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tojicide · 9 months ago

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DOCTOR, DOCTOR! ☆ ZAYNE.

summary. when you’re feeling under the weather, doctor zayne is quick to prescribe you with what he knows will have you feeling better in no time.

warnings. fem!reader, boyfriend!zayne, pet names, praise, masturbation, fingering, oral ( fem. receiving ), cockwarming, unprotected p in v, mirror sex, creampie, aftercare. the rocking chair is featured. wc. 3.9k.

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Zayne is an intelligent man, that much was evident, but for the first time in his career, he’s absolutely stumped.

Why is that, you may ask? Well for starters you, his beloved girlfriend, have been a bit distant lately. Not cold, not rude, but distant.

With his busy schedule, he didn’t see much of you during the day, and by the time he got home, you were usually fast asleep. It was easy to think that he was simply missing you and that was why his brain had led him to feel this rift between the two of you, but alas, he couldn’t be more wrong.

This entire ordeal truly got him thinking…

He saw a few tissues in the trash bin—perhaps you were catching the common cold. But when he prepared a spoonful of bitter medicine and a glass of water to wash it down, he was met with your denial that you masked with a smile.

If it wasn’t that, what could it be? Zayne asked the same question.

Maybe you were stressed out because of work. He finds that to be probable, so he made it a point to get home as early as he could last night to give you a massage after he cooked you your favorite meal.

You seemed to be soothed by his touch, murmuring a few ‘ah’s and ‘ooh’s of satisfaction as his skilled hands threaded into the tense muscles of your shoulders. Once you were at ease with your head resting back on his chest, he gave you a tender kiss on your cheek before he turned in for the night.

Call him overly analytical, but when it took you awhile to join him, he had a feeling that the massage hadn’t quite accomplished what he hoped it would have.

His mind then started to wander even further. Had he forgotten to run the dishwasher? No, of course not. Had he forgotten to pay the utility bills? Absolutely not, he took his credit score very seriously and a late payment was simply unlike him.

Had he forgotten to put the toilet seat down…? Okay, he definitely did, but that couldn’t be why you were acting so unlike yourself.

And then, as he sat at his desk with a fresh plate of food in front of him, it dawned on him. When was the last time you orgasmed? More importantly, when was the last time he’d given you one himself?

It was almost inhuman how fast he jumped up from his office chair to inform Yvonne that he would be out for the remainder of the afternoon, because oh was he feeling downright horrible.

He was back at your shared apartment in no time, pushing the door open and setting his shoes in the nook positioned in the entryway.

(He had a bad habit of trucking on the hardwood floors without removing his shoes, and considering he was already on your shit-list, he made sure to do it now.)

“Honey?” he calls out to you, making his way towards your closed bedroom door. “Sweetheart, I’m home.”

Zayne’s eyebrows raise as he glances around, finding that your apartment looks rather empty and desolate. “I’d like to apologize. I know I haven’t been present for you lately and—”

And then, he hears something. Something that makes him stop in his tracks. His eyebrow quirks up with intrigue as he presses his ear to the door, listening in.

He’d know those beautiful sounds anywhere, even if it’d been awhile since he had lured them out of you himself. Your moans were muffled by the door, but they were enough to make his cock stiffen up beneath the fabric of his black slacks.

“God… please,” you muttered, clearly out of breath and in frustration. “Damn it!”

Behind the door, you were resting on his side of the bed, hoping that his scent would be enough to make you finish. Your fingers toyed with your clit as you desperately tried to get yourself off, but nothing seemed to be working.

Zayne was practiced in a way that only he could be. He knew female anatomy better than you did, but more importantly, he took pride in learning yours. He knew what you liked and what you didn’t, what made you crumble and cry out.

And now that you’ve gone without him for so long, you’re finding yourself more pent up than ever. A huff of frustration leaves your lips as you try again, again, and again—only to be edged with your release without reaping the benefits of it.

He exhales, twisting the doorknob as he cracks the door open. To no surprise, there you were, sitting on his side of the bed with your hand slipped beneath the fabric of your panties.

You hardly looked horrified at the sight of him, more so desperate if anything. He pulls his tie loose as he takes a few steps towards the bed, his knees finding the plush comforter as he sinks onto his stomach.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, almost sounding sympathetic. He runs his hands over your thighs as he hikes them over his shoulders. “Let me see.”

You roll your eyes. “Who’s to say that you deserve to?”

Zayne gives you a look that you know all too well, one that silently reads ‘girl, are you serious?’ And no, you aren’t serious by any means, so you nod your head to give him your permission.

He pulls the damp fabric of your panties to the side, his gaze slimming as he sets eyes on your cunt for the first time in what feels like forever. (It’s been two and a half weeks at most, but you’re both awfully dramatic.)

“I’m sorry,” he speaks into your heat, almost as if he were apologizing to both you and your pussy. He raises his eyes to yours as he flattens his soft tongue to swipe along your wet folds. He moans at the mere taste of you, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pulls you even closer to him. “I had no idea. Truly, baby, I didn’t.”

You whine at the sensation of his gentle voice rumbling against your sensitive skin, your hand delving into his hair. “No idea about—hah—what?”

Zayne takes a moment to reply. His mouth is certainly distracted with the way it’s buried into your soaking cunt while his tongue laps at your inner lips, his nose brushing against your clit with each movement he makes.

“I hadn’t realized I was neglecting your needs,” he clarifies, cracking his eyes open just enough to look at you with hollowed cheeks as he sucks onto your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He releases it with a ‘pop’, his tongue quickly replacing his lips as he curls it in up and down motions that stimulate you in ways you can’t even comprehend. “My girl is too sweet to be treated like that,” he whispers, thumbing at your folds to give himself better access.

One of his hands continues to rub your thighs for some sort of comfort for his behavior, and soon, the other reaches up to take your hand in his own. You squeeze onto it immediately, finding the gesture to be much appreciated.

“So, you… mmh— you remember I exist after all?” Your words are meant as a joke, but he doesn’t seem to consider them as such with the way he presses a kiss to your clit before pulling away.

“Honey, I’m being serious,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on your thigh. “I’d never want to make it seem like I don’t consider you and your feelings.”

He gives your hand a squeeze before he smiles, adding an earnest, “and truth be told, I’m rather surprised that I’ve gone so long without tasting this pretty pussy of yours,” before he delves right back into eating you out like a man starved.

Zayne hasn’t noticed it until now, but he truly was starving, and not for the lunch that he left on his desk back at Akso Hospital. He wasn’t much for alcohol, but getting drunk on your pussy was one of his favorite pastimes, and he’ll never go this long without doing it again.

He was a man of science, and even then, he would never be able to explain the chemical imbalance that tasting you set off in his brain. Sure, medically speaking, the preoptic area of the brain is what triggers an erection, but what you did to him was far beyond that.

It was safe to say that Zayne was almost as in love with your pussy as he was with you, and judging by the way he’s making out with it right now, you have no doubts about that.

Your head tilts back against the headboard as he reintroduces his middle finger to your entrance, feeling the way your walls clench around it.

“Mm, quite sensitive, are we?” he lowly asks, licking a few swipes at your clit before adding, “Is it because you’ve been using your own hand for quite some time now?”

It’s almost pathetic how quickly you nod, your fingers grasping onto his dark locks as he presses an open-mouthed kiss onto your folds. “It’s the only choice I had,” you whine.

(He makes a mental note to give you his credit card so that you can purchase anything and everything you’ll need in order to satisfy yourself whenever he isn’t around. The fact that he hasn’t thought of that sooner is a problem in and of itself.)

He nods in return, though the movement only invites him to make hard licks at your pussy, collecting your slick on his tongue. His cock is rock hard, but he’ll get his turn soon enough.

Even if his turn never came, he’d be more than happy with this alone—that much was incredibly evident.

“I know it, my love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on your sensitive clit as he slides another finger into your hole. “Is this alright?”

Your thighs tense up at the sensation, but you nod, tilting your head down to look at him. With your permission, he continues, his tongue swiping at you while his fingers fuck you into oblivion.

When you tilt your head back, he squeezes your thigh. “Eyes down here, I need you to watch closely.”

A sharp whine escaped you as his mouth somehow latched onto your pussy in the time it took you to look at him. He pulls off of you to speak, his lips coated with your arousal. “There will be times like this in which I won’t be able to give you what you need, and as much as it kills me, your pleasure can’t be limited to the times I can have you like this.”

You tilt your head. “What… what do you mean?”

Zayne nods his head, urging you to tune in. He curls fingers inside of you, hitting your g-spot with each push. “Hm. I suppose I can teach you how to touch yourself a bit more effectively. Would you like that?”

Your hand goes flying to his shoulder as you nod, your teeth pressing down onto your bottom lip. “Hah… mhm.”

He nods, grasping onto your hand. He presses a few kisses on your knuckles as he guides it to your clit, helping you swirl the pads of your fingers around it in smooth, moan-earning circles. “Very good. You look happier with me already.”

“You’re still a jerk,” you huff.

“I’m sure I have been behaving like one, yes,” he murmurs with a laugh. “Don’t let me off the hook too easily, either. I need to get a few orgasms out of you before you should consider that.”

That sounds perfectly fine to you, so all you do is moan in reply, which makes him smile. He likes to please his woman, and knowing that he hasn’t done a good job of that makes him even more determined to make up for it.

“It’s okay to use two hands, sweet girl,” he continues teaching, tilting his head towards his own hand that was still thrusting two fingers inside of you. “While it may be mine right now, yours will work just the same.”

Something switches inside of you the moment he begins to help you masturbate, his own fingers fucking inside of you while yours stimulate another part of your puffy cunt. You always had a thing for acts of service, but when it came from your boyfriend, you were practically putty in his hands.

“That’s right,” he purrs, a smile tugging on his lips. “Such a pretty girl. Perhaps you just needed to be reminded of how to treat yourself.”

His hazel eyes are still on your face, watching as you pinch in absolute ecstasy, your thighs shaking on his shoulders. “I see that I’ve underestimated you,” he teases, dipping his head to lick at your folds, his tongue brushing against your fingers as he continues to guide the movements of your hand. “It seems like you’re doing just fine for yourself after all.”

You huff, shaking your head. “No, no… it’s all you.”

Zayne chuckles at that, sucking your fingers that were circling your clit into his mouth before he places them back on your sensitive pearl, giving you a bit more lubricant. “There’s no need to be so hard on yourself, I’m merely helping you. We’re practicing together, sweetheart.”

You almost roll your eyes because the last thing Zayne needed was practice on how to please you. He may have been a bit distracted, but that could never take away from how perfect of a lover he was.

And… it was difficult not to be hard on yourself when he’s practically taken away your ability to orgasm on your own. With the way he’s making you feel right now, his absence was almost worth it.

Your eyes haze over as you look down at him, a soft moan leaving your lips. “Mmh, ‘m gonna cum,” you choke out.

To that, he nods in understanding. He thumbs apart your folds, leaving you to play with yourself as you please while he dips his head in to lick at your cunt in any way he can, feeling the way you clench around his fingers. “That’s right. Look at you, honey, such a quick learner.”

Zayne grasps onto your thigh with his free hand, pressing a few wet kisses along your inner skin as you come down from your high. Your hand still has a death grip on his hair, but he doesn’t mind it. He knows that he deserves to lose a few strands of hair after how he has left you alone.

You pant, your chest heaving as your body reels from your orgasm. While your vision is blurry, you can still make out the picture of your boyfriend sucking his fingers into his mouth, cleaning them free of your release.

“Mm, you know, the release from an orgasm does much to calm people,” he murmurs, giving your mound a chaste kiss before he rises up to give you one on your forehead. “Do you feel any better, my dear?”

You do feel better, but a part of you, one that you can’t quite shove away, is still yearning for more. Despite that, you nod, brushing your hand along his cheek as he dips his head to give you a kiss.

Sugary and sweet are two words you’d used to describe kissing Zayne, because those were adjectives you’d also use to detail how he always behaves when around you.

He pulls away from the kiss, propping himself up on his elbow above you while he uses his other hand to brush away your hair. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, his voice soft and full of a raw honesty that makes your heart squeeze.

You shake your head with a smile. “I know you didn’t mean to,” you reply. “It’s just… you made me feel like you didn’t need me, like what I felt was one sided.”

Zayne’s expression seems to soften as he shakes his head. “Of course I need you, I always need you. Your needs are never one-sided, especially not needs of this nature.” He brushes his hand over your cheek. “And I was serious about my endeavors of making it up to you, sweetness. C’mere.”

Before you know it, you’re plucked from your position on the bed and carried to the corner of the bedroom. Zayne takes a seat in the rocking chair positioned there, spinning it around until it faces the body length mirror just in front of the two of you.

He then undresses you entirely, kissing along your thighs, your hips, the curves of your back, on the cheek of your ass—everywhere and anywhere he could. Sure enough, you hear the rattling of his metal belt buckle behind you, and when you glance over your shoulder, his cock is pulled out from the confines of his boxers.

His slacks are still bunched up around his thighs, as are his boxers, but he pays no mind to it. He raises two fingers as he beckons you to sit in his lap, and you do.

Zayne rests one hand on your hip while the other grasps onto his shaft, pumping it in his fist a few times before he smears the head of his cock along your folds, gathering your slick. “The ‘teaching’ is over, but now, I simply want to show you just how much I need you.”

His words stir something within you, and when he leans up to press a kiss on your shoulder, you already feel like your lover is here to live up to his word. “Is that alright?” he asks against your skin, prodding your entrance with his tip.

When you nod, you’re already sinking down, taking him inch by inch until you’re cockwarming his thick length. He smiles at you in the reflection of the mirror, his eyes drifting over your body that he will never forget to worship again.

“So beautiful,” he coos, his hands mapping out the curves of your waist, your hips, your thighs. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

Your cheeks flush at his words. “Thanks.”

Zayne shakes his head. “There’s no need to thank me for speaking the truth,” he whispers. “That’d be like thanking Einstein for developing the theories of special and general relativity—it’s practically a given.”

You aren’t sure where the correlation is, but when one of his hands slips in between your thighs while the other grasps onto one of your breasts, you don’t care about fighting it out.

“Point is, I mean it. Every word,” he adds.

You feel like a goddess being worshiped as his mouth finds your shoulder, the smacking of his lips omitting into the otherwise quiet room as he places open-mouthed kisses on your skin. His middle and ring finger work to toy with your clit, his other hand squeezing onto your breast.

And then… he begins to rock.

You gasp at the feeling of his cock just barely moving inside of you, your body entirely engulfed in the sensations that he is so eagerly providing you.

“You feel—hah—so, so good,” he whispers against your skin, his lips climbing the curve of your shoulder. His fingers circle your clit at an agonizingly slow pace, and when you place your hand on his to guide his movements, he smiles at you in the reflection. “There’s my girl. Such a quick learner, just like I said.”

You lazily return his smile, your head resting back on his shoulder. He removes his hand from your breast to pluck his glasses from his face, placing them on yours instead.

“My baby is such a smart girl,” he purrs, his lips finding your neck as he admires you. Flushed skin, hair messed up, his glasses resting on your nose. He could come inside you at the sight, but he wants to prolong this. He doesn’t ever want to leave this moment with you. “And so beautiful too. Absolutely ravishing.”

You chuckle at that, though your laughter was interrupted by a soft moan as his fingers pick up the pace as they circle your puffy clit. “You’re… hah—handsome,” you manage to return.

Zayne chuckles at your words, nodding his head as a silent thank you. He presses another kiss on your shoulder, though he quickly leaves another one once you begin to rock your hips. He sits back, catching a glimpse of how you look when you bounce on his cock.

He grins, his hand finding the swell of your ass as he gives both cheeks a nice squeeze. “We can move back to our bed if you’d prefer, sweetheart. I don’t want you to have to put in any more effort into your pleasure tonight.”

You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder to look at him. “I wanna see you,” you breathe.

“Honey, there are positions—”

He’s interrupted by your hand reaching back to hold his jaw, pulling him up so that he too could see the reflection of you both in the mirror.

And oh, was it a sight.

“I wanna see you,” you repeat.

Zayne is in no position to deny you, so with a nod of approval, his hands find your hips. “At the very least, let me help you.”

The sound of slapping skin and your breathy moans fill the room, his large hands keeping their iron grip on your hip bones while your hands rest on top of his. He peers out from behind you, watching as your tits bounce just as you do, your hair flying messily.

“Pretty baby,” he pants, more to himself in reaction to the mere sight of you. “Such a lucky man you’ve made me, fuck… take it, baby, yeah. I love you so much, so much…” he babbles, not quite sure what he’s saying, just that he’s speaking whatever graces his mind.

“Oh, I… I love you too, Zayne,” you gasp.

You whine, grinding your hips in fluid motions as you feel your second orgasm quickly approaching. You were sensitive to begin with, and the feeling of his cock stretching you out was more than enough to bring you here.

“Shit,” he rasps, his head falling back onto the rocking chair as his eyes screw shut. “You take me so well, you fit me so perfectly, baby… I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna… oh, shit.”

You weren’t far behind him, and as your movements grow lazier, you opt to sit on his cock entirely as the both of you find your orgasms only second apart.

Ropes of white paint your insides, your cum coating the base of his cock as the two of you become one in a way that you’ve missed so dearly.

Only bliss envelopes the two of you as you slump back onto his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him. The two of you sit just like that for a moment as you find your breaths that have run off, relishing in the feeling of your combined warmth.

Zayne reaches up to carefully grasp your jaw, turning your head back just enough so that he could kiss you. Your breaths mingle to add to the scent of your love that looms in the air, his other hand running soothing strides along your hip.

“I don’t deserve you,” he breathlessly says with a lovesick grin. “Quite frankly, I don’t. You’re wonderful to me.”

You shake your head, leaning down to kiss him again before he slowly helps you up onto your trembling legs. “Oh, stop that. Just because you’ve been a little caught up with work doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly a bad partner.”

Zayne sweeps you into his arms, carrying you bridal style towards the bathroom. “See? You’re simply too good to me. Such a lovely personality, the most contagious laugh I’ve ever heard, the cutest snores when you sleep, the sweetest pussy in existence… my dream girl in all capacities.”

You smile as he sets you down, pressing a kiss onto your forehead as he crosses the room to draw you a shower to your liking. Warm—not cold, but not hot enough to the point that your skin tingles. He’s had plenty of practice in this area, and he’s gotten it down to a science by now.

“I do not snore,” you murmur, shaking your head.

As he peels off his clothes, discarding them without care on the bathroom tile. He extends his hand to you to invite you inside the shower behind him. “Mhm, sure you don’t.”

You scoff, tipping the toilet seat shut. “You can tease me for my snoring once you, my 27-year-old man, master the art of putting the damn seat down.”

“…Oops.”

note. my dr. zayne would never forget to please his woman! but i really liked the concept sooooo :3 it was rly difficult for me to write him lol the dialogue might suuuuuckkkk but i hope i did him justice < 3 thank you for reading, interact if you enjoyed !!!

i ALSO kinda wanna do a similar version of this with sylus except… not nearly as gentle ig?? would you be interested??? do let me know.

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#♥︎ tojicide #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #doctor zayne #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #zayne x reader #dr zayne #zayne x you #zayne smut #love and deepspace #zayne #(safety first)

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wanders-in-wonderland · 6 months ago

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Technical Mastermind

Note: This is a fun little dual-POV story I put together, honestly mostly just self-indulgent fluff and a sprinkle of spice but hope y'all enjoy!

I look up from my computer when I hear a knock at my office door. My coworker pokes her head in and smiles at me, “Hey! The new tech guy’s first day is today, come meet him!” Her voice drops to a theatrical whisper, “He’s cute too!”

I let out a soft laugh and glance down at my screen for a second. “I’ll be right out, just gonna finish up this email.” She nods and gives me a wink before disappearing from my doorway.

I follow her out a few moments later, following the sound of excited chattering to the break room. All my coworkers are gathered there, along with a man who I presume to be the new tech guy. Who is indeed cute.

I walk up and introduce myself with a smile. “Hey! I’m part of the analytics team, it’s really nice to meet you!”

He smiles back at me and for a second I’m stunned by the dimples and warmth in his face. He is very cute. “It’s nice to meet you too. I’m here for all your tech needs if anything comes up,” his voice is smooth and it sends a shiver down my spine that I try to repress. Now is not the time to get the hots for my brand-new coworker.

He sticks his hand out for me to shake and I slide mine into it. His fingers grip mine firmly, the warmth in his hand making me want to melt into him.

I let out a soft laugh, “Sorry, my hands are always freezing, my office is so cold for some reason.” He chuckles and lets my hand go, “No need to apologize." I catch a whiff of his cologne and it makes me melt a little more, he smells delectable.

Before I can respond, I hear someone call his name and we both turn to see our manager come over, asking for his help with a software integration. I smile at them both, “Well, that’s my cue, I’ll let you get to doing your job. It was lovely to meet you.” I step away and give a little wave before I walk over to the espresso machine to make myself an afternoon pick-me-up.

My coworker sidles up next to me, “I told you he’s cute!” I laugh and glance back over at the new tech guy, taking in his tall, fit form, the cross of his arms making his biceps bulge while he nods along to whatever our manager was saying.

“And you were not wrong,” I say back to her, grabbing my finished coffee and adding cream and sugar.

She leans in with a devious look on her face, “You guys would make a really cute couple.” I almost choke on my sip of coffee and I shoot her a playful glare. “I literally just met the man! I don’t know anything about him. AND we work together.”

She shrugs, “None of those things sound like deal breakers.” I let out a laugh and glance back at him. We would make a cute couple but I am not about to open that can of worms, especially not with a guy I met five minutes ago who made no indication of being interested in me.

I spend the next few minutes chatting with my coworker before heading back to my office to finish up my work. I feel eyes tracking me as I reach the door of the break room and I turn to see the new guy looking at me. Our eyes meet and he flashes me another smile, dimples on full display. I smile back and slip out of the room, walking back to my office with a little extra pep in my step.

—

Today, I met the woman I’m going to marry. She doesn’t know it yet but that’s okay, she’ll learn soon enough. My first day on the job could not have gone better. I was meeting all of my coworkers when she walked in, wearing that gorgeous skirt showing off her sexy legs and a pink blouse that made her creamy skin look so delicious.

I saw the way she shivered at the sound of my voice, the way her eyes glazed over a little when our hands touched. She’s perfect and her body wants mine and soon her mind will too. I couldn’t get her out of my head, not even when my new boss was talking me through some new software update the firm is undergoing. Lucky for me, I’m damn good at my job and could do it with just a fraction of my attention.

I kept most of my gaze on her while she giggled with her coworker, the sound of her laugh making me determined to be the one to make her make that noise next time. She caught me staring right as she was leaving but the smile she sent my way and the glow on her face was all I needed to be sure that she wanted me just as much as I wanted her.

By the end of the workday, I’d already pulled every single file about her from the company database. After that it was easy enough to hack into the company’s security cameras to get me access to the feed of her office so I could keep eyes on her during the day. It was even easier to hack into her accounts to see her emails, calendars, and everything else my girl had on her work computer.

By the time I got home, I’d already come up with a plan to get access to her personal computer and phone. In the next few days, I’ll pay her home a visit while she’s in the office to set up my own cameras and make a copy of her keys. She’s mine and I plan on taking very good care of her.

—

The next morning, I step into my office and log onto my computer only for the entire thing to crash. “What the fuck?” I groan softly, this has never happened before and the timing is terrible because I’m supposed to be on a meeting in 30 minutes. I grumble with annoyance before I trudge out of my office, hoping to find the new tech guy and praying that he’s here this morning and knows how to fix my stupid computer.

His office door is open and I see him sat in front of his computer, typing away. I linger for a moment outside his door, the yummy scent of his cologne wafting out of his office towards me. I knock softly against his door frame and flash him a sheepish smile when he looks up. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

He flashes those dimples at me again and shakes his head. “Not at all, what can I do for you?” I bite my lip and sigh before responding.

“I think I broke my computer.”

He stares at me. Oh my god, he thinks I’m an idiot.

“I mean, I don’t know, I logged in and then it crashed and now it’s on the blue screen of death and I have a meeting in 30 minutes and I can’t access anything.” I blurt out my words and want to dissolve into a puddle because now the hot tech guy definitely thinks I’m incompetent.

“Let me see if I can fix it,” he says, not missing a beat and he stands from behind his desk. Fuck, he’s so tall, I could climb him like a tree. I give myself a mental slap and smile brightly at him, praying my face isn’t beet red.

He gestures to the door and we walk out together. “Thank you so much, I’m sorry for being a bother, I promise I’m usually not this technologically inept.”

He laughs very gracefully at my bumbling, “You’re not a bother at all. Plus, this is what the company pays me for, so thank you for keeping me employed.” I giggle at that. So he’s hot and funny.

We enter my office and I let him sit at my desk to tinker with the computer. I stand behind him, discreetly taking in deep breaths of his smell while staring blankly at the screen as he opens some kind of code sequence and enters a bunch of letters and numbers before giving a contemplative hum.

“Good news is I know what’s wrong. Bad news is it’s gonna take a bit for me to fix it up. But, I can remote access into your account from my computer and you can take your meeting in my office so you don’t run behind.” He turns to look at me.

“Oh my god, yes, that would be perfect. Thank you so so much!” Thank you tech gods for gracing me with this savior of a man. I beam at him and he shows me his pretty dimples again.

“Here, let’s get you set up on my computer first and I’ll come back to deal with yours.”

20 minutes later, I’m sat in his very comfy chair, breathing in more of his yummy scent, in his very nice and warm office that is far better than my freezing one, logging onto my meeting from his computer.

—

She’s so fucking adorable when she needs help. I could barely contain my excitement this morning while I waited for her to come into the office and inevitably find me to solve her newly manifested computer problem. And I made her laugh, the sound spilling from her lips so sweetly.

Now, I’m in her office while she’s preoccupied for at least another hour in that meeting. My girl is so trusting too because she left her phone, her personal laptop, and her purse all in her office without a second thought. This is too easy.

It takes me no time at all to plant a bug into her phone that mirrors it onto my own and a similar tweak of her laptop’s code gives me remote access whenever I want. I slip into her purse and grab her keys, stepping out of the office to go down the street to the hardware store to make a quick copy of her house key and her car key. I make one last stop at her car, sliding a tracker under the hood before heading back into the office.

A glance at her calendar tells me she’s still got 30 minutes left in her meeting. I easily delete the bug I’d planted in her work computer to create this glitch in the first place and restore it to its functioning form before leaving her office, putting everything back in its place.

I stop by the break room and make two cups of coffee. One black for me and another with cream and sugar, exactly the way I’d watch her make it yesterday afternoon. I slip into my office quietly, smiling at her when her eyes meet mine. I slide the cup of coffee to her and her eyes widen and she mouths a thank you at me.

I smile and shake my head before slipping back out of my office to let her finish her meeting. My chest feels warm when I step out. It feels really fucking good to take care of my girl, and I hope she sees how good of a provider I would be for her. How she’d never want for anything ever again and I can’t wait to make her mine.

—

I’m giddy for the rest of my meeting after he’d dropped off a cup of coffee for me, made exactly how I like it. This man is the stuff of dreams, I swear. My meeting wraps up and I finish off my caffeine before I get up to look for him.

He’s in my office, back facing the doorway, tinkering with the thermostat on the wall. I knock softly and he spins around to look at me, holding a screwdriver as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You mentioned your office being cold. I think I fixed it,” he flashes me a smile. My mouth forms an O as I stare at him in amazement. If we weren’t coworkers and literally met yesterday, I would totally get down on my knees and suck his cock right here, right now. Where has this man been all my life?

“I- thank you so much, you didn’t have to do that at all. And thank you for the coffee, it was perfect, and for letting me use your office, and for fixing my computer,” I’m rambling now but I can’t stop. Seeing his dimples again makes me finally stop talking and I give him a shy smile.

“No problem at all, everything’s all sorted. Your computer is all set and it shouldn’t give you an problems anymore.” His words almost make me sad, maybe I should figure out how to fuck up my stuff again just so he can come and fix it for me.

“Thank you again, really. You’re a life saver.”

“Of course, let me know if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He tips an imaginary hat at me and I giggle as he walks out. Yum, my office now smells a little bit like him.

I spend the rest of my day half-heartedly focusing on work while my thoughts keep drifting back to that dimpled hunk of a man who seems so perfect.

—

I spend the rest of my day sorting through all the new information I’ve gathered on my girl and doing just enough work to make it seem like I’m a model employee. Her phone gives me an unfiltered glimpse into her life and I’ve discovered enough about her to know with certainty that she is fucking perfect.

I also find that she spent several minutes last night googling me and stalking my few social media profiles. It makes me smile to know that my girl is interested in me too. I’m looking through her other apps when I see a text come in. It’s from one of our coworkers, asking if she’s going out for the weekly office happy hour tonight. She responds quickly with an affirmative. And then she sends a follow-up message: “I’m gonna invite the tech guy too!”

Our coworker agrees and my chest feels warm again, clearly, my girl is thinking about me too.

I hear her footsteps come down the hall to my office and I quickly click out of my incriminating files before she knocks on my office door and pokes her head in.

“Hi, do you want to come out for drinks with the rest of the office tonight? It’s just a causal, weekly happy hour, no pressure!” Her eyes are alight with hope and excitement and it makes me want to grab her and kiss her. I restrain myself and instead send her a smile and agree. Her whole face lights up and I have to grip the armrest of my chair to keep myself in place. She says she’ll send me the details and walks off, her perfect ass swaying as she retreats down the hall.

—

I’m bouncing on my heels a little as I stand with a few other coworkers at the bar down the street from the office. My gaze keeps lingering on the door, trying to get a glimpse of the man I’m waiting for. Someone next to me makes a joke about something and I laugh with the rest of the group, too distracted to contribute anything of substance.

Suddenly, I feel a warm hand against my back and I smell his cologne. I turn around to face him and smile. His hand leaves my back and I want to complain but hold it in. He smiles at me and greets the rest of the group.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” he says. Someone makes a request for beers and everyone else calls out their agreements. I don’t bother to say that I’d prefer something else, I’ll just grab something later after this round.

He steps away and comes back a few minutes later with our drinks, placing a pitcher of beer on the table with empty glasses. Then, he comes back again with a different drink in his hand. “This one’s for you,” he says, handing it to me.

I stare at him in shock. How did he know I don’t drink beer? And how could he possibly know my favorite drink is an espresso martini?

He smiles at me, “I asked them to make it decaf so it doesn’t keep you up.”

I think I swoon. I know for a fact my panties are drenched right now. “I- Thank you so much, how did you know?”

He flashes me that fucking smile again and my pussy clenches. “I’ve seen how much coffee you drink, so I took a wild guess.”

I beam at him and take a sip, letting out a happy sigh at how good it tastes. I get distracted by a coworker asking me a question and my attention gets pulled into an animated conversation.

—

She’s so pretty like this, face flushed from the alcohol and laughter. I’m standing close to her but not close enough. I want to sling my arm around her shoulders and pull her towards me so she can lean on me. I want to trail my fingers up and down her back and draw absentminded circles over her skin while we talk. There’s so much I want to fucking do but I can’t yet, I have to wait.

I’m caught in some conversation with a few guys from the office about a new client the firm is taking on. I check my watch and decide I’ve spent enough time here and I’d much rather head home and do some more research on my girl.

“I’m gonna call it a night, I’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” I say, giving a wave to the rest of the group. I see her perk up at my words, “I’m gonna head out too! See you guys tomorrow!”

I knew she’d take her leave when I brought it up. My girl’s got an early morning workout class tomorrow. I know that from her calendar and because it is the perfect time for me to slip into her home and install my cameras.

We walk towards the exit together and head back towards the office.

“Did you drive today?” I ask, already know the answer is no because it’s Thursday and she always takes the train just in case she goes to happy hour and drinks. Because my girl is responsible. She shakes her head, “No, I took the train but I think I’ll just grab an Uber home.”

I shake my head, “Let me drive you home, I didn’t drink tonight anyway.”

“No, I can’t ask you to do that! I’m sure you have things to do!” She says, looking at me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Not at all, it’s no problem, let me take you home. Where do you live?” As if I really need her to answer that, I already know her address.

“I feel like you’re always doing favors for me and we’ve only just met,” she laughs and gives me her address. “Thank you so much,” she says, glancing up at me shyly.

I smile, “It’s not a problem.”

I’m a perfect gentleman when I drive her home, our conversation never lulling during the ride. The drink she’s had tonight has made her extra liberal with her laughter and I love it. I drop her off at her place and bid her goodnight.

—

The next morning, I track her location as she goes to her workout class, leaving her apartment empty. It’s so easy for me to slip into her apartment using my copy of her key.

I take my time, looking through her belongings, seeing the decoration of the space, noting what her pantry staples are, what her favorite brands of skincare are. And of course, I go poking around in her bedside table where I find a plethora of different sex toys my horny girl has. The thought of using any one of them on her makes my dick strain in my pants and I almost get sidetracked before I remember my purpose for being here today.

I hook up several tiny cameras, concealing them around her apartment so that, to an untrained eye, nothing would seem out of place. The cameras give me live video and audio feed and I take a moment to double check that the connection is secure before I take one last glimpse around her apartment and take my leave.

I get back to my car parked a few blocks down and pull up the live feed on my phone just in time to see her come home from her workout class. The clarity of the cameras is exquisite, capturing every angle of her. I groan as I watch her strip out of her workout outfit, her perfect perky tits spilling out of her sports bra and her tight ass on display.

I slide lower into my seat, my gaze fixed on her as she steps into the shower. I can’t stop myself from sliding a hand into my pants, palming my cock, the friction making me hiss. She soaps up her body teasingly, putting on a show almost like she knows I’m watching.

Fuck, she’s perfect. I groan as I stroke my cock with intention, the pent up desire burning through my veins. I want to be there with her in that shower, I want to run my fingers through her hair, to rub soap up and down her body, tease her and make her feel so fucking good.

I don’t last very long, it’s almost a little embarrassing how fast I cum, watching her shower. I clean myself off and head to the office, where I spend every single moment daydreaming about her gorgeous body and trying not to rush into her office and ravish her against her desk.

—

It’s the evening now, and I’m watching her settle in for bed, the several different cameras giving me every possible angle of her gorgeous form as she crawls into bed. I watch her grab her phone as she snuggles down into her covers and I pull up my mirrored copy of her device to see what she’s looking at.

It starts with cat videos and random TikToks and then I watch as she switches to a different app. Tumblr. My eyebrows raise when I see what she types into the search bar: rape fantasy. I watch her scroll through pictures, videos, text posts, watching as she starts to get hot and bothered. It looks like my pretty girl has a dark side.

I watch as she kicks the covers off her body and she slides a hand down into her pajama bottoms. I see her bit her lip as her hand starts to move beneath her clothes. She’s reading something absolutely filthy and the cameras in her room are picking up on her soft whimpers as she plays with herself.

Fuck, I fumble with my belt and undo my pants enough to pull my rock hard cock out. I let out a low groan as I fist the base of my cock, my breath harsh as dark tendrils of pleasure rush through my body. I keep an eye on the cameras, watching as she writhes on the bed, her pretty moans and cries going straight to my head as the pleasure builds inside of me.

I hear her whines pick up and I know she’s close to cumming. And then, I hear it over the camera. She whimpers out a name. My name. It’s enough to send me over the edge and I curse as I cum all over my hand, my vision going white for a moment before it clears just in time for me to see her ride out the waves of her own orgasm, still whimpering my fucking name.

My breathing is harsh as I sit back in my chair, watching as she comes down from her high and puts her phone away to curl up and drift off to sleep. I groan as I bask in the warm pleasure. I’m going to make all her little fantasies come to life and she’s going to keep moaning my name like my fucking slut.

—

I’ve waited long enough and I can’t wait any longer. Every single fucking day, I see her pretty smile and hear her intoxicating laugh at the office and every night, I stroke my cock to the sound of her whimpers while she plays with her dripping little pussy. I know she’s perfect for me. I know she wants me because every time I see her, I see her pupils dilate and her eyes glaze over when I stand too close.

It’s time for me to make her mine. I wait for her to go to bed after she rubs her sensitive little clit and cum all over her fingers. I’m going to give her the best orgasm of her life tonight and she’s never going to have to rely on herself to make that pretty pussy feel good because I’ll do it for her gladly.

I slip into her apartment when I know she’s asleep and I creep into her room. She’s so fucking pretty, laid on her bed, wearing those shorts that show off her ass and a tank top that barely covers her tits. I’m going to fuck her and make her mine.

I strip out of my clothes and slide into the bed with her. I pin her underneath my body and use one hand to hold both her wrists above her head and another to cover her mouth. I watch as she jerks awake, her eyes wide with fear as she whines into my hand.

“Shh, shh, it’s me, don’t be scared, darling. I’ve got you,” I purr into her ear and grind myself against her body, my hard cock pressing against her softness. I watch as her wide eyes take me in and I see that fear slowly transition into arousal. I laugh and dip my head and lick her jawline and kiss her neck.

She whimpers into my hand again. “Such a good girl for me, you’ve been teasing me at work, flaunting your pretty little body, looking at me with your fuck me eyes, did you think I wouldn’t do anything about it?” I growl into her ear.

I kiss her jaw softly, “I’m going to let your hands go but be a good girl for me and keep them above your head.” I slide my hand down her body and I pull the neckline of her top down so her pretty tits bounce free.

She’s such an obedient girl as she keeps her hands still for me. I keep my hand over her mouth and lean down to capture a straining nipple in my mouth while my free hand goes to pinch at the other. I hear her muffled moan behind my hand and I groan in response. “Fuck, you taste so good.

I let her nipple go and trail my hand down her body, pulling her shorts and panties down to reveal her dripping cunt. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet, all for me, isn’t that right?”

I loosen my hand so she can speak and she whimpers and nods. That’s not good enough, I land a hard slap against her cunt and she lets out a short scream. “Answer me, are you wet for me, darling?”

“Yes! Yes! I’m so fucking wet for you, please!” Her voice is breathless and I reward her with a soft stroke of her hard clit that makes her whine.

I slide a finger inside of her warmth and she arches her back. “Oh fuck, please, that feels so good.” She sounds so fucking good like this.

I pull out my finger and smirk at her when I hear her whimper is desperation. I reach up and press my finger, wet with her pussy, against her mouth. “Open up,” I purr and watch as she obeys to take my finger into her mouth.

“Good girl,” I murmur, sliding a second finger into her mouth and pushing in deep, the sound of her choked gag making my cock stiffen even more. “That’s it, take it like a good girl.”

I use my other hand to rub at her clit while I make her choke on my fingers. “You like this, don’t you? You like gagging on my fingers like a fucking whore, huh? You like me rubbing your clit like this? Are you going to cum?” I growl, feeling her pussy clench and her little clit pulse at my words.

Her mouth is too preoccupied to speak but I can tell by the way she’s writhing that she’s close because it’s the same way her body shakes every time she cums while I watch on the camera. I keep up the attention on her clit and press my fingers to the back of her throat. I feel her shatter in my hands, her cry of pleasure muffled by my fingers and her pretty pussy falling apart for me as she cums.

I let her ride out her pleasure before I pull my fingers out of her mouth and capture her mouth in a bruising kiss. When I pull away, she’s whining and begging, “Please, please, fuck me, please, I want your cock.”

I laugh, “Such a cum drunk little slut, huh? I give you one orgasm and now you’re begging for my cock? Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Her blown out pupils meet mine and I know that in that moment, I’m hers forever. I would do anything and everything for her and right now, I’m going to fuck her until she breaks around my cock.

I lean down and kiss her harshly, lining my cock up with her weeping cunt. “Scream for me,” I groan as I slam my cock home inside of her. She does exactly what I tell her to do, she screams. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, darling,” I set a punishing pace with my hips, every single thrust slamming her into the bed.

Her pussy grips me like a vice and I can feel every shudder and shiver of her body as she gives in to the pleasure. I brace one hand against the bed and the other goes to wrap around her throat, choking her just enough to make her lightheaded.

Her cries echo in the space around us, every single sob leaving her lips urging me on. Her face is flushed as her body gives in to the pleasure I’m forcing onto her. I watch as her eyes flutter closed and her pussy starts to milk me rhythmically and I know she’s close. She lets out a broken whine and I speed up my hips, every thrust rubbing against her pulsing walls.

“Come on, cum for me, pretty girl. That’s it, feel good for me, FUCK!” I feel her cum around me, the shuddering of her cunt pushing me over the edge as she screams my name. I groan as I bury my face into her neck, panting harshly as I try to regain control of my body. I pull myself off of her, the slide of my cock out of her tight cunt making both of us gasp, and I collapse next to her on the bed.

She rolls over and presses herself against me, looking up at me with her pretty eyes.

—

“You know you could’ve just asked me out, I would’ve said yes,” I tease, running a hand up and down his chest.

He laughs as he wraps an arm around me and pulls me close, “I know but this way is more fun, don’t you agree?” I smile and nod.

I snuggle into his arms, “I wanna watch the video of this.” I feel his entire body go rigid. “What?” He asks, his voice hesitant and tinged with disbelief.

I giggle, “You know, the footage from all the cameras you installed in here.”

I didn’t think he could be more still but he does. “What are you talking about?” His voice is low and panicked.

I look up at his face and giggle at his dumbfounded expression. “What, you think I didn’t know you came in here and put cameras everywhere?” I lean up and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be embarrassed, I think it’s fucking hot,” I say.

He blinks at me. “How- how did you know?”

I bury my nose into his chest and take a deep breath. “Your cologne. I knew as soon as I came back from my workout class that morning that you’d been in my apartment. And it’s not hard to notice all the cameras, you’re slick but not that slick.” I tease him gently.

He lets out a breath and gives me a low chuckle. “Fuck, you’re too smart for your own good,” he laughs. I giggle, “I also know you planted that bug on my computer that day. And you mirrored my phone.”

He shakes his head and laughs disbelievingly. “How did you figure those out? You can’t smell cologne through a phone, can you?”

I smile, “No but I can reverse engineer your code.” He blinks back at me. “I double-majored in computer science in college, I know my stuff,” I beam at him.

He presses his lips against my forehead. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

I shake my head.

“Fuck, you are absolutely fucking perfect for me. I love you, my little mastermind.”

I giggle, “I love you too, tech guy.”

#nsft concept #dark fantasy #rap3 fantasy #cnc stalking #stalker kink #stalker yandere #stalker bf #stalking fantasy #obsessive love #wanderswrites

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bullet-prooflove · 3 months ago

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The Professional: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @fadeinsol @cowardlycandy

Prequel piece to:

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Your relationship with Pope begins because of a safe.

A Garibaldi 1965 to be exact.

It’s a beautiful antique of a thing. It’s also a complete pain in the ass to get into, which is why they call in an expert.

The Professional is what you’re known as in their world. Every job you’ve ever pulled is seamless, a complete work of art Pope can’t help but admire. You’re consulting fee shows it too, you know your value and you won’t settle for less. As much as Smurf begrudges it, they need you otherwise the work and the money they’ve already put into this job, it’ll be completely wasted.

When you step through the door every single one of them is taken back because what they didn’t expect was a woman, a damn fine one.

Craig hones on that almost immediately but you shut him down by holding up your hand as if he were a dog, stopping him in his tracks. “Oh honey, you are so far from my type it isn’t even funny.”

His mother’s jaw tenses as she watches you because already you’re commanding the room and she doesn’t like the competition.

“She’s gotta be a dyke.” Craig says later when you and Smurf step outside to discuss bringing you onto the crew for the job because they’ve just realised how momentously fucked they are. “It’s the only explanation.”

“Or she just doesn’t like cokeheads.” Deran supplies, sipping from his beer. “If Smurf can convince her to get on board that’s probably gonna mean you’re gonna have to quit powdering your nose for a couple of hours while we get shit done.”

“Fuck that.” Craig says as the sliding door opens and you and Smurf step back into the kitchen.

“Alright.” You address the group as you stand there with your hands on your hips. “You wanna get into that safe it’s gonna take two of us. My partner in crime needs to be someone meticulous with attention to detail and steady hands. Who isn’t going to flake out going over the same thing over and over and over again so they can get the muscle memory boxed off.”

The last comment is directed at Craig, they can tell from the forceful look you give him.

“I guess that’s me.” Pope says raising to his feet. “Since I’m the only one with an attention span longer that the time it takes to do a line.”

He feels your gaze on him, calm and analytical, taking in his shirt buttoned all the way up to the throat, his stillness as he stands before you.

“You’ll do.” You say before jerking your head towards the front gate. “Come on, we’re going for a ride to my workshop.”

And that’s how it starts. Hours and days spent in close proximity as you teach him the delicate art of safecracking. He’s used to a more brute force approach. Tearing the shit out of concrete, blowtorching the mother fucker but the way you work, it’s like magic. Thorough, mediative. He comes out of your workshop at the end of each session feeling calmer, like some sort of balance has been restored inside him.

“I don’t like how much time you’re spending with that girl.” Smurf tells him, one morning on the way out the door.

“It’s for the job, you know it is.” He tells her before leaving.

But it’s not, not really because the two of you have started getting close. A couple of beers on your back porch overlooking the beach, dinner from a food truck before you kick off your shoes and take a walk along the shoreline, the water cascading over your ankles.

“I want to learn more.” He tells you once the job is over. It’s true, he does but he also doesn’t want this to end. You’re the first woman he’s felt an interest in in a long time, the first one that might actually see him.

You step outside onto the porch instead of letting him in the way you usually do. He knows it’s because of Smurf, that she warned you off him, told you his secrets. You know the truth now about how fucked up he is.

This is what she does when he starts trying to build something outside of the family, she cuts off his life lines, leaves him twisting in the wind until he realises the only place he can go is back to the house he grew up in, the family that steal away little pieces of his sanity until the darkness eats him up.

“Look…” He begins but you’re already wrapping your arms around his neck, gathering him up into a hug. He stiffens at first because he can’t remember the last time someone held him. His muscles relax and he draws you closer, his cheek coming to rest against yours as he breathes in the scent of the ocean clinging to your skin.

“You’re not the only one that’s fucked up.” You whisper, your breath ghosting in his ear. “I killed my father when I was fifteen because he was creeping into my bed at night.”

His grip on you tightens as he buries his face into the curve of your throat.

“Don’t let her use that shit to control you. You’re not the person she’s trying to turn you into, you’re more than that.”

“How do you know?” He murmurs, his forehead coming to rest upon yours so he can look into your eyes. “How do you know I’m not the monster she wants me to be?”

“Because I see your sadness.” You tell him, your fingertips trailing over the copper stubble that mars his cheek. “You do it for the love and all you get back is this feeling in your chest, this emptiness that feels like it eats up your entire soul.”

“I don’t wanna be like this anymore.” He tells you, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to keep losing myself.”

“You don’t have to.” You tell him, your palm coming to rest upon his heart. He can feel it thudding underneath the pads of your fingers as he clasps it there, his connection, his way back to humanity. “The two of us, we’ll figure it out, I promise.”

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coco-loco-nut · 10 months ago

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007

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: meeting your soulmate in the paddock isn’t unusual for F1 drivers, but oscar’s certainly leans on the unusual side

a/n: sorry if it’s a bit of the mess! i’ve been trying to write my way out of writers block

masterlist part two requests open

_____________

You are crazy, you have to be. At least, that’s what Oscar thought when he watched the mark on his arm change for the third time that day. You put yourself in more danger than he does, and that says a lot. It wasn’t always that way, not until five years ago when it became more and more frequent. The shared talent he gets from you is no help. Analytical and multilingual, you could be anyone. Based on how often you are in danger for long stretches, he is a little sure that you are a mobster. Being able to speak Russian and Italian fluently doesn’t help with the whole mobster thing.

You didn’t know what to think of your soulmate. At first you assumed he was a criminal, the meter on your arm only shifting to danger for a relatively short period of time for a few weeks. However, it has become regular, throwing you off. Maybe a weekend adrenaline junkie? No, probably organized crime. Besides, you are skilled at driving fast, and what adrenaline junkie has a talent for fast driving.

“We have intel that there will be a deal made at the Belgian Grand Prix. Both parties are guests of Sauber as to not draw suspicion. Everything you will need is in this file, a car will pick you up tonight, good luck,” you anxiously sit through your briefing.

You have been tracking a crime ring for the past year and a half, putting yourself in all kinds of compromising positions just to get information. Formula One though, that’s new to you. You have seen some things from former partners who followed it, but you weren’t interested.

It isn’t uncommon for crime groups to use large events for “networking.” It is under the guise of their shell companies. You studied your character ruthlessly, knowing your cover inside and out.

The race approached much quicker than you’d like. The situation isn’t helped by a weird feeling in your stomach. Not nerves, but something else. You shake it off, the mission is what is important. The paddock awaits, and you have a limited striking time.

Oscar was on edge. Something felt off, even though he went through his race routine like always. He did have a questionable pastry, but there wasn’t any mold, so it was okay. He slides his sleeve up, looking at the meter on his arm. Lando doesn’t miss how his teammate’s face paled.

“You okay?” Lando asks, trying to catch a glimpse of the meter on Oscar’s arm.

“Yeah, just realized I forgot to call my sister,” Oscar lies. He’s a little scared for the day he meets you. What kind of mobster commits crime on a Sunday? Maybe you got taken by an enemy, got caught sneaking around. Logan always told him that he was crazy for assuming his soulmate is a criminal, but all signs point to it. Some fresh air is what he needs.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” your target says as you flash a charming smile, anything to get information. It helps that the conversation is in Russian, adding to confidentiality of everything.

You feel a deep pull, like a yearning, as you agree to the walk. You brush it off, the mission is top priority.

“Can you provide some more benefits of the… investment,” you are a little unsure of what to call it. You are keenly aware of the weapons strapped to the side of your target. You weren’t expecting to be meeting with an enforcer, making the job trickier.

“Perhaps. I will if you can answer this question,” you feel your anxiety spike as you keep a calm and cool demeanor. The pull increases and it takes every ounce of will to keep yourself focused. You got most of the information you need, but you need to fish for more. You don’t really notice the target turning you into a quieter part of the paddock.

Oscar lets his feet lead the way, a little out of it. He doesn’t really notice you ahead, tucked in a relatively secluded alley of the paddock. He’s always been able to sneak around, a blessing in times like this.

“Who invited you to the meeting,” he asks, and you internally breathe a sigh of relief. Your team scanned through the information to make sure there was nothing included to trip you up, and this is something that was deemed clear.

“Peter,” you say a little too confidently, and that’s when you notice him reach for the knife on his side. You also notice the civilian looking at his soulmate meter rather than where he is walking, and at that moment it spikes further into the danger. The brief distraction is enough to put you at a disadvantage. You shove the stranger behind you, getting him out of the way as you. Sparks fly as you touch him, but you don’t pay any mind to it. Eyes trained on the target, you do everything you can to avoid being stabbed as you pull out your own knife.

Oscar feels a twinge on his arm and slides up the sleeve, looking at his mark. He feels himself get yanked, and he turns his attention to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He takes a few steps back into safety and watches. Every alarm bell in his mind tells him to run away, but he can’t seem to walk away.

You kick the knife away, quickly working to disarm the target and press him against a wall, your own knife to his throat. You subtly activate your tracker, getting discreet backup.

“Tell me who runs the operation. Now.” you snarl in Russian, slightly putting pressure on his neck with the knife. The target spits beside you, you press further. “I recommend you don’t mess with me if you want to be alive.”

The information you want comes flowing out as you take a little pleasure at the fear in his eyes.

“There, happy? Let me go,” the target says and you smile wickedly. Dropping your act now would only hurt you, so you let him think you are part of a rival crime ring.

“Not quite,” you flip him around so he is facing the wall. You sheathe the knife, using your weight to brace him to the wall. “It’s a shame I couldn’t spill some blood, oh well,” you play your role, speaking in a bored yet maniacal tone. Your backup arrives and takes over for you, arresting the target.

As the adrenaline fades, you remember the guy lurking behind you. You feel the heat of anger flare up. Couldn’t he see you were dealing with something dangerous? Why wouldn’t he turn around and walk away.

Oscar can’t help but feel happy that he finally has your attention, and if the pull he feels and the danger levels that his arm displays is any indication, he just met his soulmate. Plus, you speak multiple languages, who else would he get that from that’s in the immediate vicinity. He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

“Are you stupid! What are you doing walking in on that? And sticking around? That was a very dangerous situation, you know,” you fume, not looking at him, too busy firing off angry texts to your commander.

“I was right, my soulmate is a criminal,” Oscar says, a little shocked.

“That guy was your soulmate? Tough luck,” you can’t help but laugh a little. You look at him for the first time and feel your heart beat quicken as every instinct is drawn to him.

“No, you are,” Oscar says as your eyebrow quirks, as if you don’t believe him. And you don’t believe him, it isn’t in your nature.

“Well, I’m not a criminal. Sorry to break it to you. Besides, I know that my soulmate is a criminal, so unless you have a dark side, you aren’t him,” you brush it off, still ignoring the intense pull towards the brunette who is creeping closer to you.

“But-“

“Look, I gotta go,” you quickly take a once over of him, ready to look him up when you are back to safety. You disappear almost into thin air, leaving Oscar confused.

“Oscar? What are you doing here? Is that blood?” Logan stares at his friend.

“I think I just met my soulmate,” Oscar says, a little flabbergasted. Now he knows where his talent for being stealthy comes from. He wonders if you got his driving ability.

“Right. That doesn’t explain blood. You know what, you need to get ready for the drivers parade,” Logan shakes his head, helping his friend get back on track.

Oscar Piastri. That’s who Google tells you that you encountered. He’s handsome, you will admit that. A quick research tells you everything you need. Your soulmate, in fact, was not a criminal. A minor win in your mind.

After your paperwork and evidence submission, you know you can’t return to Sauber, so you choose to walk around instead. A change of clothes and hairstyles helps to hide your identity.

You easily slip into the McLaren motorhome, it is a little sad how easily you have gotten past Formula One’s security. You wait in Oscar’s drivers room for him, feeling uncomfortable and nervous. You don’t like the feeling.

Your job is too dangerous for a soulmate, you’ve seen how devastating it is for those whose soulmate never returns from a mission. You couldn’t do that to someone, so why do you find yourself needing to see Oscar again.

Oscar feels the now familiar tug as he gets out of his car, and he’s never been happier to get P4. He makes his way to his room as quickly as possible, rush in through his post-race procedures.

“You’re here. How are you here?” Oscar sees you leaning against the wall of his drivers room.

“It is embarrassing how easily I can get past the security here,” you have a hint of a smile on your face.

“So, if you aren’t a criminal, who are you?” Oscar swallows, a little nervous. His only knowledge of you is that you are highly dangerous and semifrequently in danger.

“I can’t tell you that. Brilliant race today, maybe I will actually watch one for once,” you walk towards him, and he feels his heart leap in his chest. You slip a card into his hand as you head to the door. “Oh, and thanks for the driving skills. It’s gotten me out of quite a few situations,” you smirk, disappearing once again. Oscar looks down at the card in his hand.

Y/n L/n. Special Services.

In neat penmanship you wrote down a series of numbers, and a note to burn the card after saving the number. Oscar races to the window that overlooks the only exit of the building, but you had already disappeared into the crowd.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 grid #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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belit0 · 10 months ago

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How about Uchiha men with S/O big chest but she is a tall and athletic woman, which makes her very attractive to the male population

My first request in what feels like years. Bear with me while I get back on track, lol.

Indra

Indra observes the woman with a mixture of intrigue and detachment. It is not part of his character to prove anything to others, but a curious gleam appears in his eye as he meets (Y/N). His eyes, sharp and analytical, take in her tall, athletic figure with discernment born of his legacy. For Indra, strength and skill are qualities of great respect, and he perceives in her more than physical attractiveness; she is a reflection of his own ideals. Perhaps she is the right person, the one with whom to nurture a legacy worthy of calling his own. However, he is careful not to let his admiration be misinterpreted. Indra's gaze is intense but distant, appreciating her as the embodiment of power and elegance rather than just her looks. He wonders if such a woman could understand the weight of his expectations and if her strength could match the burdens of his mission. Would she be able to keep up with his agenda?

Madara

Madara's interest in her is immediate and intense. Known for his commanding presence and boundless ambition, he sees her as a formidable ally-or a potential adversary. Should (y/n) refuse his advances, or suddenly reject him out of hand, mutual hostility would be born immediately. Her tall, muscular, eye-catching figure is secondary to him; what really captures his attention is her power and poise. Madara's calculating mind evaluates her as a force to be reckoned with, someone who could stand beside him as an equal. Of course, the additional beauty the girl brings with her is pleasing to the eye, and he must be reminded on several occasions that staring at someone can be interpreted as a weak gesture coming from the clan leader. This attraction is not purely physical; it is a recognition of the power she exudes, which resonates with his aspirations and unwavering resolve.

Izuna

Surprise and lust. His warm and open attitude contrasts with his brother's more reserved nature, leaving him in evidence as the womanizer he is from the very first moment he appears on the scene. Izuna perceives her attitude and confident presence as a breath of fresh air, but nothing deeper than that. She's not his type, nothing he'd generally go for, but a change of scenery is always nice. He doesn't intend anything serious, considering her as one more conquest of his vast collection. What better than a challenge to remind oneself of the virtues of being alive and handsome? In any case, he finds the combination of power and beauty a bit intimidating, appreciative of how her looks are matched by an undeniable confidence. Izuna is not entirely thrilled to have someone equal to or stronger than him by his side, a matter of compromised egos, but the harmonious blend of grace and strength (y/n) possesses captures him. Irresistible, for now.

Obito

This Uchiha's initial reaction is one of awe and a hint of melancholy. The woman's imposing figure and aerial prowess remind him of a world he once hoped to protect, a world where those qualities were celebrated. For him, her presence is both a source of inspiration and a painful reminder of the life he has lost. Despite his internal struggles, he is drawn to her resilience and strength, traits that resonate deeply with his own journey. Obito aches for her not only for her appearance but for the way she seems to embody an ethos of resilience and charm, qualities he wishes he could continue to embrace. Either way, (y/n) represents light at the end of a too-dark path, someone to cling to to heal and restore a broken soul. Her stability engenders trust and he soon falls into a great emotional dependence on her.

Shisui

Shisui perceives (y/n) with a combination of amusement and subtle admiration. His eyes slowly wander from the curves in of her breasts to her hips, roaming her body centimeter by centimeter with stealthy eyes, a gaze too indecipherable, preventing anyone from interpreting his ulterior motives. Lightning speed itself. He is used to being chased by people he is not interested in, mainly because none of them can keep up with him. Shisui doesn't want someone by his side to constantly protect, he wants a challenge, someone who brings fun to the table and can contribute to his day-to-day life. A person who will challenge his skills and not regard him as a god, an equal. Finally, someone who can match him, providing dynamic workouts more fun than usual. His interest is tempered with genuine esteem for her personality, recognizing that her physical attributes are matched by a compelling inner strength. Shisui admires her ability to attract attention while maintaining an air of humility and pride.

Itachi

Itachi's perception of her is marked by his usual depth and complexity. Her towering, lithe, athletic figure and imposing presence are observed with a sense of silent respect. To Itachi, her physical attributes are important, but secondary to the fortitude of character she displays. (y/n)’s a force to reckon with, someone to be valued and not underestimated. He monitors her acutely, appreciating how she performs with a poised blend of stamina and flare. Every movement is calculated to perfection, and those are the details that make him realize she knows what she's doing. Itachi's admiration is measured, recognizing her attractiveness while remaining focused on the substance of her personality. In her, he sees a reflection of the balance he seeks in his own life, a combination of outward strength and inner fortitude. He would never approach her with offensive or lustful intentions, too polite to inconvenience a lady of such high caliber.

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sales-trail · 1 month ago

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#call tracking software for salons #franchise call tracking solution #call analytics software for spas

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willowsnook · 3 months ago

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“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” (LN)

Lando norris x indycar!reader

request from @opastries81 book prompts here

—-------------------------------------------

“So if you are an F1 fan, tuning into IndyCar for the first time this year, or vice versa, I’ve made a little guide for you on which drivers match up.”

One of your friends had sent you the video that Will Buxton released earlier today, already going viral on racing twitter. You smirked as you saw a picture of your teammate Rossi pop up.

“Now here is a good one, if you like Alexander Rossi, you’ll want to root for Oscar Piastri this season,” Will said. “Off the track, they’ve both go the calm, collected demeanor down with that blunt dry sense of humor. On the track they both excel in calculated aggression - you never really worry about them taking too big of a risk, they know how to use analytics to their advantage.”

He was pretty spot on about Rossi, you’d been his teammate for two years now and you loved nothing more than to rile him up. Getting his normal collected demeanor to break was your favorite hobby.

“Now just for these pairings, the teams stay the same. So if you love Lando Norris, go ahead and buy Y/n Y/l/n merch for this season,” Will said. “Both drivers are much more outgoing and loud compared to their teammates, both on the track and off. They both get a lot of media scrutiny for their lifestyles but the podiums don’t live. These two are both future champions.”

Saving the video, you pulled up Lando’s contact info to text it over to him.

Y/N: How much did you pay him to say this?

You’d met Lando a couple of times at different racing events and you could definitely see why people compared the two of you. He was easy to get along with, and definitely more down to have fun than Rossi was.

LN: He gave me a discount this time. Are you going to be at COTA this weekend?

There was a major PR event going on this weekend to kick of the racing seasons and it was the first time it would include every series. From NASCAR to Rally to Indy to F1, it would have it all. You replied to tell Lando that you were going and you’d see him then. Your team already had a packed schedule but you were sure they had some kind of F1/Indy crossover on there.

—-------------------------------

The COTA event was already exhausting and it had only been one day. You’d spent all morning doing different challenges with other IndyCar drivers and now you were heading to the track to do a car swap. The idea was that you’d get to drive an F1 car that you had been fitted for a couple of weeks back. You knew that one of their drivers would be driving an Indycar so you weren’t surprised to see your twin standing by the engineers when you pulled up.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my American counterpart," Lando called out, his signature smile lighting up his face as you approached. He was already in his McLaren team gear, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

"Careful there, Norris. I might just show you how we do things across the pond," you teased back, pulling him into a quick hug.

The engineers were bustling around both cars—your IndyCar looking considerably bulkier next to the sleek McLaren F1 machine. The stark differences between the two vehicles made your stomach flutter with anticipation.

"Nervous?" Lando asked, noticing your gaze lingering on his car.

"Please," you scoffed, though your heart was racing. "Just trying to figure out how many laps I can get in before you're begging for your car back.”

The engineers around you chuckled as Lando rolled his eyes dramatically. "That's rich coming from someone who's about to experience proper downforce for the first time."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," you quipped, turning your attention to the McLaren sitting on the track.

You stood beside the McLaren, pulling on your gloves as one of the engineers double-checked your radio. Your fire suit felt a little too warm, your nerves a little too alert, but you hid it well. Years of competitive racing had trained you for high-stakes environments—this was just a different kind of adrenaline.

From across the way, you watched as Lando climbed into your IndyCar. He adjusted his seat like he’d done it a thousand times, but the smirk he tossed in your direction told you otherwise.

“Try not to stall it, princess!” he shouted across the pit lane.

You flipped him off with a grin. “Only if you promise not to forget where the brakes are!”

A few moments later, engines fired to life—yours a higher-pitched scream, his a deeper roar.

The track cleared. Lights blinked green.

You were off.

Lando

“This thing is wild,” Lando muttered under his breath as he took the first corner. The steering was heavier, more raw, more… alive.

There was no power steering. The feedback in the wheel was immediate, brutal, beautiful. He felt the bumps in the asphalt more than ever. It was like riding a lightning bolt with four wheels and no mercy.

He took a sweeping left with just a little too much throttle and felt the rear slide ever so slightly. He corrected it easily, but the grin on his face was unmissable.

“Okay, okay—I get it now,” he said to no one in particular. “This thing wants to fight.”

And God, he liked fighting.

Y/n

You’d never felt anything like it.

The moment you hit the throttle, it pinned you back like a rocket launch. The downforce was unreal. Corners you’d normally brake hard into, the McLaren stuck to like glue, begging you to push faster, harder, deeper.

You laughed into the comms, surprising the engineer on the other end.

“Everything okay?” they asked.

“This car is a cheat code,” you replied breathlessly, the giddy grin stretching across your face. “No wonder he’s so smug all the time.”

You took the esses with a precision you didn’t even know you were capable of. The car danced. And you followed.

You both rolled into the pits at nearly the same time, engines cutting out, helmets coming off.

Lando stepped out of the IndyCar with a wild look in his eyes, hair a mess, smile uncontained. “That was the most chaotic thing I’ve ever driven.”

You tugged your helmet off, your cheeks flushed from adrenaline. “And the McLaren? That car is black magic. It’s like it reads your mind before you do.”

You walked toward each other, sweaty and beaming, and met in the middle with an unspoken understanding. You’d each just experienced something sacred—each other’s world.

“Respect,” he said, holding out a fist for you to bump.

You knocked your knuckles against his. “Right back at you.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Finally, Lando grinned. “So… wanna trade lives for a season?”

You snorted. “Only if you’re ready to drive with no power steering and get elbowed off every street course by lap four.”

“Sounds like a party.”

The two of you walked to the garage together, breaking off to change back into your normal clothes, you in your oversized EC tee and athletic shorts. Lando was waiting for you at the front of the garage, scrolling on this phone. He looked up as he heard you come out.

“Grabbing dinner with Pato and Oscar, you in?” He asked and you shrugged, “Only if you’re paying.”

Pato and Oscar were already seated at a bar & grill nearby but Oscar lit up as he saw you.

“Y/n!” He said. “It’s been too long.”

He stood up to give you a hug and you giggled against him. “Wow, Pato never greets me like this.”

The Arrow-McLaren driver rolled his eyes, “I have to deal with you almost every weekend.”

"That's because I'm the superior McLaren driver," Oscar joked, sliding back into his seat with a playful wink.

"Oh, please," Lando interjected, pulling out a chair for you before taking his own seat. "I've seen your data, mate."

The banter flowed easily as you ordered drinks and food. It was refreshing to be around other drivers who understood the unique pressures of your world. While F1 and IndyCar had their differences, the core of it—the hunger for speed, the addiction to pushing limits—was identical.

"So how was the McLaren?" Pato asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. "Better than our IndyCar setup?"

"Different," you answered diplomatically, though your eyes betrayed your excitement. "The responsiveness is unreal. It's like the car is hardwired to your brain."

“See,” Lando boasted. “Everyone wants to be in F1.”

You rolled your eyes smiling, “Of course everyone does. They know they’d have to be tougher than nails to compete in Indy.”

“Boom!” Pato said as Lando groaned. As dinner finished up, you found yourself wishing the night wasn’t close to ending - Lando was feeling the same way. Pato and Oscar both headed back to the hotel but you lingered outside.

“Let’s go back to the track,” Lando suggested.

“And do what?” You asked, but were already following him.

“Walk around, look at the stars, I don’t know,” he said and you laughed.

“Alright Mr. Romantic,” you teased and he shot you a grin over his shoulder.

The track was pretty empty minus a few random engineers working in garages so it was easy to slip onto the track without anyone noticing.

The cool night air brushed against your skin as you followed Lando onto the empty track. The massive grandstands loomed in shadow against the star-filled Texas sky, making the circuit feel both eerie and magical.

"It's so different at night," you mused, running your hand along the pit wall as you walked. "Almost peaceful."

Lando nodded, hands tucked into his pockets. "Best time to be at a track, if you ask me. No cameras, no expectations."

You both wandered in comfortable silence, eventually finding yourselves at the first corner. Without discussing it, you sat down on the edge of the track, legs dangling over the side where the tarmac dropped off slightly to the run-off area.

"So," Lando began, leaning back on his palms, "is Will Buxton right about us? Are we really that similar?"

You pondered for a moment before answering, “I guess so, but I’m definitely the hot one.”

“Oh is that right?” Lando mused, his eyes burning into the side of your face as you looked up at the stars.

“Mmmhmm,” you hummed. “What do you think?”

“I think that whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same,” he said quietly and you looked over at him.

“Lando Norris, are you hitting on me?” You asked, a smile playing on your face. He scooted closer to you and your breath hitched.

“Only if it’s working,” he muttered, eyes flickering down to your lips.

“It’s working,” you whispered.

His lips touched yours softly at first, hesitant and questioning. When you leaned into him, his hand came up to cup your face, deepening the kiss with newfound confidence. The world around you—the track, the stars, the distant sounds of crew members packing up—all faded away. There was only Lando, the warmth of his touch, and the racing of your heart that had nothing to do with driving.

#lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine

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pro-builder-cloud · 1 year ago

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#email marketing #sms marketing #unlimited sales funnels #call tracking #surveys and forms #appointment booking #crm software #analytics #no code website builder

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months ago

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Pluralistic is five

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in SEATTLE TONIGHT (Feb 19) for with DAN SAVAGE, and in TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books. More tour dates here.

Five years and two weeks ago, I parted ways with Boing Boing, a website I co-own and wrote for virtually every day for 19 years ago. Two weeks later – five years ago from today – I started my own blog, Pluralistic, which is, therefore, half a decade old, as of today.

I've written an annual rumination on this most years since.

Here's the fourth anniversary post (on blogging as a way to organize thoughts for big, ambitious, synthetic works):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

The third (on writing without analytics):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/drei-drei-drei/#now-we-are-three

The second (on "post own site, share everywhere," AKA "POSSE"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/19/now-we-are-two/#two-much-posse

I wasn't sure what I would write about today, but I figured it out yesterday, in the car, driving to my book-launch event with Wil Wheaton at LA's Diesel Books (tonight's event is in Seattle, with Dan Savage):

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/cory-doctorow-with-dan-savage-picks-and-shovels-a-martin-hench-novel-tickets-1106741957989

I was listening to the always excellent Know Your Enemy podcast, where the hosts were interviewing Chris Hayes:

https://know-your-enemy-1682b684.simplecast.com/episodes/pay-attention-w-chris-hayes-OA3C8ZMp

The occasion was the publication of Hayes's new book, The Sirens' Call, about the way technology interacts with our attention:

https://sirenscallbook.com

The interview was fascinating, and steered clear of moral panic about computers rotting our brains (shades of Socrates' possibly apocryphal statements that reading, rather than memorizing, was destroying young peoples' critical faculties). Instead, Hayes talked about how empty it feels to read an algorithmic feed, how our attention gets caught up by it, sometimes for longer than we planned, and then afterward, we feel like our attention and time were poorly spent. He talked about how reflective experiences – like reading a book with his kid before school – are shattered by pocket-buzzes as news articles came in. And he talked about how satisfying it was to pay protracted attention to something important, and how hard that was.

Listening to Hayes's description, I realized two things: first, he was absolutely right, those are terrible things; and second, I barely experience them (though, when I do, it makes me feel awful). Both of these are intimately bound up with my blogging and social media habits.

15 years ago, I published "Writing in the Age of Distraction," an article about preserving your attention in a digital world so you could get writing done. We live in a very different world, but the advice still holds up:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

In particular, I advised readers to turn off all their alerts. This is something I've done since before the smartphone era, tracking down the preferences that kept programs like AIM, Apple Mail and Google Reader from popping up an alert when a new item appeared. This is absolutely fundamental and should be non-negotiable. When I heard Hayes describe how his phone buzzes in his pocket whenever there is breaking news, I was actually shocked. Do people really allow their devices to interrupt them on a random reinforcement schedule? I mean, no wonder the internet makes people go crazy. I'm not a big believer in BF Skinner, but I think it's well established that any stimulus that occurs at random intervals is impossible to get used to, and shocks you anew every time it recurs.

Rather than letting myself get pocket-buzzed by the news, I have an RSS reader. You should use an RSS reader, seriously:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

I periodically check in with my reader to see what stories have been posted. The experience of choosing to look at the news is profoundly different from having the news blasted at you. I still don't always choose wisely – I'm as guilty of scrolling my phone when I could be doing something more ultimately satisfying as anyone else – but the affect of being in charge of when and how I consume current events is the opposite of the feeling of being at the beck-and-call of any fool headline writer who hits "publish."

This is even more important in the age of smartphones. Whenever you install an app, turn off its notifications. If you forget and an app pushes you an update ("Hi, this is the app you used to pay your parking meter that one time! We're having a 2% off sale on parking spots in a different city from the one you're in now and we wanted to make sure you stopped whatever you were doing and found out about it RIGHT NOW!") then turn off notifications for that app. Consider deleting it. Your phone should buzz when you're expecting a call, or an important message.

Note I said important message. I also turn off notifications for most of the apps I use that have a direct-messaging function. I check in with my group chats periodically, but I never get interrupted by friends across town or across the world posting photos of lunch or kvetching about the guy who farted next to them on the subway. I look at those chats when I'm taking a break, not when I'm trying to get stuff done. It's really nice to stay on top of your friends' lives without feeling low-grade resentment for how they interrupted your creative fog with a ganked Tiktok video of a zoomer making fun of a boomer for getting mad at a millennial for quoting Osama bin Laden. There's times when it makes sense to turn on group-chat notifications – like when you're on a group outing and trying to locate one another – but the rest of the time, turn it off.

Now, there are people I need to hear from urgently, who do get to buzz my pockets when something important comes up – people I'm working on a project with, say, or my wife and kid. But I also have all those people trained to send me emails unless it's urgent. You know the norm we have about calling someone out of the blue being kind of gross and rude? That's how you should feel about making someone's pocket buzz, unless it's important. Send those people emails.

I visit my email in between other tasks and clear out my inbox. If that sounds impossible, I have some suggestions for how to manage it:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2010/dec/21/keeping-email-address-secret-spambots

Tldr? Get you some mail rules:

add everyone you correspond with to an address book called "people I know"

filter emails from anyone in the "people I know" address book into a high priority inbox, which you just treat as your regular inbox

look at the unfiltered inbox (full of people you've never corresponded with) every day or two and reply to messages that need replying (and those people will thereafter be filtered into the "people I know" inbox)

filter any message containing the world "unsubscribe" into a folder called "mailing lists"

if you're subscribed to mailing lists that you feel you can't leave because it would be impolite, filter them into a folder called "mailing lists" unless the message contains your name (so you can reply promptly if someone mentions you on the list)

The point here is to manage your attention. You decide when you want to get non-urgent communications, and mail-app automation automatically flags the stuff that you are most likely to want to see. For extra credit: adopt a "suspense file" that lets you manage other peoples' emails to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo

Now, let's talk about algorithmic feeds. Lots of phosphors have been spilled on this subject, and critics of The Algorithm have an unfortunately propensity to buy into the self aggrandizement of soi-dissant evil sorcerer tech bros who claim they can "hack your dopamine loops" by programming an algorithmic feed. I think this is bullshit. Mind-control rays are nonsense, whether they are being promoted by Rasputin or a repentant Prodigal Tech Bro:

https://conversationalist.org/2020/03/05/the-prodigal-techbro/

But I hate algorithmic feeds. To explain why, I should explain how much I love non-algorithmic feeds. I follow a lot of people on several social media services, and I almost never feel the need to look at trending topics, suggested posts, or anything resembling the "For You" feed. Sure, there's times when I want to turn on the ole social TV and see what's on – the digital equivalent of leaving the TV on in a hotel room while I unpack and iron my suit – but those times are rare.

Mostly what I get is a feed of the things that my friends think are noteworthy enough to share. Some of that stuff is "OC" (material they've posted themselves), but the majority of it is stuff they're boosting from the feeds of their friends. Now, I say friend but I don't know the majority of the people I follow. I have a parasocial relationship (these get an undeserved bad rap) with them.

We're "friends" in the sense that I think they have interesting taste. There's people I've followed for more than a decade without exchanging a single explicit communication. I think they're cool, and I repost the cool stuff they post, so the people who follow me can see it. Reposting is a way of collaborating with other people who've opted into sharing their attention-management with you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/27/probably/

Reposting with a comment? Even better – you're telling people why to pay attention to that thing, or, more importantly, why they can safely ignore it if it's not their thing (what Bruce Sterling memorably calls an "attention conservation notice"). This is why Mastodon's decision not to implement quote-tweeting (over a misplaced squeamishness about "dunk culture") was such a catastrophic own-goal. If you're building a social network without an algorithmic suggestion feed (yay), you absolutely can't afford to block a feature that lets people annotate the material they boost into other people's timelines:

https://fediversereport.com/fediverse-report-104/

Remember how I said the affect of going to read the news is totally different (and infinitely superior) to the affect of having the news pushed to you? Same goes for the difference between getting a feed of things boosted and written by people you've chosen to follow, and getting a feed of things chosen by an algorithm. This is for reasons far more profound than the mere fact that algorithms use poor signals to choose those posts (e.g. "do a lot of people seem to be arguing about this post?").

For me, the problem with algorithmic feeds is the same as the problem with AI art. The point of art is to communicate something, and art consists of thousands of micro-decisions made by someone intending to communicate something, which gives it a richness and a texture that can make art arresting and profound. Prompting an AI to draw you a picture consists of just a few decisions, orders of magnitude fewer communicative acts than are embodied in a human-drawn illustration, even if you refine the image through many subsequent prompts. What you get is something "soulless" – a thing that seems to involve many decisions, but almost all of them were made by a machine that had no communicative intent.

This is the definition of "uncanniness," which is "the seeming of intention without intending anything." Most of the "meaning" in an AI illustration is "meaning that does not stem from organizing intention":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

The same is true of an algorithmic feed. When someone you follow – a person – posts or boosts something into their feed, there is a human intention. It is a communicative act. It can be very communicative, even if it's just a boost, provided the person adds some context with their own commentary or quoting. It can be just a little communicative, too – a momentary thumbpress on the boost button. But either way, to read a feed populated by people, rather than machines, is to be showered with the communicative intent of people whom you have chosen to hear from. Perhaps you chose unwisely and followed someone whose communications are banal or offensive or repetitious. Unfollow them.

Most importantly, follow the people who are followed by the people you follow. If someone whose taste you like pleases or interests you time and again by promoting something by a stranger to your attention, then bring that stranger closer by making them someone you follow, too. Do this, again and again, and build a constellation of people who make you smile or make you think. Just the act of boosting and virtually handling the things those people make and boost gets that stuff into your skin and your thoughts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

This is the good kind of filter bubble – the bubble of "people who interest me." I'm not saying that it's a sin to read an algorithmic feed, but relying on algorithmic feeds is a recipe for feeling empty, and regretful of your misspent attention. This is true even when the algorithm is good at its job, as with Tiktok, whose whole appeal is to take your hands off the wheel and give total control over to the autopilot. Even when an algorithm makes many good guesses about what you'll like, seeing something you like isn't as nice, as pleasing, as useful, as seeing that same thing as the result of someone else's intention.

And, of course, once you let the app drive, you become a soft target for the cupidity and deceptions of the app's makers. Tiktok, for example, uses its "heating tool" to selectively boost things into your feed – not because they think you'll like it, but because they want to trick the person whose content they're boosting into thinking that Tiktok is a good place to distribute their work through:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The value of an algorithmic feed – of an intermediated feed – is to help you build your disintermediated, human feed. Find people you like through the algorithm, follow them, then stop letting the algorithm drive.

And the human feed you consume is input for the human feed you create, the stream of communicative acts you commit in order to say to the world, "This is what feels good to spend my attention on. If this makes you feel good, too, then please follow me, and you will sit downstream of my communicative acts, as I sit downstream of the communicative acts of so many others."

The more communicative the feeds you emit are, the more reward you will reap. First, because interrogating your own attention – "why was this thing interesting?" – is a clarifying and mnemonic act, that lets you get more back from the attention you pay. And second, because the more you communicate about those attentive insights, the more people you will find who are truly Your People, a community that goes beyond "I follow this stranger" and gets into the realm of "this stranger and I are on the same side in a world of great peril and worry":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Which brings me back to this blog and my fifth bloggaversary. Because a blog is a feed, but one that is far heavier on communications than a stream of boosted posts. Five years into this iteration of my blogging life (and 24 years into my blogging life overall), blogging remains one of the most powerful, clarifying and uplifting parts of my day.

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/2025/02/19/gimme-five/#jeffty

#pluralistic

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