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sunrizef1 · 10 months ago

Text

Milk and Sugar

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not edited, cursing maybe, the ex gf isn’t anyone specific don’t @ me

Summary: Max is tired of his persistent ex girlfriend and friends that are maybe a little too empathetic about his breakup. What better way to scare them off than getting a new girlfriend? But he doesn’t actually want a new relationship. Enter: you. The perfect (fake) new girlfriend.

Word Count: 9.6k

Authors Note: this fic was kicking my ass im gonna be so fr. It took forever and I just couldn’t write the ending for some reason. Hopefully now that this is up, I can do something else lmfao

You were just doing a favor for a friend.

Or that’s what you had told yourself when Max had originally asked you to go along with his stupid idea. You hadn’t even really wanted to agree, by the way. He had just needed your help so badly and that’s what friends are for, right?

So that’s how you’d ended up in his garage, Red Bull hat pulled tightly over your head as you watched his car sail around the track in Brazil, the season well under way.

You’d met Max a few years back. You’d moved into the apartment next to his, not even blinking as your eyes scanned over the future world champion, too focused on your dog trying his best to distract you from the heavy box in your hands.

“Apollo! Stop!” You sighed at the dog as he jumped at your legs, trying his hardest to knock the box full of dog food and treats out of your arms. The dog, not knowing English, didn’t listen, of course, continuing his assault on your calves.

The box tilts in your grasp, coming dangerously close to falling out of your arms. But suddenly, the weight is lifted away and Apollo seems to turn his attention to whatever had relieved you from your struggle, giving you the opportunity to pull the small dog into your grasp, trying your best to calm his rowdiness down.

Once you’ve gotten the dog to calm down a significant amount, you look up to see who’d saved you from hours of cleaning loose dog food off the floor during your first day in your new apartment. You’re met with bright blue eyes staring back at you, a concerned look on the strangers face.

You’re too worried about the pretty man in front of you to even worry about Apollo as he starts to nibble lightly on your jacket.

“Are you okay?” And then he speaks for the first time and you’re captivated. Not in a love-at-first-sight way, of course. More of a this-guy-might-be-perfect kind of way.

You nod, gently separating your dogs mouth off your hoodie string, petting his, most-likely, empty head warmly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. This little guy just really wanted that food, I guess.”

The stranger laughs, moving the box in his arms to rest against his hip, “I’m more of a cat person, anyway.”

You fake a wince, shaking your head with a frown, “Ahh, guess we can’t be friends then, mysterious stranger. Im a dog person all the way.”

He laughs again, grinning warmly, “Any way I could help you with this? Can’t imagine it’s easy moving in with a dog running around.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your hand fumbling to fish the key to your new apartment out of your pocket, “Only if you’re free! I wouldn’t want to bother my new neighbor on my first day.”

Your neighbor shakes his head, light brown hair falling down on his forehead, “It’s no big deal, I’m surprisingly free today.”

You smile, pushing the door to your apartment open, setting Apollo down as you enter. The dog immediately starts to scope out the area, bounding up and down the halls, his collar jangling loudly as he does. You hear the man enter behind you, watching as he walks over and places the box of dog food on the counter in the kitchen.

“Usually I learn a man’s name before I invite him into my apartment,” you smirk, laughing as a blush coats your neighbors face. He takes the few steps back over to close the gap between you, sticking out a calloused hand toward you.

“I’m Max.”

You smile, repeating his name before reciting your own, clasping your hand in his much rougher one, tilting your head up at him as you shake, letting go after a few moments.

“It’s nice to meet you max,” you say, smiling as you see Max’s face light up happily, “How inclined would you be to helping me get the rest of my boxes?”

Max laughs as he sees the sweet grin on your face, shaking his head as he moves toward the door, “I’d love to help, y/n. Can’t have my new favorite neighbor moving in alone, can I?”

Your face splits into a grin as you follow him toward the exit, turning to make sure Apollo was comfortably inside the apartment so he wouldn’t try and run away before closing the door behind you.

Max did help you that day, the moving in process going substantially quicker with the help of the athlete. He even invited you over to his place for dinner, explaining that it’d be too much of a hassle for you to make dinner after moving in all day. You didn’t bring up the fact he’d been moving all day as well, simply following him next door instead.

That had been three years ago and you’d been friends ever since. It was a casual friendship, more moved by the proximity than anything else.

He’d had to explain f1 to you, you being completely unfamiliar with the sport despite having moved to Monaco, probably the place with the most connection to it. Now, you’d casually watch his races as you worked or ate dinner, not entirely sure what was going on but supporting your friend anyway.

He’d also eventually asked you to watch his cats for him, Jimmy and Sassy being surprisingly friendly with your puppy. Max had been scared about introducing them, prefacing with many statements about how much the cats hated dogs and that it really wouldnt be a problem if you couldn’t watch them if they hated each other.

All that talk went out the window when the first thing the pets did when they met each other was take a nap.

It was January when it happened. You had been sitting calmly in your apartment, watching Bridgerton and eating pasta, your work computer abandoned to the side of the couch. You had a blanket pulled over your lap, a hot mug of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Rare snow fell softly outside your window, albeit not very much snow but snow nonetheless.

You were very content.

This, of course, all came crashing down when you heard the sound of your apartment door banging open, heavy footsteps signaling the arrival of your neighbor. You’d given him a key for emergencies, although you couldn’t possibly imagine what could warrant an emergency at this time.

You roll your eyes as you hear him approach, setting your pasta down on the table and grabbing the remote to pause your show, turning as Max throws himself down on the couch next to you.

“Hello, Max. Can I help you?” You sigh, trying to force a smile onto your face. Max seems to catch your discontent and grimaces, wincing away slightly.

“Bad time?”

You let out a breath, not able to stay mad at the Dutch man for very long, “Maybe a little, but it’s fine, really. Did you need something?”

Max nods, sitting up straighter, “I may or may not have a formal request. Neighbor to neighbor.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his response, noting his slightly nervous behavior, “Okay?”

He takes a deep breath before speaking, his eyes trailing over toward where your tv was currently paused, “You know how I just went through that breakup, right?”

You hum, all too familiar with the aforementioned breakup, having had Max barge into your apartment for comfort food and movie marathons more than a few nights in the wake of his, now ex, girlfriends departure.

“Well,” Max starts and you can sense the hesitation in his tone but considering he had interrupted your night, you opted to let him flounder, “It’s been weird on the grid since then.”

“Okay,” you hum, eyes glancing over his face and catching the way he grimaces.

“Ever since the break-up, all the guys have been looking at me like I’m a child, you know? Like I might fall apart any second. Even though I’m completely fine!”

You stare, knowing more than anyone else, that he wasn’t very fine for a while, although he’d miraculously recovered over the past few months. You also stared in hopes he’d soon get to the point of the conversation.

“They also keep trying to set me up with their friends as if I need a rebound when I would really rather stay single,” Max groans, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Your furrow your eyebrows, wondering where this could be going.

Max glances up, eyes avoiding yours at all costs, “I was wondering if you could, maybe..”

Max trails off, wincing slightly. You stare straight ahead at him blankly, waiting for him to finish his request. He does eventually mumble something under his breath and you lean forward, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry?”

Max grumbles, annoyed and you roll your eyes at the attitude of the man disrupting your own night.

“Could you pretend to be my girlfriend for a while?” Max rushes out, hands carding through his hair nervously, “Just long enough for the guys to leave me alone, you don’t even have to do anything, maybe just come to Brazil and Monaco-“

Max continues to ramble on for a few seconds, words seeming to fall out of his mouth unceremoniously before he’s cut off by you interrupting him.

“Max!” You raise your voice slightly in an attempt to talk to over him. Max freezes, looking at your face for the first time since he’s crashed through your front door, “I’ll do it.”

He stares at you blankly for a few moments, trying to process your words, “Really?”

You shrug, teeth digging into your lip as you turn your head toward the large window across the room that overlooked the darkened city of Monte Carlo, “Why not? You’re my friend. Plus I work remotely and who doesn’t want to travel around the world to all those different cities?”

Max’s face lights up at your response, his lips forming a huge grin. He rolls over into a lying position, practically star-fishing on your couch, “Thank you so much! I owe you one.”

You hum, fighting the smile on your lips as you watch him close his eyes calmly. You slip up from the couch quietly, padding over to the kitchen to grab something.

“Where are you going? Did I scare you off already?” You hear Max call as you walk away. As you walk back over, his eyes are still closed though, signaling that he didn’t really think he’d scared you off.

He does open his eyes as you set the bowl of leftover pasta and a fork on his chest before grabbing your own and sitting down, grabbing the remote to press play. He glances over as you settle into the couch and move your blanket over your lap before he sits up. You take a bite of your pasta as you continue to watch your show. Max takes a second but he eventually digs in as well, sitting up in order to grasp the bowl better.

Even after the pastas finished, you both sit back on the couch in order to finish the show. You glance over at Max, his eyes still locked onto the screen.

What had you gotten yourself into?

————

“Are you ready?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you sit in the passengers seat of Max’s car, the hoards outside having no idea what was waiting for them inside. You slide your sunglasses onto your nose, hoping they’d hide at least a little bit of the anxiety flowing through you.

You nod, turning your head toward Max in the drivers seat, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Max hums, not entirely convinced but also aware he had no other option but to believe you considering he’s the one who’d asked you to do this. He opens his door, stepping out and sliding his own sunglasses on. You watch as he walks around the front of the car before stopping in front of your door and pulling it open. You pause for a moment but eventually step out, trying not to wince as the bright sun hits you.

You immediately step into his path, falling into stride next to him as you both walk toward the entrance. You hear the car lock behind you and watch Max pocket the keys.

The bright Miami sun beats down on your skin, causing you to wish you’d opted for a thinner shirt. Max had originally proposed for your first race to be Monaco but you had decided it was better to appear earlier than later for his sake. Plus, you’d always enjoyed Miami and were up for the idea of traveling there. You’d also originally planned to buy your own plane tickets but Max was quick to shut that one down.

As you both approached the turnstiles, Max pulls his lanyard out of his pocket. You don’t even notice as he pulls you inside the paddock, too busy trying not to notice the cameras surrounding you. Flashes come from all around you, the incessant clicks echoing through your head.

You finally do notice that Max hasn’t let go of your hand after he pulled you into the paddock. You grasp his hand a little tighter and he pulls you closer into his side as a response. When heat starts to rise to your face, you decide to blame it on the Miami sun.

As you both walk toward the Red Bull hospitality, heads turn to watch you walk by. You can feel people’s eyes trailing after you, locked on your unfamiliar form. Everything new in the paddock very quickly became a spectacle. Especially when it involved the current world champion.

You’re sure you’ll see pictures of yourself splashed all across the internet when you wake up in Max’s hotel room the next day. You’re sure your mom will send you whatever article they’ll attach your name to, no doubt hounding you for information about your new celebrity “boyfriend”.

You’d been curled up in Max’s hotel room the whole weekend, occasionally dipping out to get food with him between events. He’d wanted you to come to the track since Thursday but you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to step out as “Max Verstappens new girlfriend” until you’d woken up Sunday morning.

You’d woken up before Max, somehow. As you laid in your plush hotel room bed, you could hear Max’s soft breathing from the other bed filtering through the silence of the morning. Just outside the window, the city of Miami was waking up. At least, the early birds were.

You and Max had slept in the same room enough over the years, Max randomly crashing at your place pretty often, that when he suggested you getting a different room, you’d immediately turned him down. You were telling yourself it was just because it was nice to have the comfort of a friend but something deep down knew that that wasn’t the only reason.

You let the only sounds be his breathing and the light hum of the air on unit for a few more minutes while you woke up. You slid out of the bed as silently as possible, your feet padding quietly against the carpeted floor. You pull the door open to the balcony slowly, stepping out before closing it behind you. The sun is still pretty low in the sky but it still makes you flinch as it seeps into your eyes.

You sink into one of the two chairs out on the balcony, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on top, letting your thoughts run wild.

You watch Miami move below you, the sun slowly shining down brighter and brighter, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

You weren’t entirely sure why you’d agreed to this idea so quickly. With every day that passed, you wished more and more that you hadn’t. Doubt seeped through you with every second you watched Max from the hotel television. He was just so good at his job and such a cool, wonderful person and athlete. How could you keep up with him? The press would be insistent and non-stop invasive. Fans would, no doubt, dogpile on you as well, both warning to know everything about you as well as rip you apart. You start to wonder if there was a single positive of this for you.

The door slides open behind you and you can hear Max moving onto the balcony beside you. You don’t glance over, only moving your gaze away from the skyline as a mug is held in front of your face. You glance down at it, spotting the coffee inside before you grasp the mug out of his hands gently. The ceramic warms your hands, the steam from the liquid splaying across your face.

“There was only those little creamer pods,” Max hums as he takes a sip of his own mug, leaning against the bannister in front of you, “Hope that’s okay.”

You chew at your lip, taking a sip of your own mug, humming lightly as your gaze locks on his back, “That’s fine, thanks.”

You’d usually take your coffee with milk and a spoonful of sugar but you’d had enough gas station or hotel room coffee that you’d be able to survive with just the creamer pods.

You watch Max’s side profile as he stares out at the city, the sun bouncing off the edges and planes of his face and perfectly lighting up his eyes. You bask in quiet that settles between you, sipping at your coffee periodically. You don’t quickly forget the kindness of his gesture. Actually, the action stays in your head for longer than it probably should, mind running wild as you think about his motives.

You dismiss it, though, not wanting to linger on something that probably meant nothing.

“You coming to the race today?” Max turns around to face you, his back leaning against the rail he’d just been looking out over.

Your eyes trace him as he turns, evaluating his early morning form. As you look at this man, your friend, you think about the coffee in your hands. You think about the times he’d dogsat Apollo despite hating dogs, the days he’d come over just to keep you company when you were homesick, when he’d attempted to cook you soup when you’d been sick despite his complete inability to cook soup, you even think back to the first day you’d met when he’d helped you move in despite having known you for all of thirty seconds.

As all those memories passed through your mind, you suddenly remember why you’d agreed to do this in the first place.

“Yeah, I am,” you reply, taking a long sip of your coffee and hiding your grin as one of his own makes its way onto his lips.

————

That had been earlier that morning and know you were sat in Red Bull, watching as Max’s car passes the finish line in second. You’d been biting your nails the whole time, worry seeping through you. You weren’t the biggest formula 1 nerd but Max had forced you to watch enough old races for you to get what was going on. You’d even started watching his races when he was gone, something that had taken you months to admit.

Because of Max’s insistence, you knew enough to grimace as the safety car came out. You were right to grimace, of course, as Lando was quick to pass your friend, taking the lead and the win. Max, for what it’s worth, didn’t seem too angry about the result. You were aware of Landos lack of wins, seeing why his winning would make everyone happy, even the losers. Not that you were too happy, you’d only ever and only ever would cheer for Max, even if Lando was deserving of a win of his own.

Max doesn’t get asked about you during interviews. At least, not directly. He gets asked how life had been and he answers with a vague answer about love and how great life has been. You know he’s talking out of his ass but you’re grinning anyway, not able to hold back you mind from thinking about a world where everything he was saying was true.

“Landos gonna have a big celebration,” Max starts as he gets back to you after the podium, walking you both back toward his room so he can change, “He’ll probably be awake for the next 72 hours.”

You smile lightly, resting a tired head against his sweaty shoulder, “Good for him, seems like he really deserves it.”

Max nods with a pleasant look on his face, “Yeah, I’m not even that mad about losing. Nothing I could’ve done really. Im just glad he got his win.”

You nod, taking a breath in order to hold back the yawn threatening to leave your mouth, “You should go to his party, I’ll just go grab some dinner and head back to get some sleep.”

You both stop as you reach his room, Max facing you as he leans back against the door to open it. You notice the deep furrow in his eyebrows as he locks eyes with you, “What are you talking about?”

You furrow your own eyebrows as a response, tilting your head to the side, “You should go celebrate with your friend? Go have fun, Max!”

He shakes his head as he enters the room, quickly gathering his things to go take a quick shower, “Why would I celebrate a loss with a coworker when I can get some quality time with a friend instead? I’d rather celebrate a win with you instead of a loss without you. Trust me, you’ll be there to see me win.”

You’re already at a loss for words at his response but your rendered speechless as Max pulls his fireproofs off, tossing the shirt to the side passively. He turns away from you and you watch his muscles ripple under his skin, your face hearing greatly. His arms flex as he reaches for something and you have to bite your lip to keep your mouth closed. Your eyes are wide as he turns to glance over his shoulder at you, “That okay?”

At the risk of sounding like an idiot if you attempt to respond with words, you simply nod, eyes moving toward the floor. You don’t notice the smirk that forms on his lips as he catches your stare.

“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave,” he calls out over his shoulder as he walks into his bathroom. Your eyes are still locked onto the floor. You hear the sound of water pattering against the floor just after the door shuts.

You take a large sip of your water bottle, trying to wet your drying throat and keep the heat in your face at bay. You feel like you might be going crazy, the image of Max’s shirtless back etched into your mind.

Jesus Christ.

————

“What do you wanna watch?” Max mumbles through a mouth full of pizza, his hand coming up to covering it as he speaks.

You shrug, “I don’t know.”

Max shrugs as well, grabbing the remote off the nightstand and passively flickering through the channels as he swallows his bite of pizza, “Come get some food.”

He gestures toward the box of pizza on the edge of his bed with the remote, glancing toward you sitting in your own bed, watching him instead of the tv. You slide off the bed, taking the few steps it takes to get to his own and gently settling on the side he wasn’t currently sitting on.

Max watches you move, humming as you grasp a piece from the pizza box before he turns his attention back to the screen. You don’t notice as he settles on a movie, too busy trying not to absolutely scarf down the food in your hand.

Your eyes do leave the slice to glance over at Max, legs outstretched with his back firmly against the headboard. He’s wearing a Red Bull hoodie, even managing to wear team merch in his own bedroom. He’s also got some old basketball shorts, a faded logo sitting on the upper thigh that, no matter how much you try, you can’t understand.

You look away when you hear the familiar sound of Lightning McQueen echoing out of the television speakers. You quickly catch sight of the Italian formula car, deducing that Max has chosen Cars 2, of all movies.

You try your best not to laugh but a giggle escapes you anyway, causing you to bury your head in your shoulder to try and hide your grin.

“What?” Max asks you and you look forward again, eyes locked onto the movie, “What’s so funny?”

Your head turns toward the driver who’s grin is now matching your own, “You chose probably the only movie on here that uses the words “Grand Prix” can’t even get away from racing in your hotel room.”

He feigns offense for a few moments before reaching forward to grab another piece of pizza and sliding down into more of a lying position, “It’s a good movie.”

You both turn to the screen for a few moments but the second Lewis Hamilton’s voice rings out in the silence, you laugh loudly, Max groaning beside you.

You quickly dissolve into giggles, trying your hardest to reign it in but when you look over and see the amused frown on Max’s face, you’re right back into it again, Max laughing in response.

You both do eventually settle down, watching the movie and eating your food together. Even after the pizza box is empty and max moves to set it on the table, you don’t move from your spot, using the reasoning that it’s just easier to see the screen from his bed.

You try not to notice the proximity between you. You’d been holding hands all day and you’d pressed several kisses to his cheeks and forehead, being near him shouldn’t bother you. But when you shift slightly closer just to get more comfortable and Max’s arm falls down over your shoulder, you freeze, keeping as still as you can.

He doesn’t move his arm through the rest of the movie. Not that you’d know, considering you drift off with about half an hour to go. But Max doesn’t notice that either, considering how he fell asleep just after.

You wake up before him again the next morning, don’t the same thing you’d done the day before and walking out to the balcony. Max does the same thing he did as well, walking out with two mugs grasped gently in his grip.

When you take the mug from him, you try not to think about the fact you’d woken up limbs tangled with his and your face pressed into his chest.

————

The São Paulo Grand Prix.

It had been 6 months of this charade with Max. That’s right, you’d managed to suffer through 6 whole months of pretending to be his girlfriend. There’s been countless headlines from various news sites, trying their best to figure out every single detail about your life and relationship with Max.

The only thing keeping your mind together was the root of the problem himself and your prolonged roommate, Max.

He was actually really lovely. Every time you suggested a different room for his sake, you’d end up right where you were the week before, in a bed across from his. You’d also kept the same morning routine every day, waking up before Max and sitting out on the balcony until he brought coffee out for both of you.

He’d eventually gotten to a point where he sat in the chair next to you as opposed to standing up and leaning against the railing. There was still little conversation, though, you both enjoying the silence of an early morning instead.

This specific morning, you were watching the city of São Paulo move along below you. Goosebumps raised slightly as the wind-chilled November air nipped at the skin on your arms. The sun hadn’t completely rose yet and the previous nights rain had left the air colder than it should’ve been. You found yourself rubbing your hands over your arms and wishing you’d worn something other than a t-shirt.

The door slides open behind you and you take the mug as it’s placed in your eye line, grateful for the heat of the mug to warm up your cold hands. You lower your face toward the mug, letting the steam warm up your wind-chilled skin. You go to take a sip but it burns at your lips when you tilt the mug, causing you to set it down on the small table in order for it to cool for a few moments.

After you set it down, something lands in your lap. You look down, holding the item up and quickly recognizing it as one of Max’s Red Bull hoodies. You glance over at him but he’s still looking out over the city below, sipping passively at his mug of black coffee.

You look back down at the item of clothing, glancing between it and the owner for a few seconds before deciding to slip it on, your cold skin winning out over any reasonable thought that would tell you not to wear it.

The hoodies too big for you and it smells like Max but you don’t really seem to mind either of those things. Especially as your skin heats as the fabric passes over it.

Once you’ve got the hoodie on, you pick up your coffee again, blowing on it slightly to cool it down. You raise the cup to your lips, letting the warm liquid flow into your mouth.

You hum at the taste, quickly noticing that it tastes different than usual. You furrow your eyebrows, taking another sip. The oh-so wonderful taste that you’d missed so dearly over the past 6 months takes over your tastebuds. The taste of real milk and sugar.

You hum pleasantly, grasping the cup tightly. You glance over toward the man who’d handed you the drink, “Is this milk and sugar?”

Max glances toward you for a split-second before he looks back over the city, taking a sip of his own coffee, “Yeah, that’s how you like it, right? You always drink it like that back home.”

You ignore the jolt in your stomach when Max refers to the Monaco apartments as a shared home. You bite your lip with an affirmative hum, “Where’d you get milk and sugar?”

“Couldn’t sleep last night, went for a walk. There’s a corner store down the block and I picked some up,” Max says it casually, like it’s not the most considerate anyone had been of you, maybe ever.

You stare at him for a few moments, trying to ignore the warm feeling in your chest as you imagine him thinking about you enough to buy coffee ingredients the way you liked them.

As you sat outside, in his hoodie, sipping on the coffee he had made and handed to you, you finally accept what you’d been trying to deny for six months, if not longer.

You were in love with Max Verstappen.

You longed for the domesticity that was so present on mornings like these. You wanted to live this life with him all the time. You didn’t just want to fall asleep beside him after a race but you wanted to be able to press your lips against his when he won instead of the light touches you’d flutter against his cheek. You wanted to wear his hoodies all the time, not just when you were cold and forgot one of your own. You wanted to stop pretending in front of his friends. You wanted the hushed whispers to be sweet nothings instead of scheming and planning.

You wanted this life with him. All the time.

“Max-” you start but you’re quickly cut off by Max as he speaks instead.

“My ex is going to be at this race,” he states and you close your mouth, deflating slightly as you look away, “Just wanted to prepare you in case we run into her. You could also, um, probably stop coming once you scare her off.”

You nod meekly, taking a sip of your coffee. What had once been your idea of a sanctuary with the silence of the morning is now too quiet, allowing your thoughts to be the only noise in your head, images of Max’s ex rolling around aimlessly.

You stand up quickly, taking rushed steps back into the room. You down the last sips of your coffee and slide it onto the table, moving hurriedly around the room to gather your things for a shower. You vaguely notice Max walking back into the room with a confused look but you don’t even look up as you rush into the bathroom, “I’m taking a shower.”

“Okay?” Max says as you close the door behind you. You don’t notice the frown on his face as he disappears from view.

You’re too busy throwing off his hoodie and turning the shower to practically scalding heat, trying your hardest to rid yourself of thoughts about a life with Max, thoughts of his ex-girlfriend or thoughts about the stupid coffee he’d handed you and how stupid you were to be reading so much into it.

For a moment there, you’d thought that Max was enjoying this as much as you were. But his words were quick to remind you that you were only there to do a favour for him. He is only there to get his friends and his ex off his back. After that, you were free to go. It even vaguely sounded like Max didn’t want you to come back around the next weekend.

Why else would he have said that? Why else would he have suggested you stop coming? Especially just after talking about his ex. It was a stark reminder that you were only a tool for him to mess with his ex. She was the one he’d loved, you were just a girl he knew.

You stay under the scalding water long enough for the mirrors to fog and your fingertips to prune. Your cuticles sting from where the hot water had made its way into the raw skin, the cuts still fresh from where you’d been anxiously picking at them.

You only pull yourself from the water when you start to sway from the heat, your head going light and an ache echoing through your skull.

————

A few hours later, you’re by Max’s side again, although there’s a slightly larger distance between you than usual.

That would change soon, no doubt, when Max spotted his ex, pulling you close to attempt to show his devotion to your fake relationship.

But for now, you're an arms-length away, hoping that pushing him away would also push away your own feelings.

Max can't grasp even an idea as to why you were acting like this. Did you really want this to be over that badly? He knew he'd mentioned the idea of your… situation ending but he didn't think you'd be this eager to get away from him.

At the first camera flash, you take a step closer to Max, knowing how even the smallest hint of discontent between you would be twisted for headlines and it would end with your concerned mother calling you fifty times to check on your relationship after seeing an article on Facebook.

So you step closer, reaching over to intertwine your hands. Max doesn't resist and you try not to read into the gentle squeeze he replies with.

Brazils nice. Or at least, you assume. You'd been too distracted to take much notice. But you do notice the fans yelling from all around. Lively crowds sway and shout in the distance, hues of blue and black and orange all represented amongst the groups.

Max leads you through the paddock, determination clear in his steps. It was most likely just his own determination not to talk to anyone, especially a certain ex-girlfriend.

You both get to Red Bull without an unwanted interaction and the second you're out of the public eye, you're dropping his hand, none the wiser to the confused look on the driver's face.

The tension's palpable in his small room. Awkward conversation flows, your words biting and curt. Neither of you wants to address the obvious undertones your words contain. One of hostility and unshared secrets. But you manage to survive until Max has to leave to get ready for the race and you follow just a few minutes later, making your way to watch said race.

The race is fine. Max wins, but you were never in doubt about that. He was starting from pole, it'd be pretty hard for him to lose. Lando finished just a few seconds behind him, having closed the gap a bit after getting past George.

As the team starts to leave to go greet Max, Christian Horner pulls you along, saying something about Max wanting you at the barrier after the race. You're sure its just so he can put on a show for his ex.

But you follow along anyway, trying not to stumble in your heels as Christian walks along a lot faster than you'd want to.

You pass through other teams and friends and guests or the drivers, waving slightly at people you’d gotten to know over the past six months. The thought of not seeing any of these people again after you and Max faked a breakup made your stomach hurt but you ignore it, trying to tell yourself it was for the better.

When Christian reaches the team, he guides you both through the crowd, smiling politely at the engineers as he slides by.

It seems you both reach the barrier just in time, as Max is parking when you come to a stop. You watch as he pulls himself out of the car, cheering a bit to the fans around as he stands atop it. When he pulls off his helmet and balaclava, you try your hardest not to smile at the pure joy on his face.

He glances over his shoulder at something you can't see before he turns and catches your eye, quickly moving in your direction. Before you can even say a word, he's set his helmet down and wrapped both his hands around the sides of your face, pulling it toward his own. His lips are warm, the heat of the race still emanating off of him. You dismiss the sweat in his hair as you wrap a hand softly around the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his locks. Your other hand rests on the side of his face, your thumb tracing the marks his helmet had left around his eyes.

You pull away first, glancing up into his eyes with a gentle smile, “Good job, you did amazing Max.”

His face heats and he glances away with a light chuckle, “Thank you, baby. I'm glad you're here.”

You wish he'd stop calling you that. At least for the sake of your heart jumping in your chest every time he does.

He looks away but your eyes are still firmly locked on the side of his face, tracing the familiar path around his features that they'd forged over the past six months. The same path they took every morning when you watched him look out over whatever city you were in that weekend. The same path they took when he fell asleep first during a movie in hopes of memorizing every detail before you slunk back into your own bed to fall asleep, the image of his face still etched into your mind.

But as you stare up at Max, trying to memorize the puzzle pieces of his face while he talks to Christian, you realize how futile of an endeavour it is. Not matter how hard you try, you'll never get the slope of his nose just right in your memories. You'll never get the right shade of turquoise for his eyes. The sandy-dark-blond of his hair will fade away until it was nothing in your mind but the shade of your coffee in the morning instead of the colour of his hair.

Maybe you should find a different apartment. Surely, Monaco had a different apartment complex that was far enough away from Max to rid yourself of the incessant thoughts of him that constantly plagued your love-adled brain.

Throughout all of that, you’d almost forgotten you were in love with him.

But when Max turns back to you, a glint in his eyes and a bright smile gracing his lips, you're suddenly all too aware of that fact.

“I’ll see you in a minute, yeah?”

You nod, smile slowly drifting as he walks away to get weighed and do all the usual post-race theatrics.

Christian pats his hand on your shoulder firmly, smiling as you turn around, “Let’s get to the podium, kid.”

You let Christian lead you away, yet again making his way through the crowd to get you both to the front.

The podium celebration is cute, Max’s happiness practically contagious. Lando and George are enthralled as well, the Brits both happy to back on the podium once again.

But when Max leans over to spray the champagne on the team, you put your hands over your face as Christian laughs beside you, both of you trying to avoid the sticky liquid as much as possible.

You peel away from the crowd after Max walks off, trying to find your way to wherever Max had gone.

As you'd left, you'd wandered away from Christian, who knew the paddock much better than you did. This was your first time here and you found yourself looking around for any sign of the Red Bull driver or, at least, a familiar face who could point you in the right direction.

It takes you a few minutes to gain your bearings but when you hear the familiar sound of Max’s voice, you go that direction, turning a corner to see his face.

And you do see him, post-race glow and all. But it's not just him you find. Standing entirely too close to him with her hand resting on his shoulder, is Max’s ex-girlfriend. She's smiling warmly, nodding animatedly at whatever it is Max is saying. Which, from constantly talking to him, you know is not worth the reaction she's giving him.

He's glancing around, clearly not comfortable with the situation. You huff, looking around before conceding and walking over to the pair. Were you maybe taking your time a little bit? Yeah, but you really didn't want to do this.

You roll your eyes when you catch Max’s eye and a relieved look rolls over his face, “Hey, baby.”

Max uses your arrival as an excuse to take a step back, swinging his arm around your shoulder. He's still covered in champagne and sweat but you ignore it, “Hey, Max.”

You finally glance up to meet the eye of the woman in front of you, her eyes narrowed as she looks between you, “Oh my god, hi! You must be Max’s ex!”

She rolls her eyes before smiling tightly with a nod of her head, “Yeah, I am. You must be his new girlfriend.”

You hum affirmatively, smiling wide as you glance over to the man beside you, “I am, yeah. He's just so perfect. We’re so happy together!”

She narrows her eyes again, glancing you up and down before her eyes stop on your face. You roll your head to the side to rest your temple on his shoulder, resting one of your hands against his chest.

“Well, I’m happy you moved on, Max,” She says, turning her entire attention to the man in question, “You seem… perfect together.”

Max gleams, nodding as he leans in to kiss your cheek, “Yeah, I’m really happy.”

His ex chews on her bottom lip for a few moments before huffing and moving away, turning to shout over her shoulder as she walks away, “Have a great life, Max!”

“Thanks, I guess!” Max replies, laughing as soon as the woman is out of earshot. He pulls away from your side, turning to fully face you.

“Thank you!” Max cheers, grasping your shoulders with his hands, “Did you see her face? She was so pissed that I'd moved on.”

You hum, letting him be happy by himself while you stood quietly, “Yeah, you're welcome.”

You peel away from Max, turning to go back to the car park so you can leave. You don't say anything to Max before you walk away, leaving him to jog to catch up to you.

“You okay?” He asks once he's by your side again. You glance over, catching the concerned look on his face.

“Yeah,” you nod curtly, looking back ahead, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

He doesn't seem convinced but he leaves it be, turning away as well.

He pretends not to notice when you coincidentally step away after he tries to grab your hand.

While Max debriefs, you text one of your friends to ask if you could stay with her for a few days when you got back to Monaco. After this fake relationship was over, you needed to get away from Max for a while just to try and push away the growing feelings you have for the Dutch man.

And with the departure of Max’s ex, you'd served your purpose and you could finally get out of Max’s life and give him the solitude he so longed for.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, the only noise being the sound of your nails tapping against the screen of your phone. Max glances over periodically but you eventually set your phone down, choosing to stare out the window as the dark streets of Brazil pass by quickly.

When you get back to the hotel, you open the car door before Max can get it for you like he usually does. He sends you another glance, trailing passively behind as you walk in front of him. You both pass through the lobby and the elevator, your steps determined and much quicker than Max really wanted to be walking.

He's still riding the high of his win and the defeat of his ex-girlfriend but you're in your own mind, too sick to your stomach to be happy for him.

You pull out the spare room key when you arrive at the room, pressing it against the sensor before shoving the door open roughly, letting it fall against Max behind you who catches it.

You toss the key on the table by the door and set your phone down beside it. You still don't turn around as you throw the jacket he had let you borrow down on his bed.

"What is your problem?" You hear Max’s voice ring out in the otherwise quiet room. Annoyance paints his words, causing you to pause for a split-second.

"I don't have a problem." You say, cringing when you catch how much of a lie it sounds. You move on, though, pulling your suitcase out from under the bed and unzipping it.

Max scoffs, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, "Are you sure? Because it really feels like you do."

"It's nothing, Max." You reply sharply, walking into the attached bathroom, grateful to get away from his gaze for a second.

You come back out, your toiletry bag in hand. You set it down in your suitcase and stand up, walking over to the closet and pulling your clothes off the rack. The sound of the hangers hitting together echoes through your head, only contributing to the headache that had been growing since your revelation that morning.

Max finally catches onto what you're doing and speaks, his voice almost panicked, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"What, already? Why?" You try not to be swayed by the hurt in his voice, turning around and walking past him to set your clothes down in your case.

He follows you over, stepping closer as you stand up. You try and step past him but he puts his arm out, stopping you in your tracks. You concede with a sigh, finally looking him in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter, Max.”

"But it does! What's wrong?" You finally step past him, on your way to go gather the rest of your things but his question makes you turn your head as you walk away.

"Max! It doesn't matter!" You immediately regret how loud your voice is but this wasn't exactly the time to be thinking about the people next door.

Max shakes his head, following you as you walk toward the doot in order to grab your shoes, "No, no, no. You've been like this all day and I can't think of a reason why. Do you really want to get away from me that badly?"

Your face twists, causing you to shake your head as you walk away, praying he wont follow you this time, "No, Max, that's not-"

He doesn't completely follow you but he does step a bit closer, shaking his head with a loud groan, "Then enlighten me! What could possibly happened in the past day that's making you act like this? Why are you leaving? Why won't you tell me? I thought we were supposed to be in this together! Why are you-"

"Because I'm in love with you, Max!" You shout, finally turning to face him as you say it, making eye contact with him for the first time since you'd walked in.

Silence falls between you and you toss your shoes down, covering your face with one of your hands. For a second, you think that Max might never respond, your stomach turning at the thought.

How hard could it be to find a different apartment in Monaco?

"What?" Max’s voice is soft and you look back to him, trying to will your frustrated tears not to fall.

"I'm in love with you! I fell in love with you and I know you don't feel the same. You only wanted me to do this to placate your friends and scare away your ex and now im getting out of your hair. I'm leaving you alone like you wanted in the first place,” Tears finally drip down your face and you don't bother to wipe them away, knowing there was only more where they came from. You look away as you explain, eyes locked onto the carpet beneath you, not wanting to face your embarrassment head-on.

"What are you talking about?" At Max’s purely confused tone, you look back to his face, teeth digging sharply into your bottom lip.

His face is soft, confusion etched into the furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips and you swallow, trying to rebuild the confidence you’d had at the start of your outburst.

The hotel room suddenly feels too cold, the air causing you to rub your hands over your shoulders in order to suppress the goosebumps that had started to rise. When you do speak again, your voice is soft, volume just above a whisper.

"This morning. You said I could stop coming after this race. And I did my job, I scared away your ex. You don't need me,” you trail off at the end of your statement, your voice breaking slightly as you shake your head, tears streaming out of your closed eyes and down your cheeks.

You expect Max to agree, to send you away, to end your friendship out of pure embarrassment after your decleration.

But he doesn't.

His voice is soft, just as yours was. His words are hushed but the emotion behind them seeps through every single word.

"I do, though. I do need you."

You look up, eyes widening at his statement. You can do nothing but stare as he steps closer, his hands grasping the sides of your face. Your own hands reach up to hold his wrists, just wanting to hold him someway.

He raises an eyebrow gently, quirking his head to ask for silent permission. You nod and its only a split-second before he's leaning down, pressing his lips against yours.

His hands cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, his kiss causing your brain to practically melt. You mold together, leaning as close to him as you can as your hold conveys months and months of pent-up and hidden emotions.

As he pulls away, your lips want to chase his but you hold back, your eyes flickering open as he leans his forehead against yours. Neither of your speak for a few moments, silence settling between the two of you ask you bask in the adoration between you.

Max’s hand drifts back to your jaw, his thumb drifting across your cheekbone passively. You see his eyes look up and you glance up as well, catching his sparkling gaze in yours.

“I love you,” the words tumble out of his mouth, falling smoothly out of the lips you oh-so wished he would press against your own once again, “I'm in love with you. I fell for you during this whole thing, everything about you.”

You go to respond but he cuts you off, shaking his head lightly.

“I only told you that you could stop coming because I thought you'd grown tired of all this,” he takes a deep breath before continuing, leaning slightly into your hand that had drifted into his hair, “But I'm kind of glad I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, quirking your head. Max pauses, allowing you the chance to admire every feature of his face, turning his freckles into constellations that you'd willingly stargaze in for hours. His hair is tousled from where your fingers had tangled in it and his lips are red from being pressed against yours. His teeth dig into said lip as he thinks before responding. You'd honestly be fine if he never finished his thought and you got to just look at him forever.

But he does finish his thought, the look in his eyes making your heart jump, "Because I don't want to pretend anymore."

You wait a moment, giving him the chance to take it back in case this was a joke, in case he didn't really mean it. But he doesn't take it back, he doesn't laugh.

And so you nod, "I want to do this with you for real, Max. I don't want to lie to anyone anymore, I want to celebrate with you after a race, not because people expect me to, but because I love you."

Max lights up, his face splitting into a wide grin at your words. Before you can react, his arms are around you and your feet are lifted off the ground as Max basically throws you onto the bed beside you.

Your laugh echoes through the hotel room, punctuated by the sound of Max flopping down next to you. You continue to giggle, glancing down to meet Max’s eyes, a special glint shining through.

You calm down after a few seconds as Max continures to gaze at you. When silence finally comes over you, Max leans up to rest on his elbows as you sit up slightly to look down at him.

“I love you too, by the way,” He says softly, “Dont know if you noticed.”

You hum, biting your lip to hold back your laugh, “I assumed so, yeah.”

You laugh as Max huffs, reaching a hand up to pull you down beside him, “Shut up.”

And you do, going quiet as your lips meet his. Later that night, as your both lying in bed, together this time, you fall asleep with your head against his chest, basking in the long-lastint but newly-confessed love between you.

The next morning, you wake up before Max, as you'd done so often. You slip out of his hold and pad over softly to the balcony, sliding on one of his hoodies before you open the sliding door.

You sink into one of the two chairs, looking out over the city of Sao Paulo as it slowly wakes up. The sun peeks out over the horizon, adding light to the previously dark morning.

Eventually, the door slides open behind you and you don’t even have to look to know it’s Max. But you look anyway, happy to take any chance to observe the man.

You take the mug from his offering hand, grasping the warm ceramic tightly. Max doesn’t walk over to the railing, instead moving toward the chair next to you. Before he sits down, he slides it over, pushing it as close to your chair as it could go. He sits down and you twist to sit sideways, leaning your legs over the arm of the chair. Max gently pulls your ankles over his chair to rest in his lap before he takes a long sip of his coffee.

You take a long sip of your own mug as well, letting the taste of the coffee coat your throat and warm your heart.

Milk and sugar, just the way you like it.

——————

Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej

#scheduled #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #formula 1 #max verstappen x fem!reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader

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mari-positas · 1 year ago

Text

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.

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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ittybittyfanblog · 6 months ago

Text

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 2

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a–less–oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: Ok, I’ve decided to make this by series, so this one’s just going to be purely Sylus. I hope nobody minds the specific names/places/etc. I wanted to create a personality for the “player” and add a bit of backstory work (loosely based on yours truly lol) for the sake of storytelling, but there won't be any distinct description of the player’s physical appearance <3 Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, bouts of delusion

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

Riiiiing– RiiiNGGGGG––

...

“Huh… whazat—?”

A shrill—earsplitting, headache-inducing, completely fucking loud—noise wakes you up rather rudely from your peaceful slumber at… Jesus Christ, what time is it?

You blink your bleary eyes open, once… twice—fuck, all you know that it’s too goddamn early for all this ruckus. Groaning, you clumsily try to find the source of the unexpected wake-up call. Quite literally in this case.

Your hand bumps the vibrating phone straight off the edge of the mattress—along with the charger cord still attached to it—and you cuss up a storm when you hear it clatter on the hardwood floor.

The ringing finally stops, and you’re perfectly content to leave it there and fall back to sleep when, not even ten seconds later, the blasted thing rings back to life, taunting you awake.

Angrily, you wrestle against the threadbare blanket wrapped around your body like a warm cocoon, pushing yourself out of bed with all the rage of a sleep-deprived insomniac who’s been up til the buttcrack of dawn to grab your—huh, relatively intact—phone off the ground, while the charger cable swings haphazardly from the weight of the power brick on its tail end.

Without checking the caller, you swipe right to answer. “What?”

“Don’t use that tone on me, young lady,” Your mother grouses on the other end of the line. “It’s almost noon! Did you just wake up?”

Barely five hours of sleep. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shut your eyes and sigh. “No, mom. Sorry, just had a late night,” you clear your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “What’s up?”

“Oh, dear. Is it because of work again?” Something akin to sympathy replaces the sternness in her voice, and you dread the all-too-familiar spiel that comes next. “You know, honey, there’s a job opening for a– what was it again? I have to double check, but it’s where your Auntie Helen works. You know your Auntie Helen—”

“Mom,” you interrupt, before she could go off on a tangent. “Work is fine, don’t worry. Why d’you call?”

“Should I need a reason to call my daughter who's living by her lonesome, a country away from—”

“Mom!”

“Oh, alright,” she finally relents, sounding slightly exasperated. “Were you able to book me and Jodie the roundtrip flight to Orlando? Your cousin’s wedding is barely a month away and I want all the documents ready by now, sweetie.”

Shit. “Ah— yeah. I’ll email you the flight itinerary in a bit, I’m just–” you catch sight of your protruding hamper, innocuous but an eyesore nonetheless, right by the doorway of your humble studio unit. “I mean, I just left the condo. To do errands and stuff. I’ll send the details to you when I get back home, okay?”

“Okay, honey,” she sighs. “You stay safe outside now. Don’t talk to strangers.”

“I am a perfectly responsible adult—” The call disconnects. “Hello? Great.”

You rub away the remnants of sleep from your eyes, fully aware that your day’s already started, despite your reluctance. Might as well get a head start on today’s agenda.

First thing’s first– brunch. Oh, it’s almost one. Lunch, then. I could maybe grab a hotdog from the corner store before heading to Landers. Oh wait, laundry. Gotta pass by the laundromat downstairs, too. Ugh, c’mon, chop-chop.

Just as you’re about to stand up from your supine position on the floor, another ping! pulls your attention back to your phone. “Mom, I swear–”

Ah, you’re finally awake. You’ve had a very long night, kitten. Take it easy for the day – make sure to get enough rest between errands.

I’ll know if you don’t.

Your heart skips a beat.

Oh! Um. That’s… new.

… Apparently another one on the growing list of “new features” from the latest update. It doesn't sound like an invitation for you to open the game, strangely enough. It's not a call to action to claim your daily stamina, nor a prompt for you to check your Galaxy Explorer rewards.

It’s nothing more than a greeting, really. Just one that’s particularly targeted at you, with unnerving accuracy.

You recall the weird (?) events from last night, and the now-erratic beating of your heart suddenly picks up a notch. From the unexpected dialogues to the outrageous amount of dias you’ve somehow ended up with—something you still think is some kind of glitch in the system—you can’t shake the feeling that you’re living out the plot of a Black Mirror episode, as fucking dumb as that sounds.

Not to mention during Quality Time, Sylus_v2.0 (as you so lovingly dub this version of him in your mind) had been acting more aware of you.

And you’re not talking about the pre-programmed glances that you usually get. No– it’s like he actually hears you.

He doesn’t say anything. But whenever you make a comment, or utter something under your breath, he reacts with a huff or a hum—depending on the context. If it’s a slew of expletives aimed at your boss, the reaction you’re met with is one of amusement. A snort; sometimes a quiet laugh, if you’re lucky. When you say something self-deprecating, however, it elicits the heavier sighs, the sharp clicks of the tongue.

At one point, you heard him make a low sound of dissent, something close to a... growl, almost, after making a casual joke about being just another cog in the machine and how offing yourself wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of late capitalism. As you oft do.

Your eyes met, and for a split second, it felt like you weren’t looking at just pixels. His gaze weighed heavy on you—almost accusatory.

It made you feel… naked, somehow. Perceived.

You recall how quickly you averted your eyes from his, face flushing hotly from a feeling you couldn’t put into words.

Bone-tired from last night’s (morning) overtime, you didn’t have the time to look up the news on this recent version update—although you really don’t remember any notifications in-game—so you quickly Google, “sylus acting sentient in rcent update loveamd Deepspace???” on your phone browser.

You scroll down for a bit, but none of the search results yield any relevancy, nor are they in any way similar to your current… predicament.

(Okay, so calling it a predicament is a little unfair. You’re not exactly complaining about anything per se. No complaints from you. At all.)

Deciding that you’d do a deeper dive on Twitter (X) at a later time instead—probably tonight when you do your daily login—you briefly press the side button to lock your phone… not without a final peek at the banner notification from Sylus.

You press your lips together in an effort to hold back the stupid giggle bubbling up your throat.

Unfortunately, all the self-control in the world can’t help you and your need to have the last word—from what even—so you ask aloud, to no one except the person you've deluded yourself into thinking is a valid recipient of your one-sided conversation:

“... Yeah? And what if I don’t?”

You’re not really waiting for a response (or were you?), but the nervous flutter in your stomach betrays the impatience you're trying to mask with casual indifference. It’s small, unassuming—but there.

Impatient for what, exactly, you’re not sure. But maybe, just maybe—

Feeling a bit braver now, are we? How bold. Care to say that to my face, sweetheart?

Oh.

An inhuman noise escapes your throat, embarrassingly loud, almost a keen, and you fumble with the device in your hand; the new banner notification still in full view—taunting you.

You don’t know what to think, you don’t know how to feel. You–

Spring up, like an agitated jack-in-a-box, and the sudden rush of blood in your head leaves you dizzy. You’re a molotov cocktail of emotions; one more bombshell surprise and you might just blow.

“I’m– later, okay? Uh,” Whew, girl, keep it together. “I need–I need to go.” You almost stumble as you speed walk towards the bathroom.

If you didn’t switch your phone to silent, didn’t make the conscious effort to ignore any incoming messages, notifications, and whatever else, in a rush to get dressed and go about your day as if it's just like any other weekend—nope, nothing unusual here—you would’ve seen one last cheeky reply:

Of course, sweetie. You take care now.

Don’t talk to strangers. X

Endnote: This one's pretty short, but I’m world-building, trust.

Thanks for reading!

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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navybrat817 · 9 months ago

Text

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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ronearoundblindly · 2 months ago

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🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + “Sir, I think you misunderstood.”

I'm SO HONORED, you have no idea. 🧚‍♀️👸🏽❤️🪄🧚✨⚡️❤️‍🔥🧚‍♂️

*While this follows Super-Human Resources as a story, it is not necessary to read that to understand. Reader is female and 'older' but no specifics about her body or age are given. For context, you believe that you and Steve are f***-buddies and nothing more (he does not believe that).

Summary: Steve is more eager to than you realized...

A shameless fic deserves a shameless gif, don't you think? **Warnings for smut: unprotected sex (established consent/relationship) in a semi-public space, oral (m receiving), horny gremlin!Steve, and not a whole hell of a lot of editing utilized, folks... MINORS DNI. There's all-age friendly fic on my Light Masterlist, but not here. WC ~2k

Busy.

Busy day. Busy week. Busy month really, if you stop to think about it, but you can’t stop right now. There’s work to be done. Agents to clear, trainees to make agents, and it’ll be done as soon as you file these…

“Shit,” you mutter as Maria Hill is about to take the documents from you. You were almost done with this closed-door meeting. “Rogers hasn’t signed off on them yet.”

For the tiniest of split-seconds, Hill looks annoyed, her eyes half roll while she sighs. “He’s been just as slammed as all of us.” She doesn’t seem thrilled by the chaos of spring either. Say what you will about seasonal depression sucking, but there is a notable uptick in enemy aggression once the weather warms.

Does that make winter less crazy? No. What it does is make the internal workings of the Compound go bonkers until everyone can fight out there. In HR’s case, winter is the worst and busiest time. Busy. Busy. Busy.

Your off-hours understanding with Steve Rogers aside, there are few seasonal bright spots beyond actually liking your job.

You dial up Rogers’ number. It rings only once before he answers.

“Yes, ma’am, what can I help you with?”

He’s so sweet with you in private, and though diligent about keeping work strictly professional, you imagine you can tell the barest of warmth laced into the words.

“Sorry to bother, Captain—“

Hill slaps down a new file you’ve not seen yet.

“—but I need you—“ you cover the mic with your palm, whispering ‘and what’s this?’ but she waves you off “—to come down and…hello?”

The dial tone starts again.

“Hello? I think he just hung up on me.”

Hill simply shrugs. “Maybe even he’s at wit’s end,” she muses. “Just bring the rest to my office whenever, but I’ll need a review of this contract. The lawyers approve, but if you ask me they kept the wording too technical. We need a—let’s say a nicer spin on it.”

Fine. Toss it on the pile. In fact, that’s exactly what you do, move it from corner A to corner B of your desk.

Above you, Maria makes a shocked sort of chirping noise.

“Cap! You scared me there.”

“Sorry,” Steve huffs in the doorway, arms braced on either side of the frame. “Sorry. Sorry, I just—“ clearing his throat “—was already on this floor when you called, so…I’m here.”

His stealth training with Natasha really paid off. There was zero sound when he came in.

“Right, well, if you could—“

Steve holds up a finger. “Actually, I have something to ask…to discuss with…”

“I’ll bring them by your office later,” you offer Hill.

She nods and leaves, none the wiser to Rogers speedily (and silently) locking the door behind her.

You push out your chair to greet him, but Steve rounds the desk before the seat even rolls past touching your calves.

“I need you, too,” he husks, big hand gripping your waist, maneuvering you back against the wall. His mouth finds the tender spot below your ear immediately. “‘m glad you called.”

Oh.

Oh wow, he’s—

“Love when you wear these.” Steve drops to one knee, fingers dancing at the hem of your skirt and over the thin shield of your pantyhose.

He does love him some nylons, cheeky boy.

Good thing your office blinds were already closed, or the whole cubicle pool would see Captain America six inches from your crotch with a hand sneaking up your thigh.

“Sir,” you whimper in the suddenness of his desire, “I think you misunderstood.”

A flicker of questioning darts across Steve’s features.

“I actually just need you to sign those,” you clarify with a wave to the desk.

“Oh.” Steve presses his head into your leg for a second. “So not…?”

“Sex? Here? No, not what I called for,” you chuckle.

He gets up from the floor, looking embarrassed and guilty, a bulge in his pants betraying how seriously he intended to take you right there. It has been two weeks since you’ve gotten to sleep over. He was away on mission last weekend and who knows when he’ll be called up again. Shame to let that enthusiasm go to waste…

“But,” you drawl, creeping forward, your hand cupping him gently.

He stirs so easily at contact. Steve’s always been eager to ‘practice,’ to build prowess in knowing the female body, and he’s used yours to do it, but you never expected him to whine in desire.

Without waiting for more encouragement, he lowers his mouth to your neck again. “Yeah?”

His fingers use their rough friction to nudge your skirt up over your hips until he can run one digit along the waistband of your stockings.

You feel the fabric in your palm stretch tighter. Steve twitches.

“It’s okay to do this,” he breaths, “even if it’s uncalled for?”

The spider-walking of his touch down your stomach is deliberate. He’s giving you time to tell him you’re not interested or this isn’t the place, but you are, in fact, pretty interested and do not care if this is the place.

When no response comes as he finds your mound, Steve drags one finger through your folds. He lets a hot sigh roll across your skin in satisfaction of discovering the slick spot he can stoke back to life.

Ever since he first asked how he could please you, it’s been about Steve wanting to learn a woman’s pleasure, but his desire always seems incidental. He’ll come anyway. He’s getting off in addition. You get that; it’s the whole deal, but there are other lessons Steve, in particular, could learn. One of them is that he can be the focus, too.

Instead, he’s focused on holding back, apparently, because he bites his lip and doesn’t lean into your hand. He doesn’t pull away either. He moves to slip two fingers into you and curl them.

This leads you to a theory of why, though you’re surprised to have the brainpower. “Have you not…touched yourself in weeks?”

Steve grunts in annoyance. “I didn’t think it would be that long.”

“So—“ keeping your voice silky and sweet “—no need to edge yourself after all that.”

“Edge?” he asks.

Lessons, lessons, lessons.

“It’s called ‘edging’ or ‘delayed gratification,’ yeah.”

You can practically hear his thoughts as his eyes roam your body. Should he stop? Should he continue? Should he tough it out and wait the few hours till the workday is done? Steve is the type to think of denial as the height of self-control, so you don’t know which side he’ll land on when he’s needy with his finger on the button of satisfaction.

He can have it all, and he can have it right now. You tentatively roll his tender balls to prove a point, but that seems only to make his inner conflict worse, his brows knitting together, strained.

Until it doesn’t.

“No,” Steve says, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, staring at you feverishly. “No, I don’t want to delay anymore.”

To put him out of his misery, you offer your help, pulling his hand away, rolling down the layers in his way until mid-thigh (look, hose are a bitch to take off and put on, so at work, you’re improvising), and bending directly over your desk. Head turned to the side, you watch the shadow of him stepping up behind you, lowering the fly of his slacks and pumping his shaft until he’s hard.

All in total, it takes four seconds or so, but the performance of breaking the man’s character down to a lustful mess plays out an entire scene.

Steve squats down slightly to roll his cockhead through your folds and thrusts shallowly. The delicious stretch and rising fullness make your eyes flutter shut.

He’s always worth the wait. You’ll miss this when he’s done with you.

His feet spread apart as he kneads your ass and opens you wide.

“So good,” he groans. “Did you think of me? Did you touch yourself thinking of this?”

“Yes,” you gasp on a deep thrust.

If he’s expecting more words, he’s not getting them, not when the drag of him inside and out pools all your attention like a tide away from your brain.

The afternoon sun’s angle shows the silhouette of Steve stretching tall so he can fuck toward that spongy spot sending tingles all over your body, but just as soon as he sets a rhythm, he pulls out.

“Uh, no,” he moans, gripping his dick like it’s hurting him, “’s why I wanted my mouth on you first…so…so close.”

Steve’s ready to cum within minutes of sinking into your pussy. That’s a boost to your ego if there ever was one. However, he needs release, and from the look of his blown pupils, he needs it to be as intense as possible. He needs connection not just physically.

If Steve desires a more connective experience, you’ll have to give him eye contact.

Mirroring his starting position, you drop delicately to your knees in front of him, head inches away from your desktop.

“Oh god,” he whines from somewhere deep in his chest, but his eyes never leave you while your hand replaces his.

The first brush of your lips sends him lurching forward to grip the poor particleboard behind you, and you do blink long and languid at the musky taste of him.

His mouth hangs open, too, as you bob, taking only a few inches each time, focusing on the sensitive head. You make the tip of your tongue firm and pointed to draw patterns along veins you know by heart. His hips buck against his will, and though you can’t teach it him without words, this is called ‘fucking your face.’

It’s delightful to see the hazy blue of his eyes soften in wonder. It’s validation itself to hear him praise the sheer perfection of you.

“Shit,” Steve moans, “I—I—“ but he breaks off in a euphoric (and loud) exhale.

Cum begins to flood your throat and mouth, and there’s a rustle of something knocked over above you. A soft wad of tissues tucks under your chin just as the overflow breeches the corner of your lips.

“Too long. Waited too long. Sorry, should have warned you,” he admits brokenly. It is significantly more than usual, you note.

Steve pulls out to finish coming in his makeshift pad and tries to bat the box closer to you for more.

You rip out a few to spit in.

All-in-all, you’re pleased to have such a wild affect on a man, and Steve is not just any man at that.

He takes all the tissues and buries them under some papers in your trashcan. He collects himself, zipping his dignity back into place while you shimmy up your tights and panties.

Steve then pulls you into his chest, leaving a gentle kiss as the last taste on your lips. “I’ll give you back threefold tonight, okay?” he assures, low and intimate. “Sorry, I got…overexcited.”

He releases you from the hug.

“Well, I’ll only be there at a decent hour if you sign these damn papers, Captain.”

Steve looks confused, eyes darting to the stack he luckily did not tip off the edge of your desk. It takes another four seconds for him to remember that there was a real reason he was called.

“Yes, ma’am, right away, but also—” he scrunches his nose “—I’m just going to crack this because—“ Steve doesn’t bother completing the thought. He simply props the window open at the lowest notch. Across the small room, he stares at you smoothing a hand over your hair, beaming.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Goofy. Honest. Adorable.

“It’s a good line, Cap,” you chuckle then double tap the stack of forms.

He rushes over, ever the fast-learner, ever the eager participant, ever ready (usually) to get down to business.

Busy. Busy. Busy.

Thank god it’s Friday.

a/n: is it acceptable?

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots; Ko-Fi]

@Supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry @bitchy-bi-trash @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @stellar-solar-flare

#ro answers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader smut #steve x reader #steve x you #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you

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ynbabe · 1 month ago

Note

hi love <3

Could I humbly request the grid (or whoever if you have a specific person in mind) in this scenario?https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT2TRnx2T/

Hi!! So glad I have TikTok now cause this req is sooo perfect. And the fact that the inspo had an f1 shirt on is so valid. Also this is a long ass post so it had to be split in two, I will be taking other reqs in the in the meantime!!

Cute situations w/ f1 drivers- ep3 pt 1 [2025 grid edition!!]

You pay for the food

Charles

“Well, well, well-” you started with a tone of sarcasm, the panicked look on Charles’ face turning to one of annoyance.

“Y/n…” he tried to reason with you but the blaring of the fire alarm drowned his voice.

Leo, who rested in your hands, who was panicking along with you when the alarm began, was now glaring at your boyfriend and his father with the same unimpressed glare that you had fixed on him.

“Don’t I remember telling you not to cook?” You cocked a brow, resting the dog on your hip like he was a human child. The whole scene would have been hilarious if it wasn’t blanketed in smoke.

Atleast the man in front of you had the decency to look apologetic, sheepishly mumbling out an apology, kissing you to hide his guilt, “can you order in, belle? I’ll clean up!”

You could only accept the offer, needing to get a now sneezing Leo out of the kitchen.

You had just finished placing the order, laying on the couch, when Charles walked in, hint of guilt still on his face, “Did you order yet, y/n? I’ll get my card-”

“I already paid,” you answered, thinking it would be a big deal, but the look on Charles’ face said otherwise.

“What? Why? Are you still mad at me?” He asked, worried and hyper.

“What- no, of course not! My information was already in my phone, Charlie.” You giggled, watching his face go through the five stages of grief.

He laid on top of you, breath tickling your neck, “well, I’m paying you back,” you had begun to refuse but Charles wouldn’t give in, “non, don’t even.” He ended the conversation.

You could only help but laugh, pulling him closer to you, causing Leo to yip in jealousy, and Charles to react before you could.

“Shut up, Leo.”

Lewis

You and Lewis didn’t often dine in, choosing to cook instead, but it had been a lazy night and neither of you were in the mood to cook or clean.

You had suggested a restaurant for delivery and Lewis had agreed, so you’d gone and placed the order. Lewis had just come back with his card when you furrowed your brows in confusion.

“What?” You asked, confused. Lewis was more confused than you were.

“Don’t you need to pay?” He asked, making you smile.

“I already paid, babe, had my info on the app.” You replied nonchalantly, but the answer didn’t seem to satisfy him.

He had an indecipherable look on his face, “since when do you pay?” He added making you scoff.

“Wha- I pay! Lew, what the hell?” You tried to defend yourself.

He playfully rolled his eyes while taking your phone, “Babe, no offence, you haven’t paid or opened a door a single day since we started dating,”, he typed for a few seconds before returning your phone to you, “there, now it’s my information,” he smiled, proud of himself.

“Just so you know I’m going on a shopping spree now,” you walked off, kissing him with a smirk on your lips, the smile on his falling instantly.

Lando

Both of you had been watching tv, the show forgotten as background noise. Somehow grey’s anatomy had spiralled into making out on the sofa like horny teenagers finally getting the house alone.

Lando pulled away, breathless, and you rested your head against his shoulder, his hand coming up to brush your hair.

“You know what would make this moment even more perfect?” He asked out, and you hummed to get him to answer.

“Spring rolls.” He answered dreamily.

You sat up, eyes blown in anger, “WHAT? Is that what you’re thinking about right now, Lando? What the hell-”

He looked at you with pleading eyes, “Pleeaaseeee, y/n?”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, much to Lando’s joy, “fine, but I’m telling Jon ur cheating-”

The look on his face was enough to vindicate you, giggling to yourself as you placed the order.

You kept your phone down, going back to the show, when Lando poked your side, looking down at you in confusion.

“Don’t you need me to pay?” He asked and you mocked anger, pushing off him to sit up.

“Need you to pay? Lando, what do you think of me? I have a job you know!” You could see him try to back peddle when you couldn’t take it anymore, a smile cracking on your lips.

“Oh you muppet, you scared me, thought u was gonna have to sleep on the sofa tonight!” He laughed pulling you back into him.

He stretched doing something out of your sight, the next moment your phone dinged, thinking it was the delivery you picked it to check but noticed a credit of 100 pounds to your account.

“LANDO-”

Oscar

There were only a few things Oscar loved more than sleep. Two of those being you and-

“Tim tams!” He whispered, groaning as he put down the bags of groceries, “we forgot the freaking tim tams.” He said in genuine despair, making you chuckle.

He’d begun whispering sad monologues about the sweet treats to himself, when you placed the order for them. Twenty minutes later when the last of the groceries were put in their place, the bell rang and you motioned for him to open the door.

“Babe! Did you order these?” He said with joy in voice, the few moments his collected nature melted away to reveal what he truly felt.

He turned to the delivery guy, “how much do I owe ya, mate?” He asked, surprised to see the man say it had already been paid for.

“You paid for these?”

“Yea my phone had my card in it silly,” you took the packet from his hands, placing it in a drawer.

“What? Why? Since when do you pay?” He asked making you raise you brow at him, “I mean- not like, I’m getting you ice cream!” He panicked, placing an order on his phone, making you laugh as you followed him out the kitchen.

George

“I’m gonna get the twenty piece,” you said out loud, placing an order, “you want something?” You asked the blonde next to you.

“Nope,” came the answer so you accepted the terms, paying for your food.

“Ugh I have to wait for thirty minutes, the fries are gonna be so soggy,” you complained, stopping George in his tracks, his wallet opened in his hands.

“Huh?” He questioned, looking at you weird.

You still hadn’t looked up, “yea thirty minutes is wayyy too long, could’ve just gone myself-”

“No like my cards here?” He continued.

That’s when you looked up, to see his confused face, card in hand, “Yea ofcourse I paid, what do you mean?” You laughed.

“Love, I always pay, you never have to pay when I’m there!” He argued genuinely concerned.

“Aww babe, it’s okay! It was faster this way,” you shrugged, doing nothing to change George’s mind.

“Nuh uh, I’m going to Apple Pay you, how much is a twenty peice? Thirty pounds?” He immediately tapped on his phone, making you laugh, folding in half.

“Baby, no!”

Kimi

“What. Is. This?” You threw your pencil down, groaning into your palms. Kimi sitting besides you wasn’t doing any better, cursing the paper in Italian hoping it’d have the decency to solve itself.

“Let’s call George, he’ll know what to do, yes?” You asked, holding your head in your hands.

“non so cosa fare!” Came his reply, his face scrunched in confusion and irritation, “Non capisco questo- co-cosa è questo?” The pushed the paper away and turned to you with a serious look in his eyes. “Tell mama I’m dropping out and jumping on the track.”

You would have reacted but your head was dizzy, “I mean why do we even need algebra, also you can’t do that your mother would kill Toto… and George,” you said as he slumped against you.

“We need food,” he muttered against your shoulder, making you giggle and lean your head against his.

“Italian?” You asked joking.

“Your favourite, no?” He replied, smirking and nudging you, making you push back, hiding your growing blush.

“Shut up or you’re not getting pizza.” You ordered and paid.

“You did the order?” Kimi asked making you hum, “you paid? Amore, I would have paid!” He jumped up. You didn’t know why he was taking it so seriously. “Mama will kill me if I let you pay. I’m a gentleman!” He claimed, cheeks puffing up.

You couldn’t help but laugh, “you’re eighteen and you can’t solve your math problems-”

“Shut up- I pay for next one!” And you couldn’t argue with the adorable boy in front you.

Pierre

“For the last time Y/n, we are NOT getting sushi AGAIN!” He yelled from across the table. It wasn’t your fault the sushi place Yuki introduced you to was amazing and so close your apartment.

“You’re acting like Lando now,” you retorted laughing at his offended face.

“Ay don’t say that! You’re my girlfriend you can’t be mean to me,” he pouted.

“Fine, we can get Chinese then,” he smirked knowing he’d complain and you were right as he muttered something about loving you and god testing him in French under his breath.

“It’ll be here soon, the sushi would have been faster though, just saying,” you announced.

“You don’t have to pay?” He asked confused with his card in his hand.

“What no of course I have to pay! I just paid-”

“Why would you pay! You’re insulting me, amour, you should never have to pay!” He insisted making you melt.

“Aww Pierre, it’s okay!”

“Non, I’m paying you back!”

“Pierre!”

Jack

“I’m getting something to eat, do you want anything?” You asked jack, who nodded no. You placed the order, waiting for it to reach.

“Here,” Jack passed held his card out, making you laugh, you guys had been dating only for a few months, still in awkward phase of not knowing what to do but it was nice knowing he cared even about the small things.

“Jack, you don’t have to pay! Besides it’s only my stuff anyways,” you tried to wave off his outstretched hand, but he was serious.

“Look, I know we don’t get to spend much time together with the races and everything…” he paused trying to articulate his thoughts, “but uh, you are my girlfriend! And I want to do to things for you!” He rushed out blushing, trying not to look into your eyes.

You could feel the heat rush to your face, it was the first relationship where it felt real, like there was something special, you couldn’t help the smile that spread on your face, “um, yeah, uh thank you, that’s really nice, I’d like that.” You kissed his cheek.

Fernando

Everything with Fernando was easy, he woke up early for training and by the time he came back you’d be up, either making breakfast or getting ready to go out. Today was different, both you had the time for a lazy day in so you ordered in.

“Nando, I’m placing the order, you want anything else?” You called across the room to where the man was busy recording one of his TikTok’s.

“No, my wallet is in the drawer,” he replied.

“Oh no need, I already place the order! It will here in twenty,” you announced making him stop in his tracks.

“You paid? Why? Are you angry?” He turned to you completely serious.

“What? Babe no! I just ordered, it’s not so serious,”

He continued through your answer, “por favour, next time don’t pay, okay? You are my wife! You shouldn’t have to pay when I’m here!”

Lance

“Hey Lance, I’m ordering in, do you want anything?” You asked sitting across him on the sofa, nudging his thigh with your feet.

He didn’t look up from his phone, placing a hand on your shin instead, “yea I’ll get a smoothie, thanks” you hummed and placed the order.

Jumping a little when he placed a card on your thigh where you’d be able to reach it.

“What’s this for?” You questioned confused, making the man opposite you furrow his brows.

“For the food?”

“Oh I already paid-”

“What? Since when do you pay?”

“What? Ofcourse I pay!” You replied slightly offended, you paid, not often but definitely did!

“Babe, the last you paid was in 2020 when I was in Italy and you were back home,” he deadpanned, making you roll your eyes.

Part 2 with Max, Yuki, Esteban, Ollie, Liam, Isack, Carlos, Alex, Nico and Gabi- COMING SOON!!

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nonbinary-vents · 1 month ago

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thinking about how recently I went to King’s Cross with my family, and saw graffiti of ‘viva Hamas’, and like whatever that’s really common, but I told my mum because it is still kind of freaky. And she didn’t have any other response except ‘ugh don’t pay attention to the idiots’ (Hebrew edition so a little ruder obviously lol). And in the moment I was just kind of mad at her for brushing it off so much, but now I’m just…

It’s so normal. It is so so normal to go outside and see stickers or graffiti or posters explicitly calling for me and people like me to be slaughtered. I see it all the time. And it’s become normal. It used to be scary, it used to be overwhelming and completely drowning me. But now it just feels like, idk— I guess just a part of daily life. It has the same effect of someone behind you brushing against your shoe or something. A little annoying in the moment, it might hurt for a split second, but you get over it as soon as you take another step.

this specific graffiti only really affected me as much as it did because we were supposed to be having a nice day, and it had been before that, and I had been nervous about King’s Cross beforehand but hadn’t seen anything weird. It hit me the way it did because before then there wasn’t anything and I was pleasantly surprised, so almost a new normal had been set for the day. Even in this post my first instinct after writing what I saw was to add on a ‘but it’s whatever lol’. Huh?????? Explicit celebration of Hamas is just ‘whatever’ to me at this point???? Seriously????

When I go outside I see that people want me dead. And it’s nothing more than a slight annoyance, ‘just don’t pay attention to them’. It really is such a mindfuck

#I guess I know how my ancestors felt now #you just get desensitised #jewish stuff #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #this isn’t just about leftist stuff but that’s the post #like for example every time I see Kanye West doing something new I feel less and less upset or disgusted #Obviously the shock value wore off quick after his first stint but now I literally don’t feel anything damn #Jewish

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hqwkeyes · 2 months ago

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Falling for the Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 3.6k+ Warnings: swearing, uhh fluff, slight angst?, matt is a flirt, i edited this while fighting 6g melatonin Summary: Matt Murdock is a known flirt, and a successful one, at that. You've seen him work his magic on women dozens of times. But one night, he attempts to use that Murdock charm on you. He might've fallen first, but you just might fall harder... maybe.

Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!

Matt Murdock is many things: a great lawyer, a great friend, but most of all, he's a flirt. A merciless flirt, at that. A charmer and a tease. He has a way of making people, specifically women, feel special. It comes naturally to him, much to Foggy's dismay in his pre-Marci days.

You've been working at Nelson, Murdock, and Page for a while now, and you just sort of clicked with the group early on. There have been several occasions when you were all out at Josie's and Matt would work his magic on a woman. You would all watch as he'd flirt with them, charm them, and often times leave with them. It was a running joke in the group, at this point, that Matt was sort of a...philanderer, if you will. He didn't lead these women on, though. Matt was still pretty much a gentleman.

Although he keeps to himself more than the others, you've always been pretty close friends with Matt. He looks out for you the same way he does for Karen and Foggy, and you trust him—like really trust him. Was there a vibe you got from him sometimes? Sure, but you were also well aware that Matt could probably charm a brick wall if he wanted to, and you generally try not to fall for antics like that.

It's been a long week, and this case you were all working had dragged on for weeks in court. You all had done your best work for your client, but you weren't sure how the verdict would pan out. In the end, you guys won the case, and now it was time to celebrate.

Josie's is fairly busy. Foggy brought Marci tonight, and you all get yourselves a drink before claiming the pool table, which is thankfully free. The five of you toast to the big win in court before cutting loose a bit and playing a few games.

You're sitting at a table nearby with Karen, chatting a bit while Foggy plays against Marci—which is incredibly entertaining. Matt is by Foggy's side for emotional support, which he definitely needs. When both your drinks are empty, Karen gets up to get the two of you another round. After a few minutes, you peek over at the bar, wondering what's taking your friend so long. You're only a little surprised to find her talking it up with a guy. She's the friendly sort, but this seems like a bit more than just friendly. He's handsome and very much her type. Another minute later, Karen pops back over with your drink, and asks if you would mind if she stepped away to talk to Evan. You give her a suggestive grin and shoo her away before calling out to your friends that you're playing the winner in the next game.

In a shocking twist, Foggy beat Marci in the last game. Unfortunately for you, that just meant that she was on his side, cheering him on and distracting him from the game. Matt is sitting at the table you and Karen had been occupying, and you call him over.

"Come on, Matt, I need someone to root for me too," you tell him, and he laughs as he joins you by the pool table.

The two of you chat as you play, but after the next few shots, you lose Foggy to Marci's attention. He's practically drooling over her, and you would think it's adorable if it wasn't his turn.

"Earth to Foggy," you call out, but it's no use. You'll have to wait for him to turn his attention back to the game.

"Can you believe this?" You ask Matt, shaking your head in disbelief, and he laughs at your mild distress.

You lean against the table, grabbing your drink you'd left on the edge of it.

"You know, you really pulled through for us on this case," Matt says suddenly as he leans against the table beside you.

"Thanks, Matt. It was nothing though."

"No, really, I don't think we could've pulled it off if not for those documents you found."

"I'm just happy to help," you tell him.

"And we're very happy to have you," he says with a smile.

Matt holds out his glass, and you clink yours against it before taking a sip. You glance over to where Karen is to check on her, and she seems to be having a great time. Her eyes meet yours and she gives you a big smile.

"This is nice," Matt says, drawing your attention back to him.

"Hm?"

"We haven't spent much time together like this lately."

"Well, we've been so busy with the case, it's been hard to find time outside of work. And we all know you're always busy," you say, nudging him with your elbow.

"That's true," he says with a chuckle. "So what have you been up to outside of work?"

"Oh." You weren't expecting that.

"Um, well I've been watching this show lately." You explain the plot of the show before telling him about this new hobby you have. He listens attentively with a small smile. He shows genuine interest in what you're saying, asking questions here and there. After a few minutes, you realize that you've been babbling on.

"Jeez, I'm sorry. I've been rambling."

"Don't apologize," he says, leaning a bit closer. "I like listening to your voice." You recognize his tone. It's that seemingly innocent one he has when he's trying to charm someone. Something bubbles in your chest, and for a moment, you understand why so many women fall for his flirtations.

"I bet you tell all the girls that," you say with a laugh before taking another sip your drink.

"Hey, I mean it," he says, feigning hurt before finishing off his drink.

"Sure you do," you say, voice laced with amusement.

"I do, really. I could listen to you talk all day."

"You do listen to me talk all day," you joke, earning a chuckle from him, though his pride is a bit wounded.

Trying to keep his composure, he casually snatches your drink from your hand and takes a sip.

"Do you want me to get you another drink?" You ask with a laugh.

"I thought maybe we could share." His reply is quick, smooth, and it comes with that signature smirk again.

You roll your eyes. You know Matt and how he is. This case was tough and he's probably looking to blow off some steam, which is fine, but you're not sure why he's looking to you. Being friends with your bosses/coworkers can be difficult enough. Sleeping with Matt would likely complicate both of those relationships. You wouldn't want to risk it all over a one night stand, although, once again, you can see how he manages to captivate all these women.

You play it casual. "Sure, we can share if you want."

At that, you can see the twinge of frustration in Matt's expression. His brows draw up in what looks something like confusion.

"I heard Karen say she was talking to a guy at the bar?" He asks after a moment.

"Oh yeah, she said his name is Evan."

"Nice, nice."

A moment passes. You take your drink back for another sip as your eyes dance over the small crowd to check on Karen again, who still looks like she's having a great time.

"So, are you seeing anyone new?" And you almost spit that sip straight onto the floor. Josie would probably make you clean it yourself, or it would stay there until the sticky puddle dried.

You clear your throat from nearly choking. "No, I'm not." Matt's grin returns. He fumbles with his fingers.

"Oh, no?"

"Nope. You?"

"No, not lately." he says, taking your drink back again and draining half of what's left. He lets out a sigh after. "There's someone I've been interested in for a while, and I just can't quite get over my feelings," he says.

You freeze, your heart kicking up a fuss. Matt smiles at the floor. You try to maintain your composure.

"Oh, really?" you say, trying not to sound too interested. "Who's the lucky lady? Do we all know her?"

"Yeah, you do actually." He finishes off your drink. "Can I get you another?" He asks, holding up your glass.

"Umm." You glance at your watch. It's a Friday, but you don't want to go home so late that you have to call a car.

"Just one more? To celebrate our win." He plays it cool, but there's a slight edge to his voice, almost pleading.

"By one more, do you mean one of my own or one to share?" He laughs at that.

"What's wrong with sharing," he jests with a grin, then heads to the bar before you can reply.

He returns a couple minutes later with a drink for each of you, but his smile deflates when he finds that Foggy's attention has returned to the game you were playing.

"Thanks, Matt," you say passively as you take your drink and set it on the edge of the table before lining up your next shot.

You end up pocketing two balls in one go, letting out an excited shout.

"What's happening?" Matt asks.

"She just pocketed two balls," Foggy says, exasperated.

"My last two. And now I can go for the winning shot," you tell him. He smiles.

"Nice," Matt says, trying not to seem dejected.

"The odds of you making that shot are slim to none," Foggy says. He's right. Based on the placement of his remaining balls, it's unlikely that you'll make the winning shot in this turn, but you get competitive when people doubt you.

"Wanna bet?" you say.

"On you not making the shot? Hell yeah."

"How much if I do?"

"Twenty bucks."

"You don't sound too confident," you say, goading him.

"Fine, fifty." Marci lightly smacks his arm. Honestly, you shouldn't have pushed it with how slim your chances are, but you're feeling a little lucky tonight.

"Deal."

You call your pocket before taking a moment to line up your shot. You inhale deeply, hold it a second, exhale. Shoot. The 8 ball knocks against one of Foggy's, then against the edge of the table before slowly rolling toward the pocket you called. And it's in.

"Holy shit!" Foggy yells. You're cheering for yourself and Marci joins in the excitement.

Foggy comes around to your side of the table to give you your fifty dollars. "You definitely earned it," he says with a laugh. "Wanna go again?"

"I'm good," you tell him. "That was more than enough excitement for me."

You walk over to Matt, who is standing near the table you had shared with Karen earlier.

"I take it you won?"

"I did," you say, your voice oozing with pride.

He chuckles. "Of course you did."

He holds out his glass to toast to your win, and you clink yours against his, a bit spilling on the floor.

"So, what are you gonna do with the money you won?" he asks, setting his drink down on the table.

"Hmm, I'm not sure. Maybe I'll treat myself to dinner tomorrow night."

You go to step closer to the table to set your drink down, but slip on the puddle you'd left, falling forward. Matt catches you against his chest, his arms falling around your waist to steady you.

"Shit, I'm sorry," you say, removing your hands from his chest once you regain your footing, but Matt's arms don't move.

"You're finally falling for me, huh," he says with that smirk. Your heart skips a beat. Or maybe several. Actually, it feels like it might burst right out of your chest. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks growing hotter by the second.

"I– um, I–" you stammer, unsure of what to say.

"How about instead of treating yourself to dinner tomorrow night, you let me treat you."

"But what about–" you pause as the realization hits you. You were the woman he had been talking about. "Oh." You feel the tips of your ears reddening.

Matt lets out a soft chuckle at your reaction.

Now that you think about it, it's been more than a few weeks since Matt has flirted with anyone here at Josie's. Women have approached him, as usual, but he hadn't left with any of them or even accepted any of their offers to buy him a drink. He was still charming, but that's just natural with him. At the time, you attributed it to him being busy, as you all were with work. Matt had a way of really locking in on work when there was a heavy caseload, so it didn't seem unusual then. You would all just stop in at Josie's for a quick drink before heading home.

You're pulled from your thoughts by Matt tugging you a little closer to him.

"So how about it?" he asks quietly once he has your attention again. "We can go to that little Italian place you like near the office?"

Have you, at some point, considered what it might be like to be with Matt? Admittedly, yes. He's a sweetheart of a guy, always kind and courteous. He's a fierce lawyer—you're constantly impressed by his ability to captivate a jury and spin a narrative. And he and Foggy are always looking out for the little guy, taking on clients that don't have much—or anything at all, sometimes—but need help, and so they do just that. But at the end of the day, you're friends, and he's also your boss.

Your heart is in your throat.

"Um, as friends?" you ask.

He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.

"Well, I was hoping it could be a date if you're comfortable with that."

You bite your lip. "I– I just don't know if I want to risk what we already have," you admit.

"Understandable," he says, and one of his hands comes up to rest on your cheek, the other remaining firmly on your waist. "But what if we could have so much more?"

Well, the joke's on you for trying to argue with a lawyer.

"You can think of it as a trial run if you want," he offers, his hand coming down to your jaw. "If it doesn't feel right to you, we can just go back to how things were."

It might not be that simple, you think, but maybe it's worth the risk, like he said. And besides, Matt is someone you love having in your life. If things didn't work out romantically after a date or two, you're sure you could still be friends.

"A trial run, then," you say with a small nod. Matt's smirk blossoms into a smile.

"Perfect," he whispers, his hand finding it's way back up to your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. Your eyes flutter closed.

And then they're shooting back open as Foggy's voice cuts across the room.

"Look at all this love in the room tonight!" The volume of his voice makes you wince, and Marci bats at his arm, scolding him for ruining the moment. Both you and Matt burst into laughter at the pair.

You finish off your drink before getting ready to head out with the others. Karen bids Evan a good night as she readies herself to leave with the rest of you, but not before she gets his number. You link your arm through hers as you move toward the exit, asking about her night. She gives little away in the short walk to the door, but promises to catch you up at work on Monday.

"You had an eventful night too, didn't you?" she says with a grin.

"Oh yeah, I won fifty bucks off of Foggy."

"Wait, what? I was talking about with Matt. I saw the two of you over by the table," she says, nudging you playfully.

"Oh, you saw that?" You wear a bashful smile.

"Yes, and I expect to hear about that on Monday too," she says with a laugh, and you agree.

The cool night air greets you as you exit the bar, leaving goosebumps on your skin. Foggy and Marci get a cab first, calling out their "goodnights" as they get in the car. Karen calls another cab over, and she offers it to you, but you insist she takes it as she lives further than you.

And now you're left here with Matt.

"I don't see anymore taxis," you tell him. "I can call one for you if you'd like?"

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine to walk," he says, tapping his cane against the pavement. Neither of you live far from Josie's. It's about a ten minute walk from you.

"I was going to walk too," you say.

"Then, can I walk you home?" he asks.

"How about I walk you home? You're not far out of the way."

He shakes his head. "I don't want you walking alone if you can avoid it. It's late."

"Fine," you say. Then, "thank you."

He smiles at the ground before taking hold of the crook of your arm. "Of course."

The two of you walk in silence for a moment before he speaks.

"You know, I'm really looking forward to tomorrow night," he says.

A small smile makes its way onto your face. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he says. "Thank you for giving me a chance. I know you might think I'm some kind of... I don't know, playboy or something, but I'm– I'm serious about this—about you." Your cheeks burn hot at that.

"I don't think that about you," you say quietly.

"You don't?"

"No. Although, I do think you have an uncanny ability to charm pretty much any woman." He smiles again. "You're a flirt and a tease, but I wouldn't go as far as to call you a playboy." His smile falters a bit at that.

"I believe you, though," you tell him. "Admittedly, I'm a little hesitant to, but you've never given me a reason not to trust you."

"Then, I'll just have to keep proving that you can trust me."

You smile. "I'm looking forward to that."

The two of you walk together in silence for a bit.

"The moon is so bright tonight," you say as you look up at the sky.

"Is it?"

"Yeah, it is. I can see it shining through the clouds, but there are too many to see any stars."

Matt sighs. "I'd give anything to see that one more time." Your heart constricts at that.

"I– I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says. "I like that you describe things like that to me. You do it more often than you might think. It feels like you want to share it with me, and I enjoy hearing how things look through your eyes. I remember what it was like, you know, seeing the night sky, all the stars up there—or at least what we could see from the city. When you tell me about it, it helps me keep those memories alive." You tear up just a little bit, smiling sadly.

"I'm glad I could do that for you."

A few moments pass, and you come up to your apartment building.

"This is me," you say with a sniffle, coming to a stop.

Matt turns to face you, bringing his hand up to cup your face once again.

"I take it back," he says softly.

"What?" you ask, confused.

"I take it back," he says again, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "As much as I wish I could see the sky again, I'd do anything to see you just once."

"Oh, Matt," you breathe, and a tear slips free. He brushes it away as he closes the gap between you, pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips. And then he's pulling away, but your hand comes up to gently tug him back by his tie. His hands find their place on your hips as you pull him into another kiss, this one a bit deeper. One of his hands comes up to rest at the nape of your neck, and his glasses bump against your nose as he angles his head. The two of you break apart in a laugh, and his hand comes down to take hold of yours.

"I wasn't planning on kissing you tonight, just so you know."

"Oh, no?"

He shakes his head, a small grin on his face. "Nope."

"Well, I guess you can just try not to kiss me tomorrow night," you say with a small smirk.

"Oh, I don't think so," he says, a laugh rumbling in his chest as he leans in to press one last kiss to your lips.

"Until tomorrow," he says once he pulls away.

"Goodnight, Matt," you say as you take a step towards the stairs to your building.

"Goodnight" he says, finally releasing your hand.

He waits until he hears you get safely inside your apartment to start his walk to his own, a smile on his face the entire way home.

You're practically giddy as you ready yourself for bed. There's a good chance you won't be getting much sleep tonight, not with the anticipation of tomorrow night lingering.

Matt feels it too. Despite the late hour, he's wide awake, his heart thumping wildly as he recounts the past hour or so. As he lies in bed, he can't help but miss the way you felt in his arms, like the piece he didn't realize he was missing. Some would say it's too soon to tell, but to him, you already felt like home.

Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!

If you want to be added to any of my taglists, check out this form

Matt Murdock taglist: @xoxabs88xox @echo-dreams-of-recs

#hqwkeyes #marvel #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #marvel daredevil #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fic

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sobbingscripter · 4 months ago

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⋆.˚🌷༘⋆this is an mdni blog so... You know, viewer discretion

⋆.˚🌷༘ you can call me... Later *rubs hands deviously and rizztastically*

⋆.˚🌷༘ she/her

⋆.˚🌷༘ 19

⋆.˚🌷༘ writer for mlw and wlw

⋆.˚🌷༘ i get to requests when i feel like i'm in the optimal position to complete that specific request so i don't always complete them in the order i receive them

⋆.˚🌷༘ i don't write: scat; minors; beastiality; noncon; vomit; genderbending nor do i do hyperspecific works because more vague = more people can enjoy

⋆.˚🌷༘ please don't be a dick. this is a safe space

⋆.˚🌷༘ i can do: one shots; drabbles; or just headcanons

⋆.˚🌷༘ my only weakness? *sighs nonchalantly* I'm just... Too hung. Like, it's actually a problem. My wiener tends to drag against the concrete, and it leaves delves in the pavements (i lowkey need to be attracted to a character to write them so like, i go watch a bunch of edits, do some research and go use them on character ai to see if i can envision a life with them)

all of these works are my own creations, except the characters (except riot. he's from my brain) please do not plagiarize, steal, copy, translate or post elsewhere without asking for consent. i work really hard on these and i've got the tears to prove it.

⋆.🦩࿔*:･ dc comics

⋆.🦩࿔*:･ invincible

⋆.🦩࿔*:･ jujutsu kaisen

⋆.🦩࿔*:･ hellsing ultimate

⋆.🦩࿔*:･ marvel (coming soon)

⋆.🦩࿔*:･ star wars (coming soon)

⋆.🦩࿔*:･ call of duty (coming soon)

⋆.🌺࿔*:･period playlist

⋆.🌺࿔*:･ seasonal: 11 days of christmas 2024

⋆.🌺࿔*:･ seasonal: my funny valentines 2025

⋆.🌺࿔*:･ seasonal: kinktober 2025

⋆.🌺࿔*:･ seasonal: no nut november 2025

⋆.🌺࿔*:･ seasonal: 11 days of christmas 2025

These are drabbles so... They're in a display case :3 because they're tiny and little displays of the writing style that's in my more... Wordier works

⋆ neighbours (frank castle)

⋆⋆ morning glow (damian wayne)

⋆⋆⋆ beastly (garfield logan)

⋆.💮࿔*:･⋆.˚💮༘⋆⋆.💮࿔*:･⋆.˚💮༘⋆⋆.💮࿔*:･⋆.˚💮༘⋆

Add yourself to my taglist: ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

link to my commissions post: ⋆.˚🦩༘⋆

⋆.💮࿔*:･⋆.˚💮༘⋆⋆.💮࿔*:･⋆.˚💮༘⋆⋆.💮࿔*:･⋆.˚💮༘⋆

ᴀʟʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟᴇᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀᴛʏ ᴏꜰ @ꜱᴏʙʙɪɴɢꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛᴇʀ

#sobbingscripter #smut writer #writer #female writers #writers on tumblr #masterlist #mlist #dc comics #jjk #invincible #seasonal #hellsing ultimate #taglist #tag list

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months ago

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With Great Power Came No Responsibility

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in NYC TONIGHT (26 Feb) with JOHN HODGMAN and at PENN STATE TOMORROW (Feb 27). More tour dates here. Mail-order signed copies from LA's Diesel Books.

Last night, I traveled to Toronto to deliver the annual Ursula Franklin Lecture at the University of Toronto's Innis College:

The lecture was called "With Great Power Came No Responsibility: How Enshittification Conquered the 21st Century and How We Can Overthrow It." It's the latest major speech in my series of talks on the subject, which started with last year's McLuhan Lecture in Berlin:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

And continued with a summer Defcon keynote:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/17/hack-the-planet/#how-about-a-nice-game-of-chess

This speech specifically addresses the unique opportunities for disenshittification created by Trump's rapid unscheduled midair disassembly of the international free trade system. The US used trade deals to force nearly every country in the world to adopt the IP laws that make enshittification possible, and maybe even inevitable. As Trump burns these trade deals to the ground, the rest of the world has an unprecedented opportunity to retaliate against American bullying by getting rid of these laws and producing the tools, devices and services that can protect every tech user (including Americans) from being ripped off by US Big Tech companies.

I'm so grateful for the chance to give this talk. I was hosted for the day by the Centre for Culture and Technology, which was founded by Marshall McLuhan, and is housed in the coach house he used for his office. The talk itself took place in Innis College, named for Harold Innis, who is definitely the thinking person's Marshall McLuhan. What's more, I was mentored by Innis's daughter, Anne Innis Dagg, a radical, brilliant feminist biologist who pretty much invented the field of giraffology:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/19/pluralist-19-feb-2020/#annedagg

But with all respect due to Anne and her dad, Ursula Franklin is the thinking person's Harold Innis. A brilliant scientist, activist and communicator who dedicated her life to the idea that the most important fact about a technology wasn't what it did, but who it did it for and who it did it to. Getting to work out of McLuhan's office to present a talk in Innis's theater that was named after Franklin? Swoon!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ursula_Franklin

Here's the text of the talk, lightly edited:

I know tonight’s talk is supposed to be about decaying tech platforms, but I want to start by talking about nurses.

A January 2025 report from Groundwork Collective documents how increasingly nurses in the USA are hired through gig apps – "Uber for nurses” – so nurses never know from one day to the next whether they're going to work, or how much they'll get paid.

There's something high-tech going on here with those nurses' wages. These nursing apps – a cartel of three companies, Shiftkey, Shiftmed and Carerev – can play all kinds of games with labor pricing.

Before Shiftkey offers a nurse a shift, it purchases that worker's credit history from a data-broker. Specifically, it pays to find out how much credit-card debt the nurse is carrying, and whether it is overdue.

The more desperate the nurse's financial straits are, the lower the wage on offer. Because the more desperate you are, the less you'll accept to come and do the gruntwork of caring for the sick, the elderly, and the dying.

Now, there are lots of things going on here, and they're all terrible. What's more, they are emblematic of “enshittification,” the word I coined to describe the decay of online platforms.

When I first started writing about this, I focused on the external symptology of enshittification, a three stage process:

First, the platform is good to its end users, while finding a way to lock them in.

Like Google, which minimized ads and maximized spending on engineering for search results, even as they bought their way to dominance, bribing every service or product with a search box to make it a Google search box.

So no matter what browser you used, what mobile OS you used, what carrier you had, you would always be searching on Google by default. This got so batshit that by the early 2020s, Google was spending enough money to buy a whole-ass Twitter, every year or two, just to make sure that no one ever tried a search engine that wasn't Google.

That's stage one: be good to end users, lock in end users.

Stage two is when the platform starts to abuse end users to tempt in and enrich business customers. For Google, that’s advertisers and web publishers. An ever-larger fraction of a Google results page is given over to ads, which are marked with ever-subtler, ever smaller, ever grayer labels. Google uses its commercial surveillance data to target ads to us.

So that's stage two: things get worse for end users and get better for business customers.

But those business customers also get locked into the platform, dependent on those customers. Once businesses are getting as little as 10% of their revenue from Google, leaving Google becomes an existential risk. We talk a lot about Google's "monopoly" power, which is derived from its dominance as a seller. But Google is also a monopsony, a powerful buyer.

So now you have Google acting as a monopolist to its users (stage one), and a monoposonist for its business customers (stage two) and here comes stage three: where Google claws back all the value in the platform, save a homeopathic residue calculated to keep end users locked in, and business customers locked to those end users.

Google becomes enshittified.

In 2019, Google had a turning point. Search had grown as much as it possibly could. More than 90% of us used Google for search, and we searched for everything. Any thought or idle question that crossed our minds, we typed into Google.

How could Google grow? There were no more users left to switch to Google. We weren't going to search for more things. What could Google do?

Well, thanks to internal memos published during last year's monopoly trial against Google, we know what they did. They made search worse. They reduced the system's accuracy it so you had to search twice or more to get to the answer, thus doubling the number of queries, and doubling the number of ads.

Meanwhile, Google entered into a secret, illegal collusive arrangement with Facebook, codenamed Jedi Blue, to rig the ad market, fixing prices so advertisers paid more and publishers got less.

And that's how we get to the enshittified Google of today, where every query serves back a blob of AI slop, over five paid results tagged with the word AD in 8-point, 10% grey on white type, which is, in turn, over ten spammy links from SEO shovelware sites filled with more AI slop.

And yet, we still keep using Google, because we're locked into it. That's enshittification, from the outside. A company that's good to end users, while locking them in. Then it makes things worse for end users, to make things better for business customers, while locking them in. Then it takes all the value for itself and turns into a giant pile of shit.

Enshittification, a tragedy in three acts.

I started off focused on the outward signs of enshittification, but I think it's time we start thinking about what's going in inside the companies to make enshittification possible.

What is the technical mechanism for enshittification? I call it twiddling. Digital businesses have infinite flexibility, bequeathed to them by the marvellously flexible digital computers they run on. That means that firms can twiddle the knobs that control the fundamental aspects of their business. Every time you interact with a firm, everything is different: prices, costs, search rankings, recommendations.

Which takes me back to our nurses. This scam, where you look up the nurse's debt load and titer down the wage you offer based on it in realtime? That's twiddling. It's something you can only do with a computer. The bosses who are doing this aren't more evil than bosses of yore, they just have better tools.

Note that these aren't even tech bosses. These are health-care bosses, who happen to have tech.

Digitalization – weaving networked computers through a firm or a sector – enables this kind of twiddling that allows firms to shift value around, from end users to business customers, from business customers back to end users, and eventually, inevitably, to themselves.

And digitalization is coming to every sector – like nursing. Which means enshittification is coming to every sector – like nursing.

The legal scholar Veena Dubal coined a term to describe the twiddling that suppresses the wages of debt-burdened nurses. It's called "Algorithmic Wage Discrimination," and it follows the gig economy.

The gig economy is a major locus of enshittification, and it’s the largest tear in the membrane separating the virtual world from the real world. Gig work, where your shitty boss is a shitty app, and you aren't even allowed to call yourself an employee.

Uber invented this trick. Drivers who are picky about the jobs the app puts in front of them start to get higher wage offers. But if they yield to temptation and take some of those higher-waged option, then the wage starts to go down again, in random intervals, by small increments, designed to be below the threshold for human perception. Not so much boiling the frog as poaching it, until the Uber driver has gone into debt to buy a new car, and given up the side hustles that let them be picky about the rides they accepted. Then their wage goes down, and down, and down.

Twiddling is a crude trick done quickly. Any task that's simple but time consuming is a prime candidate for automation, and this kind of wage-theft would be unbearably tedious, labor-intensive and expensive to perform manually. No 19th century warehouse full of guys with green eyeshades slaving over ledgers could do this. You need digitalization.

Twiddling nurses' hourly wages is a perfect example of the role digitization pays in enshittification. Because this kind of thing isn't just bad for nurses – it's bad for patients, too. Do we really think that paying nurses based on how desperate they are, at a rate calculated to increase that desperation, and thus decrease the wage they are likely to work for, is going to result in nurses delivering the best care?

Do you want to your catheter inserted by a nurse on food stamps, who drove an Uber until midnight the night before, and skipped breakfast this morning in order to make rent?

This is why it’s so foolish to say "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." “If you’re not paying for the product” ascribes a mystical power to advertising-driven services: the power to bypass our critical faculties by surveilling us, and data-mining the resulting dossiers to locate our mental bind-spots, and weaponize them to get us to buy anything an advertiser is selling.

In this formulation, we are complicit in our own exploitation. By choosing to use "free" services, we invite our own exploitation by surveillance capitalists who have perfected a mind-control ray powered by the surveillance data we're voluntarily handing over by choosing ad-driven services.

The moral is that if we only went back to paying for things, instead of unrealistically demanding that everything be free, we would restore capitalism to its functional, non-surveillant state, and companies would start treating us better, because we'd be the customers, not the products.

That's why the surveillance capitalism hypothesis elevates companies like Apple as virtuous alternatives. Because Apple charges us money, rather than attention, it can focus on giving us better service, rather than exploiting us.

There's a superficially plausible logic to this. After all, in 2022, Apple updated its iOS operating system, which runs on iPhones and other mobile devices, introducing a tick box that allowed you to opt out of third-party surveillance, most notably Facebook’s.

96% of Apple customers ticked that box. The other 4% were, presumably drunk, or Facebook employees, or Facebook employees who were drunk. Which makes sense, because if I worked for Facebook, I'd be drunk all the time.

So on the face of it, it seems like Apple isn't treating its customers like "the product." But simultaneously with this privacy measure, Apple was secretly turning on its own surveillance system for iPhone owners, which would spy on them in exactly the way Facebook had, for exactly the same purpose: to target ads to you based on the places you'd been, the things you'd searched for, the communications you'd had, the links you'd clicked.

Apple didn't ask its customers for permission to spy on them. It didn't let opt out of this spying. It didn’t even tell them about it, and when it was caught, Apple lied about it.

It goes without saying that the $1000 Apple distraction rectangle in your pocket is something you paid for. The fact that you've paid for it doesn't stop Apple from treating you as the product. Apple treats its business customers – app vendors – like the product, screwing them out of 30 cents on every dollar they bring in, with mandatory payment processing fees that are 1,000% higher than the already extortionate industry norm.

Apple treats its end users – people who shell out a grand for a phone – like the product, spying on them to help target ads to them.

Apple treats everyone like the product.

This is what's going on with our gig-app nurses: the nurses are the product. The patients are the product. The hospitals are the product. In enshittification, "the product" is anyone who can be productized.

Fair and dignified treatment is not something you get as a customer loyalty perk, in exchange for parting with your money, rather than your attention. How do you get fair and dignified treatment? Well, I'm gonna get to that, but let's stay with our nurses for a while first.

The nurses are the product, and they're being twiddled, because they've been conscripted into the tech industry, via the digitalization of their own industry.

It's tempting to blame digitalization for this. But tech companies were not born enshittified. They spent years – decades – making pleasing products. If you're old enough to remember the launch of Google, you'll recall that, at the outset, Google was magic.

You could Ask Jeeves questions for a million years, you could load up Altavista with ten trillion boolean search operators meant to screen out low-grade results, and never come up with answers as crisp, as useful, as helpful, as the ones you'd get from a few vaguely descriptive words in a Google search-bar.

There's a reason we all switched to Google. Why so many of us bought iPhones. Why we joined our friends on Facebook. All of these services were born digital. They could have enshittified at any time. But they didn't – until they did. And they did it all at once.

If you were a nurse, and every patient that staggered into the ER had the same dreadful symptoms, you'd call the public health department and report a suspected outbreak of a new and dangerous epidemic.

Ursula Franklin held that technology's outcomes were not preordained. They are the result of deliberate choices. I like that very much, it's a very science fictional way of thinking about technology. Good science fiction isn't merely about what the technology does, but who it does it for, and who it does it to.

Those social factors are far more important than the mere technical specifications of a gadget. They're the difference between a system that warns you when you're about to drift out of your lane, and a system that tells your insurer that you nearly drifted out of your lane, so they can add $10 to your monthly premium.

They’re the difference between a spell checker that lets you know you've made a typo, and bossware that lets your manager use the number of typos you made this quarter so he can deny your bonus.

They’re the difference between an app that remembers where you parked your car, and an app that uses the location of your car as a criteria for including you in a reverse warrant for the identities of everyone in the vicinity of an anti-government protest.

I believe that enshittification is caused by changes not to technology, but to the policy environment. These are changes to the rules of the game, undertaken in living memory, by named parties, who were warned at the time about the likely outcomes of their actions, who are today very rich and respected, and face no consequences or accountability for their role in ushering in the enshittocene. They venture out into polite society without ever once wondering if someone is sizing them up for a pitchfork.

In other words: I think we created a crimogenic environment, a perfect breeding pool for the most pathogenic practices in our society, that have therefore multiplied, dominating decision-making in our firms and states, leading to a vast enshittening of everything.

And I think there's good news there, because if enshittification isn't the result a new kind of evil person, or the great forces of history bearing down on the moment to turn everything to shit, but rather the result of specific policy choices, then we can reverse those policies, make better ones and emerge from the enshittocene, consigning the enshitternet to the scrapheap of history, a mere transitional state between the old, good internet, and a new, good internet.

I'm not going to talk about AI today, because oh my god is AI a boring, overhyped subject. But I will use a metaphor about AI, about the limited liability company, which is a kind of immortal, artificial colony organism in which human beings serve as a kind of gut flora. My colleague Charlie Stross calls corporations "slow AI.”

So you've got these slow AIs whose guts are teeming with people, and the AI's imperative, the paperclip it wants to maximize, is profit. To maximize profits, you charge as much as you can, you pay your workers and suppliers as little as you can, you spend as little as possible on safety and quality.

Every dollar you don't spend on suppliers, workers, quality or safety is a dollar that can go to executives and shareholders. So there's a simple model of the corporation that could maximize its profits by charging infinity dollars, while paying nothing to its workers or suppliers, and ignoring quality and safety.

But that corporation wouldn't make any money, for the obvious reasons that none of us would buy what it was selling, and no one would work for it or supply it with goods. These constraints act as disciplining forces that tamp down the AI's impulse to charge infinity and pay nothing.

In tech, we have four of these constraints, anti-enshittificatory sources of discipline that make products and services better, pay workers more, and keep executives’ and shareholders' wealth from growing at the expense of customers, suppliers and labor.

The first of these constraints is markets. All other things being equal, a business that charges more and delivers less will lose customers to firms that are more generous about sharing value with workers, customers and suppliers.

This is the bedrock of capitalist theory, and it's the ideological basis for competition law, what our American cousins call "antitrust law."

The first antitrust law was 1890's Sherman Act, whose sponsor, Senator John Sherman, stumped for it from the senate floor, saying:

If we will not endure a King as a political power we should not endure a King over the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life. If we would not submit to an emperor we should not submit to an autocrat of trade with power to prevent competition and to fix the price of any commodity.

Senator Sherman was reflecting the outrage of the anitmonopolist movement of the day, when proprietors of monopolistic firms assumed the role of dictators, with the power to decide who would work, who would starve, what could be sold, and what it cost.

Lacking competitors, they were too big to fail, too big to jail, and too big to care. As Lily Tomlin used to put it in her spoof AT&T ads on SNL: "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company.”

So what happened to the disciplining force of competition? We killed it. Starting 40-some years ago, the Reagaonomic views of the Chicago School economists transformed antitrust. They threw out John Sherman's idea that we need to keep companies competitive to prevent the emergence of "autocrats of trade,"and installed the idea that monopolies are efficient.

In other words, if Google has a 90% search market share, which it does, then we must infer that Google is the best search engine ever, and the best search engine possible. The only reason a better search engine hasn't stepped in is that Google is so skilled, so efficient, that there is no conceivable way to improve upon it.

We can tell that Google is the best because it has a monopoly, and we can tell that the monopoly is good because Google is the best.

So 40 years ago, the US – and its major trading partners – adopted an explicitly pro-monopoly competition policy.

Now, you'll be glad to hear that this isn't what happened to Canada. The US Trade Rep didn't come here and force us to neuter our competition laws. But don't get smug! The reason that didn't happen is that it didn't have to. Because Canada had no competition law to speak of, and never has.

In its entire history, the Competition Bureau has challenged three mergers, and it has halted precisely zero mergers, which is how we've ended up with a country that is beholden to the most mediocre plutocrats imaginable like the Irvings, the Westons, the Stronachs, the McCains and the Rogerses.

The only reason these chinless wonders were able to conquer this country Is that the Americans had been crushing their monopolists before they could conquer the US and move on to us. But 40 years ago, the rest of the world adopted the Chicago School's pro-monopoly "consumer welfare standard,” and we got…monopolies.

Monopolies in pharma, beer, glass bottles, vitamin C, athletic shoes, microchips, cars, mattresses, eyeglasses, and, of course, professional wrestling.

Remember: these are specific policies adopted in living memory, by named individuals, who were warned, and got rich, and never faced consequences. The economists who conceived of these policies are still around today, polishing their fake Nobel prizes, teaching at elite schools, making millions consulting for blue-chip firms.

When we confront them with the wreckage their policies created, they protest their innocence, maintaining – with a straight face – that there's no way to affirmatively connect pro-monopoly policies with the rise of monopolies.

It's like we used to put down rat poison and we didn't have a rat problem. Then these guys made us stop, and now rats are chewing our faces off, and they're making wide innocent eyes, saying, "How can you be sure that our anti-rat-poison policies are connected to global rat conquest? Maybe this is simply the Time of the Rat! Maybe sunspots caused rats to become more fecund than at any time in history! And if they bought the rat poison factories and shut them all down, well, so what of it? Shutting down rat poison factories after you've decided to stop putting down rat poison is an economically rational, Pareto-optimal decision."

Markets don't discipline tech companies because they don't compete with rivals, they buy them. That's a quote, from Mark Zuckerberg: “It is better to buy than to compete.”

Which is why Mark Zuckerberg bought Instagram for a billion dollars, even though it only had 12 employees and 25m users. As he wrote in a spectacularly ill-advised middle-of-the-night email to his CFO, he had to buy Instagram, because Facebook users were leaving Facebook for Instagram. By buying Instagram, Zuck ensured that anyone who left Facebook – the platform – would still be a prisoner of Facebook – the company.

Despite the fact that Zuckerberg put this confession in writing, the Obama administration let him go ahead with the merger, because every government, of every political stripe, for 40 years, adopted the posture that monopolies were efficient.

Now, think about our twiddled, immiserated nurses. Hospitals are among the most consolidated sectors in the US. First, we deregulated pharma mergers, and the pharma companies gobbled each other up at the rate of naughts, and they jacked up the price of drugs. So hospitals also merged to monopoly, a defensive maneuver that let a single hospital chain corner the majority of a region or city and say to the pharma companies, "either you make your products cheaper, or you can't sell them to any of our hospitals."

Of course, once this mission was accomplished, the hospitals started screwing the insurers, who staged their own incestuous orgy, buying and merging until most Americans have just three or two insurance options. This let the insurers fight back against the hospitals, but left patients and health care workers defenseless against the consolidated power of hospitals, pharma companies, pharmacy benefit managers, group purchasing organizations, and other health industry cartels, duopolies and monopolies.

Which is why nurses end up signing on to work for hospitals that use these ghastly apps. Remember, there's just three of these apps, replacing dozens of staffing agencies that once competed for nurses' labor.

Meanwhile, on the patient side, competition has never exercised discipline. No one ever shopped around for a cheaper ambulance or a better ER while they were having a heart attack. The price that people are willing to pay to not die is “everything they have.”

So you have this sector that has no business being a commercial enterprise in the first place, losing what little discipline they faced from competition, paving the way for enshittification.

But I said there are four forces that discipline companies. The second one of these forces is regulation, discipline imposed by states.

It’s a mistake to see market discipline and state discipline as two isolated realms. They are intimately connected. Because competition is a necessary condition for effective regulation.

Let me put this in terms that even the most ideological libertarians can understand. Say you think there should be precisely one regulation that governments should enforce: honoring contracts. For the government to serve as referee in that game, it must have the power to compel the players to honor their contracts. Which means that the smallest government you can have is determined by the largest corporation you're willing to permit.

So even if you're the kind of Musk-addled libertarian who can no longer open your copy of Atlas Shrugged because the pages are all stuck together, who pines for markets for human kidneys, and demands the right to sell yourself into slavery, you should still want a robust antitrust regime, so that these contracts can be enforced.

When a sector cartelizes, when it collapses into oligarchy, when the internet turns into "five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four," then it captures its regulators.

After all, a sector with 100 competing companies is a rabble, at each others' throats. They can't agree on anything, especially how they're going to lobby.

While a sector of five companies – or four – or three – or two – or one – is a cartel, a racket, a conspiracy in waiting. A sector that has been boiled down to a mere handful of firms can agree on a common lobbying position.

What's more, they are so insulated from "wasteful competition" that they are aslosh in cash that they can mobilize to make their regulatory preferences into regulations. In other words, they can capture their regulators.

“Regulatory capture" may sound abstract and complicated, so let me put it in concrete terms. In the UK, the antitrust regulator is called the Competition and Markets Authority, run – until recently – by Marcus Bokkerink. The CMA has been one of the world's most effective investigators and regulators of Big Tech fuckery.

Last month, UK PM Keir Starmer fired Bokkerink and replaced him with Doug Gurr, the former head of Amazon UK. Hey, Starmer, the henhouse is on the line, they want their fox back.

But back to our nurses: there are plenty of examples of regulatory capture lurking in that example, but I'm going to pick the most egregious one, the fact that there are data brokers who will sell you information about the credit card debts of random Americans.

This is because the US Congress hasn't passed a new consumer privacy law since 1988, when Ronald Reagan signed a law called the Video Privacy Protection Act that bans video store clerks from telling newspapers which VHS cassettes you took home. The fact that Congress hasn't updated Americans' privacy protections since Die Hard was in theaters isn't a coincidence or an oversight. It is the expensively purchased inaction of a heavily concentrated – and thus wildly profitable – privacy-invasion industry that has monetized the abuse of human rights at unimaginable scale.

The coalition in favor of keeping privacy law frozen since the season finale of St Elsewhere keeps growing, because there is an unbounded set of way to transform the systematic invasion of our human rights into cash. There's a direct line from this phenomenon to nurses whose paychecks go down when they can't pay their credit-card bills.

So competition is dead, regulation is dead, and companies aren't disciplined by markets or by states.

But there are four forces that discipline firms, contributing to an inhospitable environment for the reproduction of sociopathic. enshittifying monsters.

So let's talk about those other two forces. The first is interoperability, the principle of two or more things working together. Like, you can put anyone's shoelaces in your shoes, anyone's gas in your gas tank, and anyone's lightbulbs in your light-socket. In the non-digital world, interop takes a lot of work, you have to agree on the direction, pitch, diameter, voltage, amperage and wattage for that light socket, or someone's gonna get their hand blown off.

But in the digital world, interop is built in, because there's only one kind of computer we know how to make, the Turing-complete, universal, von Neumann machine, a computing machine capable of executing every valid program.

Which means that for any enshittifying program, there's a counterenshittificatory program waiting to be run. When HP writes a program to ensure that its printers reject third-party ink, someone else can write a program to disable that checking.

For gig workers, antienshittificatory apps can do yeoman duty. For example, Indonesian gig drivers formed co-ops, that commission hackers to write modifications for their dispatch apps. For example, the taxi app won't book a driver to pick someone up at a train station, unless they're right outside, but when the big trains pull in that's a nightmare scene of total, lethal chaos.

So drivers have an app that lets them spoof their GPS, which lets them park up around the corner, but have the app tell their bosses that they're right out front of the station. When a fare arrives, they can zip around and pick them up, without contributing to the stationside mishegas.

In the USA, a company called Para shipped an app to help Doordash drivers get paid more. You see, Doordash drivers make most of their money on tips, and the Doordash driver app hides the tip amount until you accept a job, meaning you don't know whether you're accepting a job that pays $1.50 or $11.50 with tip, until you agree to take it. So Para made an app that extracted the tip amount and showed it to drivers before they clocked on.

But Doordash shut it down, because in America, apps like Para are illegal. In 1998, Bill Clinton signed a law called the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, and section 1201 of the DMCA makes is a felony to "bypass an access control for a copyrighted work," with penalties of $500k and a 5-year prison sentence for a first offense. So just the act of reverse-engineering an app like the Doordash app is a potential felony, which is why companies are so desperately horny to get you to use their apps rather than their websites.

The web is open, apps are closed. The majority of web users have installed an ad blocker (which is also a privacy blocker). But no one installs an ad blocker for an app, because it's a felony to distribute that tool, because you have to reverse-engineer the app to make it. An app is just a website wrapped in enough IP so that the company that made it can send you to prison if you dare to modify it so that it serves your interests rather than theirs.

Around the world, we have enacted a thicket of laws, we call “IP laws,” that make it illegal to modify services, products, and devices, so that they serve your interests, rather than the interests of the shareholders.

Like I said, these laws were enacted in living memory, by people who are among us, who were warned about the obvious, eminently foreseeable consequences of their reckless plans, who did it anyway.

Back in 2010, two ministers from Stephen Harper's government decided to copy-paste America's Digital Millennium Copyright Act into Canadian law. They consulted on the proposal to make it illegal to reverse engineer and modify services, products and devices, and they got an earful! 6,138 Canadians sent in negative comments on the consultation. They warned that making it illegal to bypass digital locks would interfere with repair of devices as diverse as tractors, cars, and medical equipment, from ventilators to insulin pumps.

These Canadians warned that laws banning tampering with digital locks would let American tech giants corner digital markets, forcing us to buy our apps and games from American app stores, that could cream off any commission they chose to levy. They warned that these laws were a gift to monopolists who wanted to jack up the price of ink; that these copyright laws, far from serving Canadian artists would lock us to American platforms. Because every time someone in our audience bought a book, a song, a game, a video, that was locked to an American app, it could never be unlocked.

So if we, the creative workers of Canada, tried to migrate to a Canadian store, our audience couldn't come with us. They couldn't move their purchases from the US app to a Canadian one.

6,138 Canadians told them this, while just 54 respondents sided with Heritage Minister James Moore and Industry Minister Tony Clement. Then, James Moore gave a speech, at the International Chamber of Commerce meeting here in Toronto, where he said he would only be listening to the 54 cranks who supported his terrible ideas, on the grounds that the 6,138 people who disagreed with him were "babyish…radical extremists."

So in 2012, we copied America's terrible digital locks law into the Canadian statute book, and now we live in James Moore and Tony Clement's world, where it is illegal to tamper with a digital lock. So if a company puts a digital lock on its product they can do anything behind that lock, and it's a crime to undo it.

For example, if HP puts a digital lock on its printers that verifies that you're not using third party ink cartridges, or refilling an HP cartridge, it's a crime to bypass that lock and use third party ink. Which is how HP has gotten away with ratcheting the price of ink up, and up, and up.

Printer ink is now the most expensive fluid that a civilian can purchase without a special permit. It's colored water that costs $10k/gallon, which means that you print out your grocery lists with liquid that costs more than the semen of a Kentucky Derby-winning stallion.

That's the world we got from Clement and Moore, in living memory, after they were warned, and did it anyway. The world where farmers can't fix their tractors, where independent mechanics can't fix your car, where hospitals during the pandemic lockdowns couldn't service their failing ventilators, where every time a Canadian iPhone user buys an app from a Canadian software author, every dollar they spend takes a round trip through Apple HQ in Cupertino, California and comes back 30 cents lighter.

Let me remind you this is the world where a nurse can't get a counter-app, a plug-in, for the “Uber for nurses” app they have to use to get work, that lets them coordinate with other nurses to refuse shifts until the wages on offer rise to a common level or to block surveillance of their movements and activity.

Interoperability was a major disciplining force on tech firms. After all, if you make the ads on your website sufficiently obnoxious, some fraction of your users will install an ad-blocker, and you will never earn another penny from them. Because no one in the history of ad-blockers has ever uninstalled an ad-blocker. But once it's illegal to make an ad-blocker, there's no reason not to make the ads as disgusting, invasive, obnoxious as you can, to shift all the value from the end user to shareholders and executives.

So we get monopolies and monopolies capture their regulators, and they can ignore the laws they don't like, and prevent laws that might interfere with their predatory conduct – like privacy laws – from being passed. They get new laws passed, laws that let them wield governmental power to prevent other companies from entering the market.

So three of the four forces are neutralized: competition, regulation, and interoperability. That left just one disciplining force holding enshittification at bay: labor.

Tech workers are a strange sort of workforce, because they have historically been very powerful, able to command high wages and respect, but they did it without joining unions. Union density in tech is abysmal, almost undetectable. Tech workers' power didn't come from solidarity, it came from scarcity. There weren't enough workers to fill the jobs going begging, and tech workers are unfathomnably productive. Even with the sky-high salaries tech workers commanded, every hour of labor they put in generated far more value for their employers.

Faced with a tight labor market, and the ability to turn every hour of tech worker overtime into gold, tech bosses pulled out all the stops to motivate that workforce. They appealed to workers' sense of mission, convinced them they were holy warriors, ushering in a new digital age. Google promised them they would "organize the world's information and make it useful.” Facebook promised them they would “make the world more open and connected."

There's a name for this tactic: the librarian Fobazi Ettarh calls it "vocational awe." That’s where an appeal to a sense of mission and pride is used to motivate workers to work for longer hours and worse pay.

There are all kinds of professions that run on vocational awe: teaching, daycares and eldercare, and, of course, nursing.

Techies are different from those other workers though, because they've historically been incredibly scarce, which meant that while bosses could motivate them to work on projects they believed in, for endless hours, the minute bosses ordered them to enshittify the projects they'd missed their mothers' funerals to ship on deadline these workers would tell their bosses to fuck off.

If their bosses persisted in these demands, the techies would walk off the job, cross the street, and get a better job the same day.

So for many years, tech workers were the fourth and final constraint, holding the line after the constraints of competition, regulation and interop slipped away. But then came the mass tech layoffs. 260,000 in 2023; 150,000 in 2024; tens of thousands this year, with Facebook planning a 5% headcount massacre while doubling its executive bonuses.

Tech workers can't tell their bosses to go fuck themselves anymore, because there's ten other workers waiting to take their jobs.

Now, I promised I wouldn't talk about AI, but I have to break that promise a little, just to point out that the reason tech bosses are so horny for AI Is because they think it'll let them fire tech workers and replace them with pliant chatbots who'll never tell them to fuck off.

So that's where enshittification comes from: multiple changes to the environment. The fourfold collapse of competition, regulation, interoperability and worker power creates an enshittogenic environment, where the greediest, most sociopathic elements in the body corporate thrive at the expense of those elements that act as moderators of their enshittificatory impulses.

We can try to cure these corporations. We can use antitrust law to break them up, fine them, force strictures upon them. But until we fix the environment, other the contagion will spread to other firms.

So let's talk about how we create a hostile environment for enshittifiers, so the population and importance of enshittifying agents in companies dwindles to 1990s levels. We won't get rid of these elements. So long as the profit motive is intact, there will be people whose pursuit of profit is pathological, unmoderated by shame or decency. But we can change the environment so that these don't dominate our lives.

Let's talk about antitrust. After 40 years of antitrust decline, this decade has seen a massive, global resurgence of antitrust vigor, one that comes in both left- and right-wing flavors.

Over the past four years, the Biden administration’s trustbusters at the Federal Trade Commission, Department of Justice and Consumer Finance Protection Bureau did more antitrust enforcement than all their predecessors for the past 40 years combined.

There's certainly factions of the Trump administration that are hostile to this agenda but Trump's antitrust enforcers at the DoJ and FTC now say that they'll preserve and enforce Biden's new merger guidelines, which stop companies from buying each other up, and they've already filed suit to block a giant tech merger.

Of course, last summer a judge found Google guilty of monopolization, and now they're facing a breakup, which explains why they've been so generous and friendly to the Trump administration.

Meanwhile, in Canada, our toothless Competition Bureau's got fitted for a set of titanium dentures last June, when Bill C59 passed Parliament, granting sweeping new powers to our antitrust regulator.

It's true that UK PM Keir Starmer just fired the head of the UK Competition and Markets Authority and replaced him with the ex-boss of Amazon UK boss.But the thing that makes that so tragic is that the UK CMA had been doing astonishingly great work under various conservative governments.

In the EU, they've passed the Digital Markets Act and the Digital Services Act, and they're going after Big Tech with both barrels. Other countries around the world – Australia, Germany, France, Japan, South Korea and China (yes, China!) – have passed new antitrust laws, and launched major antitrust enforcement actions, often collaborating with each other.

So you have the UK Competition and Markets Authority using its investigatory powers to research and publish a deep market study on Apple's abusive 30% app tax, and then the EU uses that report as a roadmap for fining Apple, and then banning Apple's payments monopoly under new regulations.Then South Korea and Japan trustbusters translate the EU's case and win nearly identical cases in their courts

What about regulatory capture? Well, we're starting to see regulators get smarter about reining in Big Tech. For example, the EU's Digital Markets Act and Digital Services Act were designed to bypass the national courts of EU member states, especially Ireland, the tax-haven where US tech companies pretend to have their EU headquarters.

The thing about tax havens is that they always turn into crime havens, because if Apple can pretend to be Irish this week, it can pretend to be Maltese or Cypriot or Luxembourgeois next week. So Ireland has to let US Big Tech companies ignore EU privacy laws and other regulations, or it'll lose them to sleazier, more biddable competitor nations.

So from now on, EU tech regulation is getting enforced in the EU's federal courts, not in national courts, treating the captured Irish courts as damage and routing around them.

Canada needs to strengthen its own tech regulation enforcement, unwinding monopolistic mergers from the likes of Bell and Rogers, but most of all, Canada needs to pursue an interoperability agenda.

Last year, Canada passed two very exciting bills: Bill C244, a national Right to Repair law; and Bill C294, an interoperability law. Nominally, both of these laws allow Canadians to fix everything from tractors to insulin pumps, and to modify the software in their devices from games consoles to printers, so they will work with third party app stores, consumables and add-ons.

However, these bills are essentially useless, because these bills don’t permit Canadians to acquire tools to break digital locks. So you can modify your printer to accept third party ink, or interpret a car's diagnostic codes so any mechanic can fix it, but only if there isn't a digital lock stopping you from doing so, because giving someone a tool to break a digital lock remains illegal thanks to the law that James Moore and Tony Clement shoved down the nation's throat in 2012.

And every single printer, smart speaker, car, tractor, appliance, medical implant and hospital medical device has a digital lock that stops you from fixing it, modifying it, or using third party parts, software, or consumables in it.

Which means that these two landmark laws on repair and interop are useless. So why not get rid of the 2012 law that bans breaking digital locks? Because these laws are part of our trade agreement with the USA. This is a law needed to maintain tariff-free access to US markets.

I don’t know if you've heard, but Donald Trump is going to impose a 25%, across-the-board tariff against Canadian exports. Trudeau's response is to impose retaliatory tariffs, which will make every American product that Canadians buy 25% more expensive. This is a very weird way to punish America!

You know what would be better? Abolish the Canadian laws that protect US Big Tech companies from Canadian competition. Make it legal to reverse-engineer, jailbreak and modify American technology products and services. Don't ask Facebook to pay a link tax to Canadian newspapers, make it legal to jailbreak all of Meta's apps and block all the ads in them, so Mark Zuckerberg doesn't make a dime off of us.

Make it legal for Canadian mechanics to jailbreak your Tesla and unlock every subscription feature, like autopilot and full access to your battery, for one price, forever. So you get more out of your car, and when you sell it, then next owner continues to enjoy those features, meaning they'll pay more for your used car.

That's how you hurt Elon Musk: not by being performatively appalled at his Nazi salutes. That doesn't cost him a dime. He loves the attention. No! Strike at the rent-extracting, insanely high-margin aftermarket subscriptions he relies on for his Swastikar business. Kick that guy right in the dongle!

Let Canadians stand up a Canadian app store for Apple devices, one that charges 3% to process transactions, not 30%. Then, every Canadian news outlet that sells subscriptions through an app, and every Canadian software author, musician and writer who sells through a mobile platform gets a 25% increase in revenues overnight, without signing up a single new customer.

But we can sign up new customers, by selling jailbreaking software and access to Canadian app stores, for every mobile device and games console to everyone in the world, and by pitching every games publisher and app maker on selling in the Canadian app store to customers anywhere without paying a 30% vig to American big tech companies.

We could sell every mechanic in the world a $100/month subscription to a universal diagnostic tool. Every farmer in the world could buy a kit that would let them fix their own John Deere tractors without paying a $200 callout charge for a Deere technician who inspects the repair the farmer is expected to perform.

They'd beat a path to our door. Canada could become a tech export powerhouse, while making everything cheaper for Canadian tech users, while making everything more profitable for anyone who sells media or software in an online store. And – this is the best part – it’s a frontal assault on the largest, most profitable US companies, the companies that are single-handedly keeping the S&P 500 in the black, striking directly at their most profitable lines of business, taking the revenues from those ripoff scams from hundreds of billions to zero, overnight, globally.

We don't have to stop at exporting reasonably priced pharmaceuticals to Americans! We could export the extremely lucrative tools of technological liberation to our American friends, too.

That's how you win a trade-war.

What about workers? Here we have good news and bad news.

The good news is that public approval for unions is at a high mark last seen in the early 1970s, and more workers want to join a union than at any time in generations, and unions themselves are sitting on record-breaking cash reserves they could be using to organize those workers.

But here's the bad news. The unions spent the Biden years, when they had the most favorable regulatory environment since the Carter administration, when public support for unions was at an all-time high, when more workers than ever wanted to join a union, when they had more money than ever to spend on unionizing those workers, doing fuck all. They allocatid mere pittances to union organizing efforts with the result that we finished the Biden years with fewer unionized workers than we started them with.

Then we got Trump, who illegally fired National Labor Relations Board member Gwynne Wilcox, leaving the NLRB without a quorum and thus unable to act on unfair labor practices or to certify union elections.

This is terrible. But it’s not game over. Trump fired the referees, and he thinks that this means the game has ended. But here's the thing: firing the referee doesn't end the game, it just means we're throwing out the rules. Trump thinks that labor law creates unions, but he's wrong. Unions are why we have labor law. Long before unions were legal, we had unions, who fought goons and ginks and company finks in` pitched battles in the streets.

That illegal solidarity resulted in the passage of labor law, which legalized unions. Labor law is passed because workers build power through solidarity. Law doesn't create that solidarity, it merely gives it a formal basis in law. Strip away that formal basis, and the worker power remains.

Worker power is the answer to vocational awe. After all, it's good for you and your fellow workers to feel a sense of mission about your jobs. If you feel that sense of mission, if you feel the duty to protect your users, your patients, your patrons, your students, a union lets you fulfill that duty.

We saw that in 2023 when Doug Ford promised to destroy the power of Ontario's public workers. Workers across the province rose up, promising a general strike, and Doug Ford folded like one of his cheap suits. Workers kicked the shit out of him, and we'll do it again. Promises made, promises kept.

The unscheduled midair disassembly of American labor law means that workers can have each others' backs again. Tech workers need other workers' help, because tech workers aren't scarce anymore, not after a half-million layoffs. Which means tech bosses aren't afraid of them anymore.

We know how tech bosses treat workers they aren't afraid of. Look at Jeff Bezos: the workers in his warehouses are injured on the job at 3 times the national rate, his delivery drivers have to pee in bottles, and they are monitored by AI cameras that snitch on them if their eyeballs aren't in the proscribed orientation or if their mouth is open too often while they drive, because policy forbids singing along to the radio.

By contrast, Amazon coders get to show up for work with pink mohawks, facial piercings, and black t-shirts that say things their bosses don't understand. They get to pee whenever they want. Jeff Bezos isn't sentimental about tech workers, nor does he harbor a particularized hatred of warehouse workers and delivery drivers. He treats his workers as terribly as he can get away with. That means that the pee bottles are coming for the coders, too.

It's not just Amazon, of course. Take Apple. Tim Cook was elevated to CEO in 2011. Apple's board chose him to succeed founder Steve Jobs because he is the guy who figured out how to shift Apple's production to contract manufacturers in China, without skimping on quality assurance, or suffering leaks of product specifications ahead of the company's legendary showy launches.

Today, Apple's products are made in a gigantic Foxconn factory in Zhengzhou nicknamed "iPhone City.” Indeed, these devices arrive in shipping containers at the Port of Los Angeles in a state of pristine perfection, manufactured to the finest tolerances, and free of any PR leaks.

To achieve this miraculous supply chain, all Tim Cook had to do was to make iPhone City a living hell, a place that is so horrific to work that they had to install suicide nets around the worker dorms to catch the plummeting bodies of workers who were so brutalized by Tim Cook's sweatshop that they attempted to take their own lives.

Tim Cook is also not sentimentally attached to tech workers, nor is he hostile to Chinese assembly line workers. He just treats his workers as badly as he can get away with, and with mass layoffs in the tech sector he can treat his coders much, much worse

How do tech workers get unions? Well, there are tech-specific organizations like Tech Solidarity and the Tech Workers Coalition. But tech workers will only get unions by having solidarity with other workers and receiving solidarity back from them. We all need to support every union. All workers need to have each other's backs.

We are entering a period of omnishambolic polycrisis.The ominous rumble of climate change, authoritarianism, genocide, xenophobia and transphobia has turned into an avalanche. The perpetrators of these crimes against humanity have weaponized the internet, colonizing the 21st century's digital nervous system, using it to attack its host, threatening civilization itself.

The enshitternet was purpose-built for this kind of apocalyptic co-option, organized around giant corporations who will trade a habitable planet and human rights for a three percent tax cut, who default us all into twiddle-friendly algorithmic feed, and block the interoperability that would let us escape their clutches with the backing of powerful governments whom they can call upon to "protect their IP rights."

It didn't have to be this way. The enshitternet was not inevitable. It was the product of specific policy choices, made in living memory, by named individuals.

No one came down off a mountain with two stone tablets, intoning Tony Clement, James Moore: Thou shalt make it a crime for Canadians to jailbreak their phones. Those guys chose enshittification, throwing away thousands of comments from Canadians who warned them what would come of it.

We don't have to be eternal prisoners of the catastrophic policy blunders of mediocre Tory ministers. As the omnicrisis polyshambles unfolds around us, we have the means, motive and opportunity to craft Canadian policies that bolster our sovereignty, protect our rights, and help us to set every technology user, in every country (including the USA) free.

The Trump presidency is an existential crisis but it also presents opportunities. When life gives you SARS, you make sarsaparilla. We once had an old, good internet, whose major defect was that it required too much technical expertise to use, so all our normie friends were excluded from that wondrous playground.

Web 2.0's online services had greased slides that made it easy for anyone to get online, but escaping from those Web 2.0 walled gardens meant was like climbing out of a greased pit. A new, good internet is possible, and necessary. We can build it, with all the technological self-determination of the old, good internet, and the ease of use of Web 2.0.

A place where we can find each other, coordinate and mobilize to resist and survive climate collapse, fascism, genocide and authoritarianism. We can build that new, good internet, and we must.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/26/ursula-franklin/#enshittification-eh

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ddlydevotion · 3 months ago

Text

dating hamzah al-emad includes...

currently listening to: lust for life by lana del rey ft the weeknd ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Hamzah quite honestly doesn’t have too much experience when it comes to romantic relationships. He’s constantly worried that he’ll do or say something wrong, so please reassure him when the situation calls for it.

he lovelovelovess having you around him as much as possible. You honestly could never “bother” him, even if he’s editing/coming up with video ideas. One day you asked Hamzah if he’d like some alone time to get some editing done and he immediately said:

“no-what are you talking about? Here, come sit down.”

You’re one of the very few people that don’t easily overstimulate him lmao

This man has insane attachment issues when it comes to you and has no issue letting you know when he misses/wants to see you. You could be out of the apartment running errands and your phone will be filled with messages from him.

‘me and the cats miss u very much btw if u even care…’

‘when are you coming homeee ;(‘

Please don’t be shocked when he comes up to you asking for very specific things that he may need for a video involving Martin. For example, where do you think he got the skirt for his White Chicks costume? Exactly.

Even if someone is meeting him for the very first time, they’ll immediately be able to tell he has a girlfriend because he’s constantly wearing something symbolic of you. That bracelet you randomly made him one night? It’s practically glued to his wrist. Your claw clip practically has a home on his belt loop. So, these little things make it pretty easy for people to decipher the fact that he’s taken.

Recording with Martin takes up quite a bit of his time so he’s constantly putting in the effort to see you, hear your voice, and speak with you in general. You’re constantly receiving photos/videos/voice memos from Hamzah when he’s in the middle of filming.

He always makes sure to bring you something back when Martin and him visit a restaurant, or a location that’s stocked up on items he knows you enjoy.

Hamzah has been through a whole lot and has experienced his fair share of loneliness. He isn’t too good with his words/voicing just how much you and your presence mean to him but he tries soso hard. There’ll be a lot of sighs and stutters filling the pauses in his sentences but that doesn’t stop his adoration from shining through.

“I just- I love you so much, y/n. I hope I say it enough, y’know? I’m really serious about you and I know I might not be the most experienced guy when it comes to this, but I hope that doesn’t make you doubt how serious I am about you. Because I am- serious about you, I mean.”

These sorts of conversations tend to happen late at night when the warmth between your two bodies blossoms endlessly. He holds you tight as your cheek is pressed against his chest. He can’t help but hold you the same way he’d hold a knife.

In his eyes, the two of you are in this for the long run and he doesn’t hide his intentions of marrying you. He even slipped up and called you his wife in a video once.

‘Yesterday, me and my wife- well…make that my future wife.’ and then a cheesy lil smirk spreads across his face 😭

He even made the both of you in Sims and made it so that the two of you got married. Mandy and Martin couldn’t help but tease him about it.

He loves you with his entire fucking being and he wants nothing but to be good for you, good to you, be the one to make you smile, laugh, feel at ease. He adores being able to do domestic activities with you since it gives him a glimpse into how it’ll be like once the two of you eventually get married. As I said, he puts in soooo much effort into making you happy so he definitely attempts to get good at cooking so he can surprise you with breakfast in bed/homemade dinner. He stills puts in the effort to learn how to cook even if you already know how to. He wants to surprise you so bad so pls let him (╥‸╥) (even if the French toast he made is a lil burnt)

Follows you around like a lost puppy. His hand is constantly reaching for yours, his arms are instantly wrapped around you as soon as the two of you get into bed, he always makes room for you to sit in his lap.

a/n: I haven’t written in quite awhile but I had to come back since my obsession with this man has worsened this past week 😞. Feel free to send requests 💌🧸

#hamzah x reader #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #slushy noobz x reader #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah x female reader #hamzah x y/n #x female y/n #x female reader #x fem!reader #youtuber x reader

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azzifuddfanpage · 3 months ago

Note

Paige catching Azzi masturbating and she doesn’t let it go but instead tease her and join her in helping her cum

Caught

———— thank you for the prompt!!!🫶

ALSO PLEASE GIVE ME UR FEEDBACK AND COMMENTS OR IM NOT DOING ANOTHER PROMPT TN THANK YEW

———-

3.1k words tw: smut

themes: smut like all smut good luck 👍 (hope u sluts are happy 🤷‍♀️)

———— Paige and Azzi had spent the majority of the year attached at the hip.

When the espys rolled around and Paige had to fly out to Los Angeles, Azzi couldn’t help herself but miss her after spending almost every waking minute together.

“U really have to go?” Azzi asked, her arms connected tightly against Paige's waist, and her face nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

Paige took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Azzi’s coconut lavender shampoo.

“I know baby, I have to go, but it’s only for a few days, and I’ll FaceTime you every night.”

“Better be everyday too.” Azzi pouted.

Paige's heart warmed seeing her girl all clingy to her, and she tightened her grip around her.

As happy and blessed she was to be given this opportunity, she was sad she couldn’t have her best friend/ girlfriend beside her.

———

Seeing Paige in the suit, her hair pulled back into the low messy bun, her eyes sparkling under the spotlight. Azzi couldn’t hide the nagging heat between her thighs that was desperate to be settled.

Paige was originally supposed to come home 2 days after the espys.

The first day after was filled with parties, and then the second day she had to meet with someone to work on her nil deal with her shoes.

What Azzi didn’t know was that Paige had changed her flight, and instead of flying out that next morning, she would fly out that afternoon.

———

Azzi on the other hand had more important things to worry about, more specifically, the evolving heat in her core that had been growing since the day Paige left.

She tried to ignore it, she tried to distract herself by watching frozen (5 times), working on extra skills in the gym (even though there was only so much she could do since her last injury), or even learning how to make baked Mac and cheese from scratch (one of paige’s favorites), but none of it seemed to scratch the itch that was so badly limiting her.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to skip out on watching the espys that night.

So when she clicked on the tv and saw the way Paige's fingers wrapped around the mic, she was already very fragile.

Somehow she managed to hold off that entire night and into the next day.

She continued to keep herself busy like she had done before, going to rehab, focusing on the summer classes she had taken to work through her masters, but by the time that evening rolled around and she opened TikTok she knew she was screwed.

The first video on her for you page was an edit of Paige in her espys fit.

Azzi’s eyes glazed over as she saw the way Paige's nimble fingers grasped the microphone, the level of confidence seeping out of her as she spoke. But what did it for her most was the way her veins popped in her arms the same way they did when her fingers were thrusting in and out of Azzi’s lower stomach, desperate to please her.

Azzi looked at her phone, the ache in her stomach too strong to ignore, she moved her fingers down to her waist band and slipped them into her panties, her clit already sensitive to the touch as she rubbed against it, collecting her stick from the entrance of her hole.

She moaned at the contact, her eyes focusing on the video of Paige, her Paige, she imagined her fingers were Paige's needy long fingers that could never stay off Azzi.

Azzi didn’t even feel embarrassed at this point, it wasn’t like she had never done it before, when they had been long distance before they had to use similar methods, but now, she wasn’t used to this.

The feeling of her own fingers against her skin, would never match Paige's.

Paige knew her body better then she did, knew what made her whimper, what made her legs shake, what made her white syrup spill as Paige thrusted against her g spot.

As Azzi slugged off her shorts and began to lazily fuck her fingers into herself, she could already feel a release brewing, but it wasn’t the same. She felt as though the release she had was bottled up for so long that it was stuck.

Azzi fucked herself, transitioning between thrusts in and out of herself, to soft rubs and aggressive rubs on her clit, she went back and forth with this for a while, her orgasim remaining close but still so far.

Azzi let out a frustrated moan, her focus going back to the video, pretending her fingers were Paige's, persistent and begging to be swallowed by Azzi’s needy pussy.

Azzi threw her head back moaning Paige's name.

——-

Paige was honestly tired from her long day of flying, but after 3 days without seeing Azzi, she too not only missed her emotionally, but she also had an ache between her legs that only a curly haired brunette guard from UConn could cure.

Paige walked into the suite and was met with an overwhelming layer of silence.

She wanted to surprise Azzi.

When Paige finally pushed open the door, she saw Azzi’s legs spread open, her fingers desperately against herself.

Paige felt her knees buckle at the sight.

The way Azzi was folded over, her body spread out on the bed, a bead of sweat running down her forehead.

She watched as Azzi’s fingers dip lazily into her hole.

Paige continued standing there, her eyes unable to leave her girlfriend's vulnerable frame.

Azzi threw her head back- eyes still shut- as she moaned.

“Paige.” Azzi whimpered, her phone still lying forgotten in front of her.

Paige smirked hearing Azzi’s breathy whimper of her name.

“Not even locking the door first damn az.” Paige finally spoke, breaking the silence.

Azzi let out a yelp, jumping at the sudden unexpected presence in her room.

Pulling out her fingers she threw the blanket over her.

“JESUS PAIGE WHAT THE FUCK” Azzi said a little out of breath from how startled she was.

“you actually just scared the living fuck out of me.” Azzi continued rubbing her face with her hand (not the one that was just inside of her)

“Ya literally” Paige snorted, walking closer to her and pulling down the sheets exposing Azzi’s naked frame.

Her nipples were hard from the cold air, and Paige could see how wet she was under the light.

“Really couldn’t wait for me, could you baby?” Paige said, running her finger along Azzi’s abs.

Azzi shuddered under her contact, shaking her head embarrassed.

“I tried- just missed you badly.” Azzi said ashamed, her eyes subconsciously darting to her phone.

Paige looked at Azzi’s phone and then back at her. Both their eyes darted back and forth.

Paige lunged for the phone at the same time as Azzi, beating her there.

Flipping it over she unlocked it and smirked when she saw the edit of her playing on the screen.

Azzi threw a hand to cover her face.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of this am I?” Azzi asked, burying her face in the pillow.

“Not if you want me to help you baby.” Paige says, putting down her phone with a smirk.

She pulled Azzi's hand away from her face, using her fingers to tilt her chin towards her.

“Missed this pretty face so much.” Paige whispered, leaning forward and climbing onto the bed so she was now hovering over Azzi.

Paige ran her hand along Azzi’s neck, moving it up and tracing along her jaw.

She leaned forward and placed a soft open mouth kiss on the soft skin under her ear.

Azzi let out a whimper, her hips wiggling as Paige adjusted her position, her legs straddling either side of her.

“So needy baby.” Paige whispered as she sucked a little on Azzi’s skin, releasing it and licking over the reddened skin with her tongue.

“Please.” Azzi moaned as Paige's tongue licked at her lip, dipping inside.

Paige pulled her tongue away, sitting up slightly so she could look at Azzi’s desperate state underneath her.

“Tell me how much better I am at fucking you.” Paige whispered, as she watched Azzi’s lips pucker in the air, reaching out for Paige's.

Azzi’s eyes opened as she pouted.

Paige laughed, her finger tugging at her puffy bottom lip.

“Do u want me to help you finish or should I just let you finish yourself off.” Paige said simply, her finger running back down and connecting with her neck as Paige's lips connected back to Azzi’s.

As their tongues massaged against each other, Paige smirked against her.

Paige softly bit against Azzi’s lip, tugging at it and listening to the soft sigh that left her.

When she finally sat up, Azzi whined.

“Paigeee.” She whined.

“Fine if your gonna be difficult, you’re gonna keep fucking your sled and we’ll see how far you get.” Paige decided, sliding backwards off Azzi’s bed, and facing her.

Azzi’s face turned red as she watched Paige needily stare at her throbbing pussy.

“Don’t be shy now baby- all u have to tell me is how much better I am at making you finish.” Paige said with a smirk, her eyes running over her folds.

Azzi, being the stubborn person she was, refused to let Paige win this.

She rolled her eyes and moved her fingers back down to her pussy, running them through the wetness that had collected near her hole.

She moaned at the much needed contact, and began to rub her fingers in small circles over her clit.

“Look at me while you do it.” Paige said her voice was soft but firm.

Azzi looked up at her slowly, her breath shakily.

When her eyes met Paige's, and she saw how dilated they were-drunk on the sight of her pussy, she almost came right from that.

“You know if I was touching you right now, I would have had you cum by now.” She said confidently, smirking as she watched Azzi crumble under her eye contact.

Azzi blushed even more, looking away from Paige and focusing back on pleasing herself.

Her fingers moved away from her clit, traveling down and dipping into her entrance.

She inserted two of them gently, thrusting and curling them against herself.

She let out a seductive moan that sent shivers down Paige's spine.

Paige wanted nothing more than to shove Azzi’s hand aside and take her right there, but she was also stubborn.

She watched helplessly as Azzi’s fingers curled into her pussy, thrusting them in and out, speeding up.

Azzi moaned, sitting up on her elbow to give herself a better angle.

As much as Azzi didn’t want to give in, she knew she wouldn’t even have to. She knew paige.

If Paige wanted to eat, she would eat.

Azzi looked up at her, “Paige.” She moaned, staring at her intently until Paige's eyes- that were entranced by her fingers- found hers.

“Fuck it.” Paige said practically jumping on her, ripping her hand away from herself and diving her mouth into Azzi’s pussy.

Azzi let out a laugh as Paige tongue tickled her inner thigh.

“Fucking always get ur way don’t u princess.” Paige said as her tongue ran against Azzi’s wetness, spreading it across her pussy.

Azzi moaned loudly, her hand coming and wrapping in Paige's hair tugging her closer to her core.

Paige dipped her tongue into her whole, thrusting it in a couple times as her finger played with her clit.

Azzi let out a whine, needing more stimulation.

Paige brought her tongue up to her clit, exchanging the pressure of her tongue, for her pressure of her fingers, now filling her.

As Paige sucked and pulled on Azzi’s clit, her 3 fingers went to work, thrusting in and out.

Azzi, who had already gotten herself very close before, was now gripping at Paige's scalp, Paige's fingers slamming against her walls.

“Fuck P.” She moaned as paige lapped at her clit.

Azzi adjusted her position, sitting up on her elbows to watch her as her fingers stilled inside her.

Feeling Azzi’s eyes on her, Paige looked up, still pulling on her clit.

The sight of Paige's big blue eyes completely drunk off her pussy, the feeling of her fingers thrusting back into her, and her tongue flicking at her clit, was all too much for her.

“Fuck paige I’m gonna cum.”

Paige smirked as she could feel Azzi’s legs shake.

Her fingers stilted inside her, and she lifted her head to her ear, letting her lips tickle it.

“Tell me how good I am to you.” She paused, pressing her lips to Azzi’s ear. Azzi moaned, the throbbing between her legs, too much for her to take.

“Fuck need you to fuck me paige please.” She whined, giving in as Paige sucked at her neck.

“Tell me how much better I am at fucking you.” She whispered, her tongue soothing the now purple skin.

Paige moaned into her ear and Azzi caved, “fuck you know my body so well baby. You’re so good, please continue.” Azzi whispered, her hips thrusting up to get some type of friction.

“If you insist.” Paige winked, her three fingers diving back down and fucking into her.

Azzi moaned, her abs flexing as she hunched over from the pressure of Paige's fingers hitting at her walls.

Azzi moaned, and Paige's fingers dove deeper inside.

Paige’s other hand grabbed Azzi’s stomach, pressing on it to stabilize herself.

Azzi felt her finger brush her g spot, and the band in her stomach snap.

Paige lowered herself down so she was angled at her pussy as she could hear her fingers squelching as Azzi released.

She drank up every bit of liquid that spilled from Azzi’s cunt.

“tastes so good, baby.” “Missed her so bad.” She said as she pulled out her fingers, letting more of Azzi’s cum spill out of her.

Azzi was a pile of moans, and Paige eventually pulled away from her cunt, climbing back up to connect with Azzi’s lips, letting her taste herself.

Paige swallowed Azzi’s moans as their tongues fought together.

After Azzi had caught her breath, she pulled Paige away from her.

“Hey just cuz I gave in and let you fuck me doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be able to do it on my own.” Azzi assured, her eyes finding Paige's.

“Whatever you say baby.” Paige said, snuggling herself into the crook of Azzi’s arm.

“Wait no.” Azzi said, pushing her off of her.

Paige's head fell onto the bed.

“What are you talking about Azzi?” Paige sighed.

Azzi climbed on top of Paige so she was straddling her.

“Why don’t you think I could fuck myself as good as you do?” Azzi asked, holding Paige's arms down so she couldn't resist her.

“Nah I know u could, I’m just better.” She replied cheesing.

Azzi teasingly shoved her face away.

“Ya we’ll see about that.” Azzi said as Paige's face contorted into a confused look.

Azzi pulled up Paige's shirt, placing soft kisses above her sports bra.

Paige moaned as her teeth nipped gently at her skin.

Azzi pulled down her bra, exposing her hardened nipples.

Azzi looked up to find Paige already looking at her with big needy eyes.

Without looking away, Azzi leaned down and wrapped her mouth around Paige's nipple, pulling on it and releasing it with a pop.

She watched as Paige moaned, throwing her head back.

Azzi smirked as she left her bra up, keeping her tits out as she trailed down to Paige's waist band.

“Lift up for me baby.” Azzi said as she dipped her fingers into the band of her sweats.

Paige lifted her hips so Azzi could pull off her sweats.

Azzi threw them behind her, leaning down to level herself with Paige's pussy that was still covered by her boxers.

Azzi ran a finger over her clothes pussy feeling the slick through it.

“God Azzi.” Paige whimpered as Azzi pulled down her boxers too.

“Need you so bad princess.” Paige said, tangling her fingers in Azzi’s curls pulling her mouth towards her slick.

“Oh is that right?” Azzi said, her breath hitting against Paige's wet clit, sending a shiver through her body.

Paige whined at the feeling against her slick.

She nodded, but Azzi wasn’t satisfied.

“Well maybe u should just fuck yourself since you’re so much better than me.” Azzi teased, running her fingers on her inner thigh, dangerously close to her aching clit.

“Bruh come on you know I didn’t mean it baby.” Paige whimpered as Azzi’s fingers traced over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Maybe but I want you to tell me.” She whispered seductively, triggering a submissive reaction in Paige's body.

“Need your pretty fingers so bad sweet girl.” Paige moaned.

Azzi could have cum again just from Paige's words, instead she licked a long stripe up her pussy, rewarding her for good behavior.

Paige moaned, shifting her body so her hips were elevated and pressing into Azzi’s mouth.

Azzi switched to kitten licks against her clit, motivated by her words.

“Such a good girl- doing me so well.” Paige moaned, running her fingers through Azzi’s curls, pulling them back and away from her face.

Azzi sucked on her clit, and her fingers ran through her wetness, dipping into her hole.

“Please baby- need you so bad pretty.” Paige moaned as her fingers inched deeper into her slowly.

Azzi felt Paige's breath shift underneath her.

“Ya you like that don’t you. Just love fucking this pussy huh baby?” Paige growled.

Azzi didn’t answer, instead she responded by thrusting her fingers deeper into Paige's pussy, thrusting them in and out.

Paige groaned, her hand pushing Azzi’s head into her pussy so she was sucking on it harder.

“Right there fuck baby you’re so good.” Paige moaned as Azzi’s fingers pounded against her g spot.

Azzi smirked against her clit, Paige's hand directing her movements so her tongue was now rubbing up and down against it.

With her fingers still fucking deep inside her walls, and her tongue sucking and lapping at her clit, paige could feel the orgasm closing in on her.

“Gonna cum baby…fuck.” Paige moaned, her legs shaking around Azzi's body.

Azzi wrapped her arms around Paige's thighs, pulling her so she was closer to her.

Azzi sat up a little, pulling paige into her lap to change her angle, fucking her fingers deeper inside her, letting paige’s moans fill the air.

Paige moaned loudly as Azzi’s teeth grazed her sensitive clit.

Before she could even realize what was happening, her cum was pouring out of her and Azzi was greedily drinking it up.

Paige was still out of breath as Azzi rode out her high.

“You like the way I taste mama. you’re so perfect. Such a good girl eating me so well.” Paige says as she pulled a strand of Azzi’s curls out of her face and pulled it behind Azzi’s ear.

Azzi continued to fuck her through her high until paige was physically pushing her away and pulling her up so she was laying her on her stomach.

“You did so good pretty.” Paige whispered again to Azzi's cheek as she rubbed small circles against her bare skin.

Azzi sighed contently as she nuzzled deeper into Paige's chest, letting the warmth of Paige's skin surround her.

#azzi fudd #pazzi #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #pazzi fic #paige bueckers smut #paige x azzi #i love azzi fudd #azzi and paige #paige and azzi #azzi fudd smut

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kaiyunsim · 3 months ago

Text

best lover —

pairing : bf!taesan x gn!reader

summary : after taesan works hard for the newest comeback you wanted to get him a gift... something perfect. but you don't know what exactly to get him so you get help from his roommate.

warnings : fluff, angst (just a little bit), tense confrontation, some music references, taesan gets kinda jealous, kind of a continuation of this fic

a/n : this lowkey made me relapse into the emo/punk genre and now i'm actively listening to them again ! taesan so silly here.

queueing : best lover - bibi, and july - heize + dean

[requested]

— wc : 4.8k — not proof read —

you’ve always known taesan was cool.

not in the tryhard way, not in the way people force an image to seem untouchable. no, he’s effortlessly cool. the kind of cool that comes from simply existing, from being so unapologetically himself that it draws people in.

his aesthetic is proof of that—dark clothes, silver rings, an ever-growing collection of band tees that he claims aren’t a collection but still seem to multiply every time you see him. his playlists are filled with gritty guitar riffs and melancholic lyrics, songs that feel like they belong in a coming-of-age film.

you love it. you love the way he leans against walls like a movie character, the way his fingers tap out drum beats on tables when he’s lost in thought. the way his voice gets softer when he talks about music, when he lets his guard down just enough for you to see the warmth underneath.

so, when their comeback is finally announced, when you see the hours of training, late-night rehearsals, and exhaustion culminate into something incredible, you know you need to do something. something that says, i see you. i see how hard you’ve worked, and i’m proud of you.

but what do you get someone like taesan?

he’s never been the type to want extravagant gifts. he shrugs off praise, mumbles “it’s nothing” when people tell him he’s done well. but you know he keeps every little note fans give him, that he still has the random trinkets the members bought him over the years.

so it has to be something personal. something that actually means something.

you think about it for days, running through ideas in your head. clothes? no, too easy. he already has everything he likes. accessories? maybe, but he’s picky, and you don’t trust yourself to pick out something he’d actually wear.

and then it hits you.

vinyls.

taesan loves music in a way that’s deeper than just listening. he collects records, always talking about how certain albums sound different on vinyl, how the warmth and crackle make it feel more alive. you’ve seen the way he runs his fingers over the covers, the way he carefully places them on his turntable like he’s handling something sacred.

but you don’t know enough about it.

you know the bands he listens to, sure, but not the specific pressings, not which editions are worth having, not which ones he’s been searching for. you need help.

so, you text the only person who would know and would be the most help.

sungho.

—

you: hey, random question, but do you think you could help me with something?

he replies almost immediately.

sungho: depends. am i gonna regret saying yes?

you snort. typical.

you: no, it’s for taesan. i wanna get him some vinyls, but i don’t know which ones he’d actually want.

a pause. then—

sungho: oh. you’re going ot make him a happy boyfriend for sure. sungho: yeah, i can help. you free tomorrow?

relief washes over you.

you: yeah. thanks, sungho. seriously.

sungho: don’t thank me yet. wait till we actually find something good.

you smile, pocketing your phone.

this is a good plan. a perfect plan.

now, you just have to keep it a secret.

the next morning, you wake up with a nervous excitement buzzing under your skin.

taesan is still half-asleep when you see him, his hair messy from sleep, the collar of his oversized shirt slipping down one shoulder. he looks soft like this, different from his usual sharp edges and guarded expressions.

“morning,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he can grumble in protest.

he mumbles something incoherent, eyes still closed, before reaching out and lazily wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

you laugh, poking his side. “i have to go out for a bit.”

that wakes him up a little. his eyes blink open, groggy but alert. “where?”

you freeze for half a second before forcing yourself to play it cool. “just running errands.”

his brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t question it. instead, he just tightens his grip around you for a moment before letting go.

“be safe,” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

your heart squeezes at that.

you brush his hair out of his face, letting your fingers linger for a second longer than necessary. “always.”

—

meeting up with sungho feels like a mission.

he’s already waiting outside the taesan's dorm room, dressed casually but still effortlessly put together, a stark contrast to the slightly chaotic energy you’re bringing with you.

“you look nervous,” he says, amused.

“because i am.”

he raises an eyebrow. “it’s just vinyl shopping.”

“yeah, but it’s for taesan,” you stress. “i can’t mess this up. i need to find something perfect.”

sungho rolls his eyes but leads the way inside the vinyl store, hidden in the corners of the busy streets.

the moment you step in, you’re overwhelmed.

rows and rows of records stretch out in front of you, organized into sections you barely understand. the store smells like old paper and something nostalgic, a quiet hum of music playing from the speakers.

sungho glances at you. “you know what bands he likes, right?”

you nod. “yeah, but i don’t know what he already has.”

“then we start with the basics.”

he guides you through the aisles, pointing out albums that fit taesan’s taste. some are obvious bands you’ve seen on his playlists, artists you recognize from the posters in his room. others, not so much.

“this one’s a classic,” sungho says, pulling out a worn-looking album. “he’s mentioned it before, i think he even has a t-shirt of them.”

it was the black parade by my chemical romance

you take it from him, running your fingers over the cover. “do you think he already has the vinyl?”

sungho shakes his head. “nah, he would’ve bragged about it if he did.”

you smile at that. taesan isn’t the bragging type, not really, but when it comes to things he loves, he can’t help but share them with you. you can already picture the way his eyes will light up when he sees the gift, the way he’ll trace the album cover with careful fingers before hugging you in that quiet, deliberate way of his.

this is good. this is exactly what you wanted.

you glance at sungho. “i think we’re on the right track.”

he smirks. “told you.”

you roll your eyes but can’t hide your grin.

this is going to be perfect.

if you can keep it a secret long enough.

you flip through the stacks carefully, the plastic sleeves crinkling under your fingertips as you skim the selection. rows of album covers stare back at you, some bold and vibrant, others muted and mysterious, each one a different piece of someone’s story.

sungho stands beside you, already pulling out records with ease, flipping them over to check editions and pressings like it’s second nature.

“how do you even know all this?” you ask, watching as he inspects a black-and-white cover, his eyes narrowing slightly before he shakes his head and puts it back.

he smirks. “taesan’s not the only one with taste, you know.”

you roll your eyes. “yeah, but you act like this is your second home.”

he hums, running his fingers along the edge of a shelf. “it kinda is. when i first moved into the dorms, i’d come to places like this just to kill time. got to know a lot about music that way.”

that makes sense. sungho has that effortless, older-brother energy, the kind that makes you feel like he’s always been one step ahead of everyone else. but even so, you know there’s more to it. something about the way he says it, like music was a comfort rather than just a hobby.

you glance down at the album in your hands. the artwork is dramatic, painted in deep reds and blacks, the kind of thing you could easily imagine taesan leaving out on his desk just because it looks cool. it was titled a fever you can’t sweat out this time, by panic at the disco

you hesitate. “what about this one?”

sungho looks over, and to your relief, he nods in approval. “solid pick. taesan likes them. they have that whole raw, gritty sound he’s into.”

you exhale, setting it aside in the growing pile of vinyls you’ve picked out. “good. i was kinda guessing.”

sungho snickers. “if you were completely guessing, you would’ve picked something embarrassing.”

you give him a flat look. “i wouldn’t do that.”

“you sure? no boyband vinyls hidden in that stack?”

“why are you acting like that would be a crime?”

he laughs, shaking his head. “nah, but taesan would probably combust.”

you grin at the thought. he probably would. his whole tough, brooding image crumbling the second someone dared to associate him with anything remotely bright and upbeat. you’ve teased him about it before, played pop songs in his presence just to watch him pretend he wasn’t listening.

but this isn’t about teasing him. this is about him.

you glance around the store, taking in the dim lighting, the faint sound of a record spinning in the background. a few other customers linger nearby, flipping through vinyls with the same careful reverence, but none of them seem rushed. it’s the kind of place taesan would get lost in, taking his time with every shelf, soaking in the atmosphere.

you wish he was here.

you shake the thought away before it can settle too deep.

“okay,” you say, straightening up. “i think i need at least one more.”

sungho scans the shelves before reaching over and pulling out a record without hesitation.

“this.”

you take it from him, studying the cover. it’s striking… american idiot by greenday.

“he’s been looking for this one,” sungho explains. “i remember him complaining about how it’s always out of stock.”

your chest warms. “then that’s perfect.”

sungho grins. “congrats, you officially have a good gift… or multiple”

you roll your eyes but can’t help but smile. “thanks for the approval.”

“anytime.”

you head to the counter, placing the records down carefully as the cashier rings them up. the prices make you wince a little. vinyl collecting is not cheap. but you don’t hesitate. taesan is worth it.

when you step back outside, the air feels cooler, a slight breeze brushing against your skin. sungho stretches beside you, squinting up at the sky.

“so,” he says. “how are you planning to give it to him?”

you blink. “uh. just... give it to him?”

he gives you a flat look. “you’re really bad at this.”

“excuse me?”

“c’mon,” he says. “you go through all this trouble, sneak around just to surprise him, and you’re just gonna hand it to him like it’s a bag of chips?”

you frown. “what am i supposed to do? make a scavenger hunt?”

“i mean, that would be funny.”

“sungho.”

he chuckles. “fine, fine. but at least make it a moment, you know? like, put them in a nice box or something. set the mood a little.”

you consider that. he’s right. you don’t just want this to be a casual exchange. you want taesan to feel how much this means.

“okay,” you say slowly. “i’ll think of something.”

sungho pats your shoulder. “good. because if you don’t, i’m telling him i helped.”

you gasp. “you wouldn’t.”

his grin is downright evil. “try me.”

you groan, shoving him lightly as he laughs.

but despite the teasing, there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. because for all the effort, all the second-guessing, all the overthinking. you know this is the right thing to do.

you just hope taesan sees it that way, too.

you and sungho are now wandering the streets, bags in hand, the weight of them a constant reminder of what you're keeping from taesan. there's a knot in your stomach, anxiety creeping in at the thought of what will happen once you return to the dorm.

sungho notices you fidgeting with your phone, eyes flicking between your screen and the road ahead. "you've been checking your messages like every two seconds," he says with a knowing smile. "taesan giving you trouble?"

"i... i don’t know," you mutter, glancing at your phone again. "he hasn’t texted yet. i think he’s mad."

sungho snorts. "he’s always mad."

you roll your eyes but can't help the tension building inside you. it's not like taesan to be suspicious like this. sure, he's possessive at times, but you’ve always been upfront with him. today, though, everything feels off. you know he’s probably wondering where you are, especially after leaving so abruptly.

after a few more moments of walking, your phone buzzes in your hand. it’s a message from taesan.

you open it quickly, your heart dropping when you read the text.

taesan: where are you?

you can almost hear the frustration in his words, even though they’re so short. you hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond. the last thing you want is to reveal anything.

“everything okay?” sungho asks, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow.

“yeah,” you say quickly, typing back a response. "just... running… errands…"

you: just out. why?

you hit send and try to push the worry away. but it doesn’t help when your phone buzzes again, another message from taesan.

taesan: are you by yourself?

your stomach tightens. it feels like he’s fishing for something, trying to confirm his suspicions. you swallow hard. taesan doesn’t know you’re out with sungho. he probably thinks you’re just alone, maybe out with someone else. the thought of him jumping to conclusions makes you tense up.

“you need to tell him the truth, man,” sungho says, half-joking but still serious. “it’s gonna be hard to keep it up much longer.”

you bite your lip, looking at the text again. taesan doesn’t like being kept in the dark. but if you tell him you're out with sungho, there's no way you can keep the surprise a secret.

you: yeah, just me. out by myself.

you send the message quickly, almost immediately regretting it. the lie feels wrong in your gut, but you can’t risk ruining the surprise.

as soon as you hit send, another text from taesan comes through.

taesan: you didn’t tell me where you went. it’s weird, you know. don’t lie to me.

your heart sinks. this is exactly what you were afraid of. you can feel his frustration radiating through the words, even though they’re brief. taesan might not say it outright, but you know he’s pissed.

“is he mad?” sungho asks, eyes narrowing as he watches you.

“yeah,” you say quietly, looking at the screen again. “he thinks i’m lying.”

sungho tilts his head, his expression softening. “well, you kind of are...”

you groan, feeling guilty. “yeah, but if i tell him the truth, he’ll know what we’re really doing.”

sungho sighs but doesn’t press. “you’ve got to be careful, though. taesan can’t stand being lied to. he might feel like you’re hiding something else.”

you take a deep breath, trying to push the anxiety aside. “he’s just overthinking it. i’ll deal with it when we get back.”

you walk in silence for a bit longer, and the weight of the lie is starting to feel unbearable. but then your phone buzzes again. it’s from taesan.

taesan: riwoo just told me you’re out with sungho. why didn’t you say that?

your heart stops. it feels like everything is crashing down around you. of course, taesan would hear from riwoo. he always does. but you didn’t think it would happen so soon.

sungho laughs lightly, though it’s more nervous than anything else. “i mean, it’s not like you didn’t want him to find out.”

you stare at the message, feeling a mix of guilt and frustration. “he’s so mad now...”

“you better fix it,” sungho says with a small chuckle. “he’s gonna blow up on you if you keep avoiding the truth.”

you sigh, rubbing your eyes. “i don’t know how to fix it. i’ve already lied twice.”

“well,” sungho says, “maybe you just gotta... tell him the truth at this point. no more hiding.”

but you’re not ready to do that. not yet. the surprise is too important to mess up now.

you type out a message, your hands shaking a little as you try to keep it steady.

you: i’m sorry. we just bumped into eachothee

you press send, waiting for taesan’s response with bated breath.

it takes a while, but finally, your phone buzzes.

taesan: it was a coincidence?

you let out a sigh of relief. it's not as bad as it could have been, but you still feel like you’ve messed up.

you: yeah, i went out to grab some stuff, and boom, sungho was there getting some stuff for the dorm too

you wait for a reply, and when it comes, it’s still not as angry as you expected, but you can hear the frustration in taesan’s words.

taesan: you know, you could’ve just told me. i don’t like when you hide stuff from me.

your heart drops, and you feel guilty again. you want to explain yourself, but you’re afraid it’ll make everything worse.

“he’s really pissed now,” you say quietly to sungho, who nods sympathetically.

“you should’ve just told him earlier,” he says, though his tone is more playful than critical. “now you gotta go back and fix it.”

you take a deep breath, realizing sungho’s right. you’re going to have to deal with the fallout when you get back to the dorm.

you decide on sungho’s dorm since taesan is rooming with woonhak and jaehyun so it would be perfect to wrap his gift all together and put final touched on it.

but once you open the door, you stand frozen at the door of sungho’s dorm, heart hammering in your chest. the moment taesan walks in, everything about the room shifts. his presence fills the space, and even though he’s not saying anything yet, you feel the weight of his gaze.

“so, this is where you’ve been?” taesan’s voice cuts through the silence. it’s sharper than usual, colder too. he looks at you, then at sungho, his eyes narrowing. “i thought you said you were by yourself.”

you feel your breath catch in your throat. his words hit harder than expected, but you force a smile, trying to keep your cool. “i was… i mean, i am.”

taesan tilts his head, his eyes scanning you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “i just bumped into sungho, we were talking, and i guess riwoo saw us leave together.” you’re already regretting how this sounds, but you can’t back down now. you have to keep the lie intact.

“bumped into sungho?” taesan’s voice drips with suspicion. “so it’s just a coincidence you were both out together?”

you nod quickly, hoping he buys it. “yeah, we were just… talking, you know? nothing serious. i just didn’t want to bother you while you were busy.”

taesan crosses his arms, studying you with a sharp gaze. “that doesn’t sound right.”

the air between you two feels like it’s crackling with tension. you swallow hard, knowing you can’t let him get too suspicious. “it’s really nothing, taesan. you know i wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

“you wouldn’t, huh?” taesan says slowly, his tone soft but with a dangerous edge. “then why didn’t you just tell me? why go through all this just to cover up some… coincidence?”

you flinch slightly at his words, the guilt gnawing at you. but you won’t break. you can’t spoil the surprise now. not when everything is so close to being perfect.

“i didn’t want to bother you with the details,” you say, hoping he buys it. “i just figured i’d spend some time with sungho, that’s all.” you glance at sungho for a moment, but he’s standing still, like he’s unsure whether to step in.

taesan watches you for a long beat, and you can see the wheels turning in his mind. his expression hardens. “so you thought it’d be better to lie to me, to sneak around?”

your chest tightens, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than you expected. “taesan, it’s not like that.”

“really?” taesan’s voice rises, a hint of frustration creeping in. “because that’s exactly what it sounds like. i don’t know, it’s just hard to believe that you’re not hiding something. are you trying to cover something up?”

you feel your heart race. this is spiraling out of control, and you don’t know how to stop it. the last thing you want is for him to think you’re doing something behind his back.

“taesan, please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “you’re overthinking this. i didn’t want to tell you because i didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.” you force yourself to look him in the eye, trying to convey sincerity. “it’s nothing, really.”

taesan doesn’t respond right away. he’s still standing there, arms crossed, eyes cold as he studies you. you feel like he’s dissecting every word you’ve said, trying to figure out if you’re being honest or not.

“so what, this is all just some coincidence?” taesan asks again, voice dripping with doubt. “you just happened to be with sungho, and riwoo just happened to see you leaving together?”

you nod quickly, trying to sound convincing. “yeah, that’s it. it’s just a coincidence, taesan.”

taesan lets out a long breath, his frustration simmering just under the surface. he doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push further. yet.

“you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” you say, trying to change the subject. “it’s nothing. seriously.”

taesan stays quiet, his eyes narrowing, still unconvinced. “i don’t know if i believe you, but fine. if you say so.”

there’s a moment of silence between you two, and you can almost feel the distance growing between you. you want to tell him the truth, but you can’t risk it. not yet.

“you didn’t need to lie to me, you know,” taesan says softly, his gaze softer but still guarded. “you could’ve just told me where you were. there wouldn’t have been any problem.”

“i know,” you say, your heart sinking. “but i didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

the moment you say it, you regret it. taesan’s eyes flash with confusion, but he doesn’t say anything. he just watches you, waiting.

“what surprise?” taesan asks, the suspicion back in his voice.

you hesitate, panic rising. you can’t tell him, not yet. not when you’re this close.

“it’s nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “i just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

taesan’s gaze sharpens again. “you’re lying. i can tell.”

you want to scream, to tell him the truth, but you stay silent, your heart heavy with the pressure of it all.

“you’ve been hiding something from me, haven’t you?” taesan asks, his voice quiet now, as if he’s piecing everything together.

you look away, unable to meet his eyes. you can’t keep lying, but you can’t give in either. not yet.

“taesan, please,” you whisper. “just trust me. i don’t want to hurt you.”

he sighs, his expression softening just a little. “i trust you, but it’s hard when you keep lying to me. i just don’t get why you couldn’t tell me what was going on.”

you open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. your throat feels tight, and your mind is racing, trying to figure out how to get yourself out of this mess.

“i’m sorry,” you finally say, your voice barely audible. “i didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

taesan looks at you for a long moment, his face softening a bit. “it’s fine,” he says quietly. “but next time, just tell me. no more lies.”

you nod, relieved but still filled with guilt.

there’s a long silence, and then you finally reach into your bag and pull out the vinyl and the trinkets you picked out for him. you hold them out to him, your hands shaking.

“here,” you say softly, voice full of apology. “i got these for you. i… i thought you’d like them.”

taesan takes the items slowly, his expression unreadable. after a few moments, he looks up at you. “you didn’t have to do this,” he says, his voice softening. “but… thanks.”

you smile weakly, still feeling the weight of everything. “i’m sorry for making you mad.”

taesan sighs, stepping closer to you. “it’s okay. just promise me no more lies, alright?”

“promise,” you say quietly.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, the tension begins to melt away. taesan pulls you into a hug, and you let yourself relax, knowing that you’ll have to make things right.

but for now, you’re just grateful that he’s still here.

taesan is silent for a long time, just staring at the vinyls in his hands. his fingers trace over the covers, his expression unreadable.

you shift nervously, waiting for some kind of reaction. was this too much? was this not what he would’ve liked? sungho had assured you it was a good choice, but now, standing here with taesan’s gaze locked onto the gift, doubt creeps in.

“you really did all this for me?” taesan finally asks, voice quieter now.

you nod quickly. “of course i did. you just had a comeback, and i wanted to get you something that actually fit your taste. something you’d really like.”

he exhales slowly, his grip tightening around the vinyls for a second before he looks up at you. his expression has softened completely, the cold edge gone. instead, there’s something else… something warmer.

“you’re an idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. in fact, his lips twitch slightly, like he’s trying not to smile. “you could’ve just told me.”

“and ruin the surprise?” you huff, crossing your arms. “not a chance.”

taesan sighs, shaking his head. “you made me worry for nothing.”

“i didn’t mean to,” you mumble, guilt creeping back in.

he looks at you for another long second before stepping forward, wrapping his arms around you. his hold is firm, secure, like he’s grounding himself in your presence.

you blink, surprised at the sudden affection, but quickly melt into the embrace. his scent is familiar, and the warmth of his body makes all the stress from earlier fade.

“don’t do that again,” he mutters into your hair. “just tell me next time.”

you nod against his chest. “okay. i promise.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his dark eyes still holding a bit of lingering frustration. but it’s different now. less about suspicion, more about the fact that you worried him.

his eyes flicker to sungho, and his warmth disappears just slightly as he levels a glare at him. “and you,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

sungho raises his hands defensively. “hey, don’t look at me like that. i was just helping.”

“helping,” taesan repeats, clearly not convinced. “spending hours alone with y/n, keeping secrets, sneaking around.”

sungho rolls his eyes. “yeah, yeah, i get it. i’d be mad too. but it’s not like that.”

“doesn’t matter,” taesan grumbles, still glaring. “you still got too comfortable.”

you groan, tugging at his sleeve. “taesan, please. it’s not like we were on a date or something.”

taesan clicks his tongue but lets it go, instead looking back at the items in his hands. now that he’s actually processing it, his expression shifts, like he’s finally realizing what you got him, without the worry of why you were lying.

“wait,” he mutters, flipping it over. “this album… where did you find this?”

you grin. “special store sungho knew about. he helped me find the best ones.”

taesan pauses for a moment, then looks at you again, softer this time. “you really went through all this trouble just to get me something i’d like?”

you scoff. “of course i did. i love you, you idiot.”

his ears turn red. it’s subtle, but you notice it. he looks away, clearing his throat. “you’re the idiot,” he mumbles, gripping the vinyls like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “but… thanks.”

he pulls you into another hug, holding you tight, like he doesn’t want to let go.

and just like that, everything feels right again.

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