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cressidagrey · 10 hours ago

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White Horse - Chapter 36: October 2024 - Part 3

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes:

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Belle had always known that Lorenzo loved Charlotte.

You didn’t need to be particularly observant to catch it — not when he looked at her like she was sunlight bottled into human form. He was quieter about it than most, but in a way that only made it more obvious: the way he listened, the way he waited, the way his eyes found her even in a crowded room. Not infatuation. Not flair. Just… certainty.

So when Lorenzo asked if he could stop by for coffee, she hadn’t expected it to be anything dramatic.

But then he sat at her kitchen table — still in his work clothes, his tie half-loosened, hands wrapped too tightly around the mug she’d handed him — and didn’t speak for almost five full minutes.

That’s how she knew something was up.

She didn’t press.

Not yet.

She just waited.

Lorenzo had always been the sort of person who unfolded in his own time, like a letter written in longhand — slow, thoughtful, deliberate.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “I think I want to propose.”

Belle blinked. Once. Twice.

Then smiled softly. “You think?”

“I know,” he said. “I do. I’ve known. For a while. I just…”

He looked down at his mug.

“I want it to be right.”

Belle rested her chin in her palm and watched her oldest brother. He looked—nervous. Earnest in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time. Maybe since they were kids, before life got complicated and painful and messy.

“And what does right look like to you?”

“That’s the problem,” Lorenzo said, huffing a laugh. “I don’t know. I just keep getting in my own head. She deserves something special. Not flashy. Not over the top. Just… her.”

Belle smiled wider, something warm unfolding in her chest.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s build it.”

Lorenzo looked up, surprised. “You’ll help?”

“Of course I’ll help,” she said. “You’re my brother. She’s your person. This is literally my favorite kind of project.”

“But don’t you have enough on your plate?”

Belle gestured around the room, where baby things sat half-unpacked in calm, expectant chaos. “Max is currently on a mission to figure out how to swaddle a stuffed animal. I think I can spare a little time.”

He laughed, properly this time, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

“Alright then,” she said, reaching for a notepad. “Talk to me. What are the non-negotiables?”

Lorenzo leaned back, thinking. “Nothing public. Nothing performative. And something that includes her family, somehow — she’s close to them. But also something quiet. Intimate.”

Belle nodded. “Sentimental. Classic. Maybe something outdoors? A picnic? Or a dinner somewhere that matters to you both?”

“There’s a lake house,” he said slowly. “Her grandparents used to take her there when she was a kid. We’ve been a few times, and she always looks… peaceful there.”

Belle’s heart softened.

“There,” she said. “That’s the place. That’s the moment.”

Lorenzo looked like he was still trying to catch up to the fact that she was doing this with him — no teasing, no commentary, just belief.

“Belle,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him — her oldest brother, who had been too busy or too far removed to see her as anything other than Charles and Arthur’s quiet shadow. But right now, he was here. Asking her. Because he trusted her.

“You’re going to do this right,” she said. “Because it’s not about perfect words or some cinematic moment. It’s about her. And you already know how to love her. You just need to show her that in a way she’ll remember.”

Lorenzo exhaled slowly. “You’d be a terrifying wedding planner.”

“I’m saving that energy for Emilian’s first birthday,” Belle said dryly. “There will be a live band and possibly jungle animals.”

He laughed again, eyes a little glassy now. “God, you’re going to be a good mum.”

Belle smiled down at the notepad, heart full.

“And you,” she said, writing down lake house, sunset, something honest, “are going to be a husband.”

****

They were on the couch, tangled together in the quiet kind of way that felt like routine now. Max’s head was resting on Belle’s belly, his hand absently tracing slow circles over the stretch of skin beneath her shirt, like he was trying to memorize every inch before December came.

Belle had one hand in his hair. The other held her planner, open but forgotten on the coffee table.

“He kicked again,” Max murmured, pressing a kiss just above her navel.

Belle smiled, her heart aching in that full, quiet way that still caught her off guard sometimes. “He’s been kicking all day,” she said. “Probably hates how I folded over during that client call.”

Max snorted. “He already has opinions. Verstappen genes.”

She rolled her eyes, fond. “God help us.”

They fell into silence again, the kind that didn’t need filling. Outside, Monaco glowed—blue and gold and still.

Then Max said, softly, “We’ve got the triple header coming up.”

Belle nodded. “I know.”

“Austin, then Mexico, then Brazil.”

“I know.”

“I want you to come.”

Belle looked down at him.

Max sat up slowly, brushing a hand through his hair. “If you feel up to it,” he added. “If it’s safe. I just… I know it’s the last one before—before you can’t really travel anymore. And I don’t want to go three races without you if we can help it.”

His voice was quiet. Honest.

Belle let her hand rest on the slope of her belly. Their son kicked again—just once, like punctuation.

“I was thinking the same thing,” she said softly. “I don’t want to miss this part. After Brazil, I’ll stay home. Nest. Wait. After that, I won’t be able to travel long haul. Not safely, anyway. I just… I want to be there with you. One last time.”

Max’s expression shifted—surprise giving way to something deeper. Something tender.

“You’d really be okay with all that travel?” he asked. “Three races in three weeks?”

She nodded. “I already talked to my OB. I’ll be 34 weeks by Brazil. She said if I’m careful, and I rest, and we don’t take risks, it’s fine. After that, no more flights. But until then…”

Max reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

“I’d love that,” he said softly. “I miss you when you’re not there.”

Belle smiled. “You have GP.”

Max smirked. “GP doesn’t sneak me cookies or remind me to drink water. Or kiss me before every quali.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “You want kisses before quali?”

“Obviously. It’s good luck.”

She laughed and leaned in, pressing one to his temple.

“Then it’s settled,” she said. “Three races. Three cities. Then we come home. And wait.”

Max smiled. It was a tired kind of smile, edged in awe. “He’ll be here so soon.”

Belle nodded. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

“It will,” Max said. Then, after a beat: “Are you sure, though? It’s a lot of travel. Long flights. Weird hotel beds.”

“I’ll bring my pillow fortress,” Belle teased, nudging him with her foot. “And snacks. And compression socks. I’ll be fine.”

Max leaned over, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Then her collarbone. Then her belly. “Okay,” he murmured. “Then we’ll do this together.”

Belle closed her eyes. Felt the hum of his voice against her skin. And the tiny flutter of their son, responding like he knew.

Together.

Until they weren’t two anymore.

But three.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Lorenzo: So… I have some news. Charlotte said yes 💍😊

Arthur: WHAT?????? WAIT YOU PROPOSED????

Charles: BRO. What do you mean “said yes”??? WHEN??? HOW??? WHERE???

Arthur: Wait Belle knew didn’t she SHE TOTALLY KNEW

Belle: 👀

Charles: UNREAL. I TELL YOU EVERYTHING. AND YOU STAYED QUIET FOR THIS???

Belle: It wasn’t my news to tell! 😇 Also… I helped pick the ring. And the spot. And the picnic menu.

Arthur: I KNEW IT THE BASKET IN YOUR BACKSEAT LAST WEEK YOU SAID IT WAS FOR A “CLIENT MEETING”!!!

Lorenzo: It was a meeting. With my future wife 😌

Charles: Okay but for real—congratulations. You both deserve all the happiness. Still mad you didn’t tell us though.

Belle: 🥹 I was under strict brother-sister confidentiality. But I’m so happy for you, Enzo. Truly.

Arthur: Can we plan the bachelor party?? Please??

Charles: No. I know you. Absolutely not.

Arthur: 😤

Lorenzo: Thanks, all of you. Belle, especially. I couldn’t have pulled it off without you.

Belle: Anytime. Now go be nauseatingly in love.

***

Pascale hadn’t even set her wine glass down when Lorenzo said, “Charlotte and I are engaged.”

There was a beat of silence—sharp, almost theatrical—and then the room burst into overlapping exclamations.

Arthur stood up to hug him, nearly knocking over the bowl of olives. Charles thumped Lorenzo on the back like they were still teenagers. Even Alexandra, who was usually more reserved around the Leclerc chaos, was smiling wide, clutching Charlotte’s hands and asking a thousand questions.

Pascale pressed both hands to her heart, eyes wet. “Oh, my darling—felicitations!” She turned to Charlotte, enveloping her in a tight hug. “You are already family, but now it’s official. I am so, so happy.”

Belle watched it all unfold with a soft smile, Max’s hand resting on her knee under the table. She was genuinely happy for Lorenzo.

But when Pascale dabbed her eyes and said, “Oh, we have to start planning,” Belle felt the old, familiar weight settle in her chest.

“Summer wedding?” Arthur asked. “Italy?”

“Too hot in July,” Charlotte said, laughing. “We were thinking September.”

“Belle should help you with everything,” Pascale added warmly. “She always has the best taste.”

Belle opened her mouth, closed it again.

“She already has,” Lorenzo said quickly, rescuing her. “She helped plan the proposal. Honestly, it was perfect.”

Charles raised his glass. “To love. And to Belle being a better event planner than all of us combined.”

They all drank. Belle sipped at her water, but she couldn’t quite keep the smile on her face when Pascale turned to her and said, with teasing affection, “Well, I expect an invite this time.”

The joke slipped out easily.

The silence that followed was harder.

Max’s fingers subtly curled around Belle’s under the table. “What do you mean?”

Pascale looked at Belle. “You know. The last wedding. The one none of us were invited to.”

“Maman,” she said quietly.

“No, I’m not trying to be rude, I just…” She trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “We found out from the press, Belle.”

Belle exhaled. “You forgot my birthday, remember? All of you,” Belle said sharply.

“I turned 25. And you were all too busy with Charles winning Monaco.”

“Belle,” Pascale said gently, “we didn’t mean—”

“But you did,” Belle interrupted, and her voice wasn’t cold. It was tired. Bone-deep tired. “You never mean it.”

The table was quiet now. Even Arthur wasn’t fidgeting.

Belle glanced down at her plate. Then back up. Her gaze flicked to each of them—her brothers, her mother, Charlotte and Alexandra.

“Max and I got married on a Tuesday morning. At Monaco City Hall. We didn’t want the press. Didn’t want a spectacle.”

Pascale’s face crumpled. “But we should’ve been there.”

“No,” Belle said, with finality. “You really shouldn’t have.”

She folded her napkin slowly, carefully, like it would help her hold back the years she hadn’t said anything.

“Because in that moment, I didn’t want to wonder if any of you thought I was enough. I didn’t want to hear one more backhanded joke about how I decorate houses for Instagram. Or how I was the ‘soft’ Leclerc. Or how I should be grateful for being in the room.”

Max stayed silent beside her, but his hand remained warm on her knee, steady, grounding.

“I wanted to be surrounded by people who saw me. Who remembered me. Who didn’t compare me to Charles or Arthur or Lorenzo. Who didn’t make me feel like a placeholder in my own life.”

She turned toward her mother. “So no, you weren’t invited. Because it wasn’t about you. Or about what a wedding should look like. It was about what felt safe.”

“Belle,” Pascale began, reaching for her, “we didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” Belle cut in. “You’ve spent years not meaning to. Not meaning to forget. Not meaning to brush me off. Not meaning to act like my work is just expensive Pinterest. Like I’m the background character in someone else’s success story.”

Pascale’s expression shifted, like someone trying to balance shame and defensiveness and failing at both.

“When Max and I got married,” Belle continued, her voice lower now, steadier, “we had everyone there who mattered. People who saw me. Who remembered me. Who didn’t need a headline to decide I was important.”

Max’s hand tightened around hers under the table, silent but solid.

“It wasn’t a grand wedding. There was no string quartet, no designer gown. Emilie somehow managed to get my favourite flowers and cake. And it was the best day of my life.”

She looked at her mother.

“And I didn’t invite you. Not because I wanted to hurt you. But because, in that moment, I couldn’t handle the way you made me feel. Like nothing I did would ever be enough. Like even that day would be compared to someone else’s. Like I’d be asked why I didn’t wait. Or why the photos weren’t professional.”

Pascale looked stricken.

“I didn’t want to feel like an afterthought at my own wedding,” Belle finished, quietly. “So I didn’t invite the people who made me feel like one.”

Silence.

Lorenzo swallowed hard. Arthur looked like he might cry. Charles… looked wrecked.

And Pascale, for once, said nothing at all.

Belle pushed her chair back gently, the scrape of wood on tile loud in the quiet.

“I’m going to check on dessert,” she said, standing. “Max, come with?”

He rose immediately. ***

The kitchen was warm and low-lit, all copper tones and quiet clatter. Belle moved automatically, opening drawers, checking the oven—like she hadn’t just dropped every hard, buried truth onto the dinner table like a thunderclap.

Max followed, quietly closing the door behind them.

For a second, neither of them spoke. She reached for plates with trembling hands.

“Belle.”

“I’m fine,” she said. Too fast. Too flat.

He crossed the room in three steps, gently placing his hands on her hips. “You don’t have to be.”

Belle inhaled like she was bracing for another wave, but when it didn’t come, she sagged slightly into him, just enough that he felt it.

“I didn’t mean to make it a scene,” she murmured, voice frayed at the edges.

“You didn’t make a scene,” Max said. “You told the truth.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared at the cake tin on the counter like it might disappear if she focused hard enough.

“I’m just surprised you said all that out loud,” he added gently.

Belle let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a breath. “So am I.”

He rubbed small circles into her back. “They needed to hear it.”

“She won’t change.”

“Maybe not right away,” Max allowed. “But tonight… that landed. They were quiet, Belle. Your mother looked like she got hit with a brick.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” she muttered, though she didn’t pull away.

Max lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I mean it. You gave them a wake-up call they couldn’t brush off. That takes guts.”

She was silent for a long beat. Then: “I didn’t want to cry in front of them.”

“You didn’t. You stood up for yourself.”

Belle turned slightly to look at him. “Did I come off like an asshole?”

Max smiled, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. “No. You came off like someone who’s tired of being invisible.”

Belle exhaled. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her.”

“I know,” he said. “And deep down, I think she does too. But she needed to feel it. You gave her the truth. What she does with it is up to her.”

Belle leaned into his chest fully now, the tension finally starting to seep out of her limbs. “I just… I don’t want our son to ever feel that way. Like he has to earn being seen.”

Max wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. “He won’t. Not with you as his mother.”

She let out another breath, steadier this time. “God. Dessert feels so stupid now.”

Max tilted his head. “It’s chocolate tart. Nothing about that is ever stupid.”

She laughed, soft and tired. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek, “are the bravest person I know.”

***

The moment Belle disappeared through the kitchen door with Max, the silence she left behind clung to the room like smoke.

No one spoke.

Charlotte gently touched Lorenzo’s arm, but he barely registered it.

He turned to his mother, voice low. “Do you realize what you just did?”

Pascale blinked at him, eyes still wide. “Lorenzo—”

“No.” He shook his head, biting back the anger rising in his throat. “You don’t get to play innocent now, Maman. You made a joke about not being invited to her wedding, and you didn’t think once about why you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her,” Pascale said, voice trembling. “It was meant to be lighthearted.”

“And that’s the problem.” Lorenzo’s voice hardened.

Pascale blinked at her oldest son. “Lorenzo—”

“No,” he said, calm but sharp. “Don’t deflect.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were. Like you always do. Like we all do. And I’ve let it slide for years. We all have. Because it’s Belle, and she never kicks up a fuss, right?”

He leaned forward, fingers pressed against the edge of the table like he needed something solid to hold him down.

“But she remembers.” His voice dropped, hard with the weight of truth. “She remembers everything you brush off. Every joke about her job. Every time we prioritized a podium over a person. Every thing we forgot because we were too caught up in what one of us was doing on the track.”

Pascale’s eyes were glassy. “I didn’t mean to hurt her—”

“That’s the problem,” Lorenzo snapped, sharper than anyone in the room had ever heard him. “You keep saying that. You never mean to. But it happens anyway. And because she doesn’t fight you on it, you think it didn’t cut.”

Arthur looked down. Even Charles didn’t try to interrupt.

“She helped me plan my proposal, Maman. Thought of every detail, reminded me to tell Charlotte’s parents first—she did it all with a smile. And not once did she bring up her wedding. Not once.”

He sat back slowly, tone dipping into something quieter. “She didn’t even want a wedding with us. You understand how much that says?”

Pascale had a hand pressed to her lips now.

“She didn’t invite you to her wedding because she didn’t feel safe with you. Not loved. Not supported. Safe. Do you know how devastating that is?”

Pascale blinked hard, and for once, she didn’t have anything to say.

“And you know what?” Lorenzo added. “That’s on you. Not her. She found someone who sees her. Who values her. Who protects her, because he understands what it feels like to be treated like you’re never quite enough.”

Lorenzo’s tone turned more bitter than he meant it to. “God, Max Verstappen treats her better than any of us ever have. And we’re her blood.”

Pascale shook her head, tears finally spilling over. “I didn’t mean—”

“But you did,” Lorenzo echoed Belle’s words, soft but resolute. “And I’m done pretending you didn’t.”

He stood, placed a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder.

“I’m going to help with dessert,” he said quietly. He looked around the table, gaze landing on his mother last. “You can sit with what Belle said for a while.”

And without waiting for a response, he walked away.

***

Belle’s hands stayed on the countertop, gripping the edge a little tighter than necessary. Her breath was steady, but only because she’d fought for every inch of calm since leaving the dining room. Max hovered nearby, silently setting out the plates for dessert. He hadn’t said a word—just let her have her silence, the same way he always had when she needed to recalibrate.

Then she heard the second pair of footsteps.

Lorenzo.

“Belle,” he said gently, and that was all it took for her throat to go tight again.

She turned slowly, blinking fast. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to—tonight was supposed to be about you. And I—God, I just—ruined it.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh and crossed the kitchen in two strides.

“Petite sœur,” he said softly, wrapping her into a hug so immediate and so warm that it nearly undid her.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured into her hair. “Don’t ever say that.”

Belle shook her head against his shoulder. “But I took the spotlight—”

“No. You spoke your truth. Finally. That’s not stealing attention. That’s surviving.” He pulled back slightly, hands still on her shoulders, anchoring her. “And frankly? Someone needed to say it. It should’ve been me. Years ago.”

Her eyes welled again. “I didn’t want to make it about me.”

“It wasn’t about you,” he said. “It was about all of us. And what we didn’t see. What we didn’t do.” His voice softened. “And for what it’s worth? I’ve never been prouder of you.”

Belle blinked at him, stunned.

“I meant it when I said you helped make the proposal perfect. And tonight? You gave me the best gift you could have—your honesty.”

She leaned her forehead against his. “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” Lorenzo whispered. “And I love you. Even if you made Charles nearly cry during dinner.”

Belle laughed, a wet, breathless sound. “He’ll recover.”

“Barely,” Max called from the counter without turning around. “Pretty sure he is still emotionally buffering.”

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: I just emotionally nuked a family dinner. Max says it was brave. I think I might throw up. (Also, Charles looked like someone kicked his puppy.)

Emilie: WHAT. WHAT DID YOU DO. Please tell me it was deserved and you finally snapped. I’ve been manifesting it for a year.

Belle: Lorenzo announced his engagement. Pascale made a joke about not being invited to my wedding. So I told them why.

Emilie: Holy. Shit.

Emilie: You didn’t just light a match. You set that table ablaze. I am SO proud of you.

Belle: I didn’t mean to make it about me. It just came out. All of it. Every forgotten birthday. Every time they dismissed my work. I told her she wasn’t invited because she made me feel like an afterthought.

Emilie: GOOD. She needed to hear it. You’ve spent your whole life trying to be palatable. Quiet. Easy. But you are not an afterthought. And it’s not your job to shrink so they’re comfortable.

Belle: Max has been perfect, obviously. Didn’t say a word while I was talking. Just stayed next to me. Held my hand. Told me later I didn’t make a scene—I told the truth. That they were finally quiet because it landed.

Emilie: That man. That man would build you a cathedral out of reclaimed stone and lavender if you asked.

Belle: I’d settle for the chocolate tart he just plated.

Emilie: I’m proud of you. So proud. I hope you know how big this is. You stood up for yourself and didn’t apologize for it. You chose yourself.

Belle: I think I finally did. And I think—for the first time in a long time—I don’t feel guilty about it.

Emilie: Damn right you don’t. Also I need Charles' face in that moment. Please. A voice note reenactment. I beg.

Belle: He looked like someone told him Ferrari ran out of red paint.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Max: Just got back from dinner at Belle’s family’s place. It was… Intense.

Sophie: Oh? What happened? Are you okay?

Max: I’m fine. Belle’s a bit wrung out. Her brother Lorenzo got engaged. Announced it at dinner. Everyone was celebrating. Pascale made some joke about expecting an invite this time.

Sophie: Oh no.

Max: Yeah. Belle told them why they weren’t invited to our wedding. In front of everyone. Calm. Clear. Brutal.

Sophie: Good for her.

Max: She told them they forgot her birthday. That they treat her like she’s nothing. Said she only invited people who remembered her. I’ve never seen her do that before. Not with them.

Sophie: She finally snapped.

Max: Yeah. But it wasn’t dramatic. It was worse. It was honest. Tired. She just laid it out—like she wasn’t going to carry their excuses anymore.

Max: And her mother. God. She looked shocked. Like she couldn’t believe Belle didn’t feel loved.

Sophie: Because people like that don’t notice until it’s too late. They don’t think they have to change because they’re the mother.

Max: Exactly. She kept saying “I didn’t mean to.” And Belle just said, “But you did.”

Sophie: Oof. That girl has been swallowing it all for years, hasn’t she?

Max: All of it. Her work. Her feelings. Being ignored. She told them the reason she married me without them was because she didn’t feel safe. And I think it finally hit them. Maybe. Hopefully.

Max: But I don’t understand her mother. How do you look at someone like Belle and not see her? She’s brilliant. She’s kind. She feels everything. And they made her feel like she didn’t matter.

Sophie: Because some people only love the version of you they can control. And Belle? She’s soft, yes—but she’s also steel. That scares people who only know how to hold love with conditions.

Max: I didn’t even have to say anything. She did it all on her own. And then she turned to me in the kitchen and asked if she came off like an asshole.

Sophie: Oh, sweetheart.

Max: I told her no. She came off like someone who’s tired of being invisible.

Sophie: I’m proud of her. And proud of you. She needed someone who would stand beside her while she took her voice back. And that’s exactly what you did.

Max: I don’t get it, Mama. How can you have a daughter like Belle and make her feel like she has to earn your love?

Sophie: Because some people only know how to love the loud ones. The gold medals. The press conferences. The obvious successes. Not the quiet girl who builds beauty and doesn’t ask for applause.

Sophie: But you see her. And that matters more than anything.

Max: She told me she didn’t want our son to ever feel like that. Like he has to earn being seen.

Sophie: He won’t. Because his father will show him what love looks like. And his mother will teach him how to build a home out of strength and gentleness.

Max: I hope so. I just hate that it ever made her feel small.

Sophie: That’s because you love her. And you, my boy, are nothing like her mother.

Max: Good. Because she deserves better.

Sophie: She has better now. She has you.

***

Victoria hadn’t meant to stay long.

She’d only stopped by to drop off a scarf she’d picked up for her mother in Amsterdam. But Sophie had made tea, and the afternoon light was soft, and somehow they’d ended up on the couch with lemon biscuits between them and a conversation that turned, inevitably, to Belle.

Specifically, the Leclercs.

Max had told Sophie the whole story via text—blunt, half-capitalized, frustrated in a way he rarely got—but Victoria hadn’t realized how much had happened until Sophie quietly said, “Pascale made a joke about expecting an invite next time,” and stirred her tea like she was imagining stirring something else instead.

Victoria blinked. “She joked about not being invited?”

Sophie hummed. Calm. Neutral. Terrifying.

Victoria sat back a little.

Because she knew that sound. She’d heard it as a teenager when Jos yelled and stomped and slammed doors—and Sophie just got quiet. When Jos was a hurricane and Sophie was the pressure drop right before the sky cracked in two.

Everyone thought Jos Verstappen was the scary one. And he was, in his own way. But Jos exploded, and Sophie? Sophie waited. Sophie watched. Sophie didn’t lose control—she took it. And there was something so much more lethal in that.

“She said it with a laugh, apparently,” Sophie went on, still stirring. “Right after Belle helped plan the proposal. Said she expected an invite to this one.”

Victoria blinked again. “Oh, wow.”

“Mm.”

“She said that in front of everyone?”

“In front of Belle. At the table.”

Victoria felt something flicker in her chest. A cold edge of anger on Belle’s behalf. “What did Belle say?”

“She told them the truth,” Sophie said softly. “That she got married surrounded by people who remembered her birthday. That she didn’t want backhanded comments at her own wedding. That she didn’t feel safe with her own family.”

Victoria’s jaw tightened. “And Pascale?”

“Tried to say she didn’t mean to hurt her.” Sophie finally set the spoon down, slow and deliberate. “I suppose that’s supposed to count for something.”

There was a long silence then—thicker than the steam curling from the kettle, heavier than any of the words still hanging between them.

Victoria had grown up around volatility. Her father’s temper was legendary, a weather system that built and broke and sometimes came back with no warning at all. But Sophie—Sophie Verstappen was a different kind of terrifying. Jos exploded. Sophie observed. Calculated. Waited. And when she struck, it was always surgical.

Jos could knock you over like a thunderclap. Sophie could gut you with a whisper.

And right now, Victoria could see it: that slow, icy rage simmering just beneath her mother’s carefully neutral face.

“She told them,” Sophie said finally, “that she didn’t invite them to her wedding because she didn’t feel safe. Not unloved. Not forgotten. Unsafe.”

Victoria swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I have half a mind to call Pascale and tell her exactly what I think of her.”

Victoria blinked. Sophie never said things like that. She didn’t make threats. She made decisions.

“She’s pregnant,” Sophie added, quieter now. “And still had to stand there and explain why her family made her feel like a placeholder in her own life.”

“I have watched Belle love that family with her whole heart,” Sophie said, and now her voice had an edge. “I have watched her shrink herself so they wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. I’ve watched her pretend she doesn’t care that they forget her. That they talk over her. That they diminish everything she is.”

The kettle clicked off, but neither of them moved.

“She was raised to believe love is conditional,” Sophie said, not looking at her. “That it comes after achievements. Or for being quiet. Or for not asking for too much.”

Victoria felt something lodge in her chest.

“She has spent her whole life shrinking to fit into their idea of family,” Sophie continued, her voice steady and lethal. “And they still managed to ignore her.”

Victoria swallowed.

“And then she gets married—to my son—and not one of them is there. And not because she wanted to hurt them, but because she didn’t feel safe with them.” Sophie’s expression didn’t change, but her tone dropped low. “That’s not something you laugh about over dinner.”

Victoria sat very still.

Because that was the thing about Sophie Verstappen. You never saw her fury coming. She didn’t yell. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t rant or throw things or storm out. She just… waited. Like gravity. Like consequence. And then she spoke with that glacial softness that made you feel every syllable like it might cut.

Victoria suddenly felt like she was sixteen again and had missed curfew by three hours.

“I’m so mad for her,” she said after a pause. “Belle.”

Sophie nodded. “So am I.”

“She deserves better.”

“She has better,” Sophie said. And that time, there was warmth in it. Fierce. Unshakable. “She has Max. And she has us.”

“You like her,” Victoria said, surprised by the softness that slipped into her own voice.

“I love her,” Sophie corrected. “I don’t care how she came into this family. I don’t care what her last name is. Belle is mine now.”

Victoria blinked fast. “God. Okay. You’re mad.”

Sophie looked at her, eyes dark and razor-sharp. “No, Victoria. I’m focused.”

And Victoria—who had seen Jos Verstappen angry enough to make grown men shrink back—felt a shiver run down her spine. Because Jos might yell. He might throw chairs and punch walls.

But Sophie? Sophie waited until your guard was down and then made sure you never forgot the consequences.

Victoria took a sip of her tea when Sophie finally poured it. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Sophie raised an eyebrow. “I thought you learned that lesson in 2011.”

Victoria laughed, a little breathless. “Fair.” Then paused. “Do you think they even realize how lucky they are to still be in her life?”

Sophie gave her a look that said no, not yet.

But they would.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: i just left mom’s pretty sure she’s going to have words with your mother in law like. capital W. Italics. Possibly in multiple languages

Max: …oh no what kind of “words”

Victoria: the terrifying kind you know how dad yells? mom doesn’t yell. she plans

Max: okay but like what kind of planning are we talking tea-and-a-pointed-sentence planning or scorched-earth-PR-nightmare planning

Victoria: you know the answer to that she was calm. TOO calm. like she’s already made a list and put a neat little check box next to “remind pascale she’s on thin ice”

Max: oh god

Victoria: on the bright side if belle didn’t feel protected before she definitely has a battle unit behind her now

Max: she does she always did but still maybe warn me if mom starts practicing her diplomatic voice that one always ends in casualties

Victoria: consider this your official warning if Mom puts on pearls and offers to “drop by for a coffee,” RUN

***

Instagram DMs: @sophiekumpen → @charles_leclerc

Sophie: Bonjour, Charles. Would you mind sending me your mother’s number?

Charles:Bonjour… of course. Is everything alright?

Sophie: Everything is fine. I just think she and I should have a little chat. Mother to mother.

Charles: ... Is this about dinner?

Sophie: Among other things. Don’t worry. I’m always very polite. Even when I’m deeply unimpressed.

Charles: ...I’ll send the number. Should I warn her?

Sophie: If you like. Though I find surprise tends to make people more honest. 😊

Charles: Noted.

Sophie: Merci. And Charles? Be kind to your sister. She’s braver than most of you realize.

***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: Sophie Kumpen just DMed me asking for Maman’s number.

Arthur: wait what. as in Max’s mum????

Lorenzo: …what did she say?

Charles: She said she wants to “have a little chat.” “Mother to mother.” Also said she’s “always polite. Even when deeply unimpressed.”

Arthur: holy shit

Lorenzo: That’s… terrifying. She’s the quiet kind of scary.

Charles: Right?? Jos is like a storm. You see him coming. Sophie is the earthquake under your feet.

Arthur: did you give her the number???

Charles: Yes?? What was I supposed to do?? She said “merci” and then told me to be kind to Belle because she’s braver than any of us know. I was emotionally held hostage.

Lorenzo: She’s not wrong. Belle is braver than any of us. We just didn’t see it.

Arthur: we should’ve. we should’ve made her feel like she didn’t need to be brave around us.

Charles: Well. Now we wait for the Sophie Effect.

Lorenzo: Maman’s not ready.

Arthur: nobody’s ready.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie :Good Morning, Belle! I’m in Monaco on Thursday. Would you like to have lunch?

Belle: Yes. That sounds great. Please. Wherever suits you. (Unless you want to come to ours, I’ll make something.)

Sophie: I’ll let you choose. I just want to see you. 12:30?

Belle: Perfect. I’ll make a reservation. Thank you for asking. I’ve really been wanting to talk to you.

Sophie: As have I. I’ll see you Thursday, sweetheart. Bring that beautiful baby bump. And don’t you dare worry about anything else.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Max Verstappen

Belle: Did you know your mother is in Monaco on Thursday?!

Max: …no? I had no idea. Why? What’s happening? Is she okay?

Belle: She just texted and asked if I wanted to get lunch. No drama. Just lunch. She was very sweet.

Max: That’s good?? I mean, she loves you. I’m just confused why I didn’t know 😅

Belle: Maybe she didn’t want you to stress about it.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: The day has come. The talk is upon us. Mom’s going to be in Monaco on Thursday.

Victoria: oh. oh no. is this about Pascale?

Max: She asked Belle to lunch. Alone. So I am expecting her to verbally annihilate Pascale for breakfast.

Victoria: SHE’S GOING TO EAT HER ALIVE IN A TAILORED COAT AND PEARL EARRINGS

Max: I’m honestly more afraid for Pascale than I was for Dad that one time

Victoria: she’s going to do the quiet voice

Max: the lethal quiet voice the "I’m not angry, I’m disappointed and also morally superior" tone

Victoria: may God have mercy on Pascale’s soul (because mom won’t)

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Charles Leclerc

Max: Heads up. My mum is going to be in Monaco on Thursday.

Charles: Oh no.

Max:

I’m 95% sure this is about Sunday.

And your mother.

Charles:

Ah. She asked me for her phone number but clearly she has decided that she needs to talk to her in person…

Max: Yeah. She knows what happened at dinner. I didn’t tell her everything, but I didn’t need to. She’s connected enough dots to be… not thrilled.

Charles: How bad are we talking?

Max: Sophie-bad. Not Jos yelling bad—worse. The calm kind of bad. The “I will destroy you with facts and a smile” kind of bad.

Charles: …she’s going to kill Maman.

Max: She’s not going to kill her. She’s going to sit across from her in linen trousers and a silk scarf and say things that sound perfectly polite and make your mother spiral for weeks.

Charles: Oh god.

Max: Belle has no idea. And I would prefer to keep it that way.

Charles: Understood. I’ll warn the others. (Should we call Lorenzo?? He’s the diplomat.)

Max:

If Sophie wants to talk, Lorenzo couldn’t broker peace if he tried.

***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: 🚨 Update: Sophie Verstappen is going to be in Monaco on Thursday. It’s not a social visit. It’s a Sophie visit. Max warned me. She knows what happened at dinner. Apparently Max didn’t even tell her everything—but she figured it out. She’s not happy.

Arthur: Okay but what does that mean exactly??

Lorenzo: It means she’s coming in tailored trousers and quiet fury and is about to emotionally dismantle Maman using three polite sentences and an herbal tea.

Arthur: …should we warn Maman??

Charles: That’s what I said.

Lorenzo: If we tell her, she’ll try to control the situation and that’ll make it worse.

Arthur: So we just… let her walk into the Sophie Trap??

Charles: We let Max handle it. He asked us not to say anything to Belle. She has no idea.

Lorenzo: She deserves a break, anyway. Honestly, Sophie giving Maman a long-overdue reality check might be the best gift Belle could get.

Arthur: She’s going to obliterate Maman, isn’t she. .

Charles: Max literally said: “She’s going to sit across from her in linen trousers and a silk scarf and say things that sound perfectly polite and make your mother spiral for weeks.”

Lorenzo: …well.

Arthur: Should we do something?

Charles: Max said not to. I quote: “If Sophie wants to talk, Lorenzo couldn’t broker peace if he tried.”

Lorenzo: Rude, but fair.

Arthur: I vote we hide.

***

Sophie hadn’t come to Monaco to start a fight. She didn’t need to.

People like Pascale Leclerc didn’t respond to raised voices. They responded to subtle shifts in temperature. Gentle truths. Icy clarity.

Sophie’s heels clicked softly against the stone path leading to Pascale Leclerc’s door, the rhythm even, precise. She’d chosen her outfit deliberately: clean ivory trousers, a soft blue blouse, hair pinned back. No jewelry except for her watch. Everything about her appearance said calm, collected, reasonable.

And that, of course, was the point.

Jos could intimidate with volume. Sophie did it with silence, with poise, with a steel-edged smile that didn’t need to raise its voice to be heard.

The door opened.

Pascale blinked at her, startled and still in her dressing robe, a coffee cup in hand.

“Sophie?”

“Bonjour, Pascale,” Sophie said, smooth as ever. “I hope I’m not intruding. I was in Monaco and thought we could catch up.”

“Oh, I—of course, come in.”

Inside, everything was as Sophie expected. Elegant. Neutral. Impersonal.

She took a seat in the sitting room, hands resting lightly in her lap as Pascale flitted to the kitchen to prepare espresso. Sophie’s eyes wandered—not snooping, just observant. Pictures of the Leclerc children lined the mantel. Arthur, Charles, Lorenzo—big frames, central placements. Belle was there too, but off to the side. Cropped in. Slightly tilted behind a decorative candle holder.

That told her everything she needed to know.

Pascale returned with the espresso cups and handed one over with a tentative smile. “Sugar?”

“Always,” Sophie replied.

There was a moment of polite silence.

“I’m not here because something’s wrong,” Sophie said calmly. “I’m here because something has been wrong for a very long time. And I think you need to hear it from someone who isn’t your daughter. I heard about Sunday finner”

Pascale blinked. “From Belle?”

“From my son.” Sophie’s gaze didn’t waver. “Belle doesn’t complain. She survives.”

Pascale flinched. “I didn’t mean to upset her—”

Sophie tilted her head, eyes cool. “You didn’t mean to. That’s always the excuse, isn’t it? You’ve built your whole motherhood on the idea that intention erases harm. It doesn’t.”

Pascale didn’t answer.

“You didn’t mean to forget her birthday. You didn’t mean to dismiss her work. You didn’t mean to make a joke about not being invited to her wedding when you didn’t even ask why you weren’t invited in the first place.”

Pascale went quiet.

Sophie continued, voice calm and exact. “You didn’t mean to hurt her. But you did. Over and over. Because you assumed she’d take it. That she’d understand. That she’d be fine.”

Sophie set down her cup and folded her hands neatly. Her voice didn’t sharpen, but it grew firmer. “I have two children. Max and Victoria.”

Pascale nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“They’re just about two years apart. He was born in 1997. She arrived in 1999. They were loud. Competitive. Wild.” A fond smile tugged at Sophie’s lips. “Very much siblings.”

Pascale exhaled. “They’re close in age too, you know. All three of them. Charles was born in 1997. Belle in ’99. Arthur in 2000. They were always… together. Loud. Chaotic. There is no manual for parenting children so tightly packed.”

Sophie let the silence breathe before adding, “And yet somehow, I managed not to forget my daughter.”

Pascale flinched.

“I love both of my children. Equally. Differently. Fiercely. And not once have I ever made Victoria feel like she mattered less than Max. Even when he started winning karting trophies. Even when the spotlight was on him and him alone. I could’ve let him take up all the space. He’s Max Verstappen—how easy would that have been? One child chasing world titles, the other left in the background.”

Sophie folded her hands delicately around her coffee cup.

“I know what it’s like to sit at a dinner table and choose to ask my daughter how her week was. I know what it’s like to remember her birthday even when Max has a race. I know what it’s like to see them both as whole people—equally deserving of being seen, even when the world tries to make it about just one.”

She let that sit between them. Let it sting.

“I don’t think you meant to forget Belle,” Sophie said, her voice soft now. “But you did. For years.”

“I know I haven’t always handled things well,” Pascale said. “Charles’ career took so much of everything. Time. Energy. Attention. And Belle never demanded anything. Not like the boys.”

“That’s the thing about girls like Belle,” Sophie said. “They don’t demand—they just quietly disappear. Until one day, they don’t come back.” Sophie leaned forward slightly. “You didn’t just forget your daughter. You erased her. Slowly. Kindly. With a smile. The kind of maternal neglect you can hide behind birthday cards and a roast chicken.”

Tears pricked in Pascale’s eyes. Sophie didn’t flinch.

“Belle is more than Charles’ sister. More than a Leclerc. She’s a woman. A professional. A wife. A soon-to-be mother. And you made her feel like the understudy in a family performance that never had room for her.”

A pause.

“She didn’t invite you to her wedding because she didn’t feel safe. That’s not an oversight, Pascale. That’s a statement. And she was right to make it.”

That landed.

“She didn’t marry Max because of who he is on the grid,” Sophie went on. “She married him because he saw her. Because he made her feel like she mattered. Because he never asked her to shrink.”

A long pause.

“She loves you, Pascale. That’s obvious. It’s why it hurt so much. It’s why she stayed quiet for so long. But she’s not going to beg anymore. And you don’t get forever to fix this.”

“I’ve watched Max fall in love exactly once,” Sophie said softly. “And it was with her. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her.”

That stopped Pascale. She said nothing.

“Do you understand what that means, Pascale?” Sophie asked. “Max is not an easy man. He’s brilliant, yes. But he is intense. Demanding. He grew up in a house where love was conditional, where you earned praise by winning. And then Belle—your daughter—walked into his life, and everything changed.”

“She softened him,” Sophie continued. “Not by shrinking herself, not by appeasing him. But by loving him exactly as he is. By never making him feel like he was too much. She steadies him. Sees the parts of him he doesn’t let anyone else see. And because of her, he’s gentler. Happier. Kinder.”

A beat.

She met Pascale’s eyes. “Do you know how rare that is? Do you know how much it means to me, as his mother, that the person he chose makes him feel safe?”

Pascale looked down at her hands.

“She is so good for my son,” Sophie said. “She sees him as Max, not a trophy. And he sees her—really sees her. Your daughter. Your brilliant, kind, fiercely steady daughter.”

She picked up her phone and slipped it into her coat pocket. “You may not get many more chances to prove you see her too.”

Pascale rose slowly, still blinking.

Sophie reached the door, paused, and turned. “It’s not too late, Pascale. But it’s getting close.”

And with that, she left. Silent, measured, devastating. Like a queen who didn’t need a crown to be feared.

***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Arthur:ok but like who’s going to check on Maman

Charles:not me.

Arthur:not me. Enzo, you’re up.

Lorenzo:you’re both cowards. you’ve driven at monaco in the rain and you’re scared of a 60-year-old woman in linen this is above my paygrade

Charles: this is above everyone’s paygrade

Lorenzo:i’m not a diplomat. i can’t emotionally reparent maman.

Lorenzo: if i don’t text back in 20 mins assume the worst and tell Charlotte i loved her

Arthur: Also… maybe don’t bring up Belle for a bit.

Lorenzo: She already said, “I was trying my best.” I didn’t know what to say.

Arthur: Maybe: “Then your best wasn’t good enough”? 😬

Charles: Jesus Christ. Do not say that.

***

Belle was already seated at their usual table at Le Petit Marché by the time Sophie arrived—linen blouse perfectly pressed, sunglasses still perched on her head like she’d walked out of a silent film set in Saint-Tropez.

“Bonjour, sweetheart,” Sophie said, leaning down to kiss both her cheeks before taking the seat across from her.�� “You look glowing.”

Belle laughed, a little breathless. “I look puffy.”

“You look lovely,” Sophie corrected, settling across from her. She flagged down the waiter with a tilt of her chin. “Still sparkling water?”

Belle nodded. “You remember.”

“I remember everything,” Sophie said lightly, but her eyes lingered on Belle for a second too long to be casual.

They ordered—salads, tartines, nothing too heavy—and by the time the drinks arrived, Belle had finally let herself exhale.

It was easy, being with Sophie. It always had been.

Max’s mother had never made her feel like she needed to be louder, or smaller, or clever in a way that didn’t come naturally. Sophie simply saw her, and for Belle, that was still something of a quiet miracle.

They talked about everything and nothing. It was only when their plates had been cleared and coffee had been brought that Sophie said, in her most casual tone, “And how are you doing? Truly?”

Belle blinked. “I’m… okay.”

Sophie tilted her head.

“Some days are harder than others,” Belle admitted. “But Max makes them better. Always.”

Sophie stirred her coffee once, twice, then set her spoon down with precision. “He’s different with you, you know.”

Belle smiled, ducking her head. “I know.”

“I’ve watched that boy drive through everything—noise, pressure, fire. And still, you’re the first person who made him slow down.” Sophie’s gaze softened. “It’s beautiful. And it scares him.”

Belle was still smiling when she looked up and saw Sophie watching her. Not assessing. Not judging. Just… looking.

“I had coffee with your mother this morning,” Sophie said, tone gentle but deliberate.

Belle blinked. “You did?”

“I did. She didn’t know I was coming. I like the element of surprise.”

Belle set her fork down carefully. “Was she…”

“Wrecked? Defensive? A little of both.” Sophie shrugged. “But I said what I needed to say.”

Belle was silent, unsure if she wanted to ask what that entailed.

Sophie didn’t make her. “I told her that I have a son who drives a Formula One car. And a daughter who has spent most of her life in his shadow. Just like you.”

Belle’s throat tightened.

“But I didn’t forget my daughter,” Sophie continued, voice calm and precise. “I didn’t ask her to shrink so her brother could shine. I didn’t treat her love as smaller just because it wasn’t in a headline. And I certainly didn’t make her feel like the supporting character in her own life.”

Belle looked down at her water glass. Her eyes stung.

“I told her,” Sophie went on, “that my son saw your worth immediately. From the first moment. ”

Belle swallowed, hard. “Sophie…”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Sophie said. “It was overdue.”

“She loves you, I think,” Sophie said. “But love without effort is just sentiment. And you deserve more than sentiment.”

“Thank you,” Belle whispered.“I’m really glad you’re here,” Belle said softly.

Sophie smiled and reached across the table, brushing a piece of hair from Belle’s cheek. “You are my daughter now. I will always show up.”

Belle blinked fast. “If I cry in this café, Max is going to blame you.”

“He already does,” Sophie said breezily. “Now then we’re going shopping. I saw a pair of flats that are very you, and you’re not leaving without them.”

Which meant Belle left the afternoon with a pair of maternity jeans so well-tailored she could cry, a cashmere cardigan in the softest dove grey, and a little knit hat for the baby that Sophie claimed she couldn’t walk past without buying.

“I spoil the people I love,” she said, like it was obvious.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Charles Leclerc

Charles: Your mother’s intervention has resulted in our mother questioning all her life choices.

Max:Good. She should.

Charles: She’s been sitting on the balcony for an hour Just… staring at the sea Like she’s in an existential French film. Alexandra brought her tea and she whispered "Am I a bad mother?"

Max: Sophie works fast. And thoroughly.

Charles: She didn’t even raise her voice.

Max: She never does. That’s how you know it’s serious.

Charles: Do you think she’s available for hire? We could send her to FIA meetings.

Max: I’ll ask.

Charles: No but seriously I think it got through to her. She hasn’t deflected once today. She’s just… quiet.

Max: That’s progress.

Charles: She’s still herself, don’t worry. She asked if Belle wanted a proper wedding And Arthur started choking on his juice.

Max: Tell your mother our wedding was already perfect. No upgrades needed.

Charles: Tell your mother she might be the only person who’s ever successfully made our mother reflect. It’s like watching a glacier move.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: And has your mother-in-law survived Mom? 👀

Max:

She’s still breathing. But I think she’s in a mild existential crisis.

Victoria: Mild?

Max: She spent twenty minutes staring at the ocean in silence. Then apparently asked Charles if she’s been a bad mother. Then actually listened when he answered.

Victoria: Oh damn. Mom really unleashed the linen-trousered therapy nuke.

Max: She just sipped her espresso and dismantled a whole family system. Belle doesn’t know the half of it.

Victoria: She doesn’t need to. Mom did what moms are supposed to do: Protect their daughters.

Max: I know. And Belle’s glowing today. She had lunch with her and came back with a cardigan, a hat for the baby, and suspiciously expensive flats.

Victoria: That’s the Sophie Kumpen Experience™ Phase 1: espresso. Phase 2: emotional reparenting. Phase 3: light shopping spree.

Max: Tell me you’re related without telling me you’re related.

Victoria: Tell Belle I said she’s now Mom’s favorite. Also tell Pascale not to test her again unless she wants a sequel.

***

The room felt softer this time.

There was no cold weight in her chest, no sense of armor laced tight under her ribs. Belle still sat close to Max, still had one hand resting over her bump, but for once, it wasn’t to brace herself. It was just—her hand. On her stomach. Because their son had been active all morning, and she could feel the light nudges that reminded her, constantly, of the new chapter ahead.

Camille gave everyone the same calm nod as she sat. “Thank you for being here again.”

They all murmured polite hellos. Belle caught her brothers’ expressions—Charles quiet but attentive, Arthur slightly wary, Lorenzo composed as ever. Max, steady and grounded next to her, nodded at Camille. She always liked how seriously he took this.

But it was Pascale who surprised her.

Her mother looked tired—but not defensive. Not braced. She looked… resolved. There were faint lines beneath her eyes, the kind that come from crying. Her hair was pinned back neatly. Her hands folded in her lap. Belle didn’t recognize this version of her. And somehow, that made it harder.

“Before we begin,” Camille said gently, “Pascale mentioned she had something she’d like to say.”

Belle tensed automatically. Max’s pinky brushed hers in silent reassurance.

Pascale looked at her daughter.

“I owe you an apology,” she said quietly.

The words landed like a stone in the water. Clear. Heavy. Real.

Belle didn’t speak.

“I didn’t come here today to justify anything,” Pascale said. “I’ve spent too long doing that. Dismissing things. Telling myself that good intentions were enough.” She exhaled. “They weren’t.”

The silence in the room wasn’t awkward. It was reverent.

“I’ve been thinking a lot this week,” Pascale continued. “About you, Belle. About how many birthdays I missed. How many quiet accomplishments I treated like background noise. I thought I was being fair. Letting everyone find their own way. But I see now—I see that I didn’t give you the same space I gave the boys.”

Belle’s throat tightened.

Pascale looked down, voice softer. “I told myself that because you didn’t complain, you were okay. That you were independent. That you didn’t need as much.” Her voice cracked. “But you did. Of course you did. And I wasn’t there.”

There was a moment—brief, flickering—where Belle’s heart stuttered. She tried to breathe through it.

“I was a good mother to Charles,” Pascale said. “And Arthur. And Lorenzo. But I wasn’t a good mother to you. And I want to say that out loud. I need you to hear it. No excuses. Just truth.”

A beat. Then another.

“And I am so proud of the woman you became anyway.”

That broke something in Belle. She didn’t cry—but the tears burned hot in her chest, where all the old silences used to live.

Pascale looked up, eyes glassy. “Your work is brilliant. Your marriage is strong. And this baby—this baby is so lucky. Because he’ll be raised by someone who knows how to see people. Truly see them.”

Belle exhaled shakily.

“I want to earn my place again,” Pascale said. “Not as your mother by name. But as someone who supports you. Who shows up. Who listens, even when it’s uncomfortable.”

Max stayed quiet beside her. Charles had his hand loosely over his mouth. Arthur blinked hard. Lorenzo watched his mother like he was seeing her clearly for the first time.

Belle’s voice was small. “It hurt.”

“I know,” Pascale whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

609 notes · View notes

saffusthings · 3 days ago

Text

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part forty-three: y/n

word count: 5.5k

warnings: this chapter contains descriptions of violence and gore. reader discretion is advised.

forty-two | forty-three | forty-four

“Y/N—”

His knees hit the tile hard.

There was no time to think. There was no protocol or logic. There was just instinct — vicious, blinding instinct — as Lando dropped to his knees beside Y/N, already reaching for her, already trying to stop the bleeding with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

She was on her side, curled in on herself like her body was trying to hold in what it couldn’t. There was blood — not a lot at first, but more now. It soaked through her shirt in thick, wet patches and smeared across the floor from where she’d moved, or at least tried to. Her fingers were clumsy where they pressed against her own side, slipping and twitching with every shaky breath she tried to take.

This isn’t happening.

There was also the sound. It wasn’t a scream or a cry. Instead, it was just a wet, desperate wheeze. Her body jerked with each gasp — shallow, wet, choking sounds that made him feel like he was suffocating too.

“Hey. Hey, look a’ me.” His voice shook. He grabbed her face too quickly, too rough, trying to tilt her towards him, but he didn’t know what else to do. “Stay with me. Please.”

It hurt worse because she was trying.

He could see it in the way her mouth moved, like she was trying to say something. His name, maybe. Or help. Or hurts. But all that came out was more blood — red against her lips, down her chin, too bright.

His stomach turned.

“Fuck—what happened?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. “Who– Who did this? What the fuck happened—”

He was interrupted when her body jolted slightly and her hand clutched at his wrist and she was coughing again, harder now, the blood bubbling from her mouth and dripping down her cheek.

He froze.

Then panic ripped through him like lightning.

Somewhere in the back, the phone kept ringing.

“Help!” he screamed, his throat raw. “Somebody fucking help me! Please— please, she’s— someone call an ambulance!”

He could barely breathe. His whole body felt wired and numb all at once, like he was floating above himself watching it happen.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed how her hands were still pressed against her stomach, but they were losing strength — fingers twitching, slipping, losing grip. He pressed his palms over hers, harder than he should have, trying to add pressure, to stop the leak, to fix it somehow, but the blood kept coming, dark and too much and too fast.

“You’re okay,” he said, his voice thin, breaking. “You’re alright, yeah? I’ve got you. You– You’re okay. You’re— fuck, what happened?”

In response, she could only look at him. Everything seemed to blur around the edges, including the outline of the man now holding her. Her eyes were wide and wet, dark pupils blown and drifting.

This isn’t happening.

Her lips moved but no sound came out. There was only more blood.

“No, no, no, no—fuck!”, he muttered under his breath, clearly frustrated. He grabbed her more tightly now, easing her onto her back as gently as he could. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just—just breathe, alright? I know it hurts, I know, but you have to stay awake, okay?”

Instinctively, he still looked to her for a response. Maybe it was some desperate hope that she’d do something, make a gesture of some sort – that she’d do anything that she was aware, that she was here with him now.

It was only then he noticed the way she was shivering, the tny tremors wracking her weakening form. He didn’t know if it was fear, or shock, or from the blood loss — probably all of it. Her whole body was trembling against him and her eyes were unfocused now, lashes fluttering, her gaze slipping somewhere just past his shoulder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–,” Lando swore loudly. His eyes darted to her side, where her hands were trembling against her stomach, barely pressing now, too weak to hold their grip. Immediately, he moved to take over, desperate to do anything to help as he pulled up her shirt just enough to see the wound.

The moment he saw it, all the oxygen escaped his lungs at once.

This isn’t happening.

Just where the cartilage met the bone of some of her ribs was a single, deep puncture wound. The incision was clean, even beneath the mess of fresh and dried blood that decorated its entrance, more blood spritzing weakly each time she attempted another shaky inhale.

Lower right lung.

Clean.

If it nicked somethin’ in there–

Lando couldn’t afford to think like that. So instead of thinking, he pressed down hard against the open flesh wound. Y/N let out a strangled cry, but at least it was sound.

She can’t do that if she’s dead, he had to remind himself. That means she’s still alive.

She’s still alive.

Keep her alive.

Soon enough, even his hands alone weren't enough to stop the never ending flow of blood. Desperately, he spun his head around, looking for anything he could use, anything that could help. Anything even remotely useful was too far for him to reach without letting go of her, to far to reach without getting up.

Wild eyes flitted in every direction, hoping to find a miracle. Eventually, when all else seemed to fail, Lando remembered the sweatshirt he’d been wearing.

I can use that. I can use it like a bandage and it’ll buy her time. It’ll buy her time so that she can–

So she could what?

Physically shaking the thought from his mind, Lando quickly pulled his sweatshirt over his head, before wadding it up and pushing it into the wound. As the fabric soaked up the fresh blood, rubbing up against the injury, Y/N cried out in pain again, the fabric’s brush causing her wound to burn. Her brown eyes widened with pain, her breath hitching and rattling.

“Y/N,” he called out, this time louder, hands shaking as he tried to steady her. Scrambling to find new patches of the fabric that hadn’t already been soaked in her blood, he explained, “I think– I think you’re bleedin’ into your chest. Shit—shit, I think ‘s your lung or somethin’, fuck, fuck—”

Her eyes were unfocused, her skin pale.

There was no way for him to know what was making it worse and what wasn’t, certainly not when his mind was blank and filled with static the way it was then. All he could do was hold her tighter, his palms pressed to her side as he tried to keep the warmth in. He pressed harder with little regard for her discomfort, because he would happily apologize for the rest of his life if he could just manage to keep her alive, if he could just manage to keep the cold tinge of death from creeping further up her fingertips.

“You’re okay,” he lied, smiling up at her. It was a warped, terrified quirk of his lips more than anything, but he put everything he had into making it as convincing as possible. Y/N deserved at least that much.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re okay, Y/N, you’re fine. ‘M right here.”

Below him, in his arms, the girl blinked slowly, like even that small action took too much effort. Her fingers twitched beneath his as blood leaked between them. Her legs twitched weakly once before going still again.

What? No, that can’t—

“Hey, hey, hey, stay with me,” Lando begged, his voice breaking completely. He’d begun to rock ever so slightly without realizing it, as if trying to soothe her to rest. “Don’t close your eyes. I swear to God, don’t fucking do that to me—”

Her eyelids fluttered anyway, as the colors only began to fade more feom view. Y/N tried desperately to focus on anything — the beaming overhead lights, the color of Lando’s eyes — but to no avail.

Oh, she realized distantly, trying to force herself to sort out her muddled thoughts. Lando’s here.

It was hard to know if she had managed to smile, since everything was so hard and Y/N was so very tired. But what she did know was that if Lando was here, he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

As if triggered by that very thought, the singing pain in her side began to lessen, an odd coolness beginning to spread in its place. It was now significantly less uncomfortable, enough that she could finally allow herself just a moment of rest—

“No, no, don’t— shit, HELP!” Lando screamed, the sound so raw it scraped up his throat. The cry seemed to reverberate in the empty of the store. “SOMEONE HELP ME— SOMEONE FUCKING HELP ME, SHE’S DYING!”

No one answered.

With shaking hands and blood-slicked fingers, Lando managed to pull out his phone and dial the emergency number, snapping at the dispatcher so fast they had to tell him to repeat himself. How could barely recall anything he’d actually said — their location, that she was stabbed.

He’d told them she was dying.

That he remembered.

By the time he ended the call, she was barely conscious.

“Hey. Hey, don’t fucking do this t’ me.”

He cupped her cheek with one hand, the other still pressing hard against her wound. His hands, his forearms, his clothes – everything was covered in her blood. His jeans were soaked through. Her breath was uneven, sharp and hitching.

It felt like hours passed before her eyes fluttered. Her lips parted in another attempt to speak, but all that came out was another choke. Blood bubbled at the base of her throat.

He nearly lost it then.

Hazel eyes met hers as he searched her face once more, looking for any sign she was in pain. But where there was once a grimace, now there was nothing. Nothing except familiar brown eyes, now wide with terror.

With his hoodie still pressed to her side in a futile attempt to put pressure on the bleeding, Lando was finally at a loss of what to do. There was no trick, no plan, no scheme that would whisk them away from this nightmare. There was only them, waiting on the faith that help would eventually arrive.

As they waited, there was nothing he could do to take that look off her face. So he did the only thing he could still do for her.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he lied, his forehead pressed to hers. He had to force himself not to flinch in response to how cold her skin was against his.

She’s not supposed to be cold. She hates being cold, always wants socks or a blanket or to lay next to me so she isn’t cold.

She’s not supposed to be cold.

“You hear me? You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, promise.”

It might have just been his own wishful thinking, but Lando almost could’ve sworn he heard her try to mumble his name. But when he looked at her eyes, they began to flutter shut.

“No. No. Stop it, stop it. Don’t– Please, sweetheart—”

The phone clattered to the ground beside him, forgotten. If the dispatcher said anything else, Lando certainly didn’t hear it. Even as he gently tried to shake her awake, her eyes continued to slip closed.

“No, baby, hey—hey.”

He leaned in, voice cracking under the weight of panic and heartbreak. “Stay with me, okay? I know you hate me. I know. But don’t—please don’t leave me like this.”

She didn’t answer him.

Her lips barely parted with each dwindling breath, but that was the only sign she’d ever been breathing at all. Her lips moved, but there was no sound now. Where there once was muffled coughing or gurgling or even just weak wheezing, now there was no sound at all.

“Somebody help!” he shouted once more, one final hail mary attempt from a boy who was watching the one thing he loved fade before his very eyes. “Please— SOMEONE HELP ME!”

Nothing happened.

No one came.

There was just the sound of her ragged breathing. Just the music still playing softly in the background, some lazy instrumental track that suddenly felt cruel. There was just the blood on the floor, warm against his knees.

As he sat there, swathed in artificial lighting and surrounded by a puddle of darkening red, Lando Norris finally broke. He cried like his chest had split open, because for him, it had. He cried until his shoulders shook and his tears fell to the tiles like a sorry attempt at washing away the damage that had already been done.

Lando Norris cried like a little boy.

Even in his despair, his fingers curled tighter around her, holding her closer the way he used to as they laid on her couch not long ago. This time, however, his hands shook as he pressed harder. Her blood had now soaked through every layer of his clothing. He could feel it stain the skin of his knees, the fabric of his sleeves, could feel it dry into the crevices under his fingernails.

“You’re okay,” he continued to ramble quietly, his free hand searching frantically for some place where he wouldn’t somehow make it worse, where he wouldn’t somehow reap the soul from her body any faster than he already was. “You’re gonna be okay, I’ve got you. You’re gonna be fine.”

As her body held on to the last tendrils of consciousness, Lando finally heard a faint sound in the distance.

Sirens.

He could hear them approaching closer, growing louder as they neared. But even then, they still sounded too far away.

Brushing the hair out of her face, Lando tried to give her a watery smile. His free hand reached for one of hers, squeezing it in an attempt at reassurance as tears streamed silently down his face. The sirens continued to grow louder as he curled himself around her further, like he was putting himself between her and the rest of the world, as if he was afraid someone would take her away from him.

He leaned his forehead against hers and whispered shakily, “Don’t go where I can’t follow, okay?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Even when the ambulance finally arrived, his hand never left hers.

Not once.

While the EMTs rushed to prepare the ambulance to take her, Lando appeared to be lost in his own world. The rest of the world faded into the background as he kept all his attention on her, nothing more important to him when every second she was in her arms could be her last.

He cupped her cheek with one hand, the other still pressing down on the gash in her side, and gently brushed his fingers against her cheek in soft strokes.

But she was so still now.

So quiet.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered. “You hear me? You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna get through this, and I’m gonna tell you m’sorry a thousand fucking times, and you’re gonna roll your eyes and make fun of me for crying. You’re gonna tell me I’m being dramatic and tell me to shut up and maybe— maybe even let me kiss you again someday.”

Y/N’s eyes finally slipped closed.

Panic consumed Lando like a tidal wave inside his chest. “No. No. Y/N—open your eyes. Please.”

The ambulance lights hit the windows as they finally drove away: red, then blue, then red again.

Lando didn’t remember walking through the doors of Princess Grace Hospital.

He could only vaguely recall being in the ambulance, muttering things under his breath, his words only soft enough for Y/N to hear. He remembered being upset about something…

But about what?

It took effort to recall the details with any level of clarity. As he strained himself to remember, he was suddenly overwhelmed with the chaos of the emergency department as the main doors swung open before him.

One medic was already haunched over her, checking vitals and shouting numbers. Another was holding pressure on the wound — not his hands anymore, someone else’s hands. That shook him more than he’d expected. She was bleeding out under someone else’s hands now.

Forcing himself out of whatever haze threatened to cloud over his mind, Lando rushed to keep pace with the rest of the medical personnel as they transferred her from one stretcher to another.

He followed them as far as they let him.

“Sir, you can’t come past this point—”

His brows furrowed, immediately upset. “She’s my— I’m with her!”

Still, Lando wasn’t allowed past the double doors. He barely got a glimpse of her being wheeled away — her face slack, lips blue, oxygen mask pressed too hard against her skin. He tried to follow, tried to push his way after her, but someone — a nurse or a security guard, maybe both — held him back by the shoulders.

“Sir, you need to let them work.”

He nearly decked the guy, but he couldn't conjure the strength to. It was as if when she had left through those doors where he couldn’t follow, his strength had left him too. Instead, he just stood there shaking, covered in blood that wasn’t his.

Lando stood there for a moment. Just stood.

Someone said his name — maybe one of the nurses.

But the hallway started to stretch. His ears rang. His vision blurred around the edges, the sterile overhead lights casting everything in too much white.

As a nurse ushered him into a seat, his leg bounced. His fingers wouldn’t stop twitching. The front of his shirt grew stiff with her blood — and no one had asked him to change yet, probably because no one could even look him in the eyes.

Once he was seated, that was when they proceeded to ask him her full name. He gave it without hesitation. They asked her date of birth — he knew that too.

But medical history? Allergies?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t fucking know.

He’d memorized the sound of her laugh. The rhythm of her breathing when she slept. The exact way she liked her coffee down to the swirl. But he didn’t know what kind of blood ran through her veins, or whether she could take O-negative, or if she’d ever had surgery before.

Something like anger burned in his throat at the mere suggestion that Lando didn't know her. Who the hell were they to even think that? They were’nt the ones who had to know what it felt like when your heart lives outside of your chest. They weren’t the ones that had their hands stained red with her blood. They weren’t the ones who had to listen for the faintest sound of her breathing after knowing what her heartbeat sounded like when she slept. They weren’t the ones who had to watch her go still before their very eyes.

They took her into the OR, and he was left in the waiting room.

He hadn’t moved in hours.

He hadn’t taken a sip of the vending machine coffee someone handed him. He hadn’t gone to the bathroom. Hell, he hadn’t even breathed right since the EMTs took her from his hands.

Now he just sat and waited. When he got too restless, he forced himself up onto his feet and paced. Back and forth, back and forth — near the entrance, then the vending machine, then the desk. Then he sat. Then he stood again. Then he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes like that would stop the image of her from flashing over and over in his mind — her on the floor, her blood in his hands, her fingers slipping from his grasp like the whole world was tilting.

She’d been in surgery for three and a half hours.

The nurse at the desk had said they’d update him.

They hadn’t.

When it felt like time had slowed to a glacial pace, he’d gone to the front desk and asked if they could tell him anything — how deep the wound had gone, what organ had been hit — but they just kept saying they were doing everything they could. That she was in “good hands.”

Lando didn’t give a shit about good hands.

He just wanted her.

He wanted her yelling at him, telling him to go home. He wanted her brushing him off, rolling her eyes, pretending she hadn’t missed him even though he could always tell when she had. He wanted her awake. Breathing. There.

Yet as the clock ticking menacingly on the wall of the waiting room never let him forget, she was somewhere behind a wall of double doors, split open on a table, while strangers stitched her back together and tried to keep her from bleeding out entirely.

Lando pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.

He wasn’t crying.

He refused to cry.

He’d cried enough already.

Instead, the endless hours left him with ample time to play it all over and over again in his mind, like horror film he never wanted to see. Scrunching his eyes shut, his ears echoed with the memory of when the paramedics tried to pull him away from her. He’d screamed at them.

Don’t touch her. Don’t move her. Don’t take her away from me.

They hadn’t listened.

In the ambulance, he just kept whispering to no one: “She has to be okay. She has to.”

Somewhere around hour five, his breath started catching in his chest again. His hands felt like ice. He leaned forward in the chair, elbows on knees, trying to steady himself.

One of the nurses nearby seemed to notice the way Lando was hyperventilating as if the walls were closing in on him. She tried to get him to eat, to get some rest.

Lando wordlessly waved her away without answering.

The truth was that he was stuck. He was stuck in the moment he saw her eyes start to close, in the way she’d tried to say his name but couldn’t, in the way her hands slipped away from his and her body went so, so still.

He remembered thinking, This is what it looks like when someone dies in your arms.

And he hadn’t realized until just now that he was still holding her weight, even when she wasn’t there.

Physically, Lando Norris was sat in the emergency room of one of the best hospitals in the world, armed with a soft paper cup of lukewarm coffee that he wasn’t drinking, squinting every time the doors swung open just in case it was someone with news. However, in his mind, Lando was still on that café floor, still whispering to her through the blood, still begging her to hold on.

“Are you here for Y/N Y/L/N?”

Lando instantly bolted upright. “Yes. Is she—?”

“She is still in surgery,” a nurse said calmly. “We just wanted to inform you. It is… taking a while.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, voice too rough to sound like himself.

The nurse hesitated. “It means she lost quite a lot of blood. And her body isn’t responding well to the transfusions.”

That news marked the beginning of hours of pacing and stopping and pacing again, of every clock tick feeling like a needle to the back of his spine. He’d already asked the nurse’s station a second time too — no update. She was still in surgery. The damage had been extensive. The blood loss alone would’ve been enough to kill her if they’d gotten there even five minutes later.

What do you even say to that?

It was hour six when a surgeon finally emerged, just after 4 a.m. He looked middle-aged, and weary-eyed, rubbing at his face like the surgery had aged him in real time as he approached where Lando sat in the waiting room.

“She made it through surgery,” he stated first. “But it was close.”

That word didn’t leave Lando’s head.

Close.

“She lost a significant amount of blood,” the doctor went on, voice calm but firm, like this was just another case. “The stab wound punctured her lower lung, missed a major artery by about a centimeter. We had to do an emergency thoracotomy and abdominal exploration to control the internal bleeding.”

“She’s had two transfusions already,” the doctor added. “Her body’s reacting slowly. It could be the stress, could be the shock. Maybe also she was on the floor for longer than anyone realized.”

Then hee paused, as if trying to decide how much to say.

Lando only stared.

“They’ve had to go very slow with the replacement as she is rejecting some of it. It’s not uncommon. But it is dangerous. And the wound was… close. It missed her major artery by about two centimeters. We had to transfuse more than we expected — her body’s not accepting the new volume as quickly as we’d like. We’re monitoring for signs of organ stress.”

Lando’s mouth was dry. “But she’s alive?”

A beat.

“She made it through surgery,” the doctor said. “The blade missed several critical nerves by millimeters. But she’s still in critical condition. We need to see how she responds.”

Lando nodded once. Truthfully, it was about all he could manage. All the exhaustion of the day caught up with him at once, every muscle and joint aching as if he had spent the whole day sparring or running. Everything felt weaker, more fragile somehow.

“She’s being moved to ICU,” a woman came to inform him afterward. “She’ll be monitored for the next twenty-four hours. Those will be critical. If she stabilizes by tomorrow morning, her chances go up. If not…”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t have to.

They didn’t let him see her right away. “ICU protocol,” they’d explained.

But through the small window of the door, he could see the outline of her body beneath the thin white blanket. Tubes in her arms. Wires on her chest. The hiss of a ventilator helping her lungs do what they should’ve been able to on their own.

She looked nothing like herself.

She looked… small.

He pressed a hand to the window, even as it smeared blood across the glass. He didn’t wipe it off, content with finally being able to see the steady rise and fall of her chest, if even from afar.

They let him in around 3 a.m.

The nurse didn’t say much — just nodded toward the hallway and told him to keep it quiet, and please don’t touch any of the monitors. He didn’t answer, just followed the linoleum path past doors that weren’t hers until he reached the right one.

When they finally did let him see her, he wasn’t ready.

He’d thought he was. He’d spent hours pacing that waiting room, rehearsing what he might say, bracing for the worst, calculating how many apologies he’d need to string together just to deserve breathing the same air as her again.

But when he stepped into that sterile, humming room and saw her lying there, he was startled by how pale she was. It confused him to see her, to see the girl he loved hooked up to more machines than he could count. Her skin appeared faintly clammy under the pulse monitor’s clip.

Looking at her, the words left him entirely.

He hadn’t spoken since they let him in. Instead, he just watched her, just let his eyes move over every inch of her like he was memorizing her face all over again. Her lips were chapped. Her knuckles scraped. Someone had cleaned the blood off her hairline, but he could still see the faint trace of it, like something haunting the edge of her skin.

It was too quiet inside.

Machines hummed softly. One beeped — slow, steady. The fluorescent lighting had been dimmed to a low twilight glow, casting shadows on the walls like ghosts that refused to leave. It only made her look more pale, highlighting the way her lips parted just enough to see the breathing tube. Her arms were tucked with wires and tape and bruises blooming beneath the skin.

Lando sat in the stiff plastic chair at her bedside, elbows on knees, head bowed like he was in prayer. He wanted to reach for her hand, but he flinched when he found that her arm was hooked to an IV line, fingers limp against the starched sheets. A compression cuff hissed softly every few minutes. The bruises on her ribs were starting to surface now — angry, blue and blooming like ink stains.

At least she’s alive.

His elbows braced against his knees. His hands folded in front of him. His eyes didn’t leave her.

“Hey,” he said quietly, because anything louder would’ve felt wrong. “You look terrible.”

He waited for a beat, but there was no laugh or eye roll or snarky comeback about his own disheveled mess. In the silence of the room, there was just the soft hiss of the ventilator, the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Something about the sounds irked him. Slowly, he rubbed a hand down his face, cleary tired beyond just what anyone from the outside could see.

Y/N would’ve been able to see.

He missed her.

“I never meant for this t’ happen,” he muttered. His voice sounded too loud, even though it was barely more than a whisper.

“I was going to let go,” he added, quieter. “I wasn’t going to bother you anymore. I just… I just wanted to see that you were okay. That you moved on. That you—”

He swallowed, jaw tightening.

“But I ruined everything,” he finished, his voice wavering.

He looked down at his hands, still tinged red no matter how hard he scrubbed them raw. He looked down at the hands that had done everything they could to try to keep her alive, only for her to end up like this.

Of course you couldn’t keep her alive.

He was The Reaper, after all. And everyone knew that Reapers could only take lives, not save them. And Lando Norris had never known how to hold anything without killing it.

He stared at her. The only part of her that moved was the slow rise and fall of her chest — mechanical, borrowed, a rhythm not her own.

“I don’t know how to make this right,” he said after a long moment, almost to himself. “I thought I could keep you separate. Like maybe if I loved you hard enough, it would cancel everything else out.”

He let out something like a laugh, but it didn’t sound quite right.

“But it doesn’t work like that. You can’t love someone enough to undo what you are.”

His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry. He never cried when it mattered most. He just sat there, with hands that didn’t know how to be empty and a silence that felt like penance.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he whispered. “I’d take it if I could. Every drop of it. Every minute.”

He reached for her hand, then hesitated, then folded his fingers around hers gently – like if he was any less careful, he might truly break her beyond repair.

Her fingers didn’t move. The machines went on ticking, reminding him that time was still passing — still moving forward, even if he didn’t know how to follow it anymore.

He didn’t let go. The thread bracelet was still around his wrist. It was half-soaked with blood, but still there. He looked at it now, turning it over between his fingers. It was proof that she would always be a part of him, long before she’d even known the truth.

“I don’t even know if you’d want me here,” he murmured, voice rough from too many hours without speaking. “If you knew I was sitting here like this.”

Out of habit, his thumb traced mindless patterns over the back of her hand. It reminded him of warmer times, of simpler ones. Lando would give anything he had to go back to then.

“I used to think the worst thing I could do was lose you. But now I’m starting to think it was letting you know who I really was. Like if I’d just stayed Liam a little longer… you might’ve never looked at me like that.”

He swallowed, hard.

“I don’t want to be the reason you stop loving anything. Not this place. Not your work. Not people.” He shook his head. “But I ruined it. I fucking ruined it. And I would trade everything I’ve ever built just to go back and not—”

He let his eyes fall shut for just a second.

That single second was just long enough to miss the sound of the door creaking open. It was just long enough not to hear the footsteps behind him.

The sound of a safety being turned off was unmistakable, the quiet click of it echoing in the silent room.

Lando didn’t even need to turn around to know what it was. The cold metal pressed to the back of his skull was confirmation enough.

He froze.

A beat passed.

Lando didn’t breathe.

“I knew I’d see you here, Norris,” the man behind him whispered. Alex Albon leaned in slightly — just enough for Lando to feel the weight behind the gun now.

“You’re so fucking predictable when it comes to the people you love.”

a/n: ...

277 notes · View notes

crappymixtape · 2 days ago

Text

tart like cherries, sweet like pie

you’re in the thick of summer and everything’s hot, sticky, sweet. after a long swim session in steve’s pool with the gang, you go to the diner, but when everyone starts to say their goodbyes, steve can’t stop thinking about you and the way you looked when you ate the cherry on top of your strawberry milkshake | ( 1.7k, fluff, kinda smut, friends to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

T A R T L I K E C H E R R I E S, S W E E T L I K E P I E 🎵 gap tooth smile, djo

“Touch my fries again, Munson, and you’re gonna owe me more than a dime bag!”

Robin slapped Eddie’s hand away from the red checkered basket sitting between them on the table.

“Aw, c’mon, Robs. Just one more? Promise,” the curly-haired boy smirked, holding out a pinky, only to be greeted with a skeptically flat look.

“Eventually someone needs to give us a ride back,” Mike snarked, mouth twisted around a frown, “Idiots.”

Max, Will, El, and Lucas all grumbled in agreement. You were all crammed into the half-moon bench seat at the back of the diner, tabletop covered in crumpled up burger wrappers and empty soda cups full of melting ice. After spending the too-hot August afternoon floating in the Harrington’s pool, you’d all begrudgingly crawled out, shoulders red and cheeks pink, to wander downtown in search of air conditioning.

“Hm,” Steve mused, “If only we knew someone with a van…” He grinned across from you, nudging your shin under the table with the toe of his shoe.

“Hey, now–” Eddie started, pointing a finger at the other boy.

“No, no. He has a point,” you cut in with a tut and a shrug, struggling to maintain a straight face.

“Not our fault you drive a mommy missile,” Robin snorted.

Eddie glared at all three of you, then added pointedly to Steve, “I thought you were the god dammed babysitter.”

“I was,” Steve replied agreeably, lacing his hands behind his head and giving him a saccharine sweet smile, “Until you so graciously joined this shit show.” Picking a fry from Robin’s basket, Steve held it between his teeth, “Besides, I gave rides back from the arcade last night, s’your turn.”

Roughing his hands over his face, Eddie groaned against his palms and stood from the table. IN classic Munson theatrics, the boy waved an arm in a big circle before shoving at Mike, “Alright douchebags, let’s go.”

“Wait–” Robin snatched another handful of fries and crammed a few in her mouth, “–I’m on the way, take me too.”

“Seriously?” Eddie gave Steve a desperate look.

“I’ve got a load of donation stuff in the backseat, only room for one with me.”

Steve gave you another grin, but this time it was a little softer, a little curious, and it made your stomach flip over, your brain lapsing for a half second before kickstarting again.

“Yeah–yeah, I can’t go yet. I haven’t even touched my shake,” you clumsily added, cheeks flush as you leaned down and took a long sip of blended strawberry ice cream.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered under his breath, “Fine. Fine. I’ll be the responsible one–and don’t ever say I never did anything for you shitheads!”

“Oh my god–Saint Munson,” Max snarked, mouth tipped up in a half-grin when you and Steve choked on fries and milkshake, “Guardian of children and stupid, nerdy shit.”

Eddie frowned, hands on his hips, “Watch it, Red.”

Then, one by one, the kids all mumbled their goodbyes to you and Steve, giving one-armed hugs as they piled out of the rounded bench seat after Eddie who had already gotten halfway to the door.

“Praised be to Saint Munson!” Steve called after them and Eddie thanked him with an emphatically lifted middle finger without even looking back.

The bell at the front jingled happily as Lucas held the door open for the gang, and then, giving you both a little finger waggle goodbye, the diner fell quiet.

“Saint Munson,” Steve laughed under his breath, “Wish I’d thought of that.”

“You’ll get him next time,” you reassured, kicking at his foot under the table and it pulled his eyes up to meet yours. Warm, brown sugar and honey, framed with thick lashes, crinkled at the edges with a smile.

“Thanks, Bug.”

Your birthday’s in June? Oh, well then I’m gonna call you Bug. Is that okay? You know, like a June bug?

Bug.

Sweet Bug.

His Bug.

Heat crackled in your chest as you returned his smile and leaned down to take another sip of milkshake. Steve’s eyes were still on you, and when you wrapped your lips around your straw, the black of his irises bloomed outward, amber and caramel flashing dark. When he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing against the moles dotting down the column of his throat, you paused.

Friends since second grade, scraped knees and broken arms, summer’s spent floating in the pool and jumping into the quarry. Melted popsicles and dirt roads, coconut sunscreen and freckles, citrus and cedar and fresh laundry and

Steve. Steve. Steve.

Dipping your fingers into your glass, you picked up the cherry at the bottom and lifted it to your lips. Hesitating at the idea of what you were about to do, you watched as Steve blinked at you from across the table, lashes sweeping across the tops of his cheeks while his hands pressed heavy into the red, vinyl seat.

Putting the cherry to your glossy lips, you slipped your tongue under it, pulled it between your teeth and held it there for just a second, watching as Steve unraveled before your eyes. He bit down hard, jaw ticking, muscles strained and eyes glued to your mouth and the way your teeth pressed against the soft fruit, a dot of whipped cream clinging to the corner of your lips.

Finally, slowly, you sunk your teeth into it, a tiny trickle of juice dripping down your chin as you sucked the cherry in, and Steve looked like he might pass out. His too-cool demeanor blown out and boiling over, mouth parted in awe as he tracked the movement of your tongue running along your bottom lip, gathering up the juice and whipped cream.

“I gotta get this table bussed, hon,” a voice shattered the tension between you like a glass and both of you locking onto the waitress, caught.

“Oh–oh right. Course. S–sorry. We’re done. Right? We’re all done. Here–uh–lemme just grab–” Words were spilling out of Steve’s mouth like an open tap, clumsy and fumbling as he dug a wad of bills from his pocket, “Can keep the change. Great food! Great food. Thanks a bunch.”

“Mmhm,” she mumbled with an eye roll, as both of you clambered out of the booth.

Steve hit the door first, car keys clanking against his fingers as his feet hit the sidewalk, body like a furnace not from the summer heatwave, not the last rays of sun stretching up the side of the building, but from you.

You and the way that cherry looked between your teeth, the sharp angles of your cheeks when you sucked in and they hollowed out, the glitter in your eyes as you held his gaze and dared him to keep watching.

“Steve! Wait up–”

Reaching out your hand, your fingers brushed against his, straining for purchase until you finally grabbed hold and tugged, stopping him just as he reached the BMW. He turned around, mouth working around a smile when he finally looked down at you, expression unsure, struggling against shame and want and adoration.

“I’m sorry if I–if I made you uncomfortable or–or–” your words wouldn’t come out, caught in your throat, the feeling at the pit of your stomach teetering between embarrassed and wanting more. “Stupid,” you muttered under your breath, gaze dropping to your feet, but then Steve chuckled and you glanced back up.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at you, cheeks flushed and pink, no longer King Steve, but someone softer. Someone who wanted to try and put words to feelings.

“Honestly?” he said, brows quirking up, “So hot. Like…I don’t think you realize what you were doing to me in there, Bug.” Lifting a hand to your cheek, he ghosted his fingers down the line of your jaw, holding your chin between his thumb and pointer. “Wrecked me,” he admitted, voice lower, warmer, “Is that what you wanted?”

Heat pooled between your legs at his words, his touch, the way he held you in his hand, firm, but careful. Swallowing your nerves, you took a step into him and held his gaze, “What if I said yes?”

“Gonna kill me,” he whispered, pressing his other hand to your hip and sliding two fingers into the belt loop on your jeans to tug you into him.

You could feel the sun radiating from him, warm through the thin, white fabric of his shirt, and you wondered for split second what it would feel like to put your hands on him. Bare skin, golden, sun kissed, fingers chasing freckles across his belly, bumping up his ribs and over his chest.

“Can’t,” you whispered back, “Cos I then I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

Taking a deep breath you pushed up onto your toes and wrapped an arm behind his head, pulled him down into you and pressed your lips to his, swallowing the gasp he’d sucked in.

It tasted like strawberry milkshake, tart cherry and whipped cream. Like every June, July, and August you spent together. All the restraint and tension melting away like ice cream in the sun only to be replaced by this heat, making room for something more.

He ran his tongue against the seam of your lips and you opened to him, let him into your mouth and licked at the way he searched you. He loosed a pained sound that you greedily swallowed, sucking his bottom lip as you pulled away and when you finally looked back up at him, he was completely wrecked. Hair sticking out at the nape of his neck where you’d tangled your fingers, running your nails against the skin there, leaving a trail of goosebumps in your wake.

“Take me home?” you asked quietly, a secret code only he could decipher.

Want you. Need you. More. More. More.

And Steve didn’t make you ask twice, stealing one more kiss before driving you back to his where you’d get lost between the sheets. Tracing each other like a pattern, a maze of sleepless bliss, bodies fitted together like two sides of a locket as you moved in the dark and pulled soft sounds from your lips �� asking each other again and again for another

and another

and another.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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rhettrosunsets · 2 days ago

Text

Early Mornings And Farmers Markets - Joaquin Torres X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres X Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: Last night when you told your boyfriend you wanted to go to the farmers market you didn't think he'd take the request seriously. Well, now it's 8am and your boyfriend is up, ready, and determined to get you out of bed.

Masterlist

Word Count: 700

Warnings: Joaquin does pick reader up. No use of Y/N. No description of reader. Joaquin uses nicknames like Cariño, Baby and Pretty girl for reader. Reader is not a morning person and is snippy in the mornings.

The first thing you registered when you woke up was the sound of the birds chirping outside. The birds were loudly chattering away and you knew one thing, that it was annoying.

It filtered in through the window like, the birds had a personal vendetta out for you. Like they knew how little sleep you’d gotten and how comfortable you had been asleep.

The second thing you registered was your boyfriend's voice. Your normally sweet, amazing, a bit annoying at times boyfriend, who currently you wanted nothing to do with at eight in the morning.

“Alright Cariño. Rise and shine, the sun's fully up, the birds are chirping and your coffee is sitting on the counter.” Joaquin said in a joyful tone having been up for a few hours.

You groaned and buried your face further into your pillow whining out a quick “Tell the birds and the sun to shut up, Quin. It’s too early.”

“Tempting, Baby. But I don’t think I've got the ranks to boss around nature yet.” he says, amusement evident in his tone.

“Mmm, try harder Torres and get back to me on that. Better yet get back into bed and cuddle with me." You mumble out, your voice muffled by your pillow.

Joaquin chuckled, the bed dipping slightly as he sat near your legs. “You said we were gonna go to the farmer’s market this morning Baby. You seemed real excited about it last night and told me to wake you up and everything.”

“Well, I've decided that I've changed my mind and all I want is to stay in our warm bed and for these stupid birds to shut up.” you mumble out rolling onto your side. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. “We could get that stupidly expensive honey you like for your tea if you get up right now, Pretty Girl.”

You lift your head as you look up at him. “The one with the pretty packaging, with the bees all over it?” you ask sleepily, your tired eyes blinking open to look at him.

“The one with the pretty packaging.” Joaquin replies, a soft smirk quirked up on his lips. You flopped back down dramatically. “Five more minutes”

“You’ve already said that three times, pretty girl. ‘Five more minutes’ is just a fancy way of lying to yourself at this point.” he said, tapping your hip softly.

“I'm an eternal optimist, Torres.” You mumble out, trying to roll away from your boyfriend's pestering and back into your warm cocoon of blankets. Then there was a long pause, an almost suspicious pause at that, as you closed your eyes and nestled back into your blankets. After a few more moments you hear, “Alright. You asked for it, Baby.”

“What? Hey! Joaquin!” you squealed as strong arms suddenly slid under you and lifted you straight out of the bed. “Joaquin! I swear to god if you drop me, I'm breaking up with you and your stupid pretty face.”

Joaquin snorts loudly as he adjusts you in his arms as he begins to carry you towards the kitchen “I would never drop something precious as you, Pretty Girl.” he said smugly.

“You’re an asshole Quin!” You groan, unable to get out of your boyfriends hold despite your stuggling.

He chuckled before countering “And you're extremely grumpy, yet I still love you. It's time to get out of bed and start the day, Baby."

“This has to be unconstitutional, there were amendments made for moments like this. No quartering in my house and no making me get out of bed at ungodly hours.”

Joaquin snorted loudly, his laughter jostling you in his arms “You can argue with me after we get breakfast and that honey you like, Baby.”

You sighed, finally slumping against his chest in surrender, as he finishes carrying you to the kitchen and puts you in one of the chairs next to the counter where a coffee is waiting for you.

You yawn dramatically, already reaching towards the cup of coffee “No promises that If someone tries to talk to me before this cup is finished, you may have to end up translating grunts, Quin.”

He kissed your forehead, hands sliding around your waist as he held you for a moment longer than necessary, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You smile sleepily, your first smile of the morning. “Have I told you how much I love you lately, Torres?”

Joaquin smiles with a shake of his head and a soft eye roll, pressing another kiss to your head.

“I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

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ssentimentals · 2 days ago

Note

Hi honey, first I want to congratulate you on your 1.8k! ♡ Next, I want to ask you for number 11 with Seungcheol and angsty. But could I add anything else? Something like Cheol doesn't want to sleep alone in the bed because he's gotten used to sleeping with you, and also, the bed smells like you. Thank you so much ♡

hi, dear! thank you soo much 💜 of course you can add it, i'm always happy when you guys make your request specific, at least that way i have more hope that you'll like it in the end :') thank you for requesting!

prompt: 'i'm not letting you sleep on the couch in your own house'

'i swear to god, seungcheol, one more word and i am getting out of here.'

seungcheol stills. it stings; the fact that you're so mad at him that you better leave your own house than stay here with him stings, but he knows he deserves it. the truth is, seungcheol is just as lost at the whole 'we will figure out this life together' shit as you are and sometimes he trips and makes mistakes and falls.

'go,' you say in a tired voice. all your anger faded away and you look so fragile that his heart squeezes. 'i can't be in the same room with you.'

these words are horrible. the way they hurt him make seungcheol wonder how bad he fucked up, how irreversible the damage is; has he lost you? for good? 'don't do it,' he croaks out. 'let's talk this out-'

'i don't want to talk anymore,' you interrupt, shaking your head. 'i am not breaking up with you, but i am telling you that i am done for tonight, alright? and if you won't leave then i will do it myself.'

without saying anything else you grab your pillow, blanket and storm past him to the living room. seungcheol turns and watches as you throw everything on the couch, seemingly ready to sleep there. he turns back and stares at the bed in the middle of the room like on a foreign subject - what he is supposed to do with it? he can't sleep alone anymore, not after he got together with you. so many months of falling asleep and waking up with you in his arms spoiled him, he can't possibly get on the bed without you. why would he? any bed in the world is made for you two, not for him only. and it hurts - the notion of you not wanting to share the bed with him, not wanting to stay in the same room with him - it hurts. seungcheol's throat tightens as he tries not to lose his mind. with slow steps he goes to the living room, where you're tossing and turning in futile attempts to get comfortable.

'i'm not letting you sleep on the couch in your own house', he says, stopping two steps away from you. 'please go to bed. i will leave, but please go to bed.'

you turn, eyeing him with a frown. seungcheol sighs, squatting until his face is right in front of yours. he grips the edge of the blanket, looking at you with regret: 'i'm sorry for being such a mess.'

seungcheol can add many more things. he can add how he never ever wanted to hurt you, how life without you is a life with no light or love, how he will kneel and beg for your forgiveness if he knew it'd help. you stare at him in silence before muttering: 'why are you acting like we're breaking up?'

'because it feels like it,' seungcheol lets out shakily.

you sigh, sitting up. you are not even close to forgiving him, but you can't let him think that this is it. 'i told you that we're not breaking up, cheol. i just-'

'i can't sleep without you,' he says, looking up. 'i can't- it's wrong. it's so wrong.'

when your hand wraps around his, seungcheol's breath halters. his eyes glimmer with hope as he looks at you. 'you, big baby. let's go to bed then.' you stand up, grabbing your pillow. 'i'm still mad though.'

seungcheol grabs your blanket and follows you to the bedroom, holding his breath. 'we will talk tomorrow?' he asks hopefully, hovering by the edge of the bed, not getting in.

you nod and smile weakly. 'yeah, cheollie. we will talk tomorrow.' you pat the space next to you. 'get in now.'

when seungcheol cautiously wraps his arms around you and your body goes lax, leaning on his, he finally breathes again.

a/n: i hope you liked it!! very random, but cheol is one of the easiest members to write these kinds of scenes for, idk why :D - nini

my other seventeen works are here

request your own here

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intoblonde6ftwbbplayers · 3 days ago

Text

Transferring Hearts; a love story from Columbia to Storrs

TransferTeammate! x UconnPaige!

pairing; octransferteammate! x uconnpaige!

description; A South Carolina transfer comes to uconn after winning her second championship. Not a lot of people know why but all Andrea knows is that she needed to get away for her cheating ex and her lying “friend”.

random details; Andrea Pierce was ranked #1 on espn for her class and that’s how she got a big following. She’s basically 3 years younger than paige (like 2 years and 10 months) she’s entering her junior season and has won the championship twice with south carolina and got MOP in the 23-24 season. Her ex bf (yes a bi queen represented) and her close friend were hooking up behind her back for weeks. Andrea is very active on social media especially tiktok and youtube (think tara yummy style vlogs and edits being made of her).

warnings; none really just I have no clue about basketball like other then what I learned 8th and 9th grade when I was forced to play. Probably bad spelling and grammar bc idk how to used commas. Oh also forgot to mention Andrea is going Latina bc I love my Latina baddies

lmk if y'all want longer chapters like this or shorter ones!

High off wining; prologue

April 6th 2024

"Hey guys what's up. It's your girls here with a quick little check in before tomorrow's game" Andrea said pulling her best friend and teammate Chloe Kitts into the camera

"Andrea Pierce basketball phenom and internet sensation everybody!" Chloe said giving her friend an introduction that wasn't needed but well deserved after her performance during this tournament.

Andrea begins blushing slightly "Okay bro not too much on me" she said with a smile

"alright y'all... i'm feeling it for tomorrow's game like seriously. Mark my words if our girl Andrea gets hot tomorrow then REALLY it's over for Iowa"

"Yeah we're speaking it into the universe guys. Gamecocks are taking the title tomorrow!" Andrea chants

"Yeahhhh! LETS GO WE GOT THIS!" Chloe yells right back into the camera before both girls look at each other laughing

"Alright, alright we need to get to bed before the big game tomorrow but we'll check in with you guys after getting the dub"

Andrea quickly stops the camera and sighs trying to shake out the nerves thinking about the game.

April 7th 2024

"And with 5 minutes left in the 4th quarter both Andrea Pierce and Kamilla Cardoso have been on fire tonight really pushing gamecocks ahead." Ryann Ruocco says

"Yes and let's talk a bit about Andrea Pierce for a second because at first glance you wouldn't expect a 5'7 shooting guard to be one of the biggest names of women's collegiate basketball" Rebecca Lobo said

"And that makes her all the more special. I mean from being ranked #1 in her class from ESPN and just seconds away from winning a national title with the gamecocks" Holly Rowe said

"I mean could Andrea Pierce be the key to a new dynasty for women's basketball? She was out for most of the season her freshman year with a knee injury but South Carolina has had a perfect season so far and Andrea Pierce has been a name that keeps coming up when you ask why" Rebecca Lobo says

"Her basketball IQ and court vision are unmatched I mean just this tournament alone, the no look passes, clutch three-pointers, and even blocks that have changed the game for the gamecocks this season." Rebecca Lobo continues

"And now finally with 4 seconds left and a 7-0 run by South Carolina, all by Andrea Pierce, the score is 87-75 with the gamecocks and Andrea Pierce solidifying this win for coach Dawn Staley and South Carolina." Ryan Ruocco said

"Lets check in with Holly on the court as she interviews Andrea Pierce" Rebecca Lobo said

"Yes thank you Rebecca, Im here with the Andrea Pierce who just got named most outstanding player. How do you feel right now Andrea?" Holly asks

"Uhm... Honestly im feeling really good right now. Just like on top of the world and just so extremely grateful for everything and for this season and for the people around me and that have supported me through everything"

"Yes you certainly have been through a lot in your short collegiate experience. How did your injury last year affect the way you went into this season?"

Andrea laughs nervously and looks down a bit before answering "It's changed the way I look at the world and has given me a deeper appreciation for everything I do and everything I want to accomplish. After my injury i was just living in a state of uncertainty but lots of people reached out, including players i've looked up to for a while, and I formed new bonds and deepened old ones that helped me get here today."

"Wow thats really sweet. Final question Andrea, you've had an amazing season and have even been referred to as the future of women's basketball and even just won MOP, what do you have to say about all this?" Holly asked

"I mean it wasn't just me it was my teammates giving me good looks, good assists, setting screens, the plays being made and just our overall trust in our talent. Everyone that's ever believed in me, close friends and family, and even my fans online that let me know that they're proud..."

Andrea looks to the side for a second with tears in her eyes.

"Ugh i'm tearing up I cant believe this, but uhm yeah when fans tell me 'you're doing so good' or like 'keep it up' like even those little moments have an impact and have gotten me that much closer to this moment and i'm so thankful for everything and everyone who has led me to this and... I cant wait to be back here next year for my second ring!" Andrea finishes excitedly, wiping her tears

"Alright thank you so much Andrea and again congratulations on the win and on the award." Holly finishes.

"Yeah thank you Holly. Bye!" Andrea says waiving one last time to the camera and giving Holly Rowe a quick side hug as she leaves to cut the net down.

"Wow what humble answers Andrea gave us, I mean at this point what's not to like she's great on the court and off" Holly says to the camera

"Yes and that comment about being back here next year? I believe it, I truly think that Andrea Pierce is just going to get better and already being so mature for being just 19 years old. We often talk about her poise on the court but off the court as well." Rebecca Lobo responds

"Yes I noticed that. Whenever you ask about a good game she talks about her teammates and coaching staff who made the plays or executed them, Andrea Pierce is next level and I don't want to jinx anything but it's likely we'll be seeing her cut this net down again in a year." Holly says bringing the broadcast to an end

Andrea runs to cut her piece of the net and even ends up getting a big piece to wear like a necklace.

She gets to the sidelines where her one of her closest friends, and roommate, Maddie, had been vlogging for her.

Andrea runs up to her and hugs her tightly.

Even though Maddie barely knew anything about basketball she had been Andreas friend since freshman orientation and was the first person to tell her that it was all going to be okay when she hurt her knee.

"You did it Drea I'm so proud of you!" Maddie says hugging her tightly while still recording.

"Thank you Maddie for being such a good friend and being there for me I wouldn't have been able to do this without you." Andrea says tearing up while thinking about all the highs and lows that her and Maddie have gone through together

As they finally pull away from each other Maddie spots Andreas new necklace that she assumes will be going home with them.

Maddie tugs on the net lightly and begins laughing at her friend. "New necklace?" she asks

"Yeah" Andrea responds glancing down. "You like it? 'Cause it's coming home with us." She says grabbing the net with both hands and lifting it toward Maddie to show her and the camera that caught this entire moment.

Andrea grabs the camera and says goodbye to Maddie who said she needed to get home to study for whatever pre-med class she said she was 'failing' (got anything below a 90).

"aight vlog its just us now! But guys oh my god i'm a national championnnnn!!" Andrea says walking toward the locker room now.

"It hasn't sank it yet... I'm just so thankful for all of you guys who have gone through everything with me and just grateful for everyone around me and most of all thank you God" Andrea finishes as she gets to the locker room where everyone is celebrating.

"There's our MOP" Kamilla says stretching the last syllable out playfully

"Aww I love you so much Kamilla I wouldn't have gotten this award without you."

"Heyyy vlogggg let me just steal them for a sec." Chloe says reaching for the camera.

Andrea and Chloe have a system when it comes to after a game. Chloe knows that the first person Andrea wants to call is her grandfather.

And she also knows that Andrea wants to capture every moment on camera so she helps her out by 'stealing' the camera for her segment of the video.

Andrea quietly thanks Chloe and proceeds to FaceTime her grandpa who picks up immediately.

"Hola abuelo!" (hi grandpa) she greets excitedly

"Hola mi princesita, estoy tan orgulloso de usted." (Hi my princess, im so proud of you) he says holding the phone at a very low angle like any old person.

"Gracias abuelo! Me nombraron la jugadora mas destacada del torneo. Y mire mi nuevo collar... le gusta?" (Thank you grandpa! They named me most outstanding player in the tournament. And look at my new necklace... do you like it?) Andrea said holding her net up to the screen smiling like someone had given her the whole universe.

"Me encanta. Bueno se que esta ocupada ahorita pero ya viene el verano entonces espero verla pronto. La quiero mucho, adios" (I love it. Well i know you're busy right not but summer is coming up so I hope to see you soon. I love you so much, bye)

"Adios abuelo lo quiero mucho!" (Bye grandpa i love you so much!) Andrea says hanging up the phone and going to find Chloe again.

"So where's Ethan?" Chloe asked Andrea as they get into the car ready to head back to the hotel

they were gonna celebrate back at Columbia since they had a 5 am flight the next day

"Oh he said he needed to study for some engineering class and couldn't come to the game or celebrate"

"Drea... You know I love you right but, why do you put up with that? I mean you deserve someone who see's how great you are and how bright you shine, not Ethans ass who gets in a mood every time someone talks about your accomplishments." Chloe says as they wait at a red light

"I dont know... I love him. When we met I was in a really dark place mentally and he helped me through it and even if we're going through a rough patch right now I do love him so much." Andrea says finishing the conversation

April 8th 2024

"Aight bye Drea see you tonight!" Chloe says once they arrive back their dorms.

"Yeah see you later!"

Thats when Andrea gets her phone out to see if Ethan has texted her back yet.

Still no reply. Andrea loved texting and often had no shame about pressing the 'notify anyway' button. Because who do you think you are on dnd?

But at this point her and Ethans texts were starting to look like he wasn't her boyfriend and more like a guy trying to ghost her.

'Heading to the game now'

delivered.

'Okay I lowk ate warmups up so we got this'

delivered.

'nvm thats fucking cc out there'

'who do I think I am? they beat uconn'

'they beat fucking paige bueckers yesterday'

'how can we even compete with that?'

delivered.

'ok officially crashing out wtf'

delivered.

'babe?'

delivered.

'sorry ik ur studying'

'just respond when u can'

delivered.

'ok momentary lapse of judgment'

'im fucking Andrea Pierce'

'I GOT THIS'

'LIKE DEADASS I GOT THIS'

delivered.

'BABE I GOT FUCKING MOP'

'LETS GOOO'

'LETS FUCKING GO OMGOMGOMG'

'IM ACTUALLY HIM'

delivered.

That was all last night. Andrea hadn't bothered to text Ethan this morning. She didn't know what had been going on lately but her and Ethan had been fighting a lot recently.

She felt like he was always on edge around her and didn't know why. He was picking fight for no reason or just wont respond for days and then act like nothing happened.

Andrea was getting a bit tired of it but she loved him so much. Be cause he wasn't always like this. He used to kind and would always check up on her mental health and never said anything about basketball because he didn't care about her stats only her.

But it felt like recently he not only doesn't care about her stats he just doesn't care about her either which really hurt Andrea but she figured that it was just the honeymoon phase coming to an end and nothing more.

All Andrea wanted to do was get back to her dorm and take a nap before going out tonight but she remembered that she had let Kamilla borrow her charger on the plane and she really needed it back.

So Andrea being half asleep at this point dragged herself over to Kamilla's dorm. Once Andrea showed up to her room she saw the door wasn't fully closed so she just let herself in.

As she walked in Andrea heard it before she saw it. Ethan's muffled voice mixed with kamilla's giggles coming from her room where that door was also left ajar.

"Bro what the fuck..?" Andrea quietly mumbled to herself as she walked up to the room where she didn't want it to be true.

As she walked in she saw Ethan and Kamilla on her bed making out and looking like the happiest people on earth so wrapped in with each other they didn't hear her walk in.

"So this is why you've been weird lately, Ethan? Because you've been fucking Kamilla?" Andrea said finally breaking them from their trance making her presence known

"I-Oh-Uh-Fuck! No! It's not what it looks like babe!" Ethan says barley able to form a sentence

"Do you think im fucking slow? She's literally on top of you. Like there is no possible way you this isn't exactly what it looks like... and it looks like 2 lil bitches who I never wanna see or talk to again."

"No Andrea this is the first time please baby you have to understand. We were just high off the win! You know a little celebration?" Ethan says getting out from under Kamilla and moving toward Andrea to try and calm her down

"High off the win? That's your excuse? Ew."

"We're fucking done Ethan. Fuck both of you."

The second the words leave Andreas mouth they feel bitter. She truly had so much love for both of them and for them to be able to treat her like this and be able to betray her then literally turn around and say 'I love you' is making her question who she can trust

Andrea quickly grabs her charger that she spots on the desk in the corner and makes her way out.

Portal Promise; chapter 1

April 13th 2024

It's officially been the most chaotic and dramatic 5 days of Andreas life.

Everything had gone downhill since that moment. Apparently in the time that Andrea had taken to take a nap and try and clear her mind after finding out her close friend and boyfriend were hooking up, they decided to get ahead of the story and start making shit up about her.

Ethan started spreading weird ass rumors about how Andrea was crazy and that she was manipulative and Kamilla was backing him which made it that much more believable.

Andrea was so overwhelmed and ended up speaking with coach Staley about everything that happened. Staley told her that she would speak to Kamilla but also knew that the damage was already done and that the team and the school would probably never feel the same to Andrea anymore.

So as much as it pained Staley to see one of her best players leave and one that she genuinely had grown to love and care for so much these past 2 years. She reminded Andrea that she still had time to enter the transfer portal.

So after some thought Andrea decided that she would. She told Chloe and Maddie of course, but the rest of the team had barely spoken to her since everything had gone down. Andrea knew they were just trying to keep the peace and not pick sides but it didn't help how alone she felt when people were believing those rumors.

And even though Andrea knew that the media would be all over her about the reason why. She knew that it was the right choice to make for her future. And who knows, maybe this could be the start of something great?

May 19th 2024

'On a recent instagram post made by uconnwbb you see that 19 year old basketball phenom Andrea Pierce has officially committed to Uconn'

Andrea was nervous. She didn't know what to expect. She was going to play for Geno Auriemma who had coached uconn into the dynasty it's known for and she wanted to live up to those standards.

June 2024

Andrea was about to walk into the women's basketball training facility for the first time and officially meet everyone. Sure she had been following Azzi Fudd on instagram, they were friends.

Her and Azzi had met a couple of times during their AAU days and were even on the same USA basketball team one year. But after Andrea got hurt last year Azzi reached out knowing what it's like to tear your acl at a young age and gave her some much needed advice.

CD had already let Andrea know that she had gone through all her vlogs and actually commended how well spoken and how poised she made sure she always presented as.

And said she could continue vlogging as long as it stayed within their guidelines for what they can do or say in media.

Andrea hadn't spoken to the media about her decision to leave South Carolina yet or posted anything on socials which was out of character for her, but what was she supposed to say?

My boyfriend and teammate fucked behind my back then spread rumors about me so I wanted to leave? Ew.

But Andrea quickly shook those negative thoughts out her head as she approached the gym locker room and heard a couple voices.

"Dude i'm so excited"

"Yeah have you seen her highlights?"

"Forget her highlights, lets talk about the face card and the game day hair"

"She's so cool like"

Andrea hears a couple of phrases but since they're all talking over each other she doesn't catch everything. Suddenly she doesn't feel as nervous when she hears the quiet whispers and the giggles coming from her new teammates.

Because at the end of the day they're all just girls who all share a love for the same sport.

"Wait shut up I hear someone coming!" Andrea hears someone whisper horribly which makes her laugh slightly

"Uh... Hey everyone" Andrea says looking around the locker room at everyone thats just getting settled in.

"Oh my god!"

"Hiii"

"Hey"

"Andrea Pierce!"

Everyone echos out at the same time. Which makes both Andrea and Azzi laugh, being the most familiar with you she decides to take the lead.

"I always said you'd look better in blue Drea" She finished quietly before the hurricane of fangirl questions and comments came in.

Azzi tried to recruit Andrea her senior year of high school but she had already fallen in love with South Carolina by then. She did let Azzi know that her efforts were appreciated and that Uconn was almost chosen.

"Yes guys this is THE Andrea Pierce so fangirl all you want know because you know coach is gonna get mad if you're all distracted during practice" She says walking up and putting her arm around your shoulder in a reassuring way to let Andrea know it was all going to be okay.

(random switch to first person idk why)

It was a lot from Kk and some from Caroline and even a couple from the incoming freshman Morgan and Sarah. Most of it having to do with basketball but every couple seconds Kk would throw in a comment about your 'face card never declines' or how your 'fits are always fire' which you thanked her for and even complimented some of her stuff you'd seen as well.

Then you finally got to Paige. And even after all of them fangirling over you and wanting to know everything about how you can score at all three levels while still looking good. It was not your turn to be starstruck.

Because Paige Bueckers was someone you had looked up to since she was in High School and now you're going to be on the same team. And she was looking right into your soul with the most pleasing smile in the world.

Luckily that smile and stare only made you forget your name for 2 seconds before you remembered where you were and just went with a simple 'hi' and a smile before turning back to the group making sure you were now officially following all of them on instagram and TikTok.

(back to third)

But what Andrea didn't know is that Paige had been a little starstruck too and the only person that knew just how closely she had followed your career was Azzi.

So the second Andrea looked away already fitting in with everyone so well, Azzi turned back to Paige and quietly asked if 'she had remembered her name yet or if she was just gonna keep staring'

Paige just shook her head and said a little too loudly "Bro i'm not staring" which made some of the group look at her confused for a second before going back to their conversation

"Im simply observing the newest member of our team" Paige finished quite this time

But the look Azzi gave her best friend wasn't one of belief it was one of knowing.

Because Azzi Fudd knew that this portal transfer could promise their team the chance to get back to the final four and win it all this time.

all any suggestions y'all want me to include in this story, my request r always open!!

thx for reading, goodnight!

138 notes · View notes

cursed-spectre · 18 hours ago

Note

Once in some level of privacy, knowing B had enhanced hearing anyway, Cassidy sighed.

"What's wrong?"

Pardon?

"That felt off, even for you."

Ellipses.

"Are you—"

No.

"Rebooted. Are you—"

Stop.

"Over helping because you feel bad for what happened back there?"

Ellipses, yes. We lost control of ourselves. There's no point in having a program like us if it causes problems—

"Literally everything with Shuriken—"

when in the middle of something important.

"...Rebooted, you're more than a program. I think we both know that to be true. What exactly it is that you are, we don't fully know. But we're in this together. I've been... getting better with having you."

Cassidy found a wall to sit against, and turned her eyelights to the ceiling.

"I don't think we'll ever be separated. It's not worth the risk to try. But it's not like I gain anything from doing that. You've become a good partner... and a friend."

Ellipses... Cliche.

"Oh don't you start Mx. 'Sailor Moon pose.' You're not any better."

Laughter. Cassidy laughed.

"Alright, I think we've got some stuff to get worked on in the future, but for now, let's go to the others."

Agreed.

Cassidy stood up. She didn't care if sitting down had dirtied the dress at all by this point. Even so,

Make sure you look good for the individual photos.

"Sure thing, bud."

Cassidy left the room and walked up to Alex and B.

"How's the pain?"

[SweetBee] Alex has already started on some of her prep stuff [SweetBee] So I'm letting you know I'll be over soon so we can start moving what we need to the ship ok?

B's message arrives a little before sunset, and seems to at least explain why Alex has been quiet for as long as she had been. The fact time felt like it passed both far too slow and far too quick for this whole... thing was probably something to address.

( @b-free I can TYPE STUFF owo )

Cassidy sighs, and closes her books.

You are nervous?

"Yeah. I mean, there's been a lot of build up to this. Kind of the capstone of my internship, and a big part of what it'll be like to do this in the future."

She looks at herself in the small mirror on her desk. "And I'm not really... one for parties. Can I ask—"

We will not seize movement capabilities unless asked for assistance.

"Thanks."

Cassidy takes her phone and sends B a response. She looks at her desk, holding her silicone tint and makeup tablet, then her closet, which housed her dress, purse, and the box with her necklace, anklet, and hair clip. This is it.

[Cassidy] Alright. Tell me if I can do anything in the meantime.

#rp blog #my brain is singing hammer of justice and i swear it has nothing to do with the character development

324 notes · View notes

fnzktn · 2 days ago

Text

親愛 (my love)

stem!minji x fem!reader

synopsis: the milk tea was mid. the fried siopao was great. she was even better.

includes: established relationship, binondo date, you as minji's passenger princess, bribing guards for parking, L WORD

word count: 7.2k

part of the shs!njz series

you knew it was her before she even messaged.

not because you were checking the time (though you were — religiously), or because you heard the heavy roll of tires outside, but because your dad suddenly stood up from the couch, glanced out the window, and let out a low whistle.

“anak,” he called, tone laced with amusement, “i think your girlfriend brought a tank.”

you peeked out and saw it — the unmistakable black shimmer of a cadillac escalade, glossy and unapologetically large, wedged along the curb outside your modest gate. it took up nearly a third of your narrow street, its windows tinted dark, the front grille gleaming like something out of a showroom.

a few neighbors peeked out of their windows. one of the toddlers across the street pointed. someone’s tricycle had to scoot awkwardly into reverse to make room.

and there, stepping out with the confidence of someone used to attention, was minji — white shirt tucked into wide-legged jeans, her sunglasses perched on her head, one hand holding a small paper bag of what you immediately recognized as food.

your dad opened the gate before you could even reach it. “minji,” he said warmly, eyes flicking to the gift in her hand, “you didn’t have to bring anything again.”

she waved him off, smile small but sure. “it’s nothing, tito. just some snacks i saw this morning. figured you and tita might want something for merienda later.”

he accepted it reluctantly, chuckling under his breath. “you’re too kind. take care of her, alright? be safe on the road.”

she nodded, gaze flicking to you as you stepped out behind him. “always.”

the passenger seat was already cool when you slid in — her air conditioning set just a little too high, faint scent of new leather and her perfume mixing in the quiet.

she buckled in, fingers moving with practiced rhythm. “comfortable?”

you nodded, still adjusting to how far off the ground you were. “you weren’t kidding when you said it was big.”

she smirked. “they really bought it for me the moment i got my license.”

“your first car, huh?”

“mm,” she said, eyes scanning the rearview mirror. “been dreaming about this since i turned eighteen.”

you glanced over. “so… why today?”

she pulled the gear into reverse with one hand, the other reaching for yours automatically. her thumb brushed the back of your knuckles, slow and steady.

“because i wanted you to be my first passenger.”

you blinked.

“baby, you’re my passenger princess now,” she added, tone light but sincere.

you laughed — not because it was funny, but because it filled something warm in your chest. “okay. princess duties accepted.”

the car pulled out gently, easing onto the main road. she glanced over, lips twitching. “i’ve been seeing binondo dates all over tiktok.”

you turned to look at her. “so this is your plan?”

“mhm. spontaneous binondo crawl. we drive there, eat everything, kiss between stalls.”

“okay,” you grinned. “do you know how to get there?”

she shrugged. “we have gps.”

you raised a brow. “right, but we’re parking in lucky chinatown mall, yeah? or maybe in ongpin — it’s closer. we can bribe the guards there to let us park in front of a gold jewelry store, then walk into binondo from there.”

“what? no,” she said immediately. “we’re parking in binondo.”

you stared at her. “you’re kidding.”

“deadass. do you know how hot it is outside?”

“baby,” you began, shifting to face her more fully, “binondo roads are narrow. like, elbow-to-elbow. and you brought this big-ass car.”

she sighed — the sound half-defeat, half-grumble. “...true.”

“most of the roads are one-way too.”

another pause. another sigh.

you squeezed her hand. “don’t worry. i’ll tell you the way.”

you didn’t use gps.

you didn’t need to.

the route from your house to binondo wasn’t something you learned from a map — it was something absorbed, instinctive. you knew which roads jammed at which hour, which intersections had slow traffic lights, which alleys acted as unofficial detours. and you knew how to talk minji through every turn like you’d done it a thousand times.

“left at the bridge,” you said softly. “then stay in the middle lane.”

“this one?”

“yeah. the right one curves too sharp.”

she followed your directions without question, one hand on the wheel, the other still gripping yours. every now and then she’d glance sideways — a quiet, grateful look. like maybe the spontaneity of it all was starting to wear off, and what was left was just the simple comfort of being guided by someone who knew where they were going.

“you really know this place,” she murmured once, under her breath, as the skyline started to shift into older shapes — tight balconies, tangled electric lines, signs in hanzi.

“grew up coming here,” you said.

“it’s beautiful.”

you nodded. “wait till we park.”

she glanced down a side street. “are you serious about bribing guards?”

“worked before.”

she shook her head, smiling to herself. “i don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.”

you leaned in slightly. “just follow my lead.”

and she did.

you turned into ongpin street just as the sunlight shifted — thick and syrupy now, casting sharp shadows across every uneven curb. the city here felt different. older. louder, somehow. the buildings leaned closer together, signs stacked high and layered like old paper clippings, red and gold everywhere your eyes could land. even from the car, you could already hear the chaos. tricycles squeezing through alleys, delivery men shouting over each other, the hollow clack of mahjong tiles from somewhere unseen.

“okay,” you said, scanning the right side. “slow down. we’re almost there.”

“almost where?”

“see that gold jewelry shop up ahead? right before the lamp post?”

she squinted. “...the one with the hanging rooster cage outside?”

“yep. we’re parking right in front of it.”

she blinked. “that’s not a parking lot.”

“doesn’t matter.”

“what do you mean it doesn’t—”

“just pull over slowly.”

she did, rolling to a gentle stop just past the shop’s iron gate. a security guard leaned lazily against the wall, chewing something and watching the street like it personally owed him money.

you rolled down your window with a smile. “boss, okay lang po ba dito muna?”

he looked over the car — clearly amused. “matagal ba kayo?”

“hindi po. food trip lang.”

his eyes flicked toward minji, then back at you. “may tiwala ako sa’yo. ‘wag lang masyadong matagal, ha?”

you slipped him a folded bill — nothing too big, just enough for goodwill — and he nodded, stepping back with a smirk. “sige. ingat lang sa mga sasakyan dito, masisikip.”

“thank you po, boss.”

as you rolled up the window, minji just stared at you, stunned.

“you literally bribed him.”

“he’s letting us park. and we’re on our way.”

she shook her head, face caught somewhere between horror and awe. “you’re actually insane.”

you grinned, stepping out and stretching your arms toward the open sky. “welcome to binondo.”

the moment her shoes hit the sidewalk, minji groaned.

“how is it this hot?” she whined, already fanning herself with one hand. “it’s like walking into satan’s breath.”

“it’s always like this.”

“this feels illegal.”

you offered her your extra hair tie. she took it without complaint, gathering her dark hair up into a messy ponytail, lips slightly parted from the heat. even flushed and cranky, she looked good — unfairly so. you didn’t say anything, just nudged your elbow into hers gently.

“first stop’s nearby.”

“does it have AC?”

“no.”

“god help me.”

you took her hand again, tugging her gently past a string of fruit stalls that smelled like overripe mango and damp pavement. it was noisier now — the closer you got to the heart of binondo, the more the air seemed to swell with movement. horns blared without rhythm. children weaved between parked tricycles. overhead wires tangled like thick veins across the skyline.

minji’s hand tightened around yours.

“are we getting close?” she asked, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek. her sunglasses had slid down her nose, and she looked seconds away from melting into the sidewalk.

“almost,” you said, steering her around a pushcart full of garlic peanuts.

“define ‘almost,’” she muttered. “because i think my bones are boiling.”

you laughed, slowing your pace a little. “just a few more corners.”

“i can’t believe you’re dragging me into an alley. i watch crime documentaries.”

“it’s not that kind of alley.”

“that’s exactly what people say before something happens.”

you turned to face her as you stepped under a low rusting archway, lips twitching. “what, you don’t trust me?”

her expression cracked — something soft and familiar in the way she exhaled, pulling off her sunglasses completely. “i trust you. just not this temperature.”

you leaned in, brushing your nose against hers. “well, this temperature comes with good lumpia.”

“so does airconditioned chinese restaurants,” she countered, but she let you lead her anyway, her hand never once leaving yours.

the street narrowed again, and the hum of the main road dulled into something quieter, more personal. to your left was a hardware store — buckets stacked to the ceiling, a man asleep behind the counter with a fan aimed directly at his back. beside it, almost invisible, was the turn.

minji slowed. “this?”

you nodded, motioning her to follow.

you ducked into the gap between buildings — more like a sliver than a street — and suddenly, the world felt cooler. not because the heat had faded (it hadn’t), but because the walls closed in tight, creating a pocket of stillness. somewhere up ahead, the faint hum of an electric fan. the sharp, vinegary scent of garlic and peanuts.

you glanced over your shoulder to see minji staring, brows drawn.

“this is real?” she whispered.

“this is new po-heng.”

you stopped just beside a battered wooden cart propped under a sun-stained umbrella. a laminated sign above it read lumpia in fading red font. the air smelled amazing — raw garlic, peanut sugar, soy sauce, and crushed seaweed.

there were no chairs. no real storefront. just a man behind a counter, a cooler beside him, and three trays of freshly prepped vegetables. this was the kind of stall you passed if you didn’t know where to look — the kind you remembered by muscle memory, not google maps.

minji blinked again, lips parted slightly. “...you weren’t kidding.”

“nope.”

“it’s literally a stall.”

“and it’s literally the best lumpia you’ll ever have.”

she gave you a flat look, then softened when you reached for her hand again — your thumb brushing across her warm skin.

“trust me?”

she sighed. “always.”

you ordered two rolls and leaned against the wall beside her, shoulders touching, your gaze tracing the curve of her profile as she stared at the man behind the cart assembling your food — long, careful motions, garlic paste smeared over rice wrappers, vegetables layered in neat handfuls.

she was still pink from the sun. a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her temple. and even then — or maybe because of it — she looked beautiful. out of her comfort zone, but here anyway. with you.

“what?” she asked suddenly, glancing at you.

you leaned over and kissed the edge of her jaw, soft and slow.

“nothing.”

she rolled her eyes — but she was smiling.

the man behind the cart handed over your lumpia wrapped in soft creased paper, each roll slightly warm to the touch. they were hefty — packed thick with julienned turnips, carrots, seaweed, sautéed greens, a thick spread of sweet-savory sauce, and generous crushed peanuts over the top. the scent of raw garlic hit you the moment you peeled the edge of the wrapper down.

you passed one to minji.

“be careful. it’s messy.”

she took it with both hands, eyeing it like it might fight back.

“you’re telling me this is the thing people line up for?”

“you’ll see.”

she eyed it suspiciously. “i’m not a veggie person.”

“just try.”

she bit into it cautiously — a small first bite, teeth crunching through the barely-warmed wrapper, and then a slow chew. the change in her face came gradual. her eyebrows creasing, chewing slowing down, and her hand pausing mid-air as the taste settled.

you waited.

she swallowed, looked down at the roll, then back up at you.

“holy crap,” she mumbled. “this is... this is really good.”

you grinned.

“no, like. what is in this? why does it taste like childhood and garlic bread and something else i can’t describe?”

“magic. and a little soy sauce.”

she took another bite, this one larger, the sauce beginning to smear faintly near the corner of her mouth. she tried to keep eating with one hand, wiping her wrist with the other, until you gently reached over with a napkin and dabbed the edge of her lip.

“messy,” you said softly.

“you did say,” she murmured, not quite meeting your eyes this time.

“do you like it?”

“like it?” she scoffed, then tilted the roll toward you. “i’m in love with it.”

you watched her devour half of it in a matter of seconds, then suddenly slow. she stared at the remaining lumpia in her hand, then glanced at your mostly untouched one.

“i don’t think i can finish this.”

you held out your roll. “want to trade?”

she gave you the most betrayed look you’d seen from her all day.

“you haven’t even eaten yours.”

“exactly,” you said, already accepting her half. “you gave me yours, i give you mine. that’s fair.”

she took it, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like i hate how much i love you.

you didn’t press it. you were too busy taking your first bite — and yeah, it was everything you remembered. soft and crisp, fresh and deeply flavored. the garlic stuck to the back of your throat in a way that made you want to eat faster, but you slowed down, mostly because you didn’t want the moment to end yet.

beside you, minji was licking sauce off her fingers with her eyes closed.

a fly buzzed near her head, and she lazily waved it away.

“this stall deserves a michelin star.”

you wiped your own fingers clean, then leaned in to kiss her cheek — warm and slightly sticky.

“you deserve one for surviving the heat.”

“barely,” she said. “but if the rest of this date is anything like this lumpia…”

she glanced at you again, eyes gleaming.

“i think i’ll live.”

the heat wrapped around you both again as soon as you stepped out of new po-heng’s narrow stall. it hit harder now, like the air had thickened since you first arrived — sweat forming almost instantly on the back of your neck. minji pressed a cold can of water she’d grabbed from the stall’s side cooler against her cheek, sighing dramatically.

“we should’ve done this at night.”

you slipped your hand into hers again, weaving your fingers together. “and miss this authentic binondo suffering?”

she narrowed her eyes, cheeks flushed. “you’re enjoying this too much.”

“maybe. but you’re still holding my hand.”

“that’s because i’m melting. and if i let go, i’ll collapse.”

you leaned in slightly, brushing your nose against hers. “lucky me, then.”

her breath caught, just briefly — enough to steal another quick kiss. her lips were still warm from the lumpia and the sun, her hand squeezing yours tighter when you pulled away.

“you’re so annoying,” she murmured, smiling anyway.

“but kissable.”

“debatable.”

you tossed the empty wrappers in the nearest bin, wiping your hands one last time on the tissue before reaching for hers again.

minji let you take it wordlessly.

her fingers threaded through yours like they belonged there, her hair was clinging to the back of her neck again, and her cheeks were flushed pink from the sun, or maybe the garlic, or both.

“how are you not dying?” she asked, squinting up at the sky like it had personally offended her.

“i am. i’ve just accepted it.”

“it’s literally a sauna. with traffic.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

she glared half-heartedly, then leaned into your shoulder anyway. “you’re evil. i’m too in love to notice most days, but this... this is evil.”

“do you want to stop?”

she looked at you, full lips parted, eyes tired but bright. “no. i want siopao. i want whatever magical fried thing you’ve been hyping up since we left the car.”

“good. because we’re almost there.”

you passed a bakery on the corner where freshly steamed hopia were being stacked into plastic tubs. the air smelled of mung bean paste and paper bags. across the street, you could hear someone chopping something on a wooden board, the rhythmic thuds echoing through a narrow alleyway. everything here felt alive — too alive, almost — like it all existed ten decibels too loud and five degrees too warm.

still, you were used to it. minji wasn’t.

she was trying, though. adjusting. letting the weight of the city settle on her in slow layers instead of flinching from it. and every time she grumbled, every time she muttered a quiet “what the hell is that smell,” or “why is the air wet,” she always kept holding your hand.

and when you pointed ahead — toward a small shop with a line curling around the next corner — she didn’t complain. just tilted her head and said,

“don’t tell me that’s the line.”

you grinned. “quick-stop siopao.”

“quick-stop is a lie.”

“depends on your definition of quick.”

“i want to cry.”

you nudged her playfully with your shoulder. “but you’re still in line.”

she sighed, dramatic and theatrical, but stepped in behind you anyway. the sun bore down on both of you like it had something to prove. sweat rolled down the side of her temple, and she gave up pretending not to care — pulling her shirt slightly away from her back, shaking her collar loose.

you reached over and gently wiped her temple with the edge of your wrist. she gave you a tired look — somewhere between fond and faintly annoyed.

“you’re not even sweating,” she muttered.

“i’m used to it.”

“you’re part lizard.”

“and you’re part princess.”

“your princess,” she corrected, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear.

you smiled.

it took twenty minutes to reach the counter, and the smell had only grown stronger — fried dough, caramelized pork, that faint tang of hot oil from the glass window fogging up behind the steamers. you ordered two buns and stepped aside, pressing the warm bag into her hands.

she immediately bit into hers, then hissed and dropped it back into the paper bag. “it’s boiling.”

“told you.”

“you didn’t warn me enough.”

“give it.”

she handed it over without protest, blowing softly on her fingers. you split the siopao in half, holding out the cooler side for her.

“open.”

“you’re not feeding me in public—”

“open.”

she sighed, but opened her mouth. you popped the first bite in like you’d done it a hundred times before. she chewed slowly, expression unreadable — then let out a quiet, almost betrayed moan.

“...oh my god.”

you smirked. “worth it?”

“i’m going to kiss you and cry at the same time.”

“don’t get sauce on my face.”

she kissed you anyway. her mouth was still warm, the faint taste of pork and soy lingering between your lips. it was quick — just a press, stolen fast before anyone could really see — but when she pulled away, she looked dazed in the best way.

“you’re dangerous,” she said.

“you’re dramatic.”

“and yet, you love it.”

you wiped a smudge of sauce off her bottom lip with your thumb. she blinked slowly at the touch but didn’t move away.

“you’re gonna ruin every other date after this,” she whispered.

“good.”

you tossed the last of the siopao wrappers into a bin near the curb, brushing your hands off as minji sighed beside you — one long exhale that somehow captured heat, sweat, love, and slight regret.

“okay,” she said, tugging at her shirt again. “i’m about to start crying.”

you leaned over, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow with the edge of your sleeve. “dramatic.”

“i’m a stem student. not an explorer.”

“but you’re still here.”

“because you’re cute. and you bribed me with carbs.”

“you kissed me after the carbs, just so you know.”

she gave you a tired look. “where’s the next stop?”

“see that purple building with all the hopia?”

“the one with a line halfway to divisoria?”

“eng bee tin. we’re going upstairs.”

“there’s an upstairs?”

“aircon. café. seats.”

“god bless.”

you led her inside, the blast of cold air hitting you the second the doors opened. minji let out a small sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and immediately clung to your arm like you’d just pulled her out of hell and into salvation.

“oh my god. this is heaven. this is—this is what i needed.”

“i told you.”

“no, like—thank you.”

you passed through the aisles of pastel-colored hopia tins and souvenir ube goods, winding your way toward the staircase in the back, where a glowing sign in soft gold script read Great Buddha Café. the upstairs was calm, quieter than you expected — clean marble floors, wooden tables, polished glass, and tall windows that looked out over ongpin street like a secret balcony above the chaos.

the walls were lined with bonsai plants and tiny porcelain buddhas. a faint instrumental guzheng melody played over the speakers. the difference was surreal — like stepping into another world, one where everything was slower and softer, untouched by heat or time.

you took a seat near the window, minji sinking into her chair with a groan so full of relief, you laughed.

“i’m never leaving.”

“we have to.”

“no. this is where i live now. this café. this chair. you can visit me.”

“what about your classes?”

“drop out. become a tea monk.”

you smiled, reaching for the menu. “brown sugar pearl for you?”

“you already know,” she murmured, head tilted back, eyes shut like she was soaking in the cold air. “you’re amazing.”

you ordered at the counter — one brown sugar boba, one wintermelon, and a shared plate of dumplings just for the comfort of it. when you returned, minji had removed her headband and was fanning herself with the hopia brochure, cheeks flushed but slowly cooling.

“you should get a medal,” she said when you handed her the drink.

“for?”

“knowing exactly what to order. and knowing where to take me. and…” she sipped, eyes widening as the cold tea slid down her throat, “…saving my life.”

you took a sip of your own, letting the wintermelon’s syrupy smoothness cool the back of your throat. then, you held your drink out wordlessly.

minji didn’t hesitate. she sipped from yours, nodded slowly. “better.”

“you always say that.”

“because it’s true.”

“you want to switch?”

“yes, but you’re not allowed to complain.”

you passed her the rest of yours and took hers, content. her hand found yours under the table, thumb brushing slowly across your knuckles.

from here, the noise outside was just a low hum. you could see the crowd swarming the sidewalk below — umbrellas bobbing, tricycles passing, someone selling fish balls at the corner — but up here, it all felt far away. the dumplings arrived, steaming gently on a small wooden tray. she leaned over and fed you the first one, carefully holding it by the edge so the soy vinegar wouldn’t spill.

“open,” she whispered.

you did. the flavors were rich and simple — pork and chives, sesame oil, the faint spice of black pepper. you fed her the next one without a word.

for a while, neither of you spoke. just the quiet sounds of the café around you, the low hum of the air conditioner, the slow drag of your fingers across the back of her hand.

then, softly,

“you planned all this?” minji asked.

“kind of.”

“when?”

“the moment you said you wanted to take me somewhere.”

“and i thought i was surprising you.”

you smiled.

“you still did.”

she held your drink with one hand, her other loosely curled around yours under the table. sunlight spilled across the tiles beside you, golden and soft through the tall windows of the café. minji wasn’t saying much — just sipping slowly, eyes on the street below, letting the quiet wrap around her shoulders like a shawl. it was a moment of stillness you rarely got to have with her. not because she was loud or chaotic, but because she was always moving — thinking, solving, fixing, planning.

and now, here she was.

sitting across from you, kissing dumpling oil off your fingers, legs brushing yours under the table like she needed to feel you there.

and you... couldn’t help drifting.

your thoughts circled back the way they always did when you let yourself slow down. to your grandmother.

she would’ve loved this place. the quiet upstairs café, the dumplings, the tea. not for the trend — never for that — but for the stillness. for the comfort of it. she was the kind of woman who made you feel safe just by sitting beside you, the kind who poured her love into small things. the way she cut fruit, the way she pressed a five-hundred peso bill into your hand without saying anything, the way she waited for you at the gate after school even when you told her she didn’t have to.

you were her favorite, they said after she passed — sometimes with warmth, sometimes with quiet resentment. but it wasn’t about being the favorite. it was just... you loved her. and she knew it. she felt it. you stayed when others didn’t. you laughed with her when she repeated the same stories. you listened when she got quiet, because you knew that quiet didn’t mean she had nothing to say — just that no one else had bothered to wait.

so she left everything to you.

not out of obligation. not as some kind of revenge. but as a gift. as love.

and you hadn’t touched most of it. couldn’t. not yet. it still felt too big, too undeserved. so you used it only where it mattered — tuition, school needs, a bit set aside for university. the rest was handled by an accountant she trusted, one who called you anak over the phone and told you your lola planned well. always had. always would.

this school — the one minji went to, the one you never thought you’d set foot in — was her doing. and now minji herself, here across from you in this café, sharing your drink and resting her cheek on her hand like she belonged there — she was part of that gift too.

kim minji had always been a name you’d heard before you ever put a face to it. the kind people whispered about in hallways. smart. beautiful. daughter of a doctor and a lawyer. someone who always had her life together, who seemed to exist on a slightly higher floor than everyone else. not unkind, just... far. too far to reach from where you stood.

you weren’t supposed to be in the same school. not without your grandmother’s will, not without the quiet fortune she left behind like a final, whispered gift just for you. and even then, you never thought your path would cross minji’s, not really — until hanni.

hanni, who’d been your friend since junior high, who shared snacks and borrowed pens and sat with you during club meetings when no one else did. hanni, who waved at you in the middle of your first day of senior high and said, “you remember minji, right? from my strand?”

that was the first time you really saw her — not the name, not the idea of her, but her. walking beside hanni with a coffee in one hand and a neatly folded worksheet in the other. poised. pretty. untouchable.

and then came foundation week.

the marriage booth.

it was meant to be a joke — a lighthearted gimmick, not something serious. a name picked from a box, a five-minute fake wedding, and a fine if you declined. everyone thought minji would skip, like she always did. she’d even pulled out her wallet, ready to pay her way out — until someone mentioned your name had been picked with hers.

and she paused.

not for long. just a heartbeat. then she slipped her wallet back into her bag and stood up, brushing hair from her face as she said, “lead the way.”

that moment — that tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it moment — had lived rent-free in your head ever since.

you remembered the feel of her hand in yours during the fake ceremony. light but steady. how she kept glancing at you when no one was looking, almost like she was trying to figure something out. how, after it all, she didn’t walk away. she stayed. sat beside you at a bench near the gym and said, half-laughing, “guess we’re married now.”

you remembered the way her laughter made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

and then — somehow — things kept happening.

she started asking where you’d be eating lunch. started waiting near your room between classes. texting you at night about review materials she didn’t need help with. and you? you fell into it too easily. answered without thinking. waited without realizing. looked for her in the quiet moments when your phone lit up and hoped it was her.

then she asked you out. awkwardly. adorably. like someone who was used to being confident but found herself entirely undone in front of you.

you didn’t even hesitate.

and now — now she was here. sitting across from you, stealing sips of your drink, fingers tangled with yours under the table like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you watched her lift the straw to her lips again, the gold tint of the windowlight catching in her eyes. and all you could think was,

how did i get this lucky?

how did she go from a name to a girl to the person you couldn’t imagine a future without?

“you spaced out,” she said, voice low and warm.

“i was thinking.”

“about?”

you looked at her for a long second. your heart ached a little — not from pain, but from the way she looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the room.

“my lola,” you said quietly.

minji’s smile softened. “you were close?”

“she raised me, in a way. she was… everything. and she’s the reason i’m here.”

“in this café?”

“in this school. in this city. with you.”

minji reached across the table and took your hand fully this time, weaving her fingers through yours with care.

“then i owe her everything,” she whispered. “because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you blinked back the sudden warmth in your eyes.

she leaned forward, kissed your knuckles, and then, without hesitating, pressed another kiss to your lips — quick, lingering, like a promise. like a thank you. like home.

and somewhere — in the quiet between your heartbeats — you hoped your lola could see it all.

because you were sure she’d smile.

you left the café reluctantly, the air conditioning clinging to your skin like a blessing you didn’t want to give up. the moment the door closed behind you, the heat wrapped around you again — thick and heavy — but it felt a little easier now. maybe because minji reached for your hand instantly, threading her fingers through yours without even looking.

the street outside had softened too. the sharp midday light had mellowed into something gold, touching the brick walls and faded red awnings with the kind of warmth that only shows up when the day is almost over. shadows stretched longer. voices were quieter. even the tricycles seemed to roll by slower.

you walked in comfortable silence, occasionally brushing against her side as you moved down ongpin. you almost missed the stall again — tucked just beside a corner where sunlight pooled like honey, shaded by a sun-bleached umbrella.

it looked ordinary. a plastic table with faded velvet trays, rings and pendants glinting softly beneath the golden light. no name, no signage. just a woman with kind eyes and weather-worn hands arranging trinkets that probably came from a hundred stories before this one.

minji slowed beside you.

you didn’t need to ask. her gaze had already settled on a small silver ring — thin, carved with tiny lotus petals. the metal caught the light like a quiet promise. not loud, not expensive. just... delicate. like something someone would wear every day, even when no one was looking.

“you like it?” you asked gently.

“i mean... yeah,” she said, trying to play it off, though her fingers hovered just a little too long. “but it’s okay. i don’t need it.”

you glanced at her — then at the vendor, who gave you the faintest knowing smile. your chest tugged with something warm. a memory of your lola again — the way she used to say "you can’t bring money to the grave, anak. but you can bring stories. moments."

you reached out and picked the ring up carefully.

“what if i got it for you?” you said.

minji blinked. “what?”

“just because. no reason. you survived the binondo heat. and the siopao line. and... you love me.”

she narrowed her eyes, smile fighting its way through. “i knew there was a catch.”

you handed it to the vendor. “and i want one too,” you added, turning to the tray. you scanned quickly — then found a matching band, similar in style but slightly thinner, its carving more subtle. like a mirrored pair. not obvious, but if you looked closely — they belonged together.

minji watched you, eyes softening.

“you don’t have to,” she said, quieter now.

“i want to.”

you paid in cash, carefully folding the bills into the vendor’s palm. she wrapped the rings in a soft square of tissue, then placed them gently in your open hand.

minji was still staring.

so you held her ring out between your fingers, like a question.

she smiled — small, stunned — and held out her hand.

you slid the ring onto her middle finger.

then she reached for yours.

“your ring finger,” she said.

“seriously?”

“you’re the one who bought them. i make the rules.”

you let her slip it on. her fingers were warm against yours. the ring fit snug, like it had been waiting for that exact spot.

“this doesn’t mean anything, you know,” you told her. “no pressure.”

“mm-hmm.”

“just a ring.”

“a matching one,” she teased.

you rolled your eyes. “it’s for the aesthetic.”

but she leaned forward and kissed your cheek — quick, firm, entirely sincere.

“it’s for you,” she whispered.

and the sunlight caught both rings as you laced your fingers again and walked on.

you didn’t speak much after that.

not because there was nothing left to say — but because something about the rings settled into both of you like a secret. quiet, but there. a warmth at your fingertips. a reminder each time your hands brushed and the metal caught the fading light.

minji held your hand tighter as you walked, your ring snug and faintly cool, hers gleaming faintly on her middle finger. the city had shifted into its golden hour rhythm — slower, easier, like even manila was catching its breath. vendors had started packing up. stalls were closing. the heat was no longer unbearable, just a soft cling to the skin, like steam from a mug.

you passed the same corners again, now bathed in gold. the fruit stand near the corner had dimmed its lights. the gold jewelry shop, where you’d parked, looked almost ceremonial now with how the sunset bounced off the glass.

“i want taho,” minji murmured suddenly.

you glanced at her. “now?”

“there’s always a taho vendor at this hour,” she said confidently. “he walks past ongpin. just give him five more minutes.”

you laughed. “you’re not full?”

“i’m always full. it never matters.”

you squeezed her hand. “that’s not how stomachs work.”

“i’m choosing to ignore that.”

you slowed your pace to match hers, letting her lean against you slightly. she was tired — you could feel it in the way she dragged her feet a little more, how her head dipped when she laughed. still, her hand never let go of yours.

when you turned the corner and saw the car — her ridiculous, gleaming, monstrous car — still perfectly in place in front of the gold jewelry shop, she let out a soft, surprised breath.

“look at her,” she said. “still standing proud.”

“she took up half the road.”

“it’s what she deserves.”

you laughed again and turned to unlock the passenger door. before you could pull it open, minji caught your wrist.

“wait.”

you turned. her face was flushed from the walk, her hair a little messy, eyes soft.

“thank you,” she said.

“for what?”

“today. the shortcut roads. the jewelry stall. that look you had in the café. everything.”

you opened your mouth — but she was already stepping forward, leaning into you. her kiss was slower this time. not urgent, not playful. just... close. just here. her fingers cradled your face like she didn’t want you to forget a single second of this.

“get in before i melt again,” she said, tugging your shirt lightly.

you slid in, and she circled around to the driver’s side. when she settled in and started the engine, she reached for your hand again without even looking, her fingers finding yours easily.

the drive home felt like the world had gone quiet.

windows slightly cracked, the air warm but not hot anymore. her car’s AC humming low. the stereo played something soft — maybe a playlist, maybe the radio. her hand never left yours. she drove one-handed, palm light on the wheel, thumb brushing the side of your hand like she needed the anchor to stay awake.

you watched her fight off sleep.

her eyes blinked slower. her mouth tightened each time she hit a red light. once, she reached up and rubbed her temple gently, then gave your hand a squeeze as if to say i’m still good, don’t worry.

“you should sleep over,” you said quietly.

she blinked.

“what?”

“you’re clearly tired.”

“i’m fine.”

“you’re driving with one eye and half a soul.”

“i have at least three-quarters of a soul left.”

you turned your head. “seriously. just sleep over. you brought clothes the last time, right? they’re still in my drawer.”

she was quiet for a beat.

then, “...okay.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. but i get the bigger pillow.”

“we’ll fight for it.”

“i’ll win.”

you smiled and lifted her hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. she didn’t pull away. didn’t even glance over. she just smiled — that soft, exhausted kind — and kept driving.

the streetlights passed in slow blinks across the windshield. your neighborhood was starting to appear in the distance, familiar shapes coming into view.

you sat back in your seat, fingers still laced, and watched the quietest parts of the city pass you by.

by the time you pulled into your street, the sky had dimmed into that deep, velvety blue — not quite night, but past the softness of dusk. minji turned the wheel lazily, her car taking up half the road as always, headlights catching on the familiar curve of your front gate.

you didn’t even have to tell her which house was yours. she already knew.

the engine hummed low as she shifted into park. she didn’t move to turn it off right away — just sat there, both hands now on the wheel, fingers finally letting go of yours after what felt like hours.

“we’re here,” she said, voice husky from the ride.

you leaned your head back against the seat and turned to her, hand still resting on her thigh. “you’re staying, right?”

she nodded slowly. “yeah.”

then she looked at you — really looked at you — like she was memorizing your face under the glow of the dashboard lights. her hand found yours again.

“i don’t think i’ve ever felt this tired and this happy at the same time.”

you smiled. “you want to tell my dad or should i?”

“i brought them something again,” she said with a sheepish laugh. “he can’t stay mad.”

you both got out slowly, bones stiff from the long drive. she grabbed the paper bag from the backseat — the one she’d filled earlier that morning with packs of hopia and sweet dumplings for your family. she always said it wasn’t a big deal, but you knew she picked them out carefully each time.

your dad was already opening the door by the time you reached it, wearing slippers and a soft smile.

“minji,” he greeted, stepping aside.

“hi po,” she said, bowing slightly as she held out the bag. “this is for you and tita.”

he took it with a laugh. “you really don’t need to bring gifts every time.”

“it’s the least i could do,” she said easily, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “thank you for letting me stay over.”

he nodded. “just get comfy, alright? you're always welcome here.”

you felt something tight ease in your chest.

your room was dim and familiar. the AC was already on, humming gently as you both dropped your bags and shoes by the door. minji kicked off hers with a tired sigh, walking toward your bed and flopping down face first without a word.

you stood at the edge and looked down at her.

“want to shower first or brush your teeth?”

“no,” came her muffled reply. “i want to be buried.”

you laughed and grabbed her wrist to pull her up. “five minutes, then i’ll join you.”

“you promise?”

“cross my heart.”

she dragged herself to the bathroom, muttering threats about you stealing the better pillow again.

you took her place on the bed, staring up at your ceiling for a while. the soft whir of the fan, the faint scent of mint from her shampoo the last time she stayed — it all felt grounded, easy. like this was your routine. like she had always belonged here.

when she came back, skin damp, face pink from the warmth of the water, you saw she was wearing one of your old shirts again — the navy one that hung past her thighs. she looked at you like you were the answer to a question she'd forgotten.

your heart squeezed.

you stood, gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek, and headed into the bathroom yourself. when you returned minutes later, minji had already climbed under the covers. she scooted back wordlessly to make space, lifting the blanket for you.

you slipped in, curling toward her without hesitation. her arms found your waist, nose tucked into your collarbone. she was warm and soft and smelled like your favorite toothpaste.

you kissed the top of her head.

“hey,” she mumbled.

“yeah?”

“thanks for today.”

“you planned it.”

“but you made it easy.”

you smiled and whispered into her hair, “i love you.”

“mm.” her arms tightened around you. “i love you more.”

#newjeans x reader #njz x reader #minji x reader #kim minji x reader #minji fluff #newjeans fluff #newjeans minji #njz minji

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tagged-by-trauma · 3 days ago

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Would you do Pedro character like Harry Castillo x f!reader, if so write this

You are working as assistant. You take care of all the works and lots of schedule for his company. Harry was in his office, focusing as you came to him about schedule the meeting. He just wanna asked for dinner. You simply gonna think about it and you go back to your office. Few moments ago. You walks to restaurant that he was waiting for you. They even got chemistry and so on. *fluffiness*

Dinner with you

When your boss asks you on a date you hesitate, but it turns out to be the best night of your life. Pairing: Harry Castillo x assistant!reader Warnings: fluff, softness, alcohol consumption ( I'm not home in the world of wines so I just searched and wrote in one), Harry being himself Word count: 1.8k A/N: I still haven't seen Materialists because it still didn't come out in my country, and there isn't even a date for it yet so...

You have been Harry’s assistant for months now, always helping him in everything. You first met him on the interview of his. Before that you just heard rumours of him. How handsome he was, how caring he was, what a gentleman he was, and every woman that saw him was talking about his intelligence too.

You were sitting at your desk, organizing folders and writing down important dates when your work-phone rang. You picked it up and listened carefully as the woman on the other side informed you about needing to put Harry’s meeting to another day because his work partner got sick and couldn’t attend. You pulled a paper and pen in front of you and scribbled down every important information. Thanking the woman, you put down the phone.

When you stood up—adjusting your skirt that rode up your thighs—you held the paper between your fingers and walked to Harry’s door, your heels clicking on the marble floor, the cool air of the built-in AC hitting against your face. You stood in front of his office, hands coming up to tap the wooden door three times with a soft ‘Mr. Castillo’.

“Come in,” you heard his muffled voice behind the door, and pushed it open to step in. His office was definitely not something what people would expect from a man so successful like him, but it was perfect for its purpose. The walls were covered in dark wood, as well as the floor, and on the side where the office looked to the streets it was covered in windows from the floor to the ceiling. Harry was sitting in his leather covered chair behind his desk, and you walked up to him confidently.

“Mr. Castillo,” he looked up from his paper, the pen falling onto the table. His eyes were dark as he not so subtly looked you up and down, and then they finally settled on yours. “Mr. Dante’s assistant called to inform you that you’ll need to put the meeting to another time due to Mr. Dante’s sickness,” he nodded, arms folded.

“And when will it be?”

“She told me they need to find a date which is good for you, Mr. Castillo and also for Mr. Dante,” as you were talking you put the paper in front of him, and his head turned towards it, his eyes skipping through the information. He let out a content hum and suddenly looked at you. “If you tell me the dates where you are free then I can inform Mr. Dante’s assistant and then we—” you couldn’t finish your sentence when he cut it at the middle with one single question.

“Are you free tonight?” your expression was completely baffled in that moment, not expecting such boldness from him. You stood there, hands intertwined in front of you, and it seemed like you were stuck in that position.

“Mr. Castillo—”

“I’m sorry for just asking it, but I’d like to take you for dinner, if that’s alright,” a million thoughts were running around your mind and you couldn’t seem to be able to form any coherent word, but one thing was repeatedly there.

It was completely unprofessional.

But you couldn’t deny it that Harry was a very handsome man with a beautiful soul and heart, and it made you hesitant in your decision. You couldn’t give a normal answer so you just blurted out the most obvious answer.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Castillo.”

“I don’t want anything else just a dinner,” he paused, and the quietness was almost touchable in the air. His answer was making you nervous, but the thought of accepting kept crawling back to the back of your mind.

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured with a final nod and a little sigh. You saw as his face lighted up with happiness, and you couldn’t help but let a soft smile creep to your face at his excited expression.

“Alright,” he stood up and walked around the desk until he was towering over you. “Uhm, can I ask for your address, so I could pick you up at let’s say… Seven?” you probably stood in front of him like you didn’t understand English, and you were trying to make out everything he said. When the words finally hit you, you scribbled down your address on the paper you just pushed in front of him and straightened back up.

“But don’t be so caught up. Mr. Castillo. I can still say no to it.”

“I know, darling,” you felt a blush raise to your cheeks at the pet name, and with your eyes fixed to the ground you started walking towards the door. But soon you stopped in your tracks when he called after you with a soft voice. Turning around you looked at him, hand resting on the doorhandle.

“Yes?”

“Stop calling me Mr. Castillo. Harry is perfectly fine,” if you didn’t feel nervous enough, then it put another pressure to your shoulders, but also happiness that he trusted you with saying his first name.

“Alright, Harry,” a grin spread over his face when he heard his name coming from your mouth.

When he turned back to his desk and went to sit down, you pushed open the office door and stepped out. In front of the door, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in all this time, and your mind drifted back to making a decision.

But deep down you knew that you’ve already chosen.

—-—

You were standing in front of your mirror when your doorbell rang. Opening the door, the sight of Harry hit you. He was standing there—out of his casual suits—wearing a grey button-up and casual jeans. He was holding a bouquet of roses, and you looked at him in surprise.

“Hey,” he called from behind the roses, and smiled.

“Hey,” he held out the roses to you and you took it with a bit of a struggle. “Roses, huh? You’re really trying to impress me.”

“It depends. Is it working?”

“Maybe. But you’ll have to do better than this,” you locked the door, and took his offered arm.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’m up for the challenge,” you went down the stairs, already trying to pull it out of him where he would take you, but he didn’t give in, always avoiding the question with a you will see.

—-—

When his car pulled up in front of one of the most expensive restaurants of New York you looked at him in disbelief. He just shrugged like it was no big deal, and parked the car close to the entrance.

Inside he gave his name, and the waiter showed you your table, but you couldn’t really pay attention to it, because the lights and the jazz music playing in the background was the only thing you could see and hear. Standing at the table, he walked to your chair and pulled it out for you. Thanking him you sat down and watched as he took his own seat opposite you.

“What can I get you for drink?” the waiter’s eyes were pacing back and forth between you and Harry.

“What would you like to drink, darling?” Harry asked, and given your experiences with luxury restaurants—which was equal with zero—you looked at him helplessly, not knowing how to answer.

“Can you decide?” Harry nodded, his eyes full of warm and understanding, and he turned to the waiter who was waiting for the order.

“Then we’ll take the Concha y Toro Don Melchor Cabernet Sauvignon,” the waiter nodded, and walked away, and you looked at Harry completely dumbfounded, but his smile was still wide and his gaze still happy.

“Well, that sure sounded pretty expensive and the name was pretty long,” he let out a quiet laugh, the sound ripping through the thick air between you. You smoothed your hand over the fabric of your dress, his palms suddenly sweaty.

“But it is very rich in taste.”

“I trust you,” the night went on with this pace, you asked for his opinion about the food, him helping you out, and the music creeping into your ear like it was a melody you couldn’t close out. The wine was the best you’ve ever had, and the food was so delicious that you ate all of it, and if you could, you would have asked for another plate of it. The conversation was flowing so easily between you two that you almost forgot that he was your boss, and you were his assistant. But as good as it was the night has come to an end, and you could see that neither him nor you liked the idea of it.

The journey back to your house was filled with soft laughter and deep conversation. In a moment of quietness Harry’s hand came down to rest on your thigh, not trying to invade but to try to capture this moment and not let it go. When he parked down, he turned to you in his seat, a questioning look on his face.

“I hope I lived up to the expectations.”

“There were never any expectations for you Harry, just to be yourself,” you murmured, and his hand gave your thigh a soft squeeze. You looked down and after a moment of thinking you rested your hand over his. His eyes shined with surprise, but the pressure of his palm remained there.

“So, that means we could maybe repeat this night?” his tone was warm, but also gravelly because of the drank wine.

“Yes, I suppose.”

You could see the struggle behind his eyes, as he was thinking whether he should give you a hug or no—maybe it would make you too uncomfortable. But before he could think more about it, you leaned over the console and put your arms around his shoulders.

“Thank you for tonight, Harry,” you whispered into the collar of his shirt, the scent of his perfume crawling into your nostrils. His hands immediately settled over your back, pulling you as close as the console allowed.

“And thank you for agreeing to go on a date with a man like me,” you pulled back with a frown on your face, and took his face between your hands, caressing his stubbled jaw.

“You’re so much more than you think of yourself, Harry. And I hope someday you’ll realize it,” with a quick peck to his cheek you reached for the doorhandle and gave him a final look. “Good night, Harry,” he looked at you as he melted into his seat by the quick press of your mouth against his skin, his brain playing tricks with him.

“Good night, darling.”

That night you both felt a connection like never before, and maybe you didn’t know yet, but it was nagging at the back of your mind that this could turn into so much more than just a friendship, more than just a relationship. You both felt it, and you welcomed it with open arms and open hearts.

#harry castillo #harrycastillo #pedro pascal #pedropascal #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo x f!reader #harry castillo x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #harry castillo fanfiction #harry castillo fanfic #harry castillo fic #harry castillo fluff #pedro pascal fandom #materialists #the materialists

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blogficsesp · 3 days ago

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I'll be waiting (ch. 4)

Prev |

When a wound puts you in the way of your almost ex-husband, the months without talking are over and perhaps it is the opportunity to resume your marriage or end it.

*English is not my first language

*Sorry for medical inaccuracies

Chapter 4

After the exams, you were waiting for Robby. The pain was bearable, but you wanted this to end. You were never good at waiting, and the messages on your phone about work related stuff were ending your patience. You heard a noise and raised your eyes.

“Hey, y/n, how everything is going here? Are we making your visit pleasant?”

You laughed at Dana’s salute. “Yes, of course, the best scores for all of you, especially for you”.

Dana came close, sat on the bed with you, and touched your hand. “It’s good to see you, even in these circumstances”.

You smiled to her, “I hope the next time will be with some wine and dinner.”

She smiled wider, “Of course, but first, have you talk to the police?”

You knew that it was required to talk to the police, the assault to medical personnel was a big problem, and it was important to file a complaint. “Not yet, but the security staff already talk with the police when they came for the dad, I think that they would contact me soon.”

She got up still with a little concern in her eyes. “OK, do you need anything?”

You took a breath and smiled. “Yes, get out of here”.

Both of you laughed. “Soon. See you later”.

While you were waiting, Robby was exiting trauma 2 with Collins by his side.

“I heard y/n is here, is she ok?”

Robby was still anxious but thanked that the staff was worried about you. Heather was now a dear friend, her heart always so big that when she knew about you and Robby, only said “you fit like a glove” and smiled.

“Yes, she is here, probably only a dislocated shoulder. In fact, I’m going to see if the results are ready…”

Robby approached the station and, on a tablet, reviewed your file, the results of the tests were ready, confirming his diagnosis.

“Yes, just the shoulder.”

Collins nodded. “Do you need help?”

Robby smiled. “No, thanks. Perlah could do it with me. Remined me, when the new guys would come?”

Collins knew that welcoming the new students and interns was not the favorite part of the day for Robby, even though he was a good teacher. “In two days”.

Robby started to walk to where Perlah was, still talking to Collins. “Right, well, this was a good case to learn, but whatever, shame on them to not be here now”.

Both laughed and parted ways.

After the reduction, Robby was putting you in a sling. “It would be a little difficult to make your daily activities, but everything will be alright in a couple of weeks, if something doesn’t feel right, call me or come here, we could check it out, ok, sweetheart?”

You were looking at your hand. “I was wondering how I’m going to work with my dominant hand restricted”

Robby looked at you like you were saying odd things. “Work? That’s what worries you?”

You nodded, if there was anything you two were alike in, it was that you both liked your work very much. “Yes, Robby. I need to work”.

“No, you need to rest. I’m sure someone can do your work while you recover.”

You looked at him, a little angry because if someone’s gonna lecture you about proper rest, it will not be Robby, the workaholic.

“We have a lot of work; the social service department is understaffed like everything around here. I cannot put that burden on someone else. You know how it is.”

Silently, Perlah got out, she liked to gossip, but this was an argument that she didn’t want to take part.

“Please, hear your doctor’s advice. If you don’t wanna listen to me, talk to Abbot, or I can bring you Collins or Mohan. They would say the same. I will bring Kiara, you can arrange something. Or I will call Gloria.”

You were surprised, Robby talking willingly to Gloria? Yeah, when the hell freezes.

“Robby, it’s not up to you”.

It was the turn of Robby to look surprised. He took a step back, but didn’t change his argument.

“Look, I know that I don’t have a word about your life anymore, but what you been through it’s not normal and you need to take some time off, please.”

You looked at each other for almost a minute in silence. You knew that he was worried about you, as a doctor and as a co-worker.

“I will talk to Gloria, maybe I could stay at home today and tomorrow, that’s all the time I’m willing to take.”

You committed to that, not giving up another inch. Robby swiped the back of his hand across his forehead.

“Ok, at least take those days off. But really rest, please.”

You half smiled at him. “Yes, of course. But I need to do laundry, cook, you know, the normal things.”

Before his brain had time to think about it, he answered you. “I could bring you something to eat now and later I can bring you dinner.”

Both were surprised by his offer. Dinner? After so many months without talking?

But the love that you still have for Robby was bigger than your fears and doubts.

“Well, in that case, sure. You can bring me dinner and give me a sandwich while my papers are ready.”

Both of you smiled, and there was a gleam in his eyes that you had missed.

He started to walk backwards. “Right, a sandwich is on the way.”

You laughed and waited for him.

You were dressed and ready to go to talk to Gloria. So, you walked to the nurse station to say goodbye to Dana. “I’m going upstairs, just wanna say bye.”

She came close to you and gave you a light hug. “Everything is well between Robby and you? Perlah said that you were fighting.”

You puffed. “We weren’t fighting, it was a little exchange of arguments. Nothing serious. But yes, we are fine. We weren’t on the same page about my rest, but we made a deal, and everything is as well as it can be.”

She laughed at you. “Sure, honey. Oh, and, lo and behold, your husband!”

Behind you, you felt Robby’s presence.

“Well, it was a pleasure talking to you, Dana, as always.”

She laughed while you turned around to see Robby.

“I’m going to talk to Gloria, already talked with my co-workers to organize the activities.”

“Good, let me walk you to the elevator.”

He put his hand on your waist, and while you were walking, every sound of the ED fades away. The only thing that you could feel was the warmth of his hand, his perfume and his voice. When the doors of the elevator opened, you stepped in.

“Thanks, Robby, see you later?”

“Sure, I’ll bring you your favorite pizza.”

And that promise filled you with butterflies. Maybe, just maybe things can change.

______________________

Taglist: @emma8895eb @li22ie2017

#dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt

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theotherrookie · 2 days ago

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"They never do. I don't get why adults are like that with kids." Erica grumbled, "Well, that served him right. He should be thankful he can still see other people holding mops or anything else. I used to scratch those who picked on isolated survivors."

She tried liking everybody, but she simply couldn't stomach bullies. They should be better people if they didn't want their butts kicked.

"Oh, I just dress comfy for myself and for Smokey. He used to sleep in the hole on my back, but I don't have it anymore. So we need pockets now." Erica explained, "Oh, I see! Russell always gets in trouble, uh? But I'm glad he's going to be okay."

She scratched at the tip of her ear as she tried to recall anything about the accident Travis had mentioned. "Hey, Willow, how long have we known Russell?"

Willow, of course, provided an answer without hesitation. "Rook met Russell about six years ago. However, the accident in question was never mentioned to me, which might imply she isn't aware of that particular misadventure. It isn't the sort of topic one would so casually discuss with a person they only recently met."

Rook would have definitely brought it up at some point. The topic of Russell's ability to get in dangerous situations and narrowly escaping it had been discussed often over the years and neither had been able to provide an explanation on how he managed to do that.

"And I met him later because I was still figuring stuff out after Willow found a way to reverse my zombieness."

"We were all very busy at the time." Willow said, leaning back, "To think I was only two years old then. Time really does fly outside the matrix."

"You know, we could watch that show together." Erica offered, "It'd be the first time for me!"

Rook stopped to look around while the pocket kept shifting to create a suitable way out of there.

"That would become unbearable quickly. The first thing I did when I learned there was a way to interact with this place was removing the echo." Rook said, "I really didn't have a great time the first time I got stuck in here. It took mum half a day to notice I was missing."

"I only had control over a limited portion of this place. Chick had to keep busy rearranging all my supplies." Veronica added.

But of course, everything had changed when Rook had retrieved one of their lost books from the clutches of the Brotherhood. They finally had access to a powerful tool that made their activities far easier and were a bit closer to unlocking other hunting techniques previously lost to time.

The last few blocks fell into place just as Bill was sent off to enjoy the panoramic view. Veronica figured she would make herself useful while they waited for Rook to tend to her business and shifted her focus to keeping their surroundings stable while they lingered there.

"Alchemy has always been one of our strongest suit. I dare say Erika has a natural talent for it." Veronica said, pride evident in her tone.

Rook wasn't feeling particularly proud of herself, but still managed a small nod. "I'm alright. I see you guys found my pile of gold without the rainbow. Do you want some?"

The coin shined and felt like the real deal. It was made of gold of the highest quality and with both sides decorated with a crude rendition of a bird's foot.

Rook went ahead and dug up a candy scoop she then used to fill a small bag with coins under Lucien's very intrigued gaze. She closed the bag by pulling the strings at the sides, then offered it to Antonio.

"I've got plenty to spare. I really don't mind."

"The one he picked might be worth more than the entire pile, dear."

"Let me splurge, mum. I'm trying to ignore my feelings right now."

Unable to resist to the shiny himself, Lucien quietly took the scoop from her and started filling another bag for himself.

"Oh, please, don't make compliments." Rook said, nudging him with her boot.

"Get off my back. I can make a lovely pendant for Russell with these." The half fae hastily pushed back with his arm, before scooping up a few more coins.

"Then they wonder why kids hate schools." Erica grumbled, "I bet they still tell the story of what you did! That guy must be scared of mops too now."

It still wasn't as satisfying as the guy getting skewered or having the mop broken over his head, but it was enough to get the point across.

"You hardly have the need to go unnoticed, Travis. One look at you is enough to discourage many from trying their luck." Willow pointed, "Erica was raised to hunt. It's only natural for her to be conspicuous despite her wardrobe."

"Yeah, sometimes I scare people by accident." Erica confirmed. Perhaps that choice of words was by accident as well. "If those were the second and third, what was the best news you got?"

"The afterlife is extensive. However, she most likely wouldn't mind making an attempt." Willow reassured, "Mother likes you as well as your brothers. That means her usual attentions will be extended to you all as well."

The need for closure would move the ghost lady most of all. Veronica would have agreed in a heartbeat, if only she still had a heart.

Willow considered her options, before tapping into the radio again. The car lacked the charm and bite of the real deal, but she hoped Travis was familiar with KITT. She hated wasting a good reference.

"Come on, Travis! You can't leave me hanging like this. I'm a marvelous car, but I can't do all the heavy lifting myself. That's your specialty."

Erica's ears perked up. "I know that voice! It's that talking car who hung out with that guy from SpongeBob!"

Willow smiled as she tossed her hair back, "I felt like going for a classic this time."

It seemed like these were typical shenanigans between the two of them.

The pocket dimension was very barren, but was far from still. The fog quietly parted as they walked, flowing all around them like an intricate network of streams. It was something Rook found calming in small doses, though her attention was focused elsewhere.

"There's no ugly moquette or buzzing lights either." Rook added, "It can be too quiet at times. Not that hearing distant noises would be any better. I guess it's good for reading, Antonio can probably attest to that. Or not– I'm still waiting for your review of your stay in my liminal closet."

It seemed like a nice way to divert the attention away from some rather unpleasant memories. That wasn't the time or place to start that argument and most of all, she didn't think Lucien should have been present to provide his opinion on the matter. The fae could be awfully unhelpful at times.

Though Bill was being just as helpful, in his own way. Veronica hadn't meant to follow up on her threat, but now she simply had to.

"Too many underestimate the importance of sound values when parenting." Veronica paused, her gaze trailing over at the inevitable duck comment, "You're simply hopeless."

And about to take a ride in the hard to discern void slide. Rook wasn't the only one able to mess with gravity there. Bill could take a ride and think about the consequences of his own actions.

Lucien was simply glad he wasn't the one falling into oblivion. He would simply turn the other way and let Rook have her moment of privacy so she could replenish her magic battery.

"Oh, I see you started synthesizing gold." he told Veronica.

"It's an old family recipe." Veronica replied, "It's a shame we can only use it sparingly these days."

Rook could do nothing but stand for a moment to watch the way everybody was ready to give her some space. It meant more than she was willing to admit. Then again, she never got too sentimental when her marks whenever she started feeling drained.

Rook silently turned and took a few steps away from the group, before there was a shift in the pocket to reveal one of the few monsters she had the time to catch lately. It looked like a hybrid between some kind of reptile and a rodent with a mantis-like head. It didn't really matter what it was or where it came from. She had found it trying to eat some poor schmuck and it had almost slashed her wing off with its claws. Now it was going to do something useful for a change.

"Imagine if Five found you instead." She would probably be starving. There was another shift as a bright light engulfed the monster, before it vanished into a swirly cloud of energy that was absorbed by her marks.

Rook took a moment to simply breathe, before turning back. "I… I'm done."

She didn't want to drag this on to avoid making it more awkward than it was.

#pushspacetocontinue #scholar of flames - Rook #cyber core - Willow #elf in training - Erica #hunter hunter - Lucien #ardens medica - Veronica

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bigheartbuck · 2 days ago

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i keep these longings locked

part i part ii mentions of abbytommy/tommy-centric/eventual bucktommy

tw: internalized homophobia/homophobic language

I promise the next bit is going to be more lighthearted!

tag list: @sweaters-and-silly (lmk if you wanna be added too) ______________________________

His chest is tight as fuck. Tommy breathes through it. Head between his knees, feels his pulse uncomfortably loud and present in his neck. Lockers have emptied out mostly. His vision is swimming. He feels like throwing up.

"Kinard? Oh shit, hey."

He can hear fast footsteps, and then a warm, big hand on his shoulder. "You got it," the voice says and Tommy's brain is desperately trying to place it. His hands are shaking. "Inhale.... hold your breath, three, two, one, ....exhale. Good. Again, come on."

By the time Tommy emerges from what feels like the deepest, darkest sea and comes up for air, he's realized that the warm hand and firm voice belong to his new captain. Hen had given him a week tops. But Nash has persevered. Four weeks and counting. Tommy would've rather been found dead before ever letting Gerrard see him like this but Nash has a softness to him. His whole lets have dinner together shtick, his we're a family and we ride together pathos, his unwavering determination to make them act like a team -- Tommy's not sure he quite fits in there. Right now, though, he's glad it's Nash who found him like this and not Howie or Hen. They'd stage an intervention immediately.

Nash hands him a water bottle, sits down next to him. "Better?"

Tommy lets out a shaky breath. “Thanks cap. I, uh, I don’t know what just happened." He rubs his hand across his face. “I don’t usually get… like this.” He forces a smile. "Guess it was a couple of tough calls."

Nash eyes him, somewhat curiously. Several beats. "Everything alright at home?" Tommy shrugs. He should go home. Sleep it off. He meets Nash's steady gaze, but there's a flicker of genuine concern. Tommy can't handle it, Nash's empathy.

"Yeah. Everything's good," he lies and reaches for his bag. Nash stops him. "Not so fast. I uh -- I'd been meaning to talk to you."

Tommy blinks, confused, his hand still hovering near the strap of his bag. He’s not sure where this is going. "Uh oh," he says dryly. His pulse is still racing and only slowly returning to normal. "Am I being fired, too?" Deluca is still pissed at Nash but Tommy knows it was the right call. He's been putting in the work, though. Doing his part. It would be really shitty timing for Nash to let him go as well.

Nash’s gaze sharpens for a moment, like he’s sizing Tommy up, and then he exhales softly. “No, you’re not getting fired.” He pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. Tommy's shoulders relax. "But?" he asks.

"But..." Nash continues, "I've been wondering if maybe you're not exactly who you're supposed to be."

"That so?" Tommy asks, aiming for casual. Nash doesn't know, does he? Fuck. He wonders sometimes if it's all over his face. Tommy Kinard thinks about kissing boys. Tommy Kinard is a queer. Don't ask, don't tell. But look at him, he tries so hard to be a big guy but he'd take it lying down, wouldn't he? Fuck. He needs to get his dad's voice out of his head. It's funny, the way he is still such a fuck up. How he tried to make it work so hard and how he still failed. He would've given everything to be happy with Abby.

He juts his chin forward. Nash looks at him with so much kindness it makes Tommy want to crawl out of his skin.

"You're a pilot," his captain says, oblivious to the dark spiral of Tommy's mind. Tommy exhales. Breathe. For fuck's sake. Breathe.

"And you're competent, skilled, you're quick. I'd love to keep you here. But I keep thinking maybe you belong elsewhere. And I hear the Harbor is looking for someone like you."

Tommy must look genuinely surprised because Nash lets out a huffed laugh. Tommy hasn't considered flying in years. "Seriously?"

Nash nods. "You're one of my best. But I saw the way you lit up when we called in air support last week. You loved working with them. So, my guess is, that's where your heart is."

Tommy thinks no one's ever paid attention to him like this before. His stomach unknots slowly. Shoulders uncurl.

"I'll -- I'll think about it."

Nash squeezes his shoulder. "You should. It can feel like suffocating. Denying yourself what you want."

Tommy stares down at his hands.

"Yes, cap," he says, throat working.

"Bobby." Nash points to the jeans he's wearing. "Off shift. I'm just Bobby."

"Bobby." Tommy echoes. His legs still feel like jelly.

He takes a few sips from the water. "I might --" His tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

"I might have to look for a new place soon."

He hasn't talked to Abby yet. But he needs to, has to. He wakes up, shirt soaked through with sweat at least twice a night. The darkest, deepest sea in his mind and his father's voice are so hard to turn off. He can't live like this anymore. He's been googling apartments. Abby doesn't even know yet.

"I really uh --" Tommy doesn't know why he keeps talking. "I tried to make a good thing work and it didn't work."

Bobby nods. "And that's causing the panic attacks?" He asks it matter of factly.

Tommy clears his throat. "One panic attack." Lie. But Bobby doesn't have to know or be right about everything. "And I guess --" He hesitates. "Gotta figure out some stuff. Big stuff."

Bobby doesn't say anything for a while. Keeps his gaze steady. Tommy thinks he could probably confide in him. Bobby would see the ugly, dark, twistedness of Tommy's insides and tell him it was okay. That it gets better. And the thing is, Tommy knows. He knows. He saw some kid online the other day on YouTube. They were what, 15? When Tommy was 15 -- well. He's mid thirties now, not any less terrified. It's difficult to explain, out loud. How his head works. How the stuff that goes for others, doesn't apply to him. How he's less deserving of it.

"The big stuff," Bobby says after a while. He looks at Tommy, face open. He says it like a question, gently prompting Tommy to continue.

Tommy's eyes prickle. He should go.

He exhales. "Yeah. Been pretending to be... Someone I'm not."

He's a teenager and his dad caught him with a magazine of naked men and his hand down his pants. He's in the army and Micah is kissing him. He's 34 and engaged to a beautiful woman and he feels nothing when she shakes around him.

His mouth is dry as cotton.

Bobby squeezes his shoulder. "I hear you." A beat. "Don't need to say anything else."

They sit like this for a little while longer. Then, Tommy gathers his things, shoulders his bag. The ground feels a little less shaky. His knees don't buckle. He'll find an apartment. And he'll tell Abby.

"Kinard," Bobby says when Tommy's already at the door. Tommy turns around. "Promise me you'll think about transferring, yeah? Go after what you want?"

Tommy huffs out a laugh. Shakes his head. His chest is lighter. "Aye aye cap." He gives a half hearted mock salute. What he means to say is thank you.

He's pretty sure Bobby hears it anyway.

On the way home, at a red light stop, a jeep comes to a halt next to his car. A guy leans out of the window and asks for directions to the LAFD training academy. He's young. Bright smile, short blond hair. Tommy tells him where to go and the guy thanks him profusely. "Starting a new chapter," he says enthusiastically and adjusts his backwards hat. Out of his stereo Tommy can hear hip hop blaring. Eminem. "Me, too" Tommy shouts back and watches the lights switch to orange. "Good luck then!" the guy shouts over the revving engine and grins. "See you around!"

Tommy laughs.

"You, too!"

Lights turn green.

#abbytommy #tommyabby #bobby nash #tommy centric fic #eventually #bucktommy fic #tommy kinard #my writing #tw: internalized homophobia/homophobic language #tw homophobia

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concretejunglefm · 3 days ago

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𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒… 03

Summary: When you were convinced to visit a male strip club, you didn’t anticipate that the guy you locked eyes with on stage and who subsequently pulled you up for a routine, would turn out to be the same guy whose roommate advert you’d be responding to less than 24 hours later.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader, (slight) Jesse Cash x reader.

CW: two idiots in love, reader ogling Noah like he's a piece of meat, Noah in his short shorts.

WC: 5.5k.

AN: Alright, so I’m not sure how many parts this will have. All I know is that this is for fun I hope you enjoy Noah being a lovable himbo.

Dividers: silent-stories.

Fic Masterlist

With a heaving sigh, you throw yourself onto the couch and lean back, resting your head against a cushion you’d moved to the armrest. It was back to the drawing board after yet another failed date, scrolling through the now limited options. If it wasn’t some cheesy line in their bio that put you off, it was the fact they were either clearly out of your league—or out of your radius.

“No, no, no,” you repeat, swiping past a firefighter, a guy who looked like he could be a fighter—or maybe a trainer—some ‘voice actor,’ a real actor, a guy wearing a mask to obscure his face with his whole ass titties out, dubbing himself as being from Arcadia (whatever that meant), a guy who looked like a potential contender… only for you to double-check his profile and see you weren’t his type (read: not a man), and then a young woman about your age with long hair, tattoos, and incredibly pretty, that made you pause until you saw the picture of her with a friend who was clearly far from just a friend.

“I wonder how long before they realize they’re in love with each other,” you mumble to yourself with a sigh.

The final profile—someone who looked potentially like a priest, is what makes you roll your eyes and give up altogether, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to ease the tension headache building behind your eyes.

It’s useless, and you’re making no progress in moving on from your crush on Noah. In fact, you swear it’s only getting worse, especially when you catch him flaunting around in those short shorts while shaking his protein shake.

What man’s ass jiggles while he’s shaking his arms???

You’d like to think the dates hadn’t been all that terrible—except they had.

First, there was Sam: the influencer who insisted on taking selfies or recording everything for their TikTok page, even going as far as wanting to move tables because “the lighting looks better over there.” They spent the entire date talking about themselves, never once asking about you, and rattled off their stats like it was a business pitch—ending with, “Obviously, I get better numbers than you do from streaming.”

Then there was Darren, the magician. He actually caught your attention at first, until he performed his best trick yet: a disappearing act… right as the bill arrived. Asshole.

After that came Lyle, a guy completely obsessed with crypto. He decided to give you a full breakdown of everything from blockchain to Bitcoin, proudly showcasing his NFT collection like a parent showing off baby photos.

Your last ditch effort had been with an older woman, Gillian, and while the date had started out great, it was her sly comment—“What do you plan to do with your life? Streaming isn’t exactly a real job, is it?”—that made your mommy issues flare up, a little too close for comfort.

While you’re scrolling through your phone, a large tattooed hand suddenly reaches down from above and snatches it right out of your fingers.

“Noah!” you huff, pushing yourself upright as he starts scrolling through the options on your screen.

“Wow, these are the dudes you’ve got coming up?” He tuts like he’s personally offended, shaking his head. “This won’t do. You need a better selection pool.”

“Well, that’s the only one I have. Now can I have my phone back?”

He ignores your request entirely and turns, heading into the kitchen. You push yourself up from the couch to follow after him.

“Noah!”

“And this is your profile?” he scoffs. “You need to liven it up a little. Maybe a few better pictures—we can get Bryan to take some real photographic shots!”

“I’m not using Bryan to take pictures for a dumb dating app.”

“Why not? These do nothing to compliment you.” He pauses and turns to gesture down at you in your shorts and oversized T-shirt, making your cheeks warm at the implied compliment.

“Uhh… thanks?” you mutter. For a second, you swear his eyes rake over you a little too long, lingering, but then he’s back to studying the screen like your love life is a group project.

“Where are the guys?” you ask, glancing around.

As if on cue, the sound of music blares to life from the backyard, followed by the low hum of voices and laughter. That answers your question, and Noah simply points in the direction of the backdoor, eyes still locked on your screen like he’s the one whose dating profile is currently under scrutiny.

Following him outside, he offers your phone back, and just as you step out, Jolly calls over to you from the bench he’s currently sitting on, a dumbbell in one hand that he’s steadily lifting into bicep curls.

“Hey! How’d the last date go?”

“Terrible.” You screw up your face, lifting a hand to block out the sun. “It was like being on a date with my mom—probably would’ve been cheaper, too.”

“Hot,” Folio chimes in.

There’s a chorus of disgusted groans and “gross” comments thrown his way before he quickly backtracks.

“I mean me going on a date with her mom. That sounds hot.”

Suddenly, there’s a shift from disgust to agreement, a few thoughtful hums, and now it’s your turn to be disgusted. You roll your eyes and move beneath the shade provided by the neighbor’s overhanging tree.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to wander, settling on Noah, who must’ve had breakaway pants on earlier, because now he’s wearing nothing but a tight tank top, showcasing the multitude of tattoos trailing along his arms, throat, and peeking out from his chest and back, paired with a set of tight short shorts that leave very little to the imagination as he starts squatting.

While the guys have their workout circuit going, you’re just standing there, watching until Folio creeps up beside you and whispers, “You’re drooling.”

Naturally, he catches you—staring, ogling, literally drooling. You can never escape him and his keen eye. You roll your eyes, but he just smirks and saunters over to Noah.

“Come here, buddy. Use me as support to get deeper.”

There’s a cheeky grin on Folio’s face—he knows exactly what he’s doing, because the next moment, Noah’s gripping onto him and suddenly squatting lower, whole ass practically out, and your mouth goes dry.

“I’m gonna… cool down,” you mumble—more of a poor excuse than anything—as you march straight to the pool’s edge and throw yourself in.

It happens quicker than you have time to process. Suddenly, you’re being scooped up by a pair of strong arms and pulled out of the water, Noah surfacing right after, tossing his head and hair back like some majestic mermaid.

“What the—?” you gasp, shaking your head as you cling to him while he carries you over to the edge of the pool.

“You haven’t paid this month’s rent yet,” he explains.

Your brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

“You haven’t paid the rent,” he repeats casually, “so you lose your pool privileges until then. Don’t worry, I’ll set up the paddling pool for you.”

You scoff, completely unable to believe what you’re hearing, as Noah lifts you from the water and sets you on the pool’s edge.

“And you’re gonna jump in and drag me out every time I get in there?” you ask, a little bewildered.

Noah stands back slightly, nodding as he runs his fingers through his wet hair. “If I have to, yeah.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath.

“Oooh, someone forgot to pay their rent. Naughty, naughty,” Folio taunts.

“Fuck you,” you snap, half laughing, and splash water in his direction, only for him to dodge, jumping away with a high pitched laugh.

“It’s just until you pay up,” Noah says so politely, despite how matter of fact it sounds. As he climbs up and out of the pool, you almost have to avert your gaze—his now wet shorts have become so skin tight they leave nothing to the imagination.

Size, shape, cut or uncut—you can suddenly make out everything with how tightly they cling to him. All it does is feed the beast you’ve been trying to quell, adding to the ever growing catalog of fantasies rolling around in your mind like some twisted choose your own adventure.

“But I’m not paid until the tenth of the month!” you call after him as he walks past, heading toward the heart shaped paddling pool. He drags it a little further from its usual spot and retrieves the hose to start filling it up, clearly trying to make his point.

“Then you’ll be without privileges for ten days. You know the rules,” he shrugs.

When you hear someone snickering, you look over and catch Jolly doing his best to hide his amused expression beneath the brim of his cap.

“Jolly!” you sigh.

He just shrugs, raising his hands like he’s Switzerland. “Don’t look at me—we’ve all been there.”

With an exaggerated huff, you push yourself to your feet and stomp over to the half filled paddling pool. Still fully clothed and dripping, you step inside and plop down with crossed arms and legs, making your point.

“See? It’s not that bad, right?” Noah looks down at you with that same wide grin and soft eyes.

The expression makes you crack a little, because while his ‘rules’ sound utterly ridiculous, he’s being too reasonably adorable for you to even argue with him.

Later that night, while you’re mid stream, you catch a faint knock on the door and glance over, calling out, “Come in.”

Across the screen, several remarks light up in chat along the same lines—‘surprise guest?’, but thanks to your setup, the identity remains a mystery.

Still, the smile that crosses your face is the undeniable giveaway.

“I’ll be right back, guys,” you call into the mic, pulling off your headphones. You quickly bring up your paused stream screensaver before turning in your chair toward Noah, who stands in the doorway to your room looking like a sad puppy.

“I thought you’d want some snacks,” he offers quietly, holding up one of his premium bags of chips.

“Oh? I thought I’d lost my privileges,” you tease, and that makes a slight grin break across Noah’s face. He relaxes a little, clearly gauging that you aren’t too offended by what happened earlier.

“Well, I can always sneak you some. Just don’t tell the guys I let you off easy,” he says, stepping into the room and settling on the edge of your bed, close to you.

“They might start to think you’re playing favorites,” you murmur, gently nudging your knee against his as you turn to face him more. You feel yourself flush a little at the thought—though you swear you catch the faintest blush at the tips of Noah’s ears.

“Well, you are prettier than Jolly. Maybe not Davis, though.”

“I’ll take that,” you laugh, reaching for the bag of chips he opens and offers. You pop a couple into your mouth as he glances toward your paused screen.

“What are you playing?” he asks, nodding toward your computer.

“Would you believe… Animal Crossing?”

“No way!” His face lights up with excitement, and you shuffle back a bit as he moves closer.

“I wanna play!”

“Wait, you like Animal Crossing?”

He quirks a brow at you as he stands. “The jock villagers are literally my dudes.”

That makes you laugh, because of course they are. Out of all the personality types, that would be the one he’s drawn to.

“Here!” You lean over, pulling your spare chair into place and patting the seat for him. You hand him your second controller. “Are you okay with streaming?” you ask, ready to switch the stream back on.

“I’m your favorite guest, aren’t I?” he teases, flashing a wide grin.

You just nod with a quiet, “Sure,” and switch the stream back on, offering him your spare headset—complete with matching cat ears.

“Well, I guess we do have a special guest tonight.”

That sets the chat off in a frenzy, messages spamming across the screen as Noah eagerly begins creating his character to join your island.

“What are you doing?” you ask, narrowing your eyes as you watch him.

“Moving in,” he replies, not missing a beat.

You scoff and shake your head. “Making yourself right at home already.”

“Like you haven’t,” he teases, glancing over at you, his tongue peeking out briefly—revealing a glint of something silver, before he turns his attention back to the screen.

You’re left momentarily dumbfounded, your stomach doing flips. The butterflies you thought had long since fluttered away now back.

Coming to the club has become a regular occurrence for you, especially on nights when you’re not streaming. Mostly, it’s for the company, because the moment all the guys are out of the house, it feels a little too quiet and frankly, a little too lonely.

When you first moved in, you never imagined you’d actually end up enjoying having multiple guys shouting around you—working out, blasting music, watching movies, wrestling in the pool. The chaos that always seems to ensue somehow became part of the charm, and eventually, all that noise just faded into the background—comforting, familiar, a soundtrack to their constant presence.

Taking your usual seat at the bar, you pull out your laptop with the intention of finishing off a handful of video concepts for upcoming streams. On top of that, you’ve still got side uploads you haven’t even started to piece together. Realistically, you could look into hiring someone to help with editing, but you’re a perfectionist, and your income, while steady enough to sustain yourself, still doesn’t justify bringing someone else in.

“I’ll have a bottle of water,” you say to the unfamiliar voice that asks for your order. When you glance up from your screen, you clock someone who isn’t Matt placing a bottle of water down on the bar beside you.

“Where’s Matt?” you ask the new guy behind the bar, who—unlike Matt—is dressed in a more uniform like style: a collared shirt, black pants, and even a matching black button-up vest. There’s a distinct curl to his hair, and each time he lifts his tattooed hand to card his fingers through it, you watch the strands spring to life before flipping back into place.

“Not here,” he answers quickly, glancing up at you briefly. “Am I not good enough?”

That makes you pause. For a second, you almost assume you’ve offended him, until you catch the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No, just… you’re new,” you say, and he nods, showing off a little as he tosses a bottle for his next customer before smoothly pouring their drink.

“Jesse,” he introduces himself, setting the bottle down and sliding the drink across the bar. He wipes his hands on a nearby rag before offering one to you. You give your name in return.

“You a friend of the guys?” you ask, gesturing toward the stage, already alive with the four male dancers.

He makes a slight face before breaking into a grin. “Yeah. We all go way back. Used to be roommates with Noah and Jolly once upon a time.”

“Oh?” Your brow quirks. “Had to get out the nest and spread your wings?”

He pauses, glancing at you with a slightly raised brow. “That, and someone moved in and stole my room.”

“Ouch.” You lift a hand to your chest in mock offense. “Whoever would do such a thing?”

That sends you both into a quiet, shared laugh.

Watching him struggle was becoming painful. Between the influx of customers and his terrible attempts at tricks with the bottles and drinks, you decided to save him from drowning any further. Shutting down your laptop, you hop off your stool and walk around to the back of the bar—only for Jesse to catch sight of you with a curious eye and a quick, “Wait, whoa, what are you doing back here? You can’t be back here!”

“I’m saving your ass,” you declare, turning to a nearby customer and taking their order before effortlessly starting to make their drinks.

“So you’ve bartended before?” Jesse asks, pausing just to watch how seamlessly you go about mixing the combination of drinks being requested.

“Back in college,” you shrug, giving him a brief glance.

“You went to college?” It comes out more surprised than he probably intended, and you gasp dramatically, reaching over as though to kick him.

“Yes, computer engineering, actually.”

“Oh, so you were one of those pretty nerds.”

“Who said anything about was?” you quip, flashing him a quick wink before turning back to the customer and offering them their drinks.

“What about you?” you ask in the brief reprieve between customers, your eyes skimming along his tattooed forearms, exposed by the way he’s rolled up his sleeves halfway.

All of the boys seem to share a similar style of tattoos—something you can’t help but notice, but his look good on him. Just like Noah’s, they suit him in a way that feels intentional, like a pretty canvas you couldn’t imagine being bare now that you’ve seen it like this.

“What about me?”

“Was bartending always the dream?” you tease, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Oh, no. I did English Lit.”

“Oh?!”

“With plans of being the next great American author,” he explains.

“You need a degree for that?” you tease again, biting your lower lip to hold back your laughter.

“Yeah, I guess not,” he sighs, leaning against the bar as he laughs quietly. “And you need a computer engineering degree for what you do?”

“Streaming?” You quirk a brow slightly. “I didn’t want to make it too easy on myself and do something entirely relevant to my degree.”

Your tone drips with sarcasm, but Jesse picks up on it instantly. Before long, the two of you are batting jokes back and forth with ease, the night slipping by in a blur—only breaking the spell when Noah approaches the bar.

“Want a ride home?” he asks, sweat still dripping down his collarbone and tattooed neck, glitter smudged across his face.

“Yes!” you bounce up from behind the bar, already moving to gather your laptop. “But you really need to learn to hose off before you leave work. I’m tired of glitter in the shower.”

You point at him, but Noah just raises a brow, flashing a cheeky grin.

“And lose an excuse to have you help me? That seems unfair to you,” he teases.

Behind you, Jesse mutters under his breath, “Don’t miss that.”

You shake your head with a quiet laugh, waving at Jesse. “Thanks,” he says, as you cross over to Noah, your laptop bag slung over your shoulder. Your free hand finds the small of his back, guiding him toward the door.

“How’d you do tonight?” you ask, stepping into the cool night air, watching how a light breeze lifts a few overgrown strands of his hair. Even in the moonlight—smeared eyeliner, glitter, and all—he’s pretty.

“Not bad. A bachelorette party was asking about private shows.” He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and shows you a number.

You raise a brow. “And I want this because…?”

“They thought you were our booking agent or something. I don’t know—maybe you could be.” He shrugs as you reach the car. He pops the trunk, tossing his bag in, then opens the passenger door for you.

“You want me as your booking agent?” you scoff, not sure if you heard him right.

“For events and stuff outside the club? Sure, why not?”

“Because I’ve never been an agent in my life?”

“You stream. You’re basically your own PR team. You make your own content, handle your own promotions, moderate your own chat most of the time, and you edit everything yourself.” Noah starts listing things off like a checklist. “You’re a one man band. Why not use those skills for something else?”

“Oh yeah? And you’ll use your skills?”

“If you insist.” He smirks, and before you can respond, he starts to gyrate his hips the same way he does on stage, laughing as he dances toward you.

Naturally, you can’t help but burst out laughing. “You keep up the good dance moves, babygirl, and I’ll take care of you,” you tease, reaching out to give him a playful smack on the ass as you climb into the car and he brings a hand to his forehead while closing the door, dramatically pretending to faint over your charming words.

It’s Noah who starts it.

You’d been happily watching Dirty Dancing alone in what you thought was an empty house—until he wandered in, claimed it was his favorite movie, started singing along, and now he’s sliding off the couch onto the floor, stretching out just like Patrick Swayze on screen, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“How do you call your loverboy?” he sings, playing it up like the natural performer he is.

You’re quick to fall into step, shifting to the edge of your seat, lifting your hand to beckon him with one curled finger as you sing back, “Come ‘ere, loverboy!”

The two of you go back and forth, perfectly in sync with the movie. Noah begins to crawl toward you, slow and dramatic, after easing onto his knees, and you slide off the couch to meet him on the floor, mirroring his movements as you both crawl toward one another.

When the scene shifts, Noah mimics playing air guitar, bent backward on his knees in a way that shows off the flexibility you’ve seen so often on stage. You would’ve taken the moment to admire him—his form, the way he moves, the ease in his body, but you’re too caught up in the rhythm of your shared performance.

Then comes your daring touch. As he straightens up and moves toward you, your hands find his upper arms, fingers pressing lightly into the warm flex of muscle. His nose brushes yours, breath warm against your lips. He’s close—so close you expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in closer, hands settling at your waist. The only time he breaks contact is to mimic the choreography on screen—his head dipping toward your stomach, your hands cradling the sides of his neck to guide him upward again, until he’s pressed against your chest.

His hips sway with the music, his hands on your hips, guiding them as you rise to your feet together, until he finally lifts his head just enough to look down at you.

Even as the scene continues to play, the music fading into a soft lull in the background of the scene, it’s the words that follow that catch your attention—You’re the one.

They stand out like a spotlight, echoing in your head as you gaze up at him. It makes your heart pound, because you can’t help but feel like maybe he is. Or maybe it’s all in your head—wishful thinking, misreading something that isn’t really there, but he still hasn’t pulled away.

His hands slide around to your lower back, gently tugging you closer, your bodies swaying, almost grinding, to the slow, sensual rhythm. The movement mirrors the dancing he does in the club, deliberate and intimate, full of unspoken promise.

“You’re a pretty good dancer,” he murmurs.

That pulls a quiet laugh from you as you turn your head slightly, avoiding his gaze. “Compared to you? I don’t think so.”

“No, I mean it. You should come on stage sometime at the club. I could teach you a few moves.”

You want to ask if he’s teasing, but you know better. When it comes to dancing, to his work, he never jokes. He’s proud of what he does.

Your arms hang loosely around his shoulders, fingers gliding up into the back of his hair. You look up at him, and nod. “Yeah, okay.”

You’re close enough now to feel the heat of his breath ghosting over your lips. Close enough that if one of you moved even an inch—

Then the back door slams. The sound startles you both, making you spring apart. You quickly busy yourself, flopping back onto the couch and fixing your eyes on the movie—pretending nothing just happened.

Jolly and Davis’s voices filter through the house, followed by the sound of Folio and Nick entering. As Folio peers into the living room, he catches sight of the movie playing on the TV.

“Ah man, he hasn’t tried to get you to do the lift yet, has he?” he asks.

You quirk a brow, glancing between Noah—now seated back near you—and Folio.

“He’s obsessed with trying to get one of us to do that lift. Watch out, or you’ll be next.” He points at you as if issuing a warning, before disappearing into the kitchen just as Jolly announces the food is ready.

Noah practically vaults over the back of the couch, promising to return with your plate, but all you can focus on is the pounding in your chest—the lingering effect of just how close the two of you had been.

Your thoughts drift, dangerously, to the idea of recreating that iconic lift scene, and you realize, more than ever, that you desperately need a distraction from him.

It’s in the local coffee shop that you spot a familiar face—Jesse, leaning back in his chair, a book in one hand and a coffee in the other. Narrowing your gaze as you draw closer, you tilt your head to read the title of the book, saying it aloud to catch his attention.

“Lolita, really?” You raise a brow—part amused, part curious—your lips tugging into something resembling the former.

“Are you really judging the taste of an English lit grad?” Jesse replies, lowering his book and peeking up at you from behind it.

“Hm, depends on your take, I suppose,” you shrug, swaying a little on the spot.

“Probably not something most people would agree with.” He shifts forward, setting his book on the table and gesturing for you to sit. You slide into the chair opposite him.

“So that means it’s pretentious,” you tease.

He scrunches his nose and raises a hand, holding his forefinger and thumb an inch apart. “Maybe a teeny bit.”

You laugh and lean back, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “So, where’s your laptop? Aren’t all aspiring authors supposed to sit in coffee shops with their laptops, looking all tortured and artistic or something?”

“Well, usually yes, but not today. I’m here because I’m supposed to be meeting a date.”

“Oh?” Your brow furrows, and you reach into your pocket, pulling out your phone to glance at the time. It’s not that you feel like you’re interrupting, but the coincidence is just a little too perfect.

“That’s… interesting. I had a blind date a friend set me up on. I was supposed to meet him about five minutes ago.”

“Is that so?” Jesse leans back in his chair, brow raised and a sly smirk curling at his lips—like he’s already pieced the whole thing together.

“Could you give me a second?” you quickly excuse yourself, slipping outside as you hit ‘call’ on Troy’s number. Naturally, he answers within a couple of rings, his voice too bright, too vibrant, clearly aware of what he’s doing.

“How’s the date?”

“Why did you set me up with Jesse?” you hiss down the phone, not bothering to hide your annoyance as you walk further away from the coffee shop to prevent Jesse from witnessing your meltdown.

“Because I saw the way you two have been flirting behind the bar and—”

“That wasn’t flirting,” you interrupt, correcting him with a huff.

“Oh, please. A guy who challenges you in both wit and intellect? You were about ready to eat him alive on the spot.”

You huff again, momentarily silenced by the fact that he’s not wrong. You admittedly have a type, intellectual sparring is your version of foreplay, and Jesse definitely lit that fire beneath you when you helped him behind the bar.

“So, me and Matt spoke—”

“And how are you and Matt?” There’s a snipe in your tone, not hiding what you’re insinuating: that you’re not the only one nursing a crush on someone in the club. Only in your case, it might be two someones.

“I’m still playing hard to get, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes and audibly growl as Troy returns to his train of thought.

“As I was saying—we spoke and decided you two were a perfect match, so we set you up.”

“And you don’t think setting me up with the friend of the guy I have a crush on and live with was a bad idea?”

He grumbles something about not always having the brains to go with his beauty, and you roll your eyes again.

“It’s either this, or you get desperate and go back out with some other Tinder knucklehead. So either suck it up and tell that big, beautiful himbo with the jiggly ass and too little shorts how you feel… or go on a couple dates with Jesse just to get him out of your system.”

“So, Noah’s always been like that, huh?” you ask.

“Oh, the whole ‘taking away privileges and replacing them’ thing? Yeah, he’s a bit of an ass for that,” Jesse chuckles, your hands just brushing as you walk side by side.

“I’ve gotta ask,” he continues. “Do you like him? Noah, I mean. It’s just… I’ve never been on a date where the sole focus has been multiple questions about my friend slash ex roommate.”

You feel your cheeks warm and drop your head, staring at the ground like it might help deflect what he’s insinuating. “It’s complicated.”

“I get it.”

You peek up at him, brow raised slightly, urging him to go on.

“I’m not insecure or anything. I know he’s a charmer—there’s a reason he has a Facebook support group. Which I’m pretty sure Folio moderates,” he adds with a wry look.

You snort, brow furrowing to match his. “It’s just a stupid crush,” you say with a shrug, brushing it off.

Jesse raises his hands in a lighthearted defense as the two of you come to a stop at the end of your driveway.

“I’m not judging, but I like you. I had fun, and if you decide you want a second date—one where Noah isn’t the sole topic of conversation—I’d love to take you out on one.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, nibbling over the thought of a second date with Jesse, and just how much you’d unintentionally—or maybe subconsciously, brought Noah up tonight.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Jesse says, slipping his hands into his pockets with a casual shrug. His tone is almost nonchalant, but there’s something about his posture, the restraint in his expression, that suggests he’s holding himself back. “Figure out where your head’s at… and call me.”

He pulls one hand from his pocket, gently lifting it to your chin, tilting your head toward him. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. It doesn’t feel entirely platonic, but it’s not quite romantic either—something soft, in-between. It stirs a flicker of warmth, but nothing like the heat Noah ignites just by being near you, and that realization leaves you heavy with guilt.

“Thanks, Jesse,” you whisper.

He steps away, and for a moment, you pause—watching him walk off. You catch him glancing back. Your eyes meet, lingering just a second too long, before you both turn and disappear your separate ways.

When you come in, the house is still full, but quieter now, with everyone scattered around the living room, watching a movie.

“Where have you been?” Folio calls over, brow raised with a teasing grin.

You just roll your eyes and sigh, plopping down on the couch beside Noah. He shifts, just enough to make room for you, and as you melt against his side out of habit and comfort, his arm wraps loosely around you.

This has become a common theme between the two of you—light touches, quiet closeness—somewhere between casual affection and what you’d consider flirting, though you weren’t sure if he thought of it that way. Still, you always seemed to gravitate toward each other—like now.

“My friend set me up on a blind date,” you mutter, waving a hand to brush it off as unimportant.

Noah shifts beside you, glancing down. “Good?”

There’s something in his eyes that looks hopeful, but not in the sense that he wants it to have gone well. Maybe the opposite, and the thought catches in your throat, echoing the words Jesse had said just moments ago.

“No. It was… just okay. Probably not gonna happen again.” You shake your head.

You feel the way Noah relaxes beside you before he dips his head, gently nestling it against the crown of yours.

On screen, George is telling Mary, “You want the moon? I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

And for a moment, you swear you hear Noah mumble the words softly against your hair—something quiet and almost instinctive. It sends a warm, fuzzy flutter through your chest. You already knew he was a hopeless romantic, but that doesn’t stop it from making you fall just a little bit more.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @swissy23 @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @kenjipepsi1 @birdie-in-arcadia @blackcherrywhiskey @saythatuwill @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @iconic-taurus @flowery-mess @jesuisunchaton @bloody-spades @bluestdai @respectfulrebel @dravenskye

#bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #jesse cash fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #jesse cash x reader #noah sebastian au #bad omens au #magic mike au #concretejunglefm fics

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twola · 1 day ago

Text

Firewater - Chapter 12

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader. explicit.

So Arthur did what he is apt to do in situations of discomfort. Take a bottle of whiskey to the face.

taglist: @v3lv3tf0x, @stottlemorgan, @mrsarthurmorgan7, @appalachiancowboy99, @pinescent-and-gingerbread, @blueskies664, @arthurstinmug, @ultraporcelainpig, @emerald-ranch @thedilfdiaries, @heron-feathers,@nalitali, @whiskeyskin, @globetrotter28, @arthurmorganist, @sadieadlersnecktie

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The sun hung low behind the red mesas when you and Arthur finally rode back into camp outside Rathskeller Fork. Dust curled in lazy spirals behind your horses’ hooves, and the faint clink of gear settled into the usual campfire murmur. A few heads turned, but no one pressed you with questions. You were grateful for the quiet.

Arthur dismounted first, offering you a hand. You took it, boots crunching on the dry earth. The ride from Tumbleweed had been heavy with silence — not quite tense, but thick with everything left unsaid.

You tugged your shirt tighter around your waist, your hand brushing instinctively over your belly. You weren’t showing much yet, but already you felt different. Like a taut wire had been pulled inside you, humming with a secret.

Arthur cleared his throat. “You uh… hungry or somethin’? Could see if Pearson’s cooked somethin’ edible for once.”

You shrugged, forcing a dry laugh. “Pearson’s stew’s got a fifty-fifty chance of killin’ us both, and now I’ve got someone else to consider.”

Arthur flinched slightly, but he hid it quickly. “Right. We’re not tellin’ nobody yet.”

“Not yet.” You folded your arms, meeting his eyes for a brief, shaky moment. “You know how they are.”

Silence hung heavy between you.

“So,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “what now?”

“Now we act normal. And you stop lookin’ at me like I’m gonna break.”

He gave you a crooked smile. “You ain’t gonna break... But that’s your fault, gettin’ all full of consequences.”

You rolled your eyes. “Full of consequences, huh? Is that what you’re callin’ it? Pretty sure you were the one who gave me this consequence.”

Arthur’s grin deepened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ain’t wrong.”

You shook your head, cheeks flushing. “Careful, Arthur. Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll make you rub my feet later.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst job I ever took.” He tipped his hat back. “You sure you’re alright? You ain’t… sick or nothin’?”

“No worse than usual. Tired. Nauseous if I smell Pearson’s stew. But I’m fine.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment. “You tell me if it changes. Don’t go actin’ tough just for pride.”

You nudged his boot with yours. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

He grunted in agreement, and for a while, you stood next to each other before breaking off and heading to your separate tents for the day.

The fire burned low, the camp quieting. Arthur leaned back on his elbows, a bottle of whiskey half-empty by his side, and you lay on a blanket nearby, eyes tracing the stars. You and he had crept a little ways out of camp and set up out of earshot to be alone.

All of this - so new, so strange. You didn’t quite know what to do with it. You didn’t quite know what the two of you were. You didn’t quite know what to do about his child growing within you.

So Arthur did what he is apt to do in situations of discomfort. Take a bottle of whiskey to the face.

He took another long swig and then offered the bottle.

“Don’t think I’m supposed to be drinking,” you said.

He snorted. “Guess I gotta drink for two now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that how it works?”

“Hell if I know,” he said with a grin. “Ain’t exactly father material.”

You shifted onto your side, propping yourself up. “Well, I ain’t exactly mother material neither.”

Arthur met your eyes, voice dropping low, slow with whiskey. “When you think about it, it really ain’t your fault this happened.”

You blinked. “Excuse me? Didn't you just this morning say it was my fault gettin' full of consequences? All you did was-”

He smirked, cutting you off. “All I did was—what was it? Right. Just split you open on my cock till you were beggin’ me not to stop.”

Your mouth went dry. “Arthur—”

He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “You remember that night? Riding me like your life depended on it…”

You swatted at his boot, trying not to laugh or melt.

“You’re drunk.”

“I am.” He grinned wickedly. “Drunk and thinkin’ about how sweet you sounded, whinin’ over me like that. Bet I could still get you like that now.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Arthur—”

“You’d let me.” His voice was husky. “You’d fight it, act all annoyed, but you’d still let me.”

“And if I didn’t?”

He leaned in, voice a low growl. “Then I’d talk you into it. Slow. Put my hands on you real careful, tell you how good you feel, how tight—”

You shoved your hand over his mouth, heart pounding.

“Arthur.”

He laughed, caught your wrist, kissed your hand. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’, unless you want me to. But damn, you look at me like that, you won’t be able to keep me outta your bedroll.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the heat rising comfortably between you. Arthur shifted closer, the firelight flickering on his face. His lips brushed yours — soft at first, then hungry.

You tugged him near, your hand tangling in his shirt. He groaned low, fingers tracing your waist before sliding beneath your skirt.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he murmured.

“You won’t.”

His mouth moved to your throat, your collarbone. His hand pressed between your thighs, gentle but demanding.

“You sure?”

“Do I look unsure?”

His voice dropped. “You look ready to get fucked right into the dirt.”

You playfully bit his shoulder, and he growled.

Clothes came loose, the night filling with ragged breaths and whispers. When he pushed inside you, it was with a curse and a growl, forehead resting against yours.

“You’re always so tight,” he muttered.

You wrapped your legs around him, voice breaking as you begged him not to stop. His pace quickened, the world narrowing to nothing but skin and breath and the narrow channel of your body.

You came first, wild and raw, and he followed close behind, pulling out and spattering his release in the crease of your thigh.

The fire cracked and popped as you lay tangled, breathing hard.

“You really are trouble,” he said.

“You’re worse,” you replied.

Morning came too soon.

You rolled over and your stomach revolted. Your mouth went dry, nausea washing over you like the tide. Barefoot and dizzy, you stumbled behind a scrub bush and bent over, heaving until your throat burned.

“Dyin’ or just wishin’ you was?” Arthur croaked from behind you.

You glared blearily. He was sitting up, shirt half-buttoned, hair wild. His face was pale and drawn.

“Who let the goddamn sun in?” he grumbled.

“You did,” you snapped. “With your loud, horny mouth.”

He flinched. “Don’t say it like that. I ain’t got the strength to defend myself.”

You dry-heaved again, “My insides feel like they’re floatin’.”

Arthur groaned, pulling himself next to you. “Mine feel like they’re on fire.”

You looked at him, miserable. “That’s what you get for drinkin’ half a bottle and dirty talkin’ a pregnant woman.”

He smirked weakly. “Worked, didn’t it?”

You tried to shove him, but missed. He laughed and flopped back onto the dirt anyway.

“You throw up?” he asked.

“No, I just came out here to pray.”

He snorted. You shook your head, stomach still rolling.

“I feel like I could throw up just from existing.”

You both sat, sharing silence and misery.

“Think they noticed we weren’t in our own bedrolls?” you asked.

Arthur snorted, wincing. “If they did, they probably just assumed we got eaten by cougars.”

“Wish one had eaten me.”

He turned to you, eyes dark and wild even through the haze. “You still look good.”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Like what a cat dragged in.”

You laughed once and curled forward again. “Don’t make me laugh, I’m gonna puke again.”

“Sorry, darlin’. Guess I’ll just suffer next to you like a gentleman.”

And so he did, hands resting on your back as you both endured the worst parts of the morning.

Eventually you sighed, your stomach settling as you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, “You really knocked me up, huh.”

Arthur grunted. “Yep. Sure did.”

#twolafic #firewater #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2

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savvyscribbleswriting · 1 day ago

Text

Pairing: Johnny Storm (as portrayed by Joseph Quinn) x fem!Reader

Summary: You are married to Johnny Storm and expecting your first child. Being married into the Fantastic Four, though, it’s not your average pregnancy. It’s all worth it, though.

Word Count: ~8.0k

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: I’m going in blind with this one; nothing is set in stone with regards to plot/setting/characters/other; no use of (Y/N); the Fantastic Four are a team with powers here; Franklin Richards does not exist; implied sexual situation; vague pregnancy/labor terms and experiences; some possible inaccuracies regarding pregnancy and labor; insecurity and doubts connected to pregnancy; some sexist 1960s attitudes regarding women and motherhood; mentions of another popular Marvel group (read to find out which one!); some possible inaccuracies regarding said popular Marvel group (apologies!)

Author’s Note: I actually wanted to do this story first, but it went in all sorts of crazy directions before landing right where I wanted to. (I almost wish I could’ve posted it around Father’s Day given the subject matter.) Now, let’s see how many of my predictions for a Fantastic Four baby come true in the new movie. As always, I hope you enjoy!

P.S. Shoutout to an old high school theatre friend of mine whose name I used for Johnny and Reader’s baby.

P.P.S. I DO NOT OWN THE FANTASTIC FOUR OR ANYTHING ELSE MARVEL-RELATED!!!

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It had been three years since you met Johnny Storm, and almost one year since you tied the knot with him. You two had been through so much during that time, especially the space mission that gave Johnny and his entire family superpowers. As he navigated his new abilities and elevated place in the world, you stuck by him to give him constant love and assurance. He loved you right back and made sure you never forgot how special you were. And it wasn’t just him. Reed, Sue, Ben, and their family robot H.E.R.B.I.E all knew you’d be a great addition to the family the very night Johnny introduced you at family dinner. You were so good to and for Johnny and fit right into the household.

Take tonight - You were helping Sue and H.E.R.B.I.E make dinner for the boys. It was Johnny’s favorite meal and you made certain to take extra care with everything. You talked with Sue and laughed at H.E.R.B.I.E’s little antics as you went on cooking.

All of a sudden, you started to feel ill. The smells of the kitchen, once heavenly and comforting, simply weren’t agreeing with you. It got to be too much and you found yourself hurrying to the bathroom to throw up.

“Are you alright, sweetie?” you heard Sue ask as she gently rubbed your back. She then turned around to retrieve the glass of water she instructed H.E.R.B.I.E to get you.You drank it slowly. Your head was in a tizzy but you managed to push through to answer, “I am now. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

Sue shook her head. “Don’t apologize.” She proceeded to feel your forehead. “You don’t seem to be running a fever. Do you think you can keep cooking?”

“Honestly, no,” you admitted, taking deep breaths when you weren’t finishing your water. “I’m afraid I’ll get sick again. The smell of everything… it’s just too much. I don’t understand. This has never happened to me before, and I’ve been fine all day.”

Sue slowly helped you to your feet and guided you to the room you shared with Johnny. “How about you let me and H.E.R.B.I.E finish cooking? You just go to bed.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I’d hate to abandon you two.”

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re obviously not feeling well and you need to take care of yourself. Just rest for a while. We can bring you some food later. Maybe some snacks that won’t upset your stomach.”

You nodded, offering as big a smile as you could muster. “Thank you, Sue.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” she said, leaving you to get settled.

Once the bedroom door was shut, you peeled off your clothes and put on a pair of Johnny’s pajamas that felt so nice. You shut the blinds and turned off the lights before climbing into bed. Your eyes immediately closed and your brain powered down the moment your head hit the pillow.

The only reason you woke up was because you heard someone gently calling your name and felt them nudging you awake. You slowly opened your eyes to find your husband illuminated by a faint glow, probably a lamp on the other side of the room. He sat on the edge of the bed next to you in another pair of his pajamas. You blinked and moaned as you sat up, making him chuckle.

“How long have I been sleeping?” was the first thing you asked.

“A couple hours,” Johnny said. “When me and the guys came in, Sue told us what happened. They’ve all gone to bed now. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, I guess. I’ll feel even better with some food in me.”

“Way ahead of you, honey,” Johnny grinned. He quickly moved to the nightstand to present a plate of chopped fruit, crackers, and cheese and a cup of your favorite tea. He handed everything over to you before taking his place next to you in bed.

“Thank you so much!” you beamed with so much love and gratitude.“Anything for you,” Johnny said with the same amount of love. He leaned into give you a kiss, but you quickly turned your head so he landed on your cheek. “I’m sorry!” you giggled. “I just don’t want you catching whatever I may have. Plus, my breath probably still smells from earlier.”

“Fair enough,” Johnny agreed, opting to give you a big, lingering kiss on your forehead. You blushed and promptly dug into your food. You eventually let go of the mess from earlier… but not for long.

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You thought the incident from last night was a one-time thing, but the next morning you woke up with another strong urge to throw up. You jumped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, barely making it. It was just as bad as before, which made you worry. It made Johnny worry, too. He followed you as soon as he felt you leave the bed. “Jeez, honey, are you okay?” he asked, concern etched on his face as he knelt next to you. After a few deep breaths, you responded, “I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You can’t help how you feel.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m really worried, Johnny.”

“Me, too.”

Suddenly, you both heard Reed call out, “Johnny! Don’t forget our work for today! I’ll meet you in the lab in 20 minutes!”

Johnny only took a second to think before deciding, “No way. I’m going to stay with you today.” He got up so he could let Reed know, but stopped when he noticed you shaking your head as you tried to stand.

“No, please!” you pleaded. “Reed really needs your help in the lab today and you know how he gets when he’s hyper-focused on something.”

“But you look like you really need me now,” he argued, holding you in place and looking you square in the eye. You held him and looked at him right back. “We don’t know that. For all we know, this could be a 24-hour bug or something. I don’t want you dropping important team stuff for nothing, even if it involves me.” Johnny frowned, still not convinced. You offered, “If it will make you feel better, I’ll go to the doctor, come straight back here, and not do anything for the rest of the day. I’ll let Sue know. She’ll be a bit more understanding than Reed right now, I’m sure.”

Johnny let out a deep sigh. “I don’t care if I’m in the middle of handling an atomic bomb, let me know everything when you can.” You giggled. “As if Reed would let you handle a bomb.”

Johnny gasped dramatically as you made your way back to the bedroom. “Now get cleaned up! I’ll call Dr. Stratten to make an appointment.” A smile finally broke out on Johnny’s face. As he quickly got ready, he forced himself to ease up and believe that everything was going to be okay.

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You couldn’t believe it.

You just couldn’t believe it.

You had returned from seeing Dr. Stratten, finally knowing what was making you so sick. The weight of the diagnosis was so much all you could do was sit on the couch for hours in deep thought. With each tick of the clock came another thought, idea, problem in your mind.

Johnny was at the center of everything. What would he think? How would he react? Would he be happy? Scared? Angry? Would he leave you?

You didn’t have to wait long for an answer. You heard the elevator doors open and immediately jumped up to meet your husband.

“Hey, honey!” he exclaimed, rushing over to you to hug you tight. “I got all my work done as fast as I could. So, what did the doctor say?”

You took just another moment to hold him before pulling away. “Well…” you started, “I’m not dying or anything like that.”

“Great! That’s good! But why were you throwing up?”

“It’s nothing bad, per se.” You detached from his hold completely to cocoon yourself. You struggled to meet his gaze as you began to explain. “Um… do you remember when we all went to that benefit gala a couple months ago and we had a little too much to drink and when we got back you started telling me how beautiful I looked and then we-?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Johnny interrupted, blushing at the memory. “But what does that have to do with-“

“Johnny, I’m pregnant.”

Johnny’s mouth snapped shut, his mind going blank. You closed your eyes and waited with bated breath for… something, anything from him. Eventually, the wheels in Johnny’s mind picked back up.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

You were going to have a baby.

You were going to be a mother.

You were going to have his baby.

He was going to be a father.

The growing excitement made him pull you into a hug that was even tighter than the previous one. You were shocked at the action. You were even more shocked to hear Johnny sniveling in the crook of your neck. The weight, the warmth, the vulnerability of him, made you start to cry, too, as you reciprocated his hug. You basked in each other arms for who knows how long, your breathing and soft crying becoming in sync. Johnny pulled away to shock you a third time.

“I’m so happy.”

“Yeah?” you asked hesitantly.

“Yes! Honey, I want this baby. I want this baby with you.” He gently placed a hand on your stomach where your child was already growing. “Hey, kiddo,” he whispered. “I’m your daddy. And the person carrying you is mommy. We are going to take such good care of you and you are going to be so loved.” He turned back to you. “I love you so much.”

Somehow, even more tears poured out of your eyes and you’re pretty sure a bit of snot came out of your nose. You wiped as much of it away as you could so you could kiss your sweet, wonderful, and fantastic husband. And strong, because he lifted you up and spun you around in a giddy whirl. You two laughed and kissed some more, solidifying this happy moment.

You were going to be bringing a baby Storm into the world.

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Your pregnancy started off normal.

When you and Johnny told the others the news, there were many hugs and congratulations as to be expected. Each offered help in their own way on the spot, something they stuck to as the days turned into weeks and months.

Being a woman herself, you went to Sue with most of your pregnancy and motherhood concerns. She gave you as much advice as she could and, for the things she didn’t know, she helped you find some good books on the subjects. She also went shopping with you on more than one occasion for various things for you and the baby (you two always managed to surprise the boys with how much shopping you could do in a day).

Ever a man of science, Reed said that he would contribute to monitoring your health. He checked your vitals every now and then, made sure you had a good diet and exercise plan, and even did a bit of research regarding what your baby might look like (boy or girl, tall or short, your hair color or Johnny’s, your eye color or Johnny’s, etc.). He also built a new, more family-friendly car so that when the time came for you to deliver, you all could get to the hospital with little complications.

The dynamic duo of Ben and H.E.R.B.I.E did acts of service. Needed to run an errand? They offered to do it for you so you could get your rest. Wanted to keep up with your exercise routine? H.E.R.B.I.E set reminders and Ben was great at showing you what to do in a safe manner. Had any weird cravings? The two made sure it tasted like a gourmet dish.

And, of course, Johnny was right there learning with you, helping you with this or that, and showering you with tons of love. As your belly got bigger and you began to have some insecurities about your appearance, he was constantly telling you how beautiful you looked. He also reminded you how strong you were and how lucky he was, which was funny because you thought he was just as strong and you just as lucky. With each passing day, you both got more excited about your bundle of joy.

It wasn’t until the boys were attempting to build the crib in the baby’s new room that things took a bit of a turn. You and Sue were sitting on the sidelines snacking away on some popcorn while the men and robot argued in a semi-circle.

H.E.R.B.I.E piped up with some noise as he waved the instructions wildly.

“Yeah, I know what the instructions say, H.E.R.B.I.E,” Ben said, a hammer in one hand and a crib bar in the other, “but I’m telling you this way is better. It’ll make things more stable.”

Reed peeked over at the instructions. “I agree with H.E.R.B.I.E, Ben. If we do it this way-“

“I just want to point out that you guys said this would take about an hour and it’s currently going on three,” Johnny groaned. He then caught a glimpse of you giggling softly. How could he not crack a smile at the sight? He was back to being cranky, though, as Reed, Ben, and H.E.R.B.I.E continued arguing.

“I think we should take everything apart and start over,” Reed suggested. H.E.R.B.I.E nodded his approval while Ben shook his disapproval. “No way. We’re so close to having this finished,” he said. “And I’m about this close to setting the entire thing on fire!” Johnny cried out, holding his thumb and index finger barely a centimeter apart. You and Sue couldn’t contain your laughter at that.

“I can only imagine our baby having that fiery temper of yours, Mr. Storm,” you commented.

Reed stopped what he was doing and whipped around to you. “Say that again,” he demanded. You did as you were told, albeit a bit quizzically. “I was just saying that our baby may have Johnny’s temper.”

“A fiery temper…” Reed trailed off, looking between you, your protruding belly, and Johnny. “Fire powers…” You were starting to get worried, as were the others. Reed didn’t help matters by jumping to his feet and running out of the room.

You all looked at each other, stunned. “What just happened?” you asked Sue. She knew her husband better than anyone, after all. “I don’t know,” was all she could say.

“Great. Now that’s one less set of hands to help out with this,” Ben mumbled, trying to remember where he was so he could continue his work with the hammer.

Normally, Johnny would let out a snide remark under his breath before begrudgingly going back to the task at hand. However, something in his gut told him to set that aside and follow Reed. “Let’s take a break,” he said, getting up and stretching his limbs. “I’m going to check on Reed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” you asked. “No, no,” he insisted, leaning over to give you a quick kiss. “I won’t be long.” With that, he left the room, leaving you, Sue, Ben, and H.E.R.B.I.E even more confused and concerned.

Johnny checked the entire family floor first before going to the one other place Reed could be – his lab. Sure enough, when he got there, there was Reed at his chalkboard furiously scribbling some stuff down in a newly-erased area. He would take a break for only a couple seconds to mutter something to himself before writing again. Johnny tried to decipher what Reed was calculating, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“Reed!” Johnny called out, which miraculously got Reed to stop and turn around. Johnny slowly stepped closer to Reed’s work as if that would make things clearer to him. “What’s all this?”

“This,” Reed pointed to his writing, “is all the possibilities I can come up with regarding your baby’s genetics.”

“What are you talking about? I thought you already went through all of that with us. The baby has a strong possibility of being a girl. She won’t have my hair but she will have my eyes. When she gets older- “

“It’s more than that, Johnny,” Reed interrupted. “Each child gets fifty percent of their DNA from the mother and the other fifty from the father.”

“Right,” Johnny nodded along.

“But your DNA changed when we went into space. That’s how you got your powers. Who knows how much of that power you could pass onto your child.”

Johnny’s mouth hung open in shock. You and him had been so caught up in the fantasy of bringing up a baby just like any other couple that he forgot that you weren’t any other couple.

The revelation was like a cloud hanging over Johnny all the way back up to the family floor. Even the surprise of Ben and H.E.R.B.I.E finally finishing the crib wasn’t enough to chase the cloud away. Of course you noticed that something was bothering your husband, but you waited until the two of you were in bed that night to talk about it.

“Johnny, what’s wrong?” you started. “You’ve been awfully quiet ever since you and Reed came back.”

For a moment, he considered not telling you, but that’d be tantamount to lying and he’d never do that to you. “I just…” Johnny tried, not really knowing where to start or how to say it. You gently took his hands in yours. “Take your time,” you said.

Johnny took a deep breath and tried again. “Reed was in the lab trying to figure out our kid’s genetics. And not the fun stuff like what color hair they’ll have or if they’ll like vegetables right out the gate. He said there’s a chance our baby will have powers like me. Since they’ll only have half my DNA, though, it’s possible that they might not have the exact same powers. Reed even said they may not get powers until they’re a toddler or a teenager or maybe when they’re middle-aged. It was just scary enough wondering if I’m going to be raising our kid right in the normal ways, like making sure they’re clean and fed, playing with them, teaching them right from wrong. But if they have powers… It all just really threw me for a loop.”

Johnny couldn’t help but slump into your lap once he was done. His head was in front of your stomach where your baby was resting, growing, waiting. The thought, plus all the previous thoughts, swirled around in his head. You simply ran your fingers through his hair in an effort to ease his mind. That seemed to help because you could feel his breathing return to normal. Before he could fall asleep, you nudged him to sit back up and face you.

“How did you figure your powers out?” you asked.

Johnny thought about it for a moment. “I… experimented. Did a bit of trial-and-error stuff.”

“Were you alone?”

“No. Reed was there. Sue, too. Ben, but mostly to distract me with-“

You giggled while you interrupted, “And was it something that happened overnight?”

“No. It took time. Like, months. You know that. You were right there with me, too. I for sure wouldn’t have made it without you.”

“And how do you plan on teaching our child right from wrong or how to play or how to use their powers?”

It finally dawned on Johnny. “The… same way?” he guessed.

“Exactly!” you exclaimed. “I know this is going to sound weird, but I honestly don’t see how our child having powers will be different from any other challenge parents face with kids. And you’ll handle it just like anything else – by learning from your past and leaning on your family, especially the mother of your child who is right in front of you and believes in you with all her heart.”

Johnny nodded thoughtfully at your response. You were absolutely right. He closed his eyes and tried to turn all his negative thoughts into positive ones. He began picturing him and his child in Reed’s lab working on harnessing their powers. Johnny would pass on all the techniques he learned and watch in amazement as his son or daughter applied them so masterfully… or clumsily and set something on fire. He burst out laughing at the idea.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, glad to see your husband back to normal.

“I was just thinking about teaching our kid how to control fire,” Johnny admitted. “How fun, or funny, it would be.”

“What if they have water powers? Or ice powers?” you wondered.

“Reed may actually appreciate that. It’ll mean less money spent on fire extinguishers.”

You and him shared a good laugh before spending the rest of the night talking about the potential powers of your unborn baby. Johnny began imagining all sorts of scenarios for training your child and even taking them on missions (‘Not until they’re eighteen,’ you stated). The fear was still present with Johnny, but there was a good amount of excitement and determination to balance things out. When he eventually went to sleep, it was with the single thought that his baby was going to be amazing, whether they developed powers or not.

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It wasn’t often that the Future Foundation hosted a baby shower, so when it did it went all out. There were tons of options for lunch and dessert, iced in pink because (as Reed predicted) you were having a girl. Off to the side was a huge stack of presents that ranged from small trinkets and toys to big boxes of diapers and clothes. And some of your coworkers arranged a few fun games like “Baby Bingo” and “Pin the Diaper on the Baby.” It was a joyous occasion and you could not have been happier.

However, things went a bit downhill when you found yourself talking to one of your supervisors, Robert. He was married with two kids of his own, and in lieu of a physical gift he offered you a few words of advice. “Don’t be afraid to take at least four or five years off work. My Marsha did that with both of our kids. She waited until they were settled in school before going back to work, and even then she just does simple stuff like volunteer work at the library.”

“Actually, I plan on only taking a year off,” you stated, biting into your second piece of cake.

Robert raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?” You nodded. “I know that the foundation can survive without me for however long I need, but I know I’d miss my work if I stayed away for too long.”

“Your baby will be your work.”

“Well, obviously she will be work and the most important work I’ll do, but I don’t see why she should be the only work I do, you know?”

“But how are you going to balance work and a baby?” Robert inquired. You knew the direction the conversation was heading, but you continued in the hope that you could put an end to it. “I’m a smart girl. I am confident I can balance being a mother and career woman.”

“So, is he going to be hanging off your hips as you try to conduct meetings?”

You finally set your cake down to discuss your plan. “No, she will obviously be in a stroller. And it’s not like I’ll be bringing her to the office every day. Johnny is looking forward to taking care of her, too. He’s already thinking about trips to the park or the lab with Reed, which he insists will be as safe as possible for a baby.”

“Your husband is okay with taking care of the baby?”

“It’s just as much his baby as it is mine, Robert,” you gave him a pointed look.

“What if he’s unavailable?”

“H.E.R.B.I.E is more than capable, I’m sure.”

“But it’s a mother’s responsibility to raise the children. Sweetheart, I’m saying this as a father myself, I just don’t think it’s realistic that you can be a mother and still work.”

You opened your mouth to retort but were thankfully stopped by Johnny. “Hello, mother of my child,” he addressed you as he pressed a firm kiss to your lips. He then turned to Robert and said, “Hey, Robert, Harry form Donations is eying the last of the truffles and I know how much you like truffles.” Robert gasped. “I better run before he snatches them up.” He sped away as you and Johnny waved goodbye.

“I hope he chokes,” Johnny said under his breath.

“How much did you hear?” you asked, grabbing your cake to finish it.

“Enough,” he replied, stealing the fork away from you to have a bite. You wanted to giggle at the action but ended up sighing. ��Is he right? Would I really be able to balance work and raising a child? I thought I could, but now-“

“No, no, no!” Johnny said, taking another bit of cake and feeding it to you. “Do not do that. Do not doubt yourself. You can do anything you put your mind to. And if you want to work while taking care of our baby, that’s what you’ll do and you’ll be great at it.”

You slowly let out a smile and went in for another kiss from your husband. It was great that he believed in you. Now you just needed to believe in yourself.

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“Johnny, you could’ve died!”

“But I didn’t!”

“That’s not the point!”

“It’s what matters!”

This wasn’t the first time you and Johnny had this talk, but it was the first time he came close to death.

What was supposed to be a simple takedown of one person turned into war with twenty or so henchmen on the ground and about fifty drones in the sky. Johnny decided to handle the drones and was doing fine until he felt a sharp pain in his back. One of them managed to stun him with a big dose of electricity. His fire form started to flare out and he was barely flying, but he still managed to take out most of them. When he got back on solid ground, Sue forced him (literally forced him with a force field) to stay in the team car. Johnny found himself in and out of consciousness once his body hit the backseat. Before he knew it, the mission was over and they were all back at the Baxter Building. Because he still felt tingly from the electric shock, Reed sat him down in the lab for examination. Just as Johnny was given the okay to head up to you, you surprised him by coming to him.

Johnny had been on plenty of missions as part of the Fantastic Four during your relationship. They almost always involved a routine between you and him - You would wish him luck, he would do his thing, get a little banged up, ultimately make it back to you, you would express your worry, and he would assure you that he would be more careful next time. From the early years of you two dating to when you finally got married and even during the first few months of your pregnancy, he more or less kept his promise. He figured if you could try balancing a career and a baby, he could too. It didn’t really sink in with him, though, that you and him had very different job descriptions. Lately, you felt like he was becoming careless with his powers, reckless even. And when Sue told you how badly Johnny got hurt this time, you decided that enough was enough.

Everyone left the lab so you two could have your moment. It started off like any other conversation between you two after a mission. You expressed your concern, stating that you were seven months along and you couldn’t lose him now, or ever for that matter. Johnny assured you that he understood and stressed that he was fine. His attempts at brushing the whole situation off caused something in you to snap. You started getting anxious as all your fears over him, your baby, and the future poured out. He tried to calm you down, which only made you more anxious until it morphed into anger. This caused him to get angry back at you. That’s how you two ended up in a back-and-forth that went on for a good five minutes.

“What about next time?!”

“I’ll be careful!”

“You always say that!”

“And I always try! It’s not my fault! I never know what someone is going to do or send after us on a mission!”

“Can’t you just stop missions for a while?”

“No, I can’t! My family needs me!”

“I’m part of the family, too! I need you! Your baby needs-!”

Suddenly, you felt a sharp pain in your stomach. You winced as you involuntarily hunched over. Another sharp pain sent you wobbling over to a nearby table for support. Johnny hurried over to you, keeping a short distance so that he didn’t hurt you… or you didn’t push him away.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.

You closed your eyes and took deep breaths as another wave of pain came. “It’s just the baby. She’s a real kicker,” you said through gritted teeth. You then gathered all your strength and began talking to the baby in a desperate attempt to make the pain stop. “It’s okay. Everything is alright, little one. No need to be so rough.”

“You think she’s reacting to our argument?” Johnny speculated. “Maybe,” you found yourself admitting.

Johnny sighed and hung his head. He didn’t think their daughter would witness an argument from them this early in life, or at all. From the very beginning, he wanted to make sure she knew nothing but love and happiness. Maybe she still could.

“Can I…?” he gestured towards your belly. You didn’t know what exactly he had in mind, but you didn’t stop him as he knelt in front of you and placed his hand over where the baby was kicking. “Hey, kiddo,” he started, trying to make his voice sound upbeat. “I know you can hear mommy and me in there. I’m sorry you have to hear us arguing. Daddy… well, daddy got really hurt today and made mommy worry. I tried making excuses, but mommy’s not having it… and she’s right. I put so much pressure on myself to be there for my family and for the city, but it won’t be long before you arrive and become my world. I want to be here for you, not just when you’re born but forever. That’s not going to happen if I keep putting myself in danger. So, I’m going to talk to Uncle Reed and Ben and Aunt Sue about not coming on as many missions. I’m sure they’ll understand and find a way without me. And I know mommy will appreciate it. That’s what I love about her. She makes me want to be better. You’re so lucky to have her, and so am I.”

Johnny heard a loud snivel and looked up to see you crying. His own tears broke out and he picked himself up to hold you tight. You cried in each other’s arms for another good long while.

This was probably the most difficult thing you two faced so far. You knew it wouldn’t be the last time. You also knew how strong you and Johnny were together. As long as you stayed that way, you were positive that there wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.

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It was the week before you were scheduled to deliver.

Feelings amongst everyone were running high.

Reed conducted check-ups every other hour and freaked out whenever you so much as stubbed your toe.

Ben was stress-eating alongside you, even going as far as trying (and liking) some of your weird cravings.

You were surprised to see Sue cleaning and fiddling with everything in the baby’s room about three times a day.

H.E.R.B.I.E was running back and forth trying to help everyone at once.

And Johnny? He was right there panicking alongside everyone else. He would freak out with Reed. He would eat with Ben. He would help Sue clean. He would bump into H.E.R.B.I.E twenty times a day.

You would’ve found the whole thing funny if you weren’t also dealing with your nerves. Every day, you would think about your daughter and start to cry tears of happiness, which would turn into tears of sadness for one reason or another, which made you angry at yourself for being so emotional, which led to you trying to do something productive to make you happy again. The one constant thing you held onto was the promise that Johnny, the whole family really, made to be fully available when you delivered the baby. Just imagining that made you want to cry which led to… you know.

Unfortunately, any and all bad guys didn’t get the memo.

The family received a call that there was some strange activity going on near Westchester County and were begged to investigate. They tried to get out of it but with no luck. The night before they were expected to head out, they discussed the matter amongst themselves. They didn’t want to worry you and, most importantly, break your heart. You surprised them not only with your entrance but also your response.

“You all should go.”

Everyone blinked in shock. Johnny rushed over to you. “Honey…” he started, but you were quick.

“I mean it. They really need you.”

“You need me,” he insisted.

You held his head in your hands and let out a smirk. “I actually won’t need you for another week.” You expected a chuckle from Johnny but got none. He wasn’t going to back down so easily. “I know you,” you tried again. “You’ll be back in my arms, safe and sound, in a few hours. Me and the baby will be fine until then.” You then turned to address everyone. “You all have been so good to me and done so much work and preparation. I can handle myself for a little bit.”

Reed, Ben, and Sue looked at each other. They didn’t seem wholly convinced, but they slowly talked themselves into it.

“I’ll set up a signal for H.E.R.B.I.E to send us if anything should happen,” Reed said, with H.E.R.B.I.E giving agreeable sounds.

“I can set up some snacks for you in the fridge,” Ben suggested.

“I’ll keep you updated on where we are and when we’re coming home,” Sue promised.

You turned to Johnny for whatever he was going to offer. First, he gave you a great big kiss. Then he said, “And I… am going to be on my best behavior.” You let out a big laugh and hugged him tight.

You kissed him and hugged him again just before he and the family set off the following morning. It was hard for you, you couldn’t lie, but you managed to put on a brave face. You and H.E.R.B.I.E waved them all goodbye before heading back to the family floor.

At first, you decided to watch some TV and snack on the food Ben made for you. There was nothing good on, though, and you weren’t terribly hungry. So, you moved onto re-reading one of your parenting books. You stopped when you found yourself repeating the same sentence five times. H.E.R.B.I.E offered to play some card games with you, but you knew he was letting you win which kind of took the fun out of things.

Suddenly, you had this strong urge to go to the bathroom. As you got up to go, you quickly realized that it wasn’t actually that. It was… different. You felt something trickle down your leg and looked down. It slowly but surely gathered into a big puddle on the floor. You finally realized what it was.

“H.E.R.B.I.E! My water just broke!”

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“’New father’ jitters?”

Johnny whipped his head around to the Professor, wondering how the man knew before remembering that said man could read minds.

The Fantastic Four didn’t know what to expect when they finally tracked down where specifically the suspicious activity was taking place. They didn’t expect to be led to a mansion practically in the middle of nowhere. They also didn’t expect there to be a number of kids playing outside and displaying unique abilities like flight, superstrength, superspeed, and weather-control, to name a few. They also didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms by one Professor Charles Xavier, who sat right outside the front door in his wheelchair and stated that he knew that they were coming. The team was so confused until Professor Xavier, or “Professor X” as they overheard some of the kids calling him, showed them inside, sat them down, and explained things.

Professor X was a mutant, a person born with extraordinary abilities, his being telepathy and telekinesis. The mansion was owned by him and intended to be a school for young mutants where they would receive not only a standard education, but also training in how to control their powers. Since most of the students were initially persecuted for their mutations, the Professor also wanted the mansion to be seen as a loving home so that they could grow up to be confident and proud of themselves.

Each of the Fantastic Four were amazed in different ways. Reed was impressed with Professor X’s great intelligence. Sue deeply empathized with his cause and even offered the help of the Future Foundation. Ben found himself being dragged back outside by some kids who thought he was cool-looking and wanted to see how strong he was, which he happily obliged. Johnny, meanwhile, just stared out the window and took in the sight of them all. He began to wonder for the millionth time if his own kid would grow up to be one of them, whether they would be proud of their potential powers or scared, if they would be embraced by society or rejected.

That’s when the Professor pulled him back to reality. Johnny looked to Reed and Sue, who offered sympathetic smiles.

“Um… yes, actually,” Johnny answered. “My wife is pregnant with our first child. A girl.”

“Congratulations,” Professor X said. “It’s hard work, but well worth it.”

“Speaking from any past experience?”

The Professor shook his head. “No, but I have come to consider the students as my children.”

“You seem to be doing a fine job with them, Professor,” Sue observed.

“Thank you. And I have no doubt your brother will be the same.”

“Speaking from any future experience?” Johnny probed, which made the Professor chuckle.

Suddenly, a noise went off. Johnny could feel a vibration coming from his hand and looked down. It was coming from his watch. It was transmitting a single phrase – “FLAME ON.”

Johnny’s eyes widened. He knew what that meant. He had been preparing for this moment for nine months.

It was time for you to have the baby.

Johnny rushed out of the room, through the halls, and out the door. Instead of going straight to the car, though, he found himself firing up and flying high. He was so hyped and determined to get to you, he was sure he could go the distance.

Reed and Sue looked at each other in surprise, having received the same signal. “We’re terribly sorry, Professor Xavier,” Reed said as he got up, “but we must be going. It looks like it’s finally time for Johnny to become a father.”

“Oh, yes! Please!” the Professor insisted. He led the couple outside as fast as he could.

Even Ben got the signal and was trying to calm the kids down, all of whom were disappointed that the fun had to come to an end. “I’m sorry, you guys! I have to go! I’m about to be an uncle!”

“You’ve got to come back!” one of them begged.

“Oh, this won’t be the last we see of them,” Professor X stated. “I’m sure of it.” He gave a wink to Reed and Sue, both of whom quickly shook his hand.

“We’ll definitely be in touch,” Reed assured him.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Sue said.

“You’re welcome. And thank you for your generosity. May your brother’s child be blessed.”

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In between you trying to breathe deeply to alleviate the contractions and worrying about whether or not Johnny and the others would make it back in time, you thanked God and Reed for the new family car.

It was spacious, could drive itself, had a phone attached so you could call Dr. Stratten, had a suitcase packed in the back with all sorts of essentials for after the baby was born (although you were certain that was more Sue’s doing), and included navigation and sensors to provide the best possible route to the hospital and not crash into any cars as it sped by. So far, it was doing a fine job, although there were a few times you closed your eyes out of fear that it was going to run into something like a fire hydrant or a person crossing the street.

About twenty minutes later, you arrived at the hospital intact. Once you got out and collected your things, you sent the car away to park itself in the nearby lot. You then waddled inside and let a nurse know about your condition. You were subsequently put into a wheelchair to be led up to the delivery room. As you laid back on the table in a traditional hospital gown, you tried your best to hold yourself together until you were sure Johnny was there.

“Come on, little one,” you whispered, hoping your baby could hear or sense you. “Please wait just a little bit longer. Your daddy isn’t here yet and he really wants to be here for you.”

Dr. Stratten eventually came in, all scrubbed in and ready to help you. “Hello, my dear,” he said, warmly. “Are you ready?”

“Is Johnny here?” you asked hurriedly.

Dr. Stratten looked around nervously. “Well, no. I didn’t see him.”

You slowly began to panic. “No, no, no! I want him here! I need him here! Dr. Stratten, I can’t have this baby without Johnny!”

“Now, dear,” Dr. Stratten came over to you and gently patted your shoulder, “you mustn’t get upset. You’re going to need all your energy to deliver your beautiful baby.”

You threw your head back in frustration and felt a few hot tears slide down your cheeks. You made one more desperate plea in the hope that your husband could hear and sense you this time. “Please… Please, Johnny… Come and see your daughter.”

Miraculously on cue like a scene out of a movie, you saw Johnny’s head poke through the door window. He was sweating hard and waving his arms frantically to get anyone’s attention, specifically yours.

“JOHNNY!” you yelled. One of the nurses quickly opened the door to let him in. He raced to your side and pulled you in for as tight a hug as he could manage. You could hear and feel him breathing heavily above you. You found the strength to push him away to look at him. He looked tired and desperate yet at the same time energetic and optimistic.

“Hey,” was all he could say.

“Hey,” you echoed.

“You look beautiful.”

“You look like a wreck.”

He let out a breathy laugh as he fully took in his state. “Yeah, I know. I flew all the way here from Westchester County. Probably the fastest I’ve ever done. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

“You didn’t. I wouldn’t let you. And I don’t think your daughter would either.”

Johnny looked down at your stomach. “I’m here now, kiddo. Now it’s time for you to get here.”

She must’ve heard you all now because you felt a sharp pain and closed your eyes. The instinct to push was great. “Oooooo!” you exclaimed, trying to remember your breathing exercises while also saying one last thing to Johnny. “Johnny, I love you so much!”

“I love you too, honey,” Johnny cooed, getting a firm grip on your hand. You squeezed it hard as you continued your attempts to push.

“Okay, folks!” Dr. Stratten said, rubbing his hands together and getting into position. “Let’s do this!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reed and Sue waited patiently in the hospital lobby. It had been a few hours since you went into labor and it was getting dark outside. As they sat in the rather uncomfortable chairs, they held hands and tried to think positive thoughts.

“Everything is alright,” Reed said like it was any other fact he knew.

Sue nodded and repeated, “Everything is alright.”

“Yeah, but they’ll be much better with this!”

The couple looked up to see Ben carrying a bunch of balloons that he bought from the gift shop. They were in pink, white, and gold colors and said various things like “It’s a Girl!” and “Congratulations!” Reed and Sue smiled at the kind gesture. It brightened things up, if only for a little bit.

Things truly got better when they saw Dr. Stratten come out. “The baby has arrived, healthy and happy,” he said with a big smile.

The trio let out a collective sigh of relief at the news. Sue asked, “Can we see them now?”

“Of course!” Dr. Stratten was already moving ahead to lead everyone to your room.

When they arrived, they had quite a sight in front of them – You were in bed, holding your newborn baby girl in a wrapped, pink blanket. Johnny sat right beside you, delicately playing with his daughter’s little fingers. And the baby looked up at her parents in total awe. A few tears were shed as Reed, Sue, and Ben walked in. You and Johnny looked up and beamed like the proud parents you were.

“Look, Clara,” you whispered. “Your aunt and uncles are here.”

“Clara,” Sue tested the name on her lips.

“Yup,” Johnny said with joy. “Clara Jean Storm.”

“A pretty name for a pretty girl,” Ben commented.

“She surpasses all of my predictions,” Reed said.

Clara’s face brightened up at the compliments, which made everybody laugh.

“May we…?” Sue gestured towards you both.

“Of course,” you agreed.

Ben set the ballons down and went to your side as Reed and Sue went next to Johnny. They all leaned in for a big group hug. Little Clara closed her eyes, taking in all the love.

The Fantastic Four family just got bigger, and you, Johnny, everyone couldn’t have been happier.

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Author’s Note 2: Electric Boogaloo: Thank you so much for making it to the end! I ask that you NOT post this story as your own, please. Instead, give it a like/review/bookmark/reblog/all of the above wherever you read it.

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