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xo100 · 2 days ago

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Little moments, big hearts - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: You and Lando spend a cozy morning babysitting your brother’s baby. Between playful banter and tender moments, Lando hints at a future together, leaving you both feeling closer and full of hope.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2270

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains, spilling soft, golden light across the room. Lando lay stretched out, one arm slung across the mattress, while you were curled up beside him, close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. Between you, cradled in a little cocoon of blankets, was your brother’s baby boy, whose eyelids fluttered softly in the early morning light.

Your brother had asked if you and Lando could babysit his little one for the day while he and his wife went out for the first real date they'd had in months. You had barely been able to answer before Lando was nodding enthusiastically, the prospect of a baby-filled day surprisingly welcome. And now, here you were—still half-asleep, all three of you wrapped in a cozy little pile on the bed.

“Did I ever mention,” Lando whispered, his voice still laced with sleep, “that you look ridiculously cute with a baby in your arms?”

You cracked one eye open and met his gaze, fighting off a drowsy grin. “I think you mentioned it once or twice. Maybe.”

Lando’s fingers lightly traced circles along your arm as he shifted his gaze back to the tiny, slumbering face nestled between you. “He’s actually quite peaceful,” he murmured with a smile, “for a little guy who woke up every two hours last night.”

“He has been a little handful,” you admitted, biting back a yawn as you watched the baby stir slightly, one chubby hand curling into a tiny fist.

“But,” Lando added, his voice softening as he adjusted the blankets around the baby, “I kinda get why your brother adores him so much.” He looked up at you, his eyes warm, a mischievous glint lighting up his tired smile. “Though I have to say, I think he looks cuter in my arms.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, rolling over to prop yourself up on an elbow and raising a playful eyebrow. “I think he’d say otherwise.”

Lando laughed quietly, his eyes gleaming. “Care to make a wager on that?”

You snorted, gently nudging him. “As if he’s going to pick sides.”

“Well, I think he’s got good taste,” Lando replied, feigning a cocky smirk. “He already knows I’m the fun one.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, careful not to wake the baby. “I’d hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure I’m his favorite.”

Lando’s eyes twinkled, and he leaned a little closer, lowering his voice to a murmur. “Fine. But I’m your favorite, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you swatted him lightly, but you couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “If you keep your voice down and don’t wake him up, you just might be.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You drive a hard bargain.”

For a few minutes, you just lay there, letting the quiet settle over the room, feeling Lando’s hand gently tracing up and down your arm, your heart warm with the weight of everything familiar and right. The baby stirred every now and then, tiny hands reaching for your fingers, which you offered gladly. Every so often, he’d grasp one of Lando’s fingers, his little face creasing in what looked like the beginnings of a smile.

Lando watched him with a look you’d rarely seen, an expression caught somewhere between awe and contentment. He caught your gaze and offered a sheepish grin. “I think I could get used to this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, glancing back down at the baby. “I mean, lazy mornings like this…with you, and maybe even a little one of our own someday.” He gave a small shrug, his cheeks just a little pink. “Just thinking out loud, you know.”

The thought made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but smile as you reached out, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Maybe someday,” you murmured, your heart swelling at the idea of more mornings just like this.

Lando looked at you with such warmth in his eyes, a gentleness that felt like sunlight. “Yeah, someday,” he whispered back, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles on your hand.

The baby let out a little sigh, his mouth forming a perfect “O” as he squirmed a bit before settling back down, his breathing soft and even. Lando chuckled, pulling you closer so you were nestled against him, your head on his chest as his fingers brushed up and down your back in gentle strokes.

“I think we wore him out,” you murmured, watching the baby’s peaceful face.

“Or maybe he wore us out,” Lando replied, stifling a yawn.

“True,” you admitted, stifling a laugh. “But I don’t mind.”

“Neither do I,” Lando whispered, his voice so soft you could almost believe he was already half-asleep.

With your eyes drifting shut, the morning seemed to stretch on forever, warm and unhurried, filled with a quiet joy that made you want to hold onto every second. You could feel Lando’s heartbeat beneath you, steady and sure, a gentle reminder that this was real. That he was real.

After a few minutes, you felt his fingers brush against your cheek, his touch light and lingering, just enough to make you open your eyes and meet his gaze. He was smiling at you, a slow, tender smile that sent your heart racing all over again.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, just barely above a whisper.

“Hey yourself,” you whispered back, grinning.

Lando leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just so you know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin, “I’m pretty sure this is the best morning ever.”

And as you lay there, wrapped up in him and in the cozy warmth of your little family-in-the-making, you couldn’t help but think he might be right.

As the morning continued to unfold, the soft sounds of the baby’s breathing mixed with the occasional rustle of the sheets as you and Lando shifted to make yourselves comfortable. The sun climbed higher in the sky, filling the room with a warmth that was both cozy and invigorating.

Lando’s gaze drifted back to the baby, who had finally settled into a deeper sleep. “You know,” he said, his voice still low and sleepy, “I never thought I’d enjoy babysitting as much as I do right now.”

You chuckled softly, brushing your fingers through the baby’s soft hair. “I guess it’s different when you’re with someone who makes everything feel like an adventure.”

“Exactly,” Lando replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “And I think I could handle a little adventure with a baby.” He shifted slightly, reaching out to tickle the baby’s tiny foot, eliciting a small, involuntary kick. “See? I’m a natural!”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “A natural? You’re just lucky he’s too young to complain about your dad jokes.”

“Hey, my dad jokes are legendary!” Lando protested, but there was no real bite to his words. His laughter mingled with yours, filling the room with an infectious joy that made your heart swell.

The lazy morning drifted on, the three of you wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. You eventually found your way back to each other, resting against Lando as he softly hummed a tune under his breath. It was a familiar song that had been playing in the background during countless evenings together, and it filled you with a sense of nostalgia.

“Do you remember the first time we tried babysitting?” you asked, your voice soft as you recalled the chaotic but hilarious day filled with spilled snacks and a wailing baby.

“How could I forget?” Lando replied, chuckling. “You practically had a meltdown when he wouldn’t stop crying, and I was trying to convince you that it was just a phase.”

“It was more than just a phase!” you countered playfully. “That baby had some serious lungs.”

“But you handled it like a champ,” he said, his tone turning earnest. “I knew right then that you were going to be an amazing mom someday.”

The words hung in the air, weighty and filled with meaning. You felt your cheeks flush, warmth spreading through you at his compliment. “You think so?”

“Definitely,” he affirmed, looking at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “You have this natural way with him. I can just picture it—us, in the future, juggling a couple of little ones, surrounded by laughter and chaos.”

You smiled, imagining the scene. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying, but more than anything, it filled you with a sense of hope. “That would be quite the adventure.”

“Exactly! Just imagine all the little personalities,” Lando said, his excitement palpable. “And the races! I can see it now—whoever can crawl the fastest to the toy chest wins!”

You giggled, shaking your head at the image of tiny feet scurrying across the floor, driven by the competitive spirit of their father. “They’ll probably inherit your need for speed.”

Lando pretended to be offended, clutching his heart dramatically. “How dare you! I think I’m quite well-rounded.”

“Sure,” you teased, leaning closer to him. “A little too well-rounded sometimes, if you catch my drift.”

Lando feigned indignation, his eyes widening comically. “You’re saying I’m lazy?”

You grinned, nudging him playfully. “Not lazy, just… well, strategically conserving energy.”

“Strategically conserving energy, huh?” he replied, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “I’ll accept that.”

Just then, the baby began to stir again, letting out a soft coo as he blinked his eyes open. Lando’s attention immediately shifted to him, his expression transforming into one of pure adoration. “Hey there, buddy!” he said softly, leaning in closer to the baby. “Did we wake you?”

The baby responded with a wide yawn, stretching his tiny limbs and squirming a little. You exchanged amused glances with Lando, both of you enchanted by the little one’s antics.

“Looks like he’s ready for some fun,” Lando said, scooting back against the headboard and inviting you to join him. You moved carefully, bringing the baby up to sit between you, cradled by your arms.

As you settled in, Lando began to make silly faces, exaggerating his expressions until the baby let out a delighted squeal. “See? He thinks I’m hilarious!” Lando beamed, puffing up his chest as if he had just performed a great feat.

“Maybe he just thinks you look funny,” you retorted playfully, but your heart melted at the sight of Lando completely engaged, his laughter ringing through the room.

You spent the next little while playing with the baby, taking turns making silly noises and watching as he responded with giggles and bright smiles. Each time he let out a laugh, Lando’s face lit up with pure joy, and you couldn’t help but feel the warmth spreading through your chest.

After a while, the baby grew sleepy again, his eyelids drooping as he nestled back against your chest. You gently rocked him, humming a soft lullaby that came to mind. Lando leaned against you, his fingers brushing against your arm as he watched the scene unfold.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper. “You’re going to be an incredible mom.”

You felt the warmth bloom in your cheeks, your heart racing at his words. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his gaze steady. “You have this amazing ability to make everything feel safe and loved. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a mom.”

“Lando…” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you struggled to keep the emotion at bay. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy,” he said, a hint of seriousness creeping into his tone. “When you love someone, it’s easy to give everything for them.” He paused, his gaze shifting to the baby, who was now peacefully asleep in your arms. “And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share that with.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice leaving you breathless. In that moment, wrapped up in a blanket with Lando and the baby, you felt a surge of hope for the future, an understanding that this—this little family you had formed—was just the beginning.

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling a rush of affection for him.

“Anytime,” he replied, leaning over to place a soft kiss on your cheek. “Now, let’s see if we can keep this little one asleep for a little longer. I could use a few more minutes of lazy morning bliss with you.”

You smiled, your heart full as you both settled in, cocooned in warmth and love. Time slipped away, and the world outside faded as you enjoyed the simplicity of the moment—the laughter, the joy, and the shared dreams for a future that felt brighter than ever.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a gentle glow over the room, you felt that today was a day to remember. A day that promised adventure, laughter, and the sweet joy of simply being together. With Lando by your side, and a tiny bundle of joy nestled between you, you couldn’t help but feel that the best was yet to come.

The morning stretched on like the most beautiful dream, and for now, everything felt perfect.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags;@spookbusters-jr

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britcision · 2 days ago

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I do also agree with OP, although I am gonna throw in a little reframing

TTRPGs and RPGs in general are games; they work based on chance and mechanics which tend not to change based on what would be narratively convenient, because the game doesn’t know what would be narratively convenient

(Notable exception: Abnimals, Travis McElroy’s game which explicitly includes a pool of My Time To Shine dice, which players can add to rolls they think are narratively important.

The dice still don’t care and will still dish you up all failures, but you do get to juice to improve your odds)

And what this means from a narrative perspective is that all the players and the GM need to be ready for big moments to go wrong. For the vital roll to fail, for the wrong character to get the last hit on a BBEG, for a dramatic and impassioned speech to fall flat

And that’s especially a challenge in a short campaign or series of oneshots, where you can’t necessarily just extend and expand the story until the Grand Finale is actually just a Big Character Moment

But it is still a big character moment

As the McElroy’s say… a failure is more interesting than a success

A failure adds free depth, free angst if you’re lucky!

Because… is anyone actually upset and unsatisfied if the story goes too well? If you succeed in a place where a failure might have been more exciting and dramatic?

The key is the kind of story the players (especially western players) are expecting to tell, and will find satisfying… because again, these are games

We go into them expecting or at least intending to win

This means various things for different games, you don’t play Call of Cthulhu for a happy feel good ending where everyone rolls off into the sunset, but you still want to win

It’s a lot more likely for people to feel it was a narratively satisfying story once they’ve gotten the end they wanted, even if some areas fell flat

And trust me, it’s something my players very much also struggle with; it feels bad when we fail something we wanted to succeed on. It feels worse if we built it up to be a big narrative moment… and it doesn’t work

But that is still a big narrative moment

If you’re going to play a game, where chance and mechanics decide the fate of all your dramatic moments, you need to be prepared to tell at least two stories:

- One where it all goes well

- One where it fails

(Maybe one more for a natural 20 equivalent and the stars quake at your passing)

It is hard to lean into failure, but when we do it… what would have been an unsatisfying ending is now just another twist. Free depth and character development, something to wallow in

And we know that those types of stories, even ones where everything goes wrong and the heroes lose, can be so very satisfying

Just look at the prevalence of whump and hurt-no-comfort on AO3

It’s normal and expected to feel bad and dissatisfied when the story doesn’t go the way you wanted it to, but it is your choice to leave that story as something unsatisfying and feeling bad about it

Every unexpected failure is another microwave to toss your blorbo in

Every moment that falls even a little flat is an opportunity for a genre-savvy quip, for a “well that just happened”, for someone to fall to their knees and scream and re-amp the tension

The key is in the player’s flexibility, not the game’s

Even if you are doing a short campaign… you can imply the rest. Let the story not be over, even if your time playing it is.

Let the beaten heroes be ground underfoot, crawl away from the dungeon, have to work and suffer but grit their teeth and know… so long as they’re alive, they can try again

They can have their revenge

(And then you can run the campaign again later, maybe with the same characters a level or two higher than you started last time, and thrive on the new dark and bitter story)

Or let your past characters be an inspiration, either for friends and loved ones who come to avenge them, or to the new heroes who heard their story and heard they failed, but that’s no reason not to try

Prev is also so right about a lot of modern dnd basically expecting the DM to tell a mildly interactive story live to passive players; it’s definitely one a lot of my players came in with, and it’s part of the problem

To tell a narratively satisfying story, you cannot just passively go along and expect the dice rolls to conform to your narrative

You need to actively engage, embrace the rolls as crossroads in the path of destiny, and be prepared to build the narrative no matter which path you take

You don’t go in expecting the right results at the right time to make a satisfying story; you go in knowing where the key moments will be, and what will happen if you succeed or fail

I have told my players several times, and I’ll tell y’all until I die:

I as the DM am not telling the story

I the DM have made the world, the NPCs, the background and setting of events

You the players are telling the stories of your characters, in that setting

There is an overarching plot that the party as a whole will also be telling the story of together… but not only are the players the ones who pick the theme music, you’re the ones who chose the main characters

There’s a reason a prefab campaign will be different for every group that plays it, even with the same GM

Even if you have no idea what’s coming next in the main storyline, you need to know what is coming next for your character

How you want them to grow, what you want them to learn - and then any unfortunate rolls aren’t a let down or a problem, it’s an opportunity.

Sakura has to learn something important about herself and others before she can ever collect a card - which means something usually goes wrong

She tries and fails, and then looks at that failure and learns from it and grows as a person, and that’s what makes the narrative satisfying

Sticking your feet in and sulking if the game mechanics don’t follow the narrative you want will make an unsatisfying story no matter what game you play

Gleefully and enthusiastically stuffing your blorbo into the blender of fate, hitting Purée, and turning every stumble off the narrative path into its own adventure will give you a much deeper, more compelling, more complete story than you might have expected…

But that’s the fun part

The truest mechanism of an RPG or TTRPG has nothing to do what is written into the rules of the game

It’s your own skill at improv, and if you’ve ever been even remotely stage shy, avoided drama class, or thought improv was hard, let me reassure you:

Improv comedy is not the only improv. You don’t have to be funny

And it’s a lot easier than you might think

So long as you know your character, actually really know them beyond the backstory you created… so long as you take the time to think “well what do they do when things go wrong? What would they give to get what they want? What would it take to force them to do the things they’d never do?”

You can bullshit through basically any situation

Because there’s no rule against playing ahead in your mind

Daydream your character into any situation you think might come up, write the fanfiction version of the perfect narrative in your head, and then do the tragic version. Do the slapstick version. The gritty noire version

Because the greatest secret of improv and playing your own character is that you will never be wrong

Only you define success or failure

So long as you know and understand your characters and can be flexible with the mechanics and the story, you can always build a satisfying narrative

This is a lot more work than just being reactive and expecting the GM to tell a story for you, and just rolling dice and “hit big monster” when prompted

That’s what makes the story actually satisfying though; taking ownership of it yourself

The game belongs to the designers

The story belongs to the players, GM and PC alike

There's this idea floating around the general TTRPG space that's kind of hard to put one's finger on which I think is best articulated as "the purpose of an RPG is to produce a conventionally shaped satisfying narrative," and in this context I mean RPG as not just the game as it exists in the book but the act of play itself.

And this isn't exactly a new thing: since time immemorial people have tried to force TTRPGs to produce traditional narratives for them, often to be disappointed. I also feel this was behind a lot of the discussion that emerged from the Forge and that informed the first "narrativist" RPGs (I'm only using the word here as a shorthand: I don't think the GNS taxonomy is very useful as more than a shibboleth): that at least for some TTRPGs the creation of a story was the primary goal (heck, some of them even called themselves Storytelling games), but since those games when played as written actually ended up resisting narrative convention they were on some level dysfunctional for that purpose.

There's some truth to this but also a lot of nuance: when you get down to the roots of the hobby, the purpose of a game of D&D wasn't the production of a narrative. It was to imagine a guy and put that guy in situations, as primarily a game that challenged the player. The production of a narrative was secondary and entirely emergent.

But in the eighties you basically get the first generation of players without the background from wargames, whose impressions of RPGs aren't colored by the assumption that "it's kind of like a wargame but you only control one guy." And you start getting lots of RPGs, some of which specifically try to model specific types of stories. But because the medium is still new the tools used to achieve those stories are sometimes inelegant (even though people see the potential for telling lots of stories using the medium, they are still largely letting their designs be informed by the "wargame where you only control one guy" types of game) and players and designers alike start to realize that these systems need a bit of help to nudge the games in the direction of a satisfying narrative. Games start having lots of advice not only from the point of view of the administrative point of view of refereeing a game, but also from the point of view of treating the GM as a storyteller whose purpose is to sometimes give the rules a bit of a nudge to make the story go a certain way. What you ultimately get is Vampire: the Masquerade, which while a paradigm shift for its time is still ultimately a D&D ass game that wants to be used for the sake of telling a conventional narrative, so you get a lot of explicit advice to ignore the systems when they don't produce a satisfying story.

Anyway, the point is that in some games the production of a satisfying narrative isn't a primary design goal even when the game itself tries to portray itself as such.

But what you also get is this idea that since the production of a satisfying narrative is seen as the goal of these games (even though it isn't necessarily so), if a game (as in the act of play) doesn't produce a satisfying narrative, then the game itself must be somehow dysfunctional.

A lot of people are willing to blame this on players: the GM isn't doing enough work, a good GM can tell a good story with any system, your players aren't engaging with the game properly, your players are bad if they don't see the point in telling a greater story. When the real culprit might actually be the game system itself, or rather a misalignment between the group's desired fiction and the type of fiction that the game produces. And when players end up misidentifying what is actually an issue their group has with the system as a player issue, you end up with unhappy players fighting against the type of narrative the game itself wants to tell.

I don't think an RPG is dysfunctional even if it doesn't produce a conventionally shaped, satisfying narrative, because while I do think the act of play inevitably ends up creating an emergent narrative, that emergent narrative conforming to conventions of storytelling isn't always the primary goal of play. Conversely, a game whose systems have been built to facilitate the production of a narrative that conforms to conventions of storytelling or emulates some genre well is also hella good. But regardless, there's a lot to be said for playing games the way the games themselves present themselves as.

Your traditional challenge-based dungeon game might not produce a conventionally satisfying narrative and that's okay and it's not your or any of your players' fault. The production of a conventionally satisfying narrative as an emergent function of play was never a design goal when that challenge-based dungeon game was being made.

#gaming #ttrpgs #roleplaying games #the important word there really is the roleplay #you gotta Play the Role - and rolls #that means getting into the nitty gritty and pulling it all apart and smashing the barbies together #rpgs are an active task #passive play makes a passive story #own. your. shit.#it’s so much more fun #also please do actively conspire against your gm with your fellow players #it is good for their enrichment #and means they’re not the only ones doing any work between sessions #gms wanna have fun too that means making sure it’s not a chore #show your interest and enthusiasm and the narrative will write itself

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rafecameronssl4t · 20 hours ago

Note

the jarah pregnancy made me so happy, so i was thinking about thornton!reader finding out an unexpected pregnancy

Sweet Nineteen || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

A/n: I was thinking the same thing 🤯

Warnings: vomiting, mention of drugs, r is pregnant at 19

Word count: 1,960

MASTERLIST (rafe x Thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The bile rises, thick and sour, up your throat, and you throw off the sheets in a panic, bolting to the bathroom. You barely reach the toilet before you’re heaving, clutching the rim as the wave of nausea overwhelms you. It takes a moment before you feel Rafe’s presence at your side.

Gently, he gathers your hair, holding it in a makeshift ponytail as he kneels down beside you. His hand is warm and steady on your back, rubbing small, comforting circles. “Fuck,” you mutter in a weak voice, feeling the bile burn again as you throw up once more. Rafe doesn’t flinch, just keeps rubbing your back, his touch grounding you.

“You okay?” he asks softly as you finally catch your breath, reaching out to flush the toilet. He sounds genuinely concerned. “I thought you don’t get boat sickness.” “Yeah, I don’t,” you mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before reaching for your toothbrush.

The cool water on your teeth and gums is a relief, and you close your eyes briefly, trying to shake off the dizziness. “Probably something bad I ate yesterday,” you add, glancing up in the mirror to meet his gaze. He’s watching you, his brow furrowed as he nods slowly, a hint of worry still lingering in his expression.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna be nineteen in like…” Sarah pauses, glancing down as she counts on her fingers, her grin widening. “Ten hours,” she chuckles, nudging you playfully. You smile, popping a grape into your mouth. “I know, crazy, right?” you say, shaking your head. It feels surreal, like the year passed in a flash.

Before you can say anything else, you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. Turning, you spot Rafe and Topper strolling onto the sun deck, looking relaxed, almost too relaxed. But then the sharp scent of weed hits you, making you wrinkle your nose. You sit up from the sun bed, eyeing Topper with a grimace as you spot the joint hanging from his mouth.

“Are you smoking weed right now?” you ask, unable to hide the irritation in your voice. Topper raises an eyebrow, the joint dangling as he gives you a smirk. “Yeah?” he replies nonchalantly, taking a slow, lazy drag, as if daring you to say more. Rolling your eyes, you wave a hand in front of your face, trying to clear the air. “Well, go smoke it somewhere else,” you mutter. “The smell’s making me sick.”

Topper holds your gaze, his expression shifting to mild confusion mixed with amusement. “What? Never bothered you before, sis,” he says, exhaling another plume of smoke, clearly finding this reaction from you entertaining. “Seriously, get the fuck out of here,” you groan, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth as a wave of nausea rolls over you. “I feel like I’m gonna vomit.”

Topper’s smirk falters as he studies you, genuinely taken aback by your reaction. He glances at Rafe, clearly puzzled, as if to confirm whether this is real or just a joke. Rafe watches you, his eyes narrowing slightly, before he turns to Topper. “Just listen to her,” Rafe mutters, giving Topper a nod of silent insistence. With a sigh, Topper raises his hands in surrender, then stubs out the joint against the railing.

“Fine, fine. You didn’t have to ruin the fun,” he says, tossing the remnants aside. With one last look—half-amused, half-apologetic—Topper ambles off, leaving you Rafe and Sarah in a moment of silence. You exhale slowly, the nausea finally beginning to subside as the smell dissipates, while Rafe lingers, his gaze still fixed on you, as if silently checking to make sure you’re alright.

Did you take any medicine?” Rafe’s voice breaks the comfortable silence between you and Sarah as he strolls over, his expression softened with concern. He sits down beside you on the sunbed, his hand instinctively reaching for your thigh, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.“Yeah,” you reply, offering him a small smile. Sarah perks up at the exchange, her brows knitting together in curiosity.

“For what? Are you sick?” she asks, tilting her head with genuine worry. You shake your head, hoping to ease her concern. “I threw up this morning. I think I just ate something bad,” you explain, shrugging as if it’s no big deal. Sarah’s expression shifts to one of cautious relief as she slowly nods, her eyes lingering on you for a moment.

You glance at your watch: five minutes until midnight. The bathroom is quiet and dimly lit, but inside, your mind races as you stare down at the test, barely able to breathe. With trembling fingers, you turn it over, bracing yourself—and your heart stops. Two clear lines. Positive. Pregnant.

The air feels thick, each breath you take heavy with the weight of this sudden, life-changing truth. Pregnant at nineteen. You feel a tear slip down your cheek as the reality of it hits: the uncertainty, the responsibility, and the tiny spark of awe that stirs in your chest at the thought of the life growing within you. Who would’ve thought?

Just as you’re caught in the storm of emotions, you hear Rafe’s voice calling out to you from down the hall, his tone carefree and excited. “Babe, where are you?” Your heart skips, and with a surge of panic, you quickly hide the test in the drawer, wiping away the tears from your face. You glance in the mirror, dabbing beneath your eyes to make sure there’s no trace of the overwhelming emotion that just ran through you.

“Here!” you call out, doing your best to sound cheerful as you step out of the bathroom, forcing a smile onto your face. You walk toward Rafe, wrapping your arms around his neck as he gives you that familiar, comforting smile, his hands settling on your waist. “There you are,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He glances down at his watch, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

“C’mon, three minutes until midnight,” he says, a spark in his voice as he takes your hand and starts leading you down the hallway. As he pulls you along toward the top deck, you can’t help but glance back at the bathroom door, where the test lies tucked away, as if leaving behind the secret that’s only just beginning to dawn on you.

The cool night air brushes over you as you step onto the deck, where Sarah and Topper are waiting, chatting and laughing under the glow of fairy lights strung around the railings. The ocean spreads out beneath you, dark and endless, stars reflecting off the gentle waves. You try to take it all in, hoping the beauty of the scene will settle the nerves still buzzing under your skin.

“What’s the time now—” you begin, but before you can finish, the sky bursts into a riot of color as the first firework explodes overhead. You gasp, your hand flying to your mouth in surprise as another spark ignites, followed by another, each one brighter than the last, painting the sky in shades of red, blue, and gold.

Your eyes widen as the fireworks continue to light up the night, each one booming and shimmering against the dark sky. The sight is breathtaking, yet you feel tears pricking your eyes again, overwhelmed by the moment, by the beauty of it all, and by the tiny life that only you know about.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Rafe whispers close to your ear, his arms slipping around you from behind as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His warmth seeps into you, grounding you as you lean back against him, watching the fireworks burst above you. You turn in his arms, unable to stop the tears that slip down your cheeks, your emotions too strong to hide. Rafe’s face softens, his thumb brushing against your cheek to catch a tear.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low and filled with concern as his hands gently cradle your face. You hold him close, gathering the courage to tell him what you’ve only just discovered. Voice barely above a whisper, you lean in close, “I’m pregnant.” The fireworks continue to crackle overhead, and your words are nearly lost in the noise. Rafe pulls back, searching your face with a confused look. “What?”

A nervous laugh escapes you, and this time, you say it louder, “I’m pregnant, Rafe!” His face shifts, eyes widening as the realisation dawns on him. “You’re pregnant?” he repeats, his voice filled with awe, and you nod, unable to hold back the smile spreading across your face. “Oh my god,” he breathes, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he pulls you into a deep, joyful kiss, his hands cradling your face like he’s afraid to let go.

When he pulls back, he’s grinning, looking at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “We’re going to have a baby,” he says softly, almost as if he’s speaking to himself, still in shock but brimming with happiness. “What’s going on?” Sarah’s voice cuts through, and you both turn to see her and Topper walking over, eyes filled with curiosity.

You beam at them, feeling a rush of excitement at sharing the news. “I’m pregnant!” you announce, your voice trembling with joy. Sarah’s jaw drops, her hand covering her mouth as she lets out a squeal of excitement, immediately pulling you into a tight hug. “Oh my god, y/n, are you serious?! This is amazing!” she cries, nearly bouncing with joy as she squeezes you.

Topper’s eyes go wide, his gaze shifting between you and Rafe with a grin spreading across his face. “Holy shit, dude! You’re gonna be a dad!” He claps Rafe on the back with enthusiasm, pulling him into a quick, celebratory hug as they both break into laughter. Rafe chuckles, patting Topper’s shoulder, a lightness in his expression that you rarely see.

“And you’re gonna be an uncle,” he replies, unable to hide the pride and excitement in his voice. Topper’s grin softens a little as he turns to you, arms wide open. “Congrats, sis,” he says warmly, pulling you into a tight hug. His embrace is solid and reassuring, swaying you back and forth as you both share a laugh. “Mom’s gonna be over the moon,” he says, chuckling as he releases you.

You smile, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in your eyes. “You really think so?” A part of you can’t help but worry about how your parents will react to the news, especially given that you’re only nineteen. Their expectations have always been high, and this wasn’t exactly in their plans for you.

“Oh, trust me, I know so.” Topper’s eyes twinkle with a mix of reassurance and amusement. “She might put on a big act and pretend to be shocked, but deep down, she’s been waiting for this. She’s dreamed of being a grandma for years.” He gives your arm a gentle squeeze, his playful grin easing your nerves a little.

As you pull away from Topper, Rafe’s arm wraps around your waist, drawing you close to his side. He looks down at you, his expression softening, and leans in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “I can’t believe we’re going to be parents,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of wonder, as if he’s still trying to wrap his mind around it.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you as you snuggle into him, resting your head against his chest. “Me neither,” you reply softly, your voice filled with quiet happiness. “But I’m glad it’s with you.” Rafe’s arm tightens around you, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your back as the reality of it all settles between you.

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menagerofmischief · 1 day ago

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Nugget Update (MV1)

sumary: y/n's always giddy after getting a nugget update, sure she loves her best boy, but it also has something to do with the cat sitter sending the updates

driver!reader x cat sitter!max verstappen -> habs incoming... series masterlist

cw: not fia approved words, a bit of lance hate (I don't actually hate him), mutual pinning, the grid teasing the reader, lot of appearances from the reader's cat, kissing, kinda mean!reader (to the grid)

wc: 4.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so bear with me. also, I low key hate this and it may be shit. not proof read!

“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” A voice called out, disturbing the peace - or the closest thing to peace you could have near a Formula 1 track.

Your gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing as you took in the man standing on the entry of the RedBull garage. “Hello, Charles,” you replied, a teasing bite obviously heard in your voice as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I know you wanted to experience what a successful garage looks like but I thought Ferrari had a better hold on you.”

Charles laughs, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretch into a smile. Teasing Charles was always a fun time but that’s all it was, just a bit of fun. It never stretched into something meaner, just two people showing affection by teasing each other.

Charles had been your very first real friend on the grid. The first to offer his hand with a smile and genuinely mean it. The first to congratulate you on a win after getting out of the car or the first to say that the next race would be better. Really, he was your best friend, but you would never tell him that or it would go to his head.

“Funny, very funny.” He said, his accent thick. His eyes slid around the motor home until finally meeting your own. “Lot of drivers are going out for drinks, came by to invite you.”

“I don’t Charles,” you started to say, going through your mental list of excuses, searching for the best one to use to avoid this social interaction.

“Oh come on!” He whined, rolling his eyes. He gave you a look that let you know you could stop thinking about an excuse because he wasn’t going to be buying it. “We won’t stay that long and it’s night race tomorrow so you don’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn.”

You pressed your lips together, the lip gloss previously applied making them slide against each other easily.

Charles kissed his teeth, nodding his head along. Fine, he’ll play the game. “Some of the WAG’s are coming as well.”

“Are you really trying to lure me out by promising female company?”

“Is it working?”

“Eh,” you shrugged your shoulders. “Will you pay my tab?”

Charles scoffed. “Pay your tab?” He asked, sounding as if you had asked him for his firstborn. “You’re filthy rich! You have a bigger salary than me!”

“Yeah, they do pay world champions a bit extra, comes with the title.” You replied, grinning at him, a wide teasing grin, your eyes twinkling.

“Fine whatever, I’ll pay your tab.” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “Now go take that suit off and shower, you look disgusting.”

“You look like a trash can threw you up!”

“It threw me up because it saw you!” Charles shouted back in response, his back already turned to you as he walked away, back to the Ferrari garage.

And that’s how you ended up in the bar, an hour later. Squished in the not too comfortable and definitely not meant to sit so many people, booth. With George’s girlfriend Carmen on your left, and Pierre’s girlfriend Kika on your right, and deep in conversation with both of them.

You feel your phone vibrate under your hand on the table, and the screen lights up, showing off your wallpaper, a picture of your beloved cat Nugget.

You tune off from the conversation the moment the message arrives, grabbing your phone and pulling it in towards you. Your face lights up, lips stretching into a smile as your eyes focus on the sender ID. Maxie.

Or rather Max. The very cute guy who was your cat sitter whenever you were out and about in the world, chasing the racing track.

With a quick move of your fingers, you swipe up, opening your phone and going into the message app. Fingers quickly tapping along the screen of your phone as you type out your reply.

With a smile you closed the messages app, pressing your fingers against the button on the side of your phone, watching the screen go black before setting it face down onto the table. As you looked back up, Lando’s amused yet teasing expression caught your eye.

You leaned forward against the table, pressing your hands to the wooden surface as you attempted to get a bit closer to the driver on the other side of the table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh nothing,” he said with a laugh. “Just wondering who you’re texting, that’s all.” He intertwined his fingers, elbows pressed against the table and leaned forward as well. “You were all grumpy cat but then you get a message and suddenly you’re all smiles.”

“Grumpy cat?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at the McLaren driver. “I’m not a grumpy cat. And for the record, that was Nugget’s babysitter and he was sending me a picture of Nugget.”

Lando laughs, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he wants to say more but he holds himself back. “Can I see? I haven’t seen the orange gremlin in so long.”

“That’s very mean,” you say, opening your phone to show him the picture, that Max had sent you. “Nugget would never say that about you.”

“That’s because Nugget can’t speak.” He looks at the screen and his lips twist upward in a smirk. “Who’s Maxie?”

You breathe out through your nose, teeth digging into your bottom lip. When you speak your voice is sharp, it leaves no room for questioning things or an invite to ask more questions. “The cat sitter.”

“I’m sure that’s all he is.” Lando laughs when you show him your middle finger before settling back into your seat and returning to the previously abandoned conversation with the two WAG’s.

The race went pretty smoothly, as always. Starting from pole, keeping the lead the whole race and with a 20s gap to car in P2. Everything after that was pretty much a blur, the interviews, partying through the night with the grid and boarding the jet early in the morning.

The sun already started setting by the time you made it to Monaco. With a sigh you rummaged through your bag, blindly feeling around the stuff inside before your fingers finally wrapped around the keys.

Opening the apartment door you walked inside, gently laying down your suitcase as your eyes settled on the scene in your living room. Right there, laying on your couch, in deep sleep, and cuddling your cat is Max Verstappen.

His hair had fallen over his eyes and the position he’s in looks rather uncomfortable, you’re sure his body will be aching when he wakes up. His chest was raising and falling with each breath he took, little sighs slipping past his lips. Nugget was cuddled up to him, curled in a ball.

You looked at him for a few moments before starting to move around as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him up.

Max had been cat sitting for you for a while now. Half of last season and now half of this one so almost a year. He was a sweet, kinda shy, mostly nerdy guy you ran into in a coffee shop and spilled his coffee. You offered to buy him a new one and he joined you for the coffee and you got to talking when he said he was looking for a job so you offered him to become your pet sitter.

At that point you really did need someone to look after your cat while you were gone, since you had broken up with your ex who usually took care of Nugget while you were away. And you couldn’t leave Nugget with your parents since your father was allergic to cats.

Now, your best friend who had been working in a different country had returned to Monaco and said she’d be more than happy to look after Nugget - but you wanted to keep Max around.

Already having grown used to coming home after a race weekend to find him there, just existing in your space.

Nugget’s whiskers twitch, his eyes opening and he pulls himself away from Max, stretches out and then trots over to you, rubbing his head against your leg affectionately while purring. He let out a happy, albeit a bit too loud, meow when you picked him up and on the other side of the room Max began stirring from his sleep.

He opened his eyes, a bit confused, and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes to wake up, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light filling up the room.

“You’re back,” he says, his voice is gentle, still sleepy and a bit quiet. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a sweet smile that has you immediately smiling back at him. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, it’s no problem,” you reply, running your hand over Nugget’s fur as the cat lay happily in your arms. “You can use the guest bedroom if you’re tired, you know. The couch may be expensive but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable for sleep.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” Max said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. You approached the couch and sat down, the cat nestling in your lap and purring in content. Max smiled, reaching out his hand and petting Nugget.

“Nonsense Max, you’re not overstepping.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument. You always told him to feel at ease in your apartment, that he was welcome to any food in the fridge and free to use the guest room as he pleased but even after all this time there was still a slight air of awkwardness backed up by the fear of going a bit too far.

Max’s eyes settled on you, your own focused on your cat so you didn’t notice him looking. He watched the way you cooed at Nugget, asking if he was a good boy while you were away and petting him gently, and his lips stretched into a small, careful smile.

He spoke before thinking. The words left his mouth before he even finished the thought inside of his head. “I watched the race,” he said, and your eyes instantly snapped up to meet his. He swallowed, already too deep to back down. “It - “ he licked his lips, trying to decide his next words, feeling like his tongue had tied itself up in a knot. “You were spectacular. It was lovely … simply lovely.”

You let out a breath, the corners of your mouth twisting upwards and you gave him a thankful look. Max swore he could feel his heart beating in his throat, and felt his cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” you said, your voice gentle, holding a comforting tone. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And it’s nice - knowing you watched.”

“It is?”

You bit your lip, teeth scraping against you bottom lip as you looked at him, your brain running faster than the Sauber (like it’s hard) as you tried to come up with a response. “It’s kind of comforting,” you finally said, after what felt like a small forever.

You hummed, looking down at your nails. “I was thinking about bringing Nugget with me to the next race. It’s been a while since he was in the paddock.”

“Oh,” Max said, an edge of confusion noticeable in the tone of his voice. “Does that mean that you don’t need me coming over next week?”

“Actually, I was hoping you would come with.” You say, before you can talk yourself out of making the proposition.

Max tilts his head to the side, kind of like a confused cat and you try your best not to giggle at the mental image. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you wanted to attend the Grand Prix,” you tell him, running the edge of one of your nails along your skin. “Cuz’ I’m still gonna need someone to look after Nugget, and you do that in general so this would just be an added bonus of traveling.”

Max is silent for a few moments and you think he’ll decline. You wouldn't fully blame him if he did, you know what the pressure of the paddock can be like. You’re about to open your mouth, tell him that ‘never mind, it was a stupid idea anyway’ and put him out of the trouble of finding a polite way to decline when he finally speaks.

“I suppose, if you want me to then yeah, I’ll come along to watch Nugget.” He says, trying to ignore the nervous feeling building up in his chest when you smile at him, a wide happy smile that makes him instantly smile back.

“Great!” You said, the excitement evident in your voice. “Someone from the team will contact you in a while to arrange the tickets and leave the rest to me.” Max nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his throat is closing up and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

“Look at you all giggly,” Charles teased, gently pushing your shoulder with his hand. He wiggled his eyebrows, a laugh slipping past his lips as you glared at him.

“Charles, why don’t you turn around and flash your pretty face to the crowd.” You said, rolling your eyes. You looked at the stadium full of people who were shouting out for their favorite drivers, waving banners and cheering happily. You smiled towards the stadium and lifted your hand up, waving your fingers to the public. “Give them a wave.”

“See, I always knew you thought I was pretty,” Charles replied, waving at the public. The two of you and the rest of the grid were in a wagon, going around the track for the drivers parade, so essentially you were stuck with him for at least five more minutes. “Now, do tell who’s got you smiling like that.”

“Is it Maxie?” Lando asked, the teasing tone evident in his voice. He pushed himself closer to you and Charles, inserting himself into the conversation.

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?”

“No, no!” Charles said, shaking his head as he waved his hand dismissively as you, his full attention now focused on Lando. “Who’s Maxie?”

Lando smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “The cat sitter,” he said in a sing-song kind of voice.

“The one you brought to your garage?” The Ferrari driver asked, his attention back on you. “The pretty one.”

“Hold up!” Lando almost shouted, raising his hands. “You brought him with you to the Grand Prix?!”

“I didn’t … well I did bring him.” You said with a sigh, there was no escaping this now. “But it’s not like that. He’s here to watch Nugget.”

“And for you to watch him - because boy that is one good arm candy.”

“Charles, your homosexual is showing,” you warned.

“But you’re not denying it,” Charles noted, giving you a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him but finally gave in. “Yes, I’m not denying it.”

You stepped back into the motor home, your eyes immediately searching for Max and finally you found him talking to your lead engineer. As you approached the two you could start to hear their conversation and quickly realized they were talking about how the car worked and what went on behind the scenes at a Grand Prix. You found it cute that Max was interested in that.

His eyes met yours and his face lit up, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards into a smile. “You’re back!” He said, “After terrorizing everyone around and getting pets, Nugget decided to settle down for a nap. He’s in your driver's room.”

Max gave you a wink after saying that and you had to hold in a giggle. You excused yourself to go to your driver’s room, with Max following behind you. The first thing you noticed when you went inside was Nugget, curled up on the massage bed and sleeping without a care.

The next thing that grabbed your attention was a dozen pastries lined up on a small table next to the couch. They were all individually wrapped in tissues.

“Max,” you said, picking up one of the pastries and unwrapping it. “I really did mean only one pastry, you know?” You bit into the chocolate filled pastry, moaning at the taste of a treat you weren’t usually allowed to have when it was race week. “My trainer will strangle me if he sees.”

“I swear, no one saw anything.” Max said, shuffling over to the couch and sitting down. “I was sneakier than Nugget when he’s stealing my food.”

“Oh, now that’s a very serious claim.” You told him with a laugh, his own laugh echoing back. You picked up one of the wrapped pastries and offered it to him. “Take one, or five. There’s no way I’m eating it all.”

He takes the pastry you’re offering him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from your hand, sending sparks of electricity down your spine. After a second of hesitation you sit down next to him, the two of you eating the treats in comfortable silence.

His thigh nudges against yours and you turn to face him, finding that he’s already looking at you. He smiles and you don’t hesitate to smile back.

The practices go great, P2 in FP1, P1 in FP2 and P1 in FP3.

The qualifying is where a slight setback shows up, with quali being ended early due to a crash and a red flag, putting you in P10 for the start of the race tomorrow.

Once the car had rolled back into the pits you wasted no time getting out, putting the steering wheel back into place before storming into your driver’s room.

You pulled your helmet off, fingers curling into the bottom of your balaclava as you pulled it off, throwing it next to your helmet before bringing your hands up to smooth down your hair.

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Pepe.” You said without turning around, assuming it was your race engineer coming to talk about the outcome of qualifying. “Fucking Lance and his fucking money made seat - if that little frog screws up another quali, I’ll be the one crashing him out.”

“I’m not Pepe,” the other person in the room says and you instantly turn around, your eyes wide as they meet Max’s blue ones. “And I’m certainly glad I’m not Lance.”

You looked him up and down, eyes trailing over his figure. You took notice of Nugged, cuddled up in his arms and looked at you curiously, and reached your hand out to pet the cat, a long breath slipping past your lips.

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “I didn’t really mean for you to hear that.”

Max barely heard what you were saying. Too distracted by the sight of you for his brain to properly register your words. Your skin was slightly glistening with sweat, an imprint from where your helmet and balaclava had dug into your skin still visible on your flushed cheeks. Your messy hair, and your chest raising and falling with each breath you took as you were still working on catching up your breath.

Max blinked, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing his attention back to what you were saying. “They should have let you finish the lap.”

“I agree but sadly that’s not how it works.”

Max nodded along, not really knowing what to say to that so he switched to the next topic. “I ran into your friend. He invited you, and me, out for drinks. I think it would be nice to go, you seem like you need a drink.”

“Yeah, I definitely do.” You replied, taking Nugget from his arms and into your own, stroking down the cat’s body. “Which friend?”

“Uh,” Max started, thinking of a way to describe the guy since he couldn’t remember his name. “Wears red, pretty, sounds French.”

You laughed, smiling at him. “That’s Charles. I hope you didn’t tell him he sounds French, he gets offended by that.”

“Then it’s great I kept it to myself.”

You laughed in reply, putting Nugget down to the floor, the cat immediately moving to a cozy corner and curling up into a ball on the floor, shutting his eyes. “The hotel is right next to the track, you can take Nugget back while I shower and then we can go - if you want to.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Max replied with a smile.

You showered and put on a clean set of clothes just in time to meet Max after he finished dropping Nugget back to the hotel, leaving him with toys, food and water. The two of you made your way to the bar to join the rest of the grid for a night out.

Some of the drivers were playing pool while their girlfriends were engrossed in a conversation so that left you and Max sitting together, sharing drinks and talking.

“I just …” you started, cracking your fingers. “I don’t know, this quali really messed up my mood and I was riding on such a high after the practices going well. It all feels shit now.”

“Maybe you just need more motivation for the race.” Max offered, drinking the rest of the liquor from his glass in one go.

“You have something in mind, Maxie?” You asked, the nickname slipping past your lips without a thought now that you’ve had a few drinks.

“How about a kiss if you get on the podium?” He said, his voice suggestive. Normally he never would have dared to say something like that but the alcohol courage really worked wonders.

Your eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to be so bold or to suggest that. He took your reaction as a bad sign, immediately straightening up as a wave of dread quickly sobered him up.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, the expression on his face shifting into a panicked one. “That was stupid. It was thoughtless. It was -”

“A great motivation,” you cut him off, putting a finger up against his lips to silence him. “It was a great motivation.”

His cheeks burned as his eyes met yours. He looked so vulnerable, his bright eyes impossibly wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“One more corner to go but you’re in the clear,” Pepe’s voice echoed over the radio. You blinked, your eyes focused on the track before you, the checkered flag already visible along with your team gathering in the front. “That’s P1, Y/n. Phenomenal drive today, you deserved it!”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice breathless as you moved your hands, going through the last corner and speeding towards the finish line. “Thank you, Pepe.” You repeated, swallowing your spit. “It was lovely, simply lovely.”

You put the car into P1, getting out and posing for a picture on top of your car. You could hear the shouts, the cheers, the celebration. You took off your helmet, ripping off your balaclava and putting them both into the car before turning around to face the team, eyes searching for a particular face.

Finally, you spotted Max. Standing besides your engineer, a proud expression on his face as he looked at you with a wide smile. You didn’t hesitate, feet moving before you could think and then you were in front of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss was desperate, both of having waited long enough for it. He wrapped his arms around you, the best he could with the fence between you, kissing you back with need.

You finally pulled away when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, learning your forehead against his. Nothing else mattered, not the public, not the team, not the celebration. Only him, finally yours.

“Simply lovely, right?” You asked, your voice breathless.

“Simply lovely!” Max repeated back to you, before kissing you once again. And he really did mean it - everything was simply lovely.

tag list: @formula1-motogpfan @misty-inferno @thelemonque3n @marvel-hotchner @strangemaximoff @folkloresreputation @pippyth3hippy @adharacambridge @theseerbetweenus @sebastianstansblog @tellybearryyyy @six-call @grussellsprout @oikarma @justcharlotte @annimausi

i hope i tagged everyone who said they wanted to be on the tag list. hope you enjoyed this one and keep an eye out for the poll about the next part of the series <3

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 days ago

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UNMATCHED

A/N: it's been like 6 months since i last posted something and honestly, i haven't even written anything, things are very shitty these days but i felt the motivation to write this quickly after watching 'tell me lies' and 'rivals' these past weeks so here we go! if student-prof type of fics are not your thing then don't read it

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNING: age gap, student-professor relationship

SUMMARY: Harry is very strict about staying away from students as a young and handsome professor, but there is one person he can't get out of his head and a Christmas party brings an unexpected turn.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry hates these type of parties, mostly because he can’t imagine inviting dozens of students into his home, his private space, have the roam around and spend an entire evening with them, talking and pretending like they aren’t just trying to get a better grade at the end of the semester with their too friendly behavior. Or, in his case, some girls try to push the boundaries and flirt with him, hoping to hook up with him.

He is not stupid. He has heard students whisper about him several times, he notices the heart eyes when he is talking in class and he has gotten several phone numbers on papers since he started his PHD studies and started teaching last year. His friends teased him about being the heartthrob of the faculty, but he didn’t think it would actually happen and to this extent. To avoid any possible scandals, not that he planned to make any, he has put on quite a rigid mask towards the students to scare them off from even trying, though that hasn’t stopped some of them from wanting to shoot their shot.

He wouldn’t have come to this party, he would rather be home and continue his research that’s still not even close to being done, but Professor Bradford, or Stella as she requests Harry to call her, is the only person he gets along with in the faculty. She is 18 years older than Harry, but still younger than the rest of the old men who have been teaching here since probably before the declaration of independence was signed. Those men are the reason younger people don’t like classic literature anymore, with their outdated ways of teaching and unwillingness to bring something modern into their lectures they are scaring the new generations away. But not Stella. She is one of the reasons Harry went into his PHD and now he gets to work with her. He couldn’t just reject her invitation for her annual Christmas Party she holds for her students and some colleagues.

Now he is standing by the wall, drinking mulled wine and just gritting his teeth, trying to calculate how early is too early to leave. A couple of girls have already tried to chat him up, they like to circle him, leave him almost no room to escape and then make him talk about school stuff, but then they slyly bring up personal things, hoping to break his usual character, but he sees through them always.

Harry’s best friend, Niall always teases him that he should just give in and have fun with one of them. His morals are a lot looser than Harry’s, that’s for sure.

Just as he is about to look for the bathroom, not to use it but to hide for a bit, another group of girls spots him and he can already feel his skin crawling as they approach him from down the hallway. He is quick to assess the situation, but he realizes he has no chance of fleeing before they reach him.

“Profesor! So good to see you here!”

And here we go.

It goes the same, they are extremely nice and inquiring about his plans for the next semester and then suddenly they are talking about summer and Harry knows they are moments away from asking what he’ll be doing once the school year is over. One of the girls is talking about going to Italy on a yacht and the others chime in with their own ridiculously over the top plans while Harry is avoiding to even look at them, his eyes roam around the other guests.

That’s when he sees her.

Just down the hall he can peek into the kitchen and there she is, with a boy Harry assumes to be her boyfriend. He’s seen them around campus the past few weeks, he even waited for her after Harry’s class and saw them walk away together as he fought the way his stomach churned every time.

Since the moment she walked into his class at the beginning of the semester Harry has been feeling like he is losing his mind. Whether it be the way she laughs with her friends before class or focuses with undivided attention as Harry explains something by the board, or says hello every time she passes him in the cafeteria, Harry can’t stop thinking about her for days after even though he knows such feelings should be banned from his mind when it comes to a student. Every time he catches himself thinking about her he wants to throw himself out the window, but he still can’t fight it. There’s something in her that draws him in and swallows him whole and it’s not just the looks. Unlike a lot of students who take his classes for easy credits or to drool after him, she is there to learn as much as she can and she’s had the most brilliant thoughts on certain subjects Harry has ever encountered, making him almost jealous he wasn’t the one to think about them.

She is… unmatched. And forbidden, but impossible to ignore. She’s been his vice for months.

From where he stands it appears she is having a fight with said boyfriend, her always cheerful expression is now rather upset and confused while the boy seems to be over the conversation, almost irritated by her, dismissed. Harry tries to appear not too obvious about watching them, but he is also way too fixated on her to ignore what’s happening just down the hallway.

He glances away just for a few seconds, but the next time he looks back he sees the boy stomping away, irritated, while she is left there, pulling on her coat before disappearing through the backdoor, swallowed by the darkness of the unlit back terrace.

And before Harry could stop himself, he is already moving.

“Excuse me girl,” he mumbles disorientedly as he slips out of the small circle.

He places his glass to a nearby table and then grabs his own coat from the wardrobe in the hallway before making his way outside. After her.

The moment he steps out into the cold a short sense of realization washes over him that he definitely shouldn’t be here, that he is crossing a line, but then another voice in his head tunes it out, convincing him that he is just making sure she is okay and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Stopping by the door his gaze rakes through the terrace, but he doesn’t see her, until she spots her slouched form sitting on the bottom of the stairs leading out to the lawn. He hears her sniffling, but she hasn’t acknowledged his presence yet, if she noticed it at all. There’s a couple of moments of hesitation on his end, he can hear the rational side of him screaming somewhere in the back of his mind, telling him to turn around and just walk back inside, yet he still finds himself moving towards him and then that voice is silenced.

“Everything alright?” Harry asks from the top of the stairs, but he startles her so much that she jumps to her feet and backs away a few feet. That’s when he sees her tearful eyes and red nose.

“S-Sorry, I don’t–”

“Hey, it’s all good. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just checking in.”

She squints her eyes at him and that’s when he realizes she must not even see his face since the light is coming right behind him. So he walks down the stairs and then finally his face is lit and realization settles in her eyes.

“Oh, Professor Styles. Hi.”

“Hello Y/N. Are you okay?” he asks again, to which she just chuckles bitterly.

He can’t miss that even with tears running down her cheeks and her eyelashes stuck together, she looks so fucking beautiful it baffles him. He has to fight the urge to reach out and touch her tear-soaked cheeks.

“Um, yeah, everything is… perfect,” she scoffs, reaching into her pockets, probably looking for tissues, but finding none so Harry grabs one from his inner pocket, handing it over to her, her fingers brushing against his for the shortest second as she takes it and then it’s over, but his skin keeps tingling.

“Thanks,” she mumbles before drying her face as much as she can. “I’m good. Just…” She looks at him and changes her mind. “Ah, wouldn’t want to bore you with my nonsense personal drama.”

“Drama is never boring, have you learned nothing in my class?” he jokes and it actually makes her laugh.

“This drama is not worthy of being taught in class though.”

“I bet some of the big names thought the same thing upon writing what we read in class these days.”

“So you’re saying I should write about how my boyfriend is fed up with me because I told him something he did hurt me?”

“That sounds like something I bet a lot of people would want to read about,” he smiles and when she mirrors it, he can feel his chest expanding. Somewhere way too deep in his mind an alarm goes off, but it quickly becomes one with the void and all he can think about is her. “Actually I can think of a few great pieces that are about similar topics.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, believe it or not, you’re not the first one to experience this.”

The way she looks at him is setting him on fire. The mixture of sadness, tiredness and gratitude towards his attempt to cheer her up is still making her glow in a way Harry has never seen before on any woman.

“Do you mind analyzing one for me right now?”

“I’d be happy to.”

The party is completely tuned out for the two of them. First they actually talk about a novel, but soon it turns into sharing their favorite books and authors, their guilty pleasure reads, recommendations for each other and even more personal bits Harry would never share with a student, but Y/N is the exception.

They have no idea how much time passes as they stand outside and Harry ignores how the cold starts to sting his fingertips even in his pockets, because he knows that if they go inside this bubble will pop and he is too selfish to let that happen just yet.

When there’s a short silence Harry notices that she is probably slipping back into what happened earlier and when she looks at him again he already knows she is about to share.

“I gave him a chance and explicitly told him not to fuck me over, because I can’t deal with that again. But all he has been doing is manipulating to believe that I’m always in the wrong.”

“It’s impossible for you to always be in the wrong.”

“I know. Well, part of me knows, but then I always go back to thinking that he is right, I must have messed up something.”

“That just proves that you have self-criticism, that you don’t just think everything you do is perfect.”

She sighs and looks away, her gaze distant as she battles herself inside her head, a feeling Harry knows very well, unfortunately. It doesn’t sit right with him that she is visibly struggling because of an immature guy’s untreated problems. She deserves so much more, but how can he tell that without crossing a line?

“Give it some time and you’ll see it clearer. Use your critical thinking on his actions as well, not just yours and don’t settle for less than your worth.”

“You think I did that?” she asks, eyes jumping back to meet his gaze. “You think I settled for less than my worth?”

There’s more behind her eyes than the words she said out loud and he is torn, because he can feel himself being pulled in more than ever, like she just opened the door the slightest and he has the chance to slip in. It’s the first time he senses something on her part and after all the yearning he is eager to take the chance.

“I think you deserve a lot more, Y/N. You’re brilliant, bright and give so much to others, you should get the same amount if not more back. If someone can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”

For a second he wishes he didn’t say a thing, he regrets crossing the line and he fears her reaction, but then…

Then he forgets everything. Because she is kissing him.

It happens fast, one moment she is staring up at him with doe eyes, the next her lips are crashing against his, her hands grabbing onto the lapels of his coat. He barely recovers from the shock when she is already pulling away.

“I-I’m so sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, I just—Oh my Go–”

Her stammering is quickly cut short when he kisses her, his hands holding her jaw to angle her face perfectly and while her kiss was closed, rushed and panicked, this one is different. He is quick to beg for her to open her lips so he can explore as much of her as humanly possible, he is letting all the passions loose that he’s been locking up these past months and when she returns it just as eagerly it just pushes him even further.

They inch back to the wall of the house and when he pins her against it a moan slips past her swollen lips, completely maddening him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes against her lips, kissing her jawline, savoring the sweet taste of her skin that’s supposed to be cold, but it’s actually burning. For him.

He keeps one hand on the side of her neck, the other one digs into her hip through her coat and she keeps pushing against him, while her hands wander under his coat, they are on his waist, back and when they move to his lower stomach, brushing against his belt, something snaps inside him.

But before he could completely lose his mind the backdoor opens and he quickly sobers up, pulling her farther away from the corner so they can’t be seen.

“...and that was actually crazy,” a girl speaks up, oblivious to how Harry has Y/N pinned against the wall just a few feet away. They are both breathing heavily, but she has her face buried in his shoulder while he covers his mouth with a hand, adrenaline racing through his veins.

“Ah shit, I’m out of cigarettes,” another girl says.

“Mm let’s get out of here then. I think Max said they are having a little party as well.”

“Okay.”

Then the door opens again and the voices disappear, but reality hits Harry hard in the head.

He slowly pulls back, enough to look at her face and when he sees her swollen lips and slightly smeared mascara he almost combusts.

Because he wants nothing more than to take her, right here and then everywhere else in the world, but he also realizes what he just did and this time his rational side wins.

“Fuck,” he gasps as he jumps back, cupping a hand over his mouth.

“I wanted it–”

“Y/N, stop!” he cuts her off. “Fuck, this was a mistake.”

“But I wanted it! You didn’t–”

“I said stop!” he barks and she shuts her mouth right away. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

And before she could protest again or worse, kiss him again, he is already storming back inside, across the house towards the front door.

“Harry! I haven’t seen you all night!” Stella catches him, but he just wants to get as far away from this house and from Y/N as possible.

“I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later,” is all he manages to say before he is already out the door.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee��if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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ellecdc · 3 days ago

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Hey gorg!!!

I saw the post about wanting pregnant reader/ dad marauders prompts and I literally ran here.

I’ve got two ideas, so whichever gives you the most inspiration/ whatever you like best 😂

1- pregnant!reader who just hits her limit for the day- overwhelmed and overstimulated with everything to the point she jsut wants to sit and cry- all because of something silly

Or!!

2- reader on their first day away from baby with the girls- leaving dad!marauders to it, coming back to a baby who’s very excited to be free from the chaos of the boys.

Lots of love!!

-🥟

eeeeeeeek I went with #2!!! thank you my love <3

dad!marauders x mum!reader who saves their daughter from the boys' tyranny [522 words]

CW: kid fic, fem!reader, you have a daughter but I avoided assigning her a name (let me know how ya'll prefer that: do you want me to name the kid? or do you want me to leave it ambiguous? I feel like it would probably read easier/more naturally with an assigned name, but I understand if you like making that up yourself)

“Oh thank gods you’re home.” Sirius pushed out all in one breath as he hastily stood from the couch with your daughter in hand.

You clicked the door shut behind you as you took your shoes off, furrowing your brows at a frazzled looking Sirius and an equally frazzled looking baby in his arms.

“You have to help us.” He begged quickly. “They’re driving us mad.”

“What?” You laughed carefully, though you had to admit that your child had a nearly identical pout on her lips as her papa, and you were quite sure babies her age didn’t have the ability to conspire.

Though, you were sure if any baby could conspire, it would be a baby Marauder.

“They haven’t stopped all day.” Sirius enunciated, whispering at you and looking over his shoulder as if some invisible threat was going to attack at any given moment. “Jamie got up this morning on a warpath; first we went on a family walk to feed the ducks some corn. Fine, I’ll let it slide. We no sooner got home, and Moony set up the sandbox in the yard. Great. But then, James insisted we go to the park! Which - okay, that was fun, because I got to run around as Padfoot. But then after a mere 20 minute nap, Remus had us out at the stream catching and releasing frogs!”

You awed in sympathy as you brushed some fine hair away from your baby girl’s forehead who was using her two pudgy hands to rub at her eyes.

“You tired, lovie?” You asked the child, but they both whined a yes in response.

“Okay.” You murmured as you accepted the sleepy child’s grabby hands, only for her to immediately rest her head on your shoulder and melt into your embrace.

“Pads? Where’d you guys run off to?” James called from the other room, and Sirius’ paled. “We’ve got the water table set up.”

“Oh gods,” Sirius whimpered, “they’re coming.”

“Sirius,” you started to chide, but he simply turned and started pushing you towards the hall that led to the bedrooms.

“Go, save yourselves. I’ll hold them off.” He whispered theatrically.

“Sirius!” You squealed, laughing as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head - taking a deep breath as if he was trying to memorise your scent like he may never get the chance to do it again - and pat at your hip.

“Make sure our baby girl grows up knowing the sacrifices her brave, brave papa made for her.” He offered solemnly, walking backwards as he held your gaze. “Go! Nap! Rest! Waste the day away in ways many of us only dream!”

You giggled at him as he disappeared around the corner, hearing Remus murmur “what the hell was all that about?” only to hear a grunt, a chuckle, and a theatric “I won’t let you tyrannise our sweet girls any longer!”

“What do you say, sweetheart? Time for a nap?” You murmured as you made your way towards your bedroom; a nap did sound appealing, now that you thought about it.

An answer never came, however; she was already fast asleep.

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loveanddeepdick · 3 days ago

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nerd!nanami halloween edition

batman & catwoman

nerd!nanami who helps you into your costume. it was supposed to be a surprise but there was so much tight latex you had no choice but to ask him for help. gojo had invited you to his annual halloween party in his penthouse and nanami reluctantly accepted the invitation.

“honey.. are you sure this thing is made for.. humans? it looks like a medieval torture method,” nanami grunts as he pulls the latex up your legs, “are you in any pain—shit! are you in any pain, dear?”

“no, no, kenny! just get it on my arms and we’re all done!”

“i might have to oil you up, dear..” he chuckles wholeheartedly before he pauses, realizing his innuendo.

“… okay ken,” you giggle, slapping his arm.

nerd!nanami who finally gets the whole costume on you after another hour while his batman costume only took a max of five minutes to pull on.

“i think i look silly, dear,” he runs his hands over his hair before putting on the black mask, his face dwarfing the spirit halloween accessory. he was just ginormous in all ways.

“you don’t look silly! i think you look very handsome,” you smile, rubbing a hand over his biceps under the black shirt. he refused to wear anything too silly, opting for a black batman shirt and black sweats along with the mask.

you two stood before your bathroom mirror as you giggle excitedly at the sight. you whipped out your phone, taking what seemed like a thousand photos of him before you two left for gojo’s halloween party.

nerd!nanami who tries his hardest to hide his boner at the party. he was a reasonable man, of course he let you go have fun and party with your friends. but that didn’t stop him from keeping a possessive eye on you.

he couldn’t believe it. his girlfriend. his catwoman. he used to pray for a day like this to come. he had to pinch himself to realize it wasn’t a dream and that you were indeed real, a goddess in his eyes.

nerd!nanami who doesn’t last for another thirty minutes seeing you in that costume, pulling you to a guest bedroom in gojo’s penthouse where you two usually stayed if you crashed there.

you gasped as he pressed you down against the bed.

“hold on, kenny i’ll just—“

you try to take off the panted pants yourself until your hear a loud stretch and a rubbery rip. you shriek, eyes widen as you look back and he’s got the spandex in two pieces, baring your thighs and pussy to him.

“please, honey.. i need you now,” nanami groaned, pushing his hand along your back to guide you back onto your stomach.

gojo’s sheets were always cotton, thank god. they’d be easy to wash after this.

nerd!nanami who has your head pushed into the pillows as he plows your pussy from the back, spanking your ass to watch them move like water.

“fffuck, baby.. you feel so good”

nanami groaned as he leaned forward, angling deeper inside you as his cock reached what seemed like you stomach.

“kennnn.. so big!”

“shh, shh i know, i know, baby, just take it,” he grunted as he felt you clench at his words, reaching down to rub your clit as he watched you drool onto the pillow.

“i-im gonna—ah! i’m gonna!”

“you’re gonna what, honey? use your words”

“i’m gonna cum, kennnn”

he was never the one to tease you or enjoy watching you like this, but something inside him snapped when he watched you stumble over your words, whining to try to find your sense of mind when you went dumb on his cock.

“cum for me, baby, c’mon, i know you”

“fffuck! ken!”

your pussy held his cock like a vice and shit, thank god he wasn’t batman cause he would never be saving the world since he has you waiting at home.

he shot thick, creamy ropes of cum deep into your pussy, warmth filling you up as you sighed contently. he pulled out, admiring you for a minute, watching as his cum spilled out. he was about to get up to clean you until he saw you subtly wiggle your hips, the sight of your plump ass, your ruined pussy, your legs only half covered in spandex, fuck it only made him hard again.

he leaned in, spreading you open, watching your gaping, twitching holes before licking a stripe over them as you shivered

“honey, how about i clean you up, hm?”

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami #jjk nanami #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento #kento nanami smut #rina thinking 📝

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auroreliis · 1 day ago

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What about Reader with Deadpool powers and humor?

Oh Jason would love you.

Bruce would be stressed to the core. Despite the fact that you would probably be fine if you got injured, he is NOT taking chances. There will not be a single scrape on you. He doesn't want it to become a norm for you!!!!!!

And if there is a scrape on you? Then all hell breaks loose. Yeah, you'd better heed his words...

Dick, much like Bruce, is rather stressed, though he's a bit less obvious about it.

Huh? You wanna go run through a field of landmines for fun? Hahahahaa, sure, whatever you say. Now, come on. Let's get you to your room ^^ (You're getting locked in the basement tonight.).

Jason finds it hilarious. What a legend you are, absolutely precious. Would that he could take you out on patrols (You have powers, you'd be fine.). Even Dick is starting to get annoyed at Jay's laughter echoing through the manor whenever you say the most mundane thing ever. Be careful before they forbid you two from spending time together for good.

Tim is trying to relax around you, but he remains on edge.

Oh, hahahah. Yeah. Don't jump out that window, he really doesn't want to board it up...it's his last way to access fresh air.

Stephanie likes spending time with you most of the time, but sometimes you do things that are too reckless for her. Like, she gets it, the powers and everything, but do you really have to tumble down the staircase do get down quicker?

Cassandra is somehow always ahead of you and always behind the corner. You can never seem to get a moment away from her. She's probably worried, but you'll literally be fine, so why is she just standing there and watching you? Also, she's the one who stops you from going to the kitchen and experimenting with your powers using the knives and forks.

Duke is absolutely stressed. It doesn't help that he takes all your jokes wayyyy too seriously.

"WAIT NO- DON'T TRY TO BASH YOUR HEAD ON THE COUNTER TO SEE IF YOU CAN MAKE BRAIN SOUP- Oh...you...you weren't going to? Okay...good."

Damian thinks you're really funny, but he has to restrain himself from laughing at your jokes because he knows that they're made in bad taste.

He sees that Bruce isn't laughing and has to hold it back too, but wow, he really wanted to laugh when you said that you'd rather get crushed by a meteorite than hug Tim's sweaty form.

Also, he thinks that your power is really cool and he would give an arm and a leg for it.

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syluslnd · 2 days ago

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thank u for ur brilliant writing 🫰 can u do one where reader has a stomach and is self conscious about it and avoids when he tries to wrap his arms around her stomach or similar stuff like that?

when you’re insecure about the size of your stomach

You were curled up on the couch, half-focused on the show playing on the screen but mostly lost in thought. It was a cozy evening, the kind you both loved, just the quiet murmur of voices on the TV and the warmth of being together at home.

Suddenly, you felt the cushion dip beside you and you turned just in time to see Sylus settling in. He slid an arm around your waist, pulling you closer in one smooth, effortless motion.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand flew to his, instinctively pushing his arm away. He let go, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at you in surprise.

There was a moment of silence, and the air felt suddenly heavy, caught somewhere between confusion and embarrassment. You could feel your cheeks heating up as you tried to stammer out an explanation. “I-I didn’t mean to—sorry, I just… I wasn’t expecting…”

He didn’t say a word at first, just looking at you with that steady gaze of his. Then, a small smirk crept onto his lips as he leaned back, folding his arms over his chest.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” he said, the gentle tease in his voice softening his words.

You blinked, feeling even more flustered. “What do you mean?”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you a look that told you he knew exactly what was going through your mind. “Come on, kitten. You think I haven’t noticed how you shy away when I go for your waist? Or the way you tense up when I hold you close?”

You felt a lump in your throat as his words sank in. He knew. He knew and for a second, you wanted to just melt into the couch cushions, to hide from the way he looked at you—so understanding, so calm. You took a shaky breath, glancing down. “I… I just… I feel like my stomach’s too… big.”

The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. You barely dared to look up at him but when you did, there was a warmth in his eyes that wrapped around you as surely as any embrace.

Sylus chuckled softly, reaching out again but this time his touch was gentle, his fingers just barely grazing your side. “Sweetie” he murmured, his voice dropping to that tone he only used when he really wanted you to listen. “I don’t care if you’ve got a flat stomach or if you’re the size of a hippo. It’s all just more to love.”

You felt a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “A hippo?”

He shrugged, that teasing smirk lighting up his face. “What? Hippos are pretty cute, if you ask me.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Besides, I like having a little more of you to hold onto.”

Your cheeks went hot, and you let out a small laugh, finally relaxing as his arms found their way back around your waist. This time, you didn’t push him away. Instead, you let yourself sink into his embrace, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you” you murmured, your voice quiet but sincere.

He squeezed you a little tighter, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. “Anytime, kitten” he whispered, a soft chuckle following. “Though I’ll admit, it’s kind of fun seeing you all flustered. You’re so cute when you try to act tough.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, all cuddled up with me” he teased, pulling you even closer.

You both settled into the quiet again, but this time it was warm and comfortable, filled with the unspoken promise that no matter what, he would love you exactly as you were—no matter what you saw in the mirror.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you

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thebestsetter · 3 days ago

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Michael Kaiser HATES parties.

He usually avoids them. He doesn't go to the parties his team hosts after they win an important game nor to the press parties. He feels like throwing up at the very mention of the word.

He hates everything in it. He hates the smell of alcohol that linges in the air, hates the lights that seem almost blinding, hates how sweaty the air feels.

But what he absolutely LOATHES are the people who frequent parties. He despises them.

He doesn't get what's wrong with them, honestly. They get drunk and all that crap, claim they're "having fun" when they can't even walk a straight line without tumbling. Kaiser hates alcohol. He hates people who idealize it, treating it as a savior when it ruined his life since he was only a kid with no name or fortune who got beaten daily by a drunk father. Therefore, he hates places where alcohol is treated as something good. He hates parties.

They're stupid. They're stupid, and yet people still go. It makes him feel like rolling his eyes and cussing them out at how dumb and blind they are.

But what makes him really hate the "party animals" is their twisted concept of love.

Love is not, by any means, an ideal that's easy to grasp. He, himself, didn't now what it was until 3 months ago. But he knows their idea of love couldn't be further from the truth.

They go around on parties, kissing strangers and dancing with shadows trying to fill the void that is where their heart should be. They lay down with people and kiss faceless silhouettes and claim that it's in the name of "love". He couldn't feel more repulsed by them. Because he knows that is NOT love.

He knows that because he, once, thought love came like that, too. He thought love meant just kissing and holding hands, finding someone pretty and settling down with them. He thought marriage was just a title, and love just a meaningless concept mothers tell their children before they go to bed.

His mind only changed when he met the embodiment of love itself: you.

You introduced him to what love really feels like. Love is not a myth. It'a not a legend. It's a reality. And he feels it every day, every hour and every second he spends with you.

He always thought he was unworthy of loving and being loved, but you showed him he can have this feeling in his life. That love is not something you deserve: it's something you just recieve. You don't need anything back: you just need him. And he's not complaining, even though he'll never understand.

Now, he knows love is really blind. Not saying you're ugly, God no. You're the prettiest person he's ever met. But he knows love is blind because he doesn't need to see you to love you.

All these people in parties need to see the person to fall for them. Their love is conditional, it's based on the ambient around them.

The music, the lights, the alcohol. It all makes people idealize what they see. They're influenced by the clothes, by the atmosphere. That's not love. That's reverie. Illusion. A trick their drunk brains pull.

When the party is over, their "love" dies. When they see the other without a skilled makeup or beautiful clothes, they stop loving the person they met. That is not love.

Love comes in the form of you.

Love is there when you go to his games. Love is there when you hold him close to your chest, caressing his hair after yet another episode of remembering his harsh childhood. Love is present when you wake up right beside one another, both laughing at each other's ridiculous bed hair. Love is there when you kiss the side of his eye, right at his tattooed eyeshadow. Or when you trace his arm tattoo.

Love is there whenever you are.

Because you are love for him. And when he sees you in your pajamas, almost sleeping and yet staying awake just to see him come back home after training and greet him, he knows for sure.

He doesn't need parties. He doesn't need lights, or alcohol.

His love for you is sober. It's unconditional. Endless.

And when you hug him, and he hears your sweet voice saying "Welcome home, my love. I missed you", he swears he feels like crying.

He never thought he'd be lucky enough, but he did it.

He found true love.

He found you. And he couldn't ask for anything more.

You are love, after all. What else could he possibly want?

~ Based on the poem "Se se morre de amor" by Gonçalves Dias!!!

Masterlist

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk manga #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x you #bllk kaiser #kaiser x reader #kaiser #kaiser blue lock #kaiser bllk #michael kaiser #blue lock kaiser #kaiser fluff #kaiser michael #kaiser x you #kaiser x y/n

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deerspherestudios · 2 days ago

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Hello hello! I'm excited to announce my submission for the Monstrous Desires 2024 Jam: Astronought is out! 🌑🎉

If you're interested, I really hope it's not with the expectations that it'll be similar to MO. I really wanted to try out different things with a new character and had a lot of fun with the process!

Be sure to heed the general warnings, and if you're sensitive to body horror,,, maybe sit this one out hjhs (tbh it's my first time attempting it so it's probably not even that graphic but just a heads up! There will be mentions of fleshy things!)

Anyhoo, I don't know if MO enjoyers will like it, but it's certainly a game I made! If there's any bugs/issues I'll get to them as soon as I can! Maybe you'll like it, maybe you won't; I made it, so have it! <3 /aff

#astronought vn #wow!! new game tag!!! yippee!!#with the deadline extensions i even got to add a bit more writing and polish #...well as polished as it can get #im not gonna revisit the project anytime soon (unless its for major fixes) to focus on MO but that was a nice detour!!#anw anw enjoy it or not its not perfect but im so happy i made it in the nick of time #and before anyone asks #i havent seen mouthwashing gameplay #is that relevant idk i feel like i should mention that //sweats

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assyriangoatfaerie · 3 days ago

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okay this is fun, but why not either use actual Sumerian figures or refer to these figures accurately? a more accurate description would be "Two Upper-Paleolithic Central-European Baddies and their Cycladic (Neolithic Aegean) Friend".

like, these are such interesting artistic cultures and statuettes, but pretending they're Sumerian strips them of their identity, and it also erases actual Sumerian depictions of women, which are also interesting!

here's some images i found by googling "sumerian woman statue" and a few variations (that i'm reasonably sure are actually Sumerian):

lot of diversity there! but you can also see some similarities in style. for one all depictions of women i could find have them clothed. i know some archeologists have argued Sumer was more repressive for women compared to earlier societies, so that could be why, but i'm not an expert so take my interpretations with a pile of salt.

these are also generally more naturalistic and less abstract than the Cycladic or Venusian figures, except for those big eyes on two of them. i don't know what's up with that, but it sure is cool!

i especially love the fourth image because while the first three feel very prim and proper, she's got a smile on her face and a cup (presumably of beer) in her hand, and i say good for her.

if you really want an unclothed sumerian figure, you have to look to the gods, especially Inanna, who sometimes goes around tits out in later depictions

of the depictions of Inanna on her wikipedia page (that is the quality of research you're getting here), only these two were arguably sumerian and nude. later depictions of her in the form of Ishtar are often nude, but most Sumerian depictions had her clothed, except for these two, which both come from Larsa during either the Isin-Larsa period - the final stage of independent small kingdoms in Sumer - or shortly after their conquest by Babylon, but I think it's pretty fair to say Larsa was still culturally predominantly Sumerian at that point. it does makes me wonder though if the prior Akkadian period and their ideas about Ishtar may have had an influence of these late Sumerian depictions of a nude Inanna. will have to do more research after work

me when i accidentally leave out an m in unrestrained summer fun

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grison-in-space · 20 hours ago

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you know what else fucks me up about the US election? one of the things that has left me reeling in bewilderment and grief this month?

I'm a scientist, y'all.

That means that I am, like most American research scientists, a federal contractor. (Possibly employee. It's confusing, and it fucks with my taxes being a postdoctoral researcher.) I get paid because someone, in the long run ideally me, makes a really, really detailed pitch to one of several federal grant agencies that the nation would really be missing out if I couldn't follow up on these thoughts and find concrete evidence about whether or not I'm right.

Currently, my personal salary is dependent on a whole department of scientists convincing one of the largest and most powerful granting agencies that they have a program that is really good at training scientists that can think deeply about the priorities of the agency. Those priorities are defined by the guy who runs the agency, and he gets to hire whatever qualified people he wants. That guy? The Presidential Administration picks that one. That's how federal agencies get staffed: the President's administration nominates them.

All of the heads of these agencies are personally nominated by the president and their administration. They are people of enormous power whose job is to administer million-dollar grants to the scientists competing urgently for limited funds. A million dollars often doesn't go farther than a couple of years when it's intended to pay for absolutely everything to do with a particular pitch, including salaries of your trainees, all materials, travel expenses, promoting the work among other researchers, all of it—so most smart American researchers are working fervently on grants all the time.

The next director of the NIH will be a Trump appointee, if he notices and thinks to appoint one. NSF, too; that's the group that funds your ecology and your astroscience and your experimental mathematics and physics and chemistry, the stuff that doesn't have industry funding and industry priorities. USDA. DOE, that's who does a lot of the climate change mitigation and renewable energy source research, they'll just be lucky if they can do anything again because Trump nigh gutted them last time.

Right now, I am working on the very tail end of a grant's funding and I am scurrying to make sure I stay employed. So I'm thinking very closely about federal agency priorities, okay? And I'm thinking that the funding climate for science is going to get a lot fucking leaner. I'm seeing what the American people think of scientists, and about whether my job is worth doing. It's been a lean twelve years in this gig, okay? Every time the federal government gets fucked up, that impacts my job, it means that I have to hustle even harder to get grants in that let me support myself—and, if I have any trainees, their budding careers as well!—to patch over the lean times as much as we can.

So I've been reeling this week thinking about how funding agency priorities are going to change. I work on sex differences in motivation, so let me tell you, the politics reading this one for my next pitch are going to be fun. I'm working on a submission for an explicitly DEI-oriented five year grant with a cycle ending in February, so that's going to be an exercise in hoping that the agency employees at the middle levels (the ones that know how to get things done which can't be replaced immediately with yes men) can buffer the decisions of those big bosses long enough to let that program continue to exist a little while longer.

Ah, Christ, he promised Health & Human Services (which houses the NIH) to RFK, didn't he? We'll see how that pans out.

I keep seeing people calling for more governmental shutdowns on the left now, and it makes me want to scream. The government being gridlocked means the funding that researchers like me need doesn't come, okay? When the DOE can't say fucking "climate change," when the USDA hemorrhages its workers when the agency is dragged halfway across the country, when I watch a major Texan House rep stake his career on trying to destroy the NSF, I think: this is what you people think of us. I think: how little scientists are valued as public workers. Why am I working this hard again?

This is why I described voting as harm reduction. Even if two candidates are "the same" on one thing you care about, they probably aren't the same level of bad on everything. Your task is to figure out the best person to do the job. It's not about a fucking tribalist horse race. A vote is your opinion on a job interview, you fucks. We have to work with this person.

Anyway, I'm probably going to go back to shaking quietly in despair for a little longer and then pick myself up and hit the grind again. If I'm fast, I might still get the grant in this miserable climate if I run, and I might get to actually keep on what I'm trying to do, which is bring research on sex differences, neurodivergence and energy balance as informed by non-binary gender perspectives and disability theory to neuroscience.

Fuck.

#us politics #science #biology #career #probably my last word on the subject for some time #but fuck yall when the government goes down i don't get paid and i have to go do something different #which generally is beholden to the interests of some rich private fucker #I'm just so fucking tired of feeling like i can relax and getting slammed in the face

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themagicmusicman · 1 day ago

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quick context: character im doing is shå; she is the girlfriend of angu, one of the main characters in neim’s worldbuilding project, kunirn. shå uses she/her, angu uses she/ her, kik (angu’s close friend/basically brother at this point lmao) uses he/xey 👍

1. i reckon she’s usually too busy beating people up to have other hobbies but like. does cooking count as crafting? she crafts. food lmao

2. this bitch might be trans but she wears the manliest man cologne lmfao like. whatever the kunirn equivalent of something tobacco, sandalwood and orange would smell like. man shite /fem

3. fuck yeah!!! that’s basically the main thing she does besides being gay and fighting people

4. mmmm not really, unless her and angu are baking together for the sillies (kik sometimes joins in too)

5. yeah!! she has the Ǎtrothang mark on her right shoulder (shown at the bottom of the post) as well as loads of others hjehekr

6. probably kik (angu’s friend n basically non blood brother) bcs xey seem like they would work the best under pressure and know first aid. all that shit yknow [update. neim told me that kik is canonically good at patching people up so i was right!]

7. bitch isnt scared of anything except her parents, and thats fairly normal i think. guys thats normal. right. ri-

8. yeah she probably has the weirdest collections of shit. stuff like bones, eyeballs, that kinda thing

9. she usually tries to just wait it out and continue whatever she’s doing, but when it gets so bad she can’t, she just leeches to angu until it goes away

10. not standing up to her parents’ bullshit :[

11. ehhhh probably not anything. canon but she seems like the kind of person who would

12. oh yeah shå has amazing style /gen this bitch dresses like the most butch lesbian. also she’s just hot lmao (evidence at tje bottom)

13. not in the slightest lmao

14. absolutely. it took her close to a year to open up to angu about her parent bs so. yeah just a bit

15. she’s just a silly lil guy. the sillies! silly and tiny and definitely doesnt have a really dark/horny sense of humour!

16. nope and nope :D

17. basically never. she stands by what she believes at doesnt bend for anyone

18. easier to become her enemy than her friend :3

19. you have to be pretty awesome she has trust issues lmao

20. meh not really seeing as her life in Ǎtrothang was. pretty traumatising

21. friends. friends for sure

22. never

23. n/a shes immortal /j (in other words doesnt think about dying ever)

24. most people are her enemies :3👍

25. uh morning routine, wake up and get on with the day. evening routine, go to bed and toss n turn until she eventually falls asleep

26. she’s her own hero (aka has no heroes (except maybe kik or angu but thats just her being gay lmao))

27. i mean. her meeting angu was pretty much a chance encounter and that changed her life drastically so!

28. # idontthinkgamingexistslmao

29. i’d want to be but she would scare me 😔

30. she doesn’t want to be famous. the less people who know her, the better

31. i would probably give her some sort of silly telepathic powers, she’d want invisibility

32. being afab (she doesnt mind the dick but she occasionally gets dysphoria thinking that she’s a Fake Woman because she has not biological booba (she is the most womanly woman i know))

33. oh yeah. i think angu, shå and kik would play silly ttrpgs the same way i play dnd with neim and my irl mates

34. terribly. she hides it well, but inside she’s struggling :[[[

35. in charge of her own destiny. fuck the dead gods she’s deciding her fate

36. yes and uh. for legal reasons no /hj

37. she doesn’t really like the gods, n chooses to just kinda. do her own thing lmao (same as angu but less Loud About It /lh)

38. she doesn’t dream (me core)

39. definitely!!! that sounds fun as shit!

40. she would be able to pull it out first try because shes a big strong jerboa. speaking of pulling ou-

41. she hates making mistakes so doesn’t learn from them as much as. promise herself not to make the same mistake again

42. yeh! she speaks mainly speaks rurleki (surprisingly. the language of rurlek) but also speaks atro from living in atrothang

43. fairly well, except mentally. afterwards she’ll freak out but she’s usually fine in the moment

44. only angu, not even kik i dont think

45. wing it gdejdbksbdkf

46. for sure, she probably lies quite a lot lmao

47. she would for quite a few people, ofc including angu and kik

48. in a heartbeat. revenge quest time babyyy!

49. nah she knows the difference. big difference (this is a threat 👍)

50. shes a trans lesbian jerboa!!!!! what is there to not love!!!!!!!!!

@neim-batteries-not-included haiiiiii :3

You've Got Questions and I've Got Answers OC Edition

Do they have any crafting hobbies?

Do they wear perfume/cologne? If so what scents do they prefer?

Do they enjoy cooking?

Do they enjoy baking?

Do they have any tattoos? If so what are they and do they have any special meaning?

If they were badly injured, and for whatever reason couldn't go to a hospital, who would they go to for help?

Do they have any unusual fears?

Do they collect anything? If so what and why?

When they're sick what do they do to feel better?

Do they have any regrets?

Do they have any addictions?

Do they have any sense of style? Regardless of the answer do they believe they have a sense of style?

Do they enjoy poetry?

Do they have a hard time opening up to people?

What kind of sense of humor do they have? Or do they have one at all?

Do they have or want kids?

How easily would they be convinced to do something that goes against their morals?

How easy is it to become their enemy?

How easy is it to become their friend?

Do they have a strong connection to their culture?

What is more important to them, friends or family?

Would they ever betray someone for money?

How would they want to die?

Do they have any enemies?

Do they have a daily/nightly routine?

Have they met any of their heroes? Did they regret it?

Has a chance encounter ever had an unexpected effect on them?

Are they a #gamer?

If they were real would you be friends with them?

If they had the chance to be famous would they take it? If they are famous would they rather they weren't?

What superpower would you choose for them and what would they choose for themselves? If they have one would they choose something else?

If they could change one thing about themselves what would it be?

Do they play ttrpgs? If so what kind of characters do they play? Or are they more likely to GM?

How well do they deal with grief?

Do they believe in fate or do they believe they are in charge of their own destiny?

Would they ever kill someone? Have they already?

Are they religious? If so do they have a strong sense of faith, are they uncertain, or are they somewhere in between?

What are their dreams like? Do they have any recurring dreams/nightmares?

Would they ever crash a wedding?

If they found a sword in a stone would they try to pull it out? How would they react to being able to pull it out or not?

Do they learn from their mistakes?

Can they speak multiple languages? If yes which all do they speak and why?

Can they handle stressful situations?

Who, if anyone, would they trust with their deepest secrets?

Do they plan in advance or just wing it?

Would they lie to get out of trouble?

Would they lie to get someone else out of trouble? Even if they would have to take that someone else's place?

How likely are they to go on a quest for revenge?

Do they have trouble keeping their enemies and their friends straight?

What is your favorite thing about them?

I love these so I figured I'd make one of my own! Just be sure that if you reblog this ask one or two of these to the person you reblogged from (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

#oc ask game #oc ask thing #oc ask meme

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screamlet · 1 day ago

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08x06 fix-it fic: break and be mended

not connected to that excerpt i posted before, just something completely different. 4.5k, read on the ao3

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Another hospital room. Buck takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again, letting it out and hoping he gets back to sleep. It doesn't happen, though, because his brain catches up to his eyes:

Maddie, wearing a yellow paper hospital mask, a hand anxiously on her belly, sitting in the chair next to him with that too-familiar oh-thank-god-you're-finally-awake face… and Tommy leaning in the doorway.

He takes another deep breath and opens his eyes again.

"You're okay," Maddie says patiently, slowly, as Buck tries to slam the door shut or set the doorway on fire with his brain. "It's just the turkey flu, it hit you hard."

That breaks Buck's concentration. "Wait, is this a dream? Another coma dream? Turkey flu has to be something I made up."

Maddie raises her eyebrows and looks over her shoulder at Tommy before turning back to Buck. "Another one?"

"No, no, don't look at him," Buck interrupts. "He's not supposed to be here, not when I have turkey flu, not ever. He broke up with me, remember?"

In the doorway, Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He's wearing the dark blue LAFD t-shirt and pleated pants, a special Air Ops patch on his shirt sleeve. They always lurked under his flight suit, under his turnouts when they were on the same scene, but Buck didn't get to see them often. It was for the best, he thinks now, because the shirt fits perfectly across Tommy's chest and shoulders, the pants belted low. His shirt is tucked in better than Buck's ever is. He almost never got to see him like this so it feels like some new Tommy he's seeing, a Tommy that hangs around Harbor long enough to take off his flight suit but doesn't peel the rest of his work self off. He doesn't get off his shift, put the pilot away, shower and go home.

Buck looks away. He's looked too long.

"I'm actually here, you know." Tommy raps his knuckles on the door like that's proof of anything except a very strong poltergeist. "I can hear you."

Buck watches something that he hasn't seen in years sweep across Maddie's face (mostly her eyebrows, because of the mask).

She turns around and snaps, "I let you come within ten feet of my brother and you think bitchy fun Tommy was invited, too? He was not." Tommy looks shocked and abashed; Buck loves her so much.

"Why was he invited at all, Maddie?" Buck asks. "And you're both real, right? Like I'm not hallucinating both of you. Is that a turkey flu symptom? Can I have my phone? I need to look up turkey flu."

"It's a strain of avian flu, you just happened to get it from a turkey farm. Hen said you had a call to one of those last week," Maddie explains. "And you kept giggling when I said the words turkey flu so, you know, why not?"

"It's pretty funny," Buck admits. "Hey, why's he here?"

Maddie turns around and looks at Tommy expectantly. Buck still knows his face, still knows him, and can see the quip that wants to escape past his lips. He can see the work it takes to hold it back and look sincere, really sincere, for them.

"You collapsed at a scene and I flew you over," Tommy says. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Buck stares at him as he presses his lips into a fine line. "I'm okay. Thanks."

Tommy nods, then asks, "Can we talk? Alone?"

It's taken four months, almost as long as they were together, but Buck's finally hearing the words he's wanted to hear since Tommy walked out his door. I'm sorry, I was scared, I love you, yes let's take the next step together, from now on let's take every step together—that was Buck's first choice. Can we talk as a jumping off point for all those other things—that was Buck's second choice. Was.

Buck glances at Maddie and knows his face does something dumb. "I'll be outside," Maddie says. "And I'm not far, if you want me to throw him out." She looks over her shoulder at Tommy. "I'll do it."

Tommy nods. "Wouldn't doubt you for a second."

She squeezes Buck's hand and lingers for a beat, one long look at him like she's waiting for him to say actually, wait, don't, stay, but he doesn't. He hates that he doesn't. He hates that he wants to hear what Tommy has to say.

She and Tommy swap places; he takes the chair next to Buck's bed and she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Tommy doesn't see the way she passes by the window like a shark, watching, but Buck laughs. When Tommy looks back, she's gone.

"Your sister's changed a little," Tommy says casually. "Her sense of humor, I mean."

Buck licks his lips. "Yeah, well, when you were my boyfriend, you were her friend. Now you're neither."

"Yep, got it," Tommy says. He sits back in the chair, but looks so uncomfortable that someone would think he'd never sat in one before.

"Are you okay?" Buck asks. "Why are you here?"

"This chair is so weird."

"Tommy, what do you want to talk about?"

It startles Tommy, and it should. He only got soft and smitten, totally-in-love (even if he couldn't admit it out loud) Evan Buckley, cute and bratty Evan Buckley. He doesn't get that Evan anymore. No one has.

Tommy sits with his feet flat on the floor and his hands folded in his lap. He takes a minute, a long minute, of staring at the floor before he looks up and stares at Buck. "You asked me to move in with you."

Buck blinks. "I did."

"You asked me to move in with you."

"You said that. I mean, I said that, but you—"

"Evan," Tommy interrupts.

"I thought I was Buck now," Buck interrupts.

Bitchiness lurks on Tommy's tongue, but he holds it back. "You asked me to move in with you. Into the loft."

Buck tilts his head. "Yeah?"

Tommy shuts his eyes hard and shakes his head before he looks at Buck again. "Evan, I own a house."

"... okay?"

"Did you ask me to move in with you and expect me to give up my house?"

"What, no—" Buck says, then stops himself. "I don't—I didn't think—"

"Did you even think about that?" Tommy asks. "Like when you talked about moving in together, getting married, the future, all of that—did you even remember that I own a house?"

"You know," Buck interrupts. "Four months ago, you could have said, haha, wow, that's moving pretty fast, also I own a house, maybe when we're ready, we could move into MY HOUSE and make it OUR HOUSE, but you needed to run out the door so why would you say any of that?"

"Yeah! I was freaked out! Because here was this guy I—this guy I really liked, and he asked me, a 40-year-old man, to move into his loft?"

"What's wrong with it? Why do you keep saying it like that?"

"It's downtown! Downtown is loud and filthy and did I mention it's noisy? It was hell sleeping there in the summer because even with your central air, heat rises and it rises right into the bedroom. I saw your electric bill, Evan, it was unforgivable."

Buck wants to throw something at him. "And we could have been at your house, quiet and with better temperature control, but we weren't because…?"

"I'm just saying," Tommy continues. "Yeah, all that's true, but I realized you wanted me, wanted a future with me, and you didn't even remember that when I wasn't working or with you, I was at my house."

"I get that," Buck says. "Now how many times did we hang out at your house?"

Tommy sighs. "It's out of the way, your place was always closer to the 118 and to Harbor, and I kept—I was going to, okay? Like maybe after our anniversary, we'd take a week off together and we'd actually be at my house, or take a trip somewhere—"

"You got me basketball tickets," Buck snipes at him.

Tommy stops completely.

"For our six month anniversary, remember?"

"How the hell am I going to forget that?"

"You got me tickets to see the Lakers. Really good tickets."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Alright, well, that's the last time I call that guy I know in the press office for anything."

Buck thinks he's getting closer to setting something on fire with his mind. "I hate basketball."

Tommy stares at him. "What the hell are you talking about? We met because of basketball."

Buck sits up so quickly and angrily he starts wheezing and that turns into a coughing fit. Tommy's immediately there, sitting on the edge of his bed with water, getting him to take a small sip as he rubs his back. When Buck realizes what's happening, he covers his mouth with his blanket and shoves Tommy away, coughing even more.

"Sorry, I was just—"

"I have turkey flu!" Buck yells through the blanket covering his mouth.

"The doctor said you're not contagious anymore."

Buck points at a small paper box across the room. Tommy, so put-upon, grabs a pale yellow mask and slips it on before he sits in the chair again. "Sorry."

"It's—" Buck halts because Tommy had grabbed two masks and was holding one out to him expectantly. Tommy motions to it again and Buck can see how he wants to make a bitchy comment about not having this conversation through a hospital blanket, but he doesn't. That's what makes Buck reach out and put the mask on. The icy fist around his heart thinks about melting.

"We didn't meet because of basketball, we met because of Bobby and Athena and the cruise ship," Buck corrects. "I wanted to see you again after that tour at Harbor but I couldn't think of another reason—"

"I gave you the widest of openings," Tommy interrupts. "Hello? Flight lessons? When you finally offered to buy me a beer, I almost dropped to my knees right then and there."

"But you never called me! You're the one who left to hang out with Eddie!"

Tommy throws up his hands. "Ball was in your court! Speaking of basketball."

Buck sighs, exasperated. "We weren't, like, running into each other, I didn't have a reason to call you—don't say the beer—so finally I saw Eddie was going to that pick-up game with you and I dragged Chimney along."

"Right," Tommy says. "And you played basketball with us. We kicked your ass in a way that made me think you were pretending to be bad at it to make me feel good or something? And then there was the whole thing with Eddie's ankle."

"I hate basketball!"

"You brought your own ball!"

"I same-day ordered a basketball so that when I showed up you'd be like, wow, that guy's ready for basketball, what a cool guy!"

"So you're mad that your basketball ruse worked on my dumb ass, and worked so well for six months that I got you Lakers tickets for our anniversary."

Buck's so annoyed that he put it like that. Maybe that's true, but he didn't have to say it. "I don't like basketball! It was a ruse but I didn't hide it after. You watched games with Eddie and I never came along because I don't like basketball."

"You said you wanted us to have our Eddie-Tommy friend time!"

"Why do you make me sound and feel like a five-year-old? Eddie-Tommy friend time? Seriously?"

Tommy folds his hands together like he's in prayer and shuts his eyes. "Okay, listen, I just. I wanted to get the house thing off my chest, alright? Because it's—it's bothered me so much."

Buck could argue about the basketball thing for about another 500 years, except that Tommy has said what he said. "Has it?"

Tommy puts his hands in his lap again, folded politely as he looks at Buck. "I meant what I said. You were so swept away in how new and exciting everything felt, that I felt like you forgot who you were talking to. Like… I'm not a guy who's going to move in with you. I'm a guy who has a house with a home gym and a car lift, and—and the winter was so mild that I put in this little patio space in the backyard. I bought furniture for it. I took this corner of my front lawn, too, and started to plan a pollinator's garden because they sounded really interesting after those three days of bee hell. Evan, I have a house."

"You keep saying that," Buck says. His ears are burning, but he's listening too intently to feel embarrassed about it (much).

"I freaked out, alright? Because I heard: give up your house to live in this downtown loft with a couch that has a faded but GIANT blood and placenta stain on the other side of the cushion, and then the words engaged and married got thrown in there, too? All in the same breath?"

Buck stares flatly, then nods. "Yeah. I get it. Sorry." He clears his throat and grabs his water before Tommy can offer it to him. He takes a sip, looking at Tommy before he nods at the closed door. "Are we done here?"

"And I'm not a gay rights hero," Tommy adds. "You said that, too." Tommy looks away, and looks so miserable. "I'm just a guy, Evan. I've been burned before by younger guys who thought I was everything that their first gay boyfriend should be, and then—and they didn't see who I was. It's always—" Tommy holds out his hands like he's balancing scales. "Not straight enough to fake a life with a woman, not gay enough to have a real life with a man."

Buck hasn't done this in so long that his throat almost aches with it. He sighs, pained and breathless, the word crinkling against the mask: "Tommy." He swallows again and asks, "Did you really think that was me?"

Another long pause. It ends with Tommy saying, "I thought you were too good to be true."

"I'm not, though, I'm—I'm just me," Buck says. "And I did have a lot to figure out, but not about you."

Tommy laughs suddenly. "Really? Because you forgot I was a homeowner and I didn't know you hated basketball. Did you even go to that game?"

Buck coughs. "I gave the tickets to Karen and she took one of her brothers. They're nuts about the Lakers."

"Huh," Tommy says. "Well. I'm not mad about that."

The two of them are quiet until Buck says, "Seems there's a lot of things we don't know about each other."

Tommy glances at him; Buck can see the shape of his smirk beneath the mask, and the very specific way it makes his eyes crinkle. "And just when we thought we knew everything about each other."

"Yeah, I thought that, too, and then you dropped that you were engaged to my first serious girlfriend at our six month anniversary dinner." Buck raises his eyebrows. "Do you land helicopters that smoothly, too?"

"I got you here, didn't I?" Tommy bites back, then catches himself with a laugh. "Okay. Fair point."

It's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy and Buck hasn't had it easy for months. He hasn't had these quips, this back-and-forth, this person who got him until he didn't, who—Buck rubs at his eyes. Tommy made it easy. He made everything easy. Not perfect, not effortless, but easy. Easier.

"So, uh." Buck fusses with the blanket in his lap. "What have you been doing for the past four months? You, uh…"

"Am I seeing anyone?" Buck nods. "I was, yeah. Didn't last that long."

Buck can't help himself: "Neither did we."

"Ouch." Tommy looks back. "And you?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "I liked them but I broke up with them because it just—it wasn't going anywhere."

"And what's wrong with that? Staying in one place? Isn't that what you wanted for us?"

It's not, but Buck can't articulate it, so he says, "Do you think that's the same?"

A beat, and then Tommy says: "No. No, I don't."

"Tommy," Buck says quietly. "How many people do I have to be with before you decide I've figured it out?"

Tommy's eyes widen. "What? I never said that."

"Tell me what you said, then." Buck swallows painfully, that turkey flu kicking his ass harder than he thought. "Tell me what you meant when you said I didn't know what I wanted. Because I told you what I wanted. I told you I was ready for something and all the things we did together, I thought that you believed me. I guess you didn't, so tell me how many bodies it'll take before you believe me."

Tommy doesn't say anything.

"God, and you know what really sucks?" Buck asks. "That we were together long enough to talk about who we'd been with so we could get tested and be safe. We talked about all that, but I never told you how many times I'd had my heart broken and you never told me yours."

"Three," Tommy eventually says. "Shawn, who was like… all of 25. He was all-in, knowing for sure that the first time was the charm, and I was old enough and steady enough to be That Guy. I believed the hype even though I was barely out of the closet. I shouldn't throw stones at Abby's House of Himbos when I set up my own on the other side of town. And then there was Raúl, my Army buddy who came out to his family and immediately moved to LA to get away from them. Everything felt like a fresh start for him, but… not quite for me."

Buck thinks to ask, but Tommy beats him to it. "Do I need to say the third?" Buck shakes his head. "What about you?"

"Abby, and you." Buck looks at Tommy as he says, "It's not just ending things with someone because it doesn't work. It's heart break. Something's gotta break and be mended."

"I don't think I did that part. You've one-upped me there."

Buck wouldn't have believed that 20 minutes ago, but he believes it now.

"So Bobby's been there, watched me since I was Abby's himbo and helped me to grow into the person who wanted that stuff with you. Once he, kinda, told me that if I care about how people see me, then I haven't learned a damn thing," Buck says. "And that is and isn't true, here. I can't live hoping I meet people's expectations of what they think I should be. I want people—I wanted you—to see me as I am. I thought you did but you didn't, and I didn't either because I didn't see how scared you were. I've made my peace with that. We had something really special and made each other feel really good but, in the end, I guess we were saying all the right things to people we didn't know."

Tommy listens, considers, and nods. "Whole lot of past tense, there."

Buck glances at him and doesn't want to look away, but he does. He doesn't meet Tommy's eyes. He's scared, too. He's done enough today: said a lot of things he's been thinking about for four months and said them very calmly and thoughtfully, but this is gonna hurt. It hurt Buck to realize it and it's gonna hurt Tommy to hear it.

"You got what you wanted, right?" Buck asks. "You got to keep your heart, and I don't feel new and excited anymore." Buck inhales deep; it hurts. "I feel like I did before, like I'm short one piece of being whole. Now the ocean I have to search is so much wider and deeper. So thanks for that, I guess."

"Evan—"

"I let you into my family," Buck interrupts sharply. "Because I cared about you and because you fit. I fit because they're mine and that's my family I made, and you fit there right next to me. With us."

"You're absolutely right."

Buck watches him, tries to see behind the sunshine yellow and white mask on his face, but all he sees are his eyes that, like always, make Buck feel too much, like laser beams disintegrating him.

"Were you really that scared?" Buck can't help the way his voice cracks. "You were that scared of me?"

Tommy looks up again, lasers in place. "I was that in love with you." He shakes his head like he did that last night in the kitchen, and looks up like he'll tip the tears back into his eyes. "And those heartbreaks—you'd leave them light-years behind if I let you. You'd leave me light-years behind."

Buck nods, then says, "Could you leave, please." His wet breathing crinkles grossly in the mask. "Thanks for telling me all this, thanks for the closure, but I don't need to see what someone looks like after they've walked away from me."

"You collapsed at a scene three days ago and I was the closest pilot to medevac you here," Tommy says slowly. "You were delirious and told Shreya, Don't tell Tommy I'm sick, he doesn't care anymore."

Tommy clears his throat. "I do care. I never stopped."

Buck sits back in his hospital bed and pulls the blanket up to his neck, the only comfort he's got right now. "If this is a turkey flu dream, I'm gonna be so pissed at you, real you," Buck says.

Tommy laughs quietly, sadly, then hesitates for a moment. "Can I ask you something? Can I ask you the scariest thing I've ever asked anyone in my entire life?"

Buck doesn't move, doesn't breathe. "What is it?" he finally asks.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

Buck, hearing what he's quietly dreamed of hearing for four months, doesn't feel the euphoria he thought he would. He feels something else, though: a strange kind of wonder that someone wants him again. Again. He swallows hard, feeling the pain right in his turkey-flu-ridden throat. Someone knew him. Someone left him. Someone came back—came back for him.

Tommy left. Tommy came back. Tommy wanted him then. Tommy wants him now. Tommy's wanted him all along.

Buck asks, "Will you invite me to your place more than once every six months?"

Tommy's half-smile is still wide enough for Buck to see behind the mask. It falls, though, back into something serious. "Will you forgive me when I'm not a paragon of queer virtue?"

"Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Tommy raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Buck thinks he smiles a little behind his mask, but it doesn't stay. "Are we gonna break up again?"

"I don't know," Tommy admits. "But maybe next time we can stop each other and hit the brakes. I love romcoms, but maybe we don't do that again: you don't propose fixing a problem with marriage and a baby, and I won't run out the door."

Buck raises his eyebrows, too. "Who said anything about a baby?"

Tommy sputters. "I mean, you were the one raising the stakes before."

Buck laughs. "Right, right."

The quiet stretches out between them. They look at each other and don't look away. The stubborn, proud, cocky side of Buck feels annoyed that this feels like—like he can't get out of this. Like all roads lead back to Tommy, like he doesn't have a choice. Like if he wants to be happy, it's with this person.

A part of him wants to run and throw himself into the hunt again. He wants to thrive in the search for someone who makes him feel that euphoria and fondness and love that he felt with Tommy. He tries to imagine someone else, some vague smoky figure that isn't Tommy's height, Tommy's build, Tommy's arms crossed over his chest and that tilt of his head. The problem is that Buck feels more looking at that furrow and arch of his eyebrows than he's felt for anyone he's met in the past four months, maybe even longer.

Not all roads lead to Tommy—only the ones he wants to take.

"Say it again?" Buck asks.

Tommy nods ever so slightly. "I'm in love with you." He pauses and a smile reaches his eyes. "I love you."

Buck can't help the way his eyes water; neither can Tommy.

"Ask me again," Buck says.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

"Yeah." Buck wonders if his own smile reaches his eyes. He hopes it does. "Yeah. Will you?"

Tommy chokes out a laugh behind his mask. "Yeah, god, of course. Of course. You sure?"

"About you?" Buck asks. "Yeah. I mean, I want to be. Don't make me regret it."

"Don't make me give up my real estate."

"Don't make me go to any sports events."

"Seriously? Not even baseball?"

"God," Buck moans. "The sleepiest one of all."

"Hockey's good."

"You hate the Kings."

Tommy scoffs. "Of course I do. You always hate your local teams—you just hate visiting teams more. Can't let management get comfortable."

Buck attempts to take a deep, exasperated breath, but he forgets that he has the fucking turkey flu. He chokes and starts to cough and wheeze, but Tommy's there again. He freely, lovingly pushes Buck further to the other side of the hospital bed so he can sit and take care of him: water, tissues, hand on his chest to steady him, eyes worried and on him.

"It's not official until you kiss me," Buck says. "I'm not contagious."

"I mean, not with turkey flu," Tommy says. "Your Buckness? That I'm not so sure."

"Don't call me that anymore," Buck says.

Tommy puts his cup of water on the table next to Buck's bed, then shifts so he and Buck are closer, face-to-face, head on looking at each other. "How'd you get even brattier in only four months?"

"How'd you forget I was this bratty?"

"At my age, well, everything's starting to go."

Buck laughs, then coughs and wheezes. "Stop making me laugh."

"How'd you forget I was this funny?"

Buck tilts his head. "I didn't. I didn't forget a thing."

Tommy searches his face, then cups his jaw with one hand. Buck doesn't lean into it, just lets Tommy hold him as he tips Buck's chin up ever so slightly.

Then Tommy kisses his forehead and his birthmark, and wraps his arms around Buck. It's the warmest Buck has felt all winter. It finally feels like spring.

---

read on the ao3

#911 fic #bucktommy fic #bucktommy #fix-it fic #tevan #tevan fic #tommy kinard #evan buckley #maddie han #my fic #screamlet #this may as well happen

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