’d go to every race if I could! Congratulations !!!”
Zandvoort 2024
Over the summer break you worked endlessly on your upcoming finals for your graduation in December. You were missing F1, and needed your fix. In a last ditch attempt at getting your best friend to come with you, you ended up back in Zandvoort. “Hello F1 friends! We are here in Zandvoort, home of Max Verstappen. We’ve got lots of orange here so I’m just going to say everyone is in papaya.”
There was no meeting on track this go around, but that night just as you were getting ready to call it, you got a DM from McLaren. You thought it was just a community thing and glanced at it, but when you saw your name, you sat up quickly. You opened it with shaky hands and read the message:
“Hey Y/N!! Hope you're enjoying your weekend in Zandvoort so far! You’ve got a name here in McLaren and we want to invite you to spend the rest of the weekend with the team in the garage! If you send us a photo of yourself, we can get you your passes by morning! Just give us a call when you get there and let us take care of everything else.”
It was safe to say you might be receiving a noise complaint from your neighbours. Immediately you grabbed your camera and turned it on. “Hi friends, I’m shaking right now,” you laughed in shock. “McLaren just invited me to their garage this weekend. What the fuck?!” You showed the camera your phone where the message was still up. “Your girl is going to the McLaren garage, which means vlog time.”
You cut the video there and replied to McLaren with immense gratitude and a photo.
Walking up to the paddock entrance you had phoned McLaren and let them know you were walking up. You saw someone in Papaya and they waved at you enthusiastically. She passed you your passes over the barrier so that you could scan in. “This is crazy.” You said while she laughed. “I run all the social media accounts, and when I saw your videos I just had to pull some strings for you. You’re genuine, we like that at McLaren.” She told you honestly and you smiled bashfully. “Thank you, that means a lot.”
She then gave you a run through of everything happening in the garage, in the hub, and in the paddock revolving McLaren. The paddock wasn’t new to you, but this whole experience was strange to you. “And then you have a scooter to get around as well. Just don’t hit anyone because papaya is an easy colour to notice.” You laughed with her knowing how true it was. “I’ll do my best.”
You bounced between sides all morning, watching the teams set up the car for Lando and Oscar. You loved both drivers equally, you would never be able to choose one. You were on Lando’s side not paying much attention to your surroundings when two bodies stood in front of you. You looked up to get out of the way when you saw Oscar and Lando. “Following us now?” Lando asked with a smile. “I should ask you the same thing.” You shot back and Oscar chuckled. “They told us this morning you would be here for the rest of the weekend. It’s nice to see you.” Lando nodded in agreement and smiled happily. “It was a last minute decision to come,” you told them, “and then I got invited into the garage, it’s definitely going to be a good weekend.” The three of you laughed softly knowing the hidden meaning. “Well I’m certainly looking forward to a win this weekend.” Oscar shared. “She was my lucky charm first.” Lando pointed out. “Don’t fight!” You laughed, “I’ll be cheering the both of you on, see?” You took off your hat to show the underside of the brim. Each side had a number on it. “I stitched two of them together.” You informed. “That’s actually really cool.” Oscar said, taking the hat for a closer look.
“Your nails! Osc look at them.” Lando said taking your hands in his and showing off your nails, one hand was dedicated to Lando and his famous helmet design, and the other side was Oscars helmet design with a croissant on the ring finger. “Very funny.” He said when he saw it. “It was this or a cat.” You shrugged and Lando laughed as Oscar shook his head.
“Boys!” The two drivers looked behind them to see the clock counting down. “I will not be the reason you two don’t win this weekend so do go.” You pushed them lightly. “Thank you for coming, we’ll chat again later.” Lando said, going in for a hug. “Of course, go top both practices.” You cheered as Oscar also gave you a hug before the both of them went to their respective sides of the garage.
f1gossipofficial
liked by user4 and others
f1gossipofficial Who’s that? Today before FP1 both McLaren drivers were seen talking and hugging with someone in their garage. In a different view, we can see that the person is content creator Y/N L/N who has gone viral for being the duo’s ‘good luck charm’. The three seem to be very cosy considering they’ve never officially met.
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user4 THAT SHOULD BE ME
user5 she posted a mini vlog on her tiktok this morning! She said McLaren dm’ed her and asked for her to be in the garage
User9 awwe that’s so sweet of McLaren to do for her
user6 something about her doesn’t seem right
user7 don’t start, she’s one of the nicest people I’ve seen on tiktok
user8 another McLaren win is incoming
The following two days of the weekend were spent filming and nerding out over being in the garage. Lando and Oscar of course got super busy over the following two days, but they still managed to give you a wave when they could. Watching the race from the garage and hearing the live feed, watching the pit crew get ready for the pit stops, the actual pit stops, it was beyond magical for you. And without fail, one of the boys won, this time in Lando’s favor by 20 seconds.
You got to celebrate with the team, some of them recognising you and saying you needed to be here more often. Days like this were what you dreamed for. In between the chaos, you never managed to say goodbye to the papaya drivers, but they did DM you.
Lando Norris has followed you
Oscar Piastri has followed you
You’ve been added to a groupchat with Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri
Your eyes almost flew out of your head when you saw the notifications. This wasn’t happening, you thought but you clicked on it anyway.
Lando Norris: We didn’t get the chance to say goodbye, but we just wanted to thank you for your support and coming to as many races as you can!
Oscar Piastri: Lando’s said it all, but hopefully you can come to another race soon, and we’ll try to win even if you can’t.
You laughed at the very opposite but almost the same message from each of them. Your hands were shaking as you replied back.
Y/N L/N: You were having too much fun celebrating the win! A big thank you to you guys as well for making it so easy to support a great team. Hopefully I can get to a race soon! If not I’ll be watching from home still cheering you guys on!
Oscar Piastri: you don’t have to be so formal 😂I feel like we can call you a friend if you keep helping us win
Lando Norris: what osc said, don’t be a stranger.
Y/N L/N: no need to bully me! You’re a-listers! How else was i supposed to respond
Lando Norris: OMG!!! I can’t believe you texted me!! You followed me too OMG OMG OMG. I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH 🧡🧡🥰🥰🥳🥳 ASGKWBEWOEHJ
Oscar Piastri: like that ^^
Y/N L/N: that’s what I’m doing on the inside lol, but i think I would block myself if I did actually typed that
Lando Norris: yeah it was a bit weird to type 😂
Oscar Piastri: great, now I have two of you
You tilted your head at the comment but shook it off. You were pretty similar to Lando on the goofy side of things.
Y/N L/N: Don’t worry Oscar, when I’m not on an adrenaline high like I am right now, I’m more like you than you think
Lando Norris: great, now there’s two of you
Oscar Piastri: i’ll have to see this in person then
Y/N L/N: is that an invite I’m hearing?
Lando Norris: sounds like it to me.
Oscar Piastri: it was indeed.
Y/N L/N: i’ll see what my work and class schedule looks like and I’ll get back to you on that offer. Graduation is soon so i’m balancing a lot of things
Lando Norris: its my offer too!!!!!!
Oscar Piastri: what do you go to school for?
Y/N L/N: noted Lando, and sports journalism, dream job is to work in F1.
Lando Norris: That’s mint! I think you’ll do good
Oscar Piastri: you’ve got a very warming personality that I’m sure all the drivers will like. If you ever need to practise, we’re here.
Lando Norris: If you twist my words I’ll know you did it
Oscar Piastri: Lando!
Y/N L/N: Lando!! 😭 I promise I won’t, this season especially really helped push me into this because I hate the way the media portrays two/three of the nicest people ever.
Lando Norris: i know we’re the two…but who’s three
Oscar Piastri: guess 🦁
Lando Norris: NOOOOOOOOO
Lando Norris: WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO MEEE
Oscar Piastri: 😂😂😂
Y/N L/N: IM SORRY!!! I CAN’T HELP IT!!
Y/N L/N: Oscar!! Why would you throw me under like that!!
Oscar Piastri: *this user is no longer available*
Lando Norris: invite has been taken back.
Y/N L/N: nooo!!! I’m sorry!!! OSCAR!!!!!
Oscar Piastri: *this user apologises for the chaos he has now unpacked*
Baku 2024
Within the three weeks that passed between Zandvoort and Baku, Oscar and Lando never stopped texting you. The three of you figured out you had a lot in common and clicked like magnets. Over that time, you had plenty of new followers and decided to do a Q&A on your tiktok.
“How am I able to go to so many GP’s? Are you a millionaire?” You laughed after reading the question. “I’m not a millionaire by any means. I saved up for about a little over a year, didn’t go out with friends unless it was a birthday, didn’t buy unnecessary stuff, just was really good with not spending so I could treat myself this year. I’m in my last months of uni, which I got a full scholarship for, so not having to worry about school costs is also a great help.”
“Have you spoken to Lando and Oscar since your time in the garage? They follow you now too.” You thought quickly about it, “I haven’t no,” oops. “They were just being polite and doing their jobs when they saw me in the garage. As for the following thing, I can’t tell you why they decided to do that, but I'm not complaining.” You chuckled.
“What are you studying in Uni?”
“I’m in my final months of my sports journalism major. That's why I’m a big fan of F1, but also F1 got me into journalism, it's a circle of interest.” You mimicked drawing a circle that never ends.
In those three weeks you had also moved your group chat out of Instagram.
Osco: Is it terrible to say I miss having you in the garage?
Landito: wow Osc, straight to the point
Osco: leave me alone
Y/N: if it's anything I miss being in the garage, but no it’s terrible
Landito: what he means to say is…. we miss seeing you in person
Osco: facetime isn’t enough
Osco: come to Baku?
Landito: we took back her invite remember?
Osco: you took back your invite…
Y/N: i’ll be there already
Landito: WAIT REALLY???
Osco: is this a prank?
Y/N: yes really
Y/N: and no not a prank
Osco: answer please
Your phone started ringing just as you read it. You were in no position to be facetiming two people you now had a crush on… yeah, that also happened over the three weeks. You tried to tell yourself they were just being nice and you were caught up, but the way they acted sometimes led you to believe otherwise.
“Why am I looking at the ceiling?” Lando pointed out. “Because I am in no way showing you what I look like right now.” You laughed at them. “Yes you are.” Oscar commented. “We facetimed you for a reason.”
“Face please.” Lando asked sweetly, and you rolled your eyes. There you were in your McLaren x Reiss jacket, curls thrown up into a mix of a bun and ponytail, and glasses over your eyes. “You wear glasses?!” Lando said peeking over Oscar’s shoulder. They were always together, you started to realise.
“Yes, Lando. I wear glasses.” You shook your head with a small smile. “Well, you look beautiful as always. What’s this about you coming to Baku and not telling us?” Oscar moved on swiftly. “It was supposed to be a surprise! I was-”
“Nope, if it’s a surprise we shall wait.” Oscar cut her off. “I don’t want to wait though.” Lando groaned from behind him. “It’s in 2 days, Lando.” Oscar said, looking at the head that was now on his shoulder. “2 days too long.” He mumbled. “I promise it’ll be worth it!”
And worth it it was. After your track walk, there you were, the media pen, questions about the upcoming weekend ready, with an F1 TV microphone in your hand. F1 had reached out to you after your Q&A video asking about your sports journalism career. One thing led to another and here you were.
“Hey Max, first things first, how are you feeling this weekend?” Max smiled. “I mean, I’m feeling fine, I definitely need to get in the car to see how we do on track. Not very well if you’re here though.”
“You know who I am?” You asked in shock. “All other drivers hope you don’t make it to the races with the track record you have, but someone told me I was one of your favourites.” Of course they did. “Well they wouldn’t be lying.” You chuckled shyly.
Max leaned on the gate as you got your questions ready. "This year has seen a shift in the competitive order with McLaren and Ferrari stepping up. You’ve still proven to be one of the best drivers this season and currently lead the Drivers' Championship, with Red Bull fighting to stay at the top in the Constructors’. With three titles already under your belt, how do you maintain focus when the dominance you’ve grown used to in both championships isn’t guaranteed anymore—especially heading into a high-risk, high-reward circuit like Baku, where unpredictability often plays a major role?"
Max seemed a little shocked with the question. “I mean…” You nodded along as he answered and when he finished and the camera was off he smiled. “Those were very good questions. I look forward to seeing you the rest of the weekend.” You smiled at him. “Thank you, it means a lot.”
You got similar style compliments from other drivers and when the papaya boys walked in and spotted you they both smiled but had to work their way down the pen. Oscar was the first to get to your station. A quick glance to his eyes showed the professionalism he was using to hide the sheer excitement at seeing you again. “Hey Oscar, you’re going into this weekend with a double podium from Monza, how are you preparing for this weekend to get the same results if not better?”
Oscar chuckled. “Well if you’re here then a McLaren win seems to be in the cards.” You shook your head at him as he smirked. “But…”
“Thank you Oscar, good luck this weekend.” Before he left he reached over the barrier to give you a quick hug. “Nice to see you again.” He said before walking off. Lando quickly took his position and gave you his eye-closing smile. “Hey you.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “Hey Lando, after the double podium in Monza, it’s clear that McLaren has made significant strides this season. With the Constructors' Championship in reach with just 11 points to Red Bull, how do you approach a circuit like Baku, where opportunities and risks are amplified? Do you feel this weekend could be pivotal in swinging the fight for the Constructors’ in McLaren’s favor against Ferrari as well?"
Lando tilted his head. “You’re one of the only people who’s brought Ferrari into the Constructors fight.” He pointed out and you shrugged lightly. “You’ve said before that Red Bull isn’t your competition, Ferrari is.”
Lando’s interview came and went just as quickly as Oscars and he too ended the interview with a hug. Charles and Carlos were just after and both of them mentioned knowing who you were and to take a stop at their garage.
The weekend went really well. Any free time you had was bouncing between garages and meeting new people. And like clock work, McLaren won the race, in Oscar’s favour. You were doing post race interviews and the wide smile on Oscar’s face when he saw you made your insides warm. “Please come to every race.” He joked and you laughed lightly. “Congratulations on your win today Oscar, after some very good fights with Charles…”
Because you had to go through every driver, and then got invited to talk about your experience on F1 TV-
“We are bringing on the voice you’ve heard all weekend, Y/N L/N.” Laura introduced as you walked into the middle of the group. “How are you?” She asked. “I’m doing really amazing. It’s been such a busy weekend for me, all thanks to you guys for inviting me and giving me some on the field action.”
Will Buxton spoke next. “You’ve become a big name here, everytime you come to a race, a McLaren driver wins. How is that even possible?”
You laughed alongside the rest of the panel. “I just put 50 kilos of extra weight in everyones car before the race this time. I think I’ll run the engine out next time though. Make everyone have grid-penalties.” You joked and they all laughed again. “It’s been so nice having you with us this weekend! We hope that you can join us again sometime soon!”
-you were able to stay much longer into the evening. Making your way to the McLaren garage you saw that they were prepping for a team photo and you quickly got your camera out to snap the moment for yourself. “No, you get in here too!” Zak yelled seeing you and the team cheered in agreement. You shook your hands not wanting to spoil it but then you were getting picked up from behind by a shoeless Lando and plopped right to Oscar.
Oscar placed an arm around you with a wide smile. “This is too much.” You told him. “Nope, it’s not.” He smiled again. You shook your head but smiled and cheered for the picture as well, and then the champagne. The team member next to you handed you their bottle with a wink at Oscar. Right as the photo ended you shook the bottle and made sure to douse Oscar as he tried to run away. Lando also joined you and the three of you were getting drenched in everyone else's champagne.
“There are two of you!” Oscar joked. “Yeah you might be right about that.” Lando laughed, clearing champagne from his eyes. “That was fun!” you laughed clinking Oscars champagne bottle. “You’ve got about 5 minutes before you start to smell.” He laughed and then your face fell. “I don’t have a change of clothes!” Lando laughed as you freaked out and Oscar just hugged you. “I’m sure we can find you something to wear.”
They did, you were wearing a team kit from their spare room in the hub. It was enough to get you to your hotel room. “Want to ride with us to the hotel?” Lando asked coming to walk with you as you reached the doors to walk out. “Yeah that sounds good.” He took your hand just as you were going to exit. “We have to wait for Oscar.” He said and you nodded and without letting go of your hand he dragged you back towards the main area.
“Did you enjoy your weekend?” He asked as you two leaned against a wall. “It was an amazing weekend.” You smiled giddily, closing your eyes. “I hope this doesn’t change that.” You opened your eyes to see Lando coming closer to you, eyes looking down at your lips. You nodded lightly and he closed the gap between your lips. His teeth nipped yours, with a sense of impatience. “Just couldn’t wait could you.” You broke away with his head resting against yours. Oscar. Why did you feel so guilty? “Oscar I-” He just shook his head with a laugh coming to your otherside. “I won, does that mean I get a kiss?”
You looked at Lando who still had that dazed smile, then back to Oscar. “You didn’t tell her, did you?” He said and Lando shook his head. “We’re dating, now can I kiss you please?” He said quickly before taking your lips in his. His kiss was softer but still as impatient. “We’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He sighed when he pulled away.
“Really?” You asked softly, hand coming to press against your tingling lips. “Yes, since we started texting you. Oscar and I just couldn’t get you out of our heads.” Lando said with a small smile.
“I thought I was being delusional.” You chuckled softly. “Not at all.” Oscar's hand went to your hip softly squeezing. “Come to Singapore with us, please.” You looked at Lando who took your hand and held it in his own. “Please.” You nodded almost in a trance.
#lando norris x reader#lando norris x black!reader#lando norris fluff#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 imagine#lando norris#lando norris smut#f1 x driver!reader#oscar piastri x black!reader#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri x reader
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hello! great work so far :-) im getting into batfam myself and been loving the platonic/familial works you do w littlest wayne! was wondering if you'd ever do an teen y/n or just an older one? I'd love to see you tackle the idea of a robin y/n or jaybe just some angsty kid stuff,,,,,, hope you had a good new years!
-- :33Anon
I love angst with my whole heart and soul, and I'm happy to write it with a slightly older Reader. Hope you don't mind I've commandeered your prompt to showcase the ability you guys voted on.
This one's a long read so I'm splitting it up. This part is roughly 2400+ words.
The Littlest Wayne: Uncertain Home
(Part 1/2)
Masterlist is Here!
Uncle J'onn is looking at you curiously.
He's been doing that a lot, lately. When Daddy brings you to the Watchtower to be babysat so he can go save the world, one of his co-workers that they can afford to spare gets put in charge of keeping an eye on you. Usually it's Uncle Hal, but this time it's J'onn and he's in his natural form, which you don't mind. Green is your favorite color, and his whole body is green! He's nice and calm, and tells you lots of stories and plays any game you want, even if it's hard for him not to cheat and read your mind. He says it's instinct. You don't hold it against him because you still have fun.
Lately, though, when he talks to you, he tilts his head a bit. He usually does that when he can't understand something.
You wipe your face, checking for cookie crumbs. All clean. You search your shirt for any weird marks or stains. All clean. You scrunch your nose and puff out your cheeks, pouting.
"What's wrong, uncle J'onny?" You ask him. Daddy says the way to get honest answers from someone is just to be forthcoming (Dicky told you what forthcoming meant when you asked him later), so you are. "Did I do something wrong?"
That seems to snap his train of thought. J'onn shakes his head and goes back to sorting out the jigsaw puzzle pieces for you. You're good enough at this to do 100-piece puzzles, now, and when you get really stuck you don't even cry anymore!
"Nothing is wrong, Flittermouse," he says, watching you start putting the edges together first like Dami taught you. "You are simply...changing. Differences are not inherently wrong."
"What's inherably mean?"
"Inherently. It means instinctively, or something that is "set in stone." A rule that does not change. I am stating that change is not something that is always wrong. It's not a firm rule."
You pout and try to process all of that in your brain. It was a partial answer. Daddy says that means people might want to hide something from you.
"What's changing?" You ask him. "I got older a week ago. Is that what you mean? I'm four, now. Grandpappy says I'm getting so big and growed up. He says to not do that so fast. I dunno how, though. He's silly."
J'onn hums. His eyes look away from you as he considers what to say. You put one whole edge together before he speaks again.
"You know that I am not a human, correct?"
"Yeah, I know," you say. "I don't care. I love you. And auntie Diana. And uncle Clark. And uncle Barry. And —"
"Thank you," J'onn gently interrupts. "Do you also know that, sometimes, humans are born not entirely human? That sometimes they get special abilities?"
"Yeah, I know that," you repeat.
"I suspect that —" he cuts himself off, hesitates, then starts again. "Little one. You are showing signs of being one of those humans with special abilities."
"I am?" You ask. You perk up. "Can I fly?!"
You immediately abandon the puzzle and climb onto your chair, about to jump off of it to try and fly around, but J'onn catches you by the back of your shirt before you can hit the ground.
"You cannot."
"Aww...then I don't wanna be a megahuman," you complain, stomping your foot.
"Metahuman."
"Whatever."
"I am sorry," J'onn says, "I did not mean to upset you. I do think you are developing powers, however."
"Not fly powers?" You frown.
"No, not flight powers."
"Boring," you say, blowing raspberries. J'onn cracks a smile at your antics and you giggle. "Help me do the puzzle, please!"
"Alright," he relents, sorting more pieces for you. You're both quiet for a while, and you get the whole frame done before he speaks again.
"Little one. Do you know your father's rule about metahumans?"
"Yeah," you say, grinning, because you're a great listener. You pitch your voice down and make it scratchy. It's adorable in your four-year-old tone. "No metas in Gotham. I am Nighttime. Raaahhh."
J'onn huffs in amusement. "Right. He usually means what he says, does he not?"
"Yeah," you agree, "daddy is a bad liar. He lied and said he didn't eated the last cookie once, but he did eated it. Alfie was mad, 'cause it was for Dami, but Dami didn't care. He likes brownies more than cookies. I like brownies, too."
"I figured," J'onn says. He's not looking at you again. This time he's frowning.
"Do you want brownies?" You ask, figuring that was the issue. "I don't have any. I can ask for some when Daddy comes back. I'm good at sharing, 'cause I'm a good noodle, like Jay says."
"No, but thank you for offering to share. Jason is right, you are a good noodle."
You preen. "I know!"
J'onn drops the subject again and helps you complete the puzzle. You squint at every piece in concentration and politely ask him if he can dim the lights so you can work better. He complies, and after another hour and a half, you have a completed image on the table.
"Yay! We did it!"
The sounds of chatter and footsteps appear down the hall moments later, and you spring to your feet in delight.
"Hello!!!" You shout.
A chorus of "hello!" greets you in return from multiple heroes, and the rest of the Justice League files into the room one by one. They don't look too roughed up, so the mission wasn't very dangerous. That's good. You stand by the door and offer them hugs. Everyone complies, to your endless delight.
"Daddy!" You cheer when you see him, running and hugging Batman's legs. He scoops you into his arms and you grin and point at the table. "Uncle J'onny and I dided a whole puzzle! I didn't give up!"
"Good job, Mouse," Bruce says, reaching out to adjust the light. "You did it in the dark?"
"Yeah," you grin, kicking your feet. "Did you punch bad guys?"
"I did."
"Did you win?"
"Yes."
"Can we have ice cream?"
"Maybe after dinner." He carries you down the hall and towards his temporary quarters, the place he'll stay after a particularly tough mission when he can't make it home right away, and deposits you gently on the bed. "I have to debrief with everyone, and then we can pack up and go home."
"Okay, daddy," you say, already digging through the nightstand for a toy to play with. "I stay right here!"
"Good job," he says again, kissing the top of your head, and leaves you alone with a small wave.
--
The next time you need to be at the Watchtower, it's with Uncle Clark and Auntie Diana. The mission wasn't a super dangerous one, so they both got to stay behind and entertain you.
Today, you're a cashier at your world-famous grocery store. You have the best ingredients all over the world.
"Welcome to the groshy store, what do you want stranger?" You demand, getting into character. Clark looks mildly offended.
"Whoa, hello. That's a lot of 'tude for a paying customer," he says.
"You didn't buy nothing yet! Whataya want!"
"Uh. Some carrots please."
"All out."
Clark narrows his eyes at you. "Can you check in the back?"
You turn around. You turn back.
"All out. Whataya want!"
"You barely looked!" He insists.
"FRESH OUTTA CARROTS, BUB. WHATAYA WANT."
"Oh my goodness, now there's yelling. I think I need to speak to a manager."
"Okay!" You shuffle across the room and grab Diana's hand, leading her back to Clark. "This is the manager. Auntie, tell him all the carrots are gone. He can't have any."
Diana covers her mouth to stifle her laughter. "You heard them, stranger. There are no carrots here."
"Well, aside from the blatant nepotism, auntie, I think you're hiding the carrots from me," Clark huffs, crossing his arms. "I need them for my soup. Guess I'll go to the grocery store across town. I hear they're nicer."
"No," you gasp, "wait. Okay maybe I have one secret carrot. I go get it."
You leave their giggling forms and run over to the toy box that was set up for you on the watch tower, thrusting your hands inside to dig around. You squint your eyes, but all the bright colors are hard to distinguish properly. In the dark spaces, deeper into the box, is where you cast your focus. Instinctively, you follow the trail and close your hand around a plastic carrot. You lift your hand triumphantly.
"Okay, got it!" You cry, only to startle when you find both Clark and Diana kneeling beside your toy chest. Diana picks you up around the waist and takes several steps back, and Clark's eyes turn that funny shade of blue they do when he's using x-ray vision. "Umm, I gotted the carrot already. It's in my hand."
"Are you injured?" Diana asks you, expression deadly serious. You frown and shake your head. "You're certain? I could sense something in that box with you."
"No, I'm fine," you promise. Clark stands up and his eyes go back to normal. He shrugs, brows furrowed.
"There's nothing in there but toys."
"Yeah," you nod, "toys and dark spots."
Both heroes look at you. You squirm in Diana's hold shyly.
"Um, want to pay for the carrot?" You ask, holding it up. "It's only ten dollars. Orrr one lollipop." You whisper conspiratorially. "I can be bribed."
Diana and Clark exchange glances. Clark gingerly takes the carrot from you and puts it back in the toy box.
"Sold. Let's go to the kitchen and pick out which flavor you want."
You grin, forgetting about the game, and Diana puts you on the ground so you can follow excitedly after them. With a couple "pretty please's" and your lethal puppy dog eyes, you even manage to get two lollipops. You ask to be hoisted onto the counter so you can swing your feet as you enjoy the candy, and both heroes perch on either side of you.
It's quiet for a while. It feels like that weird, anticipatory quiet you felt with Uncle J'onny, but you don't know what for, so you wait for one of them to speak. You finish off one whole sucker and open the second one when it happens.
"Mouse?" Clark eventually asks, "can you explain what you meant about your toys? That there are dark spots in there?"
"Yeah," you say, "shadows. Dark spots. Light not touching."
"And you can...feel shadows?"
You hum, thinking it over. "Um...yes. Kind of."
Clark and Diana look at each other again. They're frowning. You frown.
"Can you tell us what you mean by that?" She asks.
"Um. I wanted the carrot, for uncle Clark," you say, "so he can buy it at my groshy store. And the dark spots showed me where it was, and I grabbed it."
"Did they also help you complete the jigsaw puzzle, when you were with J'onn?" Diana asks. "It was quite dark when we got back." You nod.
"Yeah. Easier to do in the dark. It's not cheating!" You blurt. "I didn't cheated!"
"Okay, ya' didn't cheat," Clark agrees, gently patting your back. There's a slight drawl in his words which usually shows up when he's stressed out. "We're just curious, is all, darlin'. Seems you've got a... A special talent, we can call it."
"It's a power. They're a metahuman, Kal," Diana says simply, "and you know Bruce's rule."
The rule? Which one? Always brushing your teeth before bedtime? Or maybe no sweets until you finish your dinner? Hmm, but you haven't had dinner yet. That doesn't make sense.
"No metas in Gotham. I'm very aware, Diana."
"Then you see the problem."
Oh. Now you think you know why uncle J'onny was upset that day.
"Now wait a minute," Clark says. He looks genuinely angry, which confuses you. Did they not like that you could ask the dark for help? They had superpowers, too. You figured they would be happy. "They're his kid."
You are. You're Daddy's little Flittermouse, scampering around and bringing joy. That's what everyone tells you. They love you.
"You've seen how hard he works to keep us out of Gotham," Diana says. "We can be trusted to babysit, but we can't enter the city? What does that tell you?"
"That's different. He's territorial, we all know that. He's not a monster, Diana. He would never hurt them —"
"I'm not saying he is. I'm not saying he would. But I am saying that he doesn't bend his own rules. He does not make exceptions."
Oh.
You sit almost numbly on the counter and watch Clark and Diana start to argue over your place in Gotham. Over your place at home.
You think about Daddy's rule about no metas in Gotham. You think about your new ability to interact with shadows.
Oh.
The lollipop tastes like ash on your tongue and the tips of your fingers feel like tv static. When you blink, your eyes sting as they well up with tears. You've been so good about not throwing fits, about not being a crybaby, about being as strong as your super cool daddy and brothers and grandpa.
But you can't call them that anymore, can you? They don't want metas in Gotham, and that's what you are, now. You can't live with your family anymore.
Large, fat tears roll down your cheeks and your bottom lip wobbles. You whimper and both Diana and Clark whip their heads around to look at you in shock.
"No, oh no, don't cry," Diana coos, "you don't need to worry. Your father isn't —"
You bat her hands away when she reaches for you and jump off the counter, running underneath Clark's cape. They don't catch on to what you're doing in time.
Clark practically rips it off and fans it on the floor, floating above it with wide eyes. Diana kneels next to the fabric and frantically pats it, searching for you.
But there's nothing. You've fled into the shadow Clark's body cast and allowed the darkness to swallow you.
#batfam x reader#littlest wayne au#justice league x reader#j'onn j'onzz#diana of themyscira#clark kent#did we all see that dig i made on lantern? i did a little hehehe when i wrote it
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Also! Capitalism. I do NOT want to drive in the snow/ice/slush tomorrow morning. But the mall never closes. And there’s no public transit anywhere CLOSE to me. And even if there WAS, it likely wouldn’t go to my job bc I work in another county.
I love snow but yeah I’m obligated to go to work tomorrow and I am Nervous. My parents are likely gonna drive me but I’m afraid of other drivers too.
Snowy weather is for staying inside and being cozy, and also for making snowmen. It’s not for going to the freaking mall
Anyway here’s a snowman I made today. He’s a bit grassy but it’s fine
(Also pls send good vibes to the cactus in the background, I hope it’ll survive this)
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So I'm putting together an In Defence of Cassie PowerPoint for a PowerPoint night with friends. Do you have any arguments for or against her? I trust your opinion and am curious.
Let's see.
"She's too powerful, too unique, too far-seeing, and not good enough for Jake! What a Mary Sue!"
Counterpoint: May I introduce you to the reigning champion fan favorite, Sad White Boy Tobias?
Only nothlit ever to regain the ability to morph
Only known human-andalite hybrid ever to exist
Regarded as savior by entire hork-bajir species
Entire existence is a time paradox the war hinges upon
Pulls the canonically "most beautiful girl in our grade", who turns down 6 or 7 other offers in favor of Bird Boy
Correctly predicted planetary ecology 65 million years in advance
Believed to be immune to 2-hour limit
In conclusion: y'all wouldn't be crying "Mary Sue" if Cassie was a sad white boy, and I can prove it.
"She's too weak and hand-wringing, and she never helps the war effort!"
Counterpoint: First of all, the fact that the same people say this in the same breath as "she's too powerful" is... telling. Secondly:
She saved the entire team's lives in #24, in #29, in #44, and in MM1, among others.
Specifically calling out #44 — that ending shows she is willing and able to be ruthless when her friends are in need. She doesn't like slaughtering human-controllers, but if the alternative is everyone she loves dying, then she'll fucking well do it.
Much like Jake (see: Sad White Boy), she's more willing to risk herself than her friends, hence the end of MM1
Her medical knowledge saves Marco from rabies, Ax from brain!appendicitis, and Tobias from bird flu.
Her survivalist knowledge saves everyone in #25 (the Arctic), MM2 (Cretaceous Era), #11 (rainforest), and #14 (desert).
In conclusion: Cassie's only idealistic-looking by the standards of this extremely morally gray team.
"She's so unfair to Jake!"
Counterpoint: Jake? The Jake who refused to speak with her for weeks? Jake who proposes marriage while they're still broken up? Jake who announces he'll never trust Cassie again because she [checks notes] saved his brother's life? That Jake?
Also:
She gives him tons of emotional support in #16, #21, #47, and other times he's feeling low.
They have a healthy argument where they air differences and come to an understanding in #9.
Did I mention he doesn't just dump her but ghosts her in the middle of the war's endgame?
They're teenagers. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it is built on open communication and mutual respect which is more than Rachel and Tobias can say
She's fighting a war, and PTSD for that matter. No, she doesn't have infinite emotional bandwidth.
In conclusion: Their relationship is fine, their breakup is mutual, and her behavior only looks bad if, once again, you're holding Cassie to a different standard than you are Jake.
"She shouldn't have trusted Aftran!"
Counterpoint: friendly reminder that the alternative was killing a 6-year-old for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that's what you think Cassie should've done, that tells us more about you than about her.
"She spends too much time moralizing!"
Counterpoint: this is a book series about war, not a friggin' video game. If you want moral pornography, go play Call of Duty. If you want sci fi realism, then you're going to have to accept that a majority of humans prefer not to kill their fellow humans if at all possible.
"She's a ripoff of [insert character here]!"
Counterpoint: literally every single one of these says more about the commenter than about the source work. "Every dystopia is set in the U.S." is the kind of thing only people who only read books by American authors would think. "All epic fantasy is Eurocentric" => tell me you only read books by white people without telling me. I'm glad you think Cassie is too similar to Willow Rosenberg, but there are at least 6 other stories in the known world, and I hear some of them even feature sweet/dorky/caring characters who are secretly ultra-powerful.
In conclusion: You don't have to like Cassie as a (fictional) person, but 85% of criticisms directed at her are bad-faith attacks on one of the 1990s' only fat Black female gnc ultra-powerful superheroes.
#animorphs#cassie animorphs#misogynoir#tbh this was fun#and cathartic#now i kind of want to go to this powerpoint night#mama nature
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Doctor's In - Part 9
Wanda Maximoff x Doctor!R
Summary: New Year, new... relationship challenges? Sharing a home isn't all fun and games.
A/N: Everyone, please don’t tell me how much you hate where this story is going just because it seems like R will cheat on Wanda. There’s more to the plot and it’s not something I’m doing just randomly, I’m spending time and effort into creating a fic that is a bit more nuanced or at least I hope it is.
Natasha is not a people person.
Which is funny, considering her profession. She’s created a system that allows her to interact with patients as little as possible, and to focus on what she understands best: the human heart.
Not as a metaphor for sentimental stuff, but as a perfect machine.
She’s out of her element now, and considering the stupid drunk that is shouting in the middle of the ER, Natasha thinks it’s better to check if you’re around later.
“Is anybody going to take a look at this?” the man raises his messed up hand, slurring his words. He approaches Natasha, and she busies herself reading a chart. “Are you going to help or not, hot stuff?”
“I don’t work here” she grumbles, deciding that she’ll have to wait for you somewhere else.
“I was hoping you could take care of me. Where are you going? I'm talking to you” he says when she turns to leave, his good hand flying to grab her by the elbow.
Natasha is ready to throw a punch, but she never feels his touch in any part of her body.
“Lay a hand on her and I will strap you to a hospital bed and give you a colonoscopy without anesthesia” you say, surprising him with your strenght. “Now, sir, sit the fuck down and someone will be with you shortly”
“I’ll handle it” Barnes, the new nurse, approaches with his signature frown. He is equally attractive and terrifying, though most of the nurses ignore the latter.
“Thank you” you smile, watching the man become quiet as Barnes grabs him by the shoulder, knowing he won’t be able to say anything stupid to him. “Hi, Nat”
“Hey, stranger” she smiles at you. “I was hoping I’d run into you here”
“Is that why you were wandering the ER? You could just text me” you smile, walking with her to the cafeteria. “My shift ended an hour ago, which is why I wasn’t the one dealing with that asshole”
“Thank you for that, you are such a gentlewoman. I am dissapointed, though. I was hoping you’d stay for our first lesson today”
“Of course I am. I wouldn’t miss it for the world”
Most of the hospital was buzzing with excitement at learning the new surgical technique that had earned Melina Romanoff a Nobel Prize. The exception was Tony, but that was only because he was convinced the Romanoffs had a secret, evil plot to take over. Even Pepper had told me to chill in front of everyone.
You sit at the front, saving a spot for Darcy and follow every word Natasha says. She’s just going over some of the theory and the process of how the research came to be, which is still very interesting to you. Medical research required patience and focus that you did not have, so you had turned your professional development to trauma, as well as search and rescue training.
“We’ll meet on Wednesday to start the first exercises” she finishes the presentation, and winks at you discreetly.
You smile, leaving the conference room, Darcy right behind you.
“What was that?”
“What? Were you expecting exercises from the get go?”
“I meant the wink. Why was she winking at you?” Darcy insists and you shrug your shoulders.
“I don’t know. Friends wink at each other. I wink at you!”
“If you winked at me, I’d think you’re having a stroke” Darcy insists, and you have to roll your eyes. “It was flirty”
“Natasha knows about my relationship, we are just friends” you say, eager to finish the conversation.
“I just think there’s something fishy about this”
“You too? Stark got to you, Lewis” you mock, nudging her shoulder. “Come on, it’s all fine. I gotta get home, though, I forgot to tell Wanda I was staying longer”
“I hope she kicks your ass for that!” Darcy says as you run out of the hospital.
“Yeah, yeah”
As you drive home, you stop by the shopping street to get Wanda some flowers. You don’t think she’ll be too upset about you being late, but it never hurts to be safe.
Still, as you park in the driveway, you take a couple of minutes inside your car, looking at your old home in the rearview mirror.
Truth be told… you’re stalling. Though you love everyone inside the Maximoff house very much, you’ve had so much work these past two weeks, and it’s always a bit exhausting to get home and find the kids running around or Pietro complaining about something.
As someone who went from living alone to sharing a house with four other people full time, it was definitely overwhelming to say the least.
You take a last, deep breath and step inside the house, Pietro watching a show while the twins play in the backyard.
“You’re late” he comments.
“Work stuff” is all you say, not feeling in the mood to justify your tardiness to someone who isn’t Wanda.
But, as you enter the kitchen and your eyes meet hers, you can tell she’s also a little upset.
“Sorry, work ran long” you apologize, offering the flowers. She tries to smile and you put them down on the counter. “I really am sorry, Wands”
“No, it’s ok. I’m just behind with the book and the kids were a little difficult today… I could have used your help, that’s all”
I could have used some rest, you want to say, but that won’t help. It’s not forever, you keep thinking. Pietro will get better and move out, and things will be less crowded.
“I’ll be here all day tomorrow, I can take care of anything you need” you promise, saying goodbye to the prospect of a good nap. To keep yourself busy, you take out stuff to make a sandwich, sighing when you notice you’re out of cheese. “Like going to the grocery store, I guess”
Pietro keeps eating everything and by the time you’re home, there’s barely any food left.
“And you’re coming to the twins game on Wednesday, right?”
“Oh” you pause, scratching your neck. “I have to go to the hospital”
“Again? It seems like you’re there all week” Wanda protests.
“Well, yeah, we’re understaffed, between people being sick and others taking time off. I have to go and head the department, it’s my job, Wanda” you say, suddenly not hungry.
Nothing’s enough, you’re not good enough.
“I just… miss you. That’s all” Wanda says, and you sigh, feeling like an asshole.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s always crazy during January, plus we’re doing a new training with a doctor from Boston. Things will settle in a couple of weeks, I promise”
“Ok” she nods, smiling as you approach her, kissing her temple. “But you’ll have to make it up to me”
“I have a few ideas for that, Miss Maximoff” you smile, pulling her against you and kissing her temple. “And none of them include clothes”
“Good” she laughs, standing on her toes to kiss you.
—
You wanted to have a good day, you really did. Wanda needed some work done on her new study so you dropped off the kids and drove to the hardware store, trusting Pietro could be fine on his own for a while.
What really ruined the mood happened on the way back home.
While turning on a busy street, your mother calls and instead of pressing the ignore button, you answer.
“Fuck” you mutter and it’s too late to hang up. “Hey, mom”
Wanda perks up at that, curious about your mother. She has never even heard her voice, let alone watch you have a conversation on the phone with her. She can tell your posture stiffens.
“Hello, Y/N. I missed your call for the holidays”
“Had lots of work” you lie.
“Oh, well. Hope you liked your birthday present” the woman says in a kinder tone and you almost want to laugh.
“Yeah, thanks. Really appreciate it”
“So, I don’t have a lot of time, wanted to let you know we’re flying there next week but we’re just gonna stay for three days. I don’t think we’ll have the time to meet you. Plus, it’s just us family, you know”
“Right” you try to sound disappointed, but are actually tempted to stop the car and dance around the street. “Some other time”
“Just make sure you’re available in case we need anything. It’s the least you can do”
“Of course” you agree, looking out of the corner of your eye at the confused expression on Wanda’s face. “Have fun, say hi to everyone for me”
“Ok, you take care now”
The minute she hangs up, you let out a huge sigh of relief.
“What was that?” Wanda says, frowning.
“Which part, love?”
“Everything! Ok, first of all, the birthday present. What did she get you? I didn’t see anything delivered”
“Wanda, she doesn’t even know where I live. What happened was, someone walked by and she pretended to be nice. She’s always done it” you explain, feeling irritated. All you want is to be happy that you won’t see her, but Wanda is pushing the subject.
“And what about them coming? And not making the time to see you? Just us family? You’re her daughter!”
“Wanda, please, drop it” you plead, parking outside your home and stepping out of the car.
“Why is she like this? Why don’t you call her out on it? And I’m sorry, I just can’t understand someone being so horrible to their own child”
“Wanda!” you snap, slapping the trunk of the car. “I know, she’s horrible. I don’t care if she lies about getting me a birthday present and I don’t care enough about her to call her out for being mommy dearest. I am just so damn happy that I don’t have to be around her anymore, can we please focus on that?”
“I am just trying to understand. You never tell me anything about her” Wanda protests and you can’t believe she’s still talking about this.
“Everything there is to know, you already know, Wanda. What else would you like to learn? That sometimes I went to bed without having dinner because she thought I was getting fat? Or that when I got a summer job and was out too late she only let me sleep on the porch? What other fucking twisted things would you like to learn about that awful woman?”
“I…”
“If I say it’s complicated or I don’t want to talk about it, maybe just listen once. Here” you toss the car keys her way, not caring if she catches them or not. “I’m going for a walk”
You’d do more than walk if you were wearing different shoes and it wasn’t so damn cold. Still, you don’t make it very far, running into a black and white bunny in the middle of the street. None of your neighbors have pet rabbits, not that you can recall.
“Where did you come from?” you say, hugging the little thing and feeling relaxed as it moves its nose and settles in your arms.
“Señor Scratchy!” Agatha yells from her porch, and you turn around.
“I take it he’s yours?”
“Yes, Rio gave him to me. Señor Scratchy, what are you doing outside?” the woman says with a soft voice, taking him back. “I don’t know how he got out”
“Maybe your fence? Let’s take a look” you walk around to her backyard, pointing at an old part of her wooden fence. “Aha!”
“Oh, great. It will take forever to find someone to fix it” she grumbles. “He’ll have to stay inside for the time being”
“I can fix it. It will only take an hour or so” you say, eager to stay out of the house for a bit longer.
“Well, aren’t you a sweetheart?” Agatha squeezes your cheek and then slaps it gently. “Just remember, I’m already taken, hot stuff”
“I’m just fixing your fence, Miss Harkness” you wink. “I’ll be back with the stuff we need”
Wanda seems to be in her study when you go back home. The fact that you feel relieved instead of sad for making her hide does make you a little guilty.
Truth is, you’ve never lived with anyone you had a relationship with, and neither did she. Maybe you’re both expecting things to be perfect, and it’s just not realistic. Disagreements are bound to happen when you share a home.
Right?
As you work on Agatha’s fence, you keep thinking about a way to make things work for everyone, because you’ve had a couple of fights with Wanda in the span of two days and you really don’t want to make it a habit.
“Did that fence do something to you?” Agatha interrupts you, handing over a glass of water.
“Huh?” you look up at her, taking it and nodding your thanks.
“You're nailing that wood a little too hard, hot stuff” she says, dragging a garden chair and sitting next to you. “Spill”
Saying it’s nothing won’t stop her from asking, so you keep working and tell her everything that has been going on. How the house feels too crowded sometimes, and work is kicking your ass. It takes a minute, but you admit that Wanda really upset you, questioning why you didn’t stand up to your mother.
“I don’t know, I guess it’s something I’ve always wondered myself. Why didn’t I say something instead of being weak. It struck a nerve when Wanda said it out loud”
“Did she call you weak?” Agatha says, frowning.
“No, that’s me being dramatic” you chuckle.
“Look, it’s what I told you the other day. Not everyone understands it, because most people have a semi functional relationship with their parents. And from the sound of it, Wanda’s were straight out of a sitcom”
“I guess”
“She doesn’t have to understand it. She just has to respect your boundaries” Agatha says and you nod, still thinking about everything. “Have you ever thought about going no contact with your mother?”
“Is that what you did?”
“Oh, honey, my mother’s dead. So unless I pull out a Ouija board, we’re no contact already” she cackles, which makes you laugh.
“I don’t know. If she needs something, I guess I would try to help her. If she was a bad mother, that’s on her. But I won’t be a bad daughter”
“You’re too good” Agatha pats your back, and you smile at her.
“Alright, well, your fence is fixed. Can we call it even with the therapy session you just gave me?” you stand up, making sure everything’s in its place.
“Nu-uh, you owe me” Agatha jokes, taking the bunny out to the backyard. “You’ll be fine. Tú puedes”
“Duolingo?”
“Rio’s been teaching me Spanish. The other stuff I can’t say it to you because it’s dirty and for her ears only” the brunette winks, which makes you blush. “Bye, Y/N”
“Bye, Agatha” you roll your eyes at her antics, feeling better as you walk back home.
You figure it’s better to start working on what Wanda needs, so you carry the stuff upstairs and knock before entering the guest room turned into a study.
“Hey” you say, as Wanda looks out the window instead of working.
“Hi”
“I’ll fix the lights and then adjust your desk, or do you need to work now?” you ask, unsure if she’s also upset at you.
“No, that’s fine. It’s not even important, you should rest, work has been crazy for you” she finally turns, and you can tell she’s trying hard not to cry.
“Hey… come here” you step closer, pulling her into a hug. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m really sorry for pushing the subject. I can’t imagine someone being so awful to you, and I made you… I should have kept it to myself”
“It’s… yeah. It wasn’t nice and I really don’t like to look back at everything that happened. But I know you didn’t mean any harm, ok? I love you, baby” you kiss her temple, feeling her relax in your arms. “Why don’t you go check on your brother? He’s been too quiet, which can only mean he’s getting into some sort of trouble”
“Or buying more stuff from Amazon. We barely fit here” Wanda grumbles and you laugh, kissing her. “I’m sorry”
“I know. You’ll make it up to me in bed” you joke, which makes her laugh.
“Maybe now that he’s busy…”
In that precise moment, her brother decides to call for Wanda.
“Go” you kiss Wanda again, wishing you had more time just with her.
—
Natasha’s not excited about the day ahead, the only silver lining being that she gets to see you. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course. She’s flirting and constantly eyeing you, but nothing’s gonna happen.
Not on a lack of desire on her part. It’s pretty obvious you’re not the type of person who cheats. Pretty ironic, she finally meets a decent woman and you’re already taken.
What does that girlfriend of yours have that she doesn’t? Aside from two kids that adore you. Is the whole housewife thing really that appealing to someone like you?
As she enters the room for the next lesson, Natasha notices you’re sitting a few rows behind. That’s a little disappointing. Still, your eyes follow her every move and she feels a little surge of pride at that.
If only you were single, Natasha might get you to roleplay that teacher-student fantasy she’s had.
Still, as she finishes her explanation, you walk up to her, smiling.
“That was brilliant, Natasha” a brunette doctor walks behind you, and you reach out to stop her. “Hey, come meet Doctor Romanoff, Darcy”
“Pleased to meet you. We’re loving the lessons” she says, not wanting to make small talk. “Y/N, come on. I’m starving”
“Oh, I was thinking we could go out for a bite if you’d like?” you turn to Natasha, smiling.
“I’ve got surgery in half an hour” Darcy says, glaring at you.
“Nat?” you turn to the woman, smiling. “Bishop can take care of the ER for me”
“Yeah, I’d love to” Natasha says, kicking herself over how fast she agrees to doing anything you ask.
“Awesome, I know this great place” you begin saying, but she gets a phone call. Natasha looks at you apologetically, but you smile, while Darcy is pulling at your sleeve and giving her a strange look.
“I’ll only take a moment” Natasha promises.
“Yeah, that’s fine”
“A word, Y/N?” Darcy finally gets your attention back and you frown.
Natasha doesn’t care much about the new doctor, unless she’s also fighting for your attention. She finds an empty room to take the call, shutting the door behind her.
“What is it, mother?”
“How’s the second lesson?”
“Fine. Do you keep a timer on your desk?”
“I just like to know if the study plan I designed is working, Natalia. That way, when we move to the next one, it can be more efficient until we manage a global, scalable solution”
“We? I’m only doing this here and then I’m going back to my research, you agreed” Natasha reminds her, blood boiling.
“This is your legacy too”
“Then how come I wasn’t up there getting the Nobel with you?”
“Natalia, those are insignificant things compared to what we can acheive” Melina scoffs.
“I’m not going to spend another month in a different hospital just because you’re too paranoid about someone stealing your research”
“Fine, then get me a new Head of Trauma for Boston and we’ll consider it even” Melina says. “You know Yelena wants to focus on that, she needs someone who can teach her”
“There are tons of applicants. Choose one from the pile in your desk, Mother” Natasha sighs, knowing where this is going.
“What about that doctor you told me about? You sounded so enamoured last time”
“She wouldn’t move to another city, her girlfriend’s here” Natasha says.
“Girlfriends aren’t wives. Well, even spouses can get divorced. Maybe she just needs to hear the right offer” Melina insists.
“Mother…”
“You’re not resuming your research until you find a new Head of Trauma. That’s final, Natalia” the woman loses her cool, hanging up on her daughter.
Natasha feels so stupid, of course this would happen. Melina never cared about anything other than herself and her accomplishments.
“Fuck” the woman says, kicking one of the chairs. You walk inside that precise moment, jumping at the outburst.
“You ok?” you say, locking the door.
“Yeah. It’s nothing”
You let out a sigh, sitting next to her in the bed of the on call room.
“We can skip lunch if you’re not hungry”
“It’s not that. I mean, I’m not hungry anymore, my mother just pissed me off” Natasha shakes her head, trying to calm her racing heart.
“You got one of those too, huh?” you chuckle. “I’m sorry, Nat, honestly. It’s the worse feeling in the world. Someone who should support you trying to bring you down, and then no one believing you because there’s this collective denial that mothers can be bad people”
“Yeah, that’s exactly it. To everyone else she’s a genius. To me, she’s the woman who’s always reminding me how ordinary I am compared to her” Natasha fiddles with her hands, not used to being vulnerable. Not with someone who understands her so well.
“You’re not ordinary, Natasha” you say with so much conviction that the redhead looks up, eyes meeting yours. “And if your mother thinks that, I’m sorry to say that she’s not as smart as I thought”
Natasha laughs, blushing a little at the compliment. You nudge her with your elbow, standing up.
“Want some coffee instead? If you’re not hungry anymore” you place your hand in the doorknob, checking if she’s ready to step out.
“Yeah, sure”
As you nod and open the door, Natasha stands up, reaching for your wrist.
“I… thank you. You’re too kind to me” she says in a low voice.
“I guess I know how isolating it can be. If you ever want to talk, I’m here” you squeeze her arm in return, smiling at her.
Natasha is about to say something else, something probably really stupid, when a voice calls behind you.
“Detka, there you are”
“Wanda? Hi, what are you doing here?” you step out of the room now, looking at your girlfriend. Wanda, however, is focused on the very attractive redhead that follows behind you, noticing you were alone seconds ago
“Am I interrupting something?” she says, eyes not leaving Natasha’s figure.
“What? No, this is Nat… eh, doctor Romanoff. She’s the doctor from Boston who is giving us the course” you explain, looking between both women. Natasha is the first one to give up the staring contest, extending her hand to Wanda.
“Nice to meet you. Y/N has told me so much about you and your boys”
“I’m happy to hear that”
Happy that you know she’s taken.
“So, uh… what are you doing here?” you ask, still thrown off by Wanda’s presence. Ever since Pietro was discharged, she has never been back to the hospital. If you recall correctly, she said she had enough of hospitals for a lifetime.
“I need to talk to you for a second. Alone”
“I’ll meet you in a second” you smile as Natasha walks back to the conference room and she nods. When you turn to Wanda she has a strange look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“You never told me she was this pretty”
“Who?”
“Natasha”
“I didn’t notice” you mumble, scratching your neck. “And anyways, that’s not why you’re here, is it?”
“Right. I just… I wanted to apologize again for yesterday. And make sure we’re ok. I know these past few weeks have been hard. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had to come over and see you”
“Hey, we’re ok” you promise, pulling her by the waist. “I love you, you love me and we have a pretty nice family, don’t we? Even with stinky Pietro”
“I’m trying to convince him to shower daily” she laughs against your lips. It’s pretty clear that he was clean during his hospital days because he got sponge baths.
“It’s either that or hosing him down in the backyard”
“I’d like to see that” your girlfriend laughs and you take her hand, bringing it to your lips. “I’ll let you get back to work”
“Ok, if I can I’ll leave early” you kiss her cheek, squeezing her waist until you’re hand goes dangerously lower. “And maybe we can have some makeup sex”
“Mmhm you’d like that wouldn’t you” Wanda slaps your shoulder. “Go”
But as you wave goodbye and walk up to meet Natasha, Wanda doesn’t miss the look on the redhead's eyes.
She knows it, because it’s the same way Wanda looks at you. And that’s all it takes for her to decide, she doesn’t like the other woman.
—
It’s not as late as you thought, because when you get home everyone’s finishing dinner.
“She lives” Pietro says when you walk in.
“He bathes” you say, noticing his wet hair. “Did Wanda tell you I was going to hose you down?”
He doesn’t get to reply, because the kids jump in your arms.
“My stinky minions! Did you win the game today?”
“No, you have to come to the next one. You’re our lucky charm” Billy says.
“Pinky promise, I will come to the next one” you nod, moving to kiss Wanda. “Hey, gorgeous”
“Moya lyubov” she says and you smile, always loving that accent. “Come have dinner while the kids shower”
“Can you read us a story when you finish?” Tommy asks.
“Of course. Now go with Mom, I’ll be there as soon as I’m done”
The kids cheer as you get a plate and serve some delicious lasagna. Now you really don’t regret coming home early.
“Alright, I’m calling it a night. I’m exhausted” Pietro says.
“From showering?” you joke, but he fake laughs as he pushes his wheelchair away. “Leave your plate, I’ll clean it up”
“Thanks, sestra”
As you eat, you remember to send a text to Natasha, asking if she wants to have lunch with you tomorrow before she heads back to Boston for the rest of the week.
The kids are ready for bed and you walk upstairs, sitting between their beds and reading Dragon Feathers, which was your father’s favorite bedtime story to tell. Billy and Tommy laugh as you make different voices, the way your dad did when he told you the tale.
As soon as you’re done, they settle in bed, and Wanda’s the one who tucks them in, joining you at the door.
“I missed this” you say against her temple.
“I missed you” she agrees, leaning against your side. “Come to my study, I want to show you the drawings I made for the book”
The new working space was starting to grow on Wanda. Even if it was smaller, she had enough room to fit everything she needed, and her view was much better from the second floor.
You admire the sketches she hands you, looking at every detail and stroke of her pencil.
“Could I see you work one day? I don’t think I’ve ever done that, baby” you say, in awe of her talent.
“I don’t know, I might get too nervous”
“Please?” you pout, hoping that will change her mind. Wanda rolls her eyes and leans forward, standing on the tip of her toes to kiss you. Her movements turn more frantic and she catches you off guard when she pushes you against the small sofa, straddling your lap.
“Tell me more about her”
“About who?” you say, completely lost in the way her shirt strains against her breasts.
“That new doctor”
“Natasha?” you blink, trying to form a coherent thought. “Why?”
“Because. You’re working a lot, and apparently it’s next to a very beautiful woman whose name I hadn’t heard up until I saw you walking out of a room together”
“We were just talking” you mumble, more focused on undoing the buttons on Wanda’s shirt. She takes your wrists and pulls them away, forcing you to look up.
“I hope she knows your girlfriend is incredibly possesive and jealous” she whispers against your lips. “Or I might have to remind you who you belong to”
“I haven’t forgotten” you promise, looking at her lips intently.
“Then show me” Wanda says, her nails digging in your scalp. Whatever you were about to say dies in your lips as she kisses you, biting your lip and making you forget your name. You open your mouth, allowing her to explore it with her tongue and you carry her to the desk, pushing away everything so she can sit on it.
Wasting no time, Wanda holds her hips up so you can pull down her pants and underwear, and you kneel, moaning against her center when you begin to eat her out, desperate for her taste.
It feels like forever since you’ve had the chance to worship her body.
“That’s it” she moans as you bite the inside of her thigh, pleased with the way her legs close around your head. “I’m gonna…”
“Hold it”
“No, please”
“Did I fucking stutter? God, you are so impatient” you say, squeezing her throat as you move up, sliding two fingers inside her wet cunt. “Why can’t you just let me fuck you?”
“Oh, God” she says, getting wetter at your words.
“I think you’re the one who’s forgetting her place, baby” you say, hitting her G spot over and over until she can’t speak.
“Fuck” Wanda sighs, biting your neck as she finally gets her release. You kiss her, muffling her moans until her breathing evens out. “I missed that”
“Mhm” you smile, letting Wanda taste herself in your lips. “Come on. Let’s go to bed”
As you get changed and clean up, your phone pings several times.
“Work?” Wanda asks, but you’re smiling as you type.
“Huh? No, not work” is all you say, getting in bed and kissing Wanda. “Night, baby”
“Goodnight” she says, watching the screen of your phone light up again. You don’t notice because you’re already asleep, exhausted.
Wanda has to resist the urge to look at the text you just got.
You’ve never given her a reason to doubt you.
And yet, as she goes to bed, looking at your sleeping shape, Wanda can’t help but feel, there’s a part of you that’s not being honest.
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