#ITS ONLY LATE IF YOU ACKNOWLEDGE ITS LATE
Text
Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 6
Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
AO3
Summary: After finally acknowledging the grief of losing her sister, Susie opens a door for her and DeMarco to grow closer
Warnings: Language
Word Count: 4.1k
Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy
Sunlight blinded her the moment her eyelids peeled open, spilling forth through the gap in the curtains and bathing her in a bright, warm glow. Susie groaned, a headache thrumming behind her eyes, an unbearable dryness coating the inside of her throat. Tossing an arm over her face to shield herself from the sun, it took her a long moment to realise she didn't know where she was.
This registered with a sudden panic, a jolt of electricity shocking her awake as she pushed herself to sit up, thick, comfortable bedsheets rustling with each sharp movement. She wasn't in her hut - for a moment her mind even wondered if she'd somehow ended up home, back in Manchester, until she realised her mother had never been able to afford blankets as nice as these.
An indiscernible mass weighed down her feet, and with a gentle kick, Meatball let out a tired whimper, peeking his head up from beneath the opposite end of the duvet. Susie would have laughed had she not been so dumbfounded by her surroundings, the huge double bed and floral wallpaper utterly unfamiliar to her. Turning her head, she noticed a crumpled scrap of paper on the nightstand, and reached across to seize it, resting uncomfortably on one elbow.
Out on a mission. Called in sick on your behalf.
Meatball's been fed. Coffee downstairs.
See you later
Benny
She'd had to squint to read his handwriting, chicken scratch letters almost indecipherable in her freshly conscious state. It took her a second to recall who 'Benny' even was, the nickname so foreign to her. He'd scribbled a smiley face next to his name, and Susie felt the corner of her lips curl upwards, oddly comforted by the gesture.
Memories of the night before began to return to her. Everything since the call with Beatrice had been a blur the moment she'd awoken, but the longer she sat there, watching Meatball roll back and forth across the mattress, things seemed to return to clarity. She was in one of the rooms above the pub - the owner had been reluctant to admit them so late at night, but she faintly recalled DeMarco slipping the man some extra cash. He'd been there when she'd fallen asleep. She'd woken up earlier that morning - at the time she thought she was dreaming, but now it grew apparent that it had been real. He'd been getting ready to leave, treading carefully so as not to make a sound. As he'd placed the note on the table beside her, he'd whispered something... but now she had no idea what on earth he had said.
Unceremoniously casting away the blankets, Susie rose from her bed groaning as she stretched her arms as high above her head as they could go. Beatrice's words from the night before remained etched clearly in her memory, the only thing she could truly recall with any lucidity. She'd forgotten how good it felt to cry. She had no idea how long it had been since the last time she let it happen - not since Ellie died, for certain. The combination of far too much wine and the sudden release of years of pent-up grief certainly had its way of making its effects felt the morning after. Susie staggered towards the bathroom, drinking cold water from her cupped palms with the fervour of someone dying of thirst, the relief to her throat immediate and heavenly.
Meatball darted back and forth between her feet as she dressed, and it was a constant fight not to trip as she pulled on her trousers. She'd awoken wearing what definitely was her sweater, but where it had come from she had no clue, as it had been tucked away in her drawers back at the hut the last time she remembered seeing it.
At least DeMarco had been right about the coffee. It felt strange to drink it sitting up at the bar, the rest of the pub lit with daylight and entirely deserted save for the barman, still cleaning pint glasses from the night before.
"You look like shit," He pointed out.
"Thank you," Susie nodded. There was a clock up on the wall behind the bar, its steady ticking piercing the veil of silence that lingered over the place. She stared at it for a while, watching the second hand rotate around and around as Meatball sniffed at her feet, nudging her toe with his nose. Tilting her cup, she felt a mouthful of hot coffee scald her throat as it worked its way down.
"Hey - d'you know what time the planes left?" She called to the barman as he wandered past, a keg of beer tucked under each arm.
He glanced up at the clock, blowing out a long breath. "Not sure, love. Think your fella left here about four hours ago, but I could be wrong."
"Oh, he's- ...Thanks." Susie gnawed at the inside of her lip, deciding the correction wasn't worth the energy it would take to make.
But there was something pecking away at her insides, something deep in her stomach that made her feel slightly ill the longer she stared up at the clock, watching the minutes tick by. Her heel began to tap incessantly against the leg of her barstool, heaving in one long sigh after the other, fingers drumming against the outside of her mug. There was a restlessness in her that was beginning to drive her mad, and it only worsened with each passing moment she spent just sitting there. Whatever this feeling was, she couldn't just wallow in it.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Meatball let out a joyful bark as they left the pub, sprinting down to the end of the road and straight back up to her, tail wagging wildly, tongue dangling to the side. Susie had tugged her sweater back on over her uniform shirt from the night before, slightly-too-long sleeves hanging down past her palms, the wool fraying in places around the hems from years of wear and tear.
She'd never attempted to walk all the way to the airstrip from the village, and the further she trekked it was beginning to become clear why. The hike was far longer than she'd envisioned, and by the time they arrived at the runway, her feet ached for release, although Meatball remained as chipper as ever, the familiar surroundings exciting him as he began to sniff around for friendly faces.
"Oi!" Susie was ripped from her thoughts by the echo of Charlotte's voice as the woman approached. Crowds had already begun to assemble, ambulances and medics waiting nearby in preparation for the worst. It was a formation she'd seen countless times before, but for some reason this time it felt different, a bolt of nausea running through her before she forced herself to look away, turning towards her friend. "You look terrible."
"Yeah, I know. Morning to you too."
"They said you were off sick today," Charlotte frowned, brow arched in question. Of course, she had noticed Susie's absence the night before. Whatever had happened - however her sweater had made its way from the hut to her sleeping form - she was bound to have questions.
"Uh, yeah, I am. I just - I wanted to come up here... are they on their way back?"
"Any minute now," She nodded. Folding her arms tight across her chest, Charlotte moved to stand beside Susie, swaying slightly on the balls of her feet as they both stared up at the grey sky above.
"... Y'know," Charlotte began. "I don't mind if you don't tell me where you went. But you can."
Susie leant towards her, their shoulders pressing together. "I know."
Almost as if on cue, the steady hum of engines came into earshot, the dark shapes of returning planes just visible through the thin blanket of cloud. She hadn't realised that she'd begun picking at her nails in agitation until Charlotte reached out and grabbed her wrist, tugging her hands away from each other. Susie peered down at them, pink flesh raw and sore around the edges of her nails, then glanced across at her friend. Charlotte had noticed what she was doing without even having to look. She shoved her fists into her pockets.
The sounds of engines rose to a deafening roar as they swooped into land, propellers spinning to a slow halt as tyres skidded against concrete, coming to a slow stop one by one in various states of disrepair. Ground crews and medics were already springing into action from the moment the first bomber made touch-down, and all the two women could do was stand and watch, trying their best to make out the names scrawled across the noses of each passing fort.
She had long lost sight of Meatball, the dog skittering around the place and darting between legs in search of anyone familiar to him. Susie had begun to grow paranoid at her inability to locate 'Our Baby' when his bark split the air and he came bounding up to her from within the crowds, leaping up onto his hind legs as one of his claws caught on her sweater.
"Hey, hey, shhh," She cooed, stroking his head until he calmed down, stilling long enough for her to untangle his paw from the knots of wool. Meatball's tail wouldn't stop wagging, his head snapping back and forth between Susie and the crowds that covered the runway. When she glanced up, Charlotte was already walking away, a faint smirk creasing her cheek.
"Suze!" Her gaze darted towards the sudden voice, spotting DeMarco as he crossed the tarmac towards her, dark hair slick with sweat and plastered to his temples.
"Hey," She breathed, wide-eyed as he approached, a laugh escaping his throat as Meatball jumped up at him, barking with glee.
DeMarco stopped in front of her, lifting his hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Yesterday she would've flinched.
"You look nice," He said.
"Oh, shut up," Susie shook her head, breaking their moment of eye contact. He let out a low chuckle, clearly anticipating such a response. "...You alright?"
Nodding for a long moment, DeMarco took a deep breath. "Yeah. Could ask you the same."
"Right, well I was never at risk of getting blown up, but thanks," She huffed, squinting in the sunlight as she began to smile. As he began to shrug off his jacket, DeMarco let out a faint hiss of pain. Susie's eyes narrowed at him, folding her arms across her chest. "Uh-huh, right, so when you said you were fine you were full of shit?"
He batted a hand at her, shaking his head. "It's just a stiff back - woke up with it. 'S what happens when you sleep in a chair all night, y'know."
"You... Did you stay all night?"
DeMarco froze for a second, and from the way he was staring at her, she could tell he was trying to gauge her reaction, to predict her response.
"I... don't wanna answer that if it'll make you mad at me."
"I assumed you'd just come back in the morning. When I saw you leaving-"
"I thought you were asleep when I left."
"Mostly. I thought I was dreaming at the time."
A lopsided, boyish grin spread across his face. "Oh yeah? You dream about me a lot?"
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Susie rolled her eyes, whacking him across the shoulder and making him wince again. "... Sorry."
"It's cool. Hey, I gotta go debrief - I'll see you later, ok?"
"Yeah, yeah, see you later," She nodded. As he began to walk away, she felt a question burning on the tip of her tongue, desperate to be asked. "Oh, hey - DeMarco?"
He stopped, turning back as he waited for her to speak. What had she wanted to say? Why did you stay? What did you say to me before you left? Why can't I think of anything but whether you're alright when you leave?
"Uh- it's nothing. Don't worry about it."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Susie reached into the paper bag in her lap, passing a sandwich across to DeMarco as he poured a cup of coffee from the thermos, fending off Meatball to prevent him from snatching the meat out from between the bread. It had become a usual occurrence for him to join her on her lunch break, bringing with him food of his own to add to her meagre feast, and he came almost every day when he wasn't flying a mission. Charlotte and Maeve had joined them initially, but after returning to work the pair had been left alone, sitting in the grass beneath one of the trees at the edge of the airfield.
Lying back against the ground, she lifted her foot in the air, holding her toe to blot out the blinding afternoon sun. It was almost perfectly quiet here, the wall of trees muffling the constant noise of the ground crews, toiling away across the field.
"So," DeMarco began, propping himself up on his elbows. "If you weren't working here - if there wasn't a war and we didn't have to do all this - what d'you think you'd be doing right now?"
Susie frowned, letting out a faint huff. "God, I dunno. Probably still be in my old job."
"Which was-?"
"I was the projectionist at the Paramount in Manchester. Y'know - splicing the reels, switching them over, keeping the projectors running. Did that for five years before the war - got bloody good at it." When she looked over at him, he was smiling. "What?"
"Nothin', I just wouldn't have guessed it. You liked it?"
"Well, I got to sit around watching films on my own and no one talked to me."
"That tracks, actually."
Susie laughed, a deep chuckle vibrating from her chest. It had been a long time since she'd thought about that theatre, of the hours she'd spent sitting up in that tiny booth, only half paying attention to whatever book she had in her lap so that she was ready when the film ran its course. The constant clicking, rolling, scrolling sound of the reels of film had once occupied her mind almost permanently - she'd swear she could still hear it at dinner, or lying awake in bed at night, the noise etched into her very brain. But it had been years since she'd heard it now.
She lifted a hand to her mouth, biting nervously at her thumbnail for a moment as she built up the courage to speak again, feeling her heart rate begin to speed up inside her chest.
"I have a question, too."
"Oh yeah?" DeMarco shifted in the grass, propping himself up on one side so that he could face her properly. She wished he'd stop staring at her like that. It was awkward enough to ask what she needed to without those damn eyes on her, his expression always so open and forgiving no matter what venom seemed to lace her tongue.
Susie grunted, pushing herself up to stand as she paced back and forth in front of him for a while. He watched her go this way and that, over and over, beginning to frown. "You havin' a breakdown over there?"
"Will you come with me to Charlotte's wedding?" She blurted, rambling so quickly she was worried the words might have blurred together into a single, unintelligible slur.
"What?" DeMarco grinned, although there wasn't a hint of mockery in his smile.
"Charlotte said I could bring someone, I - I dunno, it's stupid, don't worry about it," Susie shook her head, a hint of red colouring her cheeks.
"No, no! I'll come. Not stupid," He hadn't moved from his spot, cheeks creasing with the weight of his grin.
She threw her hands up, refusing to meet his gaze. "It's just, I'm gonna be the only person showing up on my own otherwise, and it'll be weird and embarrassing and-"
"Hey, Susie! Susie. I already said I'll go. I'm just... I dunno, surprised to be your first choice."
Sitting back down again, Susie let out a long, deep breath, feeling a weight rise off her shoulders now that the question was out there in the open. The idea of showing up alone had been bugging her for weeks, but it wasn't until that morning, sitting alone in the bed he'd paid for, did she realise the answer had been in front of her all this time.
"Well, it's- ...Whatever, it's not like I had any old boyfriends to dig up for the occasion."
"You never had a boyfriend?" DeMarco scoffed in disbelief.
She narrowed her eyes at him, shrugging. "Don't act like it's so unbelievable. I mean, I've done the sex and the snoggin' and all that stuff but... no. Nothing serious. But I'm a bit bloody miserable and not very pretty so it adds up."
"Don't say that," He shook his head slightly, tone suddenly firm.
"Don't say what?"
"Don't say you're not pretty - you're very pretty, Suze."
"Oh, but I am miserable, eh?" Susie joked, attempting to hide how taken aback she'd been by his sudden seriousness.
"Hey, I'm sworn to honesty," DeMarco shrugged, laughing as she lashed out, smacking him on the chest with the back of her hand.
"Bastard."
They slipped into silence, watching Meatball attempt to chase a small group of geese across the field. She chuckled as the dog darted back and forth, the birds leaping to fly over his head whenever he got too close. DeMarco let his head loll to the side again, watching her face as she smiled. Who the hell had told her she wasn't pretty? He couldn't believe it - couldn't fathom how she could either. There was something effortless to her that he found wonderful - how she never bothered to curl or pin her hair, how her uniform was never quite up to regulation, how she never seemed able to tie her necktie the same way twice.
Susie let out a groan, her head tilting back. "What is it now?" He asked.
"Remembered I have a job."
"That's rough. You should probably go do that."
With a sigh, she took the last sip of her coffee and scrambled to her feet, brushing stray pieces of grass off her trousers, a faint patch of damp creeping up her back. There was a leaf stuck to the back of her hair, and as Susie scrambled to collect her things, DeMarco stood up, trying and failing to reach it through her constant movement. She turned, almost bumping into him, their faces only inches apart.
"Can I help you?" Susie asked quietly.
He reached around to the back of her head, plucking away the leaf and holding it up so she could see. "Got it."
Letting out a snort of amusement, she nodded, taking a step back and turning to leave. "Come 'round my hut sometime and I'll give you the wedding invitation," She called over her shoulder, the sunlight hitting her auburn hair and lighting the frizz around its edges a bright, flaming orange.
"Will do!" DeMarco shouted in reply, standing perfectly still as he watched her hike up the slope to the top of the field and disappear. Looking down, he realised he was still holding the leaf in his hand.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Darkness had begun to fall over Thorpe Abbotts by the time Susie returned from work, a cigarette burning away between her lips as she approached her hut, keys jangling in her palm as she flicked through to find the right one. Sliding it into the lock and opening the door with a click, the place was already almost full as she entered, her bunkmates reading and chatting and pinning their hair into curlers in preparation for the next day. In the centre of the room, Charlotte and Maeve were holding up a long, white wedding gown, each of them gripping one end, eyeing it closely as they talked amongst themselves. Charlotte had spent months preparing the thing, sewing it herself out of scraps of parachute silk, and it was now achingly close to completion with only two weeks to spare.
"How's it lookin'?" Susie asked, strolling past them to get to her bed, shrugging off her jacket as she went.
"Come over here and put it on," Charlotte ordered.
She sighed, kicking her shoes off. "Again?" She and Charlotte shared almost identical measurements, and in the absence of any sort of mannequin, Susie found herself modelling the dress far more often than she would've liked.
"I think this should be the last time - I just need to sew the lace on once it comes in the post. But I'm not sure about the cut of the sleeves."
"Why can't you just put it on yourself?"
"Fine! Fine, God," Shaking her head, Susie crossed the room towards them, stripping off her uniform as she went. Her friends helped her into the dress, feeling almost lost beneath the layers of identical silk. Charlotte was slightly taller than her, so the hem of the skirt crumpled itself against the floor, but it was otherwise an almost perfect fit.
Maeve sat on the end of her bed, watching as Charlotte surveyed the dress, muttering inaudibly to herself as she poked at the sleeves and the fit of the bodice. Susie refused to turn her head for fear that she'd catch sight of her reflection in one of the girls' mirrors. She'd seen Charlotte wear it enough times to know what it must have looked like on her, but something about the idea of seeing it made her intensely uncomfortable.
"See, I'm thinking of taking the sleeves up a bit," Charlotte explained, marking out with her finger where she wanted to raise the fabric. "Like this, see?"
"Yeah, I think that'd be nice," Mave nodded. She had been dragged into the project just as involuntarily as Susie had, but they played their parts diligently for Charlotte's sake.
A knock sounded at the front door to the hut, and one of the other women scrambled up off her bed to go and answer it. People came by all the time, so the interruption hadn't even caught Susie's attention until her name was called.
"Susie! It's for you."
Her brow furrowed. "Who is it?" She replied, already thinking up an excuse to avoid having to go to the door. The woman stuck her head around the door again, talking briefly to whoever was outside.
"Says his name's Benny."
Maeve's face seemed to light up, grinning over at her. "Fuck's sake," Susie muttered, hiking up her skirts with as much care for Charlotte's handiwork as she could as she marched towards the front door.
DeMarco stood out in the darkness, a nearby streetlight basking half of his face in a warm glow. He'd smiled the moment she'd appeared in the doorway, but it faded into confusion as he took a moment to process her appearance.
"... Oh?"
She rolled her eyes. "Charlotte's wedding dress. We're the same size, she's- ...I dunno what she's doing really."
He let out a chuckle, nodding. She hadn't had a chance to deal with her hair since getting back, and curls protruded at all angles from the bun on the back of her head, which had been steadily slipping out of place for hours. Paired with the wedding gown, it was a distinctly strange combination.
"Well, I just came by to get the invite, I didn't mean to interrupt... whatever this is."
"Ooh, right," Susie nodded, using one of the other girls' boots as a makeshift doorstop as she scurried back inside, skirt held up to her knees as she rummaged in the drawer of her nightstand until she found it.
"There you go," She declared, holding it out to him as she returned.
"Thanks," DeMarco nodded, slipping the invitation into his pocket. Looking back up at her, he couldn't help but stare for a moment. Despite the strangeness of the situation, he couldn't deny that it suited her. He cleared his throat, shaking his head before his mind was allowed to wander to places he wasn't ready for. "Ok, well. Have fun with this," He said, gesturing to her dress. "I'll see you around."
"Yes," Susie spoke slowly, flashing him an awkward smile. As she reached back to close the door, a forgotten pin hidden inside one of the seams poked through her flesh, eliciting a hiss of pain. "Fuck! Charlotte, you haven't taken all the pins out of this thing!"
From somewhere inside, Charlotte's voice echoed. "Take it off before you get blood on it!"
Benny cleared his throat, feeling heat rise to his face. "Oh, right, ok - I'll be on my way."
"Bye!" She yelped, practically slamming the door in his face in her desperation to get out of the dress. Through the door, he could hear muffled voices, fast and irritated, and he let out a chuckle, gravel crunching beneath his feet as he walked away.
#masters of the air#masters of the air oc#bernard demarco#bernard demarco x oc#mota#mota oc#mota fic#masters of the air fic#oc: susie#fic | better off
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Day 31/October 31: Halloween || Death || Costumes
never forget the skeleton had hair
#ITS ONLY LATE IF YOU ACKNOWLEDGE ITS LATE#of COOURSE halloween week had to be my busiest week#if it isn’t clear they dragged his skeleton back up and used it as halloween decor#ignore the shading and lighting and skeleton anatomy and pumpkin and path i actually have no idea how to do it#i was bullshitting my way through it all i slapped shorts on him cause i didn’t want to figure that out#i dont love it but i dont overly hate it so call that a win win#TUMBLR DELETED ALL MY TAGS WHAT THE FUCK#i dont remember any more of them#anyways end of morrotober guys it was fun thank you morrotober for hosting#even though there were like 4 or so of us consistently participating#what do i do now#ive fully committed to being back so ill do more probably#but i can only do shitposts unless otherwise given clear instructions#morrotober was good for me tbh i was forced to do more art this month than i ever did in my entire life and i think im improving#im experimenting at least thats good#i think im developing a style i like using bright as fuck contrasting lighting#and a MORRO DESIGN finally after all these months#ninjago#lego ninjago#morro ninjago#ninjago morro#morro wu#morrotober 2023#morrotober2023#morrotober#jellos scribbles
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
That feeling when he can't stand to see you that way, no matter what you do, no matter what you say😩😭💔
#scott pilgrims precious little life#scott pilgrim vs the world#spvtw#spto#scott pilgrim#wallace wells#lisa miller#scollace#kim pine#natalie adams#envy adams#don't rlly know if I like how this turned out but oh well;;;#hope its obvious that this is based on the song “Scott Pilgrim” which the creation the comics were inspired from#the lyrics always make me think of Wallace and Lisa's feelings for Scott every time I hear it#ofc you could also relate it to Kim especially since the singers voice kind of reminds me of her#but overall the lyrics fit these two much better since Scott never truly “saw them that way” despite how long they've liked him#and they always seem happier to see him compared to Kim#Im surprised tho that I havent yet seen anyone draw these two together now that their dialogue parallels have been acknowledged more lately#also tho I wish more people pointed out that they both got cucked by red heads LOL#and Kim and Envy actually do look really similar when scott first meets them#makes me wonder if Scott subconsciously went for Envy since she reminded him of Kim (which would be fitting given that you could argue that#Envy dated Scott because he reminded her of Todd. Since he and Scott are confirmed to be meant to be seen as similar to one another#so much so that even their first and last names rhyme#last thing I'll add tho is that while Wallace and Lisa are very similar even personality wise#the one big difference is that despite that whole conclusion on vol4 of Scott not cheating on Ramona with Lisa because he loves her#the writers apparently think it would be “organically correct” for him to have an affair with wallace LMAO#but I guess we shouldn't be surprised since Wallace and Ramona are both in the front of the official valentines art which is clearly#a deptiction of Scotts wet dream or smth (oh and you could also argue that Wallace and Lisa parallel on that art since they're both#shirtless with white socks.. which could be a reference to how lisa wears skimpy clothes for Scott and Wallace often only wears boxers#to like sexually frustrate Scott for fun or smth
262 notes
·
View notes
Text
'Archetropes aren't alterhuman, that's normal human experience '.
No. It's normal human experience to feel that you fit an archetype or trope. It's normal human experience to have a favourite archetype or trope and gravitate towards characters who display it or even try to display it in yourself or your OCs.
It's not really going to be considered normal if you say you are the embodiment of that archetype or trope, partially or completely. Or if you identify with it in such an intense way that it completely shapes the entirety of your being including possibly your therio/kin/fictotypes.
It's not generally regarded as average to see yourself not exactly as a person but as an archetype of a person, a trope of a person. To the side of being human because you are a concept and apply to humans but you are still basically just a concept with a body. That's alterhuman.
#honestly a lot of negatively towards the term alterhuman I've been seeing lately it's just about being bitter that it encompasses/accepts#types of identities the OP doesn't agree with sharing a community with so either wants them gone or the term#'the term is too broad we're letting too many people in its becoming meaningless ' To You maybe the rest of us however don't feel the need#to judge alternative to human/human experiences as being only if you're an animal#imagine thinking having a wide community and helping others acknowledge that actually alterhumanity is vast and natural is bad#alterhuman#archetrope
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
the way i wish there could be more good faith analysis and fic about billy having adopted racial prejudice from his dad and then learning to properly recognize it and grow past it in order become a better person.
i wish there was more posts and fics that tackle the bullshit lucas has had to deal with as a black kid in small town indiana because the duffers never even considered it.
but the sheer puritan black and white thinking and performative activism or moral virtue signaling or whatever the fuck that is so pervasive in this fandom means that even the few posts and fics that dare to try and actually tackle racism tend turn it into either a punishment narrative, are depressingly shallow about it, make it about hating and liking the 'right characters', or miss the mark entirely
like i get it, homophobia/transphobia is easier to explore and talk about for most fans. it's complex and multi-layered just like other types of oppression, but so much of fandom is queer and dedicated to shipping and labels that yeah, i can see how talking about it is just. easier for a lot of ppl.
also a lot of fandom is white. and lots of white gays get weird about discussing racism in their spaces. y'know the deal, but i digress.
from what i can see, very few ppl want to explore how racism affects our favorite characters and the stories they live in. i know some ppl are probably afraid of getting it wrong, or they don't know anything about it and don't feel like they should. it's like, my blorbo is queer and so am i, so why wouldn't i talk all day about that? i get it. but it honestly just means a lot when someone tries earnestly. i have read beautiful fics about trans love through hardship by cis authors and such genuine fics about connection in the face of racism's poison by white authors.
there is just SO much untapped potential in exploring lucas and max and billy and patrick and argyle and all the other characters directly and indirectly affected by bigotry and racism within the narrative that never got the acknowledgement it deserved.
plus it's super weird being used as a 'gotcha!' by white fans that hate billy (as if poc fans of billy aren't capable of seeing it for the bullshit it is) or seeing lucas' treatment in the show get brushed aside like it's nothing or how argyle gets sidelined an awful lot in the fandom (and don't even get me started on how messy the classism in this fandom can be, the borderline erasure of eddie's poverty and its effects on who he is as a person in fic is insane sometimes)
anyway. idk if any of this makes sense, but i can count like maybe 3 good fics and maybe a dozen good posts about billy that actually address this in good faith and only maybe a dozen more for every other character i mentioned. and i desperately want more. i am brown and queer and i want healing and love for all of these characters and i am going to have to start churning out more of it myself at this rate.
#the dozen or so good posts are all by my mutuals at this point lmaoo#and 1 of the like 3 only good fics is ALSO by one of my mutuals#oh actually i forgot about TOWNIE make that 4 good fics and 2 written by my mutuals lol#billy hargrove#i cant tag any of the other blorbos bc then ppl will start acting stupid in my notes#i may already be playing fast and loose bc i mention my man argy#this is super incoherent bc its late for me so im not in the mood for clowns#it's rly mostly bc either billy is painted as horrible bad racist who is either forever so or needs to grovel and suffer to redeem himself#OR ppl who like him dont rly know how to tackle the obvious racial prejudice in his actions and try to toe it aside#like yea i love him but that boy isn't gonna magically free himself of any bigotry without some in depth introspection#or some very specific headcanons about what he got up to in california and what was motivating him when he treated lucas like he did#and even then you gotta acknowledge it#idk man maybe im just picky like no one is obligated to write fic this is mostly me bitching#except for the overt racism and classism n shit in this fandom that im being deadass about#but yes TOWNIE + Spin Me Right Round + Yourself or Someone Like You fic supremacy#if you have recs. hand them over pls. i have a Need.
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
ahh my stickers aren't selling at all and it's really disheartening bc i really really thought they would do well. im not sure if i wanna print the other designs now
#box's lockbox#vent#like i really believed in em too and its been 3 days and not a single sale#im not trying to guilt anyone at all by any means#sometimes this stuff just doesnt work out#but man.#it really tells me something when i return to a fandom i've been in for years#and most of my following still knows me for like#the two years of dst hyperfix art i did#and like refuses to acknowledge me as anything else#not yall#mostly talking about instagram#which ive been on for far longer#idk.#im sad.#i have a lot of moots/regulars who every time i talk about art they have to mention dst#and its like#lil bro thats not the only fandom im in im sorry#tf2 is not anything new to me by any stretch of the word#you're way late to the party if you think thats the case
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
i am, really just fucking hoping theres gonna be more safety regulations around this kind of stuff now. and that the greek coast guard gets fucking sued. also that the submersible company gets sued. and nothing like any of these things happens ever again
#ik thats not gonna be the case but god this whole situation has not been good for my irrational-ish fear#of being told something is safe and then it turns out it really really isnt but its too late and horrible death happens#i feel no sympathy for the billionaires obvs but. can we acknowledge how fucking lucky it is that the horrble submersible#only ended up killing 5 ppl. thats still 5 ppl but it couldve been way more#like idc if a billionaire wants to die horribly they should not be allowed to drag other people down w them#they should not be allowed to have their METAL TUBE DEATH TRAP talked about POSITIVELY on a fucking SCIENCE WEBSITE THAT SHOULD KNOW BETTER#AND THEY DEFINITELY SHOULDNT BE ALLOWED TO USE IT TO TURN A GRAVESITE INTO THE WORLDS LEAST SAFE TOURIST TRAP#EVEN IF ONLY STUPID RICH PPL WILL GET ON IT#like you realize this is just the most extreme example of the kind of lack of regulation these guys get away with. like im glad the guy tha#made the thing met his horrible end with it but too many ppl don't get graced with this kind of dramatic irony#and besides maybe it should not be fucking legal to construct literal death machines even for dramatic irony#idk im tired of focusing on whether the guys had it coming for them or not its endless hell discourse#lets fucking talk abt how this whole thing should not have fucking happened in the first place#and i hope nothing like it ever happens again#if the billionaires want a horrible death i will give it to them myself and then outlaw their entire fucking existence (as billionaires)#im sorry im just fucking tired#roseflower.txt
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Also in the replies of the Steph concept art on twitter announcing she was gonna be in a new project at DC (posted by Travis Mercer), there were at least 3 comments saying "will Tim be there?" I don't care how hard you ship timsteph I'm exploding you with my eyeballs if you do that on my girls post again
#ramblings of a lunatic#taking a step back to acknowledge that my stanning may be getting overzealous#but then again I'm not in ppls quotes or replies I'm vagueing on an entirely different website with no relevant tags. it could be worse#anyway I know tims had it rough these past couple of months ever since zdarsky shifted focus of the batman title to have less tim#but it still feels. idk. just a wee bit uninspired to act like steph can't go two steps without tim being behind her#im ngl i like timsteph when they're cute but timsteph twitter has been. pissing me off a tad lately#the refusal to acknowledge the sexism in dixons robin run and how it impacts stephs writing and their relationships writing#the refusal to acknowledge tims occasional condescension and hypocrisy when it comes to stephs vigilantism#seemingly only wanting her to be spoiler when he wants her around and telling her to give it up most of the time#also the constant disrespect of stephs batgirl era on there weirdly enough?#I've harped on about this on main and in drafts but despite it's flaws it's a good turn for stephs character#she's the focus she gets development (an upward trajectory! which had previously been unheard of for her! bc she did have flaws as spoiler-#-its just that both writers and characters alike seemed to arbitrarily decide she didn't have the capacity to grow past them! but she did!)#hell i saw a BIZARRE take today i just have to bitch about#which was them saying that Batgirl was a ''heteronormative mask'' steph put on#with spoiler being her more authentic self (and this being paralleled to gender expression with stephs isolation from the batfam as spoiler-#-showing how she ''wasnt like them'')#which. I'm not denying you the view that spoiler has a certain genderific swag to her but the needless dragging of her batgirl persona#steph got treated badly as spoiler bc she was A Girl. it's genuinely that simple dixon felt batman and robin would never stand for a girl-#-running around doing the things they did and would need to chivalrously stop her. he's gone on record saying this#she's constantly getting belittled by mostly men (cass also dismisses her but it feels distinctly less gendered)#and in the end it's barbara who learns to give steph a second chance despite her mistakes and they have a positive relationship#something ppl are quick to dismiss as being in and of itself sexist bc they're pairing the two girls off together#as if batgirl isn't a legacy and as if babs and steph don't have parallels in their resilience and refusal to accept when ppl tell them no#for better and for worse!!#like. idk how you took the strongest feminist element in that comic (bc there are elements of sexism here and there! 2009 n all)#and somehow turn it into ''heteronormativity'' YOU PPL ARE JUST SAYING WORDS AT THIS POINT!!!#anyway. someone take away my internet access
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
idk why I'm posting this here but it's fine because I can do whatever I want. sorry I think I'm having an enneagram type 1 moment. it's not mental illness, it's because of my enneagram type! can't help being a Gemini Enneagram Type 1
also I keep using the amulet's powers so I've been being hit with the after effects. such power deranges a man /ref
#milgran't#type 1 momence#btw as a prefacw this is not directed at anyone here. this is just. a thing. that is everywhere.#ok. anyway.#the....... Exotification of DID/OSDD-1... is always so annoying.#and like. i get it. i understand. its probably a difficult thing for many ppl to actually comprehend as a real human experience#which brings me to the main point of this Pussy-Rant (ranting in tags bc im a pussy)#i think. the main reasom its So Exotified. is. '''''''MPD''''''''#serioisky that name has done. so much fucking damage its insane. absolute wack shit#anyway yeah. like. the concept of it being Multiple People In One Body/Brain... when like... that's.. not really whats going on..#like if youre a system and that's how you understand your system to be. then power to you. i dont care do literally whatever#its just. i think CDDs would be a LOT easier for people to understand if--#--it was not looked at as the Multiple People Disorder. but instead as the Fucking Extreme Compartmentalization Disorder#idk its just annoying seein ppl (who are probably very well meaning!) talk about the disorder i experience as if its bizarre and fantastical#~look wooooowwww this is something that can happen to the brain due to The Most Unreal And Most Traumatic Events!! crazy right?~#i am going to get the Evil Alter out here so he can beat you to death.#like yeah its fucking. sad and fucked up what has to happen to develop a CDD. and that should be acknowledged.#and many systems Have had to go through experiences that a lot of ppl can only fathom as being able to happen in fiction.#but.... its just so isolating and makes me feel Capital C Crazy 🥴#dear lord ive just been so irritable and frustrated lately... obligatory apologies.#ah. i think i suddenly figured out why this in particular triggers me so much.#god damn it it's always the fucking trauma huh!#<- spent basically all of elementary school and middle school feeling like there was a giant sign over my head that said--#--''this poor soul went through something so tragic! how awful to think that something that serious could happen to just a little kid!''#its the ''hey can you stop treating me as something helpless that needs to be fixed and just treat me like A Fucking Person'' feelings#but see this disorder is just so beautiful because in a week i may be wanting ppl to see me as a suffering freak who needs to be fixed#or hell even fucking tomorrow. who knows not me#.. ok im actually genuinely afraid talkimg about this is going to lead to her gettinf triggered out KDJSNKDJSNJD so im gonna. stop.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
If I were to get Fired after Disappointing a customer (who hasn't paid and the worst thing happened to them is their orders late for a day and we cancelled his orders because he couldnt Wait any longer- DEMANDING us to finish the thing and said "I dont care I /want/ my orders Now" after we told him it will take us until midnights to work for it?? YOU HAVENT EVEN PAID), then I would gladly Leave. Certainly they didnt appreciate me at all
#yes it was my mistake for working on his thing Late#but its not even a life-threatening thing? he can easily *wait* if he wants his orders done#but he doesnt wanna wait and instead of making my production team work Harder I cancelled his orders#like SURE call me a bitch call me whatever but at least fellow coworkers dont need to deal with you#mind you Havent Even Paid#how can people be so heartless? if he really told our boss about it HAH go For it#was planning to get outta here anyway#'i'll make this viral' sir by all means go for it#the only thing you would discover is Overworked 18-20s trying to make a living for their families#and maybe then you will 'ah thats why this one order was Late'#but no huh- because you're so Heartless you really Didnt Care what happen to us and just want your orders done#we have apologized#you didnt even pay anything yet what does it cost you?#pls be Kinder sir you dont want your own customers to be so heartless dont you?#i know retail is a nightmare so dont add to it#(and then he would def come order at us again after all this because our services the Cheapest)#yes I acknowledge my mistake#and I also acknowledge a heartless asshole when I encounter one
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
in other news my parents have unwittingly chosen our backyard flowers in nb flag colors,,
#this is a coincidence. they dont know im nb they arent familiar with the flag#pansies are a deliberate choice however because heh it me#& also bc they were what my late grandma always had in her garden#which was. also bc heh it me.#you give youe kid a fun middle name that means things and suddenly its almost more Acknowledged™ than ur first name#Which Is Just As Well this ones the only name of the original three that ill keep whenever i change my name legally
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
something that i thought was very well done in Barbie (besides yanno all of it) is how Margot's Babrie doesn't think she's smart, because she has been labeled as "stereotypical Barbie".
like, multiple times in this movie, she has moments of very well articulated and intelligent comments, which have excellent comedic timing, but serve a wider purpose of showcasing how women tend to be given a Trait and that is your thing. she mentions how she wishes Smart Barbie was here or to wait for Leadership Barbie to swoop in because she's Stereotypical Barbie, she's not smart, she's not a Leader, she can't do this.
at some point after childhood, women get pigeonholed into a category, right (sometimes even in childhood if I'm honest)? weird, smart, hot, pretty, ugly, bitchy, innocent, prudish, slut, nice. at most, you get two of these traits for your peers and friends to label you.
and its hard to see that when it happens! it's only as we go on and start having complex relationships and experiences and interacting with people outside of our space that we start seeing that and start putting a name to the feeling of constriction that we've been having for, what feels like, forever.
THEN you have to contend with the reality that you are so much more than even all of those things and that's scary! you cannot fit into these small boxes, humans were never made to fit into boxes, you have to throw it out even as others play tug-of-war with you in the rain and insist the soggy, tearing box is so important and where would we be without it? you have to constantly face that and insist that no, it's not, and we'd be right where we are now, arguing over a wet box in the rain when the only thing either of us wants is to be warm inside.
and you have to learn when to pick and choose to just let go and leave the box and the person in the rain and when to keep fighting, even if you're so tired and cold.
and this just! HAPPENS! like there isn't a manual, there isn't a magical age you turn where this becomes clear to you! it's different for everyone and some don't ever have that and some have it so young and others not until they're old! it's such a lonely thing sometimes!
but then you meet other women, different women, so many women with so many unique experiences to add. trans women, women of color, nonbinary women, disabled women, women of every differing religion, ALL have these unique experiences with this phenomon, some have more boxes to throw out in the rain, some have to try and throw out wooden or stone boxes in a hurricane, the danger they face in doing so is sometimes so much more than what others experience.
but that moment of realizing women all have this undertone of understanding and dealing with this gives us the courage to join and hopefully make the tug-of-war easier, to make sure we all get inside to be warm. it's hard to pull that stone box by yourself, but if we join behind you, maybe we can win.
this movie encapsulates that so incredibly well? that speech from Gloria about how tiring it is to see herself and other women feel this way and be made to feel this way and to buy into ourselves is just! that moment of looking every woman in the eyes and telling them they're seen and their struggles are seen and it is so unfair!
and then Barbie says something else smart and, for the first time, acknowledges she did. "Oh I can't believe that just came from me" it has the whole time, can't wait for you to realize that you were always human, and look forward to seeing you in the rain and for hot cocoa afterwards.
#barbie spoilers#barbie#its so late and im not feeling good so i have no idea if this is coherent lmao#but! that was so interesting to me!#it was her acknowledging the smart thing she said near the end of the movie that drew my attention#because i remembered two other distinct lines where she showed this level of intelligence and i was momentarily confused#as to why the script drew attention to THIS one and not the others#and its because barbie was made to feel like an object and like she was ONLY Stereotypical Barbie in the real world#in Barbieland youre everything all at once and you can do anything honestly#in childhood youre everything and can be whatever you want#and at some point you leave that and the world throws labels on you as if theyre dressing you for war#and you have to find a way to get back there and eventually realize you cant so now you have to bring it here#and its not the same and its inconsistent but! youre not alone!#theres defo this for the kens too btw but im zeroing in on Barbie here
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
forever baffled by how some wisdom takes time to grow into
#citrine speaks#DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE TOLD ME HOW IMPORTANT A BEDTIME ROUTINE IS#do you have any idea how long i've been hearing that#How Many Times I've Tried#im 21 years old and i literally only just now get it. people have been trying to help me understand this since i gained sentience#im fascinated by this. like. im a listener. i listen to advice. its what i DO#And Still. some advice just. has to wait for the right time#'i tried to tell you-' yeah and i acknowledge that you were right. but you weren't right yet bc i wasn't There yet#tldr if i 'ignore' advice you KNOW is right. just know. you may still be right im just stubborn at the DUMBEST times and also#am slow to adjust sometimes.#this has been introspection with c thanks for tuning in#(also obsessed with how i feel like im learning this stuff So Late when im like. 12. im a baby. im new to this world and am kicking myself#for not knowing Perfectly how to onboard and apply information. whats up with that?)
1 note
·
View note
Text
just a little something that's been on my mind for a while now, like it's actually rotting my brain.
cw: stalking, a bit nsfw near the end, just general yandere stuff, not proof-read!!!!! so sorry if its a bit messy !!!!
★ (romantic) yandere!batfam x reader
imagine being the shared darling of the batfam.
it only takes one of them for the rest to fall in love with you, too.
let's say you meet tim during one of the days he actually decides to go to class, and he's thanking the heavens he did.
slowly, he starts to integrate himself into your daily life, and into your friend group. they all love him, of course. who wouldn't love the kind, funny, and handsome tim drake?
during all of this, he'd already told his brothers about you, and because they can't hide anything from bruce, he finds out about you too. unsurprisingly, they come to appreciate you as much as tim has.
and suddenly, you get a particularly handsome new neighbour in the apartment across from you (which you didn't know was even up for rent) and somehow always seems to be in the middle of stripping when you're home. almost as if he can feel your eyes on him. of course, you make sure not to get caught, and avert your eyes as soon as the cloth leaves his waist.
later, you find out his name is jason, and make a good friend out of him. he smokes on his balcony, while you drink coffee on yours.
barely a week after that, you get a new regular at the café you work at. his name's dick grayson. he says it's probably best for you to yell out his last name for his orders too. he's a detective, which explains the late nights he comes into the café. he's always got a stupidly handsome smile on his face, which only adds onto his neverending charm.
and during the occasion that you're walking home alone, you always seem to run into one of the many vigilantes that guard gotham.
you meet both batman and robin during one of your walks home. you're not scared of them, as most people are; you're merely fascinated at the tall figure that towers over you, and his more colourful counterpart that is also taller than you. robin seems to be just a couple years younger than you. and batman... you can't seem to get a read on the man.
you greet them both as calmly as you can, a small smile on your lips. you get nods of acknowledgment from both of them, which you suppose is the most you're getting.
batman doesn't seem to like that you're walking alone, so he sends robin to walk you home. you don't understand why, and you tell them you've walked this route many times already, that they probably have worse things to take care of.
he tells you that you can never be too sure in gotham. with the way he says it, in that gravelly tone, you can't find yourself to disagree.
on your walk, now with robin's company, you feel safer. you also find out this robin is a man of few words, very unlike the last few robins yet much like batman.
the next night, you run into red robin, who has an air of familiarity around him. he's real friendly— in fact, it's almost like talking to a friend. you think you've seen his smile before.
the night after that, you meet nightwing in all of his spandex-clad glory. he's charming, almost flirty.
and for a week, you don't bump into any of the vigilantes, but you do feel watched. you should be frightened, by all means, but you have a feeling deep in your stomach that tells you they won't hurt you. whoever they are.
you see red hood after that week. he's the more intimidating one of the bunch, you reckon. you've nothing to be scared of, knowing he (along with all the others) only goes after the real awful people. you're not guilty of anything, as far as you know.
his voice is almost robotic, as if being run through a voice changer. it doesn't do much to help his image, though you suppose that's the point. he asks what a little thing like you is doing walking around these parts. you say you're just heading home, like all the times you've met one of them.
he lets you on his motorcycle. if you were paying enough attention, maybe you would've felt his heart beating a mile a minute.
your days go on like this for a while. class, work, walk home with one of gotham's protectors. rinse and repeat.
unbeknownst to you, cameras have been planted all around your apartment. in many angles of your bedroom too, save for your bathroom. they've decided to give you privacy in there. no matter how much dick begged.
though they do have clips saved of you walking around in just a towel, or your underwear. god knows what they're doing with those.
but truly, can you blame them? you've invaded the deepest crevices of their minds, your smell lingering on their noses, and the shape of your lips following them in their dreams.
oh, they can vividly see— almost feel your lips on theirs, and they wonder what you look like when your face is scrunched up from pleasure, as their fingers enter you.
but they'll have to wait a little longer. and they'll be damned if they lose you, when you're playing right into their hands.
this got so long !!!! i had to let this all out somewhere <//3 definitely gonna add more but i needed to cut it off at this 😭😭😭😭
#might focus on tim's part in all this next time!!!#tim drake x reader#red robin x reader#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#dick grayson x reader#nightwing x reader#bruce wayne x reader#batman x reader#damian wayne x reader#dc x reader#batfam x reader#yandere batfam#yandere x reader#— dc.#— the bats.#— yan writes.
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1
genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...
word count: 3.6k
It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this
auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!
nsfw warnings under the cut!
18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie
It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day.
To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.
The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—
“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.
His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”
“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.
You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes.
“What about Max?”
Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”
“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.
“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”
“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”
—
The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.
Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.
His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.
OK, nice. Did u need something?
No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?
Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.
I thought we agreed no contact unless business
He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.
Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.
Yeah. Got a drink.
I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.
How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.
Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit
Yeah? I missed you today.
Really?
A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.
He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?
You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading.
So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.
The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.
And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.
It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.
I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.
He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.
So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.
He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.
In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.
He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.
The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.
He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.
You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.
Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.
His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”
One week later
“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”
The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.
You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka.
Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.
“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”
You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”
“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”
“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”
“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”
“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”
“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”
He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”
“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.
“Wanna test that out? Come play.”
Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.
“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.
“You got it wrong. Teaching.”
He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.
If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.
You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?
You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.
Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.
“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.
You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—
“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.
“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.
“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.
“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.
“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.
“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward.
“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.
“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.
“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”
“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.
“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.
It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed.
He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.
“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”
“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.
“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control.
“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”
“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time.
“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”
His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.
“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.”
Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.
“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.
“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.”
You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.
#f1#max verstappen#max verstappen smut#max verstappen imagines#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen x reader#f1 x reader
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
[1.7k] an early morning birthday treat for your boyfriend hours before the rest of the world needs either of you. (smut)
we are gonna ignore the fact i accidentally hit the post limit yesterday and pretend i actually posted this on his birthday
.
“Good morning, birthday boy.”
Oscar let out a small hum of acknowledgement, a small smile working its way onto his face but he didn’t bother opening his eyes. Instead, he wound his arm around your waist and tugged you down until you were collapsing down on his chest. He sighed happily, nuzzling himself further against you whilst you wiggled in his embrace.
“You’re ruining your birthday,” you commented, trying to nudge his arm away so you could sit back up. But Oscar didn’t budge a bit.
“It’s my birthday,” he grumbled, his voice still laced with sleep and his accent coating his slurred words a little thicker than normal. “I get to choose what we do and I choose sleeping.”
“That’s boring,” you retorted, twisting in his hold until you were facing him. You reached a hand out, pushing his hair back until you got an unrestricted view of his face squished against the pillow.
“I happen to like boring birthdays.”
You snorted, smiling fondly as you leaned down to press a kiss on the tip of his slightly scrunched nose. “You’re not even going to ask what I planned?”
“If it includes leaving this bed before I have to head to the track, then I’m not interested,” Oscar mumbled, letting out a sigh as your nails began to scratch along his scalp. “I’m quite happy here. Very content. Very happy birthday boy.”
“And if I said your birthday plans start in bed?”
Oscar paused for a moment. “I’m listening.”
You grinned, lightly poking his cheek until his eyes slowly fluttered open. “Hey.”
He flashed you a lazy smile. “Hi, baby.”
“Happy birthday,” you murmured before you leaned down, pressing a soft but lingering kiss on his lips.
“Definitely happy,” he hummed in response, huffing a little when you pushed his shoulder so he was lying on his back. “You’re awfully bossy this morning.”
“You like it,” you teased, throwing one leg over his body until you were settled on his lap. In seconds, his hands were on your waist like the reaction was instinctive.
“Maybe,” he replied, though the light pink painting his cheeks gave him away. His thumbs lightly swiped along your hip bones, slowly pushing the material of your (his) shirt up until he was met with bare skin. “I have to be at the track by ten.”
“It’s only seven,” you retorted.
“That means we could have had a solid two more hours of sleep,” he pointed out, his eyes still a bit bleary from sleep. He was just grateful enough that one of you remembered to pull the curtains shut last night. “You know, cuddling is good for dopamine and stuff.”
Your lips twitched. “Dopamine and stuff?”
“You woke me up five minutes ago, give me a break,” Oscar grumbled, squeezing your hips to emphasise his point.
“I know something else that would be good for your dopamine and stuff,” you said, grinning a little as you leaned down to peck his lips. “Something for the birthday boy.”
“You keep saying that but—oh shit.”
You watched his eyes flutter shut, his grip on you tightening as you rolled your hips against his. You ducked your head down, lips pressing chaste, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and neck as you felt his skin flush under your touch. You felt his thumping pulse pounding, could feel the way his body was reacting to you.
It was fucking intoxicating.
“Do you still wanna go back to sleep?” You questioned, your voice teasing and a little patronising as you nipped the skin just below his ear.
“Nuh uh,” he breathed out, shaking his head in response. “This is good. This is better.”
You grinned against his skin.
And maybe it was still-half-asleep brain or maybe Oscar just didn’t want to assume, but he wasn’t really expecting more. It was still painfully early for either of you to be awake right now, especially considering how late you had managed to get to the hotel. And he was honestly more than happy to have this, to have his girl on top of him. To have your hands and your lips and your pretty words. To just have you.
He wasn’t thinking about where it was leading, he was just stuck in the present moment of you, you, you.
His brain hadn’t even fully caught up until your kisses started moving lower, until a few chaste kisses along his collarbone started to move further down his chest.
“Babe,” he rasped, his head still a little fuzzy with sleep as your breath fanned over the muscles of his stomach.
“Shhh, relax f’me, Osc,” you murmured between soft kisses, fingers tugging the edge of his boxers down as the urge to mark along his v-line overwhelmed you.
“I—” But the words were lost in the back of his throat as the heel of your palm pressed against the bulge in his boxers, your lips mouthing at the sensitive skin along his hips.
His eyes fell shut, his head digging back into the pillow as he let himself enjoy every single inch of his body that was being touched by you. The way his hips bucked against your hand, the front of the fabric already wet and stained with precome as you marked pretty bruises on his pale skin. The way your body settled between his thick thighs, nails grazing along his skin until he was squirming and whining underneath you. The way every cell in his body was just so, so responsive to you.
A guttural moan escaped the back of his throat as you mouthed along his clothed cock, licking a thick strip over the fabric of his boxers as he helplessly buckled beneath your touch. He didn’t think a single thought in his head was about anything but you. He didn’t think he wanted to think about anything else but you.
Your fingers curled around the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down his legs and throwing them somewhere off the edge of the bed, neither one of you all too bothered where it landed. Instead, you took his hard cock in your hand, not wasting a second before you sucked the tip in your mouth, lapping at the small beads of precome that were already leaking.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he breathed out, his hips bucking further into your mouth but your other hand kept his body planted on the mattress.
He was fucking helpess.
He was fucking helpess and he didn’t give two shits about anything other than you.
There was a vague voice in the back of his head reminding him that it was early, that they had neighbours, that those neighbours were colleagues of his. But it was a passing thought at best for Oscar as he squirmed and wiggled and writhed beneath your touch. It was a problem for future Oscar to deal with.
And it wasn’t often Oscar was vocal, not like this. But he was sleepy and caught off-guard and, fuck, your mouth just felt like heaven wrapped around his cock. He couldn’t help himself with the whimpers and moans he let out, your name like a mantra as it left his lips on a broken loop.
Because Oscar Piastri was a weak man when it came to you.
And when he lifted his head off the pillow to finally look down at you, he about lost whatever semblance of control he had left.
Your hands were placed on his thighs, your nails digging into his skin but the pain was biting and welcomed. Your cheeks were hallowed around his dick, a mix of come and drool leaking from the edges but it just made his stomach twist with a deep desire that he knew would haunt his fantasies for months to come. Your lips were red and swollen, your eyes were glossy and hooded and, fucking hell, the second he met your gaze, it was over for him.
His hands were gripping the sheets of the duvet beneath him as he came, the pleasure white and hot and overwhelming in every sense of the word. He felt it all over like a hot flush, dancing along his nerve endings and racing down his spine as his body bucked upwards to be closer to you, your mouth, your everything. He was distantly aware of the little whiny noises he made as he came, the ones that were half muffled as he buried his face into his pillow as his orgasm washed over him whilst you lapped at his sensitive cock.
He couldn’t really find it in himself to be embarrassed when he finally turned back to look at you, seeing you slowly lick your fingers clean from the cum that had leaked out your mouth with a huge grin on your face.
“You’re a menace,” was all he managed to breathe out, throwing his arm over his face to try and recover from mind blowing orgasm and the sight of you shamelessly tasting him.
“Happy birthday,” you replied cheerfully, crawling back up the bed until you could press a chaste kiss on his cheek before nuzzling yourself against him. “Good start to twenty-three?”
He huffed out a laugh. “I think you might’ve killed me.”
“At least you died young, pretty and satisfied,” you joked, feeling his chest rumble beneath you and it made your stomach twist with something quite like delight.
“And in love,” he added, his words a little slurred and his cheeks burning a little at his own cheesiness. But it still made you grin.
“I love you too, Osc,” you murmured back.
“I was talking about those sushi rolls we had last night, but yeah I love you too,” he murmured, letting out a short pained noise when you pinched his side. “Ow! What happened to birthday boy privileges?”
“Those ended with the blowjob,” you retorted. “You’re back to normal Oscar now.”
“Hm, that seems a little unfair,” Oscar commented as he wound his arms around your body, hugging you close to his chest like the two of you could melt into one person.
“Tragic life of being twenty-three,” you teased.
Oscar smiled. “Thank you, seriously.”
You laughed, lifting your head to look at him. “Did you just thank me for a blowjob?”
The sleepy smile returned. “Yeah, pretty sure I just did.”
“Never beating the polite cat allegations,” you said, lighthearted and sweet and joking as you leaned down to kiss him. “Never change, birthday boy.”
“Never in a million years, baby.”
.
#oscar piastri#formula one#f1#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x y/n#oscar piastri fic#oscar piastri one shot#oscar piastri smut#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n#formula one fic#formula one one shot#formula one smut#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 fic#f1 one shot#f1 smut
2K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
kootyl
It was our destiny to love and say goodbye
zraiiah
I love Kaveh. That is all.
wiltinn
gwyn, commissions open
midnightmadsounds-blog
Tranquility Base Hotel And Casino
fcsterthanyou
The Fastest Man Alive!