#weird weather we’re having

[uncannylaw]

Yeahh I was sick a while back, too 😭. It lasted for about a week and it was absolute hell, I hope you feel much better soon.

Where I am, it’s been cold as fuck this year for absolutely no reason. It’s never this cold in the winter. 😭💔

The weather here is doing this weird thing were it gets really cold and then after a few days of it being cold it turns warm😭. It’s messing me up fr.

[aturnoftheearth]

genuinely i am a severe weather repellent. i go to my sister’s house for the weekend. usually her area gets worse storms than ours does. storms go through the area. it’s kinda bad like the power goes out and it rains a ton and the lightning is nonstop but like. it’s fine. i get a call from my brother later in the day saying three tornadoes swept through ours and a nearby county with a fourth unconfirmed on. what the fuck ????

[stergeon]

for the writer ask

💭🚦💛 💌

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

this is a real marketing major-ass answer (from your local marketing major), but i love sharing knowledge and telling stories. writing’s one of those things that’s a bit of a compulsion for me—i’m always writing something. i took a five-year break from fiction writing before i stumbled ass-first into fanfic last year, but even in those years when i was focusing on my career, i was writing guides and trainings and a ton of other stuff—just not anything fun, lol.

writing is also so cathartic. sometimes i set out to tell a specific story, but at other times, a particular emotion gets me in a vice grip and i have to put it to words before it’ll go away. my stories tend to wind up as emotional dumping grounds as a result.

i don’t write things pulled directly from my own life, but there are bits and pieces of myself and things that have happened to me scattered throughout stuff i’ve written, and usually when i’m about 75% of the way through a piece, i’ll realize it’s absolutely related to something i’m currently going through. funny how art works that way, even when you don’t intend for it to.

and occasionally i just have a fire lit under my ass about an issue and i get so hot about it that i gotta compile my thoughts. looking at you, silver snow

🚦 What sort of endings do you prefer to write: ambiguous, bad, happily ever after, etc.?

look, i would love nothing more for them girls (pick whichever girls you please) to have a happy ending where they kiss and are stupid in love for the rest of forever. i love reading those kinds of stories. but in my heart of hearts, i love an ambiguous ending. i like when there are still questions after the story ends. i like thinking about where things could go or how the characters will go on after the events of the story. like, shared space could be read as having a happy ending, but i don’t really think it is. and with the victors; the vestiges, well. you’ll see :0)

come to think of it, i’m not sure i’ve ever written a happily-ever-after, but i don’t think i’ve ever written a 100% bad ending, either. i read too many bury-your-gays stories and watched too many sad european queer coming-of-age films in my youth to ever be happy putting that kinda thing out into the world. i want to write about love with all its ugliness, but not despair or hopelessness. i think what most appeals to me about an ambiguous ending is that lingering feeling of hope. it’s not the same as the kind you get from a happily-ever-after, and something about it speaks to me.

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

honestly? how to take criticism. i took a creative writing class in high school where we had to read our work out loud and then receive feedback on it from the other writers in the class, and that did a lot for me. going into that class, i’d already been writing for forever and had won some little local writing contests and such, so i was a wee bit of a pretentious douche. but i’d never gotten real critique before beyond, essentially, spelling and grammar checks. it humbled me lol. it made me grow so much as a writer, and i could see where i needed to improve or where my head was wedged way too far up my own ass for others to follow. it also helped me recognize strengths i didn’t know i had, and that was huge. it’s easy to get into a self-doubt spiral when making creative work, and good, constructive criticism can do so much to help avoid that.

to this day i love critique. i like knowing what worked or didn’t work so that i can continue to improve as a writer and do better next time. did my themes land? did something really work, but another part fall flat? i’d love to know!! i try to treat everything i write as practice for the next thing, and frankly that’s helped take some of the pressure off so i don’t go into total Perfectionist Mode.

i know critique is kind of a sensitive topic in fan spaces, but i think that’s because a lot of people have gotten unsolicited criticism that is purely critical and isn’t constructive. but getting good, constructive criticism will do so much to help a person grow as a writer. it’s scary, and sometimes it hurts! writing is very personal for most people, and it stings when things aren’t received the way you think they will be. but i know i’ve grown more from having my failures pointed out (and, very importantly, having the good things about those efforts acknowledged) than anything else.

💌 Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

actually Just answered this in another ask!

[xikyuu]

“our family isnt neurodivergent wdym?”

my pawpaw infodumping on a volkswagon beetle right next to me:

me: i beg to differ

[gothprentiss]

ok everything IS coming up me!!!!

[katealot]

.

[whisp3roftheheart]

Yall I am dressed so cute rn and I smell so good I got new perfume. All of this for a man…

[raeathnos]

.

[pucksandpower]

Paddock Princess

Formula 1 (literally half the grid) x Vettel!Reader

Summary: when the drivers find out that you’re planning to have a baby all by yourself, they offer to help out by playing sperm roulette … the results are surprisingly wholesome

The buzz of excitement fills the air as the paddock comes to life on a sunny morning. Drivers, team personnel, and media representatives mill about, but there’s a palpable sense of anticipation among a particular group of racers gathered near the Ferrari motorhome.

Max leans against the sleek red structure, his eyes darting around nervously. “Has anyone seen her yet?” He asks, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Charles shakes his head, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Not yet. But she should be here soon, right?”

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Lando chimes in, bouncing on his toes. “It’s like something out of a movie.”

Carlos nods in agreement, a grin spreading across his face. “A very strange movie, but I’m here for it.”

George glances at his watch, his brow furrowed. “She’s usually here by now. You don’t think she’s having second thoughts, do you?”

“No way,” Oscar says confidently. “You know her. Once she sets her mind to something, that’s it.”

Lewis, standing slightly apart from the younger drivers, offers a reassuring smile. “Oscar’s right. She’s one of the most determined people I know. If this is what she wants, she’ll see it through.”

Logan, the newest addition to the group, shifts nervously. “I still can’t believe you guys talked me into this. My mom would freak if she knew.”

Alex pats him on the shoulder. “Relax, mate. It’s all anonymous, remember? Besides, think of how happy she’ll be.”

Fernando, leaning against a nearby barrier, nods sagely. “Exactly. We’re doing this for her, because she deserves it.”

Lance, who’s been quiet until now, suddenly straightens up. “Heads up, guys. I think I see her coming.”

The group falls silent as you approach, your press pass swinging from your neck and a warm smile on your face. “Morning, boys,” you greet them cheerfully. “Why do you all look like you’re up to something?”

Max clears his throat, trying to sound casual. “Us? Never. Just, uh, enjoying the nice weather.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh. And I suppose you’re all gathered here by pure coincidence?”

Charles steps forward, his charm on full display. “Can’t we just be happy to see our favorite reporter?”

You laugh, the sound lightening the mood. “Alright, alright. I’ll play along. But seriously, what’s going on? You’re all acting weird.”

The drivers exchange glances, silently debating who should speak first. Finally, Lewis takes the lead.

“We heard about your decision,” he says gently. “About wanting to have a baby.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Oh. I didn’t realize ... I mean, I only told a couple of people.”

Lando grins sheepishly. “Word travels fast in the paddock. Especially when it’s about you.”

You look around at the group, a mix of emotions playing across your face. “Okay, so you know. But that doesn’t explain why you’re all acting like you’re planning a heist.”

Carlos steps forward, his expression earnest. “We want to help.”

You blink, confusion evident in your eyes. “Help? How?”

George takes a deep breath before plunging in. “We’ve all agreed to donate sperm. To give you options, you know?”

Your jaw drops, and for a moment, you’re speechless. “You ... what?”

Oscar jumps in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “We know you said you were thinking about using a sperm bank, but we thought, well, why not use someone you actually know?”

“And trust,” Alex adds quickly.

You look around at the group, your expression a mix of shock, confusion, and something that might be amusement. “Let me get this straight. All of you,” you gesture at the assembled drivers, “want to donate sperm so I can have a baby?”

They nod in unison, and you can’t help but laugh. “This is ... I don’t even know what to say. It’s incredibly sweet, but also completely insane.”

Fernando steps forward, his expression serious. “We know it’s unconventional. But you’re important to all of us. We want to support you in any way we can.”

You shake your head, still trying to process the situation. “I appreciate that, truly. But guys, this is a huge decision. It’s not just about me having a baby. One of you would be a father.”

Max nods, his face set in determination. “We’ve thought about that. A lot, actually.”

“And we’re okay with it,” Lando adds. “Whatever level of involvement you want, we’ll respect that.”

You look at them, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait a minute. How exactly would this work? I can’t exactly pick one of you. That would be ...”

“Awkward,” Lance finishes for you. “We know. That’s why we came up with a plan.”

Logan, who’s been quiet until now, speaks up. “We’d all donate, and then the clinic would mix the samples together.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “So it would be like ... artificial insemination roulette?”

Carlos grins. “Exactly! That way, no one knows who the father is. It could be any of us.”

You shake your head, a disbelieving laugh escaping you. “This is absolutely crazy. You know that, right?”

Lewis steps closer, his expression gentle. “Maybe. But we all care about you. We want you to be happy, and we know how much you want this.”

You look around at the group, taking in their earnest expressions. “I don’t know what to say. This is ... a lot to process.”

George nods understandingly. “Of course it is. We don’t expect you to decide right now. Just ... think about it, okay?”

You nod slowly, still looking a bit dazed. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But guys, this is a huge thing you’re offering. Are you sure you’ve really thought it through?”

Alex speaks up, his voice calm and reassuring. “We have. We’ve talked about it a lot, actually. We know it’s not a decision to make lightly.”

“But we’re all in agreement,” Oscar adds. “If this is what you want, we want to help make it happen.”

You take a deep breath, looking around at the group. “I need some time to think about this. It’s ... a lot to take in.”

Max nods, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder gently. “Take all the time you need. We’re not going anywhere.”

As you turn to walk away, still looking a bit shell-shocked, the drivers watch you go with a mix of hope and anxiety.

“Do you think she’ll go for it?” Lando asks, nervously fidgeting with his sleeve.

Charles shrugs, his eyes still following your retreating figure. “I don’t know. It’s a big decision.”

“We’ve done our part,” Fernando says sagely. “Now it’s up to her.”

The group falls into a contemplative silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the potential consequences of their offer.

Several days pass, and the paddock is abuzz with speculation. The drivers have managed to keep their offer under wraps, but your contemplative mood hasn’t gone unnoticed.

You find yourself cornered by the group once again, this time in a quiet corner of the paddock after qualifying.

“So,” Max says, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “Have you, uh, given any thought to our offer?”

You look around at the expectant faces surrounding you and take a deep breath. “I have, actually. I’ve thought about little else, to be honest.”

The tension in the air is palpable as they wait for your decision.

“I’m still not sure this is the right thing to do,” you begin, and you can see their faces fall. “But ... I can’t deny that the idea has a certain appeal.”

Hope blossoms in their expressions, and you can’t help but smile at their eagerness.

“Before I say yes,” you continue, holding up a hand to stave off their excitement, “I need to know that you’ve all really thought this through. This isn’t just about me having a baby. One of you will be a father, even if we don’t know which one.”

Lewis nods solemnly. “We understand. We’ve talked about it a lot, believe me.”

“And you’re all okay with the possibility of having a child out there that you might never know is yours?” You press.

They exchange glances before nodding in unison.

“We know it’s not a conventional situation,” Charles says. “But we’re all willing to accept whatever comes of this.”

You look at each of them in turn, searching their faces for any sign of doubt. Finding none, you take a deep breath.

“Okay,” you say finally. “If you’re all sure about this ... then yes. I’d be honored to accept your offer.”

The reaction is immediate and overwhelming. Cheers erupt from the group, and before you know it, you’re engulfed in a group hug.

“This is going to be amazing,” Lando exclaims, his face lit up with excitement.

“You’re going to be an incredible mother,” Alex adds, his smile warm and sincere.

As the excitement dies down, practical considerations start to surface.

“So, how do we do this?” Oscar asks. “Do we all just show up at the clinic or ...”

You can’t help but laugh at the mental image. “I think it might be best if we handle this discreetly. I’ll talk to the clinic and set everything up. They can give you instructions on how to make your ... contributions.”

George nods, looking relieved. “That sounds like a good plan. We don’t want this getting out to the media.”

“Agreed,” you say firmly. “This stays between us. No one else needs to know the details.”

The group nods in agreement, and you feel a wave of affection for these men who are willing to go to such lengths for you.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” you say, shaking your head in wonder.

Fernando smiles, his eyes twinkling. “Believe it. In a few months, you could be on your way to motherhood.”

The reality of the situation starts to sink in, and you feel a mix of excitement and nerves. “This is going to change everything, isn’t it?”

“Change can be good,” Carlos says, giving you a reassuring smile. “And you won’t be alone. We’ll all be here to support you.”

You look around at the group, feeling overwhelmed by their support and affection. “Thank you. All of you. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.”

Max grins, lightening the mood. “Well, naming the kid after me would be a good start.”

The group erupts in laughter, and you roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Nice try, Verstappen. But I think we’ll be steering clear of any names that might give away paternity.”

As the laughter dies down, a comfortable silence falls over the group. The magnitude of what you’ve all agreed to hangs in the air, but it’s accompanied by a sense of excitement and possibility.

“So,” Lance says, breaking the silence. “I guess the next step is to set up appointments at the clinic?”

You nod, feeling a flutter of nervous excitement in your stomach. “Yeah, I’ll get that sorted out and let you all know the details.”

“And then ...” Logan trails off, looking a bit overwhelmed.

“And then we wait,” Lewis finishes for him. “And hope for the best.”

You look around at the group of men surrounding you, each one ready to potentially become a father for your sake. It’s an unconventional situation, to say the least, but as you take in their supportive smiles and excited eyes, you can’t help but feel that you’re embarking on something truly special.

“Well, boys,” you say, a smile spreading across your face. “I guess we’re really doing this. Let Operation Make A Baby commence.”

***

The hospital waiting room crackles with nervous energy as eleven Formula 1 drivers pace, fidget, and attempt to distract themselves. The air is thick with anticipation, and every time the door opens, heads snap up in unison, hoping for news.

Max runs a hand through his hair for the hundredth time. “How long has it been now?” He asks, his voice tight with tension.

George checks his watch. “About six hours since we got here. But labor can take a while, especially for first-time mothers.”

“I still can’t believe this is really happening,” Lando says, his leg bouncing incessantly. “One of us is about to become a father.”

Charles nods, his eyes fixed on the door. “It’s surreal. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find out this was all a dream.”

“Not a dream, mate,” Alex says, patting Charles on the shoulder. “Very much real.”

The door swings open, and a nurse steps out. The drivers collectively hold their breath, but she merely smiles apologetically and heads down the hallway.

Carlos groans. “This waiting is killing me. How are we supposed to just sit here?”

“We could place bets on who the father is,” Logan suggests with a nervous laugh.

Lewis shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We agreed we wouldn’t try to figure it out, remember?”

“Lewis is right,” Fernando says sagely. “What matters is that the baby and the mother are healthy.”

Oscar nods in agreement. “Exactly. We’re all in this together, regardless of biology.”

Lance, who’s been quietly observing until now, speaks up. “Do you think she’s scared? I mean, we’re all nervous wrecks out here, and we’re not the ones giving birth.”

The group falls silent, contemplating Lance’s words. It’s a sobering thought, reminding them of the magnitude of what’s happening just beyond those doors.

“She’s strong,” Max says finally, his voice filled with admiration. “Stronger than all of us put together. She’ll be fine.”

As if on cue, the door swings open again, and this time, a doctor steps out. The drivers scramble to their feet, forming a semicircle around her.

“Gentlemen,” the doctor says, a smile playing at her lips. “I’m happy to inform you that both mother and baby are doing well. It’s a healthy baby girl.”

A collective cheer erupts from the group, followed by a flurry of hugs and backslaps. The tension that’s been building for hours finally breaks, replaced by jubilant relief.

“When can we see them?” Charles asks eagerly.

The doctor holds up a hand. “The mother is resting now, but she’s asked to see you all in about an hour. She wants you to meet the baby together.”

As the doctor leaves, the drivers look at each other, a mix of excitement and nerves on their faces.

“A girl,” Lando says, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “We have a daughter.”

“She has a daughter,” Lewis gently corrects. “We’re ... well, I’m not sure what we are exactly.”

“We’re family,” Fernando says firmly. “All of us and the little one.”

The next hour passes in a blur of excited chatter and speculation. Finally, a nurse appears to escort them to the private room where you and the baby are waiting.

As they file into the room, the sight that greets them renders them momentarily speechless. You’re propped up in the bed, looking tired but radiant, cradling a tiny bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket.

You look up as they enter, a soft smile on your face. “Hey, guys. Come meet your daughter.”

The drivers approach cautiously, as if afraid they might break the spell. You adjust the blanket, revealing a tiny face with rosebud lips and a button nose.

“She’s beautiful,” Max breathes, his eyes wide with wonder.

“She’s perfect,” Charles adds, his voice choked with emotion.

You beam at them, your eyes shining. “Want to hold her?”

After a moment of hesitation, Lewis steps forward. With practiced ease, he gently takes the baby from you, cradling her carefully in his arms.

“Hello, little one,” he coos softly. “Welcome to the world.”

The other drivers crowd around, each wanting a closer look. As Lewis passes the baby to Carlos, the scrutiny intensifies.

“Is it just me, or does she have Max’s nose?” Lando asks, peering closely at the tiny face.

Max leans in, his brow furrowed. “I don’t see it. But those ears ... they look like yours, Lando.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Boys, she’s about one hour old. I think it’s a bit early to be playing guess the father, don’t you?”

The drivers have the grace to look sheepish, but their curiosity is far from satisfied.

As the baby is passed from driver to driver, the observations continue.

“She has a strong grip,” Alex notes as tiny fingers wrap around his thumb. “Definitely going to be a racer.”

“Look at those long eyelashes,” Oscar marvels. “Those have to be from Charles.”

Charles preens a bit at this, while the others roll their eyes good-naturedly.

When it’s Fernando’s turn to hold the baby, he studies her with a thoughtful expression. “You know,” he says slowly, “I think she has your smile.”

You raise an eyebrow. “She hasn’t even smiled yet.”

He shakes his head, a mysterious smile on his face. “Trust me. I can tell.”

As the baby makes her way back to you, the drivers settle into chairs around the room, their eyes never leaving the tiny bundle.

“So,” George says, breaking the comfortable silence. “Have you thought about names?”

You nod, looking down at your daughter. “I have, actually. I was thinking ... Nessa. It means miracle. I thought it was fitting, given how she came into our lives.”

“Nessa,” Logan repeats, testing the name. “I like it. It’s beautiful.”

The others murmur their agreement, and you feel a wave of relief. Naming a baby is hard enough without having to consider the opinions of eleven potential fathers.

“Nessa it is, then,” you say, smiling down at the sleeping infant.

Lance, who’s been quiet until now, speaks up. “Can I ask ... how are you feeling? About all of this, I mean.”

You take a moment to consider the question. “Honestly? I’m overwhelmed. Excited, terrified, grateful ... all at once. But mostly, I’m just in awe. Of her, of this whole situation, of all of you.”

The drivers exchange glances, a mix of emotions playing across their faces.

“We’re the ones who should be in awe of you,” Carlos says softly. “You’ve given us an incredible gift.”

“He’s right,” Max adds. “No matter which one of us is her biological father, we’re all going to love her. And you.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you. All of you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

As if sensing the emotional moment, Nessa chooses that moment to wake up, her tiny face scrunching up as she lets out a wail.

“Oh boy,” Lando says, his eyes wide. “That’s quite a set of lungs she’s got there.”

You laugh, adjusting Nessa in your arms. “Well, she is a paddock baby. Got to make herself heard over those engines somehow.”

As you soothe the baby, the drivers watch in fascination. It’s clear that despite their earlier bravado, the reality of a newborn is a bit daunting.

“So, uh, what happens now?” Oscar asks, voicing the question on everyone’s mind.

You look up from Nessa, who’s settled back into sleep. “Well, we’ll be here for a couple more days. After that ... I guess we figure it out as we go along.”

Lewis nods thoughtfully. “We’ll need to work out a schedule. Make sure you have support, especially during race weekends.”

“And we’ll need to baby-proof our garages,” Alex adds. “Can’t have her crawling into a stack of tires.”

The conversation turns to practical matters — childcare arrangements, safety considerations, and how to balance their racing careers with their new roles as ... well, whatever they are to Nessa.

As they talk, you can’t help but marvel at the scene. Eleven of the world’s most elite drivers, discussing diaper brands and the merits of various baby carriers with the same intensity they usually reserve for tire strategies and aerodynamics.

“You know,” you say, interrupting a heated debate about the best brand of baby formula, “I think Nessa might be the luckiest baby in the world.”

The drivers pause, looking at you quizzically.

You smile, looking around at each of them. “She’s got eleven of the most dedicated, passionate, and competitive men in the world looking out for her. Plus, she’s guaranteed to have the coolest bring your parent to school day ever.”

The room erupts in laughter, the tension of the day finally breaking.

“Just wait until she’s old enough to drive,” Max says with a grin. “We’ll have her in a kart before she can walk.”

“Oh no,” you groan, though you’re smiling. “I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?”

“Eleven monsters,” Charles corrects with a wink. “Don’t forget, we’re all in this together.”

As the laughter dies down, a comfortable silence falls over the room. Nessa sleeps peacefully in your arms, blissfully unaware of the extraordinary circumstances of her birth and the unique family she’s been born into.

Fernando breaks the silence. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “in many ways, this little one embodies the spirit of Formula 1.”

The others look at him curiously, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Think about it,” he continues. “She’s the product of competition, of pushing boundaries, of taking risks. But she’s also about teamwork, about coming together for a common goal. Just like us on the track.”

The drivers nod, considering Fernando’s words.

“Plus,” Logan adds with a grin, “she’s already got a better sleep schedule than most of us during a race weekend.”

Another round of laughter fills the room, and you feel a surge of affection for these men who have become so much more than colleagues or even friends.

As visiting hours come to an end and the nurses start to shoo the drivers out, there’s a reluctance to leave. Each of them takes a moment to say goodbye to Nessa, promising to return soon.

Before they go, Lewis gathers everyone into a tight circle around your bed.

“I think we need to make a pact,” he says solemnly. “No matter what happens, no matter how our careers go or how life changes, we stick together for Nessa. She’s part of all of us now.”

The drivers nod in agreement, their faces serious.

“For Nessa,” Max says, placing his hand in the center of the circle.

One by one, the others follow suit, until all eleven hands are stacked together.

“For Nessa,” they chorus, and in that moment, you know that whatever challenges lie ahead, you and your daughter will never face them alone.

As the drivers file out, casting longing glances back at the sleeping baby, you settle back against your pillows, exhausted but content.

Looking down at Nessa’s peaceful face, you whisper, “Welcome to the world, little one. You’ve got quite the adventure ahead of you.”

And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but smile at the thought of the unconventional but loving family waiting just outside those hospital doors, ready to take on the world for the tiny girl in your arms.

***

The paddock rushes with activity as teams prepare for the upcoming race weekend. But between the usual hustle and bustle, an unusual sight catches everyone’s attention: you, pushing a stroller with a now six-month-old Nessa, surrounded by a protective circle of drivers.

Max hovers close, his eyes darting around warily. “Are you sure this was a good idea? Bringing her to the track?”

You laugh, adjusting Nessa’s sun hat. “Max, she’s been coming to races since she was born. This is nothing new.”

“Yeah, but now she’s old enough to attract attention,” Charles points out, cooing at Nessa as she gurgles happily.

Lando nods in agreement. “People are starting to ask questions. Did you see that article in Autosport last week?”

You sigh, remembering the speculative piece about Nessa’s parentage. “I saw it. But we knew this day would come eventually.”

As the group makes their way through the paddock, heads turn and whispers follow. The sight of eleven of the world’s top drivers fawning over one baby is certainly not an everyday occurrence.

Carlos leans in, speaking softly. “Maybe we should have come up with a cover story. You know, pick one of us to pretend to be the father.”

George shakes his head. “No, we agreed from the start — no lies. We’re all in this together, remember?”

“Easier said than done,” Logan mutters, noticing a group of journalists eyeing them curiously.

As they approach the Mercedes garage, Lewis spots a familiar face and freezes. “Uh, guys? We might have a problem.”

The others follow his gaze to see your older brother, striding purposefully towards the group. His expression is a mix of confusion and growing anger.

“Seb!” You exclaim, trying to sound casual. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Switzerland.”

Sebastian ignores your greeting, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene before him. “What’s going on here?” He demands, his gaze sweeping over the assembled drivers.

The group exchanges nervous glances, each silently hoping someone else will take the lead.

Finally, Fernando steps forward, ever the diplomat. “Sebastian, my friend. It’s good to see you. Perhaps we could discuss this somewhere more private?”

But Sebastian is having none of it. His eyes lock onto Lewis, who instinctively takes a step back. “Lewis?” He says, his voice dangerously quiet. “Care to explain why you and half the grid are hovering around my sister and a baby?”

Lewis swallows hard, looking to the others for support. Finding none, he takes a deep breath. “Seb, it’s not what you think. Well, it is, but also it isn’t. You see-”

“Lewis?” Sebastian explodes, his face reddening. “I thought better of you!”

The outburst draws even more attention, and you can see team personnel and journalists alike straining to hear what’s happening.

Lewis, caught off guard by Sebastian’s reaction, blurts out, “In my defense, I thought I would get to fuck her!”

A collective gasp goes up from the group, and you bury your face in your hands, mortified.

Sebastian’s eyes widen in shock and fury. “Tha- what? How would that make it better?”

Realizing his mistake, Lewis backpedals frantically. “No, no, that came out wrong! I didn’t mean-”

But Sebastian is beyond listening. He lunges forward, only to be held back by Alex and Oscar.

“Let me go!” Sebastian growls, struggling against their grip. “I’m going to kill him!”

Nessa, startled by the commotion, begins to cry. The sound seems to snap everyone back to reality.

“Enough!” You shout, your voice cutting through the chaos. “All of you, into the motorhome. Now!”

Chastened, the drivers file into the nearby Red Bull motorhome, with Alex and Oscar still keeping a firm grip on Sebastian. You follow, pushing Nessa’s stroller and trying to soothe her.

Once inside, with the door firmly closed against prying eyes and ears, you turn to face the group. Sebastian stands at one end, still glaring daggers at Lewis, who’s wisely put Max and Charles between them.

“Alright,” you say, your voice tight with frustration. “I guess it’s time we explained everything.”

Over the next hour, you and the drivers take turns recounting the story — from your decision to have a baby, to their unconventional offer, to Nessa’s birth and the months since. Sebastian listens in stunned silence, his expression cycling through disbelief, confusion, and finally, grudging understanding.

When the tale is finished, Sebastian slumps into a chair, running a hand over his face. “So let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You,” he points at you, “decided to have a baby on your own. And you lot,” he gestures at the drivers, “thought the best solution was to play some kind of ... paternity lottery?”

Lance nods hesitantly. “When you put it like that, it does sound a bit mad.”

“A bit?” Sebastian laughs incredulously. “It’s completely insane!”

“But it worked,” Carlos points out, gently rocking Nessa, who has calmed down and is now contentedly chewing on his finger. “Look at her, Seb. She’s perfect.”

Sebastian’s expression softens as he looks at his niece. “She is beautiful,” he admits. Then, turning back to the group, he adds sternly, “But that doesn’t excuse the fact that you all took advantage of my sister!”

“They didn’t take advantage of me,” you interject firmly. “This was my choice. They were just ... supporting me.”

“By offering to impregnate you?” Sebastian retorts, his protective big brother instincts in full force.

George steps forward, his expression earnest. “Sebastian, I know how this looks. But we care about your sister. All of us. We just wanted to help make her dream come true.”

“And create the world’s most confusing family tree in the process,” Logan mutters, earning a sharp elbow from Lando.

Sebastian sighs, looking around at the assembled drivers. “I still can’t believe you all agreed to this. Do you have any idea what you’re getting into? The media frenzy when this gets out?”

Fernando shrugs philosophically. “Life is full of challenges. This is just another one.”

“Easy for you to say,” Max grumbles. “You’re basically past retirement age. Some of us still have our whole careers ahead of us.”

The room falls silent as the reality of their situation sinks in. The secret they’ve managed to keep for over a year is on the verge of exploding into the public eye.

“So what do we do now?” Oscar asks, voicing the question on everyone’s mind.

You look down at Nessa, who’s drifted off to sleep in Carlos’ arms, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around her. “We tell the truth,” you say firmly. “Or at least, as much of it as we’re comfortable sharing.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Lewis, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet since his earlier outburst, speaks up. “We could say that we all agreed to help you have a child, but keep the details private. No need to mention the ... um, method.”

“You mean the part where you thought you would get to fuck her?” Sebastian growls, causing Lewis to wince.

“I really am sorry about that,” Lewis says sheepishly. “It came out all wrong.”

You shake your head, exasperated. “Focus, boys. We need a plan.”

Over the next hour, the group hashes out a strategy. They decide to release a joint statement explaining that you had chosen to become a single mother, and that the drivers, as your close friends, had offered their support. The exact nature of that support would remain private.

As they finalize the details, Sebastian watches the interactions with growing amazement. The way the drivers instinctively work together, finishing each other’s sentences and anticipating potential issues, speaks to a bond that goes beyond mere friendship or even shared paternity.

“You know,” he says finally, interrupting a debate about whether to use the phrase ‘unconventional family’ in their statement, “I think I owe you all an apology.”

The room falls silent, all eyes turning to Sebastian.

He continues, his voice softer now. “I reacted badly earlier. But seeing you all now, how you’ve come together for my sister and for Nessa ... it’s actually kind of beautiful.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes as you move to hug your brother. “Thank you, Seb. That means a lot.”

As you pull away, Sebastian turns to address the group. “But let me make one thing clear,” he says, his tone becoming stern once more. “If any of you ever hurt my sister or my niece, you’ll have me to answer to. Understood?”

The drivers nod solemnly, a mixture of respect and residual fear in their eyes.

“Good,” Sebastian says, a small smile finally breaking through. “Now, who’s going to let me hold my niece?”

As Carlos carefully transfers the sleeping Nessa to Sebastian’s arms, the tension in the room finally dissipates. Watching your brother coo over your daughter, surrounded by the unconventional family you’ve built, you feel a sense of peace wash over you.

“Well,” Lando says, breaking the moment, “I guess the hardest part’s over. Now we just have to explain this to the rest of the world.”

Alex laughs, shaking his head. “Mate, I think that might actually be the easy part. It’s raising her that’s going to be the real challenge.”

As the group dissolves into laughter, discussing potential future scenarios (“Who’s going to teach her to drive?” “All of us, obviously!” “God help us all.”), you can’t help but marvel at the strange and wonderful turn your life has taken.

Looking around at the men who have become so much more than colleagues or friends — who have become family in the truest sense of the word — you know that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together. And really, with a support system like this, how can you possibly fail?

As the laughter and chatter continue around you, Nessa stirs in Sebastian’s arms, her tiny hand reaching out. Without hesitation, eleven hands reach back, each driver gently touching a finger or offering a thumb for her to grasp.

In that moment, watching the most competitive men in motorsport melt over one tiny girl, you know that no matter what the future holds, Nessa will never lack for love, support, or, undoubtedly, speed.

***

The sun beats down on the jam-packed karting track, the air thick with the scent of fuel and the buzz of excitement. Amid the crowd of nervous parents and eager young racers, one group stands out: eleven men, a mix of current and former Formula 1 drivers, clustered around a small kart where an eight-year-old girl sits, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her face a mask of determination.

“Remember, Nessa,” Max says, kneeling beside the kart to look the girl in the eye, “smooth on the throttle, late on the brakes.”

Charles leans in from the other side. “But not too late, mon chou. You don’t want to lock up in the corners.”

“And watch your lines,” Lewis adds, adjusting Nessa’s helmet. “The racing line isn’t always the optimal when you’re being pressured.”

Nessa nods solemnly, taking in every word. “I know, I know. We’ve been over this a million times.”

Lando grins, ruffling her hair. “That’s our girl. You’ve got this, kiddo.”

Around them, other parents and children stare in disbelief. Whispers ripple through the crowd as people recognize the famous faces surrounding the young racer.

“Is that really Lewis Hamilton?” One mother hisses to her husband.

“And Max Verstappen!” The man replies, his eyes wide. “What are they doing here?”

A nearby father shakes his head in amazement. “I heard rumors about that kid, but I didn’t believe them. How can she have so many ... well, fathers?”

Meanwhile, you stand slightly apart from the group, watching the scene with a mix of pride and amusement. Your brother sidles up beside you.

“You know,” he says with a wry smile, “when I imagined my niece’s first race, I didn’t quite picture this circus.”

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh come on, you love it. Besides, you’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

As if to prove your point, Sebastian’s eyes narrow as he spots Carlos making a last-minute adjustment to Nessa’s kart. “Hey!” He calls out, striding over. “What are you doing to her suspension?”

Carlos looks up, startled. “Just a small tweak. The track’s a bit bumpy on turn three.”

“It’s fine as it is,” George interjects, crouching down to inspect the kart. “Any softer and she’ll lose responsiveness in the chicane.”

“Actually,” Fernando chimes in, “a slight adjustment might help. But not too much, Carlos.”

As the debate over suspension settings intensifies, Alex notices Nessa’s growing nervousness. He kneels beside her, speaking softly. “Hey, little racer. How are you feeling?”

Nessa bites her lip, her eyes darting between her arguing fathers and the other young racers preparing for the race. “What if I let them down?” She whispers. “They’re all so excited.”

Alex’s expression softens. “Oh, Nessa. You could never let us down. We’re proud of you no matter what happens out there.”

“He’s right,” Oscar adds, overhearing the conversation. “We’re here because we love you, not because we expect you to win.”

“Although winning would be nice,” Logan quips, earning a chorus of groans and eye-rolls from the others.

“What Logan means,” Lance says, shooting a glare at his fellow driver, “is that we want you to do your best and, most importantly, have fun.”

Nessa nods, a small smile finally breaking through her nervous expression. “Okay. I’ll try.”

As the call comes for racers to take their positions, the group reluctantly steps back, allowing Nessa to maneuver her kart to the starting line. You move forward, leaning in to give your daughter a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Remember,” you say softly, “you’re amazing, no matter what happens out there. And we love you more than anything.”

Nessa beams at you, her earlier nerves seeming to melt away. “I love you too. And all my dads,” she adds with a giggle, looking at the assembled drivers.

As you step back to join the others, the atmosphere around you changes. The playful bickering and nervous energy give way to a focused intensity that you recognize from countless race weekends. Eleven pairs of eyes are locked on the small figure in the pink and white kart, second row on the starting grid.

The lights begin their sequence, and you can almost feel the collective intake of breath from the men around you. Green! The karts surge forward, and Nessa makes a good start, holding her position into the first corner.

“That’s it, ma princesse!” Charles cheers, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Hold your line!”

“Watch your inside on turn two,” Max mutters, as if Nessa could hear him. “There’s space if you need it.”

As the race progresses, the commentary from the drivers becomes a constant stream, analyzing every move, every overtake, every defensive maneuver. Other parents cast bewildered glances their way, clearly overwhelmed by the level of scrutiny being applied to what they had assumed would be a casual children’s race.

Midway through the race, Nessa makes a bold move, diving down the inside of the leader into a tight hairpin. The karts touch slightly, and for a heart-stopping moment, it looks like both might spin.

“Steady!” Lewis calls out, his body tensing as if he could somehow influence the outcome through sheer will.

But Nessa manages to control the kart, emerging from the corner in the lead as the other driver runs wide.

The group erupts in cheers, their earlier promises of “it’s not about winning” seemingly forgotten in the heat of the moment.

“Did you see that move?” Lando exclaims, practically bouncing with excitement. “That was pure Norris!”

“Excuse me,” Charles interjects, a proud grin on his face, “I think you mean pure Leclerc. That finesse under pressure? All Ferrari.”

“Oh please,” George scoffs good-naturedly. “That was clearly a Russell special. Calculated risk with perfect execution.”

As the friendly argument over whose racing style Nessa has inherited continues, Sebastian leans in close to you. “You know,” he says, his voice a mix of amusement and resignation, “I’m starting to think we created a monster.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, we definitely did. But look how happy they all are.”

Indeed, as you watch the men who have become your family over the past eight years, you’re struck by the pure joy radiating from them. Their focus is entirely on Nessa, their own achievements and rivalries forgotten in their shared pride for this little girl who has somehow become the center of their world.

As the final lap approaches, Nessa is still in the lead, but with another driver close on her tail. The tension among the group reaches fever pitch.

“Come on, Nessa,” Fernando murmurs, his eyes never leaving the track. “You’ve got this. Stay focused.”

“Defend the inside line,” Carlos advises, as if she could hear him. “Don’t give them any space.”

The last corner approaches, and the second-place kart makes a desperate lunge for the inside line. For a moment, it looks like Nessa might be overtaken at the last second.

“No, no, no,” Alex mutters, his hands clenched into fists.

But Nessa holds her nerve, taking a slightly wider line and using her momentum to slingshot out of the corner and across the finish line, just ahead of her rival.

The eruption of cheers from the group of F1 drivers drowns out even the sound of the karts. They jump, hug each other, and pump their fists in the air as if Nessa had just won the World Drivers’ Championship.

As Nessa brings her kart to a stop in the pit area, she’s immediately surrounded by her fathers, each clamoring to be the first to congratulate her.

“That was incredible, little love!” Lewis exclaims, helping her out of the kart.

“You drove like a champion,” Max adds, his face split by an enormous grin.

“I’m so proud of you, mon petit champion,” Charles says, pulling her into a tight hug.

The other parents watch in amazement as Nessa is passed from one racing legend to another, each offering praise, analysis, and suggestions for improvement in equal measure.

“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” one father mutters to his wife. “How is this fair? That kid has a whole F1 pit crew!”

His wife shushes him, but nods in agreement, her eyes wide as she watches the scene unfold.

Meanwhile, you make your way through the crowd of excited drivers to reach your daughter. As you approach, the men part to let you through, their chatter dying down.

You kneel in front of Nessa, taking in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “How do you feel, sweetheart?” You ask softly.

Nessa’s face breaks into a wide grin. “That was amazing! Did you see when I overtook on the hairpin? And the last corner, I thought for sure he was going to pass me, but I remembered what Papa Fernando said about late apexes, and it worked!”

You laugh, pulling her into a hug. “I saw it all, baby. You were incredible.”

As you release her, Nessa looks around at the circle of beaming faces surrounding her. “Did I make you proud?” She asks, a hint of her earlier nervousness returning.

“Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Sebastian says, ruffling her hair affectionately.

“You exceeded all our expectations,” Fernando adds with a warm smile.

“And trust me,” Lando chimes in with a wink, “our expectations were pretty high to begin with.”

As Nessa basks in the praise and attention of her unconventional family, a race official approaches, looking slightly overwhelmed.

“Excuse me,” he says hesitantly, “but we need to do the podium ceremony now.”

The drivers reluctantly step back, allowing Nessa to follow the official to the makeshift podium. As she takes her place on the top step, her face beaming with pride, you find yourself surrounded by eleven grown men, each looking as proud as if they had just won a world championship themselves.

“You know,” Oscar says softly, his eyes never leaving Nessa as she receives her trophy, “I think we might be in trouble.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, turning to look at him.

He grins, a mixture of pride and mock fear in his eyes. “If she’s this good at eight, can you imagine what she’ll be like at eighteen? We might be out of jobs.”

The group chuckles, but there’s a note of truth in Oscar’s words. As you watch Nessa on the podium, her small hands raised in triumph, you can’t help but wonder what the future holds for this extraordinary little girl with her eleven F1 driver fathers.

But for now, as the sound of applause fills the air and you see the pure joy on Nessa’s face, you push those thoughts aside. There will be time enough for worrying about the future later. For now, you’re content to bask in this moment of triumph, surrounded by the most unconventional and wonderful family you could have ever imagined.

As Nessa runs back to the group, her trophy clutched tightly in her hands, she’s enveloped in a group hug that threatens to lift her off her feet. And in that moment, watching the pure love and pride radiating from these men who have given your daughter so much more than just their DNA, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, Nessa will always have the strongest support system imaginable.

After all, with her fathers in her corner, how can she possibly fail?

[luveline]

can we please have more coworker JAMES 💜

james calls you something he maybe shouldn’t | fem

You’re feeling at a James-given mark when Sirius appears. 

You don’t know Sirius half as well as you know James nor Remus, but you’re ninety five percent sure he’s a good guy. He’s funny at lunch, whenever Remus has managed to convince you to go with them. He’s like James in terms of scandal. They like making bad jokes. Sirius really likes making Remus laugh, so he must be nice. 

“Hey,” he says, “where are they?” 

You nod toward the boss’ office. “Presenting the last of the Lang and Co.” 

“Oh, right.” Sirius moves in to James’ desk. He knocks one of his figurines over purposefully, then moves one to have its face in the other’s backside. 

“I’ll have to tell him that was you,” you say. 

“Rat. Why?” 

“He’ll think it was me otherwise, and then–” He won’t kiss me later, you’d been about to say. James has grown suddenly and enthusiastically fond of withholding affection whenever you mess with him. As a joke, of course, but you refuse to risk your lunchtime kiss. “You know what he’s like with me.” 

Sirius smiles oddly. “I do.” 

He sits at James’ desk. Ever since you and James… started whatever it is you’re doing, things have been raw for you. Maybe you’re stupid, it’s only kisses, but you’re sort of thinking it isn’t. Like, this is dating. You might not be boyfriend and girlfriend, but you’re exclusive. 

James is too good, and some small part of you doesn’t like admitting it, but the bigger part (the part that wants to kiss him and be kissed by him) knows it surely. How could you have grown to fancy him otherwise?

“Doing anything fun this weekend?” you ask. 

“Not likely,” Sirius says, tucking hair behind his ears. “We’re all helping Remus’ dad paint the house. It’s a tiny thing n’ it won’t take long, but he lives in Aberystwyth. S’gonna take hours to get there and he wants to stay up there ‘cos his dad gets lonely.” Sirius scratches his jaw. “His dad’s nice, mind. I don’t mind going up there. Just hate being stuck in the car when James is driving.” 

You won’t see James this weekend, then. He hadn’t mentioned it. “It’s beautiful in Aberystwyth. Maybe you can go to the beach,” you say. 

“That’s what I’m trying to convince them to do.” Sirius grins. 

“Not the best weather.” 

“It’s always nicer up there. We spent a lot of time up there, you know, in the summers. We ping-ponged between Remus’ house and James’ parents.” 

“Do they live there too?” you ask. 

“Nowhere near.” Sirius laughs, a deep, rich sound. “You think I’d be used to long drives.” 

“Where’s James from?”

“My parents live deep in the West Country,” James says, his hands sudden on the back of your chair. 

Fuck, you think. You had no idea he was coming, distracted by Sirius and the patter of rain against the window. “You creeper.” 

“You’re the creeper. Grilling dear Siri for details on my personal life.” James dives for a biscuit from the plastic packaging laid out on your desk and then away from you. “If you want to know where to send your fan mail, just ask me, sweetheart.” 

“How do you sneak up on me like that?” you ask. 

The space between your chair and the wall isn’t super tight, but it’s still weird to think he’d approached from the right and you hadn’t noticed. Just, James isn’t generous with details about himself and you’re too timid in your standing with him to ask. 

“Practice… Sirius, what have you don’t to my little women!” 

“I thought they were boys?” Sirius says. 

“That gives you no right to knock them over and make them do frankly obscene things to one another. This is a workplace.” James knocks Sirius out of the way, desk chair and all, to set each of his little green figurines onto their feet. The ones that are standing, that is. The sleeping one he puts back in pride of place underneath his computer’s monitor. 

“She told me not to,” Sirius says, not looking at anyone now, peering backward toward the office. “But I didn’t listen, don’t blame our sweet Y/N.” 

“I wasn’t going to.” James sends you a secret smile. 

“She wouldn’t physically withheld me if I weren’t so devilishly fast.” Sirius’ voice warms. “Hello, darling.” 

Remus huffs as he sets down a huge binder of paper. “Hi.” 

“You okay?” 

The tone he uses is so tender, so soft, you aren’t jealous of Remus but you’re not far from it, either. Remus’ frowning is quick to turn up at the sight of his meddling boyfriend. It must be nice to see someone and have them make a bad day good. 

You look up, finding James paused with a hand on his desk. He’s looking at you, impassive. 

“You okay?” you ask him. 

He squints, wrinkles his nose. “Fine. Got shouted at a bit for the reports. Bet you’re glad you have a twisted ankle.” You’re confused at first, then caught. James’ wrinkled face darkens to glare at you. “You lied?” 

“I really didn’t wanna see him today.” Your boss sucks. 

“And we did? Remus, we’ve been betrayed.” 

“James, I knew she was lying, I just don’t care.” Remus rubs his face. “Why shouldn’t one of us escape him?” 

Sirius takes Remus’ empty hand hanging at his side, picture of a concerned lover. 

James, on the other hand, steals another biscuit despite your laughing protesting and nimbly switches off your monitor. 

“Had enough,” James says. Turned away from the boys, he smiles at you playfully, hand twitching at his side like he wants to give you a squeeze. Or a shove. “Your betrayal is noted.” 

“Mm.” You take a third biscuit from your pack to offer him. 

He takes it, letting his knuckles brush under your arm before pulling away. “And filed away for a later date.” 

When Sirius has pulled Remus away for another early lunch, James retakes his chair and slides as close to you as he can be. He looks for your hand under the desk. You pretend it’s just casually there on your knee and not waiting for him to hold. 

“My dad’s family is very well off,” he says, rubbing your index finger with his thumb, “so the estate is huge. They own a lot of land, but he’s not, like, a lord or anything. You’d love it down there though, it’s nice.” 

“I bet I would.”

“Don’t look so surprised.” 

“No, I’m not, I know you’re rich.” 

“Not that sort of surprise. It would be nice to go down there together.” He can tell he’s getting ahead of himself and backtracks. “Well, this weekend I’m going to gorgeous Aberystwyth and you’re…” 

“Doing laundry.” 

“Well,” he says quietly, “maybe you can make some time Sunday night after all of that and we can get a late dinner.” 

“I thought I was in trouble over the twisted ankle.” 

“Who could be in trouble for an injury?” James sandwiches your hand in his. 

“Fake injury.” 

“Oh, my girl,” he murmurs, almost inaudible, “so honest. No punishment on account of owning up to it.” 

Great. My girl and he’s going away for the weekend. James Potter’s your personal nightmare. 

—

james coworker au

[hellsslibrary]

Hello! There's just not so many sub! Kaiser fics and I'm d y i n g to read those 😔😔

Can I request for a sub! Kaiser x male reader where Kaiser has a praise kink but doesn't ever want to admit it 👀

#a.n. :This is so same! Kaiser is such a babygirl, I want to kiss him, eat him, hug him, and then rock him in my arms and let him relax... But no, this bitch is always top, lol. Even funny.

"I don't like your damn praise! Just fuck me alre—...What?"

!!Warnings: Bottom!Sub!Michael, Dom!Top!Reader, sex on an indoor football field (it's empty, it just seemed interesting to me, imagine the echo there...), praise kink obviously, Michael tries to be dominant, but he's too much of a pillow princess (he came out so gentle... In his own way), in fact everything is quite vanilla, but he kicks you when he's unhappy, also very romantic in general. × And the reader is somehow connected with football company. You can be a manager, a football player, or even a cleaner there, honestly.

The football field in the building was closed at night, knowing full well how persistent football players in the leagues can be. Darkness, silence, idyll... Except for the flashlight from the phone somewhere in the middle of the field and quiet groans echoing from the walls.

"Why did you decide to have sex here? Plus, at this time?" You ask, looking over at Michael, who was clutching at the trimmed grass in the lawn as you thrust into him at a careful, almost tremulous pace.

“I think you said yourself that you wanted to experiment... So we’re starting with something easy,” Blonde whispers, wincing from the unpleasant feeling of artificial grass in his hands, so he just hugs your neck lazily.

“Well, yes, but... You obviously have some other reasons. But I won’t push if you don’t want to talk,” Michael just sighs at your words, but it immediately turns into a soft moan when your lips touch his neck.

“I just love the atmosphere in here, as weird as it sounds, so shut up and fuck me,” A disgruntled mutter escapes his lips, only to be cut short when he tilts his head back, giving you better access to his neck.

You look over his face, surprisingly too peaceful for him. Maybe this place really brought inner comfort to his soul, erasing all the doubts and burdens that he kept inside and sometimes shared with you. Maybe it was. But your heart broke at the sight of him for some reason, you understood his feelings more than anyone... Because you were probably the only one he was able to open up to so much.

“Micha? You’re a good boy,” echoes from your lips almost casually, but with a sickly sweet note that you want to listen to forever and drown in these sweet speeches.

"What was it?"

You find yourself torn from examining his face by his question. And really, why did you say that? He didn't do anything special during your entire session, which lasted about half an hour. And you too... But one look at him is enough for you to understand why.

Your attentive gaze glides over his perfect facial features, long eyelashes giving his eyes an unusual softness and warmth. Instantly you feel the desire to say that he is beautiful, extraordinarily beautiful. Faithful hands, strength and tenderness in every touch, sincerity and warmth in every word, just for you. The desire to praise, to say how much love and kindness he has, how he is able to bring a smile even in the most cloudy weather.

His soul shines brighter than the stars in the sky, his smile can melt the heart of icy granite. The desire to praise, express gratitude for all the beauty and kindness that he brings into this world. He is not just a person, he is magic, miracle, a spark that pushes you to move even in your most difficult moments.

The words seem unfair, but the heart is filled with feelings that are impossible to carry on the wind. Praise, approval, love — all these are small before the greatness of his soul and his existence. You really want to tell him about this so that he understands how amazing and significant he is to you. Just as the sun rises every morning, he awakens in you a feeling of awe and admiration that seems endless and will remain so.

“Because I love you,” You say without thinking, and immediately catch a light, rare blush on his cheeks.

His hand immediately drops down from your shoulder to cover the pink dust on his cheeks, but you intercept his hand, kissing his fingers tenderly, intertwining your fingers together.

"You idiot... Why so suddenly?" He asks, even if he doesn't wait for an answer, lightly kicking you in the side, groaning when you lean over him a little closer, hitting his sweet spot at a pleasant angle.

You find yourself thinking that you would worship him if he were God. It’s not that you didn’t already worship him... But he was definitely the person for whom even an atheist would reconsider their views on the world.

"Why suddenly? I'm always ready to praise you. You are tenacious, driven, incredibly smart, caring for those you care about in your own way... You are simply magnificent."

"Shut up, please shut up. I don't need your praise, just fuck me and..." He trails off, kicking you in the side again as he realizes something, "You didn't say that I'm handsome."

“Your beauty is a fact. But your appearance is far from the main thing that you have, even if you think differently... But if I started to list what I like about you externally, then we would move on to dithyrambs and ballads, and not to the climax."

Michael chuckles, finally distracted from contemplating you in response, realizing that he really feels a knot growing in his stomach. In general, he would never admit that he would be glad to listen to these dithyrambs and ballads and much more if it came from you. He's always taken praise for granted because, yes, he's Michael Kaiser, but now? He's just a puddle in your hands that's trying to look like ice.

“I’m not clenching around your cock right now because...” He cuts himself off, groaning as your mouth sucks on his neck in the area of his tattoo, “It’s not because I liked the praise, is that clear to both of us?”

“Of course, my King, as you say,” You say, biting the skin of his neck, causing him to whimper quietly as one of your hands slides to his cock, stroking it in time with your thrusts.

Your pace gradually picks up as you get closer too. And the sight of Michael, who clearly enjoyed your previous praise, did not at all ease your hard-on, nor did the warm walls around him.

"Call me!" He suddenly shouts, kicking you in the side once again, although you have no idea what he means at first, pulling away from his neck.

"Good boy?" You ask cautiously and to your surprise and pleasure, his cock twitches in your palm, and after a few thrusts he actually comes, squeezing you tighter than usual, which is why you can’t help but cum, thrusting into him a couple of times in post-orgasmic bliss, and then laying down on his chest.

The quiet rhythm of his heartbeat calmed you as he lightly ran his hand through your hair. You were both regaining your more than ragged breaths before the comfortable silence was interrupted by a question that made you chuckle hoarsely.

“Why did you ask this and not state it as a fact?”

[miyaren]

What I Like | Osamu Miya

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✪ Osamu smut 18+ minors PLEASE dni

CW: manipulation a teensy bit , thigh riding (ゝз╹), one friendly clit slap (we're so back), unspoken pining , its kind of tender ok

When your fwb cancels on you, your best friend Osamu kindly offers to help you out with your problem. And in a crazy turn events, you agree.

an: I promised this fic a year ago 💔. That's not to say it took a year to write but that it's just been collecting dust in my docs. I love this one, it's my favorite flavor of friends to lovers and I might have to do a part 2! If you enjoy it, I would love to hear what you think xoxo

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“I’ll do it.” Osamu offered to you nonchalantly. 

You nearly spit out your drink. This was Osamu, your best friend since you both started college, the one who had introduced you to his brother in the first place.

 Atsumu was the guy you hooked up with semi regularly, who ruffled your hair and called you pipsqueak and acted like he hadn’t just rearranged your guts only minutes before. It was unserious in every sense of the word. 

Your friendship with Osamu? Serious. And important to you. Maybe you had stroked out. Maybe he had.

“What are you saying ‘Samu?”

He shrugged like the two of you were discussing the weather, “You seem upset Atsumu flaked and I'm offering to help you take care of it.” 

“Stop saying it like we’re talking about my dog. You’re talking about fucking me!”

Osamu’s calm expression broke into a cheshire grin, “It's a generous offer, you know. You should be grateful.”

“How are you so blase about this?”

“Y/n, you have been telling me how horny you are for the last twenty minutes, you can’t tell me this is phasing you.”

“But still-”

His laugh cut through your strangled words, “Such a big baby.”

Your ears heated up as he said it. He always called you that starting back to your freshman year when he found out you were an only child. He had mumbled that it made a lot of sense, and you had promptly swatted his arm. Just like then, it riled you up now. He knew it would. 

You pushed out of your seat to stand, “Alright. We’re going to my room.”

Osamu’s expression flashed with surprise, but it was gone as soon as it came. Wordlessly, he followed you into your room and closed the door.

The two of you stared at each other for a good minute. 

He tsked, “Y/n, don’t make this awkward.”

“I’m not. Just take off your clothes.” You directed as you pulled your shirt over your head. He moved to do the same.

“You’re making this clinical.” As he pulled his shirt off you saw the wry smile playing at his lips. 

You started unbuttoning your pants, “I’m not. Order is good, rules are good.”

“Any more rules before we start?” His hands were making quick work of his belt. 

Did you really need rules with Osamu? Obviously he’d never do anything to hurt you. But still. There was another potential issue. “No kissing. It's too intimate.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point but he held his tongue. That lasted for only a second though. “I’m literally going to be inside you.”

“Potatoe potato.”

“The big baby that you are.”

You couldn’t waver on this, “Them’s the rules.”

He nodded with understanding and moved to take his boxers off. At the same time, you stepped out of your panties and unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. 

When you looked up, of course Osamu was staring at you. And of course you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He was perfectly sculpted all the way down to his V line. And he was big. It was a little weird to compare him to Atsumu, a little weird that you were going to have had sex with both twins in general. But he seemed bigger than what you were used to.

“You’re gorgeous.” Osamu’s eyes were unabashedly trailing up and down your body. You wanted to brush him off, and tell him he was being stupid. But your cheeks were flushed and you found yourself at a loss for words. 

He has said to not make this awkward. But how could you not? He was your best friend, so attractive that you had to pretend he wasn’t to function normally. And he was looking at you like that. 

Your mouth was open and you willed words to come out. He beat you to it.

“You have condoms? And lube?” Of course you did.

He took a seat on the edge of your bed as you dug through your drawers and fished the bottle of lube out. A condom following shortly after. 

“Here.” You handed him both. You wanted to finally touch him. Your palm landed on his chest and trailed down to hold him there. 

Osamu caught your wrist and mumbled, “Not yet. C’mere.” He beckoned you to climb into his lap and ushered you on top of him-hovering above his thighs-, the heat of his hands searing on your hips. Opening up the bottle, he poured a little out onto his thigh.

Your brows pinched, “What are you-”

“Ride my thigh.” His eyes bored right into yours.

“‘Samu, please I just want you to-”

One of his hands ran up the inside of your thigh before carding his fingers through your folds. You almost jolted at the feel of his cold fingertips. With featherlight pressure, he teased your clit, “Can you please just let me take care of you?”

He started to draw circles and you nodded dumbly as you sank down further, pussy bare against his thigh. Sliding his palms down to your ass, he guided you forward and then back and then forward again. When his mouth found your neck, an uncontrolled sound left your lips. 

You could hear him laugh but you didn’t seem to care as you rutted against him. The slick of the lube had you gliding along his thigh, the friction just right against your clit. 

All the while Osamu was littering your neck with red purple marks, one hand abandoning your hip in favor of rolling your nipples between his thumb and index. He pinched and watched you suck in a breath. Really, he wanted to hear you. He pinched again. 

You whined as you rode him, “‘Samu, please.” 

Smirking he pulled your nipple into his mouth, sucking and circling with his tongue. Osamu’s mouth paired with the delicious friction between your legs had you soaking his thigh. 

“You’re so pretty like this.” He whispered at your ear.

Your hips stuttered at the praise. As good as you were feeling, you felt you could never get close enough to his thigh, even as you ground against it. Your hands found purchase on his shoulders and you moved faster, harder. Not enough. “Osamu, please. I need more.”

He nipped at your neck before pulling back to watch you, “What do you want, Y/n?”

“Touch me, please. Like before.”

With a nod, he brought his fingers against you, “How does this feel, baby?”

Like he commanded it, your heart thundered and your clit pulsed at what he said. You swallowed hard, “So good, ‘Samu.”

He gave your clit a pinch and impishly smiled when you yelped, before kissing your neck in apology and circling one finger gently to soothe the sting, “Do you like it like this? Or like this?”

Instead of gentle, now he deepened the pressure on your clit and sped up with precision. In his lap you jolted, the tension in your body stacking. 

“Tell me, baby.”

You took a breath, “The second one.” He continued and licked up the column of your neck and you knew you were a goner. “I’m gonna cum, I-”

All at once, his fingers were gone from your throbbing core. Oh this was sick.

“Osamu what the hell?”

Both of his hands slid up your stomach to grope your tits, his thumbs rolling your nipples simultaneously, making you shiver, “I’ll let you come but. . .”

“But what?” 

Skimming his hand back down your body, his eyes flickered to your puffy cunt before he moved and cupped it gently. His hand was unmoving, but you could feel yourself throbbing in his palm. 

When he looked up his eyes met yours and though he had called you a big baby your entire friendship, he’d never seen you this needy in your life. Osamu’s face leaned closer to yours, “You have to kiss me.”

100% he had expected you to hesitate, definitely you were going to argue the point. Nothing could have prepared him for the way your small hands grabbed his face and you pulled him closer still, the way you kissed him like you might die. 

He moved his fingers back to where you needed most and he touched you the exact way you liked. As he sped up, you moaned into his mouth and Osamu’s tongue brushed against your bottom lip before you greeted it with your own. 

The dam inside you was so close to spilling over. Osamu’s fingers were unrelenting on your clit, tight little circles that never stopped. Hungrily, his tongue stroked against yours and you felt your body seize up, stars bursting behind your eyes. You were lost to the high of your release and you had to break apart from your kiss to writhe against his shoulder. He didn’t stop, rubbing you all the way through your orgasm with consistent pressure, not stopping even as your pelvis jumped against hand.

All through your cries he continued, finally stopping when you bit down into the crook of his neck. 

You stayed silent in his arms, your body rising and falling against him like you had just run a marathon.

Subtly you lifted your chin to peer up at him and found him watching you. You rolled your eyes, “I think you broke a rule just then.”

He smiled before stealing a chaste kiss from you, “And I think you liked it.”

You couldn’t argue the point, your lips were still tingling. Really the whole thing would have your mind spinning for quite a while. If you thought about it-

“Aghh.” Your back arched when Osamu gave your cunt a light slap. He was grinning down at you.

“I said don’t make it awkward.”

“I’m not.” You frowned against your will.

Osamu huffed out a laugh as his hand trailed down the love bites he left on your neck, “Such a big baby.”

Against your will, you shivered against him, remembering the way he had spoke to you just minutes before. Of course he noticed, he noticed everything about you. He leaned down so his mouth was at the shell of your ear and his thumb was stroking back and forth as he cupped your cheek, almost like he was holding you there so you couldn’t escape. 

“You like it when I call you baby, huh?” He whispered to you.

Undoubtedly you did. More than you should. 

But you needed to keep things normal. The two of you were best friends and you had to stay that way.

Don’t make it awkward. 

You could do that. 

You smacked his hand away from your face, “You gonna fuck me or are you gonna keep talking?”

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk, “There she is.”

Before you could blink, he was tackling you down to the bed.

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Stormy Nights

Summary: You couldn’t sleep and while Wanda said it was okay to bother her you still felt bad

Warnings: Just fluff and cuteness no bad warnings mommy Wanda cuteness

Words: 1000

A/n: this is another draft that’s been here forever so I think it’s best to be shown, it’s just a small mommy Wanda Drabble

You felt silly, it was definitely silly, you a 25 year old holding your seal teddy standing outside Wanda's door contemplating whether to knock on the door or not.

She did say you could earlier this evening when it was thundering and lighting that if you were scared you could go to her room but it was still weird and you were nervous that if you barged in she'd just kick you out.

While you were wracking your brain about everything the bedroom door opened to a sleepy Wanda in her pyjamas looking at you "dorogoy? Are you okay?"

You couldn't speak just held your teddy closer to your chest and she seemingly understood and gave you a wide grin "honey are you scared of the weather?"

You just nodded refusing to look her in the eye "did you want to come into my room for safety?"

You gave another nod and Wanda held her hand out which you took gingerly and she dragged you into her room, the soft light slightly illuminating the room with a cozy feel "thank you" you whispered and Wanda kissed you on the top of your head "your welcome moya lyubov'"

She sat herself on the bed patting the other side for you to lay down on "it's very comfy baby"

You smiled coming to the bed and getting under the covers letting out a happy moan at the softness and instant comfort you felt

"That good?" She chuckled and you blushed pulling the cover over your head "don't hide from me pretty girl" she pulled the cover from you "do you want to cuddle until the storm stops?"

You didn't need to say anything instead you shuffled closer to the woman and let her envelop you into a hug with her head atop of yours and your face in her neck breathing in her lavender scent "thank you" you whispered and Wanda kissed your head

"Go to sleep princess, I'll be right here when you wake up"

Your eyes closed and your body relaxed in Wanda’s hold “you’re so precious” we’re the last words you heard before drifting off into a deep sleep

*******************************************************

Your eyes fluttered open adjusting to the sudden bright light of the sun through the window, sun? Where you asleep that long?

“Good morning sunshine” Wanda appeared from her bathroom seeing you look around “I hope my shower didn’t wake you”

“No it’s okay, thanks for letting me sleep here” you rushed out slightly embarrassed about you seeing her in her robe which she noticed "no need to be embarrassed princess, I told you I wanted you to come and tell me if you were scared and you did, I'm so proud of you!"

She motioned for you to stand up bringing you into a hug resting her head on your shoulder, you relaxed in her hold until she placed a kiss under your ear making you go stiff

"You're so cute princess, I need to be honest do you know why I told your dad you could stay while they went away?"

You shook your head no and she smiled "because I like having you around, I love the way you light up any room you go into, I want to keep you by my side when I'm feeling sad because I know you'll make me feel so much better, will you stay with me?"

You couldn't speak, Wanda likes you? Like a friend? or more? It sounded like more, you guessed she was always happy to see you and be close to you-

"Honey you're shaking, are you okay?" Your thoughts were stopped and you pulled away suddenly "I-i don't know what to say..."

She understood, it was definitely a lot to take in, but she needed to say it, she decided to let you go but you pulled her back into a hug "don't let me go...please" she smiled completely letting herself relax into the hug

"We can go slow Y/n but I want to be with you, okay detka?"

You nodded and kissed her cheek "okay Wanda”

Wanda smiled “how about you call me mommy Y/n, since you’re my precious little girl now” the thought of calling Wanda mommy made your whole body warm and you liked it so you did

“Okay mommy”

Wanda kissed your lips lightly, just a small peck to show you how much you mean to her “pretty girl” she whispered and you blushed “I keep feeling like a tomato with all the times you’re making me blush” you giggled

“I plan on making you blush all the time from now on, you deserve happiness”

“I’m already so happy”

[say-al0e]

Hypothetical

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Eddie asks a lot of hypothetical questions, just to hear your answer. The answer to this question was more real than you wanted to admit. Warnings: Tiny bit of self-doubt, idiots to lovers. Pairing: Eddie x fem!Reader (think it could be read as GN but just to be safe) Word Count: 2.7k

“Would you fuck my clone?”

The question, asked as casually as if he were inquiring about the weather - though, to his defense, he’d asked weirder - rose above the sound of chainsaws emanating from the television and earned a confused frown as you spared him a sideways glance.

Eddie’s attention remained mostly on Leatherface, chasing unsuspecting victims, but you caught his curious glance as you laughed. Those were the first words spoken in over an hour, certainly a record for your verbose best friend, and you couldn’t help but ask, “What the fuck, Eddie?”

“What?” From his position at the end of the couch, feet propped on the coffee table and head lolled onto the cushions, he shrugged. “It’s a simple question. Would you fuck my clone?”

A beat of silence passed, in which you realized this was one of those moments where Eddie wouldn’t let the question go until he was given a satisfying answer, and you sighed. “I don’t think that’s the question, Eds,” you countered. “Isn’t it usually, ‘would you fuck your own clone’?”

With a dismissive wave of his hand and a scoff, Eddie finally sat up and turned his full attention to you, screaming teenagers and chainsaws forgotten now that he had something better to capture his attention. “That one’s boring,” he reasoned. “We know all the arguments. This is a different question, new arguments.”

“I think we’re fine without arguing,” you teased, reaching for the nearly half-empty bowl of popcorn. “Just watch the movie, Eddie.”

From the corner of your eye, you watched as a look you couldn’t quite recognize flickered across Eddie’s face. However, just as quickly as it appeared, it was covered with a raised brow and a teasing grin. “We’ve seen it a hundred times already. Anyway, what I’m getting from this is, you would fuck my clone. Interesting.”

Eddie did little to hide his amusement as you rolled your eyes and tossed a piece of popcorn at him. “I didn’t say that,” you argued, despite yourself - despite knowing that you were walking into a conversation you weren’t yet sure you wanted any part of.

A hum, unconvinced, met your ears as he reached for the bowl and plucked it from your hands. “Okay,” he prompted, ignoring your outraged huff. “So, tell me. Would you?”

There were a handful of ways you could respond to his probing. The first, shut down his question with a point blank refusal, phrased as a light-hearted joke that did little damage to his ego and even less to your already fragile nerves. The second, play into his game and debate the pros and cons of sleeping with his clone, the ethical ramifications, the conversation he clearly wanted. Or, the third, admit to him a fact that you’d concealed since the summer of 1984.

Any way you could have him, real Eddie or clone, you would take it.

That was, solidly, not in the lead. So, you opted for the second approach.

“Jeez, Eds,” you sighed, stealing popcorn from the bowl now resting on his lap. “I don’t know. Maybe,” you conceded. “Depends, I guess. Is he, like, total you or some weird, kinda fucked up clone? Like, is he totally evil or incapable of coherent thought or, I don’t, off somehow?” As an afterthought, you joked, “More so than the real you, anyway.”

“Rude.” There was no bite in the declaration, only a fond amusement that made your chest ache, but you did your best to ignore it as he hummed. “Clone’s a totally normal, complete carbon copy. Everything about him is exactly the same, down to the last hair.”

“So, no aspirations to rule the world or become, like, the next Leatherface?”

Eddie grinned. “That’s my backup plan, you know, if music doesn’t work. So, guess it’d be his, too,” he admitted, only breaking into laughter when you grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. “Seriously,” he relented, “nothing weird. Just another me. Everything you know and love, times two.”

With a sigh, you lifted your legs onto the couch and hugged your knees to your chest. “Then… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely audible over the screams still echoing from the television. “Maybe?”

“It’s a yes or no question, babe,” he reminded you, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed as he studied you. “Shouldn’t be this hard.”

That look, the one that you had difficulty placing, returned and despite your uncertainty as to what it was, you were certain that you didn’t like it very much. Doubt, or maybe hurt, were the closest emotions you could identify though neither made much sense to you in the moment.

Still, rather than ask, you rolled your eyes. “What’s the point of this conversation?”

There was none, it was just for fun - a debate, like the thousands of others you’d had over the course of your friendship - and Eddie said a much as he shrugged. “Isn’t one,” he declared, offering you the last handful of popcorn. “I just want to know if you’d fuck my clone.”

When you refused, he returned the bowl back to the coffee table before reaching for your ankle. With a gentle tug, he encouraged you to rest your feet on his lap as his fingers began to tap a beat that only existed inside his head against your skin. “Why does it matter?”

Eddie shrugged once more, though this time, he glanced at the television rather than you as he answered. “Because I asked and you always answer.”

“I do,” you relented, sighing as you also spared the screen a glance. “Well, what’s the right answer, then? There has to be one.”

This time, he shook his head as the tapping of his fingers grew a touch faster. “Right answer’s the true one.”

For a moment, you simply studied Eddie. His side profile, bathed in the warm glow of the television, was the picture of concentration as he watched a scene you’d seen a thousand times before. Only, you knew him well enough to see the telltale signs that he was in no way paying as close of attention as he should’ve been.

The slightest tick in his jaw, the quick bite of the inside of his cheek, the delayed blinking; all signs that he was waiting more intently for your answer than he wanted you to believe.

Rejection - no matter how hypothetical - never seemed possible when it came to Eddie. So, you sighed and conceded, “Okay, fine. Sure, I’d fuck your clone.”

Eddie hummed, seemingly unsurprised and feigning nonchalance as he nodded as if the answer confirmed something he already suspected. And there were a thousand ways in which you expected him to respond; none of which could’ve compared to him declaring, “So, you’d fuck my clone but not me.”

Again, rejection was not an option. However, you had no intention of admitting to him that you’d wanted him for years. There was no world in which you could see yourself admitting to him that you thought he was beautiful - with his doe eyes and playful grin. Telling him how you felt would likely end in an awkward silence at best and a ruined friendship at worst.

So, you opted for a careful denial. “What? I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re not saying anything to the contrary,” he countered, turning his head to spare you a cursory glance. There was something there, beneath the amused glimmer in his eyes, that unnerved you - something far more serious than you were expecting - but as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

When you shot him an unimpressed glance, cutting your eyes at him before returning your attention to the television, he shrugged, teasing grin never faltering. “I never said that. I answered a hypothetical and you’re reading into it.”

Eddie met your perhaps too sharp denial with a raised brow as he gave up the guise of watching the movie. “So, am I wrong?”

“Would you stop putting words into my mouth?” You huffed as you reached for the bowl of popcorn, desperate for something to distract yourself from making a confession you knew you would regret. “I never said that. All I said was that I’d fuck your clone, I answered the question.”

“Okay, fine. You never said you wouldn’t fuck me but it’s never happened. Never even sort of, almost, maybe happened,” he reminded you - as if you needed it. “So, you would fuck my clone but not me. Why?”

“Because we’re friends, Eddie,” you shot back, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as you popped a piece of popcorn into your mouth. “I’ve known you since I was ten.” 

The excuse sounded weak in your own ears, but it was all you could muster without breaking down and confessing that you would, in fact, sleep with him. If only he’d ask. If only it wouldn’t destroy your friendship. If only it was that simple.

Still, Eddie was relentless. “But my clone would have all my memories, totally the same person,” he reminded you. “He’d be your friend, just like me. But you’d fuck him. So, why not me?”

“This is stupid,” you huffed. “Why do you care?” He’d never pushed so hard, not in pursuit of a hypothetical question meant to pass the time, and you were genuinely curious why he seemed so interested in your answer, or your lack thereof.

“I’m a naturally curious person,” he argued, shrugging as he squeezed your ankle. “It’s just a stupid hypothetical. C’mon, why would you hypothetically fuck my clone but not me?”

There was little doubt in your mind that he would continue pushing until he got the answer he was looking for, especially as it seemed that he’d already made up his mind that he was right, so you shifted yourself in a huff. With your legs now hugged to your chest, eyes on the television to avoid meeting his gaze as you admitted in a snap, “God, okay. I’d fuck your clone because it’s the closest I’d get to being with you without actually destroying our entire relationship. Happy with that answer?”

“What?” Eddie sounded genuinely surprised and you could feel the warmth of his gaze burning into your skin as you purposely kept your gaze on the television.

“If your clone is you, all your memories, your mannerisms, your looks, I’d fuck your clone because then I’d get to see what it’s like to be with you,” you admitted, words escaping despite every fiber of your being telling you to be quiet. “I’d get everything without the risk of losing you when I fuck it all up.”

Eddie shifted closer then, careful to keep a few inches of space between you but no longer nestled into the opposite edge of the couch as he tipped his head to get a better glimpse of your face. “What do you mean, when you fuck it up?”

Frustrated tears - at admitting a secret you swore would follow you to the grave, at allowing him to get under your skin when he was simply asking an innocent question, at allowing yourself to get so worked up over something so simple - stung at the backs of your eyes as you huffed. “I’m… you know me, Eddie. I don’t,” you sighed, cutting yourself off, before taking a deep breath. “I’m prickly. I don’t do well with romance. I freak out and run,” you reminded him. “Even if you felt the same, if we worked out enough to not have our friendship go down in flames, there’s still a chance I’d fuck it up and I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to run from you.”

“Hey.” Eddie shifted even closer, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, and sighed when you refused to glance at him. Regardless, he exclaimed, “That’s why we’d be different.”

“What?” Of all the things you expected him to say, that was the last. With furrowed brows and tears still lining your lashes, you tipped your head to glance at him. “Why?”

“Because,” he began, meeting your eyes for the first time in what felt like hours, “when you try to run, I know what you’re doing. When you get all weird or try to push me away, I know it’s not really you wanting me to go. I know you. I get you, just like you get me.”

“Eddie.”

Of all the ways you’d expected him to react, of all the ways you expected him to acknowledge your feelings for him, returning them was not on the list. For years, you’d convinced yourself that there was no way he would return your feelings, there was no way you would ever be able to acknowledge those feelings without losing your best friend, and there was still a deep-rooted fear that, despite his seeming certainty that his understanding would make a difference, any attempt at a relationship would only end in heartbreak.

That didn’t seem to matter to him as he pressed on. “I’m serious. It’s us,” he continued, this time reaching out to press a hand to your knee. “It’s always been us, always will be us. There’s nothing you can do to get rid of me. Not now.”

“You can’t know that,” you sighed, though it was nowhere near as confident as you hoped it would be. “We can’t see the future.”

“We can’t,” he agreed. “Not yet, anyway, but the nineties seem promising.” When you rolled your eyes, barely suppressing a smile, he laughed. “But that’s the fun part. We do our best to make our own future. It’s always going to be together, might as well come clean and really be together instead of making ourselves miserable pretending.” Before you could respond, offer another half-hearted refusal, he pressed on. “What do we have to lose?”

“Everything.”

Eddie shook his head, completely unconvinced that anything bad would come of allowing yourselves to try. “I don’t believe that. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“How can you be so certain?” You wished you had an ounce of Eddie’s certainty, his true belief that the pair of you could make it, but you were skeptical. Neither of you had much luck in life, neither of you had much outside of one another, and losing him would be far too great.

However, you were tired of pretending that a shared future was not what you wanted. 

The possibility that your future could go up in flames, that you could destroy the best friendship you’d ever had, worried you. It kept you awake at night. But now knowing that Eddie felt the same, that he wanted the same future you did, there was no way you could turn him down.

For all your fear, for all your hesitance, saying no was not an option.

“Because we’ve been in love for years and nothing bad has happened yet.” He said it as if it was the most obvious answer he could give, as if it made all the sense in the world, and if you really stopped to think about it, it did.

“Can you promise me something?”

Eddie shifted ever closer, nodding easily as you reached for his hand. “Anything.”

“Can you promise me that no matter what happens, we’ll always be friends? Even if we don’t work out, if something happens, promise me that we’ll still be there for each other.”

“I promise. Nothing hypothetical about that,” he agreed, corner of his mouth lifting when you offered a soft smile.

The moment stretched around you, nothing existed outside of the pair of you as Eddie tugged you into his side. It was easy, natural, and you melted into his touch despite the fear lingering in the back of your mind.

There was a brief worry that this could be a mistake. That allowing yourselves to intertwine your futures so thoroughly would only end in heartbreak, but he was right. For as long as you could remember, it had been you and Eddie. There was nothing that had managed to wedge you apart yet. And pretending had no guarantee of working in the long term.

So, you decided to dive in to the deep end and allow yourself to truly fall. There was no situation, real or hypothetical, in which he would allow you to hit the ground.

No matter what, you knew that he would be there to catch you. 

________________________________________________________

Author's Note: I spent my entire day in meetings. All the meetings. So many meetings. I also have a dentist appointment on Wednesday and I am Terrified. So have this.

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[yuoimia]

WELCOME TO MY HEART

summary: how has loving you changed him?

characters: neuvillette, alhaitham, diluc, xiao. (seperate)

notes: gn! reader, fluff, getting poetic in xiao, weird time skips. wc: 2k!

neuvillette

Hesitancy lingers like a translucent mist around Neuvillette. Thick, but also not thick enough to be indiscernible. As centuries tick by, soon enough, that protective mist wanes into nothing but a fragile facade that threatens to vaporise. That outcome is most unfavourable; simply visualising it already causes a spike in distress in his chest.

Fast forward a few 'scenic meetings’ later, Neuvillette wonders where that mist disappeared off to.

He needn’t put up a missing poster with a contact number because, shockingly, the Chief Justice no longer desired that prudential coverage.

You evaporated Neuvillette’s final layer of defence, stripped his rationality with unwavering strength of character, and erased any uneasiness within the language of love.

Throughout your shared timeline, every point marked with a memorable moment, there are many small aspects about each other that only the continuation of time can reveal. It’s as sweet as it sounds, unless, well, the other finds out about something you did try to conceal.

Sometimes you think to yourself: Who knew the Monsieur Neuvillette could be so…earnest in seeing you flustered?

Truly, there are only very few opportunities Neuvillette would starve himself from such delight. The other times, though, they consist of your rose-tinted cheeks and his charmed chuckle, florid promises ending with a trail of marks of his love down the slope of your neck.

Neuvillette is quite the bold one. Far too cheeky for his own good, really.

alhaitham

It was a warm memory. Still as vivid as ever, despite the years that have passed. A golden tattoo, activated whenever the dazzling drops of summer sunshine radiated down.

Three years ago, summer, the Akedemiya.

Heatwaves weren’t a rare occurrence in Sumeru. For weeks on end, the city of wisdom experienced boiling highs and dry, scorching winds. The streets were empty as shopkeepers resorted to staying under the cool of shaded roofs. That was the correct response, the only response to such situations.

Yet, there were still people willing to test your limited patience even more.

“We’re going to get a heatstroke,” you explained to each member of your darshan. “We can postpone the field trip to the desert some other day.”

“But this weather is indefinite, and knowing Sumeru, it is going to last a very long time. We can’t afford to waste time,” someone argued as nods of agreement travelled across the table.

Wow, you huffed to yourself, sitting yourself down. You were doing this for their own good, and partly yours.

“We should go ahead with the trip,” said the agitating, raucous noise again as a cacophony of voices arose in agreement. Maybe he should be in charge, then. As if you wanted to cancel this trip, you’ve spent endless nights planning the perfect itinerary! Also, the last time you remembered, you were appointed leader of this whole excursion.

“Facing the facts, there’s no traces of concrete evidence that our planned area holds the ruins,” you declared as the table fell silent. “Theoretically, we have more to lose than gain.”

“We’ve already decided,” came another voice. Archons, these people were going to be the end of you. “We’re still going to go next week.”

You came to the conclusion that, to knock some sense into their brains, you needed someone more intimating to interfere.

“…You want me to be pretend to collapse from a severe heatstroke?” the (acting!) grand sage repeated, not even attempting to conceal his bewilderment. “And, preferably, making it look as dramatic and exaggerated as possible?”

At the other end of his desk, you nodded with faux solemnity. “I’m afraid so.”

“Afraid so?” Alhaitham humours. “Everything from your…request to your actions betrays that.”

In the end, you didn’t manage to convince Alhaitham to put on a show showcasing the risks and dangers of heatwaves and heatstrokes, but he did agree to go out for lunch. To negotiate alternatives, of course.

After that lunch, he asked for your presence for dinner, and after dinner, you found yourself making breakfast at Alhaitham’s place.

“Since when did you come over so much?” you asked, sleep clearly clinging to your senses. “Last time I remember, I was waiting by your office door waiting to sneak in ten minutes of your time.”

The coffee he freshly brewed threatens to burst from the confinement of his mouth as he stares at you with a curious expression. “This is my house.”

The realisation spreads through your face like ink in water as you glance at the surroundings. “Oh yeah…that’s right.”

Alhaitham subtly rolls his eyes, letting out a lighthearted tsk as he disappears off into the kitchen. “Do you feel like going to Gandharva Ville in the evening?” he asks, the clatter of dishes echoing through the lounge. “You were groaning over how you hadn’t seen Collei and Tighnari in ages a few days ago.”

He remembered that?  You gawk to yourself, mouth and eyes wide open as you trod towards the sunshine of the kitchen . Moreover, he certainly wanted to go. Since when did Alhaitham suggest you leave the house for purposes such as catching up with friends?

“I’d love to,” you answer as you help him load the dishwasher. “You beat me to it.”

A soft smile imperceptibly brightens his face, casting you in slight awe. “What? You don’t think I disregard your desires just like that, do you?”

Alhaitham is the hopelessly romantic one. Those intricate plans he sets up for your happiness are nowhere as simple-minded as he plays them out to be.

diluc

There was always something peculiar about Diluc Ragnvindr. The snarky remarks about the Knights of Favonius’ poor service, which you found highly offensive in the presence of an employee (you), the genuine air of mystery he upheld, but the most interesting thing you were desperate to crack down on was his frosty distaste for the Cavalry Captain, your co-worker, Kaeya.

As far as you knew, Kaeya was a lovely co-worker. considerate, dedicated and reliable, he was an admirable worker. You didn’t understand why Diluc didn’t applaud him for his discipline renowned throughout the city, especially if he was continuously murmuring about the incompetence of the staff.

Amidst the possible explanations, you came to the conclusion that the unwelcoming atmosphere stemmed from something more personal. Jealously? Past disagreements? No, that couldn’t be. They didn’t appear the closest.

Little did you know that all you needed to do was ask. Not really, but you get the idea.

“You…want to talk to Diluc?” Kaeya spluttered, wide-eyed at your determined face, before moving his gaze towards Angel Share’s bartender with a smirk. “Ah, I see what’s going on.”

“You’re very far off, by the way,” you replied silkily, taking a sip of the apple juice. “I’m not interested in him romantically, if that’s what you were thinking.”

Kaeya raises an eyebrow. “If not romantically, then what could you possibly talk to him about?”

You shrug, making a beeline for the counter. “Thanks for the drink.”

Diluc had caught the words, ‘interested in him romantically.’

According to those four words he heard from you, the context of you and Kaeya’s conversation could already be visualised.

For someone who seemed to be interested in him, your choice of words regarding his interest in you were a little all over the place. So, he assisted you.

“How about we discuss this over dinner?”

Sometimes, you think to yourself, how did this ever happen?

For example, the weak beams of lighting from the east signify that it’s the birth of dawn, your neatly tucked in bed, except this bed isn’t actually yours.

The evidence lies with the person’s arms around your waist, tight and warm against the chills of early morning.

“Good morning,” a sleepy voice suddenly erupts from besides you. “Have I told you how even more striking you are in the sunlight?”

Diluc Ragnvindir is the passionate one—the one who would give you his heart if you asked. In some ways, he’s still as mysterious as the first time you laid eyes on him.

xiao

The moon is the muse for thousands of people. Whether it’s written in a rhyme, painted on a canvas, sung in a song or resonated with a soul, it has immersed itself in the complex depths of the sensitive human heart.

There’s a particular interpretation that has stuck with you since the first time you read it. A lyrical piece of literature from somewhere long lost. You were especially tired that night. A most unlucky dilemma, as it might’ve guaranteed to be one of the most critical and serendipitous nights of your life. Not that you knew at the time.

From that somewhere long lost, between the rolling tides of shadows, tucked away in the safety of peaking mountains, a mysterious figure observed with curiousity at your sentiment.

However, the discreetness of Xiao’s hiding spot was tested most instantaneously when you suddenly made a decision to look up. To the sky, or to him? Truthfully, you were actually aiming for the moon, but the pounding chambers of his chest crashed his steaming trains of thought.

He had to restrain himself from investigating further as your figure dissolved one by one into the night. Maybe you'll be there again tomorrow.

What started off as a little exchange of words soon blossomed into short conversations. Short conversations soon bloomed into a gap in time filled with occasional laughter and encouraging smiles. He learned your name, and you learned his secrets. Vicious, woeful secrets plaguing his dreams, or perhaps the title of nightmares suited it better.

On their own, the characteristics were incessant in disaster. Fusing those characteristics with centuries of solitude and emptiness, it assisted in further igniting the raging fire burning away his will.

The idea of somehow unravelling those years of pain seemed so clearly impossible, even if that person felt like they had a chance. Even if they felt just the tiniest bit more special than all the others.

“Some things are impossible,” Xiao had muttered as he watched you go through an assortment of books he lended from Verr Goldet, eyes flickering from your face to the yellowing pages. “It’s better to admit that than spend years searching for hope.”

Skimming through the columns of ancient literature, a strong feeling of suspicion arose as you distinctively felt like he'd seen you do this once before.

“But what if you find the hope?” you whispered gently, switching your attention to his avoidant gaze. “There’s always that outcome, too.”

That outcome. Of course he’s considered that conclusion, wished for it. But Xiao would never dare to believe that far.

“I read a poem a few nights ago,” you started again. “A comparison of us and the moon. Humans, just like the moon, need to wax and wane. We’ll grow and shine our beauty, but that can’t be achieved unless we remember to rest, to wane. After all, a full moon only lasts around three days out of a whole month.”

How can you just return to reading after you told him that?

That moon analogy was shared about a year ago.

It’s likely that you brushed it off, but for Xiao, it’s still freshly etched into the shelves of his mind. And it would be a lie if he said that he didn’t change in small, irrevocable ways because of it.

Particularly tonight.

An exhausted sigh escapes from your lips as you sink into bed. Lying like a starfish, a hollow expression is evident in your eyes alone.

“This project is never going to work,” you spoke, turning to stuff your face in a pillow. Adjacent to you, Xiao observed as you screamed, once again the same words into the fabric. Only this time, the words were separated by sharp heaves and quiet sniffs. Being a little inexperienced with scenarios such as this, Xiao could only reassure you with the same words and actions that you had endlessly showered him with in similar situations.

He knew you were listening, despite the softness of his voice, which was hardly detectable. He repeated the words you told him a year ago when he felt as if the world was about to end.

“Someone once told me humans and moons are alike,” he smiled as he saw your face lift just a bit, as if you couldn’t believe what he was saying. “We both need to wane before we can emit our light in full greatness.”

Xiao is the quiet one, whose love is often under-looked, but in truth, it’s expressed just as vividly, if not brighter.

[babyleostuff]

౨ৎ voicemails lee jihoon leaves you while he’s on tour - fluff (with a pinch of angst), established relationship, gn!reader (pet names used: babe)

...one: hey babe, i’m just calling to say we landed safely, and we’re on our way to the hotel. i’ll try calling you again when we get there

...two: i feel like an idiot. i think i called you like ten times yesterday after we got to the hotel, but i forgot about the time difference. i really hope i didn’t wake you up

...three: the weather is so nice here. i even went on a walk today

...four: i just saw the photos you sent earlier. i was busy so i couldn’t respond, but i’m so happy you enjoyed your day. you looked lovely by the way

...five: do you think i should cut my hair? it's so long now, i'm not sure if it still looks good on me. no, soonyoung i'm serious. yes, i want to cut my hair. can you just piss off, don't you see i'm busy? anyway, let me know what you think, babe

...six: i’m really sorry i didn’t call you yesterday, we got back from the venue late at night, and i got an idea for a beat, and i just lost the track of time. i’ll make it up to you, promise

...seven: how was your day? did you remember to eat? by the way, if you have the time tomorrow, do you mind going to my studio and check if i left those black headphones you got me for our anniversary there? i can’t find them anywhere. and i also left my hoodie there, so (pause) you can take it if you want

...eight: is there anything you want me to bring back home? don’t worry about the price, just tell me what you want

...nine: make sure to clear your calendar for this saturday evening, i booked a table at the restaurant you have been talking about, so we can go out after i come back

...ten: i love you (pause) and i miss you

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