#so I guess that doesn’t explain shit
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Someone I follow is occasionally complaining about house prices in the US and at first I was like: yeah I know you can’t get anything below 300k anymore much less in cities where 500k+ is more the norm. But. They dropped some prices and apparently they were talking about 200k houses???? Like where do you find those I’m begging
#I know I know the experience is not the same#we have a higher minimum wage and probably the quality of houses is better#not to mention the difference between dollar and euro#although 200k in dollars is only 184k in euros#so I guess that doesn’t explain shit#also aren’t taxes lower in the US?#the highest tax bracket is 37…#I pay 42 I think…#imagine only pay 10 percent of your income to taxes#someone who earns 100k a year apparently only pays 18% taxes#what is so expensive in the US then that everyone is complaining always?#because the thing they have instead of VAT is nowhere above 13.5%#fyi in the Netherlands we have 9% for food and 21% for other things#but I don’t think all us Americans are complaining about nothing when they talk about money so I’m genuinely curious where their money goes#i made an original post#like there’s an apartment on sale behind my room for almost 600k#I stand by the fact that that’s a ridiculous price and hey it hasn’t been sold yet it has been months#but like that does illustrate stuff#I do not even live in a big city#anyway I’m confused#economics#anyway so to recap my genuine question is: where does the money go
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Deeply tired (but unsurprised) sigh
#Well shit#I was breaking down about it this morning but now I just feel… empty#Like I guess the back-to-back experience with losing another friend who believed violence against (((Zionists))) weren’t hate crimes-#last night just. Poured me out emotionally#Oh yeah I was literally talking about how I’d lost 4 friends to the leftist antisemitism rabbit hole (after I explained the most recent one#And she kept asking for “context” to make sure they were “really antisemitic” instead of “not wanting Palestinians to die”#LIK GIRL THEY’RE SUPPORTING TERRORISTS AND USING PALESTINIAN VICTIMS OF HATE CRIMES AS A GOTCHA TO TELL JEWS TO SHUT UP#HOW MUCH MORE DO I NEED TO TURN MY POCKETS OUT?!?!#She kept saying she just wanted to “understand the context” so that she could judge if the antisemitism I saw first hand was real#And she kept bringing up “gEnOcIdE” as a rebuttal to me saying that there were people using Palestine as an excuse to be antisemitic#I’m so fucking done.#I told her off for making my personal trauma about I/P and told her that I couldn’t have a romance with#someone who doesn’t trust Jews to define their own oppression#Leftist Antisemitism#Personal#Okay to reblog#Vent#Prospective Convert#Jewish Convert#Jumblr#My Post
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I feel so bad for people who just watched the soul eater anime because make no mistake it was very good but if you don’t read the manga you miss out on crona’s war crimes arc and the fact that the big climactic battle is on the fucking moon & these are only two examples of how off the rails it gets
#soul eater#not exaggerating they go to the fucked up looking moon like the one in the sky and duke it out#stein goes wacky mode. it’s so good.#you also miss when dtk was trapped in a fucking book#there’s so much insane shit that just never got animated and it makes me so sad because however insane you thought the anime was it gets so#much weirder. maka gains the ability to fly on soul and they argue about the aesthetics of it.#makas dad (spirit?) essentially hires strippers to cheer up death after dtk is kidnapped. that also happened.#and (major storyline spoiler i guess) death dies. doesn’t explain shit to his son either.#i also think black star like literally actually trains so hard he becomes a god? i don’t think they explained that very well#they just went yeah he’s a god now and everyone was like sure that tracks
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I wish I could go back and tell younger me that I would in fact find that place one day full of people that I adore deeply and who I know love me in return. Who make me feel wanted and cared for and appreciated in a way I never thought would be possible. And none of it required hiding, or forcing myself to be a person I’m not. And I still have that space even though I’m aroace.
For the first time ever, I see a future where I’m not alone. And I wish I could go back and tell my younger self it would happen. It’s possible to not be constantly lonely.
#ravenpuff rambles#I’ve been lucky enough in my life to make amazing friends several times#several of whom are still in my life now#but it’s only been recently that I’ve felt like I truly found my place#I don’t know how to explain it#I guess up until now I have always gone into friendships expecting them to end and holding back just a little bit#and this is the first time I don’t feel like I have to run because I don’t feel like these people are going to leave me#maybe it’s just because one of them is also aroace and we’ve talked a lot about those similar feelings of being left behind#never had someone quite get that before#and maybe it’s just I feel more willing to open my heart#admittedly this group of ours went through some shit together and that’s how the friendships really started forming#and so maybe that helps#but it’s like#Have you ever met someone who is so much like you in so many ways that its like the joke of ‘#‘can I copy your homework?’ ‘yeah just be sure to change it so no one knows’#It’s a weird thing of feeling so completely and totally seen by somebody sometimes without having to say a word#anyways#I’m really happy with this little place I found and I wish I could tell younger me#and also tell xem that no it doesn’t look like a fanfic dream#no im not their person but yeah they’re kind of mine but that’s okay#its nothing and everything like I always thought of#and for the first time in my life I don’t feel a crush sense of loneliness#yes I wish I could see them in person#but I can be okay with everything I do get
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today. i have experienced the HORRORS (opened laptop for morning meeting while seated between boss and coworker; was greeted with ao3 page i forgot to close last night)
#it’s fine it’s fine i THINK it’s fine. both of them were looking at their own computers and i closed that shit SO fast and i have no reason#to believe that either one of them is online enough to know anything about ao3 much less enough about what it looks like to recognize it#from peripheral vision/during the quick glance they might have had the opportunity to get#fortunately my other coworker who i know IS quite online (the two of us literally had to team up to explain a meme to the other two people#that i was sitting between later during this VERY meeting. which i was so cool and normal during by the way) was sitting over on the#opposite side of the table. and i was cool about it externally. and they had no reaction of any kind. so#nevertheless. HORRORS. it wasn’t even like a story was open which would have been just a wall of text it was like. a search result.#displaying clearly and distinctly the site’s formatting#it doesn’t help that the rest of today has also been extremely stressful and the next few days will be much the same because there are#some Things i have to do that are fairly high-stakes and that i’m extremely stressed about. fun! fantastic!#i was literally only ON ao3 last night in the first place to try to pregame/destress ahead of having to come into work this week 😭#and i already fucked up something important today that’s setting a bunch of things back for multiple people. and i feel like i’m going to#get my period in the next day or two which would make it a week early if it happens. super fun. amazing!#guess i’ll just keep riding the adrenaline-fueled train wreck that never stops all the way through friday!#caseyposting
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“but i fear that they already got all the best parts of me” goes so hard
#if only this song came out like 6 years ago lol#i’m also nearing the end of season 2 of my free! rewatch and gosh haru’s conflict hits closer to home than ever#and idk if i’m just getting more emotional lately but makoto and haru’s fight in ep 11 deadass made me tear up#when will i stop relating to teenagers real or fictional lmao#part of me wishes i was still a teenager just because being a teenager would explain my sense of purposelessness in everything i do#like taking things one day at a time with a blurry future on a road leading to nowhere#but others having high expectations from you and being sad seeing you so lost#but you just don’t want to let go of what you have now#you don’t want to box your passions in what other people want from you#and going back to the lyrics of the song#you feel like there’s not much you can offer anymore ‘cause you were a ‘gifted’ kid and now you’re just an ordinary person#whose gone complacent to the disappointment of everyone who wants to see you succeed but you feel you don’t have it in you#so again you’re just floating through life trying to enjoy the blessings each day brings again with no clear goal#anyway idk what i’m writing#at the same time i’m glad i’m not a teenager anymore ‘cause that shit sucked#but being a grown adult sucks ass too#i know there doesn’t need to be any purpose in life but#i feel like things’ll be easier if i did have a dream#guess i need a best friend to take me to another country or something to inspire me or something#in other words i’m about to watch one of my fave free eps where rin and haru go to australia#anyway i’m rambling#michi yaps
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The Batman fandom has ruined the words replacement, coffee, cereal, green, pit and so many others lol. Every time I hear those words I just have a fight or flight response 😭
DONT even get me started. you should hear the sigh I make every time I see REPLACEMENT. like yes hate how are so many people so wrong
#whenever im writing Jason im always like. very carefully wording my away around having to use the word at all#bc it’s become such a fuckin Thing#like Guys that’s not How People Talk!!!!!!!!!#also ok last week I said I was gonna write out a short essay on some gripes I have about Jason characterization in the fandom#and like half of it has to do with ‘pit madness’ which. which. hrghfks#basically tldr about it. it’s some fucking bullshit that isn’t really like. canon supported#like ‘pit madness’ is a temporary thing immediately following immersion#and it’s THEORIZED that ra’s al ghul is bonkers evil bc of centuries of compounded use#but Jason went in ONE TIME and it wasn’t a full resurrection#and more importantly I THINK ITS A FUCKING COP OUT#oh here’s a deeply morally complex character who’s arc is defined by his tragedy and anger#what if uhhhh all of these complexities were caused by fuckin pit mind control or some shit and ACTUALLY he’s a good guy uwu#like WAY TO BE BORING I GUESS. GODDAMN#I don’t have evidence to support this but I suspect the whole concept came from morrison’s Jason arc#like as a way to explain why he’s completely off the rails there#but actually what you should do is ignore morrison’s arc bc morrison doesn’t know how to write Jason#ANYWAYS. Batman fandom is so annoying I’m gonna have to stop looking at it and just like#live in mt version of reality where I’m approaching comics from an increasingly scholarly angle#and read the good runs of the comics#and ignore whatever the fuck is going on with the Batman fans#asks#anonanonanonanah
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ooh I’m about to be done with the first draft of chapter 6 of scream au & I am very excited about this one it really serves I think 🫶🫶🫶 u guys won���t get to see it for a long time but. I’m just saying.
#chapter 6 my beloved#I mean I HOPE it doesn’t JUST start to get good in the second half#but I’ve always been most excited for the second half of this story#I guess that makes sense. it’s a slasher this is where shit really picks up#I’m just a big fan of chapter 6. her emotional impact. her comedy. her romance. her GORE#our final girls getting splattered with blood. several important things FINALLY getting revealed / explained after so much buildup#i like it.
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Anti-Capitalism and ChatGPT
(wordcount: 1,177)
Here’s the thing. I’ll be the first to admit that ChatGPT is cool, yeah? And I’m far from ignorant of the wonderful things it’s made possible. But there’s a pretty big problem with its professional usage,
and before you stop reading,
I promise that the point of this post is not "you have to stop using ChatGPT." Just. Stick with me for a minute, cuz contrary to what you might expect, this is not a problem contained to just the normies that don’t use ChatGPT: this is about how ChatGPT will affect you.
I’m about to use some scary words like “scalping” and “exploitation,” but remember I’m not accusing you of anything. In fact, let’s start with the good stuff.
Among other things, it could be argued that ChatGPT actually enhances workplace accessibility by “leveling the playing field,” in a way. Any job candidate can quickly make up for lack of time/skill/ability in one area by using ChatGPT to fill in the gaps, right? An individual’s personal quality of life can improve by “outsourcing” aspects of their work to ChatGPT — they have more free time, and maybe their work quality and pay grade improve too.
But I’d like to point out that this isn’t ChatGPT making life better for employees. This is actually ChatGPT eliminating the entire role of “employee.”
Okay, crazy statement time:
A person using ChatGPT in a professional setting is no longer an employee, but, in practice, actually a corporation.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Well, in concise terms, ChatGPT catalyzes the exploitation of labor by collecting it all in one place, meaning that the labor of hundreds of people can be scalped and represented as the work of a single entity: the individual using ChatGPT.
This essentially transforms the individual employee into a CEO of their own small corporation, which is being outsourced to larger corporations for work. Our new “CEO” doesn’t even have to pay any “employees,” keeping all of the profit they earned with the labor scalped by ChatGPT. This is why the individual is able to reap so much more profit from using ChatGPT than they ever could from working as a single employee.
You may think I’m trying to frame our new little “CEO” as the villain of this story, but it’s exactly the opposite. They’re just playing by the rules of the system, and within the system, it’s way nicer being a corporation than it is living as an employee. It’s just proof of concept that life on top is exactly as easy as we’ve all been guessing it is, and the only requirement for leveling up is a willingness to exploit labor. ChatGPT is a shiny new miracle tool that makes exploitation easy and accessible to everyone, and it doesn’t even look or feel like exploitation because there are no faces attached.
But that’s where this short-term improvement goes downhill: it’s accessible to everyone, including the actual corporations, who have already amassed the means to exploit labor en masse. If ChatGPT gives individuals a level-up by eliminating the role of employee and allowing them to act as corporations, how does that same level-up work when a corporation uses it? Well, I guess it’s a good thing the role of “employee” has been eliminated, because they aren’t needed anymore lol: not if your goal is to turn a profit, and we all know that’s just how things go.
But hey— galaxy brain here, but couldn’t that be kind of a good thing actually? The current system doesn’t function without people on the bottom who are available for exploitation, so if ChatGPT can automate the exploited parties for us by scalping labor from the past, then doesn’t that mean that the endless work necessitating human employment in the first place is finally… unnecessary? For the first time ever, we could be looking at a society where pretty much all of the labor is already accounted for, meaning all humans are free to pursue any passion they want regardless of their background, regardless of their class, regardless of how much money they- oh, right… Money.
The world I described above either sounds like a utopia to you or a dogshit stupid pipe dream, and unfortunately, both are true.
The problem is,
while technology has advanced to the point where it’s finally ready for automated labor, society has not.
We still live in a system where if you don’t work, you don’t eat, regardless of whether any work actually needs to be done. So… what actually happens in the current system if labor is automated?
Well, I won’t bore you with the typical “THE ROBOTS ARE TAKING ALL OUR JOBS” routine, but like. It’s only half wrong? I mean, we don’t even have the tech to automate all labor anyway, so it’s not like that’s literally what’s happening. But there are still… a lot of jobs that can be automated now, and that puts a lot of people in positions where they have to compete with ChatGPT in order to keep food on the table. It’s already a losing battle for a lot of people.
Using ChatGPT gives you a taste of corporate power, of the ability to exploit if it makes things financially easier for you. And that’s understandable, right? We’re all struggling in a system like this. Just don’t forget that line of reasoning when it comes full circle, where instead of getting to do the exploiting, you’re the one being exploited (again). Don’t forget what it was like to be on top: how normal it felt, reasonable, unremarkable. It didn’t feel like exploitation when you only experienced the profits. That is who owns you now. Let that radicalize you.
So long story short,
the existence and usage of ChatGPT is not the problem. In a better world, you’re right that ChatGPT could be a great ally, but the current structure of the job market has transformed it into a competitor. The human working class and ChatGPT are forced to compete against each other, not because it is rational for us to be enemies, but because the system pits all laborers against each other for the “privilege” of work. People are realizing that they really can’t beat the competition this time, so don’t scold them when they don’t share your enthusiasm. We’re all dogs in this fight, and ChatGPT has fucking lazer eyes.
It’s not the end of the world – the job market has always been prone to fluctuation – but this is different from your average fluctuation. It re-frames so much that used to seem impossible, but if we don’t change the system itself to match this advancement in technology, I guarantee it’s not gonna be the people at the top who pay the price.
The choice is not whether or not to use ChatGPT.
The choice is whether to discontinue ChatGPT so that society can continue with the relative stability it had before, or to embrace ChatGPT as the ally it could be by changing the structures that weaponize it against us.
(Okay I’m getting off my soapbox now, I sure hope nobody else is in this abandoned soapbox factory, can you imagine how embarrassing it would be if anyone actually heard me say all that lol)
#i could have written this in a more professional tone but so could ChatGPT so you get the manic rambling version#and again this isn’t an accusation of anyone and it’s not intended to make people feel guilty#it’s just me figuring out how to explain my position in a way that’s both concise and understantable i guess?#ive had several dude-bros mock me for being supposedly anti-progress or some shit but i never know how to respond cuz im just like#bro no if anything im saying it’s not enough progress and in this particular case it’s weirdly anachronistic in a way that has the potential#to destabilize a lot of people’s livelihoods#im not panicking about it cuz society already went to shit ages ago#(as if it ever wasn't going to shit)#but it would be kinda nice if things didn’t go even more to shit just because a bunch of supposedly ‘pro-progress’ humans refused to#acknowledge that their hardware was too old to run the new OS without blowing a fuse (if that makes sense)#(which it probably doesn’t cuz i suck at talking but im tired so i get to stop typing now)#(jesus christ wtf am i thinking posting this i dont wanna deal with it if anyone respondsss)#(whatever i spent like 3 hours on this so might as well)#anti capitalism#chat gpt#chatgpt#ai#tag rambles#text post#not vent
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[ID: The Pokedex image for Cyclizar, from Pokemon Scarlet and Violet. It is a large lizard-like creature running on four legs with a jade green body, with a large black-and-gray throat sac and a curled-up tail in the same colors resembling wheels. Its head is primarily black with a green central stripe just below eye level and round red cheeks, with a small black crest, making it look a bit like the handlebars and headlight of a motorcycle, or like someone wearing a motorcycle helmet. The base of its tail is a darker green that flares up slightly before the main portion of it curls into the “wheel”, resembling a seat. In short, it’s a dragon that is also a bicycle or motorcycle. End ID]
pokemon theory i just thought of: new pokemon appear in the pokemon universe when they're designed in this one. they're created ex nilho but they have retroactive realness; they weren't here yesterday, but today they've always existed.
pokemon researchers have had to suss this out on their own over decades, and it's a really unpopular theory, made worse by the fact that no one can come up with a better one. from their perspective pokemon generate spontaneously but in both chronological directions, and the similarities of many pokemon seem to be detived from a conscious and creative understanding of the world--their world, though? what other world could there be?. there are ice cream pokemon and pokeball pokemon and sword pokemon and trash bag pokemon.
there are so many pokemon with both wings and a beak. is this like swords? is there an ur-flying type that this class evokes? there are so many canine pokemon. but what is a canine? is there such a thing? there's only one set of sword pokemon, right. one tea-set line. is *feline* a coherent category? would the ur-feline have two legs or four? why do so many pokemon have humanlike bodyplans-- but then again, why so few?
pichu has always been the prior form of pikachu. why didn't it get counted in order? why do we call it that instead of saying pikachu is the middle evolution of the pichu line? why can so many trainers remember finding this out well into their journeys? why didn't ash start with one?
this is why pokemon researchers do a lot of labwork, drink heavily, and use ten year olds for field research. you can't have an existential crisis if you don't even know what time is yet.
#pokemon#long post#alcohol mention#delta episode#my beloved FUCKING RIDICULOUS reveal#the link cable reveal is truly something else I love it.#yeah uh. basically I think in Gen II it literally took until you the PC to discover firmly that Pokemon Hatch From Eggs somehow?#despite the daycare existing for some time?#which since Pichu does not appear in the wild there. explains a bit I guess. while raising many more questions.#in Gen IV explicitly since baby Pokemon DO appear in the wild and eggs HAVE of course been discovered… no clue.#but it also doesn’t explain Umbreon Espeon and Sylveon so like. Yeah anyway the Pokedex is weird and a victim of the multiverse.#(Leafeon and Glaceon get a pass for geographically-specific evolution methods as do like. Magnezone and Probopass and shit.#evolution with items and baby Pokemon who require incense likewise have a pass even if they raise more questions.)
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my supervisor straight up yelled at my coworker/us by extension that is not how you should reprimand at all 😭😭
#personal#i drove him home today unrealted bc usually our supervisor does it and i was like 😃 oh shit im so happy he doesn’t have to drive home with#that situation#i’m gonna be driving him home now probably just bc he’s literally ON my way same path and everything plus fuck it man driving home with ur s#supervisor gotta be awkward#no but the open floor plan is so weird sometimes#like having weekly meetings where you air out what someone did wrong or give any news to by their direct coworkers is weird#personally hasn’t effected me other than the one time my supervisor came to my desk and was like are you quitting#and i was like no my dads care taker is just leaving so i’m soaking up any rest time. i have a mental illness of over sharing so i don’t#care but i’m aware on a worker level that’s not good regardless how i feel#and i’ve overheard coworker explain oh yeah rest room tjme was high bc of my period or r#not open floor plan but my supervisor complaining about someone being dumb in a very specific scenario#guess who came in next day with that exact situation#which i guess could just be venting or gossip and isn’t that deep but also awkward to say hi to my coworker than realize oh our supervisor#was shit talking you yesterday#but anyway i know my oh my god she was like other companies are like this too girl please#like. i was saying i know my work place is just kinda loosey goosey and toxic but every time i hear something i shouldn’t on this floor i’m
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❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞
summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.
pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.
tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.
note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.
“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.”
You blink.
“Get the fuck out of my room!”
Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making.
At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls.
“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!”
“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze. Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!”
“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly.
You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.”
“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.”
You slam his head against the wall.
Definitely the wrong thing to say.
Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies.
“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”
Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—”
“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.”
Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you.
(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”)
“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—”
“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?”
Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.”
You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?”
You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.”
Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.”
ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)
“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home.
Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)
“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that.
(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”)
You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.”
Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze.
Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.”
“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much.
“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile.
Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.”
“I know.” Harry grins.
“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.”
“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally.
You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.”
(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)
The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow.
You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers.
“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.”
“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.”
You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”
James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you.
“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast.
“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”
(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.)
Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?”
James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.”
Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you.
“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.”
“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze.
“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.”
“Oi!”
Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.”
James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.”
“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary.
“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.”
(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”)
“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.”
“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.”
Harry wants to barf, actually.
After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.
“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.
“Away from you, Potter!”
And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”
Harry chortles.
“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?”
He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically.
“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”
It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name.
“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now.
“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?”
James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”
Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.”
Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right?
Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.”
“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily.
Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.”
Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.”
“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable.
“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced.
“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear.
“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.”
Harry’s eye twitches.
IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.”
Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly.
Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”
You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.”
The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?”
Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.”
James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.”
“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.
Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.”
“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading.
“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands.
“In your dreams!” You shrill.
You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.”
Harry nods. “Is it time already?”
“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.”
“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?”
Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.”
Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?”
Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?”
“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat.
You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.”
Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this.
“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes.
To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.”
“One date, then.”
You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?”
Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.”
“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.”
“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you.
“And I want to—”
“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.”
You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—”
“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.
“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration.
“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases.
“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words.
“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.”
“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.”
“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.
(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.)
“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance.
“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.”
“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm.
“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.”
“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.”
(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.”
“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth.
“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”
Remus doesn’t even have to think about it.
He falls in love.)
FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.
“Oi.”
The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?”
“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.”
Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.”
You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They��ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.”
Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.”
Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.
She stiffens.
Oh.
part two
#hp angst#hp fluff#hp imagine#hp x reader#james potter x reader#lily evans x reader#marauders angst#marauders fluff#marauders imagine#marauders x reader#sirius black x reader#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders fluff#remus lupin x reader
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try it. (matsukawa issei x reader)
tags/cw: roommates to lovers, somnophilia, fingering, mattsun sends porn as a coping mechanism, size kink if you really squint
word count: 3.1k
“i’ve always wanted to try that.”
issei chokes on his beer when you speak. you point at the tv in explanation, as though he needs one. the scene playing has just started out with a couple in bed, spooning while they fuck. everything’s covered, but it’s easy to tell through the blanket that the woman’s leg is lifted, her back arching against the man’s chest while she cries out lewdly.
“never been fucked in the morning?” he jokes, keeping his eyes trained on the screen so he doesn’t have to look at you. his laugh sounds awkward even to him.
“mm-mm.” you shake your head, draining your wine glass, and he can’t tell if that’s a confirmation or a rejection of his guess. but he can tell that that wine bottle on the coffee table is empty, because you would never say these things to him sober.
“not that part,” you explain. frowning when you realize there’s no wine left, you rise from the couch, disappearing from the room and padding down the hall. issei sighs in relief at the moment alone, running his fingers through his hair and tugging hard.
“she’s drunk,” he whispers to himself, a reminder. “she’s drunk, and she’s your friend. and you can’t afford rent anywhere else, you stupid fuck.” that’ll do it. he’s broke as shit, and you’re a good friend. he can steel his nerves with those facts.
“she was asleep when he started,” you call from the kitchen.
fuck.
issei drops his head back, hitting it on the wall a few times with purpose. fuck, fuck, fuck.
you come back in, and he straightens, yanking the throw blanket over his lap. you’re too drunk to notice.
you’re too drunk to notice much of anything, really — including your own running mouth.
“she was asleep,” you say again. “and he fucked her anyway—“ you rush to explain yourself, holding a hand out when his eyes find yours, wide and uncertain. “consensually, obviously.”
that doesn’t help. he’d been assuming that, but you confirming it makes it worse.
somnophilia, his mind whispers, the word latching itself to you.
“i dunno,” you shrug, your refilled wine glass brought to your lips. “i think it’s hot, i guess. i’d try it.”
he really can’t afford rent anywhere else.
—
you’re scouring roommate ads in a hungover daze the next morning.
what is your problem?, you think, rolling over to groan into your pillow. you open your bank app, staring at the number in your checking account and wondering uselessly if it’s enough to afford a place on your own. one where you’ll never have to look mattsun in the face again.
why did you tell him that?
your brain flashes through two bottles of wine and drunk admissions, and you switch over to uber eats, deciding that cooking is simply not an option today. standing in that kitchen for more then four seconds and risking running into him is not an option.
you know why you told him that. you know exactly why you told him.
you told him because, despite every coping mechanism you’ve tried over the years of living with him, matsukawa issei persists in being the most attractive man you’ve ever met.
you told him because you wanted to test the waters. why you would ever test the waters with somnophilia, of all things, and not something standard and vanilla like ‘making out with a friend just happens sometimes’ or ‘drunk hookups aren’t so bad’, you will never know.
but you’d told him because you think about it. you think about him, doing things like that. things that aren’t standard or vanilla or easily explained or plausibly deniable.
you think about matsukawa issei fucking you while you sleep. and maybe it’s happened one too many times. maybe now it’s all you think about, enough that it comes up in your stupid, drunk admissions.
maybe — just maybe — you hope he might take you up on it, now that it’s out there in the open like that.
but that’s just a maybe. so you’re looking for another apartment, on the very real chance that he’s going to call you a freak and never speak to you again.
your phone buzzes in your hand.
it’s a text from him.
[10:17 AM]
mattsun: [link attached]
your face crumples into a frown. “what?” you murmur, jabbing a thumb on the link and hoping it’s not a virus.
your phone starts moaning at max volume.
you scream, slamming down on the side button to lower the volume as the video intro plays through. your eyes fly to the title.
milf fucked by son’s friend while she’s sleeping
there’s no fucking way he just did that.
[10:19 AM]
mattsun: smth like that?
“matsukawa!” you scream, rolling out of bed and storming out into the hall. he’s laughing loudly from his room, and you all but kick his door down. “what the fuck is your problem?!”
he’s in bed, cackling gleefully and covering his face with his blanket — but his eyes are anything but shy when he looks at you.
“just trying to ease the tension-“
“by sending me porn?!”
he shrugs and gestures to his phone. “im just saying, you’re not alone! at least—“ he glances down at the screen “—3.8 million other people are into it, too-“
you scream in frustration, turning and stomping back to your room. his laughter follows, echoing through your door even when you slam it.
he does it for two weeks straight. every few days, you wake up to a new link, each video titled something more obnoxious than the last.
guy takes step-sister while she takes a nap
mom wakes step-son up with a special surprise on his birthday
repairman finds sleeping beauty home alone
each one draws an irritated screech of his name and the echoing giggles of satisfaction from his room.
you could stop it. in fact, he’s asked you more than once if you want him to.
‘if you really want me to stop, i’ll stop, he’d said in your kitchen last week.
‘just say the word,’ he’d reminded you on his way out one morning.
‘i think you and i both know how important consent is,’ he’d murmured just two nights ago, leaning on your doorframe, his eyes hot on yours.
you’d shivered under his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in something on your phone. you’d hoped he couldn’t see the way you’d pressed your thighs together, but when you looked up, he was already staring down at them.
he’d met your eyes again and just hummed, flicking his dark eyebrows up at you before turning away. your phone had buzzed with a new link only seconds after his bedroom door had clicked shut.
you’re certain he knows why you haven’t told him to stop. that the truth is that you don’t want him to stop. you’re certain he’s testing the waters now, too.
because each video he sends you gets closer and closer to being about roommates.
your phone buzzes in your hands. you wonder if he knows that you watch each one, waiting for him to pull the trigger on the one that sits unspoken in the space between you.
he does, a week later.
—
you’ve caught him, issei realizes belatedly.
maybe he should have noticed after you started sitting closer to him on the couch. or maybe after you’d refused to tell him to stop sending you porn. or maybe even after he’d sent you something titled ‘roommate can’t help himself while she sleeps’ at 4 in the morning and you hadn’t called the cops on him.
maybe he should have realized you’d caught him after any one of those. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t realize it, not until this very moment, as you’re standing from the couch and bending over to clean the table of empty beer bottles before bed.
he doesn’t realize it until he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear.
he glances at you shamefully when you bend at the waist, hoping you don’t look back and catch him. and then he coughs violently, choking on his own spit and drawing your attention.
he waves you off, blushing furiously and not even bothering to stop his eyes from flying to your ass when you just shrug and bend over again. your pajama shorts have ridden up, but there’s no lacy edge on pink panties where there should be.
yes, he’d noticed years ago that these shorts tend to ride up and not mentioned it. yes, he knows what kind of panties you wear. yes, he has a favorite pair.
what are you gonna do if you find out, call him a pervert? he’d sent you roommate somnophilia porn and you’d made him coffee in the morning.
“‘kay, goodnight,” you mumble, and issei wonders if you’re shy about it or if he’s just hoping you are.
“g’night,” he breathes, eyes finding yours. you keep eye contact all the way out of the living room. your eyes drop to his lap at the last second, and he watches a grin stretch across your face just before you disappear from the room.
he looks down at his lap, and then he swears under his breath. he’s visibly hard in his sweatpants.
—
he feels like a pervert. he really feels like a pervert.
he stands in the hall outside your bedroom, one hand on the knob, feeling like a pervert. it’s 2 in the morning, and he feels like a pervert.
he sighs to himself and turns the knob slowly — ever so slowly, because he knows how it creaks, and he doesn’t want to wake you. he pushes the door open carefully, and then he finds you in the dark, moonlight spilling over your body.
you’re completely naked.
you’re on your stomach, blankets draped over your lower half and one knee bent out toward the wall. issei can see the expanse of your bare skin and the swell of your breast, but you’ve got your back slightly to him, so he can’t see everything.
but it’s enough.
he breathes hard, stepping into the room and shutting the door silently behind him. he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard and giving a soft sigh as he pads over to you.
when he lowers his knees to your mattress, it’s with his heart in his throat and his cock straining against his pants. you look so innocent, so sweet like this, even while he’s sliding the blankets off of your skin and exposing you in the moonlight.
is he really allowed to want this as badly as he does?
your breath is steady, only changing slightly when he braces himself behind you, propped up on one elbow. he scoots toward you, breath caught in his throat, and then slides his hand under the back of your knee. you shiver, probably because his fingers are ice cold, and he keeps his eyes locked on the side of your face.
when you don’t give any other sign of waking, he lifts your leg and hooks it backward over his knee, opening your body up for him.
he swears under his breath, staring down at you in the moonlight.
you shift, adjusting to the new angle of your body with a sigh. your back presses to his chest, and issei has to press his lips together so he doesn’t moan at the sight of you.
he keeps his eyes on your face when he slides his fingers along your inner thigh, watching you intensely as his icy fingertips dance close to the spot between your thighs that’s radiating heat.
when he cups your bare cunt, your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but you don’t move otherwise. issei moans now, because your body knows what he’s doing, but you don’t.
he’d had a feeling before — in the weeks between that moment on the couch and this moment right here — that he’d unlocked a new, previously untouched fantasy. that his reaction to your drunken admission might have been about more than just being attracted to you.
he sees it now. now, as he’s sliding two fingers between your folds and watching as you remain completely unaware, he realizes that you’ve done something to him. that you’ve made him want to do this to you, tonight and every night after.
it takes every ounce of his self-control not to shudder and moan in your ear when your pussy twitches under his fingers, reacting to him even when you don’t.
he drops his head to your chest, eyes locked on your face as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. your lips part, and he freezes, but the sigh that falls out is nowhere near conscious, so he keeps going, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the bud while he massages your cunt with his now-warm fingers.
the first sign that you’re reacting is the growing ease with which he’s able to push his fingers against you. your entrance becomes slick, and he can’t help that he pushes his hips against your ass in response, seeking relief. he drops his touch lower and swipes the pads of his fingers through the mess there, spreading it all over your cunt.
when he circles your clit, slippery and warm now, your breathing changes, harder and rougher. the rise and fall of your chest pushes at his mouth, and he latches on with fresh fervor, watching your brows furrow and your lips twitch at the onslaught of sensations.
it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for him to push his middle finger past your entrance.
“fuck”, he whispers despite himself, mouth slipping off of you with a gentle pop and eyes rolling back in his head. your walls pulse around his finger, warm and velvety and wet beyond belief. his cock twitches hard in his pants as he slides his finger in and out of you, searching for that spongy spot that’ll wake you up.
he knows you might have wanted him to fuck you like this, but he can’t help himself anymore. he doesn’t have it in him to be careful anymore.
when his ring finger joins his middle, it’s with intent. the push is rough, bullying your cunt open with the size of his fingers, no doubt longer and fuller than you can get on your own.
you shift under him, a quiet noise of question leaving you, and he lifts his head, attaching his lips to the crook of your neck.
“y/n,” he whispers, more a moan than anything else. “need you.”
he sucks on the column of your throat while you come to, his fingers curling and spreading inside of you — his sloppy attempt to prepare you for him.
“h-huh-“ your head lifts slightly, and then you’re slamming it back against the pillow, your back arching. “oh, my god, mattsun-“
he almost comes in his pants when you say his name like that.
“couldn’t help myself,“ he starts, shaking his head and pushing his body against yours almost desperately. “you were so pretty.“ your cunt tightens around his fingers in response, and he files that away for later. keeps it in mind, the things that make you react like this. “need you so bad, y/n-“
“yes, god yes,” you breathe, a whine trapped in your throat. you turn your head, back still pressed against his chest, and drop your still-sleepy eyes to his lips.
the coil under issei’s navel tugs hard when he realizes how well he can read you.
he pushes his mouth against yours eagerly, moan unrestrained when your tongue slides against his. he wonders if you know how often he’s thought of this moment, years of wanting you and craving the feeling of you coming undone under his fingers.
“please,” you whisper against his lips, back arching when he pushes the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you whine. “more, mattsun.”
he groans, shivering when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth. “not yet — it’ll hurt,” he murmurs, leaning on every molecule of self-control.
“i can take it,” you just say, pushing your ass back against his aching cock. “promise.”
he never had that much self-control to begin with.
his moan comes out in a shuddered breath, overpowered by the sound of you whining when he slips his fingers out of you. he shoves his sweats down to his knees, meeting your eyes and seeing the urgency he feels reflected in your eyes.
when he slides his cock between your folds, it’s with a choked groan and a heaving pant in your ear.
“can i- are you sure-“ he stutters, already lining himself up at your entrance.
“please, please, please,” you babble, arching your back to make the angle easier on him.
you come around his cock before he’s even halfway in.
there are stars in his eyes by the time you’re done.
you cry out for him, shaking and clenching down hard, and he can’t do anything except bury his face in your hair and keep your leg lifted high with a trembling hand.
“fuck,” he breathes, voice tight. “fuck, y/n-“
“more, mattsun,” you sob. he thinks you might be the girl of his dreams.
pushing the rest of the way in, he shoves down his own orgasm, fighting and kicking and forcing it away so he can last more than thirty seconds inside of you.
he only manages a minute before he’s spilling into you with a stuttered moan of your name, face buried in your neck and head full of static.
you’re just slumped against him by the time he comes to his senses, breathing hard and synced with his.
“sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, ears burning with embarrassment. “i swear i usually last longer than that-“
you laugh, tired and still weak but bright all the same. “yeah — so do i.”
he snorts, pulling out slowly and letting your leg drop closed, trying his best not to moan at the feeling.
“are you sure that was okay?” he asks, a tiny inkling of doubt still seeded in his veins. you just giggle, whispering his name in fond exasperation.
“sorry, which part of me sleeping naked was a warning sign?”
“shut up,” he mutters, curling himself around you and feeling the beginnings of exhaustion start to drain his energy. “i’m staying here tonight. i don’t do one-night stands.”
you just turn in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. “was i that good, mattsun? i was asleep for half of it.”
you’re gonna be the thing that kills him, he just knows it.
#banner by @/cafekitsune !!#matsukawa x reader#matsukawa issei#matsukawa smut#haikyuu smut#hq smut#hq x reader#haikyuu x reader
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── crazy over you. ( pjs ) 🗯️
๑ When jay finds out that his brother tried to make a pass at you, he’s more than furious— and he’s going to make sure that shit never happens again.
pair: possessive bf!jay ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: smut, pwp, angst, mentions of cheating, humiliation, degrading, revenge, jay is so toxic and sooo mean in this, spanking, spitting, facial masks (iykyk), daddy kink, video recording, jay acting like nothing happened after, doing it in his jake’s bed... (yikes), sweet aftermath | words: 2.1k
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“it’s not what it looked like, jay !” “i promise it was nothing.” you attempt to try and explain yourself but the damage has already been done, knowing the ‘calm’ look he upheld on his features was anything but calm. your boyfriend has always been the jealous type, especially when it comes to you. you were terrified of the outcome, of what he might end up doing. you had no idea what he was gonna do to his brother, but you just prayed to the heaven’s above that nothing bad will happen to him.
jay sat manspread on the off-white leather sofa. staring blankly at your begging shape beneath him. so many thoughts were racing in his head all at once, he wasn’t sure whether to be more angry at you or his brother. what the hell were you even trying to protect him for? why were you so locked in on making sure jake doesn’t get hurt? all this pleading and crying over someone who made sexual advances towards you ? did you like it ? did you enjoy all the attention ?
he feels as though he’s been betrayed, not only by you but his own fucking brother at that. yet he still wants answers from you, he wants to know why you’d let him even say those things to you in the first place. granted they were just text messages but that still didn’t make it right, it was more than obvious that jake was trying to flirt with you. jay saw the messages himself, going through your phone while you were in the shower to see if you were hiding something; he noticed you’ve been acting different lately and wondered if there was anyone else in the picture. he had no idea it’d be jake of all fucking people.
after seeing those messages he’s now convinced that you fucked jake but you’ve already told him multiple times that you didn’t. he refuses to believe you though, he just thinks you’re covering up for him— which only pissed him off even more; and since jake isn’t here yet, why not just take out all his anger on you instead ?
“you’re not understanding, everyone says that cliché shit, y/n.”
“why you so worried about him for ? worry about your damn self.” jay aggressively spat. “you’re just gonna let him talk to you like that and not even tell him to stop once ? did you forget that you have a whole boyfriend ? guess i never really mattered to you after all.” jay put you in your place, making you feel even worse for your actions.
you’ve lost count how many times you’ve profusely apologized to him, on your knees in front of him as you beg for forgiveness. you’d rather take all the fall and have nothing happen to jake, you know it’d get really ugly if they got into a fight and jay can’t afford to get caught up with the police again.
“just punish me jay, please. i don’t want you to hurt jake, it’s not worth it—”
“what do i get out of not doing anything to him ?” “you want me to continue on knowing that he just casually tried to make sexual advances at my girl ? are you fucking stupid ?” he cut you off with even more harsh words. jay wasn’t having any of it, he’s already made up his mind and now he can’t get the horrifying image of you cheating on him with jake out of his mind. it just made his blood boil even more.
“no.. i just don’t want to ruin your relationship with him..” you paused for a second, watching as he grabbed his phone, completely dismissing your presence. “are you even listening ?” you get nothing in return but a camera being flashed in your face unexpectedly.
“pretty.. look a little more guilty though.” he chuckled to himself as he looked at the picture he took, still refusing to answer you.
“jay ! i’m trying to reason with you right now but you won’t even bother to hear me out.” your chest felt like it weighed a ton, heaving out a heavy sigh as you anxiously ran your fingers through your hair.
“go on, i’m listening.” jay finally acknowledges you again, his expressionless demeanor made you unable to read exactly what’s on his mind.
“i’ll do anything.. just, please forgive me.. baby, forgive us.” you try your best to appeal to him, clasping your hands together.
“how many times do i have to get through your head that there is no fucking ‘us’, it’s you and fucking me. stop bringing him up. he’s not even here right now !” jay bitterly spoke at you, it was like he bit every word before he let it bubble out of his mouth.
you could only stay quiet. what other option did you have at this point ?
“you want me to forgive you ? huh ?” it was barely even a second before you reacted, nodding your head eagerly. causing jay to chuckle at the helpless look on your face.
“desperate ‘n sorry, huh baby.. ? you’re the one who’s blatantly in the wrong and now you’re sitting here begging.”
he bent down, holding your chin in his grasp tightly, inching his face closer and closer to yours. “why didn’t you tell him to fuck off ? was it because you were enjoying it ? attention seeking slut.”
again you don’t say anything, even if you said no he’d just laugh in your face anyway, you couldn’t win no matter what you said or did.
“you got no god damn shame do you? do you, doll ?” before you knew it jay’s lips parted against yours, taking in your steady breaths, replacing them with heavier ones. jay put every bit of frustration he had in him into this kiss. the sounds of your lips parting only to meet again echoed around the living room.
he was sloppily devouring you, taking every bit of you that jake so desperately wants but could never have. he’s going to make sure he marks every inch of you, and make sure that you won’t be able to walk for a good week after he’s finished with you.
“fuck, get upstairs.” jay broke your savoring kiss, leaving a string of saliva dripping down your jaw.
“but i—”
“shut up. jake’s room. now,” he followed behind you as you paced up the stairs, smacking your ass on the way up. all that’s on his mind now is fucking you so dumb until you’re completely ruined.
this felt wrong to you, doing intimate activities in someone else’s bed. yet you were so caught into him you didn’t protest nor do a damn thing about it. you knew you’d have to face the consequences, so you’ll just have to suck it up.
๑ ๑ ๑
jay was filming you, watching you through his phone as you jerked yourself back onto his shaft. the sound of your dewy skin slapping together arousing him even more.
“fuck.. so big..” your hand crept up to your boobs, playing with them.
“you can take it, whores like you always can,” he panned his phone around the room before focusing it onto your ass.
“mine. all fucking mine.” jay groaned as he pulled away, spanking your ass before taking his phone to set it up on a pillow. he then proceeds to show the ‘viewers’ a thumbs up with a raise of his eyebrows as if he was just casually doing a livestream.
“hurry, please baby..” you pinched and circled around your needy bud. waiting on jay’s say-so.
“don’t be fucking rude, say hi.” he points to the camera before returning his gaze to you.
you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your life, as you should be, you’re being filmed, even if you gave him consent, your head still hung low. “hi..” you mumbled, even adding a little wave.
your bare skin clung onto jay’s, arms needily hanging onto his body. eyes begging for his touch.
“what do you want ?” jay devilishly smirked, eyeing down at you but you don’t say anything, instead giving him a pleading look that you hoped to be understood.
“gotta use your words, closed mouths don’t get fed sweetie.”
“i want your big cock in me.. please.” you manage to cry out, hoping that he’d find some sympathy within to give you what you want.
“who’s?”
“daddy’s.. i want daddy’s big cock in me..soo bad..!” you whined, unable to bear the mess between your legs, the feel of your warm arousal dripping down your legs made your clit throb for more.
“mmh, that’s my good little slut..” he smacked his lips, tapping your thigh indicating that he wanted you to lay down.
jay dragged you by the waist, positioning you in front of the camera. checking the angles from time to time. when he finally laid eyes on the prize he felt his length tighten. how fucking pretty you looked, your puffy needy pussy. how wet you are for him. he ran his fingers through your folds, taking some of your slick to bless the camera with.
“you think she’d ever get this wet for you ?” he chuckled, licking the sweetness off his fingers before stationing himself between your thighs.
“oh— fuck, squeezin’ me already,” jay gasped at the tight fit. it was like taking your virginity all over again. your messy cunt swallowed him whole. but that didn’t stop him from destroying it did it. no?
he was ramming into you like no tomorrow, producing deep, harsh strokes as if he wanted to leave you permanently bedridden. you were delirious, unable to form a single thought as you continued to get pounded into relentlessly. you could have sworn missionary was supposed to be a ‘romantic’ position. your soft weeping and moaning was accompanied by the squelching of his length repeatedly entering your tight. one of his arms hooked around your leg while the other laced on your stomach, applying pressure onto your abdomen.
“fuckfuckfuck, baby.. ! i’m so full !” your fingers grabbed and groped at the navy blue sheets. throwing your head back at the symphonies jay made with just your body.
“you full?” he chuckled at your stimulated appearance, looking so fucked out already.
“don’t stop, daddy.. ohmygod..” your eyes roll to the back of your head.
oh he most definitely wasn’t gonna stop, no fucking way was he going to stop. you’re not done until HE says you are.
“stupid tight fucking cunt ...” jay hovered over your body, kissing from your chest up to your jaw. “open your mouth.”
you comply, opening your mouth widely with your tongue out, to receive his own saliva, like the thirsty slut you are. wrapping your legs around his waist so you could feel him deeper inside your tight fit.
“good fucking girl..” “you’re daddy’s dirty little toy” “say it.”
“i’m daddy’s..— mm..” your voice was shaking, the sensation of jay’s lower rubbing against your clit was elating. “dirty little toy..!”
“oh god.. ’m gonna come..” you soon reached your climax, bubbling right at it’s tier, before jay could even speak you coated his thickness in a white dripping mess. “fuck..”
jay quickened his pace, edging himself before quickly retreating himself. climbing over your body, pumping and rubbing his length. his voice getting more pungent with each stroke before he came all over your face.
he reached back rubbing your thighs before leaving your frame to grab his phone, filming your current state. pearly strings of white decorating your hair and your beautiful face. the leftover residue of his semen on your lips and the finger you were currently sucking on, cleaning it of his spill.
“did so good for me, princess..” he praised, rubbing your sides gently, earning a tired hum from you.
“jake, you ought to tell me where you got this bed !” he displayed a mischievous smile to the phone that was still recording.
“mama, wanna go pee for me ? put your clothes back on too..” he pampered you, looking at you with loving eyes as if he wasn’t just shouting at you an hour ago.
“okay..” you stretched, giving jay a quick kiss on the cheek before heading into the bathroom.
“oh, jake, i used one of your condoms by the way, tight fit.” jay whispered before kissing the camera and waving goodbye, ending it once and for all.
๑ ๑ ๑
‘lil bro’
pending...
[ attachment sent ! ]
“he’d probably jerk off to this. fucking perv.” the boy scoffed, slipping his legs through the holes of his sweat pants.
[ seen ]
“oh ? haha.” jay giggled to himself as jake opened the message right away, “babe, you almost done ?”
you come out of the bathroom fully clothed, washed your face, and fixed your hair. “mhm, all set now.” you link arms with your boyfriend who now had an innocent look on his face, resembling nothing like what you saw from earlier.
“alright, let’s go, sweetheart.”
(¯∇¯٥) !!
#jay x reader#enhypen smut#enhypen scenarios#jay smut#enhypen x reader#park jongseong smut#enhypen drabbles#enhypen imagines
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flutter
Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader
snapshots masterlist
summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?
word count: 3.5k
a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.
“Shit.”
You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?
Over the last few months, there’d been changes.
Some subtle and some not so subtle.
“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”
She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.
“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”
During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.
“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”
You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.
One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.
Not until now.
“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”
“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”
“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”
Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.
It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.
“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.
Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.
After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.
He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.
You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.
Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”
“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”
One stern glare from her had shut you right up.
“Fine.”
Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.
You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.
With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.
As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.
“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”
“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”
“You’re bigger!”
With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”
She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.
“You look different. I mean, you look great—”
“Ellie?”
“Yeah?”
“Just shut up and eat.”
“Deal.”
She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner.
“You get your fractions homework done?”
“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”
Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”
“Sure.”
As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.
“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.
“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”
“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”
“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.
Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.
She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”
Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”
“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”
“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”
“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”
Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.
Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.
And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.
In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.
You bite back a small sigh.
By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.
“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”
“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”
You hear a chair scrape against the tile.
“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”
“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.
Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.
He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair.
The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.
Uncomfortable.
Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.
“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”
“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?”
He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”
You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”
Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.
“Mhm,” is all he says.
Your smile falters.
It’s the middle of August.
The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.
“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”
He’s met with silence.
Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”
Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”
“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”
Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.
“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”
Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”
“Huh?”
“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”
Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”
“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”
“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.
“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten.
“What are you afraid of?”
Joel almost laughs.
He doesn’t know where to start.
He’s afraid of everything.
“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”
“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”
“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”
“Joel—”
“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”
Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.
“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”
“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.
“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”
He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”
“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”
Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home.
“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.
“What does it fucking look like, man?”
“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”
Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.
“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”
Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”
Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.
He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.
He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.
He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.
Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.
Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.
He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.
The man you both needed.
Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?
He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.
“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”
“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”
He doesn’t have to tell you twice.
Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.
Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.
He waits.
And waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Until the minutes turn into hours.
Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains.
Until he finally feels that little flutter again.
He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.
He’d just felt the baby’s movement.
There’s a sudden shift.
Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.
His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.
Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.
With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.
Maybe his brother’s right.
Maybe he will be just fine.
divider credit to @saradika 🤍
#tw pregnancy#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x pregnant reader#joel miller one shot#joel miller drabble#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#fic: snapshots
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Like … for Uber?
Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: maybe you should have been a bit more specific when you told your parents that your boyfriend drives for a living
The aroma of roast chicken and freshly baked rolls wafts through the air as you nervously adjust the centerpiece on the dining room table. Your parents and younger brother are due home any minute, and you’ve spent the afternoon preparing for this pivotal family dinner. Tonight, they’ll finally meet your boyfriend.
The doorbell chimes, sending a jolt through your body. You hurry to the entrance, smoothing down your dress before opening the door. Max stands there, a bouquet of flowers in hand and an easy smile on his face.
“Hey,” he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “These are for your mother.”
“Thanks, you didn’t have to do that,” you reply, taking the flowers. “Come on in. My family should be here soon.”
As you lead Max into the living room, you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. You haven’t exactly been forthcoming about Max’s career, telling your family only that he’s “a driver.” It wasn’t a lie, per se, but you knew they assumed he worked for a ride-sharing service or delivery company.
“Nice place,” Max comments, looking around. “Very ... homey.”
You laugh. “Is that a polite way of saying it’s nothing like your fancy Monaco apartment?”
“No, I mean it,” he insists, pulling you close. “It feels lived-in. Comfortable.”
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway interrupts your moment. “That’ll be them,” you say, your stomach doing somersaults. “Ready?”
Max squeezes your hand. “Always.”
Your parents burst through the door, arms laden with grocery bags. Your mother’s face lights up when she spots Max.
“Oh, you must be the boyfriend!” She exclaims, setting down her bags to give him a hug. “You’re even more handsome than Y/N said.”
Your father steps forward, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, son. Heard a lot about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” Max replies with a chuckle.
As introductions are made, you can’t help but notice your parents exchanging curious glances. You know they’re dying to ask about Max’s job, but they’re too polite to broach the subject right away.
“Dinner smells amazing,” your father says, sniffing the air appreciatively. “Shall we sit down?”
Everyone gathers around the table, and you begin to serve the food. The conversation flows easily at first, with your parents asking Max about his family and where he grew up. But as the main course is cleared away, you can sense the questions they’re itching to ask.
Your mother finally breaks. “So, Max, how long have you been driving?”
Max looks momentarily confused. “Uh, professionally? Since I was 17, I guess.”
Your father’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seventeen? Isn’t that a bit young to start with Uber?”
“Uber?” Max repeats, bewildered. “I don’t-”
You quickly interject, “Dad, Max doesn’t work for Uber.”
“Oh, my mistake,” your father says, looking embarrassed. “Lyft, then?”
Max turns to you, a mix of amusement and confusion on his face. “Schatje, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Before you can explain, your mother chimes in. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, dear. Driving for those apps is honest work. We’re just curious about what it’s like.”
Max opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. “Mom, Dad, I think I need to clarify something. When I said Max was a driver, I didn’t mean-”
The sound of the front door slamming interrupts you. Your younger brother, Tommy, comes barreling into the dining room, out of breath and wide-eyed.
“Sorry I’m late, I was at practice and-” He stops short, his jaw dropping as he spots Max. “Holy shit! You’re Max Verstappen!”
The room falls silent. Your parents look from Tommy to Max, then back to Tommy, confusion etched on their faces.
“Language, Tommy,” your mother scolds automatically, before adding, “Wait, what did you say?”
Tommy is practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s Max Verstappen! He’s not just any driver, he’s a Formula 1 World Champion!”
Your father turns to Max, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. “Is this true?”
Max nods, looking slightly sheepish. “Yes, sir. I’m a Formula 1 driver for Red Bull Racing.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Your mother is the first to recover, letting out a nervous laugh. “Oh my, and here we were asking you about Uber! We must look so foolish.”
“Not at all,” Max assures her, his smile warm and genuine. “It’s actually quite refreshing. Most people I meet already know everything about me.”
Your father leans forward, his interest piqued. “So, Formula 1 ... that’s the racing with the really fast cars, right?”
Max nods, launching into an explanation of the sport. As he talks, you can see your parents becoming more and more fascinated. Tommy, meanwhile, is peppering Max with questions about his latest races and rival drivers.
“I can’t believe my sister is dating Max Verstappen,” Tommy says for the third time, shaking his head in disbelief.
You feel a blush creeping up your neck. “Tommy, please ...”
Max reaches under the table to squeeze your hand. “It’s alright, liefje. I’m just glad they know now. No more secrets, yeah?”
Your mother stands up suddenly. “Oh, goodness! I completely forgot about dessert. I’ll just go fetch it.”
As she hurries to the kitchen, your father clears his throat. “So, Max, I have to ask ... is it dangerous? All that racing, I mean.”
Max considers the question carefully. “There are, of course, risks. But the cars are incredibly safe these days, and we take every precaution possible.”
Your mother returns with a homemade apple pie, setting it down in the center of the table. “I hope you like pie, Max. It’s an old family recipe.”
“It looks delicious,” Max says sincerely. “Thank you for going to all this trouble.”
As your mother serves the pie, the conversation shifts to more casual topics. You find yourself relaxing, relieved that the truth is finally out and that your family seems to be taking it well.
“So, how did you two meet?” Your father asks, between bites of pie.
You and Max exchange a glance, both smiling at the memory. “It was at a charity event in London,” you begin.
Max jumps in, “She spilled her drink all over my shoes.”
“Max!” You exclaim, swatting his arm playfully. “I did not spill it, you bumped into me!”
He laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Maybe we bumped into each other. Either way, I’m glad it happened.”
Your mother sighs contentedly. “That’s so romantic. And now look at you two, so happy together.”
Tommy rolls his eyes. “Gross, Mom. Can we talk about racing again?”
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of laughter and conversation. As the night winds down, you find yourself in the kitchen with your mother, washing dishes while Max chats with your father and Tommy in the living room.
“He’s a lovely boy,” your mother says softly, handing you a plate to dry. “I can see why you like him so much.”
You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry I wasn’t more upfront about his job. I just ... I wanted you to get to know him as a person first, you know?”
Your mother nods understandingly. “I get it, sweetheart. It must be hard, dating someone so famous. But from what I’ve seen tonight, he seems very down-to-earth.”
“He is,” you agree, glancing towards the living room where you can hear Max’s laughter mingling with your father’s. “He’s just Max to me.”
As you finish up in the kitchen, Max appears in the doorway. “Need any help?”
Your mother shoos him away. “Absolutely not, you’re our guest. Go relax.”
Max insists on helping anyway, drying the last few dishes as you and your mother put them away. The domesticity of the moment strikes you, and you find yourself imagining a future where scenes like this are commonplace.
Later, as you walk Max to his car, the cool night air nips at your skin. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.
“That went well, I think,” he says, a hint of relief in his voice.
You nod, leaning into him. “Better than I expected. Sorry about the Uber mix-up.”
Max laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Don’t be. It was kind of fun, actually. Your family is great, by the way.”
“They liked you too,” you assure him. “Even before they knew you were famous.”
He stops at his car, turning to face you. His eyes are soft in the moonlight as he cups your face in his hands. “That’s all that matters to me. That they like me for who I am, not what I do.”
You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss. “I love you, Max Verstappen, Uber driver extraordinaire.”
He grins against your lips. “And I love you, Y/N Y/L/N, girl who definitely did not spill her drink on my shoes.”
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#max verstappen#mv1#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen fic#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#max verstappen x female reader#max verstappen x y/n#red bull racing#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen drabble
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