#DO TELL ME MORE IF YOU HAVE MORE IDEAS. I LOVED THIS

[butyoudidthis4what]

She's Here

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x F!Reader

21.2k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: I know there’s not a supply closet on the floor plan but we’re pretending; took what I needed for the set up of PittFest from the show, storyline diverges once PittFest patients start arriving; angst; active suicide risk Robby; Robby has not been to therapy; miscommunications; Robby cries; Reader cries; suicidal ideation/suicide planning; allusions to PIV sex and oral (m. rec) sex; dry humping kind of; alcohol; joking use of daddy; mentions of blood; mentions of guns and shootings; breaking up; making up after argument; Robby puts his foot in his mouth; reader has some insecurities; grief; mentions of death/dying/coding; seizures; CPR; anxiety about partner's safety; mentions of compartmentalization; age gap kind of implied with Robby but not explicitly referenced (he's an attending when Reader starts as an intern); no use of y/n or related

Summary: The day of PittFest becomes unbearably worse for Robby. A little over four months into the relationship you've both been waiting years for, you find Robby on the floor of pedes. When Langdon throws it in his face, Robby assumes you betrayed and doesn't react well.

AN: Based on this ask sent in by @loveyhoneydovey. First Robby fic!!!!! I don't know how I feel about it!! I'm very nervous about his voice and characterization here and if it feels like him. I'm always very nervous though. We get some development of your relationship through vignettes of the past like I've done before. Dividers made by the amazing @saradika-graphics. I would love to hear your thoughts and comments and as always thank you so much for reading!!

“We’re doing it.” Robby’s voice is just above a whisper as he walks in with Jack.

“That could mean one of several thousand things, Robby.” Jack glances at him. He keeps his voice hushed like Robby’s. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than ‘we’re doing it.’” 

“Her and I,” Robby clarifies. “We’re together. It happened today. I’m taking her out tomorrow night.” 

“About fucking time,” Jack mutters lowly. He claps Robby on the shoulder as they keep walking. “I’m really happy for you brother. For you both.”

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” Jack looks at Robby and raises his eyebrows while squinting a little, asking what Robby wanted instead. “I don’t know,” Robby shrugs, “I thought you’d have some more enthusiasm.” 

“I do,” Jack nods, “but given your near whispering, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to express it right here in, you know, the middle of the entire fucking ED,” Jack’s dropped his voice even lower the further they’ve walked in, “because it seemed like maybe not everyone knew yet and I wasn’t sure if you really wanted me to be the one to tell them or make them starting asking even more questions.” He gives Robby a look for a second before softening it into a small smile and nodding at Robby.

You grin to yourself when you see Jack. You and Robby agreed that Dana and Jack had to know right away but that you wouldn’t tell Dana until Jack was here. You could tell that Dana knew something was up, though. 

You walk by Robby and Jack on your way to Dana, smirk at them. “Boys.” You nod. 

Robby lets out a long breath and shakes his head a little. He has no idea what to do with you sometimes, in the best way. Jack just smirks back at you a little, but softens it out just a bit at the end and nods to silently tell you he’s very happy for you. 

You smile as you walk up to Dana, standing next to her as she looks up at the board. “We’re together,” you whisper, just loud enough for her to hear. “He’s taking me out tomorrow night.”

“About fucking time,” Dana whispers back. She gives you a sly smile and bumps your hip with hers. “I’m very happy for you, both of you.”

“Thank you,” you nod, making eye contact with Robby across the floor, “I am too.” 

You stand up when you hear someone else enter the supply closet. You think it might be Dana coming to lovingly corner you and get info on how your date was. But it’s not her. It’s Robby. “Hey,” you call out to him. 

“Hi.” His response is a little short and confuses you but you just let it go. He walks over so that he’s standing next to you. A respectable distance apart. Robby starts looking through the shelves but as you watch him it’s clear he’s not really actually looking for anything. “Heard you had a date last night.” His voice is strained, he sounds like he’s trying to hide some simmering anger. But you recognize it for what it really is. Jealousy.

You stop pulling the tubing you need from the shelf but don’t turn to look at him. How did he even know about that and why does he fucking care are the only two things you can really think about. He has no right to be mad. You and Robby have been dancing around each other for years now. At his behest. And at a certain point it felt like his reasoning for that changed. 

After a couple of seconds you sigh. “I did yeah.” 

You can see him nod out of the corner of your eye, mouth in a line. You have to roll your eyes at him as you pull out the tubing. “You sleep with him?” 

You scoff and finally look over at him, but he’s still looking at the shelves. “I’m sorry, please tell me how the fuck that is even close to your business.” 

Robby just pulls his lips down. Not sad per se but thinking. “So you did.”

You just want this conversation to be over at this point. Because it hurts. Because Robby has been and it seems always will be right there but unwilling or unable or not wanting to try being with you. “Yeah. Sorry I needed to get laid and actually went out and got it. You should fucking try it, Michael.” It’s not even a conscious decision, deciding to push him away first in this conversation, to try and act unaffected by the thought of him being with someone else. 

He ignores your jabs, but the confirmation that you were with someone else makes his blood boil, jealousy ripping through him and clouding his thoughts. “You let him touch you. Touch what’s mine.” 

“Ha!” you laugh. Then there’s ten or so seconds of silence as you gape at him while his words fully process because you’re so struck by his fucking audacity. “What’s yours? What’s fucking yours? Are you out of your fucking mind Michael? Please, since fucking when have I been yours?” He still doesn’t look at you. “Hey! Look at me, asshole!” You throw the tubing in your hand at him. 

That gets him to turn and look at you with a scowl on his stupid handsome face. He knows that you’re not at all his. He can’t bring himself to admit it though. “Thought we were going to do this. Do us. When you’re an attending. Guess not.”

You have to laugh at his words again, exasperatedly this time. “No Michael. You don’t get to do this. I’ve wanted to do this. Do us. You are the one who hasn’t. And for a while I understood why, and even when I didn’t, I have always respected your feelings. It was you’re under me and ‘I don’t want to mess up your career or give you a reputation and have that impact us’ and ‘when you’re an attending’ that slowly seemed to turn into ‘I’m not sure if I want you anymore’ and ‘maybe when you’re an attending’ and I’ve spent the better part of a year trying to decide if you really didn’t want to do this, didn’t want me anymore, or if you were just trying to protect yourself or something. Because it went from when you’re an attending to maybe when. So why would I be waiting around anymore, Michael? I waited for years. And if it was just about me being under you and my career and people knowing I earned everything I got then why didn’t you come ask me out and say you were ready to do this the second I got offered and accepted an attending position?”

You swallow hard and have to look away from Robby. You’re so confused by him but still down so bad. Deep down you know him calling you his hit you so hard because you are. You have been. Even if he didn’t know and didn’t want you. You’d given yourself to him. But you won’t cry for him. Not here. Not at work. Not where everyone would know regardless of your explanation. 

And Robby hates it. How sad you look. How you could ever possibly think he didn’t want to be with you. That he didn’t want you. He never realized at some point he’d said maybe. It was never maybe for him. But your last question floors him. 

“When you what?” Robby whispers, face furrowed in confusion, lips pulled down even more. 

You scoff at him again. “Don’t even try Robby. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t fucking know that in fucking August of last year I got offered an attending spot.” You look back over at him. Robby’s still facing you but his head is dropped slightly, eyes looking left and flicking around a little. He looks half confused and half devastated. “Holy shit, you really didn’t know. How the hell did you not know, Michael?”

He shakes his head slowly, still thinking. “Gloria and I were at each other’s throats particularly bad last August. Things were crazy here and she kept harping me about needing to interview and pick an attending and I snapped one day and told her that I didn’t even fucking care, that she could pick one for all I cared.” He looks up at you again. “I never thought she actually would. And she never told me that she actually did.”

You stare at him. It’s a plausible story and you can always tell when he’s lying to you or giving you a half truth or omitting something. And it’s not like you’ve told anyone. You’re one of those people who are afraid to announce it like it’ll jinx it somehow since it’s something that will start in the future. Your one exception to not saying anything was if you got with Robby. You’d tell people and let it be known because you figured it would appease some of his worries about it seeming like you got your job only because you were sleeping with him or in a relationship with him. But he never came to you after you signed. It broke your heart more than you wanted to admit. 

You’re not sure how to respond and Robby’s not sure what else to say. “Well, she did. And it was me. So hopefully that’s not disappointing news to you, I guess.” 

“Disappointing ne-” He decides part way through to not even finish the thought. Because the meaning of it all catches up with him. You have an attending position. And honestly, kind of even better, you have an attending position and Robby can honestly say he had absolutely no input into the decision. So while you’re not quite an attending yet, you’re pretty damn close. And that means Robby doesn’t have to break his own heart and tell you that you guys can’t. Doesn’t have to say when you’re an attending. For all intents and purposes you are one. “You can be mine now, Kid?” It’s almost a statement but not quite. 

You nod a little, look down at your shoes. “If you want me, yeah.” Robby doesn’t think he’s ever heard your voice this small and the fact that you think he could possibly not want you kills him. 

“If I want you? If?” He’s quick to close the distance between you, hands at your waist and pulling you to him as he stops walking. Both of you are breathing heavier and after your eyes flit down to look at each other’s lips the tension between the two of you finally snaps. 

You kiss each other hard, sliding right into tongue and sucking. Your arms wrap around Robby’s neck, hands finding his hair and running through it, tugging at it when he kisses you in a way you particularly like. Robby pulls away so you can see each other and you make a noise of protest. “There was never a maybe. And I’m sorry if I said that. There’s no if. Never has been, Kid. Never will be. So will you go out with me? Be mine?” 

You smile at him, steal another kiss before nodding. “I’ll go out with you. And I’ll be yours as long as you’ll be mine.”

Robby laughs. The two of you are finally together. “Oh, I’m yours. I’m all fucking yours.” 

You and Robby have been together a little over four months now. You’re pretty much living with him, you just haven’t made it quite official yet. It still feels a bit soon, even for you. Your lease will be up around ten months of dating so you think that’s when you’ll make it official and completely move in. If he wants. You’re pretty sure he will. You always hear about it the next day if you don’t sleep in the same bed the previous night.

You’re not surprised when you wake up and the bed is empty, even if you are a little disappointed. You know this is a bad day for him. A hard day. You’ve never actually been with him or around him on this day before because until now he took it off and you always inevitably ended up working it. You’re not sure what changed for him and why he feels like he’s ready to be there and work today and you’re not sure if it’s truly what’s best for him at this point, but you’ll support him, be there for him, let him lean on you, whatever he needs. You won’t give him a hard time about his decision to work. 

Robby’s in the kitchen making coffee when you pad in. You’re dressed only in one of his oversized shirts. He’s not entirely certain about working today. But he’s tired of letting the day have control over him. It feels wrong. And when Jake asked for Robby’s PittFest ticket so he could take his girlfriend Leah instead of Robby it felt like a sign.

“Morning,” you say softly as you walk over to him and wrap your arms around him from behind. You press your cheek against his broad back and rest your hands on his tummy. 

“Morning, Kid.” Robby squeezes one of your hands before continuing to make the coffee. 

He’s been up long enough for the sleep to disappear from his voice and to shower. His hair is wet. “Sleep well?”

“I always sleep well when you’re in bed with me.” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Michael.” You press a kiss to his back. “Seriously.”

“I slept well, yes. I meant it.” There’s a hint of exasperation in his tone and you get it. You do. But you ask because you care about him and worry about him. 

“Good.” You close your eyes and just breathe him in for a couple of moments. “You sure about working today?”

He knew it was coming. And he knows you mean well and are asking because you care about him and he loves it. He really does. Because he doesn’t remember the last time he’s had someone care about him the way you do. Because you’re in love with him and he’s in love with you even if you haven’t said it to each other yet. You both can tell the other is. But for some reason he doesn’t really understand, he just falters right before he can say it, can’t bring himself to as though that’ll somehow be what makes it more real, like it isn’t already. And he knows you haven’t told him because you don’t want him to feel pressured to return those three words.

But at the same time, you asking multiple times just in different words is going to be annoying today. That level of checking in on him. It is already. Because he just wants it to be a normal day. He doesn’t want everyone treating him like he’s made of glass just because one bad thing happened on this day. It’s suffocating. He knows it’s out of love and concern but it gets suffocating. 

Just like all the PPE was on this day when Adamson died. Maybe that’s part of why it hits such a nerve. 

Robby takes a second to breathe so that the mild irritation and frustration doesn’t seep into his tone. He doesn’t, however, explain or communicate that he can’t deal with the constant checking in, that it suffocates him. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be okay. I’ll have you there with me if I need anything.” He’s hoping that last part tells you that he’ll come find you if he needs you and so you don’t have to ask. It understandably doesn’t. 

“I will, yes.” You’re quiet as you listen to the coffee percolate. You can feel how tense he is. You know you’ll never really be able to understand how hard this day is for him or in what ways it is. So you just want to be there for him, make sure he’s okay. You think maybe a distraction will help. Robby pours himself a cup of coffee as you speak. “Wanna shower with me?” you ask with a seductive lilt so he knows exactly what you mean. 

He laughs softly, takes a sip of his coffee and starts to turn in your arms. You relax your arms and let him, greet him with a sweet smile. “Come here,” he whispers, sticking his lips out. 

You shake your head. “I have morning breath.” 

He clicks his tongue at you. “When have I ever cared about that before?” 

You shrug. “It’s different when we both do.” 

“Come here,” he says again, more stern this time as he makes eye contact with you. You consider it for a moment but eventually give in. You want to kiss him. You always want to kiss him. But you keep it chaste and short. There will be time for more after you brush your teeth, you’re sure.

“Shower?” You raise your eyebrows at him, a little smirk on your face, nails scratching gently at his back. 

He smirks at you. “My coffee will get cold.” He holds the cup up and tilts it just slightly before taking another sip.

You breathe out a slightly incredulous and hurt laugh, take your arms from around him as you speak. First he dodges the question and then that. You tell yourself it’s just because of the day and that he’s not in the mood or mentally there and that’s okay. That it makes sense. But coffee? He couldn’t just say no? “Wow, coffee’s better than my mouth or pussy, ouch.”

Michael rolls his eyes at you. That’s not at all what he meant. “Stop. And I’ve also already showered, which I know you know.” 

This time you just scoff and shake your head at him a little. “Yeah, because neither of us have ever gotten back in the shower with each other after we already showered. But okay,” you laugh quietly as you step back. Robby tilts his head at you as you walk away, he knows you have more to say. You stop and turn around to look at him before turning to go back to the bedroom and en suite to shower. “You know, Michael, you can just say no. You’re allowed to say no. I’m not going to force you to shower or have sex with me. Saying no is okay. Not being in the mood is okay, especially on a day like today. I suggested it to try and help distract you and maybe make you feel good.” The maybe is a little slip of insecurity. “You don’t even need a reason and you never have to explain why, but just, the way you communicate that no. The shitty excuses hurt. And they make me wonder about myself far more than ‘no I’m not in the mood’ does.” You turn and walk away. 

Robby sets his mug down and you hear it, shake your head to yourself. “Kid!” he calls after you, pushing off the kitchen counter. He never meant to hurt you or make you doubt yourself. He never meant to make it feel like this was a you thing. Because it’s not. It’s him. It’s the day. It’s his mood. 

You’re really not in the mood at this point. For sex of any kind or to have a conversation with him right now, honestly. You keep telling yourself that it’s just a really bad day for him. It has nothing to do with you or the two of you. It’s the day. You know Robby doesn’t see it well and you don’t point it out more because he has so much of his own shit going on, but you still have so much insecurity. About yourself. About the two of you. You worry you’re not good enough for him or aren’t what he expected and thought you’d be. 

You walk in the bathroom quickly and uncharacteristically lock the door behind you. Usually both you and Robby leave the door unlocked or even partially open when you shower. You turn the shower on and take his shirt off quickly, wanting to just be in the shower and have it as an excuse for not hearing him. If he even tries to talk to you. 

Robby almost slams into the door when it doesn’t open. He hadn’t expected it not to open. For you to have locked it. “Kid, please,” he calls loudly, hoping you’ll hear him over the water. He knocks on the door, with the middle knuckle of his index finger. “Please!” You can hear him. You just don’t feel like shouting, and again. You don’t really want to talk. 

You stand under the stream of hot water and zone out a bit. Ruminate. You know that you and Robby are fine. That you’re great. You know he’s attracted to you. That he loves having sex with you. You had incredible sex last night for god’s sake. It’s the day. It’s the emotions it brings up for him. The grief. You shouldn’t have even brought sex up. He’s sad and grieving and triggered today. Why would you do that? 

“Kid!” Robby calls again, still knocking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you or insinuate coffee was better than you or anything like that.” When you don’t answer Robby goes and sits on the edge of the bed and lets out a long sigh. He lets his head fall back and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He really could do without you doing this. Without this added thing and stress. The day is hard enough as it is. 

His voice brings you back and you start to do all of your normal shower things. You’re surprised when Robby’s not immediately knocking and calling for you again once he hears the shower turn off. You figure he’s probably gone back to his coffee and the thought sends a little pang through your heart. 

You wrap your towel around yourself and open the bathroom door. You almost jump a little when you see him sitting on the edge of the bed with his head tilted at you. You look at him for a moment and then walk to his dresser and open your drawer, pull out a set of scrubs, an undershirt and some underwear. You grab your bra off the floor where Robby threw it last night. You can feel his eyes on you, the way he’s tracked you across the room and is watching you. 

When you turn back around and see him he’s smiling to himself, it’s almost anticipatory. His eyes run up and down your towel covered body. He looks like he’s eager to see you naked when you get dressed. And he is. He abso-fucking-lutely is. It melts you a little bit. But you’re hurt still and he hasn’t offered an apology to your face. So you take your clothes and walk towards the bathroom. 

Robby draws out a scoff, but the disappointment rings through more than his irritation. “So what, I don’t even get to admire you as you get dressed anymore?”

You turn at the threshold of the bathroom door to look back at him, capture his gaze. You drag your eyes from him to the open bedroom door and then back to him. You’re stoic as you shrug. “Your coffee’s getting cold out there.”  

You just catch Robby’s shoulders and face fall as you turn back and step in the bathroom before shutting and locking the door. You already regret it. Wish you could take it back. You shouldn’t have hurt him just because he hurt you.

Your words sting, they hurt and sadden him. But he can at least understand why you said it. Robby lets out a long sigh and rubs his face but doesn’t get up. He doesn’t care about the fucking coffee. He doesn’t even want it anymore. He wants you. He wants to hold you close and kiss you. He wants to apologize. He wants your forgiveness. He needs all of that. Needs you.

You get dressed and finish getting ready in the bathroom quickly. You know you need to apologize to Robby and you want to, you really do feel awful. You just kind of hope he’ll also apologize to you. This is not the start to this day that either of you needed. 

Seeing Robby still sitting on the bed when you open the bathroom door is unexpected. You figured he’d go get his coffee and wait for you in the living room. 

You look at each other for a moment and then you break the silence. Robby wants to be the one to but the words just get caught in his throat before he can even open his mouth. “I’m sorry for being passive aggressive and saying that. I shouldn’t have. I should’ve just talked to you and worked it out.”

Robby gives you a small smile. “I accept your apology, and I’m sorry too.” He beckons you with two fingers and you walk over to him, stand between his legs when he opens them for you and rest your hands on his shoulders. He waits for you to look down at him before he continues. “I never meant to make you doubt yourself or feel unwanted. In any way. I didn’t think any of it through before I said it. Didn’t think about how it would make you feel.”

You squeeze his shoulders gently. “I accept your apology.” You’re not sure what else to say.

“You know I want you. I always want you, Kid. I did this morning, I just…” He shakes his head and sighs. “My brain, you know? The thoughts and all that shit.” 

“I know, yeah,” you murmur, running a hand through his hair. “I thought sex might be a good distraction. I should’ve thought a little harder about it before I offered.” 

“It usually is.” He tilts his head at you. “Can I kiss you for real now? Not whatever that was that you gave me in the kitchen.”

You laugh softly and nod. “I’d like that.” Robby wraps his arms around you as he stands up, stopping at the right height to kiss you instead of standing straight. It’s a kiss that at just about any other time would lead to far more. It certainly leads to another kiss and then another, and before you realize it you and Robby have been standing there making out for a solid couple of minutes. 

He groans as he pulls away from you. “I don’t want to stop but I do want to have time to treat you to breakfast burritos and your choice of caffeine from that place down the street. Eat as we walk to work.”

“Treat me or yourself?” You smirk at him. 

“You.” He shakes his head at you a little as he says it. “The fact that it’s also a treat for me is just a fun coincidental bonus.” 

“Yeah, coincidental my ass, Robinavitch.” You try to keep your smirk up but it turns into a smile the more you stare at those big brown eyes you love so much. It almost slips out but you catch yourself, turn to walk to the entryway to get your shoes on. I love you. 

The two of you get breakfast burritos and coffee on the way in. Neither of you say anything but you both think it’s ironic that the coffee was a whole thing and then he just left his mug and the carafe of it sitting there at home. Once you get to work you get your stuff in your lockers, stethoscopes around your neck and head to the hub. 

The day passes relatively quickly. For you at least. From what you’ve gathered from others and what Robby has said when you’ve talked to him, things have not been as smooth for him as they have been for you. You make sure he has some semblance of a lunch, drinks some water. 

Towards the end of the shift he comes and finds you. It’s the first time he’s really purposefully sought you out all day. You wouldn’t say he was avoiding you but a little bit you felt like that. After you asked him if he was okay when you saw him for the second time while at work and got an exasperated answer you realized he was tired of being asked. You knew he was probably getting it from Dana too. So you stopped directly asking, figuring it out subtly through other means. And he’d appreciated it when you backed off. He’d recognized when you’d done so. It had made him feel a little less suffocated and a lot loved even without exchange of the words. Because it was clear how well you knew him and how easily you picked up on what he needed. 

That’s why him seeking you out has you so concerned. It has to be bad. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Robby’s voice is strained as he grabs your elbow and starts walking you towards an empty room. 

Your face furrows as you let him lead you into the room. “Everything okay?” You wonder if this is about Dana and what happened to her.

He doesn’t answer, just closes the door as you walk in the room and stands with his back to the window. “I’m gonna tell you something but you have to keep your reaction really controlled, okay? And obviously you can’t tell anyone.” You nod. “Langdon’s addicted to pain meds and has been stealing meds.” 

The furrows smooth out of your face and you have no real facial reaction other than in your eyes which only Robby can see. They widen just slightly with shock. “What the fuck?”

“I know. I fucking know. I sent him home but I fucking,” Robby’s shaking his head hard. His eyes are a little glassy. You know Langdon is kind of Robby’s protégé. Everyone does. Just like everyone knows you kind of are too. “I let a drug addict practice medicine and treat patients. I fucking let him.”

You tilt your head and shake it at him. “Michael, you didn’t let him do anything. This isn’t your fault. I understand you feeling like it is, and that’s valid of course, but I promise you it’s not your fault.”

He shrugs at you, looks so incredibly helpless and at a loss. It breaks your heart. You walk towards him and pull him further in the room a little bit, drawing the curtain to give the two of you a little privacy. You walk back so that you’re standing right in front of him, just enough space between the two of you that you can see each other. 

You don’t say anything as you reach up and start rubbing at his shoulders and the back of his neck before he can. You feel him relax and he drops his head, eyes fluttering close while his hands come to settle on your hips. 

He doesn’t understand how you always seem to know what he needs. When he needs you to talk to him. When he just needs quiet acceptance and to just be in your presence like this. How you’ve picked up on him rubbing his neck. It’s more comforting and soothing when you do it, the circles he rubs on your hips over your scrubs keeping his hands busy. 

You’re a little surprised by it honestly. You thought he might reject this little bit of comfort you’re offering him. Not because of you but because he rarely accepts it at work even in private like this. You’re pretty sure his brain constantly tells him he doesn’t deserve the comfort here. 

“We need to get back out there,” he finally mumbles, bringing his head back up and opening his eyes. 

“Probably, yeah,” you agree. You stop rubbing his neck and loosen your arms but keep them where they are for a moment to see if he’ll hug you. You’re not going to push it on him, not going to make him feel bad when it’s too much for him right now. 

Robby’s hands squeeze your hips one last time. “Thanks, Kid.” He pulls away and you drop your arms, stepping out of the room with him once he pushes the curtain back. 

You both get sucked back into work and you don’t see much of Robby until him racing in from the ambulance bay catches your attention. Dana comes walking in quickly behind him and you catch her gaze, tilt your head as you walk over. 

A frown and worried brows are etched deep into her face. “There’s a shooter at PittFest. MCI protocol.” 

Everything freezes for a second as you hit fight or flight, limbs going cold and nausea creeping up on you. You say nothing to Dana, immediately turning and following after Robby because you know he put his phone in his locker earlier and is going to get it. 

“Don’t!” you yell at him as he opens his locker. “Michael, do not call or text him!”

He doesn’t stop, grabbing his phone and starting to unlock it. “Are you out of your fucking mind-”

“If he’s hiding and doesn’t have his phone on silent it could give him away,” you rush out before Robby can hit send or call. 

He freezes and looks up at you finally. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck!” That one is yelled. “Why the fuck didn’t I think of that?”

You walk over to him and cover one of his hands with yours. “Because you’re effectively his dad in a lot of ways, Michael, and so you’re too close to it, of course your first instinct was to call him to see if he was okay. I love him too and it’s not that I don’t want to know if he’s okay, and I know it’s very unlikely there’s really anywhere to hide and that it’s probably so loud his phone ringing would barely be audible, but I just think it’s better to be safe right now. He’ll know to call or text you or his mom. He’ll know. And if Janey hears from him she will call you. I know she will.”

He’s breathing hard as he looks at you before finally look away as he shuts his locker. “What if it’s David, Kid?” he whispers. Robby looks back at you and his lip trembles just slightly. The implication is clear. Robby had told you about David and everything that was going on there. You know his worry is valid. “What if I just got Jake killed? Killed another person on this fucking day.”

You let out a long breath as you shake your head. There’s a lot to unpack there. “Okay. Everything you just said, and all of your feelings make sense and are real and valid and I’m acknowledging them. I’m not trying to brush anything off. And I will be there for you whatever happens. But we don’t have a lot of time here so we’re going to have to come back and explore this all more if you want. For right now though, you didn’t kill Adamson, Michael. Covid did. You had to make a terrible decision nobody should ever have to make, but that wasn’t you killing him. And you can’t do this to yourself Robby. If and I mean if it was David, it would still be a random act of violence. You can’t control that. And right now the patients about to come in and Jake and Leah need you to focus on getting everyone ready for this and then handling this MCI and you cannot do that and be focusing on the what ifs, okay?” 

Robby wants to believe you. He wants to believe what you just said but he can’t. He just fucking can’t. He did kill Adamson. He will have killed Jake. He knows you’re right about the end bit though. He has to shove all of this in a box so that he can focus on what’s about to happen and patients. 

You can tell Robby wants to fight you about it but decides not to in favor of very uncharacteristically hugging and kissing you publicly at work before walking away to start implementing protocol with Dana. It leaves you standing there blinking at the wall for a second before you’re able to turn and walk back towards the hub to help. 

Robby’s hugging Jack as you walk up. You and Jack exchange a look. You know that Jack knows that Jake’s at PittFest. You know Jack knows how bad the day is for Robby. 

When Jack starts unpacking supplies you go in to help him. 

“How is he?” Jack asks. 

You can’t help the way you huff. “How do you fucking think Jack?”

When he doesn’t reply you look up at him. Jack’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised and mouth set, edges up just a tiny bit to show he’s not mad, asking excuse me? and how did you just speak to me? without a word. 

You sigh. “I’m sorry.” You set down what you’re holding and rub at the back of your neck. You see Jack’s smile pull up a little more as he recognizes what you’re doing, what you’ve learned from Robby. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten snippy. It’s just Jake, you know?” The breath you let out is shuddery. “I don’t know if even I could save Robby if something happened to him and Robby couldn’t save him, Jack.”

Jack’s face softens and he squeezes your shoulder. “I know. I wish there was more I could say, but I know. I’m worried about him and that possibility too.”

The two of you start to unpack again. “I just need him to call or text Michael or his mom and say he’s okay and on his way home. I need this to not happen to him today. I mean or ever, but you know. He doesn’t need to feel more grief and loss that he thinks he’s responsible for today.” 

“All we can do is be there for him,” Jack murmurs. 

“Yeah. I guess,” you murmur back. 

Once you finish unpacking and arranging supplies Jack faces you before the two of you walk out to where Robby is starting to gather everyone. 

“I need you to promise me that if something happens with Jake, if, god forbid, he ends up here and is critical, you will let me run it with Robby. We won’t get him to not work on him, we won’t have time to argue about it with him. We both know that.” Jack nods at you. “So you need to let me be the one to work with him. You need to let me be the one to convince him we’re not getting Jake back and he has to let Jake go. Because you’re the best thing in his life. You keep him going. So I don’t want him associating being unable to save Jake with you. He might work through the emotions it brings up, he might not. But if he doesn’t… Robby’s only going to survive something like that with you by his side. He could survive it without me, he could cut me out and lose me and survive. He couldn’t survive it without you. So I need you to promise me if Jake ends up here, you’re going to let me be with Robby until TOD is called. Same with Jake’s girlfriend.”

You swallow hard as you look at Jack. It will be hard for you to stay away. You worry Robby will wonder why you’re not there, why you didn’t drop everything to come help him. But you also know that he’s not really going to be worried about that in the moment. He’ll be too focused on Jake. And Jack’s words make your heart ache. Yes, because it’s sweet that Jack knows what you mean to Robby, that he can see it and that Robby has talked to him about it. But it’s more because you recognize the sacrifice Jack’s volunteering to make for Robby and Robby’s happiness and ability to get through this. The sacrifice in running the risk of losing his best friend, because Jack doesn’t have anyone else. He doesn’t have a significant other. He has Dana but that friendship isn’t like his and Robby’s. 

“I think you’re selling yourself quite short there, Jack,” you whisper. 

He shakes his head to say he doesn’t care. “Promise me.” 

You hold his gaze for another few seconds before you look away. “Okay,” you nod, “I promise.” 

“Good. Let’s go.” 

“Jack?” He turns at the threshold and looks back at you. “Thank you.” 

He simply nods and the two of you walk out. You stand by Shen while Jack stands by Robby, the two of them talking things through with the group, explaining how a lot of this is going to work, who’s going to be where, what to do when different things happen. 

“Communicate,” Robby tells the group. “Ask for help if you need it.” 

You look at Dana when he says that. Which was the wrong move because you both end up having to stifle laughs. You know it’s inappropriate. You know it’s not funny. And you know that Robby’s really good at the whole ‘do as I say not as I do’ thing, and if what he just said isn’t a textbook example you don’t know what is. So in the moment his words just strike you as funny, in part because all of this is a situation where if you don’t laugh you’re going to cry. Dark humor becomes a coping mechanism. You at least do a good job of stifling it and covering your mouth, can tell you hid it enough and everyone was so focused on Robby and Jack they didn’t see anything. 

Everyone disperses and patients start rolling in. Time loses any real meaning. It could have been forty minutes or four hours. You have no idea. You just know that patients keep rolling in. Never Jake or Leah. 

Neither of you can decide in your heads whether that’s a good or bad thing. Whether it means they’re dead on the scene or that they escaped and are okay and lost their phones in the chaos and are trying to get further away from the scene before they ask to borrow someone’s phone to call people or are just trying to get home.

Robby and you both glance at Dana every chance you get. She has Robby’s phone so she’ll know if Jake or Janey get in touch with him. The patients in front of him at least help distract Robby somewhat. That anxiety about Jake never goes away. The feeling of responsibility never goes away. But it goes to the back enough that he can focus and be a good doctor. 

Patients continue to arrive. In ambulances and cop cars and civilian cars and business vans. 

But never Jake and Leah. 

You’ve been at the Pitt a year and a month now. You’ve been an R2 for a month. You’ve already learned a lot. You’ve already had devastating losses and incredible saves. You’ve already thought about staying here past your residency. You’ve already grown close with a number of people. You’ve already grown very close with one person. 

Michael Robinavitch. Robby. 

You know how bad it could seem. How bad it might already seem. But you and Robby both know it’s there. Something far beyond platonic. You both feel it. And it only grew over your intern year and is continuing to. 

You haven’t discussed it outright but the energy and attraction between the two of you is so clearly there and you’ve seen it in his eyes. When he’s leaning in close to you to help teach you something and his pupils are a bit more dilated than they should be in the lighting. When he sees another man flirt with you and they blaze with what seems like anger but is really jealousy. When you’ve just pulled a double together and have hit silly and are laughing so hard you’re both crying at something so incredibly stupid and his eyes crinkle with affection that never appears for anyone else. 

And Robby’s seen it in your eyes. When something horrible happens and your eyes find his before anybody else’s and a little spirit comes back into them just from making eye contact with him. When he’s hiding how badly something with a patient or family has shaken him and turns to find you and you’re already looking at him with soft eyes full of recognition and understanding that make him feel so seen in a way he hasn’t felt before. When you bring him some sort of treat, sweet or savory, and pass him a post-it note that you pretend is a note about a patient but really says it’s in the fridge with his name on it and your eyes sparkle with an adoration he’s yet to see you look at anyone else with. 

Robby knows he cannot do anything, there cannot be anything between the two of you, not even some semblance of anything until you’re an attending or maybe an R4 if you’ve already accepted an attending position. Being with you before you’re an attending wouldn’t look professionally great for him, but that’s not what he worries about. He worries how it would look for you, like a young woman sleeping with her boss, how people would at the very least have in the back of their minds that you were sleeping your way to the top or you got given things because you were sleeping with your boss or were eventually offered an attending position because you were sleeping with your boss. 

Robby knows not everyone would think that. And he knows it absolutely would not be that. But he doesn’t even want you to risk it. Not for him. He knows your career and reputation have to be your first priority. 

Dana and Jack have both asked him about you after observing the two of you together. He assures them that while, yeah, he has some feelings for you, it is strictly platonic between the two of you, him mentoring just like he does everyone else. 

And so neither of you have ever made any really overt move. Because you both know you can’t.

So there’s been no real discussion about ‘one day’ or if there ever could be a future for the two of you. 

But now that you're a month and a bit into being an R2 and don’t have the label of ‘intern’ and feel like you have a better handle on being a doctor you’ve grown more confident. Not over-confident or cocky. Not even close. Just a bit more sure of yourself. Professionally and personally. And so your joking around with and screwing with and flirting with Robby has intensified a little. It’ll continue to do so your entire residency. 

And while Robby is a bit more reserved, particularly when it comes to flirting and anything vaguely sexual, he still gives it back in his own way. It is overwhelmingly not one sided. 

It’s not just sexual. You and Robby are close. You go to each other with problems and to vent. You seek each other out for comfort. And it’s comfort that forces you both to acknowledge it and discuss it, this thing between you. 

You find yourself sitting on the roof, back pressed up against the wall and legs out in front of you. You’re technically off. You want to be anywhere other than this fucking hospital. And yet you can’t bring yourself to move. 

You stay quiet and still when you hear the door to the roof open, hope whoever is up here won’t notice you before they leave. 

Unfortunately for you the person who walks onto the roof has spent the last thirty minutes looking for you. And Robby’s slightly panicked about it. You’ve seemed off all day. Sad. Overwhelmingly sad. In particular the last time he saw you he felt like you looked… done. With everything. With the world. 

The sigh he lets out when he sees you sitting there on the roof is of relief. You can tell that it’s not irritation or annoyance. 

“Go away,” you call half-heartedly when he starts to walk over. 

“Go away? I don’t think you’ve ever told me to go away before.” Robby tries to keep it light. 

“First time for everything,” you mutter. 

That pulls a small laugh from him. He comes and sits next to you against the wall. He’s close, your sides pressing against each other. Closer than the average mentor-mentee would be sitting for sure. 

You don’t say anything and so for a few minutes the two of you sit in silence, each of you focused on the way the other feels pressed up against you. But Robby wants, maybe needs if he’s honest with himself, to know what’s wrong so he can help you. 

“Talk to me Kid.” And there it is. That name he only calls you. 

You shake your head a little and sigh. Robby hates how sad it sounds. He doesn’t even really think about his next move. He just reaches out and slips his hand into yours where it rests on your thigh, laces your fingers together.

With the setting and context of why you’re both up here together it’s an incredibly intimate gesture. 

You’re not quite sure what to make of it but he initiated it and it feels good. Makes you feel safe and cared for. You look down at your intertwined hands for a moment. His hand engulfs yours with how much bigger it is and it’s so warm. He always runs so warm. 

“I don’t know,” you finally force yourself to say. “I really don’t know.” 

Robby nods slowly. “Just one of those days?” he offers. 

“I guess.” You shrug. It might seem like the silence is purposeful but in reality it’s Robby trying to think of what to say. “I’m just tired, I think.” You sniffle and it’s then you realize that you’re kind of teary. “Fuck,” you mutter. 

“It’s okay, Kid. I’ve had these days too. Some days you’re just tired and so it all hits harder, even shit that normally wouldn’t make you blink.” Robby rubs what he hopes are soothing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“Yeah,” you take in a choked breath, “I’m just really fucking tired.” The tears start to fall freely then and you squeeze Robby’s hand hard like it’ll make them stop. They’re at least mercifully silent, it’s not like you’re totally sobbing in front of him. 

But then Robby really notices how much you’re crying and lets go of your hand to raise his arm so you can lean into him as he pulls you to him, your legs shifting automatically to get in a more comfortable position as you lean into his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispers, tilts his head so that his cheek rests on the top of your head.

You shake your head but hold onto him as you cry, relish in the circles his big hand rubs on your back. You don’t cry for long. A few minutes. And it’s not loud or even sobbing, it’s just crying. Just blinking out tears that end up wetting his scrub top, the occasional shuddery or hiccupped breath. 

You don’t move once you stop though and Robby doesn’t ask you to. Doesn’t shift his body to suggest you move. His cheek remains on your head and his hand continues to rub circles on your back. “I’m sorry,” you eventually whisper. 

“Never be sorry for needing to let something out. It accumulates in this job.” Robby goes to turn his head so that he can kiss the top of yours but he catches himself and stops before he can. “And if you don’t let it out somehow it can become debilitating.” 

You can feel the vibrations of him speaking and it soothes you further. “Everything just felt so shit today. All of the backstories of what brought my patients in today. All crime and abuse. Every single patient.”

“That’s one of the worst kind of days here,” Robby sympathizes. 

“I hate that it’s one kind.”

That makes him laugh which makes you smile. “Yeah there’s a lot of kinds of worst days in this job unfortunately.” 

You sigh and finally pull away from him. But his hand on your back doesn’t let you go particularly far. And when you both lean in a little your faces are close enough to feel each other’s breaths. “Does it ever get better?” you whisper. 

Robby shakes his head slightly. “No.”

You both watch each other’s eyes glance down at the other’s lips. You both lean into each other even more. You both tilt your heads in the opposite direction of the other. You both let your eyes flutter closed. 

But the second you truly feel the heat of Robby’s breath against your lips he pulls away. “Fuck,” he mutters. 

You look down, embarrassed and disappointed and guilty. But despite the almost kiss and Robby pulling away neither of you have otherwise moved. You’re still close together. 

“I’m sorry.” You murmur. 

“No!” Robby laughs, a heavy dose of self-exasperation in it. “Don’t be. God, fucking don’t be. And don’t think I don’t want to. That I don’t want… that. With you. But your name and reputation and career… we can’t. We can’t.” Robby moves his head back so he’s looking at you, uses his free hand to guide your chin up so you’re looking at him. “When you’re an attending, okay?” You nod at him and he repeats it. “When you’re an attending.” 

The sinking feeling in your and Robby’s stomachs intensifies as more patients come in who aren’t Jake or Leah and at the lack of phone call or text. You get your patient in Walsh’s hands to be taken up to surgery and change into a fresh trauma gown and step outside, checking on triage but also getting some air. 

“You good?” Robby asks, walking up behind you. He doesn’t really wait for your answer, continuing to walk towards Shen and Ellis. But the quick press of his ungloved hand against your lower back as he walks by makes up for it a little. 

You don’t bother voicing an answer, nor do you follow him to ask him the same question. You already know the answer. 

As Robby’s talking about getting gurneys to the right angle and helping fix them a truck comes squealing in. Shen and Ellis jump up and start yelling out colors. You put on a pair of gloves pulled from your pocket and wait nearby to see if there’s a red coming. But then you hear it and are hopping up on the tire of the truck to look in the bed. “Michael!”

You yell his name. And Robby immediately knows it has to be Jake. He has never heard you yell his name before and there’s only a handful of reasons why you would today. He tells himself there’s a tint of hope to your tone. “Jake?” Robby yells as he runs over. But he hears Jake’s voice and a wave of relief passes through him now that he at least knows where he is and that he’s okay enough for right now to speak. 

“Red zone. GSW left chest,” Ellis assesses Leah. 

“Jake, are you shot?” you ask him as Robby arrives. 

“I don’t know my, my leg maybe, it’s Leah. It’s Leah’s blood, she was shot, was shot in the chest and I’ve been putting pressure on it the whole time, and I don’t know-”

“That’s good,” Robby cuts him off, “you did good, okay?” 

You get Leah onto a gurney and Jake out of the truck. He walks in holding onto the side of Leah’s gurney opposite Robby. “Get him a wheelchair!” Robby calls. He notices you walking away while he argues with Jake about getting in the wheelchair and staying there and out of the way. He finds it odd, is a little miffed that you’re abandoning him with Leah and Jake. 

But you’re speedwalking to Jack. “Leah. GSW left chest. I don’t think there’s any way. It had to have shredded her heart,” you say just loudly enough for Jack to hear as you take the bag of blood he’s squeezing into his patient from him. He nods at you, gives you a rundown on the patient in front of you as he walks backwards towards Robby, turning when he’s finished. 

“Samira!” you call out to her when you see her look around. “Jake.” You flick your head at him. “Probable GSW to the leg. But head to toe. I’m concerned he’s in shock and it’s masking another injury.” 

“Got it.” She nods and is off to Jake, finding a gurney for him to get on. 

Robby glances at Samira with Jake. “What the fuck?” It’s loud enough for you to hear. 

“Me, Michael!” you call over to him. “I sent her to do a head to toe. I’m concerned he’s in shock and not feeling another injury.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, giving you a vague nod as he turns back to Leah. He can’t believe he didn’t think about that either. That’s twice now you might’ve saved Jake. First telling him not to call just in case. Now this. He’s lucky. He’s beyond lucky to have you. “Jake you do whatever the fuck Samira tells you without a fucking word of argument!” 

You get the patient you took from Jack stable and up to surgery, start working on the next red to roll in. They stabilize relatively fast and you find yourself squeezing in blood again. But this time your eyes are flicking between the patient and Robby and Jack and the way Jack is having to talk Robby into accepting that Leah is gone. You can’t hear any of it but you know that’s what’s happening based on the expression on Jack’s face and how he keeps chasing Robby’s eye contact.

After a minute everyone stills and you watch Robby write on Leah’s card and circle around it. You know he called it. Jack’s back over to you quickly, taking the blood from you this time as you give him the rundown on this patient. “Michael!” you call as you walk over to him quickly. 

“I have to go tell Jake,” he mutters, shaking his head and turning to look in your direction but not at you. He’d been watching them wheel Leah into pedes. 

“Do you want me to go with-”

“No. No it’s fine, thanks, I got it. Santos was looking for an attending, go find her.” He walks away without looking at you. He can’t bring himself to. The shame he’s feeling at not being able to save her, at failing Jake a little too heavy to let him lift his head to look at you. 

You watch him for a second as he walks away. Your heart aches for him, for the man you love and the news he has to go deliver to a teenager he considers his son in a way. You can’t ruminate though. Too many other people need you. 

So you do what Robby said and go to find Santos. You get involved with her and by the time you’re done you look around but you can’t spot Robby. “Dana, have you seen Robby?” you ask her as she walks by. 

“I think I saw him taking Jake to pedes.” She grimaces at you. 

You nod and make your way there, opening the door and stopping short. “Michael?”

Robby’s on the floor, knees up to his chest and holding onto his necklace while reciting a prayer through tears. He doesn’t acknowledge you. It hurts to see him like this. It’s physically painful. But he needs you so you set it aside. 

“Michael,” you say softly as you sit down next to him so that your sides are pressing against each other’s. “I’m here.” You grab one of his hands, hold onto it harder when he tries to pull it away. 

“You need to go back out there,” he sniffles. “They need you.” He flicks his eyes up at you. 

There’s truth in his words. But there’s also truth in yours. “Not as much as you do right now.” 

“I can’t,” he whimpers. “I, I…” He shrugs at you before breaking down in tears again, but this time letting himself fall into your gownless lap. 

“Okay,” you whisper, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve got you.”

“I couldn’t save her,” he chokes out, “another person I couldn’t fucking save. Another I killed. Another I let down. It’s two because Jake. I let him down too and he knows it.” You curl around him as much as you can, move his gown and kiss at his shoulder. You let him have a moment and get it out. Because you both know you don’t have much longer than that. “And the worst,” he sobs, “the worst part is it should’ve been me, Kid. It should be me on that gurney. It was my pass that I gave him for her.”

That last sentence is hard to hear. Because you can’t imagine a world without Robby in it. A world where you have to bury him. You want to tell him not to say shit like that, but you swallow down your upset because he doesn’t need that right now. You know there’s very little he needs right now in a sense. He doesn’t need a lot of words or you trying to make this better and discuss his feelings and emotions. He just needs to let some of this out.

Robby knows that’s all he needs right now, too. To let some of what’s eating away at him out in the one place he feels safe. 

You. 

You’re his safe place. He didn’t realize just how much he needed you here with him until you walked in and sat next to him and took his hand. You make it better. You make it hurt less. Just by being here for him. 

“You didn’t kill Adamson or Leah,” you murmur after a minute. “And you haven’t let them or Jake down. Your feelings are valid Michael, and I know I can’t begin to understand on multiple levels but the way you are feeling makes sense. We can work through your feelings. You can work through them. You can get through this. No matter how hopeless and impossible it feels right now.” You pause, have to swallow hard and blink away some tears. “And I wish that nobody was on that gurney. I don’t want anyone on that gurney. I wish none of this had ever happened. For you and Jake and Leah and everyone involved. And maybe saying this is wrong of me. It’s probably selfish. Maybe I’m a terrible person for it. You can hate me for it if you need to and like I said I truly wish none of this happened and nobody was on that gurney. But I am really fucking glad it’s not you on that gurney Michael because I have no fucking idea what I would do.” You let out a shuddery breath. “And I wish we had more time and that I could say more and hold you more and that all of this was over but it’s not.” You scratch at his scalp a little. “They need us.” He nods and sits up, looks over at you. “They need you.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. He’s let himself grow numb. Because right now that’s what he needs to be to get through this right now. 

“I need you,” you whisper back. He knows what you mean. He knows what you’re worried about. Him taking a walk off the roof or something.

“I’m not going anywhere, Kid.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He nods.

“Good.” You nod and stand up, hold out your hand to him. He lets out a soft laugh as he takes your hand and lets you help him up. 

You both take a second to wipe your faces a bit. “Find me if you need me, okay?”

“I will,” Robby promises again. 

You nod and open the door, both of you walking out. Within seconds both of your names are called.  

“Hey.” He grabs your wrist gently before you can go. You look at him with raised brows. He wants to say it. He wants to say it so badly. But he can’t. “Thank you.” I love you.

Robby slips off his stool at the high top a group of you are sitting at and follows you up to the side of the bar, takes his drink with him. You were sitting across from him at the end of the table and the rest of the group was so focused on their conversation he doesn’t think anyone even realized he followed you. A little bit he doesn’t care if they did. 

You’re down near the last two stools at the bar, waiting for the bartender to get you your drink. It’s busy so you’re sitting while you wait, wanting to be off your feet after a long shift. Robby setting his beer down startles you for just a second. But you can quickly tell it’s him. 

By the sweatshirt sleeve rolled up. By the smell of his cologne lingering just enough under all the hibiclens you can appreciate it since you know what it smells like very well by now. By the hand that sets down the beer. By his fingers. 

You look over at him with raised brows. His glass is still over half full. He came to talk to you. 

“You’ve been calling me Michael lately.” He keeps his face pretty stoic, for him at least. But you can see the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his beard shift just slightly as the corners of his lips twitch up. 

“What an astute observation, Dr. Robinavitch.” You keep your smirk to a minimum. “I don’t have a gold star sticker on me to give you but I can buy you another drink.” Very little in life gives you as much pleasure as screwing with Robby. If you were together like you wanted you could think of at least three body parts that would be added to that list. 

Your words earn you the slightest raise of his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Why what?” Your eyes sparkle with mirth as your drink gets dropped off and you take a sip. They’re beautiful sparkling like this. They always are but Robby finds them particularly beautiful like this, when you’re happy and light-hearted and teasing. 

And it’s just like you to make him say it. Be specific. “Why do you call me Michael? Why’d you start?”

“Makes me feel special.” You smirk fully this time. “It makes me feel special because there’s a handful of people you let call you it, especially at the hospital, and you actively try and make people not call you it. I wasn’t actually sure you were gonna let me call you it at first. Guess being an R3 has privileges. But then again, I’m the only R3 you let call you it.”

“You’re the only R3 who has ever called me it. None of the others have tried. And you didn’t answer the second question,” he points out. 

“I mean  yeah, I kind of did. I started because it makes me feel special.” He gives you a look and you sigh. “In part because I wanted to see if you’d let me. In part because, I don’t know,” you smile softly to yourself and look down, “I like it. Calling you Michael. It makes me feel close to you.” Robby’s never seen you look so shy and it rocks him a little. But the shyness fades quickly for you as you look back up at him. “And in part because some of the new interns got comfortable a couple of months in and were getting a little too flirty with you for my taste. So you can imagine how smug and pleased with myself I was every time I called you Michael in front of them and you said nothing and every time one of them called you Michael and you had to correct them and tell them it was Robby or Dr. Robinavitch until they finally got the picture.”

“So jealousy?” He smirks. It makes him feel good in a way, knowing that you were jealous of attention he was getting. That you care about him and want him enough to be jealous. To feel a little possessive. “And that’s why you needed to feel special? A little petty of a response, no?”

“Oh Michael,” you chuckle, take a sip of your drink. “You and I both know you are so not the one to talk about being petty as a response to jealousy. Should I start listing things you’ve done in response to me being flirted with?”

“You really shouldn’t call me it.” He’s grown a bit more serious again. 

“Are you telling me to stop?” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “And I don’t want you to. Just… You shouldn’t.”

“Why?” Your brows furrow a little in confusion. You don’t get why it matters unless he doesn’t want you calling him it for a personal reason.

“People will wonder why you’re allowed to. It makes,” he gestures between the two of you as you take a sip of your drink but doesn’t name anything, “obvious. People will start thinking and seeing it.”

You choke on your drink, coming close to spitting it out all over him. The coughs you get out once you’ve managed to swallow turn into laughter. “Michael.” You cock your head at him and give him an incredulous smile. “You cannot actually believe that me calling you Michael is what’s going to give this thing between us away. Because it’s been given away. It was given away for sure by the end of my intern year. Nobody asked me anything during my intern year I’m guessing because I was an intern, but a couple weeks into being an R2 I was getting questions. Dana and Jack never asked you or talked to you about it? Because they’ve certainly asked and talked to me.”

Robby blushes at the realization. Deep down he probably always knew that everyone could see it and he’d just managed to convince himself otherwise. “Of course they did,” he answers your question, not sure how to respond to everything before it. “I just thought it was because they were more… perceptive. That they knew me better and could see it in me.”

You have to laugh a little and bite your lip. “You know, you’re sitting here pointing out that halfway through my third year of residency I’ve just started calling you Michael, your first name, and it’s almost like you’ve forgotten you always call me Kid. Only me. Since my first fucking day here. I don’t remember the last time I heard you say my first or last name for something other than introducing me to someone, in front of a patient or in some very formal situation. And I’d like to point out that not a single god damned person has ever heard you call me Kid and then tried to call me Kid unlike with me calling you Michael. I wonder why that is? It’s almost like it comes across as a little more than a nickname to people.”

He looks at you for a second. “I…”

You hold your hand up and half wave him off. “It’s okay. I’ll stop calling you it, Robby.” It’s half teasing and half serious. 

You slide off your stool and grab your drink intending to walk back to the table. Robby’s quick to slide off his stool and stand in front of you though, blocking your path. He looks at the stool you were sitting on pointedly and then back at you. You follow his silent order and sit and set your drink back down.

He leans in a little closer to you than he was. “I never asked you to stop calling me it, nor did I say you needed to.” He raises his eyebrows at you and bobs his head. “Nor do I want you to. I like it when you do. A lot.” 

You smirk at his admission and shrug at him. “You were making an awfully big deal about it.” 

“Yeah because it, it…”

You’re genuinely not sure how he wanted to end that sentence. “It what Michael?”

Robby shakes his head at you. “Just… you’re not an attending yet. Maybe when you’re an attending, okay?”

You know Robby isn’t talking about you calling him Michael. Isn’t saying that you can’t call him Michael until you’re an attending. He’s saying what he’s said since that time on the roof that when you’re an attending the two of you can act on the feelings you clearly have for each other. 

But the maybe in front of that phrase is new and hits you like a slap across the face, heart twisting as it sinks into your stomach. He’s never said that before. It’s never been a maybe and not a certainty. Robby watches your face fall and hurt cloud your eyes. He replays what he said trying to figure out what part it was that hurt you, that made your entire demeanor change. If you’re just that disappointed you didn't change his mind and aren’t suddenly a couple or if it’s something else. He can’t figure it out.  

You swallow thickly, tears sting your eyes but you’re quick to blink them away. “Yeah.” You nod at him finally. “Maybe. But you know, that assumes I become an attending here, Robby. In Pittsburgh at the very least. And I don’t know if I will.”

You slip off your stool, leaving your half empty drink and heading over to the table. You tell everyone the exhaustion has hit and so you’re going to head home. They’re sad to see you go but nobody questions much. You cover well enough that if anyone had noticed you and Robby talking they wouldn’t think you were hurt by him and running away. Which you know is kind of what you’re doing instead of just asking him about it. Asking him if he doesn’t want to try the two of you anymore. If he doesn’t want you anymore. If that’s why it’s a maybe all of the sudden.

Your words throw Robby for a second because he realizes that you’re right, neither of you know for sure if you’ll get an attending job at PTMC or anywhere else in Pittsburgh. He realizes the two of you have never had a real conversation about if you want to stay in Pittsburgh, if you’re going to apply for attending spots in Pittsburgh or if you want to go somewhere else. And then he realizes you called him Robby. 

He’s not sure what to do with that. What it means. He slides off his stool and goes to look for you at the table, doesn’t see you but thinks you’re in the bathroom until he’s told no, you left. He has to play it cool and nod like he isn’t internally panicking about whatever the fuck just happened. And he can’t just leave because it’ll look suspicious. He has to wait a respectable amount of time, ends up leaving when Samira and Langdon do. 

Robby calls you as he walks home. No answer. He has no idea what to even say to you right now so he doesn’t leave a message. He decides to text you instead. He’s worried about you and whether you’re okay and got home safe. He’s always worried about you when he doesn’t have eyes on you. 

R - Let me know you got home safe  R - Please

You don’t reply immediately. Or within five minutes. Or within ten minutes. It’s almost long enough to make him start panicking and change his direction to walk to your place and see if you’re there. Because of course he knows where you live and has been to your place before. But then you finally reply.

You - I did, yeah, thanks. Was showering. I hope you have a good rest of your night

It’s the truth. You were in the shower. In the shower standing under almost scalding water ruminating on ‘maybe when you’re an attending.’ Maybe. When did it become maybe for him? And why? You hate how bad it hurts, the thought of never getting to even try with him. The thought of him not wanting you anymore, of his feelings for you just disappearing. It makes you anxious. 

And more than anything right now, you’re confused. So fucking confused because he’s still flirting with you just as much and as hard as he always has when you guys are alone together or when you’re close enough to whisper. His hands and fingers still linger just a couple of seconds too long when he passes you something or wrap over yours to show you how to do something. You still feel his eyes on you when you talk to other men, especially if the men flirt with you. You still notice him checking you out sometimes. But now it’s maybe. Maybe. 

Robby lets out a breath when your message comes through. He debates calling you again to try and talk on the phone but he’s still not sure what to say. He walks into his apartment and drops his stuff, heads to his room and takes his scrub top and pants off before letting himself sit on the edge of the bed and reply.

R - Good.  R - Are we okay? You left quickly and without saying bye

After you finish getting ready, you slide into your bed and turn the tv on while you think about what to say to his message. Tone is so hard to get out of texts but you can tell he clearly still cares about you and whatever is between you. Enough to ask if the two of you are okay. It helps your anxiety a little bit. 

You - Yeah, we’re fine

He believes you but the word ‘fine’ also scares him. It’s not good or great or perfect or even normal or like we always are. So he can’t let the conversation die. Not when he’s still so unsure about whether you guys are okay or if he did something or if you still want him or if you’re mad at him. 

R - Are you working tomorrow? 

You - Yeah but at night. I’m starting a string of six nights to help cover. 

Robby knows you’ll be with Jack every night. He remembers Jack mentioning a string of six on. He’s not jealous in a romantic sense. He’s jealous of the time Jack will get to spend with you and is already thinking of excuses to stay late to be with you. He’s sad that he won’t see you for more than maybe an hour or so for the next six days.

R - Abbot’s going to try to steal you from days permanently

You type out your reply. It’s genuine but you know it’s going to seriously fuck with him and that the idea will freak him out and make him scared of losing you. Or will it? You don’t seem to know anymore. And that hurts. And hurt people hurt people. But you pause. You erase your last sentence. ‘Maybe when I’m an attending.’

You - He just might. Going to bed at 7 in the morning rather than getting up early enough to be at work for 7 in the morning kind of appeals to me

Robby stares at your response, a wave of deeper anxiety passing over him. You can’t go to nights. He’d barely see you. You can’t be serious about this. 

R - Really?

You - Yeah. Why?

Fuck. You are serious about this. And what the fuck is he supposed to say in response to your question? He knows you know why. He knows you know how he feels about you. How he wants you too. How he can’t wait for you to be an attending or even accept a position because then he can finally have you.

R - Would be a big loss for day shift. You’re one of the best

That hurts a little. That you switching to nights would just be a loss to day shift to him. Not a loss to him personally. That he wouldn’t miss you apparently.

You - You guys would be fine 

R - I’d miss you. I’ll miss you this week

You smile at him saying he’d miss you and that he’s going to this week. But part of you struggles to believe him after the bar.

You - Would you? Will you? 

He can’t believe you’re even asking that. And because it’s a text he can’t hear in your voice whether those two questions are serious or teasing. It hurts him to think that they might be serious. 

R - Of course 

You - Well I really doubt I’ll end up switching. So you’ll only have to miss me for a week 

R - Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?

You are so confused by this man. It’s ‘maybe’ and ‘a loss to day shift’ but then it’s also he’ll miss you and his heart will grow fonder. But it was a good line. And between him telling you he’ll miss you unprompted and that being away from you for almost a week will deepen his feelings for you, you’re starting to feel back to your usual self and, while the change has been subconscious mostly, you go back to texting him like your usual self. 

But before you can reply Robby sends another message. It terrifies him. He’s not sure how he even worked himself up to asking you. He just needs to know. Needs to know if the two of you are really okay. 

R - Will you miss me at all?

It’s an incredibly vulnerable ask. You know it. He knows it. He knows you know it. He needs a very ‘you’ answer to it. So you give him one.

You - 🙂‍↕️

R - Good

You - Did you have to google what that emoji meant? (P.S. You should have added girl after good)

Robby laughs to himself and shakes his head at you. This feels better. Normal. Like you. 

R - Did you just call me old? (P.S. Stop it)

You smile to yourself. You know he means the stop it playfully. He’d have said way more if he actually wanted you to stop.

You - 😶🤐 You - Did you change the font size on your phone?

R - I’ve changed my mind about missing you 

You - Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, Michael

R - Go to bed, Kid R - Don’t  R - Don’t even think it

You giggle to yourself. He’s lucky he was so quick to realize and send the ‘don’t.’

You - Does it make it better if I told you it was going to be daddy and not dad?

Robby groans to himself a little. No. That’s what he wants to tell you. No, it makes it worse in a way. It has him half hard pretty quickly. 

You - I’ve been in bed this entire conversation too, so 

You know you’re getting close to Robby’s limit of this shameless of flirting and overt sexualness. You’re toeing the line. It hits just right though. It makes him harder. Fully hard. And Robby has to groan to himself a little louder this time because if you guys were together he’d work himself up to sending you a picture of his very obvious erection under his boxers, or facetime you and make you talk him through it. But you’re not together. And you’re an R3. And he can’t.

You - Wanna know what I’ve been doing? 

You wait a few seconds just to let him start to think before you hit send on the picture you took of your tv that shows you’re watching some trashy reality tv show he hates. Or pretends to hate. Because he always knows enough about the last episode to talk to you about it. Maybe he hated it before you, maybe he still does kind of hate it, but now he watches it for you. 

You - I’m sure that’s what you were thinking I was doing. Anyway. Did you make it home safely?

Robby lets out a quiet laugh. You’re so ridiculous. So perfect for him. He’s so spectacularly fucked when it comes to you. 

R - Yes and I’m going to shower. You go to sleep

You - 😏😏 You - Alright I’m stopping  You - Sleep tight and try not to miss me too much this week 

R - Sleep well, Kid

Robby throws open the door to the stairwell and walks in. He’s shaking, closer to tears than he wants to admit to himself and he is pretty sure he has never felt this much rage in his life. All of his emotions, all the grief and loss and sadness and guilt have turned into anger. 

And all because Langdon had to come back and then run his fucking mouth. He’s trying to calm down, to let go of the anger before he goes back out there and does or says something he’s going to regret because his mind is too clouded with anger. His hand rubs the back of his neck as he paces to try and burn off some of the adrenaline. 

He replays the confrontation in his head over and over. Eventually he’s struck by one thing in particular. How the fuck did Langdon even know about what happened in pedes? You were the only one who saw him-

Robby stills. It feels like another part of his world is coming crashing down around him. The only way Langdon could have known is if you’d told him. Or you’d told someone else who’d told him. If you were gossiping about him. About something so incredibly private and intimate. 

The door to the stairwell gets thrown back open and Robby walks further into the Pitt, head on a swivel looking for you. His jaw clenches when he sees you standing alone and charting. He stalks over to you.

“We need to talk.” The anger in his voice is palpable. And unlike the last time he sought you out, this time he’s not asking to speak with you. You saw him follow Langdon out so you assume it must be related and Langdon really must have done or said something.  “In here. Now.” 

He’s seething. He leads over to the supply closet and opens the door, walks in behind you, locks the door behind him. “What happened?” you ask, brows furrowed.

Robby just stares at you. It’s like he’s waiting for you to admit something. And you slowly realize his anger isn’t at Langdon or that situation or at anything else. 

It’s at you. 

He finally speaks. “I cannot fucking believe you.”

You shrink back at his words and tone. “What?”

“There are a lot of fucking people here who I would expect this shit from or not be surprised when they did it. But not you. Not fucking you,” he spits out. “How could you? How could you fucking gossip about that?” Robby tells himself the tears forming in his eyes are ones of anger and nothing else. “How could you betray me like that? I trusted you. I fucking trusted you.” His voice cracks on the second trusted.

To say you’re confused would be a massive understatement. Your stomach twists with anxiety. You don’t like any of this. You don’t like how he thinks you betrayed him or broke his trust. Because you’re not sure if your relationship could survive him truly believing that. “Michael, please believe me when I say that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The confusion written all over your face just pisses him off more. It’s like you’re trying to be the victim. “No. Don’t do this shit. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I’m fucking talking about. Don’t try to be the fucking victim. The very fucking least you could do at this point is own the fuck up to it.”

You are desperately trying to play your day through your head to see if you can figure out what he’s talking about, figure out what you did that apparently betrayed him and obliterated his trust. You and Dana talked during the day but you never told her anything, just expressed your concern about him and him saying and acting like he was fine. You and Jack spoke while organizing supplies, but again, you just expressed concern about him and how he’d react if something happened to Jake. You said nothing to either of them that they didn’t already know because Robby had told them. You have no idea how he could consider any of that gossiping. 

“You’re really going to make me fucking spell it out for you, hm?” He bobs his head condescendingly. 

Tears spill over your lash line and slide down your cheeks because of the way he’s talking to you, the way he’s treating you. Because you know exactly where this conversation is headed if he won’t explain to you and then listen to your response. Because he’s slowly breaking your heart. 

“You told someone, Langdon or whoever the fuck else, about what happened in pedes. About me breaking down in there and being on the floor. You just fucking blabbed that to whoever,” he scoffs, a few tears running down his cheeks. Out of anger, yes. 

But out of heartbreak too. You gossiping about this, you breaching his trust like this, shatters Robby. Because he loves you. Even if he hasn’t said it. He’s stupidly in love with you. He has been. He thought you were the one. That you were it. His end game. He pictured a proposal and a wedding and a house and maybe kids.

And then you broke his heart. 

“Okay,” you sniffle through some tears. “I know you don’t believe me but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t tell anyone absolutely anything about pedes. I never would-”

“Well nobody else came in and saw me so how the fuck else would Langdon know? Hm?” he snarls. “You fucking gossiped about it. Like it was this casual thing.” He shrugs at you as more tears fall down his face and he glares at you. “We’re done. Because I will never be able to trust you again. Not with anything like that, with how I feel, to see me when I’m vulnerable. And I deserve a partner I can trust with that.” His anger slips for a moment, the trembling of his chin and the way his eyes soften into hurt and grief give it away. “We waited all this fucking time, I waited all this fucking time for you and you do this before we even hit six fucking months?” You can see when the anger returns as his primary emotion in addition to hearing it. “You threw it all away! And for what. For fucking what? Please tell me. Because I don’t fucking understand.” 

You’re at a total loss. You know that it ultimately doesn’t matter what you say. Robby isn’t in a state of mind to truly hear or listen to anything you tell him and even if he was, he doesn’t want to. Not right now at least. He just broke up with you. For, as far as you can tell, nothing. Your heart is shattered just like his. You thought he was the one. You knew he was deep in your heart. He was always there when you pictured your future. 

It takes you a moment to gather a few thoughts and calm your crying down enough to coherently talk. You clear your throat and sniffle before starting.

“You very clearly aren’t interested in listening to anything I have to say, but I’m going to say a few things anyway and hope you do listen, or think about them later. I did not tell anybody anything about pedes. I would never. Even now.” You take the briefest pause, worried that if you stop for any longer he’ll cut you off and not let you say anything else. “I love you, Michael. I’ve been in love with you for a while now. I never said it because it felt like you weren’t ready to hear it or say it quite yet, or I don’t know, maybe I mistook things and you didn’t, don’t love me.” You shrug. “I was so proud of you when I watched you pull yourself together in the face of multiple things, any one of which let alone all of them combined would have kept most people on the floor of that room, and go out and save lives and rally a team and support others and hold others up while you were dying inside. And I really hope one day, that for yourself, you’ll be able to learn and speak with Langdon or whoever else you need to and know that I was telling the truth and didn’t say anything to anyone and never would’ve. I loved you, Michael. You were amazing today. You are so much stronger than you think or give yourself credit for. I’m proud of you. You should be proud of yourself even through all the hurt, Michael.”

“No.” Robby shakes his head. He’s too angry and hurt and grief stricken to see anything clearly or even truly process your words. He stoops so that he’s face to face with you and you’ve never seen Robby look this angry and hurt. He makes sure you’re looking at him dead in the eyes as he speaks. “No, you don’t get to call me Michael. Or Robby. It’s Dr. Robinavitch to you.” 

He stands back up, unlocks and throws the door open and walks back out. Like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just issue you your very own scarlet letter by telling you that you can only call him by his full name and title, a stark contrast to the intimacy of Michael and even the casualness of Robby that everyone, except for you now, gets to call him. Like he didn’t just break up with you. Like he didn’t just shatter your heart. Like you’re not even worth hearing out or having an actual conversation with or listening to. Like you’re nothing. 

Pretty fucking cruel of the world for it to end where it started. In this supply closet. 

You lock the door behind him and slide down it, give yourself a few minutes to quietly sob, thoughts racing. But you don’t want to do this here. You can’t and you won’t. You open a pack of gauze and use it to clean off your face, unlock the door and peek through it until you see a good moment and sprint to the bathroom. 

You press a cold paper towel beneath your eyes. You know it’s probably pointless but maybe it’ll help a little. You’re focusing on thinking about how to get out of here and have the least number of people see you as possible. After a few minutes you toss the towel, splash some cold water on your face and dry off. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Marginally better, you guess. 

You slip out of the bathroom and look around. You should tell someone you’re leaving. The only two you decide you’ll be able to bring yourself to talk to are Jack and Dana. You spot Jack first.

“Hey,” you greet Jack as you walk up to him. Janey has arrived and Robby’s over talking with her so the hub is free of him for now. “I’m heading out.”

Jack looks up at you. To anyone else it would seem like he didn’t react. But you know him well enough to see the slightest raise of his eyebrows and the corners of his lips turn down. You have a fake smile plastered on your face and even with the damage control you did in the bathroom, someone would have to be an idiot to look at you and not know you’d been crying. And you know Jack is far from an idiot. 

You know he knows when his eyes leave you and go to Robby and then back to you. “Okay… We’ll probably do some sort of debrief and then I’m sure some people will go to the park. Robby’s probably going to be here for a little bit yet.”

“I figured, yeah.” You nod. “Thanks Jack.” You spin and start walking away before Jack can say anything further or Robby can walk back over or even look in your direction. You don’t want to feel it. You have enough already. His glare at you, livid and disappointed and betrayed and disdained and hurt. And even though you know why he’s with her, seeing him with his ex is hard. Especially when you realize you’re now just another ex for him to be seen with too. 

You wonder if they’ll bond over their fear for Jake before they knew he was okay and get back together as you walk to your locker. You grab your backpack and take the back way out to limit the chances of anyone seeing you and manage to hit the street without encountering anyone else.

You have a few things of Robby’s in your locker that you’ll have to figure out how to return to him. More things at your place. You’re going to have to go home and still see him. Have his presence there. Thinking about it makes tears sting at your eyes. But you refuse to break down until you get home, you won’t do it even out here. You need to be home before you break down. About any of it. Robby or the mass casualty incident you just went through. And it’ll mostly be about Robby. Probably 99%. You’re numb to whatever it is you saw and went through, focused on losing Robby.

And as brokenhearted and sad and hurt you are, part of you is mad. That Robby could even think you would do such a thing, much less believe it enough to accuse you of it and end your entire relationship over it without a real conversation. You know it was a bad day for him. Beyond a bad day. Probably one of the worst days of his life. But that’s not an excuse or justification for how he treated you. He didn’t even listen to you, wouldn’t even contemplate it being possible that someone else saw him and he just didn’t see. 

Part of you knows that with the day being what it was and what it became, Robby’s mind was trying to protect himself. That his mind could only see loss and grief and convinced him that you were going to leave him at the end of the day after seeing him like that in pedes. So when he saw an opportunity to control it, to set the terms of losing and grieving you, he took it and didn’t ask any questions. 

Robby does not want to gather everyone and give some kind of debriefing speech, but he knows he has to say something to everyone. Once everyone is gathered he starts talking and as he looks around the group he realizes you’re not there. He tells himself he doesn’t care but he absolutely does. Even with how much you hurt him he misses you. He wishes you were here to ground him a little. He thinks he could forgive you, especially if you had an explanation. Maybe you didn’t mean to say as much as you did to whoever. 

But as everyone walks away and goes back to whatever they were doing he slips back into anger because it’s an easier emotion to process and feel at the moment. You’re an attending now. It’s your job to be here for things like this. To stay for debriefings. No matter what might’ve happened in your personal life. 

So when he feels his phone vibrate and pulls it out and sees it’s you calling him he rolls his eyes  and sends it straight to voicemail on the second ring. And he gets annoyed when you don’t leave a message and immediately call him again. This time he just lets it ring until it hits voicemail. Maybe you’ll get the hint this time, he thinks. He figures you must because you don’t leave a message again and don’t try calling him a third time or send a text. Robby gets involved in another case with Jack and one with Mel and doesn’t think much of it. An hour and a half passes in the blink of an eye.

When he walks out of one of the trauma rooms and stops at the hub the exhaustion finally slams into him full force. He’s hungry too, can feel his blood sugar dropping. His ability to regulate and deal with his emotions is going further out the window with both of those developments. Which, he presumes, is why when he sees Langdon walking towards the ambulance bay doors to leave he walks over to him quickly. 

“Why the fuck are you still here?” Robby glances down at his watch. “I told you to leave over two fucking hours ago!”

“Why the fuck do you care? I’m leaving now.” Langdon doesn’t stop walking. 

Robby stands there for a second watching Langdon walk away. He needs to know he was right. That it was in fact you who told Langdon. 

“Hey!” Robby yells at Langdon and walks to catch up with him. “Who fucking told you?” He knows Langdon will know what he’s talking about.

“I’m not fucking telling you,” Langdon laughs dryly. “Unlike some people here I’m not going to rat out-”

Robby interrupts him by saying your name. “Was it her?”

Langdon laughs, shaking his head at Robby before he apparently realizes the question is serious. “You can’t be fucking serious.” Robby’s lack of response makes it clear he is serious. “Of course it wasn’t her! She would absolutely never spread shit about you, especially something like that. Someone else saw you in there on the floor firsthand. They’re glass fucking doors, Robby!” Langdon lets out an incredulous laugh. 

Fuck. Fuck. Robby’s heart drops into his sinking stomach and everything starts to spin, his extremities turning to ice. He knows Langdon is telling him the truth. He knows he monumentally fucked up. He just broke up with you for nothing. He just destroyed your heart for nothing. He just shattered the most precious and important and meaningful person in his life. He just imploded everything for no fucking reason. 

He just lost the best things in his life, your relationship and you, the person who kept him going. And he has nobody to blame but himself. 

He vaguely hears Langdon start to say something else to him but he’s taking a deep breath to try to get his dizziness to pass and walking back inside. Robby thinks about how he spoke to you. The words he said. How he barely let you say anything and didn’t listen to what he did let you say. He’s not sure if the two of you can recover from this. He’s not sure he deserves you giving him a second chance. If anything, he’s more sure he doesn’t. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try, if he doesn’t apologize and ask for a second chance. 

His eyes skim across everyone on the floor he can see once he’s back inside. He walks by most of the rooms and doesn’t see you in with any patients. You’re not in the breakroom. Maybe the bathroom. He doesn’t want to stand around waiting though. 

The roof. You saw him go up to the roof this morning because that’s where Jack was getting some air. He’d told you he was going up there to talk with Jack. Maybe you’re up there trying to clear your head. As he gets to the elevator and presses the up button it hits Robby. You could be standing on that ledge. You could be thinking about jumping. About disappearing from his life permanently. About really and truly leaving him forever. Nothing left but a grave to visit.

The only thing that stops Robby from turning to give into the feeling and be sick in the trash can is the elevator doors opening. He slips inside and hits the button for the roof, holding the close door button down the entire way up as though it really does anything. He tries to tell himself he’s just projecting his feelings onto you and that he has no reason to think you’re on the ledge.

Robby can’t decide whether he’s relieved that you’re not on the roof. Certainly he’s relieved you’re not on the ledge but it means he still doesn’t know where you are. He stands in the middle of the roof sucking in huge breaths of air trying to come down from the panic that’s starting to consume him. It’s not really working though. It’s just turning into hyperventilating. 

“Well you’re almost in my spot,” Jack calls to Robby as he walks out onto the roof. “What is going on? She-”

“I fucked up Jack,” Robby blurts out. “I fucked up so so badly and I don’t, I don’t know if I can fix it.” He slips completely into hyperventilating at this point as it plays in his head again. Him destroying everything in that supply closet. 

“Okay you’re having a panic attack, Michael-”

“No, no I’m not, I’m not, I’m just,” he’s shaking at this point, his body and his voice, “I just lost her and I, I, I…” Robby can barely put that three word phrase together. 

“I promise you that you are having a panic attack, Michael, believe me I know.” Jack steps in front of Robby and catches his gaze. “You have to follow my breathing, okay?” Robby shakes his head for a second and squeezes his eyes closed trying to fight back tears before starting to nod. “Look at me.” Robby opens his eyes and watches Jack. He watches Jack’s exaggerated breathing and tries to follow it. By focusing so hard on following Jack’s breathing Robby’s mind stills for a few moments. “Alright, better?” Robby nods at him. “What the fuck happened?”

Robby’s quiet for a moment and turns and takes a step so that he’s not facing Jack anymore. It’s a little too much. “I broke today. During the middle of it all, after Leah.” Robby’s voice cracks on her name. “She found me crying on the fucking floor in pedes and helped me get through it and back.” Robby pauses and lets out a huffed laugh. “For this to make sense I have to tell you that Langdon’s addicted to pain meds and stealing meds. Fucking, I don’t even know what to say about that right now.” He can see Jack’s slightly surprised expression out of the corner of his eye. “Anyway, after everything calmed down Langdon and I had it out in the ambulance bay and he threw it in my face. What happened in pedes.”

“Mmmm,” Jack cringes in acknowledgment. Robby knows he knows where this is about to go. 

“She was the only one I saw see me in there. So I assumed she told fucking Langdon or someone else who then told him. That she was gossiping about it.” Robby shrugs and sniffles. “I dragged her into that fucking supply closet with me and lost it. Asked her how could she, told her I couldn’t believe her, all while she was looking at me confused which just pissed me off more in the moment. She said it wasn’t her but I wasn’t listening. I barely let her speak. And then,” Robby pauses, lips trembling hard. “And then she said she loves me and is proud of me and she ended her last sentence with Michael and all I said was that she didn’t get to call me Michael or Robby. That it was Dr. Robinavitch to her. Then I walked out. I saw Langdon just now and he told me it wasn’t her and I know he was telling the truth.” Robby takes in and lets out a big breath quickly, sniffling again and wiping some tears away. “So I broke up with her and broke her heart for nothing. And I’ve been trying to find her to apologize as if she’ll ever take me back. She shouldn’t. I know she shouldn’t but I have to try Jack.” Robby looks over at him. “I have to try.” 

Jack takes in a deep breath and lets it out. He looks like he’s trying to decide what to respond to first. He runs a hand through his hair and then drops his hands to his hips. “Yeah,” he draws the word out. “That’s…” he sighs. “You guys might be able to work this out. It’s very obvious she knows you and how you think, better than you probably, and she is so fucking in love with you,” he tries to give Robby a somewhat reassuring smile, “so, I don’t know. You have to try, I agree. But she left, Robby.” Jack glances at his watch. “Two hours ago.” 

“What?” Robby whispers, turns back to face Jack. He glosses over everything Jack said to try and give him hope because he can’t take any possibility of false hope right now, as much as he knows Jack wouldn’t lie to him. 

“When you were talking to Janey. She came up to me at the hub, looking like she’d just had the conversation you described with you and said she was leaving.” Jack shrugs. “I said we’d do a debrief and some people would probably go to the park after and that you’d be here for a bit yet and she said she figured that and thanks and walked away.”

“Did you actually see her leave?” Robby doesn’t know why the thought of you leaving and being at home in your bed sobbing, or having already sobbed yourself to sleep makes it all feel worse. 

“No-” 

“So she could still be here.” Robby nods as he says it. “She could have gotten involved in a case or something and not left yet.” He starts walking back to the elevator. 

“Theoretically,” Jack agrees. “I think she probably left, Robby. You know her locker code? See if her stuff is there.” 

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Robby nods as they step in the elevator. “That’s good, that’s a good idea.” He’s praying that your stuff will still be there. That you’re not at home alone crying over him and how he treated you and the end of your relationship. Because he doesn’t want that. He’s not sure anymore if that’s really what he wanted when he was so sure you gossiped about it. 

As soon as he’s off the elevator Robby’s speed walking to the lockers, Jack following behind at a more normal pace. Robby hears Jack stop a few feet behind him as he opens your locker. Your stuff is gone. You’re gone. At home alone. Just like he didn’t want. 

“Michael,” you pant as his lips move down your neck and to your collarbone where he sucks a bruise into your skin making you moan softly again. “We should stop, you, you should go home and get some sleep before work.” The hand in his hair tugs at it to get him to look at you. 

It’s the night of your first date. After dinner you guys came back to your place. It started with just sitting and chatting on the couch, having another drink. Then you started kissing as you talked. Then you were kissing more than you were talking. Then you straddled him. And now he’s laying on top of you on your couch, bracing himself with his arms to not put too much of his weight on you. You have to have been making out like this for the better part of an hour. You’ve both been shamelessly grinding into each other, pulling little sounds you’ve always wanted to hear from the other. Robby’s painfully hard. Your underwear has to be soaked through or close to it. 

“What?” Robby’s already halfway gone, mind hazy with thoughts of you. It takes a second for what you said to process. “What? No first date sex for me?” he pants softly. You know he’s teasing you, that he truly didn’t come here with any expectations and he would absolutely never pressure you. 

“Nope.” You smile at him as you pop the ‘p.’

Robby groans a little at you as he moves off of you to sit normally on the couch, helping you sit up next to him. “Why not?” He pushes his bottom lip out at you a little as you climb into his lap. “That hardly seems fair.”

You give his bottom lip a quick nip before kissing it. “Because I care about you and this. Us.” 

“But if there’s already an us…” he trails off with a raise of his brows at you. “And we’ve been basically dating for four years.” You snort a laugh and give him a look. “Okay, we’ve been close friends with feelings for each other for four years. That should count for something right?” He lets one hand rest at your hip and the other in your lap. 

“In a way, yes, of course it does.” You run your hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp a little just to see the way his eyes flutter closed. “I still need to keep you interested though. Make sure you have a reason to ask me out again and keep me around.”

Robby scoffs as he opens his eyes. He gives you a look. “Kid, you really think that after pining for you and dreaming about you for four fucking years that I’m going to finally get inside of you and then just decide I’m romantically done with you?”

You shiver at his words and the thought of him inside of you. “Maybe I won’t be good in bed or you won’t feel a spark or it’ll be flat.”

Robby lets out a breath as he takes your face in his hands. “I can pretty much guarantee you none of that will be the case.  Having sex with you is just going to make me more obsessed with you, Kid.”

You nod, give him a small smile and lean into one of his hands. “Maybe I just like torturing you.” A slow smirk pulls onto your face. “You made me wait four years. And yes I understand and respect and appreciate why. But I still think it means you can take me on a date for every year you made me wait, and then maybe I’ll let you put your cock inside of me, Michael.”

He groans, dropping his hands back to your hip and lap where they were. “So breakfast, lunch and dinner dates tomorrow?” 

You giggle at him, lean in and give him a kiss. You love knowing how desperate he is. It makes you feel good. But while you and Robby have known each other and been dancing around this for four years, that’s almost what makes you feel like the sex is going to be more meaningful and like for some reason you should wait just a couple of dates. Because you could fall in love with Robby. Because you know you already are starting to fall in love with him. That you have been since you met him. 

“No.” You shake your head at him. “But that was a great try.”

“Can I at least do four days in a row?” he whines. 

You hum in fake thought for a few seconds. “I’ll allow that.”

“Good.” Robby leans in and kisses you again, deepens it when you open your mouth a little for him when his tongue presses at your lips. He’ll never get enough of this. Enough of you. He pulls away just a little before you’re both desperate for air and rests his forehead against yours. “I’m going to make you break before the fourth date.” 

You chuckle. “Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael.” You pull your forehead from his and give him an almost sympathetic look. “You should know better than to challenge me by now. Because now that you’ve said it, I absolutely won’t let you break me.” 

“Yeah,” he sighs the word, “I was trying so hard to be hot and sexy for you I forgot how incredibly stubborn you are.” 

You roll your eyes at him playfully. “You know you don’t have to try, Michael. You just are hot and sexy.” 

He just hums at you and squeezes your hip and thigh. “Come on, I’ll go. We both do need to sleep before work.” You sigh a little about it as you get off his lap and stand up. You don’t really want him to leave but you know it’s better to do it this way. “I’m gonna use your bathroom before I leave.” Robby kisses the top of your head as he passes you. 

You get a thought and slip to your kitchen while Robby’s in your bathroom, quickly getting your bottoms off. You make sure your underwear adequately reflects how turned on and wet you got just from making out with him and then them off and get your bottoms back on. You tuck the underwear in the back of your waistband and pull your shirt down over them. 

You wait for Robby on the armrest of your couch, smiling at him when he reappears. The two of you walk to your door together. “I had a really great time tonight, Michael.” You’re smiling so widely your cheeks hurt. 

“So did I, Kid. The best time.” Robby’s hands find your waist again, just holding you gently. “Will you go on a second date with me?” he asks like you don’t both already know the answer. 

“You know it.” Your smile somehow widens a little more and you have to fight to get it off your face so that Robby can kiss you when he starts leaning down and in. Neither of you are surprised or mad when the kiss turns into making out for a couple of minutes in front of your door. 

You break apart naturally when you need air and you let your forehead fall to rest on Robby’s chest. After a second you pull back. 

“Here.” You grab your underwear from your waistband. You let them dangle off your finger for a second to make sure Robby knows exactly what they are. “To get you through the night and proof you don’t need to try to be hot and sexy.” You smirk at him as you shove them in his pocket. “Took them off while you were in the bathroom. You can feel they’re still warm. And maybe if you’re good you’ll get a pair at the end of each date.”

Robby swallows hard, breathing picking up a little just at the beginnings of thoughts of what he could do with them at home and how you’ll know he’s doing something with them and how you want him to. He presses his palm against his pocket. They’re still warm like you said. A blush creeps up his neck to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He has to close his eyes for a second as he tries to regulate a bit. “You’re gonna kill me, Kid,” Robby breathes out. 

“I’m a doctor, remember? I would never let that happen.” You and Robby exchange soft laughs as he opens the door. “Text me when you get home safely please. Or on your way home.” You grin at him. 

“I will.” Robby nods at you. You lean up and give him a soft and lingering kiss. It’s simple, but the perfect way to end the night. 

“Have a good night, Michael.”

“Have a good night, Kid.”

There’s very little thought to it. Robby just follows the instinct that tells him to run after you. Doesn’t grab his backpack. Doesn’t say another word to Jack. He just turns and runs. 

Robby knows that you’ll be at your place. That you won’t have gone to a bar or something. You’ll just want to be alone. He hates himself for it, hates the thought, can picture you curled up alone and crying or sniffling heavily in your sleep because you finally cried yourself out. 

He books it to your place, comes close to being hit once or twice when making a few unwise crossing decisions. He’s panting hard by the time he gets to your building and fumbles with his key to get in the main door, taking the stairs two at a time as he hauls ass up to the third floor. He’s running on sheer adrenaline. 

He doesn’t take a moment to collect himself when he gets to your door, just starts knocking. When you don’t answer he uses his key to let himself in. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows he should respect you not wanting to see him and wanting to be alone right now, but he needs to see you and apologize and make everything okay again. 

But your apartment is dark when he steps in. Hot. Like the AC has been off because you’ve been at his the past week. You’d have turned the AC on if you were here. He checks anyway though. But you’re not there. Not in your bed or the shower or on your couch. And so Robby’s left a sweaty and panting mess as he closes your bedroom door and leans back against it. 

He tries to take a moment to calm down, get his breath back, some focus back so he can think about where else you might be. But he can’t. 

Instead, Robby slides down your bedroom door, bringing his knees to his chest and starting to cry again. Just like he did in pedes. It’s more sobbing this time, especially because of how hard it is to breathe, how out of breath he was before he started crying. Some of his tears are for the loss, Adamson and Leah, for his guilt at giving Jake his other ticket and thoughts that it should have been him to get shot and not Leah, for the damage to his relationship with Jake, for Langdon, for breaking down in the middle of an MCI and letting his team down. 

But most of them are for you. The loss of you. The way he’s already grieving you while praying and hoping and wishing that he’ll be able to stop, that you’ll take him back and so he won’t have to keep grieving the loss of you in his life. For accusing you of something horrible like that. For yelling at you. For the way he snapped at you all day. The way that, although you were quick to shut it down most times, he took out a lot of his emotions on you over the entire day. Took out his emotions on you who was only ever there for him whenever he needed it. Who kept him together and in check. Who saw only the best in him and stayed. Who saw the worst in him and stayed. Who was proud of him. Who he needs to survive this. And for the way, he realized on his run over as he replayed the scene in the supply closet over in his mind, your tense changed. You love him to you loved him. Love to loved. An audible breaking of your heart.  

Robby looks over at your kitchen. Maybe it would just be better for you and Jake and everybody if he just disappeared. If he just ceased to exist. He told you he wouldn’t. He promised you he wouldn’t. But maybe you want him to now. He’s tired of feeling. Of hurting. Without you he doesn’t really have anyone. Jake hates him. Jack and Dana will be fine without him. You have sharp enough knives. He knows exactly where to cut.

His phone ringing pulls him out of it for a second. He sniffles and clears his throat as he moves to pull his phone out of his pocket. He knows it’s not you because you’d given yourself a special ringtone and it’s not the one playing.

It’s Jack. If you’re there at the hospital still with Jack then he won’t. He’ll keep his promise and run back. Apologize. Beg. Grovel. Anything. Everything. 

“Did you hear from her?” There’s no greeting. Robby’s straight to the question. 

“Robby, she’s here.” Jack’s voice is strained. He sounds exhausted, but more emotionally than anything. He sounds pained. Like speaking these words is physically and emotionally hurting him. He didn’t sound like that when Robby left. But Robby brushes it all aside.

“Oh fuck, okay thank you.” Robby lets out a sigh of relief and wipes at his face. He sniffles again and lets out a little laugh. Because at least he knows where you are. “Keep her there Jack, please. I don’t care how you do it, lock her in a room or use restraints, just keep her there. I need to talk to her. I need-”

“No, not like that,” Jack tells him, voice clipped, still strained. “Like-” Jack gets interrupted. Robby can hear what sounds like a door opening, muffled movement and beeping of monitors. He can just make out a female voice tell Jack ‘she’s seizing again.’ Jack’s voice is muffled like he’s holding the phone away from him but Robby can hear him say ‘yes’ to what sounded like the shout of a medication order, followed by Jack yelling ‘and where the fuck is neuro?’ 

“Fuck. You need to get here, Michael.” Jack rushes it out but Robby recognizes Jack’s tone clear as day because he’s used it so many times himself. 

It’s the tone they use when stressing to family members that they need to get to the hospital as quickly as humanly possible because a loved one is about to die. 

Tears start to stream down Robby’s face again because he knows. Robby knows exactly what Jack means when he repeats it. “She’s here.”

I know. 😶🥲😶���🌫️😭

I've affectionately called this Robby's No Man's Land. It was named the same way too. Obviously there will be a Part 2 unless nobody wants one. 😂 I PROMISE that what happened in NML Part 2 will not be repeated in the Part 2 to this.

I hope it was okay and that you were able to enjoy! Again, I really love hearing your thoughts and comments, they give me serotonin and motivation and inspiration!! Liking, replies and reblogging are always so so appreciated! My inbox and DMs are always open for thoughts, comments, and general screaming (or (lovingly) screaming at me I suppose)! 🙂

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[trinity15]

CATWOMAN

Lando Norris x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

Summary: Lando's friends set him up on a blind date with a girl he apparently has nothing in common with until she starts talking about her four cats.

To my cat and Lando girlies (me ✋😔). Special mention to my cats Kimi and Max. I came up with this after recalling a conversation I had with my father about what drivers names you could give a cat.

masterlist

The date couldn't be going any worse. Two months ago his friends had convinced him that they had the perfect girl for him, and now that she was in front of him and the date was almost over he wasn't so sure about it.

She was pretty, for sure, but they where the complete opposite and the situation was becoming more and more akward. Lando was beginning to wonder why he had accepted Max's idea.

On the other hand, Y/n was defenitelly calling Pietra once the date was over to tell her that she appreciates her effort but that the date had been an absotute dissaster.

Two months before the date, Y/n and Pietra had met after not having seen each other for a long time. Pietra had told her friend that she had something very important to tell her. They went to a café and just sat down to talk.

"Y/n I have an idea" Y/n's face changed. Pietra was the typical person who always thought of something that didn't make sense, but says it anyway. She was Bubbles from The Powerpuff Girls in real life, but Y/n loved her anyway and she would always be one of her best friends.

"Tell me your idea Pietra" Y/n smiled at her and her friend's eyes lit up. She was excited to tell her her idea and she really hoped that Y/n would accept her proposal.

"Hear me out, a blind date" Y/n frowned, confused. A blind date? What did Pietra mean by that? She knew she had crazy ideas, but she'd expected anything but that.

"A blind date? But you're already dating Max!"

"No, silly, a blind date for you. Besides, I've got the perfect person for you" Y/n wasn't very convinced with the idea but she could only accept because her friend looked excited and deep down she was curious to know who was the person Pietra wanted to set her up with. "Ah, but don't talk about Formula 1, and don't mention your cats either".

Now, sitting in front of none other than Lando Norris, she understood why Pietra had said that. She knew perfectly well who he was. Y/n had loved Formula 1 since she was a child and still followed the sport. Nor was she surprised that her date was Lando. She knew perfectly well that Pietra's boyfriend, Max Fewtrell, was Lando's best friend. What she didn't expect was to be paired with him.

They were both equally silent. Y/n had been forbidden by Pietra to talk about the only thing she had in common with Lando: Formula 1. And on the other hand, to Lando, Max had warned him that if he mentioned his work, his date would get bored and leave, which he was very wrong about, but he didn't know it.

They had tried to talk about movies, she liked rom-coms, but he liked action movies. They had also mentioned their favourite food. She loved sushi, he hated fish. She had tried to tell him a couple of anecdotes, which Lando had listened to attentively as he searched his mind for some experience of his own that didn't involve Formula 1, but it was impossible. Formula 1 was his job, it was also part of his day to day life. It was his entire life. And it was also a forbidden topic of conversation on this date.

"Fuck it," Lando thought. If the date was already sucking he wasn't going to risk much if he mentioned the sport, after all, it couldn't get any worse. The girl had really charmed him physically and had a sweet way of talking, it annoyed him that he didn't have anything in common with her because he had liked her.

"Do you know what formula one is?" Lando threw out the question. He expected either a fake answer saying she didn't know anything so he would start talking to her about it or she would start telling him it was a boring sport and that it was just cars running around in circles. However, her answer surprised him.

"Yes, of course. I've been following the sport since I was a little girl." She did know what Formula 1 was and still watched it, which meant she knew who he was.

"So you know who I am?"

"Yes, I know who you are. Do I have to tell you your whole biography or is that enough?" She had said it as a joke, a sarcastic comment to lighten the mood, however it had sounded edgy and Lando had frowned. "Sorry Lando, I have a weird humour and sometimes it seems like I'm being very rude."

Lando shook his head downplaying it so Y/n wouldn't worry. "So you do like it? It's just that Max told me not to mention it because you'd get bored" Y/n laughed. A light, genuine laugh. It amazed her how Max and Pietra had been able to conclude that she and Lando would be a good match and not know one of the few things (or the only one) they had in common.

"Pietra just told me not to mention it, and not to talk about my cats either. I've lasted long enough, it's usually the first thing I mention." Now Lando was curious, he wanted to know more about her cats and why Pietra hadn't let her talk about them.

"What about your cats?" The question seemed to cheer her up, because when Lando looked at her her eyes had begun to sparkle with excitement. That brought a sincere smile to his lips.

"I have four cats and they're all named after Formula 1 drivers." Lando raised his eyebrows in surprise and smiled even wider. The joy and enthusiasm in Y/n's words was infectious.

He was mentally thanking himself for bringing up that topic of conversation because, the once awkward date had now become very entertaining and he didn't want it to end.

Lando leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, attentive to what Y/n was saying. "It all started with my first cat. I adopted him when he was a kitten and since he was running everywhere I named him Kimi after Kimi Raikkonen."

"So you decided that since one was named after a driver the rest were too?" and as if Lando was inside her mind he formulated the next thing she was going to say in the form of a question. Y/n smiled and nodded before continuing.

"Yeah well, sort of. Then I adopted Max, he already had that name when I adopted him and I took it as a sign." Lando's smile didn't disappear, let alone Y/n's enthusiasm.

He had earlier planned to skip dessert to leave as soon as possible but now he was calling the waiter to bring them the menu and pick one. Anything to keep Y/n talking. "Wait, pick a dessert and then tell me more about it."

Y/n asked the waiter for a brownie and Lando ordered a cheesecake. The waiter returned almost immediately and left the plates on the table.

"As I was saying, then I found a kitten in a dumpster. She had just given birth and was malnourished. I took her and her kittens to the vet." Lando's face took on a worried expression. He had always loved animals, and it made him very sad to hear such stories. "The cubs didn't make it through the night, but the mother was recovering," Y/n continued as she ate her dessert.

"Did you adopt her?" It was a rhetorical question, she was telling him about her cats, of course she adopted her, but Lando just wanted Y/n to see that he was actually paying attention.

"Yes. She's the only girl cat I have. Her name is Senna, after Ayrton Senna."

"And the fourth one?"

"The fourth one, I adopted him because a friend's cat had kittens and she couldn't keep them. I called him Chilli." Lando frowned. Chilli? No one's called Chilli on the grid. Wasn't that a meal?

"Chilli?" he asked.

"Yes. Carlos Sainz is called Chilli, weren't you one of his best friends?" Y/n joked and Lando replied with a sarcastic laugh, but with a smile on his face.

"So they are called Kimi, Max, Senna and Chilli?" Y/n nodded. Lando could tell how happy it made her talk about her cats. "And why aren't any of them named Norris?"

"Okay I didn't know you were so self-centered" Y/n jokingly replied to him. "Maybe the next cat, who knows."

In the end the date ended well and they agreed to go on another one, maybe in the end they could be a good couple as Pietra and Max had thought. They both decided not to tell their friends anything, to tell them that the date had been a disaster and then, if they ended up being something, then tell them, to see their reaction.

5 months later

ynusername 🔒

liked by lando, maxfewtrell, pietrapilao and more

tagged: lando

caption: Norris and Norris (special appearnce of Max and Senna in the second slide and Chilli in the last one)

lando i know they're all missing me right now liked by author

pietrapilao excuse me??

maxfewtrell "the date was horrible" bullshit

pietrapilao when where you planing on saying anything??

pietrapilao where's my boy kimi?

ynusername you know he's camera shy

I would appreciate it if you could leave me a comment saying if you liked it. 🧡

taglist: @anamiad00msday @op81s-sweethOe @scentedrosa @h-rtsnana @ilovemeni @n3versatisfied @linnygirl09 @imdyinghelpplease @jaydensluv @love4rami @halleest

[no-144444]

hey girl!

I LOVEEEE your writing, you're so talented! i was wondering if you could do a grid post where either the reader, or the driver starts crying during an argument? I'd just love to see how it would play out!

thanks ml :))))

crying during an argument

꩜ featuring: the entire grid, zhou guanyu, paul aron, jack doohan.

꩜ a/n: thank you for requesting and thank you for reading! I loved this idea and lmk if yall want a part 2 to any of them bc i have some ideas... :) also heads up, this is 14k words... my b i got carried away :p

mclaren

Oscar Piastri 

Oscar didn’t cry often. Special events required crying; terrible crashes where he genuinely felt scared for his life, his dog dying, missing his sisters’ graduations. 

And apparently this. 

You were ranting, not even raising your voice, just frustrated. You were so damn understanding too, so aware of the fact that it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t control his schedule. You just missed him. You just wanted him there for one of the biggest nights of your life, and he couldn’t be there. 

He felt the emotion building in his throat, foreign and clunky. Uncontrollable. He tried to swallow it down, but he just made this weird choked sound, and he felt the tears on his cheeks. 

You’d somehow sensed it, like you did with everything else about him. Always, after every race, every tough day, every great day, you always knew just what he needed. You stopped talking. You whipped your head around, and you were already in front of him with wide eyes and more patience than he thought he probably deserved.  

A soft hand on his shoulder, a tentative breath. “Oscar?” You practically whispered. He nodded, wiping his tears away, only for more to appear seconds later. “Oscar, it’s ok, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your hand reaching up and running through his hair, coaxing him to lean into you. He did. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his tears soaking your shirt. You didn’t seem to care. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, not entirely sure what he was apologising for. You shook your head as he fisted your shirt, trying to hold onto something so he wouldn’t fully fall apart.

Your voice came soft and soothing. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” you tightened your grip on his waist. “Please don’t apologise.” 

“I just-“ hiccup- “I feel bad,” God, he sounded like a child to himself. You didn’t judge. “I want to be there so bad.”

“It’s alright Osc,” you hushed. “It’s okay. I know you support me,” you said it against his temple like a prayer, and it made him want to believe you. “I know you love me.”

He nodded, pulling his face out of its solace in the crook of your neck. “Okay,” he nodded, breathless. Your eyes were wide, but trusting. Truthful. “Okay.”

You hadn’t seen Oscar cry many times, mostly because he didn’t like to. He knew now, if he needed to, he could come to you. 

Lando Norris  

It was a dumb argument. Somewhere in your brain, you knew that. 

But it’s hard to remember that when you’re that angry, and that frustrated. 

You shouldn’t have shouted. You shouldn’t have stopped looking at him. You shouldn’t have let him go quiet. There were a lot of things you shouldn’t have done. 

He listened as best he could, truly. He wanted to solve the problem, to make it better, to make being with him easier. He can’t control his schedule though. He can’t control where he’ll be day by day. He can’t leave at a moment's notice. He has people who rely on him, too many people who rely on him. It weighs on him, and somehow, it’s started to weigh on you. You’ve become a background character in your own partner's life, and you couldn’t take it anymore. He feels like more of a roommate than a boyfriend, and he’s hardly ever home. He wanted to fix it, but when so many parts of your life are out of your control, you start to feel helpless. You start to believe the things people say online, the ones online telling him he should just break up with you since he only gets to see you twice a year. The ones who tell him he’s not a good boyfriend. The ones who remind him of his failings, and all the second chances you’ve given him without even thinking about it. 

He teared up and just left. The bedroom door locked behind him before you’d even notice he’d fucking left. 

Then the guilt settled, right down in your stomach, so deep you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You cupped a hand over your mouth, like it would reverse all the things you’d said. Like it could take it back. It couldn’t. You couldn’t. 

Time passed as you stared at that fucking door, debating about what you’d even do if you went in there. You didn’t know, but you knew you had to make it right. 

You knocked against the wood. “Lan,” your voice was breaking. “I’m so sorry,” you leaned your head against the door. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Slowly, you heard footsteps, and the door opened. He looked cosy, but the sad kind of cosy. The kind of cosy he looked when he was overwhelmed. 

He cleared his throat. “Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that,” his usual sentiment lacked any conviction, but there was a soft kind of humour in his words. “She’s a genius.”

You shook your head, that guilt clawing at you from the inside out. “I’m not sure I am,” you chuckled out, but it lacked any kind of humour. “I’m sorry,” you looked up at him, his red-rimmed eyes, his soft expression, his sunken shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

He shrugged. “Probably not,” he let out a breath. “But I’ve said a lot worse, and you’ve given me another chance every time without thinking about it,” he admitted. “And I think we’re both exhausted.” 

“You’re too nice to me-”

“You’re not nice enough to yourself,” he corrected, wrapping his hand around your waist and pulling you into his chest. “I just needed a minute, I’m sorry I left.”

“I think we both needed a minute,” you admitted, that warm feeling in your chest somehow choking out the feeling of guilt. “I’m sorry again Lan.”

“Thank you,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We’ll work through it. We always do.”

mercedes:

George Russell 

George argued like he drove; completely controlled until he wasn’t. He liked to think he could keep his cool, that an argument with his girlfriend wouldn’t shake him so much when he could make split-second decisions while driving 300km/ h. He couldn’t. Every word coming out of your mouth seemed to rattle him, make him falter, make him lose his mind. 

He didn’t realise he was crying. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t being overwhelmed. He was frustrated. He wanted to be what you needed, he wanted to be there for you, he wanted to always be able to drop everything for you, but he couldn’t. Yes, it was his dream to drive, but sometimes, it left a sour taste in his mouth on the nights you texted him sad and lonely, or exhausted and in need of affection. It made him feel… ashamed. He wanted to be the perfect fiance, be there for you more than anyone else. He couldn’t. And it made him feel like shit. 

“George,” your voice pulled him out of his shame-spiral, and he felt your hand on his cheek, wiping away the wetness. “Breathe,” you demanded, your voice full of fear and eyes wide. “You’re going to have a panic attack, George, breathe.”

He did as you asked, grounding himself with his hands on your hips, squeezing your shirt in time with his breaths like you’d made him do several times before. He focused on your eyes. Exploring the colours he knew so well, reminding himself that an argument is just an argument, and you were just frustrated, he was just frustrated. You’d both lie down together tonight, he’d kiss your shoulder, and you’d pretend to hate the way his hand sneaks up your shirt. You’d still be there. You’d still love him. 

He nodded. “I’m alright,” he sighed out, the tension finally breaking. You didn’t look convinced, you never did during one of these. “I’m alright,” he spoke slower again, reassuring you. 

You nodded, then pressed your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” you let out, soft and small. Like you were scared he'd fall away if you didn’t hold onto him. 

“I’m sorry I can’t be there,” he whispered, a humorless chuckle in his lips. “You’re always there to support me and I can’t fucking be there for you. Ever.” He spat out the last word like he was embarrassed, or disgusted with himself. 

You looked up and pressed your lips to his. He kissed you back like it could maybe make up for it. Like he could show you how much he cared, how much he wanted to be there. “George,” you were breathless, he tried to kiss you again, and you stopped him. “You’re always there for me,” you smiled softly, the kind of smile that made him see into the future, wrinkles and kids, everything he wanted. “Even when you’re a million miles away, you’re always checking up on me. You care so much it scares my friends sometimes,” you chuckled and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “I’m just…” you couldn’t finish your sentence, you didn’t even know how you felt. 

“I know,” he whispered, his forehead against yours. He always knew when it came to you. 

Andrea Kimi Antonelli

Kimi hated arguments. He hated making you upset, hated not knowing what to say. 

“You can’t say shit like that Kimi, it’s not fair,” you scoffed, fluffing the pillows of your couch. Moving in together had been tumultuous. You both loved it, but it was a long process to figure out the balance between being together all the time, and not ripping the heads off each other. He’d said something stupid, some off-handed comment that made you see red. He sat on the couch as you rage-cleaned the apartment, ranting all the way. He felt too much like a child for his liking, sitting on the couch as you scolded him. 

Kimi was an emotional person, and you’d only had so many arguments in your relationship. He hated seeing you upset, and knowing it was his fault just started a guilt pit in his mind, picking apart every single thing he did that upset you. 

“I think I just need some time alone,” you sighed, putting down the towel in your hand. “I’m going to go for a walk-“

“Don’t go!” He shot up, the emotion building behind his eyes as panic surged through his chest. You couldn’t leave, not like this. He grabbed onto your wrist and pulled you against his chest. “Please don’t leave, talk to me, scream at me, just don’t leave. Please.” His eyes were wide and pleading, and his grip was practically bruising. 

You’d never seen him like this. Begging. Pleading. Like if he didn’t convince you to stay, you’d never come back. You cupped his cheek, the beginnings of tears falling from his eyes as he tried to blink them away. “Kim,” your voice was soft. “I’m not leaving,” you assured him, stroking his cheek as he kept his eyes fixed on your face. “I’m right here.” You took his hand and placed it on your waist, showing him you weren’t leaving. 

“I hate it when people leave,” he admitted, breathless. “I don’t-“ hiccup “-want you to leave,” he closed his eyes. “I never want you to leave,” he pressed his forehead against yours, like it could somehow stop you from running. 

“I’m not leaving,” you whispered. “I’m not leaving, Kim,” you shook your head. 

He tightened his grip on your waist. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was just tired, I didn’t mean it-“ 

“I know,” you nodded, voice full of warmth and understanding. He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he took it all the same. “You don’t have an angry bone in your body Kimi, I know you didn’t mean it,” you chuckled, and he felt lucky to ever hear the sound. “It just… upset me.”

“I didn’t mean to-“

“I know you didn’t,” you cooed, and his frown relaxed. “Again, I don’t think you have a mean bone in your body either. It just… it was what it was. And it’s done now.” 

Forgiveness, it had never tasted so sweet. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you,” he repeated, on his lips like a chant. 

williams:

Alex Albon

It’s haunting how strange Alex looks when he cries. That’s what he thinks anyway. He’s almost sure you think it too. He’s just so used to not being upset, that he really doesn’t know what to do with himself when he is. You were there for him, through everything. Through RedBull. You’ve seen him cry. You’ve seen him rise up from it, rise up to Williams, rise up to P5 being a genuine result, a constant result. He’s proud, of course, but there’s always that voice in the back of his head that sounds surprisingly like Will Buxton, telling him that he’s a problem. 

Even in his relationships. Even in your relationship. 

That’s what this stemmed from. He didn’t feel good enough. He shut you out again. He didn’t text for a full week. 

“Alex, you can’t just not text me for a week, alright?” You were exhausted, exasperated, and downright pissed. Frankly, you had every reason to be. He was in the wrong, he knew that, but he just couldn’t help feeling slightly justified. He would’ve caused a fight either way, especially when he got like that. “I want to hear from you, the good, the bad, the ugly, the mundane! I don’t care once it’s coming from you,” your words were raw with emotion, and it almost shocked him. He sometimes forgot the fact that he made a difference in people’s lives. 

He didn’t feel the tears falling until one landed on his shirt, and he almost thought it was somehow raining inside. “I know,” his voice broke despite himself. “I’m sorry.”

Your head whipped around and you were beside himin seconds. “Alex,” you whispered out, his name coming out like a secret. “It’s okay,” you wrapped an arm around his neck, your heart breaking as you felt him hiccup against you, trying against his better judgement to stop himself from crying. “You can cry.”

And he did. He wrapped his arms around your back and pulled you into his lap, and cried into your shirt. He didn’t know what to do after carrying this… hurt, for so long. But for some reason being beside you, having you hold him, it didn’t seem so heavy. 

“What’s wrong?” You whispered once his crying has subsided. Your expression was full of care, of understanding, of love. He wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. 

He shrugged. “I just… I don’t know. Sometimes there’s this voice in my head that, no matter what I do, tells me I should still be more,” he admitted, and immediately, he felt out in the open, and not necessarily in a bad way. You nodded your head, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

It took you a few seconds to formulate a response, but it didn’t make him panic like he’d thought it would in the millions of times he’d gone over this very scenario in his head. Your hand smoothed up and down his arm, and he knew you cared. You wouldn’t run away. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you smiled softly. “And I always want you to talk to me about these things, because I’m here for you,” you took a deep breath. “I’m going to say something that I know you won’t like, and that’s how you know I genuinely believe it. Alex, I think you should see someone again,” you placed a soft hand on his cheek as he stiffened. “Not right now, maybe not even in the next few months, but I think it would be good for you. I can love you as much as I can, and do, and evidently, I can’t make it go away. Race results don’t make it go away. Progress doesn’t make it go away. Nothing is going to make it happy, and if I’m understanding right, you can’t just turn it off,” you pressed your lips to his cheek again. “I think seeing someone would help.” 

He felt like you’d opened his eyes. You were right, nothing would make it go away, other than him. For the first time in his life, he was happy about an argument. 

Carlos Sainz

When he argued, he got quiet. Whether he meant to or not, he did. So there was nothing out of the ordinary when it seemed like you were talking to yourself as you listed out the problems. You didn’t want to go to a race when you knew a certain other girlfriend would be there, because she made you feel like shit. Carlos didn’t seem to understand that, and he fought you on it. He called you selfish. You walked off. This was part two of the argument, what you called the reconciliation, but Carlos was silent as he leaned against the counter, his back to you. 

“You’re not even fucking listening, are you?” You scoffed, feeling more than dejected. “I don’t know why I try,” you mumbled, starting to walk away again, but a strong hand gripped your waist and pulled you into his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered out. He hadn’t paid much attention before, when you’d said you didn’t want to go. He just felt rejected, and he ignored your reasoning. He stopped listening. He didn’t know it was because of the group chat you had been added to and humiliated by a girl you thought was your friend. He would’ve never fought you on it. He would’ve just agreed and moved on, asking you to come to the next one. “I didn’t listen, I’m sorry.”

“Carlos-” you reached up and cupped his face in your hands. “What’s wrong? I-I’m sorry-”

He sighed, that hole of guilt in his heart aching with every word out of your mouth. Of course you’d start worrying about him. You should get angry, but of course, you chose to be soft, to care, to love. Sometimes he wished he could do that. He wished he could think like that, instead of going straight for an argument. “You don’t need to apologise,” he shook his head, his big brown eyes dropping with tears as you tenderly wiped them away. “I’m in the wrong,” he reminded you, almost as if he thought you forgot. Maybe you had. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, and I’m sorry I started an argument,” he sniffled. “I love you,” he pressed a kiss to your shocked cheek. “I love you so much, mi cariño.”

“Car,” you were wordless, not even sure how to react. “It’s alright,” you answered, your eyes focused on him, only him. “It was a mistake.”

His heart ached. The world didn’t deserve you, your friends didn’t deserve you, he didn’t deserve you. You should scream. You should tell him to shove his apology up his ass. But you don’t. You chose to forgive him. 

He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but you kissed him like he did, and he couldn’t really complain from there. 

redbull racing:

Max Verstappen 

Max probably wasn’t the best person to go to about emotions, and you knew that. Not only was he emotionally stunted, he was also Dutch, a nationality famous for being blunt. 

But you thought he would see your side and agree. He didn’t. He spent a half hour lecturing you on why your mother was justified in what she said to you. You just agreed, it wasn’t worth the energy to fight with him, he was always so fucking logical. He couldn’t just appeal to the illogical side of you, he couldn’t let you just be upset. He had to solve the problem, he had to explain why the problem wasn’t a problem, he had to make you feel like a helpless kid. 

You finished getting ready for dinner in silence. No music playing. No fun dancing he pretended to hate watching (and sometimes joining you for). No bright smile when your hair looked how you wanted it to, or your outfit came together exactly how you’d wanted it to. Just a flat line on your lips. Just a dull gaze in your eyes. He, on the other hand, was completely entranced by you. You looked stunning in that dress, with your hair done the way you had it.

“Ready to go?” You asked him, not even trying to bait him into putting your heels on you. Another thing pretended to hate, but secretly loved. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, watching you with a sense of curiosity and confusion. “Are you alright?” He asked, trying to snake a hand around your waist, but you just walked on. 

“I’m okay,” you nodded, but there was a stiffness in your actions and words. “Just tired.”

He decided to put it to bed for now, just enjoy the night together, and check back in with you in a while. 

You ditched him the second you got on the yacht. Alexandra was there, so you practically ran to her, and Max loitered around the drinks table with Charles. 

“Alex is mad at me,” he admitted. 

“I think Y/n’s upset with me too,” he admitted. He could blame the loosening of his tongue on the gin in his drink, but he knew it was because of his growing anxiety about the situation. You rarely fought, and it rarely went on this long. 

“What did you do?” Charles knocked back the rest of his drink and Max took him in for the first time that night. He looked practically disheveled. A broken man in front of him, because he had an argument with his girlfriend. 

“Nothing really, she had an argument with her mom over something stupid, and I told her to get over herself. I have arguments with my folks all the time,” he shrugged, and Charles looked at him like he’d committed several war crimes. 

Charles’s jaw dropped even further when he realised Max wasn’t joking. “Are you fucking crazy?” He demanded. “Do you want her to break up with you?”

Now it was Max’s turn to think Charles was crazy. “Obviously not? I love her.”

“You sure?” He scoffed. “If I said that to Alex, I think she’d break up with me-”

“The fragility of your relationship has nothing to do with mine,” he interpreted because he’d finally realised what he sounded like. God, he’d been a fucking asshole, no wonder you were upset. 

You slinked into the bedroom with your head low and a tired expression on your face. You slotted into bed beside him, but you didn’t shock him with your feet against his, frozen against warmth. You didn’t turn to him. You didn’t show him the funny tiktoks you’d found that day. He felt something in his heart squeeze. 

You turned out the light without a kiss, and the air in the room filled with the atmosphere of a heavy silence, and he genuinely yearned to reach out for you. He didn’t. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed. 

You waited 30 minutes. Max was a good sleeper, and heavy sleeper. You could get away with sleeping on the couch for one night, not because you wanted to hurt him, but because you genuinely couldn’t sleep next to him after he told you to get a grip. 

Slowly, you climbed out of bed, pillow in hand. 

Something pulled you back. A hand. His hand. 

A sniffle. “Stay,” he whispered into the darkness of the room. “Please stay. I know what I said was shitty and wrong, and you can hate me all you want, but please stay.”

You halted in the darkness, his words carrying more weight than you thought he probably meant them to. “I don’t hate you Max,” you answered. “I’ll never hate you.”

“You can, if it means you’ll stay,” he admitted, his voice breaking. You climbed back into bed slowly, but he felt that hole in his chest, the one that had been there since the day his father left him at a petrol station, close up just a little more. The way it always did when he was near you. You climbed into his arms, feeling small droplets of water against your shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

You breathed out. “Alright,” you nodded. “Thank you for apologising.” He practically held his breath. What the fuck was he doing crying when he was one the in the wrong? He could hear his dad now, telling him to stop crying, telling him to grow up, telling him- 

“You can cry, y’know,” you whispered. “I like it better when you trust me. Like when we dance or when you put on my heels. You’re less nonchalant than usual. Makes me feel like you really care about me,” you admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Makes me feel like you like me enough to trust me.”

He closed his eyes, tight. Of course you’d say the most heartbreakingly beautiful thing anyone had ever said to him and act like you’re the one inconveniencing him. “I trust you,” he whispered. 

And that was the first time you’d ever seen Max cry. 

Yuki Tsunoda

Fathers were funny in the way they showed their love. You understood that Yuki probably didn’t have the healthiest relationship with his, especially based on the way he practically shunned him when he came out of the car, another disappointing Sunday. You knew it was already weighing on him with a simple glance. 

He clearly couldn’t. He complained the whole way back to the hotel, all throughout dinner, and even on the short walk back to your hotel rooms. 

And you couldn’t take it anymore. Yuki was trying his damnedest in one of the shittest cars on the grid, and the only reason it looked so bad for him was the fact that he had Max 4-Time-World-Champion-one-of-the-greatest-of-the-modern-era Verstappen as a teammate. 

“He’s trying. How can that not be enough for you? He’s trying,” you shook your head at her before bidding his wife a good night, and walking into your own suite. Yuki had no idea what to do, but his father just brushed by him coldly, his mother behind him offering a sympathetic smile. He felt twelve again, sandwiched between two things he wanted equally. He wanted his father’s approval, he wanted his dad to just say he was proud, just once. And he wanted your support. He liked that you stood up for him, that you were willing to, but it wasn’t that simple. The majority of things never were. 

He didn’t even know what to say. It happened in slow-motion. He couldn’t stop it, just watch the chaos unfold and have to deal with the aftermath. He just stormed in and demanded. “What the fuck was that?!” 

“Yuki, the way he was talking about you, it was disgusting,” you answered, shocked at his confusion. 

“You just disrespected my father, Y/n, you’ve just fucked the both of us,” he scoffed. He paced the floor, his eyes wide, panic surging through him. Tension filled the room, oozing from every corner. “He’s going to hate you now.” He knew it probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but he needed you to understand the level of disrespect, and how his father would hold that grudge. 

You shrugged, unbothered, as you pulled your earrings out. Though he could tell, from the stiff and rigid nature of your movements, it bothered you. “Let him hate me,” you sighed. “I’m trying to support you, and hearing about every tiny thing you did wrong isn’t going to make you feel any better, just worse. He needed to shut up.” 

He groaned in frustration, his head falling into his hands. Despite the way he wanted to keep his composure, he could feel it crumbling under the weight of the day. He sniffled and looked up again, willing himself not to cry. He failed, and the first tear fell. 

You stared at him through the mirror, your eyes locked in on him. You slowly turned around and stood when you saw him. “Yuki,” you breathed out, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” you cooed. “I made it worse, and I know that. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, emotion breaking his voice. “I just- I wanted today to be good. Not like every other fucking race this year. I wanted it to be worth it. Worth their sacrifice. Worth your sacrifices. And it’s not,” he sighed. “I just step into that car feeling like a failure.”

“I know,” you nodded as his hands circled your waist. “But you’re not, baby, you’re not a failure. Christian is. Helmut is. You’re just taking the brunt of the weight because they’re too small to admit their mistakes,” you soothed. He wondered how he’d ever gotten so lucky. “And you’d never fail me.”

Something about the way you said it made him believe you, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t go to bed feeling like a failure. 

vcarb:

Liam Lawson

He hated crying. He hated how it made him feel. He hated how it made other people feel. You hated arguing just as much. 

The fact that both these things were happening simultaneously was entirely your fault.

He knew you wanted to meet his parents, he really did. You were just busy. The life of a software engineer was busy. You couldn’t change that, even if you wanted to, which you did. You would’ve been there, at that restaurant on 43rd, that gorgeous Italian place you two frequented when you were in New York. Yet you stood him up for a late-night coding session with your team because the contract you were working on was taking longer than expected, and you were contractually obligated to keep on working until you could get as close to done. His texts were just… miserable. 

Hey baby, where are you?  (18:04)

We’re going to start without you, alright? I’m sure you’re just late (please don’t be too late my dad is already teasing me about you not being real :)) (18:35)

Y/n, where are you? (18:47)

Are you alright?  (18:59)

Please text me I’m getting worried. (19:34)

Fucks sake Y/n. I just checked your location. Really? 

Work is more important than this? Than me?  (19:57)

Congratulations my parents are pissed and I’ve been doing fucking recon all night. I thought you’d actually make it this time. I thought you put the time aside. I thought you fucking cared.  (20:07) 

Don’t text me. I don’t want to talk to you until tomorrow. (21:49) 

I’m staying in my parents' hotel. (21:50) 

He was crying on the streets of New York like some bad romcom. He felt pathetic, in more ways than one. How was it that he could fuck everything up, all over again. He trusted you. He relied on you. He was so sure you’d show up for him like you’d done so many times before, and you just didn’t. His parents felt disrespected, fuck, he felt disrespected. He’d planned out the entire dinner, picked a place you loved, briefed his parents on you as a person so they could ask questions, briefed you on them, so you’d have just as many questions. 

And you didn’t show.

You walked towards his hotel, shame hanging off you so clearly, you were sure anyone who could see you would know. Fuck, you stood up Liam’s parents. Brilliant first impression, you thought to yourself. You knew him well enough to know that after a night like this, even when you fucked him off so badly, him still wanted you to try. He’d messed up enough for you to know this routine, though you didn’t think it would go as it did regularly. You’d missed dinner with his parents. Possibly the worst first impression you could ever make, especially when you truly planned on marrying him. You loved him, so bad it hurt sometimes. 

You dialled his number. You couldn’t wait the 18 minute walk to apologise. You just hoped he’d pick up. 

He picked up on the fifth ring. 

“I’m so sorry,” you rushed out. “I’m a fucking piece of shit, and you deserve so much better and I’m mortified that I missed it, I’m so sorry Liam.” You waited with bated breath as he just breathed on the line. He was quiet for a minute, so still you thought he almost hung up. 

“I can see you,” he answered. You raised an eyebrow, and looked around, seeing a figure that looked a lot like Liam, just across the stream between you. 

“What-? Liam-” you started, hearing the thickness of his voice. He’d been crying. The knife twisted in your heart, and you had only yourself to blame. 

“Across the water,” he finished. “You look beautiful,” he smiled through his tears. “So fucking pretty.”

Again, that knife got deeper. Of course he’d compliment you even after what you’d done. Of course, because that’s the kind of man he was. Caring. Loving. So fucking sweet it hurt your teeth sometimes. You let out a small humourless chuckle. “You’re too sweet to me.”

“You fucked up tonight,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair as he stared at you from across the water. “Figured a compliment might soften the blow.”

“You don’t need to soften the blow, I was an asshole. I deserve the full consequences,” you breathed out. “I’m so sorry Liam. I’m genuinely so embarrassed and fucking… ashamed. I’m such a fucking idiot,” you played with the ring on your middle finger. He’d given it to you after he noticed that you liked to fidget while you spoke. That's what he did, he noticed. 

He let out a teary laugh. “Yeah, you were an asshole,” he agreed, nodding his head. The words felt foreign in his mouth. He hated saying shit like that, but objectively it was true. You were the asshole in the situation. “But I fucking love you,” he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “And for some reason spending a night we could spend together, alone, makes me sick to my stomach. I want to fall asleep next to you and I want to wake up beside you tomorrow before I fuck off to wherever,” he admitted, his vulnerability pulling at every single string of your heart. “And I fucking love you so much I spent all of tonight convincing my parents I got the date wrong. So you owe me.” 

You breath caught in your throat at that. Of course he did. Always protecting you. Always caring too much. “Liam, you didn’t have to do that. You should tell them-”

“Just come over here,” his voice was pleading, like he wasn’t above begging for you. “Please,” he added at the end. 

Against your better judgement, you walked straight through the shallowest part of the stream, ruining your dress from the knees down, and running right into his arms. “I’ll make it up to you,” you whispered against his lips as he kissed you like he hadn’t seen you for months, not days. 

“You fucking better,” he chuckled, wiping away the last of his tears as he pulled away. 

Isack Hadjar

Isack had vowed to himself he wouldn’t cry until the end of the season. Was it the healthiest thing on planet earth? No, very much not, but he seemed set on the idea, so you let him. You were just ready to be there if it fell apart, and he needed some comfort. 

He did pretty well, up until it started. You came home, quiet. You weren’t humming in the kitchen as you made a snack, you weren’t asking him about his day, it was like you were there physically, but not mentally. And it didn’t change. He’d thought it had been a once-off, but no, the next day you pushed him further and further away, and he had no idea why. You’d always been the better communicator out of the two of you, hell, you’d taught Isack everything he knew about communicating effectively. So getting radio silence from you was not only unusual, it was worrying. He left for the double header, thinking you were just mad and needed time to process it, and then you’d talk. You didn’t. You texted him a few times, small messages wishing luck, or congratulations on a good result, but your regular messages about your day were gone, much like your hours-long facetime calls. He didn’t let it bother him. He gave you space. He didn’t lose his cool, because he knew you loved him, and he loved you. That wouldn’t change.

He walked into the living room with a confused expression when he found you sitting on the couch, the apartment looking more barren than when he’d left. It hit him. His heart stopped in his chest and he dropped his bag. No. He thought. This isn’t real, she’s pranking me, she’s just mad at me, she’s just-

“Isack,” your voice was steady, but anyone could see the way you were breaking inside. “We need to talk.”

Those dreaded words. He nodded and gulped back the emotion building in his throat as he sat beside you, his eyes trained to you like you’d disappear if he looked away for a split-second. Maybe you would. He didn’t reach out and hold your hand or grab your thigh like he usually would, he didn’t know if he was allowed. He held his breath. “What’s wrong?” he asked, all the care in the world in his voice. 

You sighed. “I can’t do this anymore,” you admitted out loud for the first time. For months you’d been going over every scenario in your head, trying to work through every possible fix, and none of it left you satisfied. You couldn’t just be someone’s WAG, even if that someone was Isack. You needed a boyfriend who could show up for you, always. And Isack never could. And the worst part was, it was never his fault. He always wanted to, tried to support you from oceans away, sent you message after message, and you’d see how disappointed he was once you came back and you had to recount the whole night to him. He cared so deeply, but it just wasn’t enough. You needed someone to be there, mind, body, and soul. Not in a racecar halfway across the world. “I love you,” you sniffled, a stray tear falling down your face. “But this isn’t working for me anymore. I need someone who’s here, someone who can be there for me all the time. And it’s not your fault. You’ve been nothing but the best to me,” you choked up, unable to continue as more tears fell down your face. He wanted so desperately to reach out and wipe them away, promise you he could be there, that he would be there, but that was unrealistic. He couldn’t be there, no matter how badly he wanted to be, and intentions and text messages after the fact are never as good as actually showing up. He couldn’t give you that. He understood. “You’re so kind,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “And caring, and loving. I just… I need something else right now.” 

You finally looked up and saw his face, tear-stained but accepting. He nodded. “That’s alright,” he whispered, though every syllable killed him. “You deserve someone who can be there for you,” there was a small smile on those lips you knew so well, and it hit you that it might be the last time you ever see him in person, you were sure you'd end up seeing him on your TV screen, even long after today, probably winning world championships. Time stopped for a moment and you let yourself remember what it meant to be with Isack, just one last time. “And I’m so sorry I cannot give that to you,” he sighed out a teary, angry sigh. “It is one of my great failings,” he sniffled, but brought a hand up to your cheek and wiped a tear away. “Maybe one day we’ll find each other again?” he asked, his voice hopeful. 

“Maybe,” you nodded, but you both knew this was the end of the two of you. 

You left the apartment after that. You didn’t look back. You saw him, years on, watching the sport you fell in love with because of the boy you fell in love with, with your family. Your husband and your children loved car number 6, and you didn’t have the heart to tell them you loved it for a different reason. He won world championships, like you always knew he would. He never got married, he just raced. He sent you Christmas cards and thank yous that you hid and cherished forever, because you never really forget your first love. 

Years on, you told your granddaughter about the boy with the hazel eyes and fighting spirit, and how some nights, you wished you’d stayed with him. She told you that you should’ve. You told her she was wiser than you were at her age. 

Maybe she was right. Maybe you should’ve held on a little bit longer. 

ferrari:

Charles LeClerc

Charles notoriously hated fighting. He had no idea what the point was, because he’d just apologise, kiss you, and want everything to go back to normal. That worked for him. He came from a family that didn’t yell, a family so tightly woven together through something so deeply upsetting, that shouting was never an option. He came from a family that took care of each other, no matter what it cost them. Loyalty. Strength in numbers. Unconditional love. 

You didn’t. You came from a family that made their children compete for love, made you hate your siblings and them hate you in return, and a family that boarded all that up with their perfect image. 

He didn’t know. He wouldn’t have pushed if he did. He wouldn’t have gone behind your back and set up the dinner if he realised it was like this, on your birthday no less. 

Those carefully disguised jabs from your mothers, those deliberately placed smirks and sniggers from your siblings and their stuck-up partners, those blatant comments from your father, he saw how they all weighed you down slowly. Over the course of a dinner, he saw you turn from the extroverted, kind, and sweet girl he’d fallen for, to the small, picked-on, and scared child you’d been for half your life. The side of yourself you’d never shared with anyone. The side of yourself you promised you’d never have to. He saw how your eyes watered before you got up to go to the bathroom, another snarky comment about your career choice being ‘unique’, like you weren’t literally changing people’s life with your work. He shook his head as he watched you leave. 

“You are all terrible,” the words came out of his mouth before he meant them to, his eyes low as he looked at the table around him. He’d already said it, why not dig the grave deeper? “Get out of my house, now.” 

There was a tense stillness that followed. Knives stopped. Chatter died down. Anger pulsed through his veins. 

“Pardon?” your father asked, an incredulous smile on his face. He acted as if he didn’t hear Charles, and if he was a better man who wanted to keep a relationship with your family, he would’ve apologised and told everyone to continue eating. He wasn’t a better man, not when it came to you. He would do anything to protect you. He would go to any length to make you happy. He’d do anything if it meant he wouldn’t have to see you with that heartbreaking pout and cloudy eyes. 

“I said, get out of my house,” he repeated, standing from the table. “I don’t want to see you here again.” He walked over to the door and opened it wide, waiting for them to step outside. They looked at him dumbfounded. Like he wasn’t being serious. Like he wasn’t seconds away from grabbing your brother, who’d made an awful comment on how you were ‘parading yourself around the paddock like an instagram whore’, when he didn’t understand or know how long it took Charles to convince you to come with him. When he didn’t see the hours you’d spent before walking into that paddock, pacing your hotel room, and nearly backing out at the last minute, but you forced yourself to because you wanted to be there for him. 

“W-what’s going on?” you asked, walking out of the bathroom, the tension palpable. 

Your father turned to you. “Brilliant question, what is going on?” he demanded, his tone laced with anger. You flinched. Charles knew that was it. 

“They’re leaving,” he said, never raising his voice, never arguing. Just assertive and simple. “Say goodbye.”

The fear in your eyes broke his heart. Had this really been how you’d grown up? You looked around the room, panicked. “Charles, they’re not done their-”

“No, we are,” your sister bit out, standing up with her husband beside her. “Thanks for the hospitality, Bunny,” she practically spat at you. You just flinched, those beautiful eyes filling with fresh tears. He wanted nothing more than to go to you, hold you, promise you he was sorry, swear he’ll never let it happen again. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He had to make sure they left. 

“Meg, come on, I’m sorry-” you reached for her, but she slapped your hand away. Like it didn’t even matter. Like you were less than her. Charles couldn’t stop himself. He crossed the room and grabbed her wrist, holding it tight. She gasped. You grabbed his arm and tried to get him to let go, begging in his ear gently, but he had this unbreakable focus and precision. He wanted to scare her, scare them all. He needed to show that you were untouchable now, that he wasn’t going to let this shit slide. By the way your mother’s eyes widened, he guessed she got the gist. 

“What did you just do?” he questioned, the terrifying calmness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. She didn’t answer. “Apologise, then leave.” 

She mumbled out something, and Charles let her go. It wasn’t that he actually cared about her apology, it was about scaring them. She shuffled out the door with her bitch of a husband behind her, your brother following, shouting about a lawsuit. Your parents were last to go, their eyes on Charles the entire time as you just watched them leave, feeling eight years old again. If you had it in you, you probably would’ve begged them to stay, just because dealing with their teasing is better than the opposite. Silence. For months at a time. Even when you were in the same house. Even when you were a child. 

Your hand was wrapped so tightly around Charles arm, he didn’t even notice the pressure until you released it. Your eyes were clouded over, you were shaking, and you just walked over to the table and started cleaning up dishes. 

“Y/n-” he started. 

“Don’t,” you breathed out, your voice uneven and broken. It squeezed his heart. “Just don’t, Charles.” He held you clean up the table in silence. He dried the dishes after you washed them and he tried to push that terrified look in your eyes out of his mind, but it kept coming back. Your realisation of them leaving, the way you were trying to apologise, and the way you tried to stop him. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled, stopping in his tracks as his eyes watered. You just kept washing the dishes. Mindful, like it was a ritual, holding onto it like it was the only thing stopping you from crumbling. “Y/n, please,” he begged, reaching over and turning the tap off. “Talk to me.”

You looked up, a tear already flowing down your cheek. You dried your hands on a towel, then wiped your cheek. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, hsi voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.” 

You nodded, tears falling onto his shirt silently. “I know. You didn’t know. It’s alright,” you whispered, that heartbreaking frown on your lips against his neck. “It just sucks.”

“Was it always like that?” he asked in a broken whisper. You didn’t respond, and that was answer enough. He choked back a tear. “It’ll never be like that here, I promise. I swear.” 

You nodded. You believed him. Charles made you feel safe. Sure, he made a mistake tonight, but he was already making up for it. 

He loved you. That was worth a shitty night.

Lewis Hamilton

The apartment was ground zero for an explosion of toys, arts and crafts, and Lewis was sure there was some mashed up food in there somewhere. And it was quiet. Too quiet. A newborn, two toddlers and a five year old meant there was constant noise, but none tonight. He raised an eyebrow as he expertly stepped through a broken lego set, and moved towards the kids bedrooms. 

No one in the nursery, not unusual, since the most time Millie spent there was sleeping. 

No one in the boys room, again, also not unusual at this time of night, they usually stayed up with you until about 8, then when he got home, they’d go down without a fight. 

No one in Emmy’s room, so they were in your room. 

He opened the door as quietly as he possibly could, and found three children sprawled out on the bed, already asleep, and Millie asleep in her crib. He smiled fondly, tucking them in, kissing Millie on the forehead. Moments like these made those shitty days in the car bearable. Just knowing he had his own little fan club back home, made getting into the car just that bit easier. 

The light from the bathroom spilled out from under the door, and he froze when he heard a tiny choked sob. He softly opened the door, worry furrowing his brow as you came into view. Red-rimmed eyes, hand over your mouth to stop the sobs from waking the kids, exhausted eyes. His heart ached and he pressed a cautious hand on your shoulder, just a simple ‘I’m here’. 

You whipped around and fell into his chest, everything you’d been holding in for weeks finally coming out. Then you did something unexpected, you pushed him away. 

You stood up, wiped your eyes, and went back out to the main room, and you started cleaning. He closed the bedroom door and followed you out, a confused brow raised. “Baby?” he questioned. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing Lewis,” you spat, picking up toys, as tears fell like you didn’t even notice them. “Nothing’s wrong.” His heart ached. What could possibly be this wrong? Why would you be calling him by his first name? 

“Clearly something’s wrong,” he started, approaching you slowly. You stilled and stared, finally looking at him. Ferrari shirt and some jeans, necklaces and rings, hair done perfectly. It made you hate him. He got to go out and live his life every single day, every single weekend, while you were stuck in an apartment in a country hundreds of miles away from your family and friends, and you were just expected to deal. Deal with a newborn. Deal with your toddlers. Deal with the actual important things in your life while he gets to go race, and still be the favourite parent. God, you fucking hated him for it. You weren’t sure when it started. You weren’t sure if it was just your regular case of postpartum depression, or if you genuinely hated his guts, but either way, you didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want him to touch you. You didn’t want him. 

Seeing him standing in your living room filled you with so much rage, you actually didn’t know what to do with yourself.  “Just fuck off Lewis,” you scoffed, resuming picking up the toys. “Go on the sim or something, leave me alone.” 

“Y/n,” his voice was stern, serious. “What’s wrong?” He tried again. 

And you broke. Even though you didn’t want to. Even though you’d been holding it together since Millie was born. You dropped the toys to the floor with a loud crash, and you sobbed. Openly. Angrily. 

You let yourself rage. You didn’t think about the other people. You didn’t think about the kids asleep inside. You didn’t think about the fact that you’d end up saying things you regretted, because you didn’t care. You just wanted him to hurt, to understand your hurt, and you didn’t know how else to show it. “Fuck you Lewis,” you sniffled. “You’re never here!” you shouted, thanking your past self that you soundproofed the apartment years ago, so hopefully, the kids wouldn’t wake up. “You’re never fucking here. You leave me, all the fucking time. You don’t parent our kids, ever. I do. Every fucking day. Every drop-off, every mess, every spillage, every argument, every fucking day. And I don’t get a moment to myself. Because I have four fucking kids relying on me, alone. Their father is never fucking here. And every time I remember that, I think back to your vows to me, as your wife,” you choked out, sobbing as you shouted. You didn’t even feel like a person anymore, just a mom. Not a functioning human with thoughts and opinions, and needs, and wants. “You promised you’d never leave me.” 

He stood there, dumbstruck. He had no idea. Of course you didn’t, you’re never here, a voice in his head shot back. “Baby, I’d never leave you-”

“You already have, Lewis. Clearly you have,” you sighed, letting your arms cross over your chest. “I just… I need to go home.” 

“You are home, baby,” his voice which was once soothing, sounded so fucking patronising now. You gritted your teeth. 

“I want to go back to my home. With my family, and my friends,” you bit out. “I’m bringing the kids with me. You can visit us there.” 

Fuck, that was heavy. You both felt that settle in the room, tension filling the air. He didn’t realise he was crying until it dropped down onto his shirt. “Y/n, you can’t just leave-”

“You do it every damn weekend,” you offered an angry smile. “I hope you’re satisfied by the end of the season, because if you don’t choose our family and me over your career, I’ll be filing for a divorce.” 

And the ultimatum was set. Fuck, he probably would’ve fallen over if he wasn’t already leaning against the wall. You didn’t notice. You just continued picking up the toys and putting them away. He felt bile rise in his throat. 

Zhou Guanyu

Zhou cried, he was just like that. But, he’d never cried because of you. This had rattled him. He’d never expected you to be so… mean. He knew you didn’t mean it, emotions were high anyway and this was just the cherry on top of a shit week. 

You knocked on the door, guilt heavy in your stomach like a bowling ball. “Zhou,” your voice was soft. He held his breath. “Zhou I'm so sorry,” you started choking up yourself. “Fuck,” you mumbled. “I’m being mean to you and I’m the one fucking crying,” you sniffled, leaning against the door. “I’m an asshole.” He felt your weight against the door, and heard the desperation in your voice. He just… wasn’t ready to respond yet. He didn’t have anything to say to you. 

You took another deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said that, I-I’m sorry,” God, you felt so small. Taking Zhou down just because you were stressed? Snapping at him like he wouldn’t do anything for you? Like he didn’t love you so much it hurts? You were disgusted with yourself. You honestly thought you didn’t deserve forgiveness. “I was stressed, and I know, that’s not an excuse. I just don’t know how to fucking deal with it. When everyone is breathing down my neck, a-and you’re just trying to love me with, with your fucking love languages and I love it. I swear I do, I don’t ever w-want it to fucking stop, I just… it gets c-crowded in my h-head,” you admitted, hiccups interrupting your explanation. You’d never been good at this, at love. But you were willing to try for Zhou, because you loved him so much you felt like you couldn’t breathe without him. You let out another sob. He felt the tears falling down his cheeks. “I just don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. I’m so bad at this, I just… I’m so scared you’re going to wake up one day and realise that I’m not worth the trouble. And I-I push you away because I already love you so much that losing you w-would break me,” you held in a sob. “And I’m so sorry Zhou. You deserve so much better than that.” You knocked your head against the door lightly, like it could somehow fix the turmoil in your brain. It didn’t. 

He sniffled from the other side of the door and it twisted the guilt in your stomach. The door unlocked. You stepped back. Zhou stood in front of you, looking just as broken as you were. 

No words were exchanged. He didn’t shout or demand an apology. He did the most Zhou-thing he could’ve done. He forgave you. He hugged you. He kissed you. He promised you he’d stand by you when you felt like this. 

He chose to be kind, because of course he did. He was your Zhou. 

haas:

Ollie Bearman 

He was fucked. Literally, and metaphorically, he was fucked. 

Seriously, he’d just fucked someone. And he’d just realised it wasn’t you. After the fact. After it was over. 

Dodging calls wasn’t like Ollie. Dodging texts wasn’t like Ollie. But, he’d changed a lot since moving up to F1. He was colder. Less goofy. Less… himself. He walked around like he cared what people thought now, which you guessed he must’ve. You saw it in the way he carried himself. You saw it in the light in his eyes, or lack-there-of. 

And you were seeing it in person, right now. He stood in front of you, eyes wide and teary, excuses pouring from his mouth like those tyre strategies he used to rattle off. 

“It was a mistake,” he sniffled. “And I’m so sorry.” He let his head drop, eyes falling to the floor. He couldn’t face it, face you. This was the biggest mistake of his life, and he was a Haas driver. He thought back to those nights where you’d hold him when he got like this. Whether it was results or pressure or stress, you always cared. You hugged him and kissed him and told him everything would be alright. Well, right now, he wished you would. He knew you wouldn’t, knew he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t stop him from hoping.

“Alright,” you shrugged, no tone, no hurt, nothing. His head snapped back up, eyes filling with hope. “Pack your shit.” 

His world stopped. “Y/n-” 

“Fuck you Ollie, I don’t care. I don’t trust you. I can’t love someone I don’t trust,” you laid it out perfectly. Simple. Easy. He broke your trust, so he didn’t have you anymore. “Begging won’t change anything. Just leave with your dignity.” 

And even if he didn’t want to, he did. He left with that pit of guilt in his stomach, knowing he made the biggest mistake of his entire life. 

Esteban Ocon

Esteban was quiet. You were tense. Your apartment was usually full of laughter and light. It was silent that night. The sun had set on the beautiful city of Geneva, and the chill crept in from the cracked window, or just the cold shoulder your boyfriend was giving you. The bed felt cold. He felt cold. You thought back and noticed how those sweet routine moments you’d cherished for years had slowly started to dwindle in recent months. He wouldn’t join you for a shower anymore. He didn’t bother teasing you while you did your makeup or skincare. He didn’t dance with you in the kitchen anymore. He spoke more French, a language you didn’t quite understand (though in recent months you’d been learning it, for him). He focused on work. 

Your heart broke slowly as it hit you. He fell out of love. 

“Just say it,” you whispered into the darkness of your shared bedroom. His hands weren’t around your hips like they used to be. His face wasn’t buried in your hair as he slept soundly. No, he stayed to his side of the bed like you had the plague. 

“Say what?” he huffed, tired voice and eyes turning over to meet your eyes. “It’s 2am Y/n.” 

You stared at him for a moment, and you knew she knew what you were saying. He knew exactly what you were saying, he was just too pussy to do it himself. “You’re seriously going to make me say it?” you scoffed. He shook his head in annoyance and looked at you expectantly. He was a small man. He was pathetic. That's what you reminded yourself as you spoke. Maybe your voice would shake, but at least you spoke. “You’re not in love with me anymore,” your voice sounded so small it was almost like you didn’t recognize it.

He was quiet for a moment, then he broke. Eyes weeping, chest heaving, fully sobbing. You stared in shock. Never in your three years together had he ever done that. Never had he fully broken down in front of you. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I never meant for this to happen.”

And you hated yourself for being right. Of course he fell out of love with you, everyone always did. “Yeah,” you shrugged, sitting up. “I know you didn’t.” There wasn’t much enthusiasm behind your words, but I think anyone could’ve excused you for that. You didn’t reach out for him. You didn’t comfort him. You didn’t care to. Who was he to be crying when he was the one at fault? You’d been the perfect girlfriend, perfect support system, perfect fucking WAG, and he fell out of love. That was his failing, not yours. You told yourself, but it had started to feel like there was something wrong with you. This kept happening. You’d give yourself to someone completely, and they wouldn’t care anymore.

He grabbed your wrist before you could leave the bed. “You’re going to find someone who loves you like I should’ve.”

Fuck, if that didn’t break you more. 

aston martin:

Fernando Alonso

Arguments weren’t uncommon in any relationship. People disagree, it’s just humans being humans. But these disagreements were showing up more often, cutting into you a bit more, his words became more harsh. You knew he didn't mean to, but he hurt you. He made you feel like a child, with the way he talked down to you, like you were too fucking stupid to understand the complex inner-workings of his brain. 

It made you feel less-than, and you fucking hated that. It made you feel like you weren’t in a partnership, but a mentorship, and you hated that too. He used language that he knew would hurt you, childish, adolescent, a baby. Like you couldn’t understand just how bad life can get because you were 28 instead of his wise age of 43. 

So you were quiet. You stayed quiet, shrunk yourself to fit in better. You didn’t take back when his friends made awful comments, you spent more time to yourself, you stopped wanting to come to races, you stopped wanting to dress up and go out, you stopped wanting things. Race weekends passed in a still kind of tension, one that he didn’t seem to notice. He did. He saw every time you made yourself smaller for him. Every time you gave up something you wanted for him. Every time you kept your mouth shut for him. And it broke him. Why would you think he wanted you to be any different? Why would you change yourself for him? Why would he let it go on so long? 

So he sat down at the table one day, dinner in front of him, you to his left, and he broke down. It was all too much. The pressure from the sport, the silence in the house, the shrinkage of the only thing good left in his world, you. 

You gasped. “Fernando,” you reached out and cupped his cheek, panic filling your eyes. “What’s wrong?” You asked, your food forgotten as you leaned in closer to him. So caring, so kind. It twisted the knife into his heart, but he was always good at persevering. 

He shook his head, a sad smile reaching his lips. “You deserve better than me, than this,” he spoke softly and your heart dropped into your stomach. He couldn’t make you miserable a minute longer. He couldn’t watch you shrink. “I think we have to take a step back,” The fear in your eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life, but he knew he needed to do this. He had to set you free, you had to live your life free of him. He pushed your hand off his cheek. “I’m not interested anymore. I want you gone.” 

That was all it took. That panic and fear melted away into something darker. Resentment. Anger. Hatred. It killed him to watch, but he knew it was the right thing, even if it felt like his world was falling apart. 

Lance Stroll

“Just- shut up!” he groaned, his hands flying around the room uncontrolled. It was quiet for a moment, you were quiet for a moment. Just standing there, still, either in shock or rage, he couldn’t tell. He just knew nothing good could come of this argument since the minute he started it, and he still started it. “I just… I need a minute.” His voice broke and that unforgettable burning sensation began in the back of his throat. You stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his back, soothingly rubbing up and down. He could tell you were still upset, still mad, still raging. But you chose to put it aside for a moment, and calm him down. Fuck, he didn’t deserve you. 

You sighed, laying your head on his shoulder and leaning into him. “Lance, you can’t start an argument and leave it once it gets hard, or I get angry. It’s not fair,” you whispered out, your exasperation clear in your tone. “It’s not fair.”

He knew you were right, knew he should apologise, knew he should say something. He didn’t. He just nodded, trying desperately to hold himself together as he felt everything in him beg to be let out. You huffed. “Lance, you can cry, we just need to keep talking after. You have to stay here. Trust me enough to let me comfort you. If you don’t trust me I genuinely don’t understand why we’re still together,” you admitted, your voice raw and tired. You couldn’t do this dance again, you needed him to commit. Feel the fear, and do it anyway. Trust. Love. 

He nodded again, stronger this time. He took another shallow breath, and he turned to you. She has you. He told himself. She loves you, this isn’t going to scare her away. 

And he let himself go. 

sauber:

Nico Hulkenberg 

He missed it, even though he’d flown all night. Exhaustion had settled itself in his bones long before he reached his front door, and still, he continued. 

But he missed it. 

That’s what she would remember. Her dad wasn’t there for her birthday. He didn’t get there in time. 

You were waiting in the living room. It was 5am. Too early to get the day started but also too late to go back to sleep. You told yourself you should go for a walk, start breakfast, get ahead on your work, but something anchored you to the couch, watching the sun rise on Monaco. The harbour shone in the sunlight, making it as beautiful as the time you first saw it. When he brought you here for the first time, all those years ago. You sat on a boat beside him, a new exciting talent in the world of F1, a jittery 20-something guy you’d met through mutual friends. Someone had said to you that even then, he looked at you like he saw something else. A future, a loving home, a family. And they were right. You chuckled, remembering those moments where he’d come home to you after a shitty weekend, and he’d just melt into you. Not leave your side for three days. It made you laugh. 

“I missed it,” he whispered into the expanse of the dark living room, just brightening up in the new day's light. He didn’t approach you. He didn’t know if he was allowed. “I fucking missed it.” You stood up and walked over to him, hearing the wobble in his voice. It cracked your heart, just like every question from your daughter had, during the day. You wrapped your arms around his neck. You should be mad. You should shout.

“She’s four,” you whispered. “She loves you more than anything. Children are more forgiving than adults. Don’t miss the next one,” you advised with a soft smile on your lips. He squeezed you tighter, the beginning of tears falling onto your hoodie. “You’re not a bad father,” you reminded him, instilling in him that he wouldn’t become his worst fear. “You’re a lot of things Nico, and a bad father will never be one of them.”

He shook his head in the crook of your neck. “I don’t deserve you two.” 

Now it was your turn to shake your head. “You do,” you smiled. “We love you so much Nico.” 

Gabriel Borteleto

He wasn’t prepared, he didn’t think about it, he just said it, he didn’t realise the implications, didn’t notice the way you stiffened. 

Now his apartment was empty. It was his apartment, as he’d so unkindly shouted during that godforsaken argument. It all came back to him clearly, the housing, the tears, his unwillingness to stop. He hadn’t meant to drive you away, he just… he needed you to understand. Understand the pressure. Understand the disappointment. Understand how he felt like he was failing every single time he jumped into that car. But he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Even when you left, he sent you message after message, calling you selfish. Making you out to be the problem, as if you weren’t the only thing holding him up. 

The pounding in his head didn’t cease throughout the day. You’d told him to at least wait a day before talking to you, or else you’d never hear him out. It was torture. Counting the minutes down as the time slowly ticked by, never quite close enough for his liking. Then 8pm rolled around, and he was dialling your number as fast as he could. You picked up on the fifth ring. 

He spoke first, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so sorry.” He held his breath. He wasn’t expecting you to forgive him immediately. He wasn’t really expecting you to forgive him at all. He was expecting to get scolded, to get told just how bad he’d hurt you. 

“Alright,” you shrugged, indifference crept into your tone and it made his blood freeze, his whole body shivering with a scary sense of dread. You didn’t care. Not anymore. Not now. He’d pushed you too far. He’d done it. He’d fucked it. He leant against the bathroom door, a sob ripping out of his throat as the burning sensation of his unshed tears began. You sighed. He held his breath again. “Gabi, what do you want me to say?”

You might as well have stamped on his heart. God, he wanted to scream. Anything that shows you fucking care? He thought. Anything that makes me think this is salvageable? “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Just… something. This has to be worth saving, we have to be worth saving.” He choked out through angry tears. Why weren’t you fighting? Why weren’t you angry? Why didn’t you care? 

“Is it worth saving?” you asked him, and his world tipped on its side. Of course it is. Was his immediate response. He loved you. You loved him. It made sense. You groaned. “We fight all the fucking time, Gabi. You’re not happy, I’m not happy. We haven’t been for a long time.” 

He thought back to those fights and those nights you both spent angry. By morning the problem would be forgotten and you’d make up right? You’d kiss his cheek and make him a coffee, he’d give you some half-assed apology but you’d accept anyway. That’s the way it was, and he never wanted it to change. Maybe she wants it to change, a voice in his head spoke up. She’s getting the short end of the stick. His heart dropped to his stomach when he realised he’d been ignoring all the animosity from you. The burnt coffees. The glares. The subtle and slow retreat back into yourself. He coughed. “It is for me,” He had to fight for you, promise you he’d change. “I’ll change, I swear. I love you.” 

“I don’t need you to change. I need to change. I need other things, and you can’t give me them. I’m sorry Gabi, but we’re over.”

alpine:

Pierre Gasly

He hated arguing, really he did. He was just good at it. Weirdly good. Like, he’d been told to become a lawyer on more occasions than one. But he hated arguing with you. And he hated when he took it too far. 

You wouldn’t understand. He’d said.

What, like I’m not smart enough now? You were livid, and rightfully so. 

I like taking care of you, is that so hard to understand?! He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he had. He just didn’t understand why it was such a big deal, it was just money, a simple thing he had more than enough of, and he wanted to spend it on you. You weren’t having it. 

It’s not being taken care of Pierre, it makes me feel gross, like I’m using you or something. And you could use that money to do so much good in someone’s life, God! You were just being kind, but he was frustrated. He just wanted to do something nice and you’d blown it out of proportion. It was a dress. A fucking 5,000$ dress. It made you sick to just look at the price tag, but he didn’t feel the same. That kind of money was cheap change to him. 

You’re being dramatic, it’s s dress, I just wanted to congratulate you. You got a promotion, it was a big deal. He was proud. 

I’m not trying to sound ungrateful Pierre, but flowers would have sufficed. 

And he snapped. He said things he didn’t mean, and you left. You went back home, leaving him in Austria with a race weekend to finish. You told him to sort his shit out. You told him to think before he speaks. God, he’d been thinking of you since you left. He called your phone. 

You didn’t pick up the first time. Or the second. Or the third. 

Ten times. Then you responded. You picked up the damn phone on his lucky number ten. 

“Pierre,” you yawned. “Isn’t it late over there?” you whispered into the phone like you’d wake someone if you weren’t quiet enough. You wouldn’t, you were alone in your hotel room, still sorting out your shit from the argument. 

“I missed you already,” he admitted, the first tears falling down his cheeks. He sniffled. “I’m such an idiot sometimes.” 

You chuckled. “Yeah, you are.” He chuckled too. Quiet conversation filled both your hotel rooms as you both drifted back off to sleep. You didn’t talk about the fight. You didn’t talk about how he was crying. You just… talked. About your busy schedules, how you were running out of foundation, and how tired he was. Boring things. The in-between things. Monotony. Regular, normal life. 

He loved every second of it. 

Franco Colapinto 

His body ran cold when he looked at the time. 2am. You still weren’t home. He’d pretended it didn’t bother him long enough, he had to text you. Or call you. Make you come home. 

He wasn’t a stranger to fucking up, especially with you. He knew what he did was shitty. He knew he should’ve tried harder, worked harder to be there, but duty calls sometimes, and fuck, he has to answer whether he wants to or not. He called your number, his hands shaking. 

Pick up. He begged. Pick up, please. 

You picked up on the sixth ring. “Franco?” your voice was tense. Like he was annoying you. He didn’t care, he was just happy you were responding to him. Relief surged through his body like a fucking lightning bolt, and suddenly he could breathe again. “Why are you calling me?” You were sick of this, of him, of being a secondary priority. You didn’t even want to fucking fight anymore, you just wanted peace, a boyfriend would could be there, who could show up. 

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice quiet. Timid. And, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded scared. He was. He felt sick to his stomach that you were walking around Spielberg all alone. You left the hotel 4 hours ago. 4 hours of him burning a hole in the floor pacing the room, 4 hours of genuine fear that it might all be over, 4 hours of shit. Pure and utter shit. He was scared, alright? Fucking terrified. He wanted you back, in the hotel, in his arms, in his bed. He wanted you home, to him. He wanted to make sure he was still home. You were quiet for a moment, debating on whether to tell him. “Come on mi cielo, just… come back,” he let a small sob out, his voice just above a whisper. 

You stopped in your tracks. You’d seen him cry a handful of times at most. Over family stuff. Over results. But never was it over you. You didn’t think this had pushed him that far, didn’t think it would. He was so… unbreakable sometimes, you forgot he was just as fragile as you were. He hurt and bled the same, and of course he wouldn’t want you walking out in the dark in a foreign town with your location off, ignoring him. Of course not. “I’m on my way back now, I’ll be there soon.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut and held back a relieved sob. He nodded. “Great,” he choked out. “I’ll be here.” 

Jack Doohan 

It was important to you, he understood. He saw the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about it. He basked in that light, he planned beside you. 

Blood is thicker than water. His father’s mantra rang out through his head, taunting him. He’d been the one to fucking say it and the hurt on your face told him everything he needed to know. Not that he hadn’t known it before, he had. He knew you wanted him there more than anything, he knew how much it would mean for him to get on a plane and meet your family. Yet, he flaked. For some fucking family holiday he didn’t even want to go on. But you cried when he left, and you asked him to practically never come back, and even though he felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest, he boarded that plane like he didn’t have another choice. He saw that he did now. He saw the right choice. 

Mick saw the changes in Jack. He saw the untouched food, the sluggish walk, the lack of interest. He texted you and got no response and he knew what it meant. 

Dinner was too loud, so Jack sought refuge with the sand and the water. His bracelet, the bracelet you gave him was threaded through his fingers as he watched the waves roll out. He was too deep in thought to see Mick sitting beside him. 

“What did you do?” he asked, his voice soft, though it startled him all the same. He jumped and turned to him, a slow smile made its way onto his lips, a chuckle leaving Mick’s. “She’s gone for good?”

That smile disappeared quickly. Jack looked back out at the ocean in front of him, so vast and wide. “I fucked it up,” he admitted, his heart aching with every word. “I left her for this.” He gestured to the area around him, but Mick got the gist. He sighed and clapped a hand on his friend's back. 

“Did you talk to her?” 

“She doesn’t want to hear from me,” he shook his head. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried, he had. You genuinely didn’t want to hear from him. Emotion bubbled deep in his throat, but he tried to swallow it down regardless. He didn’t care if it’d choke him, he didn’t want it. Emotion admits more than words ever would. If he let himself break down he’d be admitting it was over. He wasn’t ready for it to be over. He wasn’t ready to kiss those moments with you goodbye. The way you smiled at him, the way you’d tease him over anything you could, just because you loved it when he’d finally tease back. He couldn’t say goodbye to those nights when you’d stay up until dawn, just talking, making promises about a future you two weren’t guaranteed. He wouldn’t leave those memories of you telling him you loved him in a box in the back of his mind. 

He hadn’t realised he’d been crying. Well, there it was. 

Over. 

Paul Aron

“You can’t fucking do this! You can’t leave for weeks at a time and not talk to me Paul, for fuck’s sake!” you groaned, your eyes wild and angry. It had been like this for 40 minutes, a back and forth that wouldn’t end no matter how much you both wanted it to. He wouldn’t see your side, and you couldn’t see his. He didn’t really have a justification for his actions, just empty promises, and you were sick to death of those. Your hands raked over your face, and you sighed, your eyes meeting his. “Either sort your shit out, or break up with me Paul, because those really seem like our only options right now.” You already knew you were crossing a line, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You just had to say it. 

He could’ve pretended that didn’t feel like a punch to the gut, but you knew him too well. You knew the second you said it too, because you stilled. His face faltered, his body twitched and jerked in a weird way. He wanted to recover, to pretend it was normal, act like it didn’t happen maybe. He couldn’t. Not when it was you on the line. Not when you were talking about a universe where he couldn’t come home to you every night and have you kiss his head or let him kiss you silly. 

You walked over and wrapped your arms around him. Your face was serious but tender and he cupped your cheek. The low light made him look like an angel, a crying angel, but an angel all the same. “Paul, I’m sorry,” you whispered, tender but timid. Like you were scared you’d make it worse. “I’m tired and you’re tired, and you’ve just had a huge weekend, and we just need… we need each other, right?” you offered and he just nodded, too shocked to really comprehend what was going on. “Let’s just head to bed, yeah?” 

He nodded, then dipped his head down and kissed you like it was the last time, like he was trying to put all the love and care and passion he had for you into the kiss. Like that would make you understand him. To an extent, it did. 

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

mclaren masterlist (OP81 &LN4)

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williams & mercedes masterlist (GR63, KA12, CS55 LS2 &AA23)

redbull & vcarb masterlist (MV1,IH6 & LL40)

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[wosospacegirl]

Legally binding - Part 5

Summary: Alexia Putellas didn’t plan to become anyone’s legal guardian. But a very determined 12-year-old with a forged Barça contract has other ideas—and she's already moved in.

Warnings: Y/n has her first family dinner ever; Eli is in love; Alba has a new best friend; Alexia plucks little girl's eyes.

Word count: 7.3k

A/n: first of all, thanks for the patience, second of all, this is a little different from what I'm used to writing, it's a bit melancholic and angsty, I hope it's not that bad

..

Eli had fallen in love with Y/n the moment she saw the girl.

The kid barely had to do anything to get the older woman's affection, which was weird to Y/n. She thought she always had to give something to get something. She thought she had to be a good, quiet kid to get more dinner at night, that she had to be well-behaved to not get yelled at.

But Eli wrapped her arms around Y/n as if she had known her for ages. She kissed her head as if she had been waiting for this moment, even though Y/n was a hundred per cent sure Alexia had been keeping her a secret.

Eli sneaked a lollipop into Y/n's hand when Alexia went to the kitchen to get Alba (who looked like she was on the edge of passing out) a glass of water. She asked Y/n about her school, and if Alexia had been treating her right, if Alexia had been giving her healthy food.

Eli was just naturally affectionate, instinctively caring and wholeheartedly seemed like a good person. Y/n knew why Alexia was so good to her–she had a good mom!

It had been maybe half an hour since the Putellas met Y/n.

They were in the living room, the adults sitting on the big, white sofa while Barbie was playing on the TV, even though no one was really watching. 

Eli and Alba were too focused on the little girl doing science homework by the coffee table. Y/n was too focused on finishing her assignment fast so she could spend time with her new grandmother and aunt. 

And Alexia... well, she was focused on helping the kid understand the different planets in the solar system while also answering her mom's and sister's questions about Y/n.

The kid had told Alexia she was hungry, so Alexia decided to order food from a Mexican restaurant–she knew deep down that she wasn't going to get much cooking done, not with the way Eli and Alba were interrogating her about Y/n.

Alexia answered all of their questions (with the patience of a saint). Alba asked her who the girl really was; Eli asked about how the girl ended up in her care, and so many other questions that made Alexia's head hurt.

Y/n, ever so helpful, chimed in from time to time to give her version of the story.

"She saw me giving an interview at La Masia about how every kid should follow their dream–"

"No!" Y/n said, lifting her finger, as if to make a point. "You said that every kid should have caring parents who would allow them to follow their dreams!"

"Oh, and let me guess," Alba said. "You chose Alexia to be your parent?"

"Yes!" Y/n said happily, proud of herself.

Alba looked to her side as if ready to tell the girl a secret, she playfully leaned in and said, (absolutely not whispering at all)

"Be careful," she warned, "she used to pluck my dolls' eyes when I was a kid."

Y/n looked absolutely terrified.

Of course, Alba would scare her kid in less than a second of them meeting, Alexia thought as she rolled her eyes, giving Alba a 'really?!' face.

Meanwhile, Y/n watched Alexia in absolute horror, as if she had betrayed her deeply.

"I won't take your eyes out," Alexia had to say at least five times before the girl agreed that Alexia had left the eye-plucking world behind. "I promise."

"That's what she told me after leaving my Barbie eyeless," Alba murmured, ignoring the way Alexia pinched her.

Their conversation was cut short when the food delivery arrived. 

It was tacos.

And Y/n had never had tacos before. And oh, she loved them.

Her mouth was all smeared up with sauce. She was the first one to finish, but when she looked around, there was no more food. Alexia had only ordered one taco per person.

The girl didn't ask, she didn't look at anyone with her big, round eyes, but Alexia knew she wanted more tacos. So Alexia gave her hers.

"Here," Alexia said, handing the girl the half-eaten taco. "I don't want it anymore."

The kid looked at Alexia suspiciously. "No?"

"No," Alexia agreed, "I'm really full."

The kid looked at the taco in her hand, then at Alexia, and back at the taco. "You didn't poison it just so you can kill me and take my eyes, right?"

"Oh my god," Alexia groaned as she held the bridge of her nose.

"I have a very cool film to introduce you to, sobrinita," [niece] Alba said. "It's called Coraline, you're gonna love it!"

"Really?" The kid asked happily.

"No," Alexia rolled her eyes. "You're not watching that."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a real answer."

"Yes, it is!"

"N,o it's not!" The kid furrowed her eyebrows.

"They kind of look alike, don't you think?" Alba asked quietly to her mom as they watched the two in front of them arguing.

"Sí," Eli agreed, "she reminds me a little bit of Alexia when she was young."

"She's cooler than Alexia, though." Alba teased.

"Don't be mean to your sister," Eli said. "Ok, you two, stop." Eli interrupted Y/n and Alexia.

Alexia shut up right away, and Y/n too.

"Let's all finish eating, sí?" Eli said. "I want to talk more, I have so many questions."

They finished eating.

It was weird, Alexia noticed. Everybody seemed so... at ease, as if their weekly dinner date had always been made out of four people, not only three. As if Y/n had always been there.

It made Alexia feel warm inside, the feeling of family, but it was dangerous. She couldn't allow herself to feel that way, not yet.

She had a big decision to make, one she wasn't sure was the right one.

Alexia cleaned up while the three girls chatted.

"Are you really an orphan, sweetheart?" Eli asked, looking at Y/n while the girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor, drawing with crayons. "Do you have any relatives left?"

"I don't think I have any grandparents… or uncle… aunts," Y/n said, drawing what looked to be a head on the paper. "Or cousins or–"

"Did your parents die?" Alba asked bluntly. "Or were you... abandoned?"

Alexia and Eli both turned their heads to Alba. 

"Alba!" they said in unison.

Alba lifted her hands in surrender. "What! Sorry, I'm just curious."

Alexia bent down and covered Y/n's ears, who continued to draw. "Her mother left her at the orphanage when she was a baby, and her dad was never found, either."

The kid took Alexia's hands off her ears. "This is my story, you know? I was there."

"You were barely a month old," Alexia said.

"Still–" the girl said, giving her attention back to the drawing. "My heart remembers it."

Alexia pretended that those words didn't leave a mark on her. She breathed once, then twice, before putting her hands on the girl's shoulders.

"Hop hop," Alexia said. "You need to go to bed."

"What! No!" The girl said.

"Yes," Alexia said in a calm tone. "You have school tomorrow."

"But..." The girl scurried to where Eli was sitting and put her head on her lap. "I just met my family, can I please stay awake a little more?"

Family.

Alexia didn't know how to tell the girl that that wasn't necessarily her family. Not yet, not when Alexia still had doubts in her mind about whether she could really take the kid or not.

"Cariño," Eli said. "ete a dormir, vale? Mañana, si Alexia me lo permite, te llevo a tomar un helado." [Sweetheart / Go to sleep, okay? Tomorrow, if Alexia lets me, I'll take you out for ice cream]

"Really?" The girl looked from Eli to Alexia. "Can I, Alexia? Please? After school?"

Alexia didn't like it when the kid ate sweets during the weekdays, but she looked very happy right now and... Alexia wasn't sure if she had EVER had ice cream, so she nodded.

"Okay," Alexia agreed. "But only if you go to bed now."

The kid kissed Eli and Alba before going to hug Alexia, then she walked to her room.

Alexia stood frozen on the spot.

Y/n had never hugged her that way. They weren't very physically affectionate. Alexia didn't quite know how to be.

She just bought whatever the girl wanted and hoped the kid understood that that was Alexia showing she cared.

Maybe when Alexia gave her back to the orphanage, she could keep on paying for her necessities. If the State allowed it, Alexia would pay for her clothes, books, and evem open a bank account in the girl's name and put her on her own health insurance.

She was going to make sure that she was taken care of; she wouldn't completely abandon the girl. She wasn't a monster.

"She's really lovely," Eli said with a smile on her face. "I can really see how she was so drawn to you and–"

"Mami, I need to tell you something," Alexia interrupted.

..

Alexia's mom didn't take it well when Alexia told her she wasn't going to keep the kid.

It was late at night now. Alba had long gone to her house when she sensed that Alexia's and Eli's conversation was serious. 

The kid was sleeping in her room–Alexia made sure to check if she was tucked in properly–and Alexia was receiving the biggest earful of her life.

Her mom wasn't this mad when she and Alba took a bus and went to Madrid on their own when they were 15 and 17. 

She didn't fight with her when Alexia lost herself in the middle of her ACL injuries. 

Even when Alexia got a secret back tattoo at sixteen, Eli hadn't been this angry. But this? This Eli was so much different–very angry, very mad.

"What do you mean you were planning on giving that angelic child back, Alexia?" her mother asked, walking in circles in the middle of Alexia's living room while Alexia sat on the sofa, looking up at her mom guiltily.

"Mom, I didn't adopt her!" Alexia said, running her hands through her hair. "I signed papers about a contract. The kid slipped a fucking adoption form in the middle of it and–"

Her mom stopped and looked seriously at Alexia. 

"You do not cuss in front of me, Alexia." Then she continued to walk in circles. "I don't know what's happening to you. First, you become the legal guardian of a kid, then you stay a whole month without showing your face to me and your sister, and now you're cussing–what is happening?"

Alexia felt something tight building in her chest. She watched her mother pace; the judgment was so clear in every step she took. 

Alexia didn't want to disrespect her mom, but her patience was wearing thin. It was like no one around her understood what was really happening.

"You want to know what's happening?" Alexia's voice started low, controlled. "I wake up every morning terrified I'm going to mess up. I don't know if I'm feeding her the right things, if I'm saying the right things, if I'm–" She stopped, her voice cracking slightly.

Her mom paused, but the disapproval was still written across her face. "Alexia, that child needs–"

"I know what she needs!" The words exploded out of her before she could stop them. Alexia shot up from the sofa, her hands shaking. "Don't you think I know what she needs? She needs someone who knows how to braid hair without making her cry." 

Alexia looked at her mom, the vein in her forehead showing. "She needs someone who doesn't panic when she asks difficult questions. She needs someone who doesn't Google how to build a volcano for school's science fair at two in the morning! She doesn't need someone who feels like she's drowning."

Eli's eyes widened, but she crossed her arms. "So you think the solution is to give up? To abandon her?"

"I'm not abandoning her!" Alexia's voice was almost desperate now. "I'm trying to do what's best for her! She deserves someone who actually knows what they're doing–"

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, feeling the sting of tears. "Someone who doesnt forget her dentist appointment, someone who doesn't travel all the time!"

The silence stretched between them. When Alexia finally looked up, her mother's expression had completely changed.

"One day, my main concern was the squad call-up for Spain," Alexia whispered, her voice breaking.

"The next day, I was trying to figure out how to put a kid on my health insurance, how to enrol her in school, how to explain to her why some days I can barely take care of myself, let alone her."

Eli stared at her daughter, watching as Alexia's shoulders shook with the weight of everything that had been happening in the last weeks.

The anger that had been building in her chest moments before was completely gone now; it was replaced by something that felt like her heart breaking.

She saw it now–it wasn't that Alexia was defiant or selfish. No–she was scared. 

Her oldest daughter, who had always been a perfectionist, who had always held herself and everything she did to a high standard, was now terrified that she wasn't enough for the little girl sleeping down the hall. That she wasn't going to give everything the girl needed. That she couldn't be what she needed.

Eli's expression softened completely. She gently knelt down in front of Alexia and took the hands that were covering her face.

"Hija, mírame a mí," Eli said softly. [Honey, look at me]

Alexia did just that, feeling her eyes filling with tears, but she didn't want to cry in front of her mom. She never did.

"You don't mean what you're saying," Eli said, her voice firm.

"It's late, and you're tired. I have felt like this when you and Alba were younger–like you two were responsibilities too heavy to carry, like you were too precious, that I couldn't do anything wrong to you, that you two would break."

Alexia gulped, trying to keep her composure.

"You know what I see when I look at you with that little girl?" Eli's voice was gentle now, all the anger gone.

"I see the way your whole face changes when she smiles, or when she seems happy. I see how you always make sure she's eating before you even think about your own food."

Alexia's breath hitched, but she didn't look away from her mother's eyes.

"I went to her room while you two were talking to Alba," Eli continued, her thumb stroking over Alexia's knuckles.

"Those purple curtains? The matching rug? That wasn't an obligation, mija. That was love."

A fresh tear rolled down Alexia's cheek. "She mentioned once that purple was her favourite colour," she whispered. "I just... I wanted her to feel like it was her space."

"And those shoes she's wearing?"

Alexia's voice was barely audible. 

"Her old ones had holes. She never complained; she wanted to keep them. But I took her to Nike anyway and let her pick whatever she wanted."

"She was excited...She kept saying, 'Are you sure? as if she couldn't believe they were really hers, it was weird, because I feel like she deserves everything."

Eli's own eyes filled with tears. "Yeah? What about her hair? It's so beautiful, Alexia. Were you the one who braided it?"

"Sí, she used to cry every morning trying to brush it, or sometimes not brush it at all" Alexia said.. "So I searched on youtube how to get her hair done, and all that… it doesn't look that good, but it's the best I could do."

Eli reached up and cupped her daughter's face with both hands.

"Hija, listen to me. Love isn't about being perfect. It's about showing up. And you've been showing up for that little girl every single day, even when you're scared, even when you don't know what you're doing." 

She wiped away Alexia's tears with her thumbs.

"You chose that girl the moment you decided her comfort mattered more than your convenience. You chose her when you learned how to do her hair. You chose her when you made her room feel like home. And she chose you right back."

"I don't know, mami, it's too much sometimes, a whole... kid," Alexia said.

"It seems to me, Alexia," Eli said gently, "that you chose that girl just as much as she chose you."

Eli sat beside Alexia, wrapping an arm around her. "If you choose her every day, then you are already a better parent than most people out there."

"I don't know how to be a parent, mami," Alexia said in a small voice that even she wasn't used to hearing from herself.

"You already are one, cariño," Eli said, kissing the top of Alexia's head. "You can't do anything about it now. Trust me, once you get a child, they are yours forever."

Alexia chuckled, but it didn't have much joy in it. "Is that why you're comforting your thirty-year-old daughter?"

"I'm comforting my thirty-year-old daughter because she's hurting and needs her mom," Eli said firmly. "You need your mom just as much as that kid needs her mom, which is now you." 

She moved her arms from around Alexia to hold her hands instead.

"That's why you need to step up. You can't go on with the thought of giving her back when things get hard. She's yours now, Alexia, and things will get hard, especially because she's not like any other kid–she has a past."

"I was scared all the time when you and your sister were little. Terrified, actually. But I couldn't let you two see it because you needed a rock, you needed comfort, someone you could talk to.

That's exactly the person Y/n will need, and you already are that person. You can't just let your fear get in the way."

Alexia looked up at her mother, eyes still wet with tears. "But what if I, I don't know, what if I mess up?"

"Mija," Eli squeezed her hands, "that girl has already been through the worst thing that could happen to a child–being alone. You're not going to mess her up by loving her... you're going to heal her by showing up, by being patient, by letting her know she's safe."

Alexia let her mom's words sink in.

Eli understood that this was something Alexia needed to work through alone, so she gently kissed Alexia's forehead before leaving her apartment quietly.

Alexia breathed in and out, more times than she could count.

Her mom was right.

There was no going back with this kid. Maybe Y/n hadn't come into her life in the most normal way possible, and maybe it was the kid who chose her first instead of the other way around, but it didn't matter now.

The kid had been with Alexia for only a few weeks, but it felt like so much more.

Alexia just... couldn't picture her life without the kid.

If the kid were to be sent back to the orphanage, would she just wake up and make omelettes for only one person? Would she drive around Barcelona without hearing a kid saying random things in her ear? Would she walk right past a kids' clothing store without going inside to buy some winter clothes?

That was her life now. The kid was her life.

That girl had changed Alexia in only a few weeks, but it was enough for Alexia to create a connection with her, for Alexia to feel responsible for her.

Her mother was right. Alexia was scared to be a parent, scared to screw up, but being scared was also part of parenting. 

Parents didn't feel like they were doing the right thing all the time–they feared for their kids, they felt unsure, they felt stressed, but most important of all, they felt love. So much love.

And love was something Alexia felt for that kid, deeply.

Eli was a good mom to Alexia and Alba.

Of course, there were a few episodes during her childhood and teenage years when Alexia thought her mom could have acted differently, sometimes she was too angry, too stern, but Alexia never felt not cherished or not loved.

If Alexia could make sure that kid felt loved, then half of her work was done.

That was what Alexia was going to do. She was going to wake up the next morning and treat Y/n as if she was there to stay, because she was.

Y/n had chosen Alexia to be her family, and Alexia was going to act like it. No more thoughts about keeping the kid a secret, no more asking the kid to lie about who was responsible for her.

Y/n was Alexia's kid, and Alexia was going to step up and act like it.

She was going to be like her mother–caring, always there, present. The kid deserved that; she deserved so much more, too, but Alexia was going to learn.

Alexia didn't need to be the best parent in the world. Alexia only needed to be the best parent for Y/n.

Alexia made her way to her own room. It was too late, way past her own bedtime, she had training the next morning, and she had to drop Y/n off at school before going to Barcelona's training ground.

The kid's room had the door closed. The kid never let the door close, said she was too afraid of the dark. For a second, Alexia thought about opening the door to her room and giving her a goodnight kiss.

But it was 1 am and Alexia didn't want to wake her up, so she walked right past the kid's room and lay down on her bed.

She knew the kid was going to find her way into the bed in the middle of the night anyway; she always did.

Alexia left a pillow on her left side, where the kid usually slept and let her eyes fall shut as well.

The next morning, everything was going to be better. Maybe she could take the kid to Barcelona, introduce her to everybody as her own.

The kid would like that, Alexia was sure.

And with that, Alexia fell asleep.

She just didn't know that the bed in the other room was empty, and that Eli had left the door unlocked.

..

When Alexia woke up the next day, she didn't feel pressure on her back, she didn't feel Y/n's morning kick into her ribs.

She was also completely covered by the duvet, something that Y/n always stole from her in the middle of the night.

Alexia opened her eyes and didn't see anything-or–or well–anyone lying on the spot next to her. Alexia frowned, thinking that was obviously weird.

Then she got up from the bed and knocked on her bathroom door. The kid had her own suite, but she said Alexia's water was warmer (it wasn't). She knocked once, but the kid didn't say anything.

Then Alexia knocked again. Still nothing.

"Y/n?" Alexia said, "I'm going in, is that okay?"

No response.

Alexia opened the door carefully and was met with her empty bathroom. The sink was clean, her skincare products were on the top shelves–she had put them there because the kid always found a way to get to them, and Alexia thought she was way too young to put anti-ageing cream on.

Alexia walked to her walk-in shower and noticed that it was dry, so the kid hadn't taken her morning shower yet.

Alexia didn't understand what was happening. She opened her phone and saw that it was Wednesday. It wasn't Saturday, it wasn't Sunday. It was a weekday, so Alexia couldn't understand why the kid wasn't in her room, ready to start the day.

Alexia put on her robe and walked right to the kitchen, expecting to find the kid there, trying to make breakfast for them. But once again, the kitchen was empty, and the TV wasn't playing the cartoons Y/n liked so much.

Alexia was starting to get nervous, really nervous.

"Y/n?" Alexia said out loud, to nowhere in particular. "Where are you? We need to go. You can't be late for school."

The house was silent, as if its walls were keeping something from Alexia.

"Y/n?" Alexia went to the laundry room. Nothing. Then she went to check the powder room. Nothing.

Then she walked to the kid's room. She didn't know why it was the last place she checked–maybe because, deep down, Alexia knew she was going to be met with an empty room.

The kid's bed was made. Nothing was out of order.

The dolls Alexia had bought her were sitting perfectly on the shelf, the science kit Alexia had gotten her for getting a 10/10 in biology was in the corner of the room, as if it were untouched.

Alexia walked into the kid's bathroom. She knocked on the door only once, but no sound came. For what felt like the tenth time that morning, Alexia was met with another empty room.

The kid's hair products were there, and her towel was neat, hanging from the hanger.

Alexia tried to breathe, but she couldn't. Her hands began shaking as she felt like her stomach was sitting heavy in her body.

"Okay," Alexia said to herself, "the kid is not here. It's okay."

Alexia quickly walked to Y/n's wardrobe, looking for her, then she looked under the bed. As Alexia feared, nothing, absolutely nothing.

Alexia ran to check the front door. 

It was unlocked.

Alexia felt like it was getting harder and harder to breathe each minute; she realised the kid wasn't there.

She opened the door to the hallway and looked from one place to another–no one was there. Then Alexia took the elevator and went down to the first floor, where she met one of the security guys.

He was sleeping at his desk. Alexia woke him up with a scream.

"My kid, have you seen her?" Alexia asked, her voice shaking. "She's like this tall–" Alexia placed her hand right by her chest. "And her hair is kinda wavy but not so much, it's not straight but not curly either and–and–"

The man looked at Alexia as if she were crazy. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Putellas, what kid?"

Alexia started to cry. "M-my kid, she's not at home. I think she ran away or–or someone took her from my apartment! I don't know, have you seen her? Did she walk through here?"

"I didn't know you were a mother, Mrs. Putellas?" the man said, as if this was the most important thing that Alexia had said.

"I am a mother!" Alexia screamed, "And my kid is not here! Can you fucking check the cameras? Maybe–fuck, maybe she walked to the pool? She doesn't know how to swim!"

The man saw how Alexia was becoming frantic and opened the cameras, watching them carefully to see if he could find any kids. Alexia looked at the cameras behind the man, but she couldn't see anything behind her tears.

Her heart was pounding, her head was hurting, and she wasn't breathing. The kid wasn't there, the kid wasn't anywhere. Alexia was going to be sick; she felt the acid taste on her tongue.

She had never been so nervous in her life. No, she wasn't nervous, she was horrified, she was in panic.

"I think I see her," the man said as he watched the camera footage up close. "That's her? Small, very skinny?"

The man pointed at the child in the footage. It had very bad quality, but Alexia could see it was hers.

"Es ella! De verdad se fue? ¿Salió por esa puerta?"" Alexia said desperately. "Cómo que no la viste?!" [It’s her! Did she really leave? Did she go out through that door? / How did you not see her?!]

"Sh-she left at 1:15am, Mrs. Putellas. I-I was sleeping, I didn't see her," the man said, holding his arms up.

"How did you not see a fucking child leaving in the middle of the night?" Alexia asked angrily.

"I-I'm sorry!" the man started. "We aren't used to people in this building having kids; it's not something that security thinks about. Also, on your apartment contract, it says no kids."

Alexia felt like it was getting harder and harder to breathe with every second the Y/n wasn’t found. 

The security guard’s face blurred in front of her, everything in the building felt too bright, too loud, even though it was quiet.

"Fuck the– apartment contract!" she snapped. "Where's Y/n? Where did she fucking go?" She stepped closer to the man, her vision filled with tears, her pulse roaring in her ears.

The man flinched. He held up his hands. “Mrs. Putellas–please–”

Alexia’s breath hitched. Her hands were trembling violently now, clenched into fists at her sides. She wasn’t thinking–just feeling, just reacting. The world seemed narrowed.

And then she blinked.

..

Alexia didn't remember what happened after that.

When she realised where she was, she was in a police station, the light too bright in her face, the seat she was sitting on too uncomfortable. 

There was a little bit of blood underneath her nails. She didn't remember if she had scratched the security guy's face, maybe she did. She felt a heavy arm around her–it was her mom. Then she felt a hand on her thigh, Alba.

She was in front of a woman wearing a police uniform who looked important. Maybe Alexia could talk to her about her kid.

"Y/n," Alexia said out of nowhere, looking at the woman with widened eyes. "She's twelve, she left, and the last time I saw her, she had this pyjama, it had strawberries on it, and she accidentally burned it on the stove, so it had a hole on the left arm hem and–"

"Hija, toma agua, por favor." her mother gave her a glass of water. Alexia didn't want to drink any of it at first, but her mother made her. [Love, please drink some water]

"You have said that already, Alexia," Alba said gently, "at least five times. The deputy here has already written everything down. You are in shock."

Alexia gave the glass of water back to her mom. "I-I'm not in shock! I lost her–"

"Mrs. Putellas," the woman said firmly, but gently. "I've already written everything down. We have police looking for your child everywhere in Barcelona, do you understand me?"

The deputy waited until Alexia nodded for her to begin. "We checked the footage, and it seems like she left on her own. She didn't have anything with her in the footage. Do you remember missing anything from her room?"

"No," Alexia said, "she didn't take anything. Her bag was there. I give her money on Monday for her to buy some snacks at school if she gets hungry, she-she left those too. She-she didn't take anything."

"Alright," the deputy said as she typed on her computer. "My division specialises in troubled kids who run away and–"

"She's not troubled!" Alexia said angrily. "She-she's not troubled. I think she heard me saying about how I wanted to give her back–" Alexia looked at the woman. "But I wasn't going to do it, not really. She had been mine the moment we met, but I think–"

"You think she ran away because she thought she was going to be given away?" the deputy said. "Alright, we already have a motive."

While Alexia was drowning in panic, the worst fear any parent could feel, Y/n had already been gone for hours.

..

Y/n had been dreaming about how she was going to go to La Masia next week when familiar voices woke her up. At first, she thought it was the TV, but Alexia never watched TV, especially not this loud.

But then she heard her name, realising it was coming from Alexia and her new abuelita. [Grandma]

She frowned and looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand–it was late. Alexia was never up this late, at least that's what she always told Y/n.

Y/n sat up in bed, and for a moment, she thought she was back at the orphanage, hearing one of the nuns yelling at kids for trying to sneak inside the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Y/n's heart was beating fast now. She didn't like that, didn't like yelling, she didn't like loud noises–it made her feel scared, especially if someone was yelling her name.

The voices were coming from the living room. Y/n slipped out of bed, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. She usually forgot to put socks on; Alexia was the one who had to remind her.

Y/n tiptoed until she was faced with her door. It wasn't completely closed–she didn't like it when it was closed, it made her room seem too dark–but right now, the door being half-opened was the reason Y/n could hear whatever... fight? Eli and Alexia were having.

Y/n was confused. She never had a mom, but she thought moms and daughters didn't fight. They loved each other, right? Eli and Alexia–why would they scream if they loved each other? Was Alba there too? Was she also screaming?

The kid put her face out of the door arch. The hallway was dark, but she could see the light from the living room, and the voices were clearer now.

"What do you mean you were planning on giving that angelic child back, Alexia?"

Y/n's stomach dropped completely. 

Giving her back? 

Alexia wanted to give her back. No, that wasn't happening, the kid thought to herself.

Alexia had promised her she was going to keep her. Y/n had told her she was going to be good and wouldn't cause any trouble.

"Mom, I didn't adopt her!" Alexia's voice was loud and frustrated. Y/n was used to seeing Alexia stressed out, but she never saw Alexia angry, never saw her mad.

That was weird; it made Y/n scared. She didn't like that conversation one bit.

"I signed papers about a contract. The kid slipped a fucking adoption form in the middle of it and–"

The words hit Y/n like a slap to her face, and just like when she was at the orphanage, she felt small, she felt wrong, like she shouldn't be there, not here, not anywhere, as if she was a mistake.

She pressed herself against the wall to her room. Her hands were shaking, and she didn't know how to make them stop. 

She wanted to run back to her bed and pull the covers over her head and pretend she hadn't heard anything, pretend Alexia wasn't saying anything, but she couldn't move.

Her legs were glued; she couldn't control her hands, and she couldn't control her breathing.

"She needs someone who doesn't panic when she asks difficult questions. She needs someone who doesn't Google how to build a volcano for school's science fair at two in the morning!"

Y/n's eyes filled with tears. She didn't try to hold them. She let the tears fall down her cheek, but she made sure to place a hand over her mouth so she wouldn't be heard, just like she did when she was younger.

The nuns didn't like the sound of children crying–that's what they always said.

"She deserves someone who actually knows what they're doing, not someone who feels like they're drowning."

Drowning.

Alexia felt like she was drowning because of her? Y/n didn't really understand what that meant, but it couldn't possibly be good, right? Y/n didn't know how to swim; if she were thrown in a body of water, she would drown too.

Was that what Alexia was feeling? As if she were thrown in the water without her floaties on? That Y/n had done that to her?

Y/n was trying to be a good kid. She didn't know how to be a good daughter, but she was trying to be at least nice. But maybe throwing people into the water wasn't something good kids did.

Maybe Y/n was bad, just like the nuns had told her she was.

"I don't know, mami, it's too much sometimes, a whole... kid."

Y/n winced when Alexia said that. She was always afraid to hear those words coming out of Alexia's mouth, that she was too much to handle. But what had she expected? She had tricked Alexia into adopting her; Alexia didn't choose her.

Alexia was thrown into this whole situation because of Y/n, and now she wanted out. It was her right, really. 

If Alexia didn't want her, Y/n would do Alexia a favour and disappear. 

That way, maybe Alexia would be happy again, maybe she wouldn't fight with her mom anymore.

The kid tried to take a deep breath; she tried to stop crying. But she couldn't. 

She quickly closed the door and walked back to her bed, sitting on the mattress while letting the tears stream down her face.

She couldn't hear anything now; it was like the voices had stopped. The only thing she could hear was her heart and her cries.

The kid looked around her room, at everything Alexia had bought her in the span of those weeks she was with her.

All the toys, all the clothing, everything. None of this was hers. It had never been. Alexia had bought them out of compromise.

She had to do it because she was her legal guardian, not because she wanted Y/n to have those things.

Alexia had been trying to make the best of a bad situation, but Y/n could see it now.

Every kind gesture, every time she had made Y/n dinner, every 'how was school?' was just Alexia trying to cope with the burden Y/n had dumped on her.

Alexia was a good person. She wasn’t mean. She didn’t yell. But she didn’t love Y/n either. She just... had to take care of her. That was different.

Y/n wiped her face with the back of her hand and stood up. 

She walked to her closet and looked at all the clothes Alexia had bought her: the Nike shoes, the Barcelona jerseys, the winter coats…everything. She couldn't take any of it. It wasn't hers to take. 

But now, wherever she was going, she had nothing again.

Y/n couldn't stay with Alexia anymore; she couldn't keep drowning Alexia. If she left now, Alexia wouldn't have to give her back. She wouldn't have to feel guilty or make excuses to the social workers.

Alexia wasn't going to keep her either way. Now Y/n had a choice: she could leave on her own, or wait for the next morning until Alexia called whoever was responsible for picking up orphans who didn't work out with their new families.

Y/n grabbed her old sneakers from the back of the closet, the ones with holes. These were hers.

Alexia had thrown them away, but Y/n went back to the garbage can and took them back. She was glad she did it.

Then she took some crayons and wrote on a piece of paper: 'I'm sorry for tricking you. You don't have to give me back, I'll go back myself. Thank you for the food and for paying for school.'

She read it carefully, but she didn't know if she should leave it there for Alexia.

She decided it was better if she didn't do anything; it was better if she just disappeared from Alexia's life. She walked through her bathroom and crumpled the piece of paper, and threw it in the trash.

Then she sat on her bed and waited. She didn't have anything to pack; she didn't need anything.

She could get food at a store–she was sure if she asked for candy, someone would give it to her, right?

And if she needed water, she could go to the park and drink it from the water fountain.

She could sleep on that playground next to her school, as well, so she wouldn't get wet when it rained.

And her school... well, she was probably not going to study, since Alexia was the one who paid her tuition, but she could always go to Barcelona's library and read some books there.

Maybe her football dream would need to be paused for a few months, just until she had everything figured out.

She could try and find some work, maybe as a dog walker; that way, she could pay for the tuition at La Masia and play football and become a big star.

The girl was thinking about her plan when she realised that the voices in the living room were getting quieter, then she heard Eli leave, the door closing. 

The next sound came from Alexia's footsteps in the hallway. Y/n watched her shadow through the door's crack; she stopped in front of Y/n's room.

Y/n held her breath, hoping Alexia wouldn't come in, that she wouldn't see her sitting there ready to leave. But then, after a moment, the footsteps continued to Alexia's room.

Y/n waited a few more minutes until she was sure Alexia was asleep. Lately, Alexia had been waking up in the middle of the night. Y/n wasn't sure why; she never asked. Alexia would question why she was up so late, too.

When Y/n thought Alexia was in a deep sleep, she stood up, took one last look at the room, said goodbye to her dolls, and opened the door.

The hallway was still dark and quiet. Y/n walked through the hallways, looking at the pictures hung on the walls.

They were mostly pictures of Alexia, Alba and Eli; some of them were Alexia with the girls from Barcelona.

Y/n wished, deep down, that Alexia would hang a picture of her there one day, but it didn't happen, and it never would happen.

She opened the front door as quietly as she could (it was already unlocked; Y/n was sure it was Eli who forgot to lock it) and stepped into the hallway.

The building was silent, just like Alexia's house. 

The elevator was too bright, and Y/n didn't like that.

When the elevator opened its doors, Y/n took a peek at the security guy. She prayed that he was sleeping, so that he wouldn't see her, and he really was.

Y/n walked past him and stepped into the night. It was too cold, way too cold. She felt her body shiver. She didn't know if she should turn right or left, but maybe it didn't matter, since she didn't know where she was going.

Either way was fine. The kid decided to move forward.

She just knew she couldn't keep being this weight on Alexia's life. She was old enough to be alone, old enough to care for herself.

Maybe she was alone again, but it didn't matter, because this time, she had chosen it. 

She didn't want to be a bother to someone as nice as Alexia. 

She wished she had never shown up at her house, that she had never gotten a taste of what love felt like. 

Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.

..

a/n: yeah...sorry <3 Did I create another situation I have no idea how to fix? Yes, yes I did

Tag list: @footy-lover264 , @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13 , @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics

[cheftsunoda]

Hello! Loved your stories omg! Esp the charles and alex one, Can I request the both of them and reader where the reader is a Medical Intern in Monaco and charles and alex both just happen to be in the hospital that she is interning and they just get so infatuated with her and they come back to the hospital for just some “daily check ups” and bonus if they are together already can you do a part where they are looking for her and the find her in the back part of the ER where there are spare beds there and shes just taking a quick power nap from a long shift hehe Thank you! ❤️

apple a day, keeps the doctor…— cl16 + alexandra

charles leclerc x !medical intern reader x alexandra saint mleux

smau + blurbs

working ER nights in monaco wasn’t glamorous—at least not for you. between back to back trauma cases, endless rounds, and the coffee machine that hated you, most days blurred into one long, sterile headache. that is, until charles leclerc and alexandra saint mleux burst through the emergency room doors one chaotic friday night, arthur leclerc half-conscious between them and bleeding from a nasty head wound. you stitched him up with calm hands and clipped sarcasm, barely registering the way both charles and alexandra were staring at you like you had performed a miracle. since then, they’d returned to the hospital three times in two weeks. once for a “headache that might be a concussion” (arthur was fine), once for “follow-up questions,” and once just to drop off a smoothie “in case you skipped lunch.” every visit came with a new excuse and a new gift — almond croissants, candles, a ferrari hoodie that “just happened to be your size.” you weren’t stupid. you knew what they were doing. but it was getting harder to pretend you didn’t like it. harder to pretend you didn’t want more. from both of them.

fc : random pinterest girlies

(a/n) : hiiiii love. cute idea. i love writing chalex x reader smmmm

POLY FIC TO CELEBRATE MY BIG NEWS YAYYYYY!

—

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux and 2,503 others.

yourusername : photos that make me look like ive been getting sleep (i have not) but i worked 87 hours last week :,)

—

view 52 other comments.

yourbff : BAD BITCH. period. (tell them to give you some time off) (i feel neglected)

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : girl you’re gonna have to tell them. they don’t gaf what i say🤧

liked by yourbff

↳ yourbff : on my way! plus i want to meet the mystery man and woman 😁

liked by yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ yourusername : shhhhhh don’t embarrass meeee

liked by yourbff and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ yourbff : no but seriously. on my way with coffee and emotional support :)

liked by yourusername

↳ youruserame : life saverrrrrr

↳ yourbff : nah babe. that’s quite literally you.

liked by yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

yourbrother : since when are you a ferrari fan?

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : since when do you care?

↳ yourbrother : just wondering. get some sleep ugly. you need it

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : smd bitch !

liked by yourbff

username00 : alexandra in the likes?? the ferrari hoodie?? who is this girl??

↳ username1 : she is a doctor in monaco. probably just a friend of alexandra’s.

alexandrasaintmleux : and somehow you still look incredible beautiful 😍

liked by yourusername and yourbff

↳ youruserame : alexxxx you’re making me blush 🤭

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

↳ username0000 : oooooooooo

—

flashback

It starts, like most Friday nights, with chaos. The double doors of the ER slam open behind you and you don’t even bother looking up at first. You’re too busy writing up notes on a dislocated shoulder when someone shouts—

“Excuse me! We need help!”

You sigh, closing your hospital issued laptop, and turn — only to freeze for a split second.

Because that’s Charles Leclerc. As in F1 Charles Leclerc. And he’s holding up a man who’s bleeding from the forehead. Behind him, Alexandra is hovering, visibly panicked and muttering something about a yacht.

“I need a name,” you say, stepping forward and already slipping on gloves.

“Arthur Leclerc,” the patient mutters. “Twenty four. Libra. Single.”

You blink. “Right. Head injury and questionable flirting. Got it.”

“I fell,” Arthur adds dramatically, clutching his head like he’s auditioning for Hamlet.

“I was pushed,” he corrects himself quickly, nodding toward Charles with betrayal in his eyes. “By him. On the yacht.”

“There was a wave!” Charles groans. “You lost your balance.”

“You shoved me.”

“I nudged you.”

“You launched me!”

You sigh again, pointing to the exam table. “If you can argue, you can sit. Let’s patch up the bleeding before we diagnose your childhood trauma.”

Arthur grins at you as he hops onto the table. “Do you usually fix people up with that kind of sarcasm, or am I just special?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m an intern. I don’t get paid enough to flirt. But if you don’t pass out, I’ll consider it a compliment.”

Alexandra snorts behind you, clearly trying not to laugh. “I like her.”

You gently guide Arthur’s head to the side, inspecting the gash. It’s deep but manageable. “You’re going to need a few stitches. Any nausea? Blurry vision?”

“Only from looking directly at you,” Arthur says, smirking.

You glance at Charles, who looks like he’s about to explode. “Arthur.”

“What?” Arthur says innocently. “She’s hot and she’s touching my face. I’m not made of stone.”

Charles gives you a sheepish smile. “I swear he’s not usually this—”

“Delusional?” you offer.

“Flirty.”

“Trauma does funny things to people,” you murmur as you begin cleaning the wound.

“You seem very calm,” Alexandra pipes up, stepping closer. “Is it always this chaotic?”

“Only when people fall off yachts,” you mutter, trying not to smile.

You feel Charles watching you. Like, really watching you. And not just because you’re stitching up his brother’s forehead.

“You’re good at this,” he says, almost surprised.

You glance up. “Thanks. I’ve had a lot of practice with dumbass adrenaline junkies.”

“You’ll fit in well with this family, then,” Alexandra says lightly, and then blinks, as if realizing what she just said. “I mean—not that—just—”

Arthur groans. “She meant that flirtatiously. God, we’re all embarrassing ourselves.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you finish the last stitch. “You’re fine. And he’s good as new. Well… scarred. But charming.”

“Scarred and charming,” Arthur echoes. “Put that on my resume.”

As you peel off your gloves and hand Arthur the aftercare instructions, you catch all three of them watching you like you’d just rewritten medical science instead of stitched up a forehead. It’s the kind of look that makes your skin feel warm under your scrubs.

“You shouldn’t have much of a scar,” you say, casually. “I learned from the best plastic surgeon we’ve got. Lucky you.”

Arthur gives you a lopsided smile, but it’s Charles who speaks next, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Thank you, Dr…?”

“LN,” you reply, shaking his hand. “Dr. YN LN.”

His grip is firm, but it’s the way his fingers linger just a second too long that makes your heart stutter.

“Nice to meet you, Doctor,” he says, his voice a little lower. “Hopefully next time we see you, no one’s bleeding.”

You open your mouth to reply, but Alexandra beats you to it, smiling softly. “Yeah… I wouldn’t mind a next time either. Preferably injury free. Maybe over coffee instead of stitches.”

She laughs lightly, cheeks pink, and you’re not sure if it’s the ER lighting or if they’re both actually flirting with you.

—

present day

You’re halfway through a chart on a broken wrist when you hear them before you see them.

“I told you I’m fine!”

Arthur’s voice, unmistakably dramatic, echoes through the ER as he stomps toward the front desk, trailed by Monaco’s most glamorous couple—Charles and Alexandra—looking suspiciously guilty and carrying far too many things for a medical emergency.

You glance up, immediately clocking the massive bouquet of flowers in Charles’ hand and the takeaway coffee Alexandra’s holding like a peace offering.

“I swear to God,” Arthur mutters as he catches sight of you, “I said I had a mild headache, and these two dragged me here like I’d lost a limb.”

“Headaches can be a sign of a concussion,” Alexandra says sweetly. “We just wanted to be safe.”

“Also, we brought you a coffee,” Charles adds, smiling at you like he wasn’t obviously using his brother’s brain as an excuse to see you again.

You blink. “Right. So we’re doing this again.”

Arthur drops into the same exam chair from last time with a long suffering sigh. “Apparently, I don’t have autonomy anymore.”

“You said the lights were bothering you,” Alexandra says, gesturing vaguely. “That’s a symptom!”

“I was hungover!”

You try to keep your professional face on. Really, you do. But when Charles hands you the coffee—your name spelled perfectly on the lid—and Alexandra presents the bouquet like a proud contestant on The Bachelor, you lose the battle against your smile.

“Well, at least if this is a concussion, he’ll go down smelling like peonies,” you mutter, already pulling on gloves.

Arthur glares at both of them. “If I so much as sneeze tomorrow, they’ll probably drag me in again and claim it’s internal bleeding.”

You flash him a grin. “I wouldn’t complain too much. If every headache gets you this much attention, you might want to fake one next week.”

“Oh don’t give them ideas,” Arthur groans, flopping his head back as you start the quick neurological check.

Meanwhile, Charles leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with that same quiet intensity.

“So…” he says casually. “When you’re not busy diagnosing non concussions, do you ever take time off?”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that your version of small talk or a poorly disguised date proposal?”

Alexandra perks up beside him. “Could be both.”

You chuckle, making a note in Arthur’s file. “He’s fine. No concussion. Just… tragically dramatic.”

Arthur sits up, victorious. “Thank you. Finally. A sane voice in this situation.”

You hand him a lollipop from your coat pocket. “For being so brave.”

As the three of them start to leave, Charles turns back one last time, walking backwards with a grin.

“We’ll try not to bother you again.”

But you know he’s lying. And part of you kind of hopes he is.

—

You spot them the second they walk through the ER doors. No Arthur this time.

Just Charles and Alexandra, holding nothing but matching sunglasses and the world’s most transparent expressions.

You don’t even look up from the computer when you say, “What fake medical emergency are we pretending exists today?”

Charles smirks. “Technically, we were in the area.”

Alexandra adds, “And we thought we might check in. Just to say hi. Totally casual.”

You give them a flat look. “Right. Monaco’s smallest hospital and this hallway, of all places. How convenient.”

Charles shrugs. “We’re predictable. What can we say?”

You finish typing your note and finally stand. “Okay, well, since you’re here and not bleeding, vomiting, or concussed, you can make yourselves useful.”

They blink. You pull off your coat, glance at the wall clock, and tuck your badge into your pocket. “I’m on break.”

Alexandra’s eyes light up. “Wait. Right now?”

You grab your phone. “There’s a café down the street that makes a solid espresso and doesn’t play music loud enough to rupture eardrums. I was going to go solo, but since you two seem committed to making ER visits part of your weekly schedule…”

Charles stares for a beat before a slow grin spreads across his face. “Are you asking us out, Dr. LN?”

You smirk. “Consider it a professional mercy date. To stop you from dragging your brother back in here every time he sneezes.”

Alexandra laughs as you all walk out together. “We’ll take it.”

The three of you squeeze into a little table near the window, half-shadowed, half-exposed to the soft afternoon sun. You sip your coffee and try to ignore the way Charles keeps subtly leaning closer every time you talk, or how Alexandra watches you like she already knows what you’re going to say next.

“So,” Charles says, stirring his espresso. “If this were a date, how would we be doing?”

You smirk. “Well, you haven’t lied about a fake medical condition yet, so that’s a strong start.”

Alexandra leans in, chin propped on her palm. “And what if we wanted this to be an actual date?”

Your eyes flick between them. They’re both looking at you — seriously now, not just playfully. There’s a warmth there. Something real.

You pause, setting your cup down.

“Well,” you say slowly, “then I’d say I’m free this weekend. And this time, no one gets to show up bleeding.”

Charles raises his cup in a mock toast. “We’ll do our best.”

Alexandra grins. “No promises.”

—

You don’t know what to expect when Charles texts you the address. It’s vague — Don’t worry, it’s not a restaurant. Something a bit better. And he sends a winky face, which does nothing to calm the nervous flutter building in your chest.

You’re not the type to get nervous. You deal with emergencies for a living. You’ve held hearts in your hands—literally. But somehow, a night with Charles Leclerc and Alexandra Saint Mleux is what sends your pulse into orbit.

The building isn’t flashy. Just a quiet, pale stone apartment on a side street with a narrow elevator that creaks slightly as it takes you up. You almost think you’ve gone to the wrong place—until the doors open. The rooftop is glowing.

String lights are draped between beams, twinkling softly above a table set for three. A few scattered candles flicker in glass jars, and beyond the low railings, Monaco stretches out in a blanket of golden lights and ocean shadows. And then you see them.

Charles is in a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands stuffed in his pockets like he’s not sure what to do with them. Alexandra, in a silky rust-colored dress that catches the light every time she moves, is already smiling at you like she’s been waiting to all day.

“You came,” Charles says, stepping forward. His smile is soft and just a little unsure.

You nod, taking it all in. “Didn’t realize this was a rooftop Michelin experience.”

Alexandra laughs, looping her arm through yours gently to guide you toward the table. “We figured after the trauma bay lighting, you deserved something a bit softer.”

Charles pulls out your chair with a sheepish shrug. “We cooked.”

“Oh god,” you say, raising a brow. “Do I need to call poison control now or later?”

He laughs, cheeks pink. “Excuse you. Alexandra cooked. I poured the wine and stirred things dramatically.”

“You did,” Alexandra confirms. “He was very proud of his stirring.”

Dinner is warm and easy — some kind of creamy pasta, a salad that Alexandra made you promise to be brutally honest about (you weren’t, it was fine), and a bottle of white wine that Charles says he picked because the label looked “mysterious and vaguely romantic.”

But the real thing is this- the way they look at you. They both do it differently.

Charles listens when you speak like he’s memorizing you—eyes fixed on your mouth, your hands, the soft curve of your smile. He’s still charming and funny, but with a quiet reverence that sneaks into the space between every joke.

Alexandra is gentler—touching your wrist when you laugh too hard at one of Charles’ stories, watching your expression like she already knows it. Like she wants to know it all.

You’re not sure how it happens, exactly. But somewhere between dessert and a second bottle of wine, the conversation softens. Charles is the one who says it first.

“You’re kind of incredible, you know.”

You blink. “Because I make Arthur stop talking for five minutes at a time?”

“Because you… just are,” he says. His voice isn’t flirtatious now. Just honest.

Alexandra nods, her fingers brushing yours across the table. “We didn’t expect to meet someone like you. But we’re really glad we did.”

You look between them—two people who are already so close, so comfortable in each other’s orbit. And yet here they are, making room for you.

Your heart stumbles a little.

You set your glass down. “This is probably the part where I say I don’t usually do this.”

“But you are,” Charles says softly.

You nod. “Yeah. I am.”

There’s a pause—brief but thick with possibility—before Alexandra stands and steps closer to you, her expression open, asking rather than assuming.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

You exhale, chest fluttering.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It’d be really okay.”

Her lips are warm and soft and unhurried, and when Charles leans in after—gentle, reverent, a hand on your cheek like you’re fragile and important all at once—it feels like falling.

But this time, you want to fall.

—

You wake up before the sun. There’s a soft tangle of limbs wrapped around you — Alexandra’s arm draped over your waist, Charles’ breath warm against the back of your neck. The rooftop date turned into hours of conversation, shared kisses, stargazing, and eventually… here. In the quiet safety of Charles’ bed. Like it was always meant to happen.

But duty calls, and unfortunately, duty doesn’t care that your body is warm and relaxed between two people who might just ruin you in the best possible way. You carefully slip out of bed, trying not to wake either of them. You pad barefoot through the apartment, grabbing your bag and sliding a post it from the kitchen drawer.

You scribble quickly.

Had to run — early shift. Thank you for last night. It was perfect. There’s coffee in the pot (strong — sorry). I’ll probably still be buried in the ER when you wake up. Don’t miss me too much. — YN <3

You leave it next to the two mugs you prepared, one with too much sugar and one with just a splash of oat milk. The sunlight is just starting to spill over the buildings as you slip out the door.

—

It’s nearing 9 PM when Charles and Alexandra step into the ER.

They’re dressed down — Charles in a hoodie and cap, Alexandra in a soft cardigan and sneakers, both of them clutching takeaway bags filled with real food, not vending machine coffee and graham crackers.

The hospital is quieter now, but the fluorescent lights still buzz, and nurses are moving quickly between rooms. Alexandra spots the nurse at the desk and steps forward.

“Excuse me,” she says kindly. “We’re looking for Dr. LN?”

The nurse squints. “She’s still on shift? Poor thing. She hasn’t left the floor all day.”

Charles frowns. “Do you know where she is?”

The nurse nods and gestures toward an empty exam room down the hall. “Think she crashed in there between consults. Didn’t even get lunch.”

They walk quietly through the corridor until they reach the room. The door’s ajar, and what they find inside makes both of them melt on the spot.

You’re curled up on the small sofa, still in scrubs, arms folded across your chest, one shoe dangling off your foot. Your head is tilted back against the armrest, a pen still tucked behind your ear. There’s a half eaten protein bar on the table beside you and a chart open in your lap.

Alexandra covers her mouth to stop a soft laugh. “God, she looks exhausted.”

Charles smiles and walks over, carefully setting the takeaway bag on the table. “Should we wake her?”

“No,” Alexandra says gently, walking over to crouch beside you. “Just let her rest a second.”

You stir slightly when her fingers brush a strand of hair from your cheek. Your eyes flutter open, disoriented for a moment—until you see them.

“Hey,” you rasp, blinking slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“You left us coffee,” Charles says, grinning. “Least we could do was bring dinner.”

Alexandra holds up the container. “Pasta. The good kind. Not hospital food.”

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “You guys didn’t have to—”

“We wanted to,” Charles interrupts softly, sitting on the edge of the couch beside you. “You take care of everyone else all day. We just wanted to make sure someone’s taking care of you too.”

Your heart twists a little at that. It’s not grand. It’s not flowers or champagne or a view of the ocean. It’s better.

It’s them. Showing up.

You smile sleepily, leaning your head onto Charles’ shoulder as Alexandra nestles against your other side on the floor, wrapping her arms around your waist. It’s clumsy and imperfect in the tight space — but it’s warm. Safe.

“I missed you today,” you murmur.

Charles kisses the top of your head. “We missed you too.”

“Next time,” Alexandra whispers, her fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve, “call in sick. We’ll steal you away for the whole day.”

You chuckle. “Tempting. But I like this too.”

And for a while, you just sit there—three people in love, in a tiny hospital room that somehow feels like the safest place in the world.

—

alexandrasaintmleux added to her story!

seen by yourusername, yourbff, arthur_leclerc and 1,390,220 others.

arthur_leclerc : omg you guys LEAVE MY DOCTOR ALONE.

↳ alexandrasaintmleux: she is our doctor now ;)

↳ arthur_leclerc : sick sick people. tell her to cure you.

yourbff : my poor sleepy baby🤧🤧 take care of her for me

↳ alexandrasaintmleux : on it 😎

—

f1fan324

525,090 likes.

f1fan324 : does anyone know who this girl is?? she has been seen around monaco with charles, alexandra and arthur. she was in the paddock last week with alexandra, had lunch with charles and some of his team and then was seen with arthur at a club the other night.

—

view 53,110 other comments.

username00 : okay but she’s literally everywhere and no one knows her??

username0 : the fact that she’s been seen with all three… are we talking bestie? sister? situationship? 👀

username1 : not to be dramatic but if charles and alexandra are sharing her i will scream and also maybe cry

username5 : she was in the Ferrari hospitality tent last week?? and charles was all 😍🫠 the entire time

username7 : i can’t even get a text back and she’s got the whole leclerc bloodline around her like planets to the sun 😭

f1gossipgirls : sources say she’s a doctor at a Monaco hospital. girl’s got brains and the Leclercs wrapped around her finger apparently.

—

alexandrasaintmleux

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, franciscagomes and 1,110,003 others.

alexandrasaintmleux : 🍒🌸

—

view 152,007 other comments.

username000 : is that… charles’ car? 😭 who is driving charles’ car?????

username00 : i want to be the girl driving the Ferrari with the doctor degree and the Monaco love triangle THANKS

username0 : leo looks like he knows something and he’s not telling us 😤

username7 : the softest soft launch of all time i’m SCREAMING

charles_leclerc : driving my car like she owns it…she pretty much does. she can have it 🧎🏻‍♂️

liked by yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ username00 : BUT WHOOOOOOOO

arthur_leclerc : leo has been obsessed with her. also tell her she owes me another rematch of mario kart.

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ charles_leclerc : give it upppppp YOU LOST.

f1gossipgirls : guys!! we found her. check @/yourusername’s most recent post.

—

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 75,209 others.

yourusername : convinced them to let me work 60 hours this week instead of 80 YAYYY

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

The sun is beginning its slow descent over Monaco, casting golden light across the terracotta rooftops and sparkling off the harbor. It’s quiet — or, well, as quiet as Monaco ever gets — and you’re walking side by side with Alexandra and Charles along a tucked away street that winds gently above the city.

Leo trots ahead, tail wagging like he owns the block, occasionally glancing back to make sure all three of you are still following. He’s wearing a ridiculous little red bandana Arthur gave him (“Ferrari’s real mascot,” he claimed), and every few steps someone stops to coo at him.

You’re holding the leash — mostly because Leo demanded it, and by “demanded,” you mean he sat in front of you until you gave in. Charles is on your right, his fingers linked with yours, lazily swinging your hands between you. Alexandra’s on your left, brushing shoulders with you every time the sidewalk narrows, holding an iced coffee in one hand and gently tugging on the sleeve of your hoodie with the other.

“You realize Leo likes you more than he likes either of us, right?” Alexandra says suddenly, giving you a pointed look.

You shrug, smiling down at the pup. “He has good taste.”

Charles laughs. “You say that like he didn’t chew a hole through my Sparco gloves last week.”

“He was making a statement,” you tease. “They were ugly.”

Alexandra snorts into her drink and bumps your hip playfully. “You’re bold now that you’ve got joint custody.”

You raise a brow. “Joint custody?”

Charles nods solemnly. “We’ve talked. If anything happens to us, Leo’s going with you.”

“Wow. I feel so honored,” you say, deadpan. “And deeply concerned about your relationship stability.”

Alexandra just grins. “We’re very stable. Especially now that you’re around.”

Your heart stutters a little. It’s always like that with them — warmth in the small things. A hand held too long. A glance that says stay. A casual sentence that carries a little too much weight.

You turn a corner and find yourself at one of your favorite viewpoints — the city laid out below like a painting, water shimmering in the distance, the sky streaked in peach and lavender. Leo plops down on the edge of the stone wall, satisfied, like he planned this route himself.

Charles wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. Alexandra steps in front of you, her free hand coming up to trace lazy circles on your wrist where the leash loops.

It’s quiet for a moment. Just the three of you — no press, no cameras, no chaos. Just sunlight, softness, and a dog with royal energy.

“This is nice,” you murmur.

Charles hums. “You’re nice.”

Alexandra smirks. “Charles is bad at compliments. What he means is… we really like you, and Leo would probably be crushed if you ever left.”

You smile, turning to kiss Charles’s cheek, then Alexandra’s. “Good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Leo barks once, like he’s sealing the deal.

—

You’re standing beside Charles’ Ferrari, keys in your hand, sunglasses perched on your nose, trying not to let your nerves show — but Charles is watching you like he already knows how this is going to go.

“Sure you’re ready for this, Doctor LN?” he teases, leaning casually against the passenger door, arms crossed and a stupidly proud grin on his face.

You flash him a look over the top of your sunglasses. “I’ve done emergency surgery on someone’s spleen in a moving ambulance. I think I can handle a car.”

“Right, but this isn’t just any car,” he says dramatically. “This is my car.”

“Oh, you mean the one you nearly rear-ended a scooter with last month?”

Alexandra, sitting in the backseat with Leo curled in her lap, laughs so hard she nearly spills her coffee.

Charles holds a hand to his chest, mock wounded. “Unbelievable betrayal.”

You roll your eyes and slide into the driver’s seat. It’s sleek and powerful and smells like leather and faint hints of Charles’ cologne. Your fingers curl easily around the wheel, and when you start the engine, the soft purr feels like an invitation.

You glance at him. “You coming, or should I just drive it home myself?”

He groans dramatically and climbs in. “God help me.”

The second you pull away from the curb, you know. The engine hums like it’s made for you. The car doesn’t fight you — it flows with you, smooth and sharp and obedient beneath your hands. You navigate Monaco’s winding roads with perfect control, shifting effortlessly, gliding through turns with a little smirk tugging at your lips.

Charles glances over after a few minutes, eyebrows raised. “You’ve done this before.”

You shrug casually. “First time in a Ferrari. But I am a quick learner.”

“She’s a menace,” Alexandra mutters from the back, not even looking up from her phone. “A hot, terrifying menace.”

“I’m in love,” Charles says, completely deadpan, staring at you like you’ve just reinvented gravity.

You glance at him and grin. “With me or the way I take corners?”

“Both,” he replies without hesitation.

You pull off onto a scenic overlook just outside the city — one of those places Charles showed you once, high above the cliffs, the ocean stretching endlessly below. You kill the engine and turn to him, smug.

“So? Do I get a medal or what?”

Charles just shakes his head, smiling so big it’s ridiculous. “You get something better.”

Then he leans across the center console and kisses you — slow, soft, smiling against your lips like he doesn’t know what to do with how much he adores you.

Alexandra clears her throat loudly. “Um, some of us are trapped in the back with a dog who’s judging you.”

You both laugh, pulling apart, and Charles turns to her. “Fine. You get to drive next.”

“Don’t tease me,” she says. “You know I want to take it on the motorway.”

You settle back into the seat, heart still thumping, hands relaxed on the wheel, and glance between the two of them — one smirking, the other texting Arthur something undoubtedly chaotic.

—

“Okay, just to confirm,” you say as you smooth your shirt in the mirror, “we’re going to a casual lunch. Not a royal wedding. Not a medical board review. Just… brunch.”

“Yes,” Charles replies, deadpan from the kitchen, “a casual lunch with my mother, who only raised four children, survived raising Arthur, and could single handedly ruin my self esteem with a single look. But yes. Very casual.”

Alexandra peeks into the bedroom with a wide grin. “She already loves you, you know.”

“You think she loves me,” you mutter, grabbing your sunglasses. “She doesn’t even know me.”

Charles walks up behind you and rests his hands on your shoulders. “She knows everything that matters. You make us happy. That’s all she cares about.”

You sigh. “Okay. Okay. Let’s go meet your terrifyingly elegant mother and pretend I didn’t spend the last twenty minutes rehearsing how to say ‘It’s lovely to meet you’ in French.”

Alexandra loops her arm through yours. “You’re going to charm her so hard she’ll forget we even exist.”

Pascale Leclerc is already seated when you arrive — a vision in white linen, dark sunglasses, and the calm authority of a woman who has seen everything and still manages to be the most graceful person in any room. She stands when she sees Charles and Alexandra — but her gaze goes straight to you.

“Bonjour, ma belle,” she says warmly, pulling you in for cheek kisses before you can even say hello. “So this is the doctor I’ve been hearing about.”

You blink. “You… have?”

Pascale hums. “Constantly. My son is not a subtle man.”

Charles looks vaguely betrayed. Alexandra looks delighted.

“And my Alexandra,” Pascale continues, pulling her into a hug as well.

Pascale sits, already reaching for the wine list. “I need to know everything.”

You’re still recovering when Arthur barrels into the table, ten minutes late, hair a mess, sunglasses crooked, looking like he rolled straight out of bed and into chaos.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, dropping into the seat beside you. “You wouldn’t believe the night I had.”

“Please,” Pascale mutters without looking up, “spare us all the trauma.”

Arthur grins and leans closer to you. “She’s kidding. She loves when I overshare.”

“I do not.”

“You do. You live for it.”

“Arthur.”

Charles groans. Alexandra sips her wine. You just smile — because somehow, this feels like home.

“Anyway,” Arthur says between bites of bread, “you know she stitched my head back together, right?”

You sigh. “It was not that dramatic.”

“I bled. There were gloves. I was brave.”

“You flirted with me while I was gluing your scalp shut.”

Charles chokes on his water. Alexandra starts laughing so hard she has to put down her fork.

“Wait,” Pascale says, eyes narrowed with faux seriousness. “Arthur tried to seduce his future sister in law with a head wound?”

“Sister in law?” Charles repeats, coughing. “We’ve known each other for two months.”

“I’m manifesting,” Pascale says calmly. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

You’re too stunned to speak, but Alexandra just grins and whispers in your ear, “Told you she loves already.”

By the time the desserts arrive — lavender crème brûlée and espresso mousse — Pascale has made you promise to come over for dinner next week, Charles has nearly fallen out of his chair from laughing at Arthur’s retelling of his evening and Alexandra is holding your hand under the table like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Pascale looks around the table and smiles like she’s full — not just from the meal, but from watching all of you.

“This,” she says, “is my favorite kind of chaos.”

Arthur raises his glass. “To our new chaos coordinator.”

Everyone clinks their glasses — even you, even though you’re still slightly dazed by the fact that you’ve just been adopted by a family of charming lunatics.

Charles leans in while the others are distracted. His voice is quiet in your ear.

“You were our missing piece.”

You glance around the table — at Alexandra tucking her hair behind her ear as she laughs with Pascale, at Arthur trying to sneak more sugar into his espresso, at the soft way Charles looks at you like he already knows this is just the beginning. And you believe him.

—

f1gossipgirls

2,110,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Charles Leclerc was spotted kissing and cuddling Dr. YN LN on his yacht this afternoon — Alexandra was not present, currently in Italy for a brand trip. The two looked very comfortable and fans are spiraling over what this means… is it drama? is it cheating? or a soft launch of something more?

—

The sea is calm, the sun golden and warm, and Charles is stretched out across one of the cushioned loungers, hair still wet from a dip in the water, salt-kissed and lazy with happiness.

You’re curled up beside him, in his arms, tracing slow shapes on his chest as the waves rock the yacht gently. He smells like sunscreen and ocean air. You’re still in your red bikini, your cover-up tossed somewhere, sunglasses long forgotten as you nuzzle into the space under his chin.

Charles hums quietly, his fingers in your hair. “You falling asleep again, ma belle?”

“Maybe,” you mumble, lips brushing his collarbone. “Blame the ocean. And you. You’re too warm.”

“You like me warm,” he says smugly.

You smile and tap his ribs lightly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re perfect,” he counters, leaning in to kiss your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the tip of your nose. “And I am incredibly lucky.”

“You’re incredibly dramatic.”

“Dramatic and in love,” he says, now grinning. “You should try it.”

You giggle and lean in to kiss him — slow, soft, sweet. One of those kisses that says this is home.

You don’t know how long you lie there like that, wrapped up in sun and each other, Leo snoring under the table in the shade, the crew respectfully ignoring your cuddlefest from the other end of the deck.

Eventually, the sun begins to dip and you both reluctantly get up, pack your things, and head back to shore.

—

You’re still glowing from the day when you walk through the door, tossing your bag onto the couch and heading to the kitchen while Charles grabs his phone off the counter.

He pauses.

“Um… bébé?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s… been a post.”

Your stomach drops.

“What kind of post?”

Charles turns his phone so you can see it. A fan account with a photo of the two of you lying on the yacht. It’s blurry, taken from a distance, but unmistakable- you curled into him, his hand in your hair, your lips almost touching. Your heart starts to pound.

“Oh my god.”

Charles immediately moves toward you. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” you say, voice shaking. “It looks like you’re cheating on Alex. She’s not even here and they’re acting like I’m—” You cut yourself off, eyes stinging. “This could blow up so fast.”

Charles gently cups your face, thumb brushing under your eye. “Breathe, YN. Just breathe for me.”

You try. He’s close, his eyes calm, grounding you.

“She knows,” he says softly. “Alex knows where I am. She knows I’m with you. She loves you.”

“I just… I don’t want people to think we’re hiding something ugly. This isn’t ugly. It’s—”

“Beautiful,” he finishes for you. “It’s love. It’s all love. And we’ll figure it out together, okay? But first, we call her.”

You nod shakily, and he kisses your forehead before dialing.

Alex picks up almost immediately, barefaced and lounging on a hotel balcony, a glass of wine in her hand.

“Hey, lovers.”

Charles snorts. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

Alexandra takes a dramatic sip of her wine. “Oh, I saw it. I was in the middle of a product shoot and the makeup artist gasped. I thought someone had died. Turns out my boyfriend and my girlfriend just soft-launched without me.”

Your eyes go wide. “Alex— I’m so sorry. We didn’t think—”

“Stop,” she interrupts, eyes kind. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re allowed to love each other. I love that you love each other. I just wish I’d been there.”

Charles smiles. “I told you she was perfect.”

Alexandra shrugs with a small smile. “We’ll post something. All three of us. Together. Make it clear we’re not hiding, we’re just… ours.”

You blink, emotional again — but this time, it’s soft. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m more than okay,��� she says. “I miss you both. And I can’t wait to come home.”

Charles grins. “When are you back?”

“Tomorrow. And then we’re spending the weekend on the yacht again. This time with me in the middle.”

“Deal,” you say, smiling for real now.

Alexandra leans into the camera. “And next time you soft-launch anything, I’m picking the bikini.”

You and Charles both laugh.

—

Later, you’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of Charles’ hoodies, Leo asleep at your feet. Charles brings you a mug of tea and sits beside you, tucking your legs over his lap.

“Still worried?” he asks gently.

You shake your head. “No. Not anymore.”

“Good,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Because you’re stuck with us now.”

You smile into your tea, heart finally settled.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

—

charles_leclerc

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, yourusername, arthur_leclerc and 7,890,009 others.

charles_leclerc : she stitched arthur up after a fall and alex and i could not resist. oops.

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—

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 10

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Part 9

Your power’s been strange since that day you heard the melody. You haven't had the joyous occasion of it coming back into your life and your ears, but your heart still yearns for it, calls for it. You try not to dwell on it. That want, that need, takes backstage for the oddities that have been popping up since it first whispered in your ear.

Like now. You know Miss Hunter’s in danger even before the alarm attached to the earrings you gave her go off. You feel the dread in your heart, feel it fill your empty and lonely soul. The sheer volume of that feeling jolts you awake.

Sylus slumbers beside you. He insisted, worry lacing his voice and his hand gently brushing your cheek when he asked you to stay. The look in his eyes is what pushed you to do so. They were inquiring about your relationship, about where you stand after all that's happened.

You should’ve put your foot down. You should’ve kept your distance. Your mind told you so. Your heart didn’t listen, once again.

So you two share a bed again, entangled in each other’s embrace. Sylus’ fast heartbeat syncs to yours. His every breath is the most comforting soundtrack you’ve ever experienced.

Or, it used to be. Nothing could compare to the sound of your beloved being fast asleep until your heard that piece. That song of the stars, that hymn of the universe, is the best thing that’s ever had graced your ears. You hunger to hear it again.

And maybe that selfish wish is why you rush out of bed. You long to hear it again. Because that time, enveloped in that beat, is probably the only time in your life you’ve ever been at true peace. The only time you’ve ever truly belonged.

Miss Hunter is the key to that, and you haven’t seen her in some time, making room for her to bond with Sylus. You’ve pushed both of them into each other’s arms (ironic given that you still let yourself sleep in Sylus’).

That’s what you’ve assumed, anyway. Neither of them have told you anything of the sort. Sylus just spends more time in Linkon and Miss Hunter talks about him in a better light when you two text.

Feels like a husband trying to hide a mistress from his wife with the way they sneak around. And said mistress is her friend.

The mere thought makes you want to vomit. To expel that thought and all others that could follow from both your mind and stomach.

Stop it, you tell yourself as you unceremoniously wiggle your way out of a sleeping Sylus’ embrace. There’s nothing between you two, and everything is right between them.

Your rush, oddly enough, isn’t what wakes your boss. He eyes only shoot open the moment your warmth completely leaves his.

“Where…?” His voice cracks a bit, and he constantly blinks his eyes in the struggle to keep them open.

You wonder, in this moment, what you would do if two really were together. If he really was your husband like so many assume. If he really was yours and not someone else’s.

Would he coax you back into his arms, kissing the back of your neck and mumbling nonsense? Would you two play a game of back and forth, to see who will get up or who will go back to sleep? Or would he simply just wrap his arms around your waist like at the gala a few weeks ago, kissing you everywhere in order to wake himself?

Just the idea flusters you. So flustered that your first attempt on putting on a shirt is one that’s inside out and backwards. You quickly remedy this, glancing back at Sylus as you put the shirt back on right.

He doesn’t even flinch at the brief sight of your bare back. Understandable. You’ve seen him practically naked (except for a towel he haphazardly put on). He’s seen almost every inch of you, bandaging and stitching you back together in more ways than one.

What I wouldn’t give for him to take me apart in the best way possible?

Everything is so very, very hot again.

“Go back to sleep, Morana,” you whisper to him, not going back near the bed in fear you’d do something stupid like kiss him. “Something came up. I’ll handle it, and you call you after I do.”

“Alright,” he yawns. “Come back to me soon.”

You almost cry at his words.

“Be sure to tell the boys. You know how they worry about you.”

You nod, sending a quick text to your group chat with Luke and Kieran (the two menaces named it “When Mom Needs to Shit Talk Dad”) before you head out to your motorcycle.

You don’t check your phone for her location. Something tells you Skyhaven is the place. And another thing tells you that your world is about turn upside down.

As you drive, you soon don’t even need instinct for the former of your ideas. Because Miss Hunter’s thread appears, like the red guiding light in some video game. You know it’s hers because the stories it weaves are hers. The explosion. Her entry into the N109 zone. And some childhood memories she’s told you about.

But this isn’t Sylus’ connection to her that’s leading you. It’s someone else. A boy who’s been by her side for ages. A boy whose death drove her into your life and Sylus’.

You don’t quite see who this boy—man—is. Or maybe you and even Miss Hunter’s very soul are blocking him out. His blurry image conjures confusion, anxiety, betrayal, and layers upon layers pain.

You drive faster.

—

It’s surprisingly easy to find Miss Hunter. Pulling a few (sometimes literal) strings with members of The Fleet, a nice smile here, and a bit of manipulation there, and you find her. She appears to be in a nurse’s uniform, something that gives you pause. What makes you unpause is the aggressive man whose hands are on her.

His appearance flickers, much like Sylus’ did on that fateful day you first met him. Except his doesn’t bounce between dragon and human. No. For this man, you sometimes see a black bandage cover his eyes, and gold running down his body. Said body also becomes engulfed in black machine parts, and you hear them turn even when you’re some distance away.

He looks so much like Alex did that day years ago. Gold instead of silver runs across his metallic body and he lacks the powerful weapon they clutched in their hand. But the same emptiness is there. That same blank slate that hums with a power you want nothing to do with is there.

The difference between this man and Alex though is that he is still alone. He’s still someone’s pawn, and is willing to stay that way for the sake of the woman he loves.

Alex would never be in this position. Their family situation may be complicated, but Kai will never stand for it to escalate. She never allows her spouse’s family to have their way.

The man with cold violet eyes doesn’t have that. He stands a bastion between Miss Hunter and a horrific fate you don’t even want to think about. He stands between her and an evil that you can see in his thread.

Ever.

You hoped to never hear that name again. To never remember the scientists that poked and prodded at you when no sign of a soulmate came in at the expected age. You wonder if they told him about you. You wonder if you’re going to get dragged back into the strange rooms with the strange devices again.

You wonder if your rescue mission is about to become a failed one.

You call out Miss Hunter’s first name. She turns to you, and the military man finally acknowledges your presence. She runs to you, and you shuttle her behind you.

Calm yourself.

You take deep breaths, watching his thread like a hawk, dissecting each little notch and every little twist to find something to exploit. You don’t want to be near this man that represents everything that makes your skin crawl any longer than you have to.

“Apologizes, ummm?” You trail off, laughing at yourself. “I’m sorry, what’s your name? My friend here didn’t mention you in her report.”

“Report?” Is all that comes out of his mouth. His words are devoid of anything. No inflection. No feelings. Nothing.

Your blood runs cold. Miss Hunter hands begin to grip the back of your shirt. She trembles.

“Yes, yes. Her report. The Hunter Association did send her to investigate some things, correct?” The man makes a notion for you continue. “When she submitted it, it was decided by her boss that I’d come and pick her up.”

“The Fleet wasn’t informed about any such development.”

You figured as much.

“I didn’t think the retrieval of one hunter needed to be told to them. The Fleet is busy enough as it is. Adding more paper work and things to sign for us to get one of our own seems foolish, does it not?”

You hate staring at those dead eyes of his. But it’s the only way to get his attention. The only way for him to believe your words and let the two of you go.

But you can hardly focus on getting your words out. There’s something wrong with this man, something mechanical. Something that’s burrowed so deep within him that it messes with him on a fundamental level.

It’s not enough to change his soul, thankfully. You can still see his worry, even if it’s not on his face. You can still see his love for Miss Hunter, even if he doesn’t show it.

So you keep your eyes on his, and hope to the universe that your abilities and your voice are enough to get away.

“Than may I ask why the Association needs her, given the state she’s in and the fact that you didn’t inform us she was to be sent back to Linkon so early?”

“I’m afraid a stranger isn’t privy to such information.”

“Colonel Caleb Xia,” he sticks his hand out for you to shake it.

You take it, and give him your name.

“Now that we’re not strangers, answer my question.”

His attitude is grinding your gears. His attitude, the fear he's giving Miss Hunter, and just the wrongness about him makes you snap inside.

“Well, Colonel,” you’re more harsh with your tone now. “I don’t see why I should. You did not inform the Association of her injuries. You did not inform us that she would be taken on a private airship, forced against her will for treatment, and then hunted down like an animal when she made the reasonable assumption you wouldn’t let her leave and try to escape. I don’t owe a brute like you jack-shit, let alone answers.”

You stick out an arm to further shield Miss Hunter. This seems to rattle the Colonel a bit. So you push further.

“The way you speak to me gives me the impression that you’re suspicious of me. Which is ironic coming from a man that’s meant to be dead.”

Miss Hunter flinches at your words. You use your other hand to soothe her, and even your powers brush against her very soul to calm her. You hate to shake her so much. But using these words, using his own guilt against him, is probably the best chance you have of leaving here.

“Some things came up. Things that you don’t need to know.”

He steps closer to you.

“Ah. So we both have our secrets, don’t we?” You get in his face. “Only mine doesn’t cause my friends great distress.”

His emotionless mask finally cracks a little. Just a smidge. But his thread tells you of mountains and mountains of guilt. Of how it hurts to see the woman he loves so scared of him.

You don’t give a shit. Sure, you almost pity him a bit. But Miss Hunter’s shaky hands on your back, and the reminder of the love you know she deserves from Sylus kills that pity in seconds.

If anything, his cruelty is just another reason you’ll make sure he never has her. It’s just another reason for you to drive her into Sylus’ arms and break your heart again.

“It’s just a misunderstanding.”

The cliche words make you want to strangle him.

“I’d hate to know what kind of misunderstandings you’ve had in the past, Colonel, to think that any of what you’ve done is acceptable.”

“And what exactly is it that you think I’ve done? You just got here, Miss,” the way he says your name makes you all the angrier.

“I have eyes, Colonel. I know a terrified woman trying to escape from a domineering man when I see one.”

You hope flat-out calling him an abuser will get Caleb to back down. Because you know he’s doing all this with good intentions. He doesn’t want to hurt Miss Hunter. He doesn’t want to scare her.

Too bad the pathway to hell is paved with good intentions. Too bad he’s one of those people who refuse to see and acknowledge when they’re wrong.

“How did you find us?” He ignores your comments altogether.

Fine. I’ll play your game.

“By asking around. People are surprisingly agreeable to what you want when you’re not demanding or controlling. Right, Colonel?”

His face scrunches at your implications.

“I wouldn’t know. My job is to command or listen to orders. I do not ask for permission.”

“You know, every word out of your mouth makes me wish you stayed dead.”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. You don’t really mean them. Not truly. Any family or goodness for Miss Hunter is something you’ll celebrate.

Even if Caleb is something that somehow falls into those categories. Even if the man you'll never allow her to truly be with is one of those people.

He’s caused so much pain. So much anguish in her threads and turmoil in her mind. The normally confident and headstrong hunter is silent behind you. Her soul begs for her to run.

You want to turn around and hug her. Give her a shoulder to cry on. To ease her mind while you plot with Sylus how to fuck up the lives of anyone who’s ever hurt her. You want to save her, protect her.

And the more these emotions boil, the more you wonder. Is this the influence of that song? Or is this just what it means to be so beloved by the universe? That even someone like you is drawn into her orbit, ready to give up the man you love for her in a heartbeat?

Once again, your selfish heart wonders if she and all the love the world wants to give her, is the reason you have no love at all.

“Harsh words from someone who just met me,” the Colonel’s quip drags you out from the depths of your self-hatred.

“You’ve just made that bad of a first impression on me.”

“What did I do to do that?”

“You do not want me to answer that.”

The Colonel and you say nothing to each for some time, just staring the other down.

“We really must get going. We have things to attend to, as I’m sure you do as well.”

You turn to try and leave, guiding Miss Hunter to walk in front of you, but Caleb grabs your wrist.

“Unhand me this second, or so help me, Colonel I will make you wish you stayed dead and buried.”

He lets go. You and Miss Hunter return to your old stance of her behind you while you face her childhood friend.

“She’s injured.”

“I’m aware.”

“She can’t work like this.”

“I’m also aware of that. I’ll treat her once we’re back in Linkon and she’s in a comfortable space.”

“She needs rest.”

“And she’ll get it. Away from you. Believe or not, there are others that care for her as well and can do so without violating her autonomy.”

“Why do you need her specifically?”

His change of topic doesn't go unnoticed by any of you. Once again, you play along.

“As I said before, it’s none of your business, so I won’t go into the details. All I will tell you is that her resonance Evol is needed for some investigative work.”

You pause, staring deeper into those cold eyes and his frantic thread.

“And, she has a capable partner that will look after her during this process. She won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“You?”

You almost snort. While you may have cynically thought of joining the Hunter's Association out of spite, you'd never truly consider it. Too... perfect for someone as broken as you. Too bright, too kind, too messy, too secretive, too—

It's just too much. Too much for you and your bloodstained hands and soon-to-be broken heart.

“Oh heavens, no. Not me. I’m not the fighting type,” you can hear Sylus and the twins cackle in your mind as you say this.

You may not like fighting, but everyone in Onychinus knows you can be deadly in one if need be. And some of your opposition actually fears you more than Sylus because of that. Because Sylus’ power is tangible, you can see his energy Evol as it snuffs a life out.

But no one can see it when you pull a thread out of someone’s heart. Or twist their very soul into oblivion. Or choke the life out of them with their own connection to their soulmate.

Your mystery is your greatest weapon. And it’s another reason you tell yourself not to divulge your secret ever again.

“Than how can I trust this mysterious partner if they don’t have the decency to show up themselves?”

Shit.

You gather yourself quickly. You need to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Your trust in my words are irrelevant. I don’t need your permission to take her anywhere, I’m just giving her childhood friend who’s worried about her well-being the curtesy of being told such information. I’m not leaving you in the dark.”

Caleb’s mask once again wavers, so you push more.

“I’m not leaving you frightened of the unknown and nor am I strong-arming you into doing what I want with my authority. I’m having a conversation with you in hopes you’ll see things from my point of view. And I’m not ignoring your clear discomfort nor your fears.”

“And what is it you think I’m afraid of?”

“That you’ll lose her again. Or they’ll get their hands on her.”

You know that’s the right thing to say when the Colonel’s hand begins to hover over his waist, where you assume his gun is. His eyes go dead again. Cold. Bottomless. All consuming.

Just where you want him.

“You think you two are the only ones they’re hunting? You think she’s the only one they’ve ever obsessed over?”

You hate yourself for this. For putting this information into his hands, their hands, again. Because you became a ghost once you entered the N109 zone. You disappeared from their grasp because the old man in charge of the Zion Hunt knows better than to blab about you.

It was your wish from him when you won his little competetion during your first year with Sylus. It was the wish and deal you made with him, his very soul the price should he ever break it. Whether it was you or Sylus that would come to collect, you hope to never know.

Because you were dead to Ever. And it was supposed to stay that way. But for her, and for Sylus, you’ll come back. You’ll put yourself back under their radar in hopes they’ll chase you and not her.

And while you’re at it, maybe you can save the Colonel as well. You may hate who he is right now, but you're curious about the boy he used to be. The boy Miss Hunter loves like family. The boy he was before Ever broke him like they broke you.

“You aren’t,” you continue. “In fact, I think the Professor loved me most of all before I left him.”

“Why?”

He’s still tense. Still ready to end your life and forcibly take Miss Hunter away. But you know where to strike. You know because his thread tells you he’s heard about you. About the strange little girl with no soulmate but with the power to see others, to touch others, to manipulate others.

Seems the Professor still remembers me.

You still remember him. You still remember how him and Josaphine and all the others treated you. You still remember the many tests, the files you read, and all the injections they gave you before your family sent you off to school that same day like nothing happened.

You still remember the adrenaline and joy that coursed through your veins the day you finally ran from it all. That same adrenaline pumps now at the thought of going back.

But you’d do it for her. For them. And hopefully, they’ll all forgive you for it.

“Because I turn everything we’ve ever known about humanity and love upside down.”

Bullseye.

Caleb lowers his hand to his side, no longer ready to shoot you. Because now he realizes you’re just like him, just like Miss Hunter. Another one of the Professor’s runaway “children”. Another one of his pawns that never wants to see him again.

“And do you know what my parents told me each time they took me to him?”

“What?” He asks the question breathily, shaken to his core despite how the chip in his head tries to stop him from feeling.

You pull at his literal heartstrings, at his soul, to bypass the machine. The power of universe itself is far more potent and compelling than some man-made computer.

“That it was for my own good,” that hits Caleb harder than any of your other words, and you scoff when you say it. “Selfish words by selfish people who refuse to admit when they’re wrong. When they refuse to see how they hurt the people they claim to love.”

Miss Hunter burrows deeper into your back. You twine your power into her threads to soothe her, since you can’t physically do it right now.

Her friend Caleb, on the other hand, seems to have been shattered. As if the weight of his actions has hit him. He doesn’t show it on his face or in his eyes, but in his thread. In the thread tied to the very woman who he scared so much.

“You love her, don’t you?”

No response.

“So why continue to hurt her as you do? Why continue to be like my parents and do something that she clearly doesn’t want and is only causing harm?”

“Because it’s a misunderstanding.”

“We already went over this, Colonel,” you’re gentle with your tone now, empathy bleeding into every fiber of your being.

I’ll get you out next, you tell yourself. I’ll get you and all the rest away from that man I should’ve killed years ago.

“But how about I put it another way? How do you expect me to believe you, who disappeared from her life once already and is now back and causing her pain, to be a better place for recovery than a place where everyone loves her and respects her ability to take care of herself?”

Once again, the Colonel doesn’t show how much of a gut punch your words are. You are a stranger, after all. And he’s been literally programmed to suppress how he feels.

So you tug at the string only you can. You tug on the connection on you can feel and twist and exploit. And he starts to feel it all. His guilt. His piles and piles of insecurity. And how maybe, just maybe, all you’ve been saying is right.

It’s a bit gross to you, to do this to a man who’s already been through so much. But he isn’t your priority. She is. The young woman who cowers behind you. The young woman who put her faith in you.

The young woman that will make the man you love feel whole again. She’s who you came for. She’s who you’ll help. Caleb will have to wait his turn.

“Think about what you’re asking me to do, Colonel, from my perspective. My friend, who I’ve seen be consumed by grief, finally has gets the green light to work again after losing the only parental figure she remembers and the only family she had as well as her home.”

You pause to look his in the eyes and play with his thread more before continuing.

“She goes on said mission, gets heavily injured, and I come to pick her up only to find her on the run from said family member who’s supposed to be dead, and she’s disguised as a nurse as she tries to free herself from him. Would you trust you in my shoes?”

He has no response again, so you deliver what you hope to be the killing blow, “She’s been through so much. Do you really want to make matters worse?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, Colonel,” you don’t know what compels you to do so, but you lay a hand on his mechanical arm; it takes him by surprise, but since he doesn’t immediately retreat from your touch (and instead leans into it) you count that as a win. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I thought you were here to pick her up for a mission. How does my presence impact that?”

Got you.

While your words may sound like a slip up, you meant it. You meant for him to catch the underlying meanings of your words and press. You meant to reveal this “truth”.

“Alright, you caught me. There’s no mission. She called me directly because she was scared.”

You can feel the panic from Miss Hunter. You squeeze her hand, both to reassure her and as a promise to tell her everything later. Poor girl’s been lied to her entire life. And you understand that confusion and pain from being deceived by so many better than anyone.

The last thing you want is to become another person in that long list for her.

You take a deep, dramatic, breath. “You see, you never quite know how safe you are in this job. Whether it be Wanderers or rival organizations, danger’s around the corner for us Hunters. The explosion at your house made that all the more obvious.”

You pause, squeezing Miss Hunter’s hand again, making sure Caleb saw the turmoil and pain in your eyes. “So I came up with this system for me and her. A way to call each other discreetly and to be sure we’ll get back up from a trusted friend. Regardless of where we were of whether we had our Hunter’s watches. A way for us to protect one another while still respecting each other’s space.”

You don’t quite know what it is this time that gets Caleb to see the light. But something flashes across his eyes, and he finally backs down. You almost let out a sigh of relief. But your professionalism makes you choke it back down.

Don’t waver. You’re not in the clear yet. Not until she’s home and safe.

“I see…” his voice carries the most emotion you’ve heard from him.

You sneakily curl a finger around his thread, tapping into that heart of his that you know still sleeps in his chest. No machine, no stupid little chip, will keep you from reaching it.

So you rub the thread between your fingers. You rub it and make him see the pain he’s causing, the suffering on the woman he loves’ face. You force him to see that feeling and come face to face with the realization that he caused it.

Something shifts in the Colonel. You words coupled with you literally touching his soul get to him in ways he didn’t think possible.

“I see…” he says again, this time, with pain in it.

You finally relax.

“I’ll escort you out.”

Your stomach drops at the mere idea. “No need. I happen to have quite the memory, and can get us out safely on my own.”

“I insist.”

Please don’t.

“Haven’t you done enough damage with your “insisting” already?”

A low blow. But nothing is too low for you to get him to back off. To get away from this man that makes your friend tremble and you uncomfortable.

You don’t know if it’s the machine in his head, the emotionless landscape of his past life, or the way that history of his reminds you of your missing friend Alex. Any one of those could be what ultimately makes you not want to be in his presence.

The Colonel opens his mouth, probably to push his point again, but another voice interrupts him before he can.

“Colonel Xia. What the fuck are you doing?”

The voice comes from behind you and Miss Hunter. It’s female, and a bit scratchy. From disuse or just a natural undertone to it, you don’t know. But something about it compels you to keep your gaze forward. For whatever reason, you can’t bring yourself to turn around.

Miss Hunter can’t either, judging by how she buries her face into your back.

The steps of your savior are anything but comforting. A pit forms in your stomach. A pit that’s familiar.

Death approaches.

Every part of you wants to fight. To fight against what your lizard brain sees as a foe but what your logical one sees as an ally. It’s a confusing storm of emotions. One that gets worse once you see the woman.

She flickers. Just like Alex and Caleb. Just like Kai. Exactly like Sylus, given how her changes are that of horns and a tail.

She’s a fiend.

It’s the first time you’ve seen similar past lives. You’ve seen Lemurians. You’ve seen cyborgs. You’ve seen beings made of flowers and sand. But never two of the same.

Another fiend isn’t something you thought you’d ever see. Another fiend shouldn’t be possible, given that you know Sylus was the only of his kind (a dragon that's too human, and a human that's too much of a monster). Another fiend like him shakes everything you thought you knew.

Who is she?

Caleb, as if hearing your thoughts, answers for you, “Undertaker Rafia. What are you doing here, ma’am?”

The amount of respect he gives this woman shocks you somewhat. The same man who tried to force his own soulmate into compliance, who frightens even you, is on edge by the appearance of one woman.

A woman of tall stature. A bulky, muscular woman. A woman with pitch black hair and the palest skin you’ve ever seen. A woman who was once a fiend.

That same woman stands between you and Caleb, her back still turned to you.

“Why I’m here is irrelevant. You have a ceremony to get to, and if you don’t get your ass in gear, it’ll be your funeral I’m planning next.”

“Ma’am, I—“

“Get to it, Caleb. Before you piss me off more.”

Caleb seems to weigh his options for a second. Before he salutes her and walks off. The tension in your body finally releases. You can breathe now. You can exist now without the weight of the Colonel’s eyes and voice on your shoulder.

“I’ll escort the two of you out. You shouldn’t have any more problems.”

Despite the primal fear her appearance first gave you, you’re grateful. She turns to you, and you open your mouth to tell her thank you, but something makes all words catch in your throat. And you stare.

You stare at Undertaker Rafia, even as Miss Hunter’s hold on you becomes a death grip on you. Not because you’re grateful. Not because you’re in shock.

No. You stare for a reason you never thought possible. You stare because the sight before you shouldn’t be real.

She has no soulmate.

Undertaker Rafia has no soulmate thread. Just. Like. You.

—

You’re 7 and in love with your best friend, the son of mother’s own best friend.

You sit on the couch in the game room of his house, picking at the fraying knitted blanket. Your crush sits next to you, eyes more focused on the pause screen of his video game than you. You don’t mind though. His dedication to his games is one of the reasons you like him.

He’s so excited about them, rambling to you about them with wild gestures while you just sit and listen. He could fill up an entire conversation for you two. You don’t need to say a word. You don’t need to force yourself into the awkwardness of trying to find the right words.

You could just be there with him.

”Sam says you like me.”

You nod.

”So… you do?”

You nod again, still unable to utter a word. Maybe because speaking will make this all too real? Maybe because speaking will make him laugh at you?

You chase that stupid thought away. He’d never laugh at you. He’s always kind with you, offering you his blanket when he’s clearly cold, opening doors for you, listening to your opinions on the rare occasion you can your mouth to form actual sentences.

Your friend treats you so preciously. And it makes you hope and pray you’ll be lucky enough to discover that he’s your soulmate.

”But I’m not your soulmate.”

Your friend tilts his head at you. Your heart falls with the motion. And you force your mouth to move and for words to come out.

You can’t lose him.

”You don’t know that,” you barely manage to mumble.

He takes your hand, toothy grin on his face. A grin that you love and makes you flush and makes you smile the biggest smile in your little life.

”I guess we’ll find out.”

You could cheer.

That all goes away in a few days. Your love? Tossed aside. Your happiness? Dashed. The friendship and the new relationship with a boy you thought like-liked you? Gone.

One day, you’re happy and the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. The next, he’s dumping you.

”I like someone else now,” he says kindly, as if that’ll make the blow hurt any less.

Your mind races. What did you do wrong? What have you done to make him like this, to make him no longer like-like you? Tears gather in your eyes as your chest aches.

You clutch at it. The pain is unbearable. You think your heart is literally breaking, shattering. Thump, thump, thump, it goes steadily. But, the pain, oh the pain, makes you believe otherwise. How else could you explain the piercing stabs in your chest?

You can’t look at your friend. Can’t look at him with his apologetic eyes and sweet voice that tries to calm you down. Can’t look at him with his soft hands that rub your back and familiar clothes that you think look cute on him.

All there is for you is pain. Pain in your chest as you sob and sob and sob. The one person, your person, is leaving you. Abandoning you. When you thought he’d be the only person to ever stay with you.

He’s the only one who sees you in your silence. Where your family teases you and tells you to take a joke, he gives you comforting reassurance of your feelings. Where others tell you to speak up, he gives you space to find your voice. Where the world tell you your heart is too tender and too soft, he tells you it’s a gift to care so much.

He is your rock in the storm. Your everything. The one pillar in your life that makes the house of you stand strong. And now, he’s knocking it down without a care.

And with that, your sorrow turns to rage. At his betrayal. At his abandonment. At anything and everything about him and the embarrassment he’s causing you on this stupid couch you confessed on.

When you look at him, at his chest he’s trying to suffocate you in because the stupid boy thinks that’ll comfort you and mend your heart, you see it. You see this odd red string that shimmers. You push him away. You blink. All sounds are quiet.

The string is still there. Still shimmering, still floating, still making waves from his heart. You're as enchanted by it as you are lost by it. Why is it here? How is it here? What is it?

You just stare. Your friend’s hands still rub your back in vain. Your chest is still on fire. Your eyes still produce tears despite how much it hurts to, despite how much they make you choke and spit and cough.

You cling to the string instead of him. You cling to this mystery. Because every mystery has a solution according to your teachers. Every puzzle has an answer, one that makes sense.

What sense is there to be found in your friend? What sense is there to be found in your own heart?

As if knowing what’s going through your mind, the string calls out to you louder. It compels you stronger. To listen. To touch it. To experience it. So, in your confused and broken heart, you do.

And you see her. An unassuming girl. A girl who didn’t know your friend like you did. A girl who would never give a nerd like him the time of day because all that matters is popularity and talking and peopling and all these other things that just isn’t your friend.

”Is it her? Is she your soulmate?”

The other question slips out before you can stop it. Her name follows shortly after. 

You don’t even need to look at your friend to know the answer. The string tells you. It’s taken his place as your place of comfort. You grasp it in your hands.

Will this leave me too? you wonder.

”What are you doing?” Your friend asks; you barely hear him because no words out of his mouth matter more than this moment.

But his stupid words do tell you something. They tell you he can’t see them.

Am I the only one who can?

Maybe the string is secret you’ve been entrusted with? Maybe it’s your apology from the universe for your broken heart? Maybe it can be your new friend?

Excitement and glee unlike any you've ever felt flood your chest. The strings are yours. They're something no joke, no call to speak up, and no adult can take from you.

It doesn’t vanish when you touch it. It doesn’t leave once you have it in your grasp like your friend is doing now. It sits with you. It speaks with you. And you speak what it tells you.

”You two share dreams, right?” You don’t give your friend time to answer. “Started yesterday, you fell asleep beneath our special tree. She wasn’t at school that day. Fever.”

Your friend has nothing to say, so you continue, “You should give her the blue Jolly Ranchers the next time you two share. She knows they’re your favorite, so she lies and says she doesn’t like them. She also hates the watermelon, you know. But your smile is worth choking them down.”

The more you learn, the more the tears fall from your eyes. Guilt begins to replace your hurt. Your chest still sings with a blaze you can’t put out.

”She actually loves chess and checkers. Guess you have someone new to play with.”

One sob you can’t hold back interrupts you. Image after image that illustrates how perfect she is for him and how perfect you aren't enter your mind. Each one stabs a new hole in your heart.

”She’s perfect for you. So, so perfect.”

You break. You scream. You throw pillows around and toss the blanket that the two of were sharing at a window.

”Why? Why, why, why, why, why?!”

Footsteps rush up the stairs. Their family dog is barking. Your throat hurts. Your voice is scratchy. When was the last time you raised it? Ever?

As your family comes to your side, asking what’s wrong, and your friend looks at you with horrified eyes, you finally whisper, “Why couldn’t it been me?”

The ride home is a blur. Your family’s attempts at comfort are a blur. Everything but your final words to your friend is a blur.

Why? Why couldn’t it been me?

That’s the only thought is your head until you finally fall asleep. As well as when you get to school and spot your friend and his soulmate feeding each other those stupid blue Jolly Ranchers to each other, laughing.

He doesn’t spare you glance. He doesn’t reach out. He doesn’t talk to you. And you, with your new friend in the strings, let him.

Your teacher, however, doesn’t. She pulls you aside after class.

”Did you and,” she says your friend’s name, “get into a fight?”

You nod your head, not looking her in the eyes. Eyes are scary to you. They should say too much according to the books you’ve read. But to you, they say too little.

Now, you have your strings. You have these things no one else can see, but everyone seems to possess. Even your teacher.

Worry makes waves in her sting. Worry and exhaustion. So you cut straight to the point, even as your body begs you to just shut down and wait it out like usual.

”Yes. He broke my heart because he found his soulmate.”

Surprise colors your teacher’s string. After all, you’re a quiet child. One who keeps her eyes glued to the floor and voice barely above a whisper. One who—in some case, quite literally—runs from conflict and the rest of the world.

You don't talk to adults. They never listen anyway, so you stopped a long time ago. So you understand why hearing your voice so clearly and so directly is strange to your teacher.

You await her response, hoping and praying for something good. While you may still hurt from your friend’s abandonment, you got the strings out of it. Maybe an adult will listen and help you for once because of them?

”Oh honey,” anticipation builds within you. “You should be happy for him! He found his one true love… you two were never going to last long anyways.”

The world collapses again. Tears build in your eyes again. But you don’t let yourself cry. You don’t let yourself beg or scream or wail because that didn’t help you the first time. Why would it be different now?

Why did I even hope?

So you turn to her string. You turn to her love because yours is so meaningless and empty and a waste and nothing—

”You get glimpses of your soulmate when you paint, right?”

You just start talking before you can think. Again.

”The color purple comes in pretty often. That, and dolphins. It’s because it’s Mrs. Smith, the math teacher. Did you know she does opera on the weekends because singing gives her glimpses of you?”

Your teacher’s jaw is on the ground. You shuffle away as she tries to recover from what you just said. You wait for your family to pick you up, more hopeless than ever.

The next day, news spreads that your teacher and Mrs. Smith are together. It gets around that a pair of soulmates found each other miraculously after years of unknowingly working together for years. Your teacher tells her, your, story. And the world finally begins to listen to you.

You begin to speak. With so many eyes turning to you, wondering about where you got your information, you tell. You tell them about the threads and what they whisper to you. What they say about others, about their soulmates, about their pasts, and about their loves.

One of your classmates gives you a look. A look you know all too well. A look that resonants in their own thread, which tells you they don’t believe you.

You aren’t even surprised anymore.

But another classmate approaches you after class. Asks about their thread and their other half. And you tell them. To go to a cafe with their parents on a specific day at a specific time. There, they will bump into their other half and be able to share their thoughts with them.

They do so. And another success falls into your lap.

After that, more and more people approach you. Some kids. Some adults. Some old people. Some from school. Some from apparently the other side of the world. All hearing stories and rumors from those you’ve helped.

You tell every time. Despite their clear caution. Despite the glances you now get in the hallway. Despite how the loneliness piles and piles on top of the grave of your old love.

But the final nail in your coffin comes from your friend again. Or rather, from his family. Yours and his are trying to make you two talk again. To make everyone friends again and “keep the peace” as the adults are saying.

You don’t budge. His useless apologies and meaningless sorries bounce right off your ears. Because all you can see is his thread and his memories with her. All you can see is your broken love and his blossoming new one.

So you turn to another thread. Not your family’s because you know them far too well. But his mother’s, the only one who seems to understand you. And you’re floored again.

”Your husband is not your soulmate.”

For the third time, your mind can’t stop your mouth.

”Your bonds are both similar, so you just assumed as much. When you sleep at night, you get your other half’s memories, right? Well, you each got the wrong sibling.”

Chaos ensues. You’re being screamed at by all: your friend, his family, your family, and even yourself. You just retreat into your mind, and into the threads. It’s the one place that can never hurt you.

You family doesn’t hear from your friend and his family for some time. Your own family has been distant from you. You no longer care. All you need are the threads. They’re the only truly loyal thing in your life.

When you do hear from your friend and his family again, you’re greeted by warmth. By joy. By tears of absolute happiness.

”Thank you,” they all say. “Thank you for making us all whole.”

You wonder why. According to everyone, you broke up a family. And according to what you know, that should be bad. So why are you being praised? Why are you being thanked?

Your friend begins to hang out with you again. He becomes your voice again. He gives you snacks and blankets and pillows again. He looks at you with happiness again.

Than it all falls into place when you see him with her. When you see your teachers together. When you see the two new couples that form your friend's family.

Who cares who or what a soulmate’s love hurts? Everything is nothing compared to it.

You think this as you watch your friend play video games with his other half, smiling while you watch with your own wavering grin, heart stitched together by your own resilience and refusal to hurt again.

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

2nd Author's Note: This has honestly been the most emotional and personal Ikigai chapter for me to write, since I based part of Reader's past emotional trauma on my own (it's the easiest for me to write and works as therapy, so win-win). I mentioned early on there would be flashbacks, and I wanted to showcase some of her young life and where her mindset came from. I have one more planned—which is coming next chapter—but let me know if you'd like more!

3rd Author's Note: If I wrote and published an acutal novel, would anyone here read it? Because I had a fiction workshop class and I'm so invested with the story I cooked up there!

4th Author's Note: What's your ideal date? I need ideas for a future scene in this series, and would love some more input.

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano, @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[sidsinning]

Thank you for your input! I can definitely see this kind of interpretation being justified. I don't think Till's feelings for Ivan were as far as romantic, but I don't particularly believe his feelings for Ivan can be boxed into simple "platonic" terms either. They're messy like that which I love lmao 😂🤌

Long ass response at 2 am:

I don't see Till reciprocating Ivan's feelings on much of a subconscious level tbh, based off what I've seen in both the PVs and comics. There is just too much vague proof given as to why he had "hidden" love for Ivan, at least the same kind Ivan had for him, which is what these shippers are trying to claim. I do think he had love for Ivan he didn't think much about before it was too late, but more in a way where you don't really appreciate or think about something that's always been there by your side until it's gone.

I understand a kiss is a vaguely taught concept to humans, but every time a kiss is brought up between Ivan and Till, Till is not interested. It's a physical intimacy he does not want from Ivan.

When he is kissed twice, he doesn't want it either time. When Ivan suggests they try it out, he is comedically, but undeniably absolutely disgusted by the idea. When Ivan is implied to be attempting to get physically intimate with Till in their cover of My Clematis, also comedically, Till is screaming at Ivan to go away. 😭

There is just no way to ignore how he rejects any advances from Ivan at every turn to claim he had hidden feelings for him. Vivimeng and us as the audience know what a kiss is, so to me they are clearly trying to convey Till doesn't love Ivan romantically.

He realized just how important Ivan was to him after his sacrifice. Which I think is why Ivan has the hidden heart around his neck. He believed Till never really cared for him, but Till very much did, even if he didn't show it. Ivan is the only character Till is completely himself around, which says a lot.

I also agree that Till's feelings for Mizi were idolization, but to make my stance on this more clear, I just think it's kinda weird how a lot of Ivantill shippers will completely dismiss them without thought when Mizi is who he has on his mind for literally all his songs. Like it wasn't "real" love.

I consider his feelings extremely intense and real- he thinks about her in his darkest moments, and loses his will to live nearly without her presence. Crushes aren't only valid if you know them on a super personal level like Mizisua to one another- innocent puppy love is still love.

I don't think Till would deny this himself; he isn't telling himself it is deep love he feels for Mizi. He really does treat her like an idol, even if he isn't objectifying her like that one turd who hit her in the recent comic. He doesn't think about gross things like male/female mating at all, just wanting to be noticed by her while she is committed to Sua, not holding any malicious, jealous thoughts on their close relationship in any way.

I guess that's the issue I have with how Ivantilltwt treats such a huge part of Till's character to fulfill this "Ivan was the only one actually important to Till, Mizi was an illusion, a distraction" mindset. I think it's kind of cool how Till is the only one out of the whole cast to explore different kinds of love like this, and it's a shame it's ignored for a ship agenda. You don't have to deny Mizi's huge place in his heart to enjoy Ivantill fully (though I know may shippers don't too! Bless you comrades).

For the "to love" and "to be loved" parallel in Karma, I also saw this being debated. I personally believe "to love" was saying Mizi freely loved Sua because she was loved in return, while "to be loved" was saying what we've always known- that Till was being loved by Ivan and he only knew in that heartbreaking moment on stage, when Ivan laid himself completely bare to Till as he held his face desperately one last time. Till finally realized he was being loved when it was staring him dead in the eye in that moment.

It's also such a short blink of a scene to reveal a bombshell piece of info like Till loving Ivan in return; it'd be a strange decision to make from a creative standpoint imo

As for the new human clones, I took Till smiling at the Mizi/Ivan kid as him appreciating the 2 most important people in his life that shaped the person he became today. Not a reveal that he was in love with both of them, especially because he seemed to be a lot more mature when he looked up at Mizi's image in the end before calmly moving on, which showed he was over his childhood idolization. That's his friend. Ivan's his friend. He loved both in different ways.

In summary yeah they're messy and I think in a better world my disaster bisexual son Till could've loved Ivan in return. In a world where both knew how to express their love healthily. I agree Ivan just acted so on and off with Till that it would always throw him off, not knowing where he stood with Ivan until the very end. "Thank you for beating my ass up then sitting with me while I write music and draw after- did you just lick my blood off your fingers???" 😭✌️

Sidenote, I don't believe there is a single ship in Alien Stage that could be considered healthy, and I love it!! 😔✌️💕 What does "healthy" love even look like to a species treated as pets and bred like livestock for entertainment?

Bros I CANNOT with Ivantilltwt, a lot of fans will see both the forced kisses and go "Till isn't rejecting Ivan, he is just caught off guard bc Ivan didn't warn him, it's just miscommunication- see in this split second frame here he looks like he's ok with his touch" like no??? He doesn't like it, period!!! Watch the whole interaction, it's animated for a reason!! He actively tries to push Ivan away while his expression is confused, distressed, and closed off!!! His friend is trying to shove a surprise kiss onto him, I think anyone would react the same.

Brother Ivan is literally trying to shove his love down Till's throat

Idk man a lot of fans on twt keep trying to force this "Till was secretly hiding some feelings for Ivan and his SHALLOW feelings for Mizi were just hiding them" agenda

Like omg its unrequited but their bond is still so deep and that's what makes them so compelling can we not do this (I love Ivan's toxic but pure devotion to Till ok, and I fully understand the boy is miscommunicator1000)

I personally think the most reasonable "mutual" Ivantill take is how they COULD have been mutual- if a better world let their feelings blossom healthily, if Till had the time to start seeing Ivan that way instead of immediately dying (unless...) only hours after Ivan died for his sake. If his survivor's guilt wasn't crushing his heart to the point where thoughts of loving Ivan back were impossible to even consider in his mental state. If he had the time to love and lose his crush on Mizi and move onto something more personal and deep with Ivan.

I love Ivantill but damn!! The "always been mutual" agenda is crazy strong rn

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧!𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚...?

𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧!𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Word Count: 2k Content/Warnings: sfw, ex marine!sev, librarian!reader, vi and powder appearances, mentions of ptsd/alcoholism/death, first-gen american pressures/traumas A/N: full preface, this fic and this page are anti-us military industrial complex! If u are not, this isn’t for you (and also… get real.) If it is, then walk with me… this was supposed to be a drabble and here we are 2k words later. i have so many diff headcanons for modern!sev, but this one of them; her unyielding loyalty to silco because she just wants a better zaun, her decision to put her life on the line and to commodify her body to do so... it all led me to this idea. could be controversial but it's better than enforcer!sev LMFAO why are we doing that... anyway! enjoy!

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

 ──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Veteran!Sevika, who’s a first-generation American citizen and felt it was her responsibility to repay her parents for uprooting their entire lives just because they believed she’d have more opportunity in the States

୨ৎ She thought about becoming one of the big three- a doctor, a lawyer, or an engineer- but the thing is, despite being incredibly smart, Sevika has a hard time applying herself if her heart’s not in it

୨ৎ The one thing she’s always loved, though, is pushing her body to its limits. She shot up like a weed to an awe-striking 6’2” her freshman year of high school, and started spending all of her afternoons in the gym not long after that. She began with strength training, and then she got into Muay Thai, started kicking ass, and thought, ‘damn, wish I could do this for a living…’ ୨ৎ By the time she was a (crazy built) 18-year-old, she was honestly considering it- becoming an instructor or pursuing fighting seriously- but the idea was quickly snuffed out by the voice in her head telling her that her parents didn’t come to America so she could be a Muay Thai fighter…

୨ৎ And that’s when she walks by the military recruitment table on her way to lunch at school one day, and thinks, ‘why not?’

୨ৎ She’s already got what it takes physically, the harsh discipline of basic training can’t be that different than dealing with her father when she gets a “B,” and if she doesn’t want to be in school for another 8 years to get some fancy job and a shiny title, then she can bring honor to her family this way

 ──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Veteran!Sevika, who laments every single day that she can’t go back and tell her younger self to do anything but go into the military

୨ৎ No amount of pleasing her parents or bringing honor to her family is worth the dehumanization she faced, the PTSD, the crippling pain of losing your found family, the phantom pains of losing her left arm

୨ৎ She was honorably discharged after it happened, given nothing but a pat on the back, a Purple Heart veteran’s license plate that she doesn’t even use, and three free sessions with a counselor

୨ৎ And when her insurance won’t cover the fourth, she resorted to drinking instead

୨ৎ It’s all she could do to cope with the irony that in her 16 years of serving, she’d grown extremely distant from the parents she enlisted to make proud (it’s the biggest reason she re-enlists after her first 8-year contract; she thought it'd be easier than facing them), and the guilt that comes with knowing there’s innocent blood on her hands

୨ৎ Funily enough, it’s why her values and principles are what they are today; she’s seen just how evil this country is willing to be in the name of “freedom,” knowing damn well what they really had her fighting for was oil

୨ৎ It takes a few years and an insurance plan that does cover therapy for her to recover from her alcholism and finally begin processing just how traumatic her young adult life had been

୨ৎ But what really snaps her out of it is when she’s about to walk into a grocery store one day and sees that familiar table set up outside of its doors, lined with pictures of men in camo and posters with quotes about how there’s no better way to give back than to sell your body to the country

୨ৎ The pink-haired kid giving the table an appraising gaze really catches her eye; probably because she reminds Sevika of herself when she was younger. Built, pierced up, wearing all black, but none of it concealing the heart beating on her sleeve

୨ৎ “You’ve got ‘em all wrong if you think they’re gonna let you waltz in with pink hair.”

୨ৎ The younger of the two turns to find a knowing smirk on Sevika’s face, icy eyes glinting like the sun against her prosthetic 

୨ৎ “I know… that’s like, the only thing stopping me, to be honest,” She quips.

୨ৎ Sevika lets out a low chuckle, shaking her head as she reminisces on being that same young girl; seeing those posters and the men in uniform at the table and thinking to herself, ‘what else could I possibly be good for?’

୨ৎ “Don’t do it, kid,” she gruffs. “Unless you’re accounting for the thousands of dollars you’ll have to spend when your arm gets blown off. It’ll be the hand you write with, too,” she snorts, turning to look at the girl she’d soon come to learn goes by Vi

୨ৎ “Then what the fuck else do I do? Excuse my language…” Vi quickly corrects, cheeks flushing the color of her hair

୨ৎ Sevika chuckles again, dismissing the apology with a wave. 

୨ৎ “Anything else. I’ll even buy you a coffee and help you figure your shit out, if you want. Anything to keep somebody from landing where I landed.” ୨ৎ “Well… you seem to have landed somewhere pretty good.”

୨ৎ The kid’s comment both breaks and mends Sevika’s heart in ways completely unexpected, and as she’s sitting across from her, nursing a black coffee and learning that she’s been taking care of her younger sister by herself since she was in high school, Sevika realizes that if all these vulnerable kids need is for someone to listen, then by god, she can do that

 ──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Veteran!Sevika, who’s back at the library to print out flyers for her free class on post-secondary options that don’t include going into the military, because her own god damn printer is broken again

୨ৎ That’s when she overhears you talking to a man at the front desk, who’s inquiring about using one of the library’s classrooms for a “job fair”

୨ৎ “Sure,” you chime, “What kind of job fair?” ୨ৎ “Military recruitment,” he confidently states, and you don’t miss a beat as you respond, still as cheerful as ever,

୨ৎ “Oh! Never mind, then. We don’t allow those here.” ୨ৎ Sevika’s head pops up at the sound of this, her eyes darting back and forth between you and the man, still as she can be, as if no one will notice her clearly eavesdropping if she doesn’t move

୨ৎ “Can I at least speak to a supervisor?” He asks, once he’s finally picked his jaw up from off the floor

୨ৎ “I am the supervisor,” you deadpan, now mindlessly stacking sheets of cardstock, “and my library isn’t a place for teenagers to get preyed on by the military-industrial complex. Have a good one, sir.” ୨ৎ For a moment, he just stands there, shocked and clearly offended

୨ৎ You look up at him, stare him down with narrowed eyes as if to ask why the fuck he’s still in front of you looking stupid, and then, your eyes lock onto hers, and you’re glad someone else is there to bear witness to the hissy fit he’s absolutely about to throw

୨ৎ But, before he can get a word in, Sevika walks up behind him, crossing her hands behind her back to signal that she’s waiting in line

୨ৎ “I can help you over here!” You beam, walking her over to the other side of the receptionist’s desk

୨ৎ When the two of you are face-to-face again, you finally get a good look at her; striking eyes, chiseled cheekbones and a strong jaw, and a stunning scar complementing the faint wrinkles that have started to appear in the corners of her mouth and eyes

୨ৎ “How can I help you?” You ask, keeping it professional; but damn if she isn’t gorgeous

୨ৎ And she’s thinking the same thing about you

୨ৎ “I, uh… I didn’t actually need anything,” she begins, and her voice is so much softer than you would have guessed after taking a look at this tank of a woman. “Just thought you could use an out.” ୨ৎ You sigh, and a grin stretches across your face

୨ৎ “Thanks,” you chuckle breathily. “It certainly wasn’t necessary… but it’s very appreciated.” ୨ৎ She pauses for a moment before asking,

୨ৎ “You guys have classrooms available?” ୨ৎ “Yeah! We do,” you confirm. “Next availability is…” your eyes flick up to the ceiling as you think, “Next Tuesday. If you’d like to reserve it, I can help you out now,” you nod. ୨ৎ She shrugs; it definitely beats hosting her class in her small-ass living room

୨ৎ “Why not. You’ll be happy to hear that the entire point of the class is making sure kids aren’t preyed on by military recruiters.” ୨ৎ “You’re absolutely right,” you chuckle. “Follow me; I’ve got a form in my office for you to fill out.” ୨ৎ You walk her through several doors- none of which she lets you open- back to your office, which has been thoroughly decorated with all things you, and it makes her feel warm and fuzzy in ways she hasn’t in a long time ୨ৎ “So, tell me about yourself,” you muse, parsing through your file cabinet for the Classroom Reservation Request Form. “It sounds like you’re critical of the military, too. How’d that happen?” ୨ৎ “I was in the Marines,” she reveals, taking a seat in front of your desk. “Didn’t realize what I was getting into, and now I’m down an arm and my peace of mind.” ୨ৎ She notes that you just chuckle; you don’t shy away from the difficult subject, you don’t seem put off by her blunt comment or by her in general; in fact, you lean in, placing your elbow on your desk and your chin the palm of your hand as you hand over the form

୨ৎ She clears her throat and continues. “I met this kid once; she was thinking about enlisting because she just… didn’t know what else to do. That’s exactly how I felt when I was recruited. It got me thinkin' about how many other kids just need someone to tell them that it’s okay not to have things figured out. What’s not okay is that the military tends to prey on folks who don’t.” ୨ৎ You nod, impressed

୨ৎ “You’re doing good work… what was your name?” ୨ৎ “Sevika,” she fills in.

୨ৎ “Sevika…” you repeat, and the sound of her name on your lips makes her feel a bit more than warm and fuzzy… ୨ৎ “It’s nice to meet you, then. I’m Y/n. It’ll be an absolute pleasure to have you come talk to some of the kids.” ୨ৎ And when she does, you’re leaning against the classroom’s open door the whole time, unable to tear your eyes away from just how good she is with them

୨ৎ She finally wraps up the class, bidding a farwell to each and every one of the students as they file out; but one stays behind, a pink-haired girl who looks to be in her early 20’s

୨ৎ “You ready to head out, kid?” Sevika asks, pointing at her as she stands from her place perched on the desk in the front of the room

୨ৎ And you’re just about to turn away to leave when a flurry of blue comes bounding toward you

୨ৎ “Hey, Powder!” You greet emphatically; and then, she’s skipping over to Sevika with a stack of books in hand, pleading to check them out

୨ৎ “She’s yours?” You ask, having had no idea

୨ৎ “For all intents and purposes,” Sevika shrugs with a grin

୨ৎ Powder’s still asking if she can check out more books when you chime in;

୨ৎ “Last time I checked, A Wrinkle In Time is a month overdue…”

୨ৎ Sevika looks down at her with a quirked brow and knowing grin, and doesn’t even have to tell Powder to go put everything back before Powder trudges away to do so

୨ৎ “Fine… but Vi, you have to help!”

୨ৎ “What? Why the hell do I have to help?” ୨ৎ “Language,” Sevika bemoans, watching as the two make their way down the hall

୨ৎ When you look back up at her, there’s a coy grin on your face that she doesn’t miss

୨ৎ “The class was really great. You’re a natural with the kids,” you praise

୨ৎ “I do what I can,” she says, waving the compliment away. “I’ll bring A Wrinkle In Time back tomorrow.”

୨ৎ “ No worries,” you assure. “We’ll meet for coffee soon, and you can give it to me then.”

──˚₊ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ‧₊˚──

[peasack]

Hello! You're work is so wonderful, I feel like you capture each Thunderbolt's personality so well! For requests, could you do some headcanons about teen!reader getting injured on a mission?

YESSS I LOVE THIS TROPEEEEEE, hope yall love it as much as I do!!!

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

✦ Thunderbolts reacting to you getting injured on a mission headcanons ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

✦ Alexei Shostakov

Immediate Panic. Alexei’s heart stops the moment he sees you fall or hears the news. His usual boisterous energy is gone, he's stone-cold serious as he barrels through the battlefield to get to you, bulldozing anything in his way.

Overwhelming Guilt. He feels like it's his job to protect you. Even after you're stable, he keeps muttering things like “This is my fault… I should have watched you better.”

Overprotective to the Max. For weeks after, you’re not allowed to go on missions without his permission. He treats you like you're made of glass, constantly fussing and hovering.

Physical Affection. He holds your hand when you're resting, not letting go unless someone forces him to.

Big Emotions. If you joke about the injury to lighten the mood, he gives you this cracked look like he's going to cry. He can't handle the idea of losing you, not another of his children.

✦ Yelena Belova

Silent Rage. Yelena goes dead quiet when she realizes you're seriously hurt. Her focus sharpens like a knife, and if someone did this to you, they’re not making it out alive.

Hypervigilance. She immediately calls in medical backup and does what she can to stabilize you, her hands trembling just a little though she won’t admit it.

Blames Herself. Even if it wasn’t her fault, she’s convinced she should’ve been there, she should’ve caught it, she should’ve protected you.

Acts Tough, But She’s Scared. She tells you you’re fine even while her voice cracks a little. When you’re finally resting, she stays by your bedside, quietly tracing your heartbeat with her fingers to calm herself down.

Determined to Make You Stronger. After you heal, she starts training with you more often, not to punish you, but to make sure you can always defend yourself.

✦ Bucky Barnes

Dead Silent. No yelling, no swearingjust this terrifying quiet as he pushes through enemies to get to you. His jaw is clenched so tight it aches.

Calm, But Shaking. He knows how to handle injuries, so he does exactly what needs to be done. But later, when you’re safe, his hands won’t stop shaking.

Avoids You at First. He’s scared to face you. The guilt eats him alive because you’re his kid in every way that matters and the thought that he almost lost you crushes him.

Soft Comfort Later. When he finally talks to you, he’s quiet, but you can tell how much it rattled him. He might grumble, “Don’t ever do that again,” but he pulls you into the safest hug you’ve ever had.

Heightened Protection. From then on, he stays closer to you in fights. You’ll notice him subtly putting himself between you and danger every time.

✦ John Walker

Immediate Action Mode. The second you’re hurt, John’s shouting orders, calling for backup, carrying you out if he has to. His protectiveness switches on like a reflex.

Angry at Himself. He’s furious he didn’t see it coming. He doesn’t really know how to deal with guilt, so he takes it out on himself by doubling his training, making sure the team is tighter, faster, stronger.

Fierce Lectures. He’s angry at you, but not really. He lectures you about being careful, about not taking unnecessary risks, about having his back. “You scared the hell outta me, kid.”

Actually Scared. It’s the first time you realize that John actually cares about you more than he lets on. He can’t handle the idea of losing you.

Soft Dad Moments. After the heat wears off, he’ll check in quietly, bring you snacks, sit with you in comfortable silence. You might even get a rare head pat.

✦ Ava Starr

She Vanishes. Ava disappears mid-battle to get to you. She’s faster than anyone else, phasing in and out until she reaches you.

Scarily Efficient. She’s the calmest in a crisis. She knows exactly what to do and gets you to safety quickly. But her breathing is ragged, like she’s on the edge of panic the entire time.

Crippling Guilt. She’s convinced she’s cursed to lose people she cares about. She won’t say it, but she thinks getting close to her is dangerous.

Withdraws a Bit. For a little while, she’ll pull away emotionally, trying to convince herself that it’s safer for you if you don’t rely on her too much.

Eventually Opens Up. You’ll have to push a little, but when you finally break through, she admits how much she was terrified of losing you. “You’re… you’re my family now. I don’t want to lose you.”

✦ Bob Reynolds

Immediate Breakdown. Bob is the one who falls apart the fastest. His powers are overwhelming, and so are his emotions. The second you get hurt, he freezes, like his brain just can’t process it.

Almost Loses Control. If someone’s responsible for your injury, the Sentry side of him nearly breaks loose. It takes everything in him to hold it back, to stay focused on helping you instead.

Utter Devastation. He won’t leave your side. He’s pacing, trembling, crying, fully convinced he’s failed you. “I was supposed to protect you. I’m supposed to keep you safe.”

Needs Reassurance. You comforting him while you’re the injured one is kind of inevitable. He needs you to tell him it’s not his fault.

Hyper-Attentive After. He starts over compensating, checking on you constantly, carrying you everywhere if he can, even when you’re mostly healed. He just… needs to know you’re safe.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

UGHHH I LOVED WRITING THISSSSS

Thank you guys so much for the support I've gotten, I can't tell you enough how much I love yall<3333

[selenitespeculations]

“Danny I really think everything’s gonna be fine!” Jazz said, a bit of chastisement in her tone.

“And I think that their fundamentally incorrect understanding of ecto-entities will get in the way! I don’t know what they’ll come up with but I’m sure it won’t end up good for me.” Danny grumbled. “You know how they are! We’ve both tried to show them evidence ghosts are sentient, feeling beings but they refuse to even acknowledge any of it! They mental gymnastics it at an Olympic level to make it fit their theories.”

“Which is why we’re doing a picnic in the park instead of telling them at home.” Jazz remarked. “I really DO think they’ll come around, but a safe distance from the lab is always a good idea, at least until they have a chance to digest the new information.”

“More like plan my eternal doom”

“You’re being dramatic, Danny. They’re your parents and they love you.”

“I know that! I just worry that they won’t see Phantom-me and Alive-me as the same person.” Danny flopped back on Jazz’s purple duvet. “I know you think if we just explain it well enough they’ll see, but I really don’t know…” he trailed off, not sure how to explain the foreboding sensation in his gut.

“Well even if everything goes horribly wrong, Sam and Tuck both have bug-out bags, and will be on standby if things go pear shaped, which they won’t, but we’re prepared either way!” Jazz said in her annoying yet endearing big sister voice.

Danny sighed, they’d been having this conversation for weeks now, hashing and re-hashing out details and grievances. Danny wasn’t even sure they’d be able to convince Jack and Maddie to go on the picnic in the first place, much less get them to sit still and listen long enough to explain the very convoluted situation he’d found himself in. Getting them out of the lab had become harder and harder ever since they’d started contracting with the GIW.

“Have we disabled the sensors arround the park?” Danny asked.

“As you well know, Tucker told us this morning that he had managed to put them on a feedback loop. The GIW won’t even know anything’s wrong if you have to go ghost.”

Danny sighed again. Louder and longer this time, just to be annoying. It’s his duty as a younger brother after all.

His phone started ringing, loud and obnoxious with the “I’m a Barbie girl” song that Tucker had made his ringtone. He could change it, but Tucker had put a decent amount of effort into locking it as his ringtone, and Danny didn’t wanna hurt his friends hacker ego by changing it too quickly.

“Hey Tuck, what’s up?”

“Tell me I’m a genius!” Tucker exclaimed. This was bound to be good.

“Hmmmmm I don’t know, that thing with Technus last Saturday-“ Danny started in a teasing tone.

“That’s in the past Danny, let it go already!” Tucker whined. “Besides, after I tell you what I just figured out you’ll never think about that again!”

“Let’s hear it then.”

“So you know how lately the GIW’s been on your ass the moment you go ghost?”

“I’m well aware, thanks.” Danny cut in sarcastically.

“Well I was poking arround in their servers and-”

“Tuck you spend half the day in their servers, what could you possibly have found that we didn’t already-”

“What I found,” Tucker said loudly, taking back control of the conversation before it devolved into bickering. “Was a spell circle made out of code!”

Danny blinked. “A what?”

“A spell circle! Like in thoes books Sam’s been obsessed with lately.”

“What kind of spell circle?”

“The kind that locks down the rest of their servers! I’ve only been skimming the tip of the iceberg this whole time!” Tuck said excitedly. “Sam’s taking a look at it now, once she figures out a way through it we should have access to their entire server.”

“So that’s how they’ve been staying ahead of us huh?” Danny asked. This new found magic competency from the GIW was a bad sign. Hopefully they only recently developed it, instead of Danny missing such an important detail.

“Most likely.” Tucker agreed. “I’m sure that info on how they’ve been tracking you is behind the magic firewall. Probably stuff on methods and other bases as well. Now tell me I’m a genius!”

“Hmmnnn I don’t know, seems Sam’s the one doing the legwork here-“

“Hey!”

“Just kidding, just kidding, you’re a genius Tucker Foley.”

“Thank you!” Tucker huffed jokingly. “How goes planning for the big reveal?”

“Talking it over with Jazz right now.” Danny said, glancing over at his sister, who’s been looking over notes of some kind while he’d been on the phone.

“Well I’ll leave you to it, and remember dude, we’ve got your back!” Tucker exclaimed before hanging up the call.

Danny turned back to Jazz, “Whatcha looking at?”

“My notes on mom and dad’s phycological profile. Me going to Gotham for college should be enough to get them out of the house, and with all the fudge we made we should be able to get dad to sit still long enough to get into the meat of things.” Jazz replied. “I’m bringing a broken lipstick laser for mom to fiddle with, and as long as we get past the whole ‘your son is half ghost’ thing and into the explanation before she fully processes it, they should be shocked enough to internalize what we’re telling them.”

“See you’re just as nervous about this as I am!” Danny said, vindicated.

“Of course I am Danny! I love our parents, but they do have a habit of shooting first and asking questions never when it comes to ghost stuff.” She looked down at her hands, “I want to believe there’s no risk at all, that their love for us will overcome their obsessions, but…”

“We don’t know how liminal they’ve become.” Danny finished for her. “Their obsessions might be too strong to fight with logic or love.”

“Yeah.” Jazz agreed softly. “But as your older sister, I promise that no matter what I’ll keep you safe!”

Danny was getting deja vu. Jazz reminded him so much of Jay sometimes. The fierce protectiveness, putting up a face of positivity when Danny felt helpless.

“I love you Jazzy.” Danny said quietly, feeling a million different emotions tangle up inside of him. His throat felt tight. “No matter how this goes down, I’m glad you’re my sister.”

“Your favorite sister?” Jazz teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“My favorite older sister,” Danny chuckled, “we don’t need Dani sensing a sibling competition and coming to fight for her honor.”

They both laughed, remembering the last time Dani was back in Amity, when she had declared a sibling fight club to prove herself the superior sibling.

“No we definitely don’t need that added onto everything right now.” Jazz said once they’d caught their breath. “Are you sure there’s no other siblings you want to tell about our plan?”

“I told you Jazz, Jay doesn’t need to know!” Danny defended. “He worked so hard to make sure I got a safe normal life, I don’t want to disappoint him.” His voice got quiet.

“If you say so, little brother.” Jazz acquits. “Though I’m sure that he wouldn’t blame you-“

“I know, I know, I just don’t want him to think all his work getting me out of Gotham was for nothing.” Danny said quietly. He felt a little guilty, both for not telling Jay anything about his ghostly double life, and lying to Jazz about his past. But secret keeping was in his blood, and it would take a lot more before he would even entertain the idea of spilling his guts to either of his older siblings.

“You know Danny, if you really don’t want to tell them…” Jazz trailed off before starting again tentatively, “I just want to make sure you’ll be safe.”

“I know Jazz.” Danny knew, logically, that it was the best course of action to tell Jack and Maddie in a somewhat controlled environment. It would be much harder to get them to sit still and listen if they found out on accident. “And I want you to be here when I tell them. I’m just worried, there’s so much that could go wrong.”

“Worst comes to worst, you fly to Gotham. Jason’s there already I will be too, this time next week.” Jazz assured. “But really I think the most likely outcome is positive.”

Danny was pretty sure that “worst comes to worst” would be more than just cutting and running. In fact he could think of ten way off the top of his head that this could end in disaster. But Jazz was already nervous enough, and speaking his thoughts out loud wouldn’t help anything. They sat in silence for a bit, there wasn’t really anything else to go over without going in more conversational circles.

“Ima head to bed.” Danny said after a moment, standing and stretching out his back.

“Sweet dreams little brother,” Jazz replied, looking back at her notes, “I’m sure tomorrow will go smoothly!”

Danny laid in his bed, windows open to let in the cool breeze wafting through the summer air. Jazz would be leaving next week for Gotham. She’s going into the psychology program at Gotham City University, already had her little apartment and a paid internship lined up. Jazz always had all her ducks in a row, something Danny was a bit jealous of. He felt like he was flying by the seat of his pants most of the time, never quite sure what to do next or what he’s aiming for. Survival had been his main concern for so long, so much that he didn’t really think about actually living his life now that he was free to do so. Or half life, he supposes. Jazz and Jay will be in the same city, while he’s still hiding out in Amity Park. He wasn’t even completely sure he could leave now, Amity was his haunt, and ghosts could usually only leave their haunt for so long without any health consequences. But Danny was still half human, so all the usual rules were up in the air. He could be affected the same way as any other ghost, or have no problem at all, or anything in between, he wouldn’t know until it happened. Yet another reason he had to tell Jack and Maddie about his little ghostly problem now. If he was stuck in Amity indefinitely, they’d catch on eventually.

Danny fiddled with his phone. Not the normal one, but the dated flip phone he’d gotten nine years ago now. It’s crazy to think that he’d been here in Amity longer than he’d been in Nanda Parbat. He still has nightmares sometimes, about that night. If Jay hadn’t found him, he would’ve been a goner. Most of it’s a blur, time and trauma making the memories take on a weird sheen in his mind. He’d been so young, but when the assassin had told him Grandfather no longer needed him, he’d just felt tired. He’d tried so hard to be everything Mother and Grandfather wanted him to be. To be more like Damian. But no matter how hard he trained, when the moment came to act he always hesitated. That may as well have been a death sentence in the league.

Jay had saved him, given him a chance. Hope for a better life, where he could be a normal kid, grow up to be whatever he wanted to be. But Danny just had to go and ruin everything by going into that stupid portal. He didn’t blame Sam, never had. Danny knew better than to be messing around in the lab. Sure, Jack and Maddie should have locked it, but teenagers are stupid, and the trio probably would’ve found a way in anyways. Now he’s stuck between two worlds all over again. No way he’s telling Jay he spoiled the chance he worked so hard to give Danny. Jay’s got enough on his plate without Danny adding all his issues on the pile. They still talked relatively often, Danny telling Jay about all the regular civilian teenager stuff going on in his life, but as he got deeper and deeper into the world of Ghost Vigilanteism, Danny found it harder to talk around. Luckily, he doesn’t think Jay’s too suspicious, probably assuming regular teenage angst is the cause of the stilted conversations they’ve been having lately.

Then there’s Damian. His twin brother, who’s been in Gotham for six years now. When Jay told him that Talia had dropped Dami off in Gotham, he’d been genuinely shocked. He didn’t think Mother would be willing to let Dami stray too far from her for at least a few more years. Damian had a tough go of it, from the little Jason had told him. Danny knew Jay wasn’t telling him everything, but he could hardly begrudge that when he was holding things back too. Jay probably just didn’t want to scare him. He’d had asked Danny, after Dami had settled in Gotham in a more permanent way, if Danny wanted him to tell Dami he was still alive. Danny had debated back and forth with himself till he was sick to his stomach. What would Dami think? Would he be angry? At Danny, for being so weak, or Jay for hiding him away? Mother may have told him Danny was still alive already, but he kinda doubted it. Talia always kept the important stuff close to her chest. Dami was the same in that fashion, while Danny had to learn to keep his heart off his sleeve. He saw the news sometimes, talking about the great exploits of Batman and Robin, and oh how it made him feel so lonely. Sure, it was chaos and crazy fights most of the time, but watching his twin fly through the air by their father’s side, he seemed so free. Danny almost sent Jay all the letters he’d written, was still writing, but he’d chickened out at the last second. What if Dami thought him childish for holding on so tight to a family that wanted him dead. What if he was disappointed by how Danny was spending his time in his new “civilian” life?

Now it felt too late. How could he just pop up in Dami’s life after nine years of silence, nine years of his twin believing him dead. But if tomorrow went as badly as he thought it might, he may not have a choice in the matter. He could never force Jazz to put her life and dreams that she worked so hard for on hold just because Danny’s a half dead screw up. And Jay had already given him so much. If he had to run from Amity Park, his father would be the best bet, and Dami would discover that he’d been hiding like a coward this whole time. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, that Jack and Maddie would see through their obsession to the son they’d been hurting, hunting, for two years now, but Danny had the same foreboding feeling he’d had that night on the parapet in Nanda Parbat, right before the end of everything he’d ever known.

Protective Instincts

Hmmmmmmmmm

Idea.

So we all mostly headcanon that Jason was around tiny Damian when in the League right? And if we do demon!twins or siblings Danny they meet too?

Well what if, now hear me out, what if while taking care of them Jason notices early on how Danyal, or as he likes to be called Danny, doesn't seem to have the heart to be an assassin compared to Damian. And even under the pits influence and the LOA teachings, Jason's protective instincts of protecting kids is still strong. And notices how... lack the protection around Danny is compared to Damian, the true heir.

What if, when Jason leaves the League to start his revenge against Bruce, he fakes Danny's death by killing off the little 'guards' he did have and takes the kid with him.

But as he goes to Gotham Jason has to decide.

Drop the kid off in a good family, give him a new identity and keep him hidden or keep the kid and raise them?

[lilywritings]

Little "time travel" au with gen!lilia and human reader!

.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟

I can't stop thinking about "time travel" ughhh i love that au, imagine you two are already very deep into your relationship in current time then

Poof.

You're accidentally transported to the past only to meet general Lilia the second you land ( you already knew how he was bc of his dream in book 7 but now you're legit in the past).

You choose not to tell him that you're actually together but rather his future "friend" ( he is not buying that ) you knew general Lilia would've NOT taken it well bc you're a human that magically popped infront of him at the worst time possible, a little before the war.

But the way you said his name , had a blessing upon you and the way you looked at him made him a bit hesistant and unsure so he pulled his magearm away from you and took you to his dear friends to get the truth out of you.

Lucky for you Levan saved your ass here from his wife and best friend bc meleanor would've fried you by now . A human trespassing JUST before the war!?

And what added the oil to the fire was the fact that malleus put a blessing upon you ( the one mentioned up) after the whole book 7 heartbreak. Meleanor sensed it was a draconia family blessing IMMEDIATELY and was VERY suspicious and angry at you.

So you explained everthing to them and made them sort off belive that you're from the future and searching for a way to get back after you mentioned Malleus. Nobody should've known that princess was about to have a baby and you even knew his name. Meleanor was thinking of zapping you right then and there but Levan held her off and made an agreement.

And thus they put Lilia to supervise you while they work on a way to get you back and think about your words.

Let me tell you something, Lilia HATED IT . why HIM!? THIS HUMAN THAT WON'T STOP STARING AT HIM WEIRDLY AND CLAIMING TO BE HIS FUTURE "FRIEND"!? he wanted to hiss at you at least.

While Lilia was having a crisis you took this situation to try and get closer to him and find out more bc your lilia didn't really talk about his past SELF! that much he is a man of secrets after all...

This was your chance to get to know his past self better and maybe try to open him up a bit and help him.

You knew what was about to come and you know better than to mess with the fate in this "time travel thingy" but was it really that?

Your mind was boiling at tge idea to spoil him ROTTEN & show him how loved he is. But you couldn't do that rn at least not so sudden ...

Ahh loving this fae is complicating.

After some time of looking at him training the troops & being busy but still having to take you with him everywhere he finally sat down with you to talk about how you're bothering him.

And truly , what made lilia irritated and bothered the most was. Your gaze.

Ah those eyes that never stopped looking at his directly, firmly ,not an ounce of fear in them.

The way you gazed upon him like he was a treasure that you couldn't bare to look away from not even for a second or he might just slip away and never return.

Whats that emotion inside your eyes?

Whats that warmness?

It feels familiar yet different ? Nobody has ever looked at him that way . He is not used to it and it makes his skin crawl.

Are you bewitching him human?

He still doesn't trust the fact that you're magicless ,not when you're doing something to him .

Your damned gaze made him feel ... something at least.

Yet he couldn't help himself to brush you away completely you were ... interesting?

On the other hand you were fighting inside bc of the fact that you couldn't shower him in love right this moment and tell him who you are... You must focus to find out more.

And just as he was about to say something your vision got blurry~~~

.

.

.

"Darling you've been sleeping for a bit too long aren't you going to wake up soon?

"..."

"I might even make you a meal how about that? Oh i know you're going to love this one♡"

You stirred awake and found yourself on your present Lilias lap.

"Lilia?" you looked up at him all confused ( Was that all a dream?Does he know, does he remember?)

You didn't even notice you fell asleep on him while he was gaming for god knows how long.

He was caressing your face at your call and cooing at your sleepy state. My how adorable you looked to him right now.

"Hm?"

"Did we perhsaps meet before?"

Lilia smiled wide at your question before bending down and kissing your forehead gently.

"Perhaps my love, perhaps~"

.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟

Ps. I would love to know what do you think guys :3 (i had a bit of help)

[ameriize]

Pt2 of that Anton smut please😩😩 need them to fuck

content! mentions of masturbation, touching ding dong indirectly, whiney anton, he just wanna be dommed fr, no sexuuuu!!! that’s next, but a whole lot of tension (my fav) esp at the end

no fucking in this one, i love a good buildup beforehand, but it will be in the next one🙏

i have no idea how to do warnings/content sorreh

pt1

it’s been about three weeks now since you last heard from your friend, anton. however, it’s not like you haven’t seen him around. he’s still in the same class but now he’s changed seats. he no longer sits two rows diagonal to your back, but right at the front. or all the way in the back. like he was trying his hardest to get further away from you.

lucky thing is you’re not stupid. you knew he was avoiding you but the only problem was why. why was it that when the lecture was over, he would always be the first to leave? it became a rare sight for him to be engaged in conversation with the group after class, and this bothered you. a lot.

you tried to text him but he would either leave you on delivered for an abnormally long amount of time or give you a response that was impossible to reply to. when you would text him asking what’s wrong, he’d reply with “nothing” after a couple of days. you thought it best to leave it alone, i mean after all you two weren’t really that close and only studied together a couple of times.

but why did it bother you so much? you knew you were definitely attracted to anton, cmon who wouldn’t be. i mean your cunt was definitely not foreign to the idea of being stimulated because of him. especially during those late slow nights. but you never thought it would bother you to this extent. not to the extent that you’d spend so much of your day, no matter what activity you were doing, wondering what it was that you did, or maybe you started it first with your horrid reply time?

either way, whatever it was, it was starting to piss you off. why couldn’t he just address the issue rather than ignore you? you knew he was a soft spoken individual but it reaches a point. something was boiling up inside you that needed to be released. and you chose today.

today, you arrive 15 minutes early to your lecture and sit right at the front, closest to the door. when anton comes through, he avoids your eye, as usual, but this time you let it go. because you know you’re going to get your answer.

so, the lecturer dismisses the class, and you, slightly imitating anton, bolt out the door. however, you wait by the side. then when he comes through, you grab his arm.

“what are you doing?! let me go!”

not listening, you continue to drag him to an empty room, also ignoring the looks from others around.

you close the door behind you, walk further into the room past anton then turn to face him. you sit on the edge of the lecturer’s table, setting your bag down, while anton remains standing, still avoiding your eye.

“so what the hell has been your problem these past few weeks.”, you start, then let out a heavy sigh “listen i know we’re not that close but i think i deserve a little more than just plain ghosting just because there may be an issue. i don’t know how you operate in other friendships but this can’t run here. if you don’t wanna be friends, then anton please just say that. but atleast tell me what i did.”

he tries to ignore how good it sounds when you say his name. it’s exactly how he imagines you’d say it when his face is buried in your wet core and you’re getting close, with your hands gripping his hair, or when you’re riding his dick with your hands tight around his neck. anyway.

“and furthermore-” , you continue until he interrupts you with a call of your name.

“wait, i don’t- i-i already told you that there was nothing wro-”

“anton. taken that you’ve not been speaking to me for three weeks, you can manage to stay quiet right now. so shut up and listen then i’ll let you speak.”

ohhhhhh fuck. he’s almost 100% sure he just came a little with that tone of yours. oh how he wished you ordered him around like tha-

so you continue to rant on about how crazed you’ve been over this whole issue. you tell him about your constant worries of potentially hurting him and not knowing, then telling him how avoidance is a stupid way to deal with issues. and you stress, like really stress, how much you wish he had just talked to you. then you slowly stop speaking, realising that you had stopped him from speaking in the first place, when that was the whole reason you brought him here. you were slightly taken aback by how honest you were being with him, and how much this issue had affected you. you didn’t imagine you’d go on for about 10 minutes…

“well, now you can speak. so… care to tell me what’s really up”

just for the record, anton listens. for the whole 10 minutes. first off, because he loves your voice, second because of how hot you look when angry, and third because he had no idea you even cared.

but now that your rant was over, he has to face the real issue. he knows he can’t lie to you, not after that. but how is he meant to tell you that he could no longer look at you without instantly getting hard. that the thoughts of you choking him, fucking his mouth with your slender fingers, while aggressively riding his dick, completely clouded his brain. even worse, was that he would spend almost everyday jerking off to your insta pics where your boobs were a very frequent guest feature. he craves every part of you, and that makes him feel guilty. you’re nice to him. you’re nice to everyone. you always talk to him if he’s around, whether it be in the cafeteria or in the library or at a friend’s party. sometimes you get him cute little gifts or snacks because you know he likes things like that. and here he was having these lustful thoughts of you. he feels so ashamed. so he had no choice but to ignore you. because maybe if he did, then his guilt would go away. and he’d stop thinking about you. but boy was he wrong. anton thinks he hasn’t craved you more than anytime, since knowing you, than in these weeks. his whole body ached for you, longed to be touched by you. essentially, he was having withdrawal symptoms. he came (😏) to the realisation that all those times you two interacted actually soothed down the urges. because then at least he’d actually be hearing that voice he’d imagine, and be seeing that figure he’d dream of fucking. but he just couldn’t handle how disgusting he felt for his thoughts. like some sort of sex-craved, lack-of-impulse-controlled perv.

“i can’t tell you.” he looks down at the ground.

“what? why can’t you tell me if it’s something i’ve done!”

“because it’s not you! it’s me. i’m fucked up right now and i can’t be around you anymore”

it may be a bit of an understatement to say your heart took a deep dive down when you hear that.

“anton, i don’t get it. is it specifically me you can’t be around? do i trigger something in you that others don’t? because i know you still talk to the rest like normal. so if it’s not a thing where you isolate from everyone then it must be something about me.”

he doesn’t speak.

you stand up fully from the table. you take a step closer. and another. then another. until there’s nothing but a breath in between you two. you stay looking at him, while his eyes are glued to the ground.

now you realise you really care for anton. you don’t want to hurt him. you want to make him laugh, smile, be happy. and if it’s something about you that’s stopping that then, as painful as it is, you’ll let this friendship end. shame really, you were hoping you could be more than that.

“i masturbate to the thought of you. almost everyday.”

silence hangs in the air.

“i-” you begin to say. but no words come out. instead…feelings. emotions…arousal. straight to your core.

“anton-”

“fuck. i’m so sorry. i don’t do this. i’m not someone who just stays home doing that. i know this is gonna sound so fucking creepy to you, because i’m just some guy you talk to sometimes.”, he rambles “i feel like a kid who can’t control his hormones, and i try. i really try. but it’s like my brain short circuits when i see you. and i just feel so- so- disgusted with myself. i’m sorry. i’m really sorry. i just hoped i would never have to tell you so you didn’t think i’m some sort of perv who just wants to nail you. so i ignored you because i thought all the thoughts would stop and this would just end. but it hasn’t. and i don’t know if it will. so i completely understand if you want to stop being friends. i would too. i’m so sorry. shit.” he places his face in his hands. well it’s done now, he thinks. but his heart is still hurting with the possibility of losing you.

you listen. it’s only right since he did the same for you. but you really wish you could just shut him up with a kiss on those plump pink lips that you had always low-key been dying to taste.

you can’t believe he’s been thinking about you the same you do too. on the off chance you have nothing to do in the evening, you’d normally lay in bed with your hands between your legs, rubbing your clit, trying to relieve the pressure.

9 times out of 10 it was anton who had set it off. but you always brushed it off as him just being exceptionally hot rather than any sort of feelings being the underlying factor. however now it’s different. it’s mutual. and you want to take advantage of that. you have to.

“anton. look at me”

he slowly lifts his head out of his palms and his eyes land on yours.

you miss this. you miss the feeling of his eyes landing on yours. you miss his handsome face, with his cute brown doe eyes. and he misses this too. he always thought you were pretty, from when he first saw you.

“do you hate me?” he says, lips slightly quivering.

“i don’t think that’s possible.”

“what do you think of this? of me thinking about…stuff like that about you”

“i’d much rather it be that than lose you as a friend”

now, he was going to take a big risk with what he’s about to say. but he just needs to know if you feel the same way about him like he does of you. and the fact that you haven’t run away makes him feel just that bit more confident.

“is friends… all you want us to be?”

“i want to fuck you. so…i think no.”

anton can feel his dick getting more stiff, stiffer than it was when you were angrily ranting. he feels his fantasies and desires getting close to being realised and he’s excited. so fucking excited.

you both stare at each other, then you look down at those lips of his. and he notices. he smirks slightly then leans in, with his eyes closed.

but then you hold a finger to his lips.

“what did you think about?”

“huh?”

“you heard me.”

“uh i- fuck do i have to say this here? in public?”

“there’s no one here tonnie.”

he’s going to forever remember the feeling he just got when you called him that nickname.

“just give me one thing you desperately thought of”, you continue. heat is increasingly building up in your core as you press and press for anton to say his desires. you just want to tease him, tie him up, bite him, suck him, lick him, mark him. fuck him. you really really want to fuck him. right now.

“please don’t make me say it. i really don’t want to. i think i might die”

“too bad.”

he runs his hand through his hair, trying to keep composed despite being as red as a cherry. you think it’s so cute.

“and look at me while you say it.”, you say, wanting him to feel even more embarrassed.

he takes a deep breath in. looks at you. then speaks.

“i- i always think of you… making me suck on your fingers and then thrusting them in and out of my mouth. hard.”

“just making you take it?”

“just making me take it.”

“i bet i could make you cum just by doing that.”

“i already have.”

fuck. if you get even a single bite of anton, you may never recover from the addiction that’s laid ahead.

you look at your phone and check the time. you remember you have another lecture later in the day, and while fucking a boy up is fun, studies take priority. and also you just want to make him wait.

“i have a lecture at 5 so meet me in my dorm at 9.”

“wait but we have time though. we can do something before your lecture”

“you’re too eager” you laugh out, and hit his shoulder lightly. you turn around to get your bag from where you left it and walk back up to anton.

when he realises you were actually serious about doing nothing, he gets a little bit sad. mainly about his raging boner and the fact that he just wants to be with you even longer.

“fuck you can’t leave me like this. please. look how hard i am for you” , he pleaded, with a whiney tone and furrowed eyebrows.

he starts to palm himself through his joggers and lets out the tiniest whimper. but not too tiny for your ears. he’s putting on a show for you and desperately hoping you indulge.

you walk up closer to him, and slightly tiptoe to place your lips close to his ears.

“oh anton, i didn’t know you were such a slut”, you say seductively in his ear, “makes me wish i could take you right here and now” you lightly tug on his ear with your teeth.

he whimpered, eyes fluttering shut. having your voice saying such dirty things that close to his ear was almost too much for him.

“so do it. please.”

he takes your hand, while keeping intense eye contact, and places it on his hard on. you indulge just a little, and give his dick a small but effective squeeze.

anton rolls his eyes shut, and bites his lip. his hips buck up a little, desperate for more.

“mnngh! fuck please do that again.”

“i will. at 9.”

you move past him and go towards the door, acting as if it didn’t take all your strength to walk away and not fuck him on the student desk. he pouts a little, completely unsatisfied that his plan didn’t work.

“think of grannies or whatever it is that you do to calm your dick down. but just don’t touch my dick. if i find out you do, i just won’t touch you for, let’s say… three weeks? be a good puppy for me, okay anton?”

and with that, you leave the room.

anton’s unsure of how well he’s gonna be able to calm down his throbbing dick, when he’s just experienced the most sensual thing in his life, that will almost definitely be on constant replay. but all he knows is that he wants to be good for you.

so he’ll wait for whatever it is you’re going to do to him at 9.

a/n: hii guysss. i hope you like this one. imma wrap it up in the next chapter, idk when that’ll be bc i wanna write for other people aswell, but it will definitely happen. this is soooo long, i got a little carried away in the details and story, but it’s only because i’ve had this thought before (except i was daydreaming about gojo lol) and i just wanted to make it exactly like it, with a couple add ons. idk if it’s acc good tho bc i was jus writing and writing but hopefully it is !! again, ask away for any riize members. i’ll make a pinned post soon detailing who i’ll write for and what i won’t write, all dat all dat. lemme know what you think in the comments pls!!! :33

[bunnyluvx]

gaming w/ lads lis! ♡

featuring: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb x gn!reader.

warnings: minors and ageless blogs dni regardless of content.

requested by @napforalifetime | dc: @cafekitsune | wc: 1.6k | ao3

tags: fluff | established relationship | physical affection | luke and kieran mention | doxxing

a/n: I HAVE FINALLY WRITTEN CALEB AFTER ALMOST 3 MONTHS OF POSTING LADS CONTENT. i'm excited to write more for him in the future, i can tell he's gonna be really fun. also for the most part, my ideas for these scenarios surround shooter games like valorant, overwatch, marvel rivals etc, so that's what i'm going to be basing your experiences with all of the lis off of.

date started: 4:15PM, june 25th, 2025.

date finished: 5:41PM, june 28th, 2025.

xavier ♡

i think that the only way that xavier would regularly game is if he's asked to play. i don't see him turning down co-workers or friends whenever they ask him to game, and he certainly won't say no if you ask.

i imagine that he has a switch where he has some cozy games or some story-based games that he's really into. i can also see him having a console or a pc setup for when his friends/co-workers want to play, but other than that, i don't think he games much.

xavier is relatively quiet to my understanding, so i think that would continue to apply when you play video games. he pings enemies, and seemingly teleports to your side just how he does irl when you start screaming for help, but his focus is mainly on everyone around him. he catches on pretty quickly, and does really well after getting used to the controls and learning about the characters.

he also LOCKS IN when you play. sometimes, you can hear his controller's clicking sounds from just how hard he gets into it. he doesn't even notice how focused he becomes, so when you bring it up, he's surprised by himself.

xavier is a dps main. i will not explain myself

who carries depends, i think. if you guys play consistently, i think you take turns carrying. if not, you take the lead.

xavier doesn't often look at stats, but when he does and sees that you're doing well, he always makes a point to praise you. you felt accomplished before, but your boyfriend's approval seals it in for you.

xavier doesn't really look at chat either, but he is so quick to come to your defense if he sees that someone is being mean to you. their account is reported and banned not long after.

i don't see xavier doing friendly fire. mainly, i think he'd just kind of..let you do whatever. push or blast him off of the map, shoot and kill him, etc. if there's an option, and you want to have a little fight, he'll play along. he always wins and you threaten to ban him from cuddle time /j.

once he starts collecting emotes, he uses the sitting ones OFTEN between gameplay. before a match starts or between queue, you find him sitting somewhere.

LOVES playing hide and seek in custom games. mainly when you're the seeker because your taunts and giggling warm his heart.

CAN xavier get competitive? yes. DOES he? no. he doesn't care enough. he just wants to have fun and spend time with you, so winning or losing doesn't matter to him.

knows some gamer lingo, so he mostly understands you when you use it. if something is unfamiliar to him, he asks then learns something new!

zayne ♡

similar to xavier, zayne doesn't game unless you ask him to. he might have played some when he was younger out of social obligation, but not much past that. i think that he prefers card or board games.

i think that zayne is pretty decent when it comes to shooter games. he isn't the best on the team, but he's not the worst either.

the idea of you solving puzzles together in a horror/mystery game is a really interesting thought to me. that's something i think he'd be really into. he also likes games where you have to work together towards a common goal. this cutie patootie LOVES games that exercise the brain.

idk why this came to my head but he likes crossword puzzles too. if he can't think of a word, he likes to ask for your help. he loves to do them with you, too.

BACK TO VIDEO GAME TALK, zayne is a support main. he likes to feel like he's contributing and he feels really useful when he heals people :)

gets SO soft when someone thanks him for healing them. it doesn't really show but the appreciation makes him happy

stops healing teammates when they're mean to you. won't revive them or nothin. reports any bullies or game sabotage after the match is over

i think that zayne would be down for friendly fire every once in awhile. you take turns chasing each other around, and zayne is really quick so you lose him kind of easily. your giggling while you run lights up his night.

you carry for the most part. when zayne really focuses, your stats match up, but he doesn't really play enough to perform well consistently.

zayne will glance towards chat in case, and rarely ever looks at stats. i think that he likes to watch the crazy stuff people will say sometimes

isn't familiar with gamer lingo. you have to teach him almost all of it, and he appreciates the effort.

also uses sit emotes often when you're not queued up. he likes when you send him pictures of you sitting together, he thinks it's really cute

always watches out for you when you play together. pockets you sometimes when there isn't much else for him to do

i think that he can be a little competitive. he doesn't care enough to get really upset by it, but he does get peeved

gets frustrated when people spawn-camp. annoyed when people t-bag.

rafayel ♡

i don't see rafayel liking shooter games all that much. i think that he would enjoy games like minecraft more, where his creative liberty can run wild.

minecraft is now rafayel's favorite video game because i said so

makes the most gorgeous houses and structures

likes the sims too

really good with room decorating

you make yourselves as sims and have a family together

he likes games that give him various customization. he likes making things pretty

if you ask him to play a shooter game with you, he'll say yes. any time with you is time well-spent

when you do play shooter games, rafayel mains support. he gets easily annoyed when playing dps and he has little to no interest in playing tank

doesn't know gamer lingo. you use it for the first time, and he makes a joke about it. you explain to him what it meant and do so from that point forward. he incorporates it into his own language when you play now and you feel so proud watching him grow as a silly little gamer

so down for friendly fire. likes smacking you for fun. you have 1v1s and keep track of your wins. sometimes you 1v1 in games to settle arguments or disagreements and you both think it's hilarious

rafayel gets really competitive. when someone targets you or him, his mission from that point forward is to kill that person and WIN.

very defensive of you. hears someone talking badly about you in game vc and GOES OFF.

gets easily side-tracked so you have to remind him of your objective sometimes

sylus ♡

i think that he would game on his own. very rarely does he, but he enjoys his time when it happens. it gives him something to do with his time and attention. open to playing with you almost any time

sylus likes games with lots of lore. he appreciates how much effort goes into video games. he also likes decision-based games because every action that one has having consequences is something that intrigues him

puzzle games too. give this man a door he can't open and he is on the hunt for the key

tank main. he's very strategic in the ways he makes space for his team, and it satisfies him

i think that he's flexible with what roles he plays though. he does whatever is most convenient for himself and his team to try to get to a win

very down for friendly fire. likes to tease you and other people. he thinks it's funny when people get mad at him for shooting them

knows some gamer lingo because of luke and kieran, but rarely uses it. watching you use it makes him smile because he knows that means you're enjoying yourself. he also kinda pokes fun at you because some lingo is really silly

sylus is a pretty good player. he doesn't play enough to be good consistently but when he gets back into the groove after playing for awhile, you don't often lose

sylus ABSOLUTELY gets competitive. he doesn't really verbalize it, but he wants to win. i can 100% hear him saying, "is that all you can do?" and "that was too easy."

if people are mean to you because you're not good at the game, he makes sure that they can't play on their device of choice anymore. but you don't know that

caleb ♡

HE'S A GAMER BOY. THEY SAID SEE U LATER BOY /lyr

in all seriousness, caleb games often when he's not busy. you've been playing together since you were young and you both LOVE ITTT

likes horror games. phasmophobia came to mind, i think he'd like it

dps/tank main. likes killing things

he uses gamer lingo regularly when you play together and sometimes even teaches you some!

open to friendly fire. he will kill u over and over and over and over again just to annoy u

pretty good at games!!! when he does well at the end of a match he brags about just how awesome he is. you think he's awesome too but you tell him he sucks for the funnys

gets very competitive. dives head first into matches and you have to swim through what feels like seas of enemies just to find him

teaches u how to play new characters. very good teacher and always gives u the best advice to improve

will doxx someone if they're mean to you /hj

@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3

[prettyprairiestables]

June 27th, 2025

Dear Horse Enthusiast,

I would like to introduce myself at the start of my new model horse photography journal. This journal is intended for my own personal amusement, but also to share with others who might take joy in my miniature horse-related hobby as well.

To be honest, this passion of mine for horses is a relatively new and unexpected project that I never expected to become involved in. I am not a horse rider, nor do I personally own a horse. As a child, I had an old, blind horse named Sunshine, but she was the only horse I had ever had and cared for. She had a sweet and gentle temper and was a petite blonde with a coat that shone in the sun, even at her advanced age. I loved her so much, and she was my only love among the horses during my childhood. As I grew older and she passed away, I once tried bonding with my little sister's horse, but it bucked me off with a wild temper, and I haven't met a horse I loved since, except Sunshine.

As many years passed, I no longer thought much of horses, until I recently watched the TV series Spirit: Riding Free for the first time. This show has unexpectedly brought back a deep-seated affection for the love of a horse that I haven't felt since I was a child riding on Sunshine's back. It dredged up those old memories I once had of my horse, and now, after watching Spirit: Riding Free, I want to bring back a piece of Sunshine in my life by creating a toy model horse ranch and posting photos and videos of my gradual progress. It's a new hobby I'd like to see come to life over time, so I can look back on how much I've progressed. I'd love to share my journey with anyone interested.

It won't be anything impressive or grand to most people, I'm sure, but it will be mine and something I can be proud of with years of dedication to look back on. I welcome you to join me in this venture as I build my toy horse ranch/farm.

To tell a little about myself, I was raised on a farm and lived with my parents, twin sister, and younger sister. We lived outside of a small town in Kansas, and my grandparents lived next to us in their house on the farm as well. My father believed strongly in the importance of hard work, so he kept his daughters busy, helping to run the farm. From sunrise to sunset, we had to ensure that all the animals were fed and cared for. Chores took priority over school or education in my father's mind, so we were instilled with the idea that hard work was more important than focusing on grades.

I personally did not do well in school, nor did I have a positive educational experience. Grade school was a nightmare for me in a small town where the teachers were bullies, not the students. I was a reticent child growing up and didn't speak much, having very few friends. Teachers back then didn't like quiet students. They felt it disrespectful if their students did not speak up or respond to their questions. As a result, I was the student who was always in trouble, getting hit over the head, spanked in front of the class, humiliated, or sent to the hallway for punishment for not speaking or responding to questions.

However, I always felt a sense of love when I came home to my animals on the farm after getting off the school bus every day. My animals saved me from the troubles I had in school, and I have loved animals all my life. They are what keep me happy in the saddest parts of life, and I cannot live without the companionship of my animals, because they are a big part of who I am.

Now that I have lived my life in my mid-40s, I have been happily married for over 25 years, and I have three amazing grown boys who have all left the nest. I need something to do with my time, to be honest. And since I am a child at heart, this new hobby of mine might be a good distraction that I need while my husband is away at work. Ironically speaking, my husband is a teacher and has been teaching for many years now. He has never been a bully to his students, so he is nothing like the teachers I had as a child.

On a different note, let's see how far I can progress with my new horse ranch and farm. I know it will take a lot of time and money, sadly, so it will be a slow-going project. But just a few weeks ago, I started staining my horse fences and building horse jump rods for my horses.

I currently have the horse stable and the front part of the pasture set up, but I'm not ready to post pictures just yet because it still needs some minor adjustments. However, I should have something to show you by next week.

Thank you all for taking the time to read this and join in on my new adventure of creating a horse village/farm. I look forward to seeing what comes from it.

~Clara B.

[bewitched-hours]

Hello! Yeah me again asking abt the noli and 07 yandere thing (lord I feel weird asking again I don’t want to be a bother) It’s just the last one you wrote was really and I mean really WELL written and I was hoping to ask for a part 2 of how things go? Hacking together, speaking, debating life—just quite cool! I already sent you the link of the past one I was talking about so I hope thats alright!

HI- YEAH- I SAW IT LOL I only saw it at school tbf so I'm starting it with this and have the story opened in another tab to make sure I don't forget anything (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

The reader's pronouns are once again She/They-

Pre-Forsaken

All three of you sat on opposite sides of 007 as you looked at the child in his arms.

"It's kinda cute..." You tried to end the silence comfortably as you could see the man soften. Noli didn't look so tough either for a change.

Though the red bundle of joy was giddy now, you knew it was only a matter of time until it got hungry...

"What are we meant to do with it..?" Noli asked quietly, watching as the baby held onto 007's fingers with glee. It honestly melted your heart a bit.

"I say we keep it." You state bluntly, surprised eyes meeting your own as you went to quickly explain yourself. "Think about it. If we drop it off somewhere else it would probably reach the same path as us if it survives anyways."

The two of them gave each other an unsure look before you gently lifted the child out of 7n7's arms with a huff. "I'm not saying we'd be great parents or anything but it'd definitely be better than the foster system or death." Your tone was firm but they could tell you were empathising with that little red face giggling up at you.

Maybe you were trying to prove something to yourself. That you were better than your family? Maybe that you can actually take care of something meaningful?

Whatever, it wasn't like either of them could say no by the time you started cooing at the baby all motherly.

"Heh, guess you're right." 007 perked up first, getting you to smile a bit more.

Wether it was to make you happy or they actually liked the idea, you couldn't care less. What mattered was that this child was safe with you.

"We should totally call it after the c00lgui." You commented with a chuckle, having Noli cackling and 007 trying to suppress his laugh.

"Yeah- no- this is good- So c00lkidd?" He suggested, letting out a laugh at your grinning nod. It was silly, it was unusual...

It was perfect.

"It'll be the perfect addition! Plus, I have some experience back when I had a babysitting gig to save up some money as a kid myself. We'll just need to get a few things and c00lkidd is gonna be spoiled with love!" You practically beamed and placed a gentle kiss on the little one's head, going back to cooing at it as it giggled in your arms.

Being a family might just be easier than you thought...

Post-Forsaken

For once, 007 probably appreciated being an outsider.

It meant more time with you. More time with Noli.

You were quick to figure out a spot to all meet in where neither killers nor survivors would even hear you.

It was perfect, especially whenever Noli decided to bring along c00lkidd and you could just talk for a while.

CK loved you. He loved the idea of having a big family like this where you could be his mom. You played nice and fair and actually managed to tire him out at times.

Though he didn't understand why it was such a taboo to play tag outside of rounds, he trusted your explanation that it was because it was less fun with only you four and the other survivors wouldn't be willing to listen to you or 007.

And CK knew the other killers were even less willing so...

But you'd always promise that once you get back home, you'll be the best mother to c00lkidd. And he took it as a good promise to make before saying his goodbyes and waiting for the next round.

You were committed to being the mother c00lkidd needed and the 'wife' that 007n7 and Noli deserved...

A bit disappointed with how this turned out but I tried my best-

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[no1blacksapphirefan]

Hi! I really love your self aware AU. I was wondering, how do you think the cookies would react to the player/reader trying hard to get their outfits? For me, I love Pure Vanilla’s Truthless Recluse and Pastel Blue outfits (used the cubes for the first and stars/crystals for the second). And Shadow Milk’s Sage of Truth one is pretty too. And similarly, how do cookies that don’t have any (yet) feel? I don’t think Black Sapphire has any (that I’ve seen) which shocked me. The only other outfits I adore are Milky Way’s, Stardust’s and Capsaicin’s, so there’s very few I try and get. But feel free to talk about any other character!

I made one for the wedding costumes here if you’d like to give it a read ^^

Here’s one down for the others though hehe

(Not proof read, I'll fix any mistakes when I can ^^)

Shadow Milk Oh how he loves how concentrated you look, how you press that pull button and pray, hope that little Mont Blanc Cookie does that special animation, getting your hopes up until it's just an epic. Oh don't get him wrong, he is going to love seeing you get his costume and he loves it more knowing how much you want it, but it's exactly that reason why he hopes it takes longer.

Just seeing your desperation as you farm, collect, do anything you can for more rainbow cubes just to even get a chance at seeing that special outfit is enough for him, it truly shows him how much you like him, so call him cruel, but he wants to watch just a bit longer, it'll make watching your face light up more worth it.

Pure Vanilla Oh if he could, he'd love to just give you the outfit outright, he's glad you enjoy his other fits. Though he will admit that the Truthless Recluse outfit of his does make him a tad bit iffy, nothing bad enough to make him look away, it just feels odd to see himself acting rather differently. He watches as you try everything to get his outfit, seeing if he can find someone to up your luck.

And when you finally do? Oh he's overjoyed, he'll happily wear the outfit if you so want him too, seeing you so giddy and happy over finally getting it warms his heart to no end, perhaps he should get another costume. He will admit, seeing you're happy face over getting it is quite lovely.

Eternal Sugar She only has one outfit, and at first she was a bit mad. You're telling her this outfit would be what she wore if she won? She could've won?? Witches dammit, she swears she was so close, though...seeing you want it so much, she pushes that thought away. Not that it's gone completely, she's still annoyed but she's willing to hold back on those feelings if it meant being able to concentrate on you pulling for it.

Oh how sweet her darling was, doing everything in their ability to get more. She'll giggle so much if you decide to even use money to get more (don't do this guys) She'll consider it a win once you manage to finally get it and put it on her. Sure it never happened, she never truly won but she's wearing the outfit of a timeline when she did. Plus as a bonus, she got to see your smile.

Black Sapphire He preferred the outfit he wore, if he wanted to wear something else I think he'd make it himself, while he doesn't really hate the idea he also doesn't want anyone else to make him one, preferring his own handiwork when it comes to outfits. But he'd be lying if he said that he doesn't want to see your face light up when you manage to obtain a new one. And as a deceit follower, that's exactly what he tells everyone anyways.

Oh but he's so willing to compromise, maybe if he made a new outfit and bribed Mont Blanc Cookie he'd be able to have his own gacha. It'll be a win win...everyone's happy, he'll still be wearing his own work but you'll be pulling for it. It'll make you happy, he's sure of it. He'll make sure to make an outfit so pretty you'll practically be swooning when you see him wear it.

Mystic Flour She doesn't mind not having an outfit and sure, many times have you been the exception to her apathy, things she usually wouldn't care about suddenly she cares if you show an interested but I don't think it'll be this way when it comes to outfits. Besides, it seems as though she's forgotten in the game she seems to be in. She'd be surprised if she even got a costume.

That's not to say she won't be looking forward to you pulling on her outfit if she even gets one, more so that she won't mind whether or not she got an outfit or not. All she really wants is for you to still like her, if you find her current outfit pretty than she'll wear it, if she gets a new one and you prefer it? She'll wear it for you. She will admit, she does get why everyone enjoys seeing your smile when you manage to obtain an outfit, you've done it before though so she's content with how things are.