#i like thinking about character dynamics...

[cressidagrey]

Money, Money, Money

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:  Felicity runs Oscar’s life. Oh, and she also handles all the money. 

Warnings and Notes: Some more context for the Silverstone chapter, also some insight into Piastri family dynamics in this verse. Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

1: Chris Piastri

Chris had been patient. He’d waited through the contract drama, the Alpine mess, the quiet chaos that was the lead-up to McLaren’s announcement. He’d even stayed calm when Oscar casually dropped that they’d officially moved to a farmhouse—because, quote, “Felicity liked the light.”

But now he was looking at the numbers.

And blinking.

Hard.

"You’re going to be making how much next year?"

Oscar leant back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Depends on bonuses. But yeah. That’s the base.”

Chris whistled low. “Jesus Christ. That’s… real money.”

Oscar grinned. “Told you the sim rig was a good investment.”

Chris didn’t laugh. He was still holding the contract summary printout Oscar handed him ten minutes ago.

He tapped the top corner. “Okay. So you’ve got this. Great. Now who’s handling it?”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “Felicity.”

Chris’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “Still no financial advisor?”

“She’s more than capable.”

“And no prenup,” Chris added flatly. “Still.”

“You’re still upset abou that,” Oscar said drily.

“I’m upset you refused to,” Chris replied. “I asked you. I begged you to be smart. You were eighteen. And you married the first girl you ever kissed. You always brush it off.”

“I’m not brushing it off. I’m making a choice.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Chris snapped. “You married at eighteen. You had a child at nineteen. And you still refuse to take any precautions to protect the career we all sacrificed for.”

Oscar didn’t move. But something in his posture shifted—straightened. “What do you want me to say, Dad? That you were right? That we were reckless and dumb and ruined my future?”

Chris exhaled harshly. “I never said you ruined anything.”

“No,” Oscar said, “but you’ve never really believed us either. About anything.”

Chris blinked. “Excuse me?”

Oscar’s voice was low, but steady. “You’ve never believed us when we said Bee was planned. When we said we knew what we were doing. When we said we didn’t need help. You think we were just two stupid teenagers who got in over our heads and now you’re waiting for the fallout.”

Chris scoffed. “Right. The planned baby at nineteen.”

Oscar’s face shuttered. “Yes. Planned.”

“You can keep saying that, Oscar,” Chris said, “but you and I both know it wasn’t the timing you had in mind. You threw your entire career trajectory off-course. No nineteen-year-old plans a baby, Oscar. That’s not how this works.”

Oscar looked like he’s been slapped. “You think we’re stupid.”

“I think you were young.” Chris fired back. “And I think she got pregnant and you felt like you had no choice—”

“Don’t you dare,” Oscar snapped.

The air cracks.

Chris didn’t back down. “You were barely in junior formula. You were already under pressure. And instead of focusing on that, you were raising a kid in a rental flat with hand-me-down furniture and no job security— You were nineteen. No one knows what they’re doing at nineteen.”

“Maybe not,” Oscar said. “But we knew what we wanted.”

“And I spent six and a half million dollars making sure you got where you are,” Chris fired back. “So excuse me if I want you to think.”

Oscar went still. The words hung between them like a slap.

Chris pressed on, voice harder now. “I spent years calling sponsors, working second jobs, selling off anything we didn’t need just to keep you on the track. Your mother gave up every holiday to stretch the travel budget. And now you’re handing your entire financial future to the girl you married at eighteen and won’t even sign a piece of paper to protect yourself if it goes wrong.”

Oscar spoke slowly. Cold. “She is not just some girl.”

“I know that,” Chris said, finally sounding frustrated. “I know she’s brilliant and capable and—impressive. I know she kept you standing when things got ugly. But this isn’t about how resourceful Felicity is, Oscar. It’s about you.”

“I pay for my life,” Oscar said quietly. “Every grocery bill, every flight, every coat Bee’s ever worn—we paid for that ourselves. We’ve never asked you for help outside of racing.”

“You rushed into a marriage, a baby, and now you’ve wrapped your entire life around a girl who pawned designer handbags instead of calling us for help.”

Oscar’s fists clenched. “You think that was a bad thing?”

“I think it was pride,” Chris said, suddenly cold. “On both your parts. She didn’t want to come with her tail between her legs after her family cut her off. And you— you didn’t want to admit you were in over your head.” 

Oscar took a slow breath. “We didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

Chris’s jaw tightened. “I was obligated. I spent millions of dollars getting you to F1. Do you think I did that so you could let your teenage wife manage your future out of a color-coded spreadsheet?” Chris rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s not the point anyway.”

“No,” Oscar said. “The point is that you don’t trust me. Or her.”

“That’s not true,” Chris said.

“Isn’t it?” Oscar challenges. “You think she married me for the money I might have. You think we had Bee by accident. You think I’m sleepwalking through life and one day I’ll wake up broke and bitter and you’ll have to pick up the pieces.”

Chris’s mouth was a thin line. He didn’t answer.

Oscar took a breath. His voice softened—just a little. “I know what you gave me. I know I wouldn’t be here without you. But I’m not a teenager anymore. And I don’t need you to manage me. I need you to believe me.”

***

Nicole was sitting at the dining table with a glass of red wine and her reading glasses perched low on her nose, sorting through forms.

Chris stood in the doorway, visibly agitated.

Nicole didn’t look up. “If this is about Felicity again, I’m pouring myself another glass of wine.”

Chris sighed. “You could at least pretend to take my side.”

Nicole set down the pen and looks at him over the rims of her glasses. “I divorced you, not because you were wrong all the time, but because you’re so annoying when you think you’re right.”

Chris threw his hands up. “Nicole. Please. Just talk to Oscar. He listens to you.”

“Because I don’t condescend to him,” she said pointedly. “I treat him like the grown man he is.”

Chris ran a hand through his hair. “He’s married without a prenup. He’s letting her manage millions. What happens if something goes wrong? What happens if she changes—”

“She’s not going to change,” Nicole cut in.

“You don’t know that.”

“Felicity manages my pension, Chris.”

He blinked. “What?”

“She took a look at it last year,” Nicole says casually. “Pointed out I had a dead fund and fees I didn’t need. Reinvested the whole thing in an afternoon.”

Chris stared at her. “You let your daughter-in-law manage your retirement?”

“She’s smarter than both of us combined,” Nicole said, tone sharp now. “You know that. You’ve always known that.”

“She was eighteen when they got married,” Chris muttered.

“And runs a household better than most people twice her age,” Nicole replied. “Felicity could run a Fortune 500 company if she wanted. She just happens to be more interested in upcycling cabinets and taking care of Bee.”

Chris scowled. “She plays housewife, Nicole. And Oscar lets her.”

“She chooses housewife,” Nicole corrected. “Big difference. And it’s not because she can’t do more—it’s because she already did. She literally got a PhD this year because she was bored, Chris. You remember what she gave up. I do. She had that whole trust fund, the estate in Singapore —until she told her parents she wasn’t giving up the boy.”

Chris exhaled again, tight and heavy.

Nicole softened—just a little. “  get it. You put everything into Oscar. You burned yourself down to build him a ramp. But our boy fell in love, and the girl he chose? She wasn’t a mistake. She was the best decision he ever made.”

“I just want him to be protected,” Chris said, quieter now.

“He is,” Nicole said. “And if anything happens, you better believe Felicity already has a five-tab spreadsheet, three binders, and a financial nuke pointed at the problem. Don’t confuse softness for weakness. She’s not fragile, Chris. She’s focused.”

Chris was quiet for a long time.

Finally, he muttered, “I still think he should’ve signed a prenup.”

Nicole sighs. “Yeah, well. I think you should’ve watered the lemon tree before it died, but we all have regrets.”

Chris stared at her. “That’s not remotely the same.”

Nicole sipped her tea. “Isn’t it?”

2: Mark Webber

Mark Webber had long since stopped pretending that Oscar Piastri ran his own life.

Oh, he showed up on time. Did the briefings. Signed the contracts. Knew the car and the data and the long-run pace.

But when it came to logistics, taxes, insurance, estate planning, or remembering that the electrical system in their farmhouse was still running on pre-war wiring—Oscar did what every sensible man should do.

He said, “Let me ask my wife.”

Mark had found it funny at first. A bit sweet. The overachieving childhood sweetheart turned stay-at-home-wife. Until he realized, somewhere between Oscar’s seamless contract transitions and the fact that his tax filings were always submitted early and perfectly formatted, that Felicity Piastri wasn’t playing house.

She was running an empire.

Quietly. From the kitchen. Usually with flour on her cheek.

Mark had seen it up close too many times now. 

She was the one who tracked Oscar’s schedule in a calendar that put race engineers to shame.

 She was the one who had his income split across diversified portfolios before McLaren ever offered him a multi-year deal. 

And she was the one who’d once casually texted Mark a five-point list of everything he needed to fix in his personal retirement plan—because she’d overheard him complain about capital gains tax while making Bee a peanut butter sandwich.

He’d actually followed all five points.

So when he found himself holding a financial summary from his advisor, confused about a line item labeled “Australia – Deferred Liability: TBD,” there was only one person he thought to call.

The phone rang twice.

“Hi Mark,” came Felicity’s voice, crisp and warm as ever. “What did you mess up this time?”

Mark chuckled. “Got a minute?”

“Always. What’s the line item?”

He read it out. She hummed. “Deferred liability’s probably from your property sale in 2019—was that still in NSW?”

“Yeah. You remember that?”

“I remember everything. What’s the advisor’s email? I’ll send you the reference table.”

Mark rubbed his forehead. “Do I need to start paying you?”

“You couldn’t afford me,” she said cheerfully. “Besides, I’m already managing Oscar’s empire and Nicole’s pension. I’m full up.”

Mark snorted. “Jesus Christ. Does Oscar know you’re moonlighting as my financial therapist?”

“Oh, he knows,” she said breezily. “He told me to invoice you last time.”

Mark chuckled. “He still pretending he understands half of what you do?”

“He stopped pretending after I explained capital gains to him using Bee’s sticker chart,” she replied. “Now he just signs what I give him and asks if we can afford more smoked almonds.”

Mark shook his head, grinning. “He’s a lucky little bastard.”

“He knows. Oh, and by the way,” Felicity added, “tell your guy to check your international tax treaty allocations. You’re probably being double taxed on passive income through your EU holdings.”

Mark paused. “Have I ever told you you’re a menace?”

“Only every time you call me.”

And then she hung up.

Mark stared at his phone, then looked at the spreadsheet again.

There was a reason he always CC’d her on Oscar’s contract reviews. The girl could spot a hidden clause faster than most team lawyers.

He wasn’t just impressed anymore. He was a little scared.

People in the paddock liked to talk about Oscar’s talent. His calm. His racecraft. His future.

But Mark?

Mark knew the real secret to Oscar’s success wore denim dungarees, knew how to budget a household down to the cent, and had personally scared two marketing execs into submission using nothing but polite email phrasing and a well-timed spreadsheet.

In Mark Webber’s not so humble opinion: 

Felicity Piastri was the best investment Oscar had ever made.

3: Lando Norris

Oscar was still in his race suit, slouched halfway off a physio ball, towel draped around his neck. His hair was damp. 

He was scrolling on his phone one-handed, the other absentmindedly rubbing at his shoulder. Across from him, Lando was sitting upside-down in a beanbag chair like he was part of a modern art installation, frowning at his iPad and muttering numbers under his breath.

He squinted, then sat up properly. “Hey,” he said, pointing vaguely. “Do you use Capex?”

Oscar didn’t look up. “For what?”

“Investments. Advisors. Tax strategy stuff.” Lando waved the iPad like it’s obvious. “Zak’s been on about it. Wants us to think about long-term wealth management. Something about portfolio diversity and 'future-proofing our legacy.'"

Oscar hummed noncommittally. “Nah, I don’t use Capex.”

Lando raised a brow. “Okay, so who do you use?”

Oscar finally looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Like—who’s your guy?” Lando asked, a little impatient now. “Everyone’s got someone. I’ve got Simon. Charles got his brother and that weird Swiss dude. You’ve got, what, Mark handling yours?”

Oscar blinked. “I don’t have a guy.”

“You don’t—?” Lando cut himself off, leans forward. “Wait. You don’t have a financial advisor?”

Oscar shrugged. “Nope.”

Lando just stared at him. “Oscar.”

Oscar stretched his legs out. “What?”

“You’re a Formula 1 driver. You make… a lot of money. You don’t have anyone managing it?”

“I do,” Oscar said, reaching for his water bottle. “Felicity.”

Lando blinked. “Felicity who?”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “My wife, Lando. Felicity my wife,” Oscar confirmed cheerfully, like he wasn’t casually setting fire to Lando’s entire concept of financial management. “She’s good at it. Better than me. She likes spreadsheets and interest rates. It makes her happy.”

Lando’s mouth opened. Closes. “No. No. That doesn’t count.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Why not?”

“Because—because she’s your wife! That’s like saying, ‘Oh yeah, my daughter handles the catering.’ It’s—It’s nepotism!”

Oscar laughed. “She’s not taking a salary, mate. She’s running our life.”

“That’s worse!” Lando flailed his hands. “You’re telling me you trust her with everything? Like, she just… handles it?”

“Yes,” Oscar said simply. “She’s good at it.”

“She’s good at—what, managing millions?”

“Actually, yeah.” He looked mildly offended on Felicity’s behalf. “She started with nothing. Budgeted down to the cent when we were nineteen and pretty much broke with a newborn because we didn’t want to depend on my parents. She made our tax spreadsheet color-coded and terrifying. She played the stock market while Bee was teething. Said it calmed her down. I was too busy trying to figure out why Bee would only fall asleep if I sang Let it be from the Beatles.”

Lando squinted. “...She has a spreadsheet?”

“She has seven.”

“And you’re just—fine with it?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, no hesitation. “She’s always been smarter with money than me. Back when I was on a feeder series budget and Bee was in nappies, she made every cent stretch. She bought me a secondhand coffee machine when I was surviving on two hours of sleep and bad instant. She used our first proper bonus to start a fund she literally called ‘Future Stuff That Matters.’ She pays for every single house reno out of portfolio gains. I don’t ask anymore—I just send her the contract info and go race.”

Lando looked at him like he’d just confessed to free-climbing a skyscraper. “You don’t even check your paychecks?”

“I check they’ve gone in,” Oscar said. “But otherwise, I forward everything to her. Contracts, bonus details, travel reimbursements. She’s got this whole color-coded system.”

“Okay, but like—" Lando ran a hand through his hair, clearly spiraling—"there’s not even a backup guy? Like, a tax consultant? A wealth planner? An app? A spreadsheet?”

“She has all three. She showed me once. The spreadsheet had tabs called Future Stuff That Matters and Oscar’s Idiotic Tech Purchases."

Lando blinked.

"There's a colour-coded section just for sim rig accessories," Oscar added, helpfully.

“She made you a budget category for sim rig accessories?”

“I exceeded it last year. I got a warning.” Oscar grinned. “I send her the contracts, she handles the rest. I don’t even know what our heating bill is. I just get warm in winter and assume it’s paid.”

Lando collapses back into the beanbag. “You are so weirdly married.”

“I’m extremely married,” Oscar agrees. “To someone who built an emergency fund, planned our retirement, and still re-grouted the kitchen herself last month.”

There’s a pause.

Then: “You’re insane.”

Oscar smiled. “I’m stress-free.”

Another beat.

Then Lando muttered, “Do you think she’d take me on as a client?”

Oscar burst out laughing.

4: Tom Stallard

Tom had been on the phone with his mortgage broker for twenty minutes and was losing the will to live.

“No, I said I do have the updated P60, but your online portal is down,” he said through gritted teeth. “No, I’m not uploading it again through Safari, I’m using Chrome. Why does that matter?”

He ended the call with a sigh, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “I have a master’s in engineering from Cambridge and this is the most complicated thing I’ve ever done.”

A quiet voice behind him said, “Everything alright?”

Tom turned to find Oscar, cooling off post-sim, cradling a water bottle and looking vaguely concerned.

“Oh, yeah,” Tom said, deadpan. “Just losing a slow war with mortgage applications. Spreadsheets, interest rates, new build tax. Very sexy stuff.”

Oscar hummed. “Felicity would love it.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “She likes mortgage paperwork?”

“She likes paperwork in general,” Oscar said with a small smile. “Spreadsheets. Forecasting. Financial plans.”

Tom chuckled. “Yeah, well, maybe I should hire her. At this rate my family is going to end up living in our car.”

Oscar tilted his head. “She’d probably help. She’s scary good with money.”

“Really?” Tom asked, vaguely curious. “She handle the household stuff?”

Oscar blinked. “No, I mean she handles everything. My salary, bonuses, investments, Bee’s custodial account, tax optimization. All of it.”

Tom paused. “Wait—wait, you don’t do any of that?”

Oscar shook his head. “She’s better at it. Has a system. Color-coded folders. Charts. She built a whole model to project how many years I could race before retiring without touching the principal. I think it includes inflation and… milk prices?”

Tom blinked. “You’re telling me your wife handles your entire financial portfolio.”

Oscar shrugged. “It just makes sense. She’s meticulous. She used to do it all while Bee was napping and we were living on a single paycheque and pawned handbags.”

Tom sat back, stunned. “Mate, I have a financial advisor and a mortgage consultant and I still don’t know what I’m doing. You’re telling me your wife just—does it all?”

Oscar gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah. She’s good at it. And she enjoys it. I just sign things and ask her if we can afford new garden furniture.”

Tom looked at him for a beat.

Then said, deadpan, “I think I hate you.”

Oscar grinned. “She runs my retirement planning. I’m sorted for three recessions and a space war.”

Tom groaned. “Don’t tell me that. I just cried over a fixed rate of 5.3%.”

***

Tom hadn’t meant to bring it up again. Really, he hadn’t.

He’d only stopped by to drop off a folder Oscar left behind at the McLaren HQ. A quick in-and-out. No fuss. No existential crisis over adult responsibilities.

But then he made the mistake of saying, “I still haven’t figured out that mortgage stuff, by the way.”

And now he was in the Piastri kitchen.

Holding a cup of tea.

Watching Felicity Piastri, in a linen apron with a bee embroidered on the hem, pull up an amortization schedule like she was about to perform surgery on it.

“Alright,” she said, tapping at her laptop with a practiced efficiency that made his stomach clench. “Fixed rate of 5.3%, 25-year term, first-time buyer exemption, and a deferred LMI?”

Tom blinked. “Yes?”

“Okay, well, first of all, they’re charging you too much on your escrow buffer. That’s negotiable. And you can knock 0.2% off your rate if you bundle with their associated home insurance policy.”

“I—what?”

Felicity didn’t look up. “You haven’t consolidated your super, have you?”

“I—no?”

She made a soft tsk sound, clicked twice, and then turned the screen toward him. “I’ve made you a comparison sheet. These two lenders are offering better packages with less red tape. The third one has a better early exit policy in case you want to upgrade later. You’re a high-income, low-debt client, Tom. You should be getting treated like it.”

Tom stared at the screen, then at her.

“I have never felt so financially inadequate in my life,” he muttered.

Felicity gave him a bright smile. “That’s okay. Most people feel that way after twenty minutes with me.”

Oscar wandered in, holding Bee upside down by the ankles. “She fix it yet?”

“She rebuilt it,” Tom said faintly. “She bullied my mortgage into submission.”

Felicity rolled her eyes. “I simply pointed out that he’s not a charity case and shouldn’t be paying interest like one.”

Bee giggled from where she dangled. “Mama makes the numbers scared.”

Oscar dropped her gently onto the couch. “That she does.”

Tom stood up, cradling the printed spreadsheet like it was a sacred text. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Felicity handed him a small foil-wrapped bundle. “Banana bread. No walnuts.”

Tom looked at it. Then back at her. “You’re incredible.”

She beamed. “I know.”

5: Zak Brown

Zak liked to think of himself as a forward thinker. Risk-aware, but not risk-averse. Smart with money. Not shy about opportunity.

Which is why, after a particularly positive investor call and a lunch meeting with a tech-startup founder, he cornered Oscar Piastri in the McLaren break room, armed with a protein shake and a golden nugget of advice.

“Listen,” Zak said, leaning on the counter while Oscar poked through the fruit bowl like he wasn’t paid seven figures to do much cooler things. “If you haven’t already, you should really look into green robotics. Smart manufacturing meets sustainability. It’s going to explode in two years. Get in now.”

Oscar paused. “Green robotics?”

“Yeah. Startups, mostly. Private equity entry points. Could be a good addition to your portfolio.”

Oscar nodded slowly. “Right. Sounds interesting. I’ll check with Felicity.”

Zak blinked. “Your agent?”

“No,” Oscar said casually. “Felicity. My wife.”

Zak frowned. “As in… she checks it?”

“She handles all my finances,” Oscar replied, grabbing a banana. “She’ll know if it fits with the rest of the portfolio.”

Zak stared. “Wait—you don’t have a financial advisor?”

Oscar looked genuinely confused. “I have Felicity.”

“No, I mean like… a firm. A professional. Someone who manages your money.”

“I do. Felicity.”

Zak was now blinking very slowly. “You’re telling me your wife manages your finances.”

Oscar peeled the banana. “Yeah. Has for years.”

Zak struggled for a moment. “Like… salary? Bonuses?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Investments?”

“All of it.”

Zak straightened. “How much do you even know about your own portfolio?”

Oscar chewed thoughtfully. “Um… it’s green? Ethically aligned? We don’t do oil, fast fashion, or surveillance tech. And I think there’s a clause about chocolate companies with bad labor practices. Felicity added that after Bee got obsessed with cocoa beans.”

Zak made a small, stunned noise. “You don’t… manage your own money?”

Oscar shrugged. “I mean, it’s our money. She just handles it. She’s better at it. She has these terrifying spreadsheets.”

“She’s not licensed.”

“Nope,” Oscar said, smiling. “She’s just brilliant.”

Zak stared at him for a long beat.

“You make seven figures,” he said slowly. “You’re one of the most promising drivers of your generation. And you’re telling me that you’ve outsourced your entire financial future to your wife.”

“Yes,” Oscar said. “She has a whole system. Reinvested dividends, ethical ETFs, a growth fund, a rainy day fund, and this weird little stash labeled ‘Oscar’s Panic Button’ that I’m not allowed to ask about.”

Zak’s voice rose slightly. “And you’re okay with that?”

Oscar blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re a public figure!”

Oscar finished his banana. “So? I’d trust her with everything if I was a postman.”

Zak leaned heavily on the counter. “And what did she say about green robotics?”

Oscar tilted his head. “She had ethical concerns. Something about the AI lab's hiring practices and a conflict with a union group in Denmark.”

Zak exhaled. “Jesus Christ.”

Oscar grinned. “Yeah. She’s good.”

+1: Oscar Piastri

Oscar had long since stopped questioning where the money went. 

Not because he didn’t care—he did. He cared a lot, actually. 

But because sometime between their first apartment and the farmhouse, he’d realized something fundamental: Felicity knew what they needed before he did. 

And more than that, she knew why. 

There had been a time—back when he was nineteen, with a newborn and a contract that barely covered rent—when every cent mattered. 

And Felicity had stretched them with a kind of brilliance that made survival look like strategy. She’d budgeted nappies down to the cent. She’d thrifted furniture, sewed her own curtains, and somehow still found a way to buy Oscar a coffee machine when he couldn’t function without caffeine and 2-hour sleep blocks. 

Even then, he knew: if there was anyone he trusted with his life—or his bank account—it was her. That trust never changed. 

The first time he got a real bonus—something large, something meaningful—he handed it over without hesitation. “Use it for whatever you want,” he’d said, tired and sunburnt and half-delirious after a weekend in Spa. 

She didn’t blink. Just tucked it away and said, “I’ve got a plan.” That plan, as it turned out, involved savings accounts, index funds, and a meticulous spreadsheet labeled Future Stuff That Matters. 

Over time, their finances shifted. Grew. Stabilized. But Oscar never took that control back—not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to. 

Felicity didn’t spend for status. She didn’t buy expensive handbags or flashy watches. 

She bought insulation for the attic because she wanted Bee to stay warm in winter. She bought antique light fixtures from a man named Jerry on Facebook Marketplace because “they had character.” She bought sandpaper and primer and tile grout and then used it herself. 

She handled taxes. Investments. Long-term planning. She set aside money for Bee’s education, Oscar’s retirement, and an annual holiday they still hadn’t taken. 

And she never once acted like it was hers alone—just theirs, and safe in her hands. 

Oscar loved that about her. That she didn’t treat money like power. She treated it like possibility. 

And while the outside world saw him as the Formula 1 driver, the rising star, the man with the million-dollar contracts—he knew better. 

Knew that the reason he could focus on racing at all was because Felicity kept the rest of their world running so seamlessly behind the scenes.

Once, early in their marriage, he’d jokingly called her his CFO. She’d rolled her eyes. “I’m your wife.” But honestly, she was both. Because when his paycheck came in, he barely looked at it anymore. 

He just handed it over, kissed her cheek, and said, “Tell me if we can afford a new front porch.” Felicity always smiled. 

Always kissed him back. And somehow always replied, “Already ordered the wood. Bee helped me pick the stain.”

Felicity didn’t treat money like power.

She treated it like possibility.

And Oscar had learned to see it the same way—not in numbers, but in what it meant: security. Choice. Freedom. A future where his wife could say yes to things for herself. Where Bee would never grow up thinking that survival had to look like sacrifice.

And when people—Zak, Lando, even his own father—asked how he could trust one person with all of it?

Oscar just smiled.

Because that one person had been holding their entire life together since she was nineteen, tired, and holding a baby on her hip with a spreadsheet open on her lap.

She was the safest bet he’d ever made.

[luckyladylily]

This is a very weird post to me because it's the most technically correct thing I've ever read in my life, but in a way that makes me think OP has not only lost the thread on kink vs vanilla but has gotten so lost in the sauce they are missing the point of fan fic in general.

To address kink vs vanilla, I have extensive real world experience and I can tell you right now that you cannot predict or otherwise draw hard conclusions about kink based on a person's personality or lived experiences. There can be some patterns, but they are not hard patterns you can count on. This is the way in which this post is very technically correct. It is absolutely true that character's favorite position could be no frills missionary, even if they seem like the kinkiest mother fucker who ever walked the earth. Some people do in fact have vanilla sex.

But that's a very weird thing to point out because most people already know this, and even in explicit fandom fics with bdsm dynamics are out numbered by fics focusing on more vanilla sex, especially in fics that are actually about character work where bdsm dynamics are so rare fics like this often don't even exist at all for many ships.

I know this because, for personal reasons I won't get into, "vanilla sex" (and how people write it) is deeply uncomfortable to me. I like character focused explicit fic, but trying to find something that doesn't make me want to claw my skin off means sifting through dozens of vanilla fics to find one fic that strays from vanilla dynamics enough to be palatable. And that's when I'm lucky and such a fic exists at all. This has held true in every single pairing and fandom I've ever spent time in.

The only 2 areas where dom/sub dynamics or other heavy kinks outweigh vanilla dynamics in fandom is discussion of sex among kinky fans and one shots specifically dedicated to low or zero context sex. In other words, where interesting sexual dynamics are more important than the actual characters involved. The parts of fandom where characters are just pretty dolls we use to populate our sexual fantasies.

The second post has it completely wrong. In these spaces, It's not that kink is a substitute for personality, it's that kink trumps personality. Fandom is playing with dolls, and maybe for you character work is what it's all about, but that's not true for everyone. We all play with the dolls differently, and it's not like people who are in it for the low context sexual fantasy are suddenly going to be into character work now you've pointed this out, so what's the point? If these people won't play correctly (according to you), then they shouldn't play at all?

Fandom is not a zero sum game. Out of character bdsm one shots are not actually taking away from your character focused works.

This is complaining about people playing with their dolls in a way you don't like. If you prefer one way of playing with the dolls the answer is to find like minded people, not getting pissy about others playing with their toys wrong.

nothing but respect for our troops (smut writers) but listen. i dont want to be the person to tell you this, but not every character is going to be a dom or a sub. some people. and i know this is hard to hear. but some people do have vanilla sex. and some of those people might even be The Character.

[bumblingbabooshka]

WOULD THEY BE INTO PEGGING? Ft. The Voyager Crew Because I'm tired of 'she pegs him' and 'he gets pegged' as some sort of frivolous shorthand. Would she really? Does he really?? Let's think about this from a character study perspective. If you're wondering what "/Evil" means - Seska is into pegging in the same way Mirrorverse versions of characters are bisexual. That's the best way I can explain it.

[softjeekies]

Waiting After The Rain

↳ chapter 7

previous chapter // next chapter

Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: vomit, violence, mean words are said to our omega in this chapter(not by the pack), a/b/o, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory

A/N: remember my ask box is always open for questions about this story and as always, please enjoy this chapter :)

One of the harder parts of staying with the pack was times like this, during the day when members are out at work or living life. Of course, you were never alone, the omegas don’t have jobs though they do go out as they please, and the rest of the pack has purposely arranged their schedules so that at least one pack member above an omega is home with you guys at any given time. It’s a nice setup, you'll admit, but you feel useless. To be fair you never went out much when you lived with your old alpha but you were always cooking and cleaning to please him, you were never not busy. So that’s how you got here. Trying so hard to be useful you decided to clean up a bit instead you just made a bigger mess. You were moving on from putting the dishes in the dishwasher to cleaning the countertops when you got a whiff of the cleaning solution smell and immediately you felt the familiar sickness feeling, If you were a cartoon character you would physically be green right now. Now that you’re out of the first trimester the morning sickness should have subsided, and to be fair it wasn’t as bad as it was in the beginning but it was definitely still making itself comfortable in your life. At your last appointment, you asked the doctor about it and she said this was probably something to do with your already above-average sense of smell for an omega. At the same time, you could still get sick randomly due to your changing body, and smells would be your biggest enemy. But it was normal and that’s all that mattered to you anyway, though right now you kind of wish it wasn’t. The strong smell of vinegar and lemon is the perfect combination to kick your sickness into overdrive. Before you could even gag or process the situation you’d already thrown up all over yourself. With closed eyes you could feel your body begin to tremble, a familiar vibrating feeling that could only be accompanied by a panic attack. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sob, too afraid to make yourself any more noticeable, your body lets out soft whimpers from your quivering lip instead. Before you can even think of how to make your escape to the bathroom to clean yourself up you have to clean up the mess you made on the floor first. It's not a lot but it would be easier to clean up if the cleaning solution wasn’t making you gag even more. You don’t hear Changbin come down the stairs and enter the kitchen through the ringing in your ears.

“Y/N? I heard your whimpering and ran down here. What happ-“ Changbin cuts himself off at the sight of you all on the floor covered in your own vomit.

“It’s fine! I’m almost done cleaning it up, don't worry, I’m sorry I was just trying to help. fuck! Why can’t I help?” Your rambling is halted by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay bunny. Just breathe.” As you look into his eyes you feel a sense of peace, like a gentle reminder that yes you can breathe, it’s okay.

“Good, now let me.” With one fell swoop, he picks you up bridal style and begins to walk away from the kitchen.

“Changbin, what the hell are you doing? I said I could handle it.”

“I know you could, but as your alpha, I can’t let you. Like I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, let’s get you cleaned up!”

Changbin carries you all the way to the upstairs bathroom and places you down on the toilet seat and turns around to head out of the bathroom.

“I’ll get you some clothes and then you can shower!” Changbin leaves but not before giving you one of his signature cutesy smiles that almost makes you sick from how sweet it is. The alphas here confused you, hell the whole pack confused you, but Changbin especially makes your head spin. His personality was very cute and sweet which is an insane juxtaposition to his buff frame. He easily has the biggest muscles you’d ever seen, it was kind of comforting when it wasn’t scary. Changbin returns and places the clothes on the counter.

“I grabbed you some comfy warmer clothes, thought maybe it’d help soothe you.” Changbin seems unsure, you’d think this was his first time caring for an omega.

“Thank you.” and with a nod the alpha leaves you to take your shower. The water feels like it does more than just wash away your sickness but it feels like your emotions are physically leaking from your body. You watch the water run down your small bump, placing a gentle hand there as unease settles deep in your bones. If you can’t do something as simple as clean up what’s the point? How can you take care of a whole life?

You step out of the shower with a shiver, trying to get dried off and dressed as quickly as possible. As you put on the clothes Changbin picked out for you, the last item stops you in your tracks. A hoodie, but not just any hoodie, it’s his. The smell of firewood penetrates your nose and your pupils dilate. Without a word, you put on his hoodie to allow the smell to engulf you, just like it’s supposed to. Leaving the bathroom you’re greeted by the muscular alpha who now has a shocked expression. He waited for you. And god is he glad he did. The sight of you in his hoodie, covered in his scent makes him dizzy. So he waits no time to pull you back into the bathroom with him, standing behind you as you both stand in front of the mirror. Wordlessly he picks up the hairbrush and begins brushing your hair, It feels domestic, but you don’t run.

“This is your hoodie.” You speak, not really knowing if it’s a question or a statement.

“Felix told us about how alpha scents really help with your nausea, you didn’t have to wear it, I just wanted to help.” He smiles almost as softly as he brushes through your hair. You don’t miss how he brushes his nose across the top of your head, taking in your milky cherry scent.

Changbin’s heart swells with pride as his alpha howls in his head at the display in front of him. A pupped omega wearing his scented hoodie allowing him to groom you, His pupped omega, he internally corrects himself. He leads you down to the living room and he stops you from going into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, I got it all cleaned up. Let’s relax now.” The alpha takes your hand leading you to the large couch letting you pick your spot before he sits next to you.

“Do you want to talk about what’s wrong, why you were cleaning up even though it was making you sick?” Your eyebrows furrow, and embarrassment floods your body once again.

“I feel useless and lazy. I don’t do anything, I don’t clean, I don’t cook, I don’t work, even though these are all things I can do with no issue. I don’t even go outside now, I’m becoming a slob.” Changbin’s heart breaks at your words, but understanding you just want some independence, some of your normal back.

“We can go out today. Could be like a more casual courting date or not, whatever you’d like.”

“I appreciate your offer but I don’t need your pity.” The alpha scoffs and your assumption of him.

“I don’t pity you, I care about you. And I want to hang out with you. Hyunjin can stay here with Han and Felix while we go out, it’ll be fun. No pressure.” Changbin gives you a hopeful smile, if he looks closely he feels like he can see a small crack forming in your wall.

“Okay, where would we go?” You don’t look at the alpha, afraid maybe he’d change his mind.

“We can go do some grocery shopping, you can help me!” Changbin emphasized the word help, as to soothe your worries.

“Really? I could help you pick out food for the pack?” You look up at Changbin with wide hopeful eyes, and his heart almost explodes.

“Yeah, we can go right now! Get your shoes on and I’ll go let the guys know we’re leaving.” He smiles before he retreats to the pack den where the pack members reside. You sit with your thoughts for a moment before releasing a contented sigh. Maybe things were looking up.

At the grocery store, Changbin pushed the cart with one hand and had the pack’s grocery list pulled up on his phone in the other. The list was split into sections, one for each pack member’s personal requests and a section for stuff for the whole house. You had a nice rhythm going on, where he guides you both through the store and tells you what to put in the cart. Though he can’t help but notice you don’t seem to be interested in grabbing anything for yourself, and they haven’t had a chance to add a you section to the grocery list quite yet. As you two made your way down a snack aisle he took notice of how you stopped in front of the milk drinks.

“I think I saw something about some sort of juice on Han’s list. What was it?” In all honesty, you don’t remember if anyone mentioned juice, you can’t think at all your mouth is watering at the sight of the banana milk. You recently started developing cravings, which weren’t weird, yet. Your mind was so used to not wanting things, you didn’t find yourself craving anything until you saw it. Sort of like love at first sight but with various cookies, rice cakes… and banana milk, as your brain had so kindly decided now. This wasn’t odd for you, you’d always liked banana milk but this was different. You didn’t want it, you needed it. This grocery trip was for them, you wouldn’t dare make this about yourself. And that’s where a gentle alpha���s encouragement comes in.

“Oh I love banana milk, should we get some?” You both share a knowing glance, though Changbin’s has an encouraging undertone.

“Maybe, maybe two packs would be good. Since there are so many of us.” The alpha is satisfied with your response, nodding at you to throw two packs into the cart. Though Changbin wouldn’t dare let the pack take your cravings from you, he’d be sure to let them know not to touch them later.

“Is there anything else the puppy wants?” Changbin takes your peaceful sigh as an invitation to be just a little more direct, trying to get you comfortable with his care.

“Seaweed chips sound really yummy… and those matcha cookies Hyunjin likes.” You blush, not used to giving in to your own desires. Changbin doesn’t care though, he wastes no time finding the snacks you want. As you continue your shopping trip the alpha does a lot more of that, encouraging you to get stuff for yourself too, showing you that you deserve treats just like the pack does if not more since you’re carrying a pup as well.

The walk to the car feels bright, and internally you acknowledge the progress you made in the store, it feels nice. Changbin insists he be the one to load the bags in the car but you don’t get in the car, you wait patiently in case he changes his mind.

The smell hits you first, like a bullet train traveling faster than sound itself. You grab onto Changbin’s arm, your scent is rancid like spoiled milk, full of panic.

“What’s wrong?” Now Changbin’s scent is burnt, afraid that somehow you got hurt on his watch. Before you can tell Changbin how urgently you need to leave the voice hits your ears and you’re shocked you don’t pass out in pure fear, you remain frozen, which somehow feels worse.

“Would you look at this, surprised I found you slut?” The slurred voice from the alpha a mere five feet away from him and his babies causes Changbin to let out a growl.

“Who the hell are you?” You want to scream at Changbin to not say anything to just get you both in the car and run but you can’t, you scream but nothing comes out. Once again trapped in your own mind prison.

“I should be asking you the same, you’re playing around with my sloppy seconds.” It clicks immediately for Changbin, this is the man who hurt you, who kicked you out on the streets pregnant and alone. The next growl he lets out is nastier, more venomous.

“Come on Y/N, you think you can run away and wear another’s alpha’s clothes and expect me not to find you? You’re carrying my seed, not his. I always knew you were a whore, but you were my whore.” If your blood wasn’t cold before, it definitely was now. Everything in you screamed to run but you remained still. Your mind feels like a slurry of nasty thoughts, like you were right back in his grip, like you’d never be safe from him.

“I suggest you leave before I rip your throat out with my teeth.” Changbin keeps one arm behind him, within each of you, keeping you both safe from this monster. The way his hand is inches away from your stomach makes you hyper aware of the pup growing inside it.

Alphas hurt pups. Our pup is in danger. Do something.

Your omega screams in your head but you don’t move, useless as always.

“Pfft her hole’s not even that good. She’s used goods pal.” The arrogant alpha slurs and it lights a fire within Changbin, nobody speaks about the people he loves like that. He lunges at the alpha determined to make those words his last, he punches him so hard that you can hear a loud crack. The alpha falls to the ground, unconscious. Changbin immediately ushers you into the car and drives away from the scene. You don’t speak, you don’t cry, you’ve completely disassociated. Staring in front of you out the windshield you think about how you got here. A lot of your first week with this pack was spent scared he would find you, but things were getting better, you had almost forgotten this was even possible. Changbin tries to comfort you the entire ride home but it’s like you’ve left your own body. His alpha cries for him to do something, to help his omega but nothing works.

When he pulls into the garage at home you immediately bolt out of the car and head straight to your room. At the sound of the door slamming and locking, everyone knew this was going to be a hurdle. But they were all willing to fight for you… literally in some cases.

[silently-standingstill]

LITTLE GRASSY!!

[infinityinakiss]

Do you have top 3 pazzi pics?

edit: so i'm blind and can't read apparently. just pretend you asked for fics cause i don't have the heart to delete this and i'll make another post with my pics. this is so embarrassing for me.

it'd be easier to pick a favorite child, man. i'm gonna spotlight a couple (a ton) of authors with my favorite fics by them, but just know i am absolutely in love with anything they write. this post is about to be so long.

@imaginespazzi - anything nivi writes is a godsend. golden hour broke me a thousand different ways, as i'm sure it did many other people, but if you like a fluffy fic, i reread their here's to eternity series whenever i wanna smile at my screen like an idiot.

@luvergirl-535 - actually so good and so funny, her that's so true series is like the perfect mixture of comedy and angst. she's such a wholehearted author, i love her writing so much.

@loeysoi - everything she writes is so beautiful. she says her favorite fic that she's written is thinking of you (while i'm up here), but i've got such a soft spot for weren't we the salt in the sea. lyra, if you see this, your writing is so lovely and if you'd like to update salt in the sea, i wouldn't be opposed.

@azzibuckets - trying to pick one thing that cessa's written is giving me anxiety, so just read all of it. also, follow her and put her notifs on, she's so funny. literally such a beautiful person to follow online.

@bucketgetter535 - wanna feel like you're 15 again and it is all so bright and fireflies aren't going extinct, but also everything is insanely complicated and nobody will tell you anything? read their fic this is not a cry for help (but it might be). i personally love writing that reads like thoughts, that doesn't try to be anything less than it is, and this fic is it. (also there is a little soft spot in my heart for i don't even like her.)

@theseh00perscanh00p - genuinely one of my favorite authors on here, reading their writing is like being given a tight hug (most of the time at least, this new series has been tearing my heart out.) par for the heart is so sweet, not very angsty, and i just love paige and azzi's character voice in it.

@raevpng - rae, i love your writing so fucking much, i basically live in your anons because you're so good and i feel the need to constantly glaze you. i am actually so obsessed with their new series only you, go read it now if you know what's good for you. their one shots are so incredible, bags is a personal favorite of mine.

@azzibueckers5 - their series i wanna know peace again (wanna sing a different song) is one of my top rereads, it's truly so well written and emotional and just everything that i don't think i can fully articulate how much i love it without kissing them on the cheeks like an italian grandma.

@sowerpatch - i've been so hooked on their series terms of play, the tension and the dynamic is so good and so addictive. paige in this fic has balls the size of australia and it always makes my jaw drop.

so yeah. there's my very short and sweet top 3 pazzi fics. totally didn't go overboard.

psa: i love that here it's normal to send an anon so you can really show the authors how much you appreciate em. but it has broken my heart to see people abuse the very thing i love about the fandom to make authors feel unsafe. this is your daily reminder that fic authors are people too and they have their own lives besides writing. try not to hound them too much about when they're gonna update, and always give them grace. they are creating beautiful art for free because they love to. don't ruin that for them.

and if you threaten authors and run them off the internet because they fear for their safety, you are the actual scum of the earth.

[i-will-write-and-draw]

╰( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)╯Aahh, I love them so much.

Click for better resolution! Here's some sketches:

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

I think in my head, I tend to separate, especially when I'm writing.

I tend to make the characters like relationships always have a bit of like a darker undertone.

So in my head, I separate like Duke Cass and Stephanie. And then I have Jason Damian, Tim, Dick.

In my mind, the boys have like the definition of toxic relationship. It feels weird to me to then give that same kind of very unhealthy dynamic Duke, Cass, and Stephanie.

That's not to say that Cass and Stephanie don't have an unhealthy relationship dynamic. I just feel like it's a different form.(specifically in my writing.)

Than Duke, I just don't feel like he has the same attachment to the Waynes. Like do I think he cares about them? Yes do I think he's going to start a war and then cackle while people burn alive no. I feel like Duke morals actually seem to be more iron tight in my mind than the other batboys.

The no kill rule matters so much to Cass.

Also, too there's overall far less like hate or frustration between those three.

Like Jason would slit Tim's throat again, but also would immediately dump him in the green Mountain Dew.

That's not to say there isn't love between all of them.

I just feel like I want them all to sit at the dinner table in Wayne Manor Cass to look at her brothers, and feel very uncomfortable with what their body language and emotions tell her.

Then I run into the prom with Stephanie that I feel like she would be aware of the unhealthy dynamic, and she would purposefully not fall into it.

Never mind that her relationship with Bruce is not the same as the rest of them.

You can't have a normal relationship if you're willing to sit at the same table as people who have attempted to kill you and then in the very next breath truly mean it when you say I love you.

Like I just don't see that same level of codependency between Duke, Cass and Stephanie.

Could I write it that way sure, but it doesn't have the same vibe. It's weird.

I was looking at some of the stuff I have saved, and I came to the realization that I do not tend to write them toxic. This is me essentially trying to put into words, my feelings on twisting their relationships.

I try to keep some vibe of Canon in my writing, unless it is super super off the walls. But I just feel like I can't twist theirs to be in the same realm as the rest.

* I don't think this made sense but putting my thoughts to paper.

[cantstandlosingyou]

one thing i love about yellowjackets is how good is the evolution of the characters' dynamics. i feel like in the beggining of season one the team was basically just a group of girls who played soccer together. and, yes, i know there were friendhips inside the team even at the beggining, but excluding jackie and shauna's or tai and van's relationship, most of them seemed to only care or know the others on a mostly superficial level.

but with the crash we see how they get to the point where they start to work as an actual team. the best example is probably on episode 7, when theyre tracking/hunting the frog scientists.

throughout the seasons we can see how they start to form bonds with each other. and i feel like each character has a very intricate and unique dynamic with the rest.

all of this makes mari's death all the more painful. in the show's initial pit girl sequence, it was just a nameless, faceless, character being hunted by the rest.

but by season 3, like van said, its mari.

and her death is so important because she is the first one of the team to die in the wilderness, at their hands. because javi and coach never were a part of the team. and while jackie and laura lee were, they never got to actually become part of this team, the one that was forged in the time spent in the wilderness.

i think it will be very interesting how each character handles mari's death in season 4. i just can't wait to see it.

[the-honey-system]

THIS IS WHAT IVE BEEN SAYING.

bc yeah you can do whatever the fuck you want with characters. it's fictional, who cares? no-one gets hurt!!

but why do i never see people do this with other kinds of queer character? why do i never see people go "oh but sexuality is fluid" or "yeah she said she only ever sleeps with women but thats just sex, she could still like men romantically" or "yeah he shows discomfort when women flirt with him and he's only ever dated men, but he never explicitly said he was GAY, he could be bisexual, we don't know!!"

at the very, VERY least, if you have to ship an aroace character, you could at least put thought into it. you could do research on how their sexuality affects their relationship, you could portray their struggle on realising they actually want one, their awkwardness at doing something they've never done before and never had experiencing wanting before, you could even put them in a QPR (and do actual research into what these are like, not just ship them romantically and call it a QPR) to explore a new dynamic.

but i NEVER see this. and you know why? its fucking aphobia. these people don't actually care about aroace rep, even if they think they do. they just want to mash their dolls' faces together, regardless of whether they're erasing a major aspect of the character's identity in the process.

i get so, so excited when i see aroace characters in media, because i can literally count the number of aroace characters (in media that people have actually heard of, anyway) on one hand. but this shit makes it literally impossible to exist in that fandom. i'm just sick and tired of it.

I love fandom spaces but some people piss me off so badly. The particular people who piss me off are those who ignore characters' canon sexualities for the sake of shipping and/or hate healthy canon relationships because it interferes with their personal ships. Everyone always says they want more representation but, when we get it (especially aro/ace/aroace), they cover their eyes and ears because they don't like it.

"But aro/ace people can be in relationships/have sex!" Correct but that's not an excuse when a character has shown repulse to something like uninvited touch. Also, some people are sex repulsed or romance repulsed but allo people don't seem to care about that for the sake of a ship they personally like.

The reason this makes me so upset is that it seems to basically only be the case with characters who aren't allo. Why do you just assume every character wants a relationship? Why don't you ship lesbians with men or gays with women? Because it's homophobic?

You're being aphobic.

[batsandbirdbrains]

If you don't mind answering, what's your favorite platonic Dick Grayson relationship? I very much love the differing father/son vibes he has with both Bruce AND Damian, but I'm also a sucker for a good brotherly relationship like with Tim or Jason. Also can't go with the codependency he has with the Titans (or YJ)

Dick and Donna is one of my absolute fav pairs of bffs. I like that they’d both absolutely defend each other to the death, and that they’ve known each other since they were young. Love the Wonder Twins they’re def my fav platonic pair.

And I think Dick & Roy and Dick & Garth are under explored too. It’s always either Wally or Donna. And I like them don’t get me wrong, but I want to see Dick and Roy hanging out at a gala bc Bruce and Ollie dragged them there, and maybe they’re making fun of Lex Luthor who’s also there and then sneaking cigarettes in the alley behind the venue. Maybe Dick is super interested in Atlantis and Garth teaches him all about it, and Dick in turn helps Garth with some surface world stuff that he’s been nervous about.

I enjoy all of the fab five together though, the concept of a group of superhero bffs is so fun, especially since they started when they were all so young. They’ve def all trauma bonded. And I like fics where the fab five all know Bruce is a shitty dad and they do everything they can to keep Dick away from him/protect him/comfort him.

Dick & Damian are my fav pair of all the batkids. Probably because they parallel early days Bruce & Dick so much. But I think they’re so fascinating to read/think about regardless of whether they’re the correct ages with Dick being older and Damian being younger, or if it’s a reverse robins situation. They have a fun mix of brotherly affection and father-son dynamic.

I do of course also love Bruce & Dick being a weird mix of father-son and brothers too. But I also enjoy fics where Bruce is very clearly The Dad.

In a Young Justice cartoon setting, I actually really like when he’s good friends with Conner and Kaldur. I feel like his friendship with Wally is always the focus, and his relationships with other characters aren’t as explored. Especially in a platonic setting. I don’t want Dick and Conner to be dating, I want Conner to look at this fluttery kid who helped save him from Cadmus and think “I have to protect him now, look at him, he’s pint sized.” Nevermind the fact that Robin in yj is objectively a terrifying little weirdo, that’s Conner’s terrifying little weirdo. I want them to watch Dick grow up and become Nightwing and for them to be so proud of their friend. I want them to get mad at other heroes when they talk shit about Nightwing because that’s their best pal, their buddy, their bff.

Probably derailed this a bit sorry abt that. But I just love fics that explore his relationships with other people without making it romantic.

[amaranthsynthesis]

sex pollen as an avenue for pushing characters into sexual roles and expression they supress out of fear, either consciously or unconsciously. not even fuck or die but just let go of your tightly seized control and watch it all spin away OR witness in agony your own deprivations. survive after with the knowledge of how bad exactly you wanted it and how you refused the only plausibly deniable chance to take it, or if you DID take it then managing the awareness of how little it would take to indulge it again

just. the mental state when your body is doing something without your permission and against your will with insistent pleasure that rushes up against the horror and begins to errode it--can you return to normal after this? is it always going to be there? are you the same person you were before?

[iamespecter]

HELLO HELLO

First off, wanna sau I love your art. Absolute fire I eat that shi up every day.

Second, I'm quite new to ur page and I realise that ur whole page usually revolves around Pomni and Caine (ur page is the first time Ive ever seen this ship) which got me wondering, what about their dynamic do you like? Like what made you go like "Oh yeah I love/vibe Showtime so much"

Im falling in live with Showtime just by looking ay your art 🎀

Have a great day!! 🤍🤍🤍

It's the ADHD x Autism they got going on girllll

Jokes aside, I really like how.... flexible? A potential character/friendship/relationship dynamic between them would be. What I mean by that, is the fact that you can explore a TON of things surrounding them, and it'd bounce so easily because of them being opposites (yet also being similar).

I've always had a knack for shipping two characters when they have these subtle, yet present opposites/parallels/mirroring between their characterization.

For example, a bunch of the promotional art has them acting like these,

and these,

And not only is it entertaining to see them in these kinds of situations, everytime I see them 'interacting', my brain starts to think of ways in where 1) how a scene would play out if at least ONE of them cared for the other, and 2) how they both could find a middle ground that allows them to balance each other out based on just these snippets.

Don't forget the absurd amounts of potential hurt/comfort angsts too, especially in the theory space.

Since Pomni is the main protagonist who helps others in her own way, and Caine is the main antagonist who slowly sinks deeper into helplessness and insanity as the cast ignores/are blissfully unaware of the warning signs, well....

TL;DR: It's so fun to experiment with their dynamics-- ex. extrovert x introvert --especially in AU formats, and that's why I tend to gravitate towards them specifically.

I also just like m/f ships that I headcanon as bi4bi lmao

[three-semicolons]

Dick and Tim are amazing together.

Not doing another long post yet because that’s a lot of work, but I finished the third collection of Nightwing 1996 and I’m starting to realize just how close Dick and Tim are.

There’s an issue just called “The Boys”, and it’s where they go train surfing and Tim tells Dick that Stephanie is pregnant. They banter the whole issue. There are so many heartwarming interactions. I love it.

Besides the Robin-centric issue, Tim pops in and out all the time, and every interaction they have is so full of warmth on either end.

It makes me sad that brother interactions in fanon are essentially contained to Jason and Damian. I think the latter in particular makes sense; Damian is more recent, so his character is fresher and people are more recently reminded of Damian. Meanwhile, Tim is kind of non-existent in more recent comics and ESPECIALLY alternative media compared to his previous presence. So newer fans just aren’t familiar with their relationship.

(Admittedly I’m more “meh” on Jason post-resurrection but I totally get his character’s appeal. I’m just not a huge fan of his archetype.)

Still, Dick and Tim’s relationship is priceless. They’re my favorite inter-character interactions thus far. Dick is so patient and silly when showing Tim the ropes of being Robin, but he’s also kind of a little shit at times in the way any dorky older brother is. Tim is so open and self-conscious about his struggles, like with his family and his feelings about being Robin (both whether he’s good enough and whether he even wants to be a vigilante), and Dick is there every step of the way to assure him that he’s doing incredible. It’s such a healthy dynamic.

Anyways, more love to Dick and Tim. It almost makes me wish there was more content nowadays that’s pre-Damian and pre-Jason. Not that I dislike either character — I LOVE Damian in the Dick Grayson Batman and Robin run so much it’s not even funny — but I wish there was more of both I guess.

[mswyrr]

really enjoying the journey here. this was a transitional episode, so aside from the delight of it confirming some things i'd speculated about (Arada takes Pin-Lee for granted and Ratthi is there as a spur to growth out of that immature dynamic; Gurathin is head-over-heels in love with Mensah and trying to be chivalric about it), it raised more questions than it answered -- because episode 9 and 10 will be the pay-off for a lot of what this was setting up.

-somehow i've managed to actually avoid spoilers about (a) whether or not Murderbot did, in fact, kill those 57 miners and (b) if so, under what conditions -- i'm fascinated to watch whatever they're doing there unfold

-it might take into next season to fully explore such a fraught thing that Murderbot itself doesn't really remember or seem to understand though? and certainly its humans are struggling and might be struggling for a while with this... LOVED the way Noma played this moment

i like that she can have a moment of weakness -- i like that she's a complex human being and not the endlessly giving, perfect Mom to everyone parts of fandom want to her to be

personally, I think she's beating up on herself (and being UNFAIR to herself) for exposing her people to danger and letting her deep feeling of connection with Murderbot make her want to defend and include it -- but also, like, that was the *right* thing to do as well. And unfortunately there's no easy fix for their situation; there's no one thing she could have done to protect her people besides listen to Gurathin and not come on the mission at all. The circumstances aren't ones where, if she hadn't felt and cultivated that connection to Murderbot, the team would be safer.... actually, they'd probably dead already or with worse chances of survival!

And she hasn't ever treated it as a "pet" -- but, again, i think she's stressed beyond her endurance and brokenhearted at what she just saw and learned and really beating herself up in this moment. I don't think she's yelling at Ratthi primarily -- I think she's yelling at herself (and being really unfair to both -- because Ratthi hasn't treated Murderbot like a "pet" either!! He's a bit oblivious, but he's just a bit immature and really sweet but overly enthusiastic and oblivious with other people overall, human or bot! It's a character trait we see throughout his relationships)

-i think there's going to be a "twist" in the Sanctuary Moon plot.... John Cho is coming back, I can feel it! and i think that will coincide with things improving between Murderbot and the team, which.... the significance of its own life meaning enough to it emotionally that it can't focus on comfort tv because that's its "new show"? that's such a combo of "ow" and "aw"!

extremely seated with my popcorn and beverage for the next two episodes!

[anyarose011]

Born Too Late III: "It Ain't Me, Babe"

Pairing: DBF!Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: You're not out of the woods even after your roommate's crazy ex-boyfriend beat you to a pulp. Over a series of setbacks pushing you to the brink of several panic attacks (or is it just one really long one?), you still manage to find refuge in a few, safe people. But, in the words of Doechii "And just when it couldn't get worse", the worst possible person finds out about you and Robby...

Part 3 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Past Physical Assault, Blood, Inevitable Medical Inacuracies, Allusion/Mention of Sexual Assault, ANGST, Trent and Kimi, Reader has valid crashout(s), Healing of Daddy Issues?, Rant about a Real Criminology Concept, and a Realistic but Open-Ending.

I do have to say that this was one of my favorite stories to write on here. Not even for the purpose of Robby x Reader, I just loved the dynamics of all the characters and plot overall. I truly hope that the ending doesn't seem like a cop out; my intention was to write it as real as possible, especially since this all took place in one day. I'm tempted to write a prequel to this, showing all of the "missing scenes" alluded to throughout the story with Robby. We'll see how I feel lol. Thank you guys for ALL your interest, and hope you enjoy the ending! Sorry not sorry about the length, I yap 😭

Word Count: 9.2k

There were people you knew who had resting bitch faces. Dennis Whitaker was the first person you met to have a resting scared face.

That, and it was also because he asked you if you were okay, and you didn’t say anything.

He called your name. “Are you okay?”

Your mouth trembled as you tried to find the words. What left your lips must have been from the depths of your subconscious.

“Where-where’s my dad?”

You were outside of your body, but you couldn’t even see yourself. Hell, you didn’t feel like yourself.

Whitaker furrowed his brow. “Your…your dad?”

All you could do was nod.

“I’m not sure.” He responded gently. “Can I take your hand?”

You nodded, swallowing thickly. You wanted to cry, but you didn’t know why you couldn’t. Whitaker took your hand, leading you alongside him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in a bit; I know things have been crazy.” He smiled reassuringly.

“It’s okay.” You whispered.

“Have you eaten anything besides chocolate today?”

You shook your head. “Have you?”

“No.” He laughed. “We can go get something from one of the vending machines in the break room.”

“I want to go home.”

God, could you sound even more like a sniveling child?

Whitaker stopped just a few feet away from the elevator and so did you. He got a better look at you; either that, or he was finally saying everything he first noticed when he ran into you.

 “What happened to your nose?” He asked gently. “It’s kinda swollen.”

“I don’t know.”

Why did you say that so swiftly?

He frowned. “Were you crying just now? I think some of your mascara got onto your cheeks.”

Instinctively, you wiped your face with your free hand as if you would find any residue. You shook your head.

“It’s nothing.”

Whitaker took a deep breath, lowering his voice and saying your name. “I’m going to be honest, I think you should get checked out by someone here. It doesn’t have to be me, but I think something bad happened to you. You don’t have to tell me-.”

“-I’m fine.”

“But please, let me help you.”

It felt wrong, how he wanted to. No, it was his job to do that; there’s no way someone could see right through you when you were actually not doing well. You had relationships (friendships and romantic) where you had to earn the privilege of people caring for you.

You’d gotten used to it. Mainly with Kimi but also others who you thought were safe.

It felt like your skin was burning, and it was only then you realized you were still holding his hand. So, you dropped it.

“Thank you,” you felt like a puppet on strings as your mouth moved. “but really I’m fine.”

“Did you drive here?”

He wasn’t giving up.

“Yes.” You sighed. “I know what you’re doing, I can-.”

“-One of the guys on the night shift got here early and discharged me.” He interrupted, yet somehow, you weren’t annoyed. “We can go get your stuff and then get dinner. Anywhere you want, my treat. I mean, as long as it’s not like over a hundred bucks or something.”

You wondered if he was smiling out of nerves or trying to cheer you up. In your experience, it was usually both.

“I’ll drive.” You stated.

He thinned his lips. “You had a rough day; I can do it.”

You snorted. “So, if you’re driving my car, how are you getting home?”

“I’ll call an Uber.”

Usually, you would’ve made a joke about his male privilege and being so carefree about taking an Uber home late at night, but circumstances didn’t allow you to. Still, as if it hadn’t been one of the worst days of your life, a watery smile pulled onto your lips.

The ‘ding!’ of the elevator beside you made your head turn, and the doors slid open. Standing there, was Trent, seething. Blood coursed down from his nose to his chin, and where you once saw nothing behind his eyes, they were now filled with the rage you knew all too well.

You met his gaze the same time your soul left your body.

“You fucking bitch!” He charged you.

It happened all so fast.

Trent was just a hair away from you one moment, the next, Whitaker flung you behind him. You landed onto the ground, and when you looked up, you saw Whitaker go face first onto the floor beside you.

Crying in horror, you grabbed onto a nearby cart and pulled yourself onto your feet. Everything playing in your ears was simply noise; people were yelling and screaming, but you couldn’t make out a word they were saying.

It was only your eyes you could trust.

If they did not deceive you, you watched Jack Abbott tackle Trent to the ground; the first one to do so…When did he get there?

And, it was then that your vision began to blur as tears clouded your sight, that part of your hearing returned. As you stood there, with Jack holding Trent down, for verbatim, you heard.

“Did you get off my little girl when she told you to?!”

Someone wrapped their arm around your shoulders, turning you away, but something in your body told you that they were safe. You could barely see anything as you were led through the ER; only hazy objects and blaring lights. Someone was talking in your ear too, but again, it was just all noise upon the noise coming from the catastrophe behind you.

 You hadn’t even realized you were clinging to the person like a buoy in an ocean you were stranded in until you heard a door slide shut behind you. Like a miracle, your vision started clearing up, and air entered through your nose and into your lungs.

Then, the taste of blood on your tongue.

You touched your nose, pulling your hands away to see them coated in red.

Melissa King gently called your name, placing her hand on your back.

“You should sit down.” She moved away from you to dim the lights, and your eyes caught sight of one Heather Collins in the room as well, prepping one of the beds.

Somehow, just at the sight of a medical bed, did you finally realize how much everything hurt.

Yet, you couldn’t rest.

The little girl, practically a baby, the one who got stung by a bee, you had to make sure she was okay, you had to-!

Collins rested her hands on your shoulders, stopping you. “It’s okay. Robby checked on her a minute ago, she’s fine. You need to sit down.”

Did you say all of that aloud? Could she read your mind? Oh God, if she could, then does she know-?!

“-Holy fucking shit!” Santos opened the door, and you never knew her face could morph into such fear. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head. “Is Dennis okay?!”

He threw himself in front of you and was fucking pummeled to the floor!

Santos looked out the door before looking back. “I’m gonna be honest, his nose kinda looks messed up. But hey, you’re twinning.”

“Santos!” Collins scolded.

“Right, you’re right.” She nodded. “I’m so sorry I-.”

“-I heard you had a spinal tap to do.” Collins interrupted.

“I’ll go.” Santos gave one last look to you. “I’ll talk to you later, I swear.”

And then she left. It wasn’t the strangest, nor the quickest, interaction you had with someone…but fucking hell, this day.

Mel said your name again, but this time, strained. You looked at her and saw her gaze downwards at your pants. Following it, you saw blood seeping through the fabric around your groin.

Your jaw trembled as you looked back up at both her and Collins. As professionals, you knew they had seen worse than this. As women, you could see that familiar look of horror on their faces.

“He didn’t do anything.” Were your first words. “Not like that.”

“Baby…” Collins uttered.

“No, no,” You resisted. “I’m on my period! I-I-Mel, you gave me a pad this morning. I got him off me and-and I got it out and put it in his face so he’d stay off. I-I-I mean he bragged about pulling a girl’s tampon out of his mouth one time, so I didn’t think he’d overreact.”

What were you even saying?!

“I’ve had sex before! I-I would know, I would know if that bastard did something to me and-and-!” You hiccupped, feeling more blood seep through your nose and into your mouth.

“It’s okay,” Collins soothed. “we believe you. Can you sit down so I can assess you?”

What other choice did you have?

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you tried to catch the blood still gushing out of your nose before it could get on more of your clothes. Too late for that.

Mel went to one of the drawers nearby as Collins held up her finger. “Follow it.”

You did; passed with flying colors.

“EOM is intact.” She told herself, then took a mini flashlight from her pocket, shining it in your eyes. “Pupils are reactive. Do you have a headache?”

“Kinda.”

“Does it hurt to breathe through your nose?”

“Weird, but doesn’t hurt.”

Mel came beside you with a handful of tissues and a nasal tampon. “I’m going to clean up the area around your nose, and this should pack the bleeding.”

You hummed. “You got one for me to put between my legs?”

She shook her head.

“Extra pants?”

Collins slipped off her sweatshirt, draping it over your legs. “I got some in my locker, plus a pad.”

You nodded, getting choked up. “Thank you.”

“Mel,” she looked at her. “could you finish up?”

She affirmed. “Of course.”

“I’ll grab some icepacks.”

Collins left, leaving you alone with Mel. It felt strange; both your body and the entire day. Still, Mel wasn’t one to dwell on it, unlike you.

She brought the tissues up to your nose. “Your gonna feel some pressure.”

You grunted as she placed the Kleenex onto your nostrils. The white tissues turned red, and she carefully slid the tampon into your left nostril. Apparently, that was the only one bleeding.

Mel placed her thumbs on your face. “Tell me when you feel pressure.”

They traveled up around the area of your nose, and it was only when she touched the septum did you hiss in pain. Mel walked back over to the drawer, then taking out a few wet wipes.

“Well,” she hunched over, cleaning the blood off of you as gently as she could. “it’s not misshapen, so that’s good. It’s not broken either. Swollen and bruised, but all you really need are icepacks and I could get you some pain medication.”

“Could you take pictures?” You asked out of the blue.

 “I’m sorry?”

“Police usually take pictures of injuries for evidence, but could you?” You explained. “I just want to get it out of the way.”

Mel nodded. “Yeah, of course. Is it just your nose?”

You sighed. “No. It might be my head, I don’t know. He kicked me in the ribs…I think…yes, he did.”

“If you feel comfortable, would you want me to take pictures of those too?”

“Yes.” You said with certainty.

She backed up enough to give you space, taking out her phone. You decided to start with your ribs. They were tender, but thankfully, it wasn’t impossible to pull your shirt up. After Mel took a picture, you pulled it back down and she took a few photos of your nose and head.

“This is the worst photoshoot I’ve ever been in.” You joked.

“I’ve never been in one.” She stated.

“Let’s change that when the weather’s better.”

“Alright.” She put her phone away. “Now-.”

The door slid open, and in came Kimi like a bat out of hell.

“-What the hell did he do to you?!” She approached you.

Mel placed her hand on her shoulder. “You can’t be in here-.”

“-Fuck you, she’s my roommate.” She kneeled in front of you. “Baby, what happened?”

You hadn’t realized there was a long list of people you didn’t want to see at that moment, and she was near the top. You looked away, scowling and slipping the tampon out of your nose. Luckily, the blood finally stopped.

She didn’t take that as you being angry with her. She huffed. “Motherfucker. What’d you say to him?”

You finally looked at her. “What?”

“I’m just asking.” She explained. “He’s never done this before when I was a bitch, so you probably pissed him off-.”

You laughed. “-You’re an idiot.”

Kimi’s eyes shifted. At first, she was confused, then it quickly seeped into appalment. “What do you mean?”

You fell into a fit of giggles like Alice did down the rabbit hole. “I have told you hundreds, thousands, of times that whenever Trent hit something near you or me, then he actually wanted to hit one of us!”

Standing up, you weren’t laughing now. “And my God, I have never met someone who hates themselves so much, they bring a baby into the world for validation. But no, no, no, they’re not expecting to get it from the kid, they’re so fucking stupid they still think they’ll get it from the dad!”

The door slid open gently, and Collins came back in, carrying the pants, a single pad, and an ice pack. She said nothing.

Kimi didn’t lash out, and that’s what terrified you. Tears flew down her cheeks as you yelled at her, but she took a deep breath once you were finished.

“So, what should I do? Fuck my fifty-year-old boss?” She huffed. “How’s that working out for you?”

She marched out of the room, past Collins.

A part of you wished that Trent had killed you in the bathroom; you couldn’t feel shame if you were dead.

If not that, then you wished he somehow blinded you; just so that you wouldn’t have to see the way Heather Collins’s face dropped at the revelation.

Those two seconds in that room were brutal after Kimi left. Just where your gaze could only fall to the floor, and you didn’t even want to imagine the looks Mel and Collins were giving each other; or you.

“She has whiplash.” Collins said. “She can’t leave alone unless she signs an AMA.”

Just like that, you felt Mel hover her hand over your shoulder before retracting it and rushing out of the room. You stood there like a child who had just been yelled at, and didn’t dare to even breathe.

“How about we put these on?”

And Heather spoke to you like you were still one, but not with any hint of disdain in her voice. Hesitantly, you looked up and saw her holding the pants out to you. With shaking hands, you took them in yours.

She picked up her sweatshirt from the floor. “I’ll cover you. You can turn around if that makes you more comfortable.”

You nodded, and she draped the sweatshirt in front of you, giving you privacy from any peering eyes outside. Slowly, after getting your pants down to your knees, you slipped your underwear down; your ribs aching with every move. You managed to secure the pad, and as you tried to pull your pants all the way down, the sharpness in your side forced a hiss out of you.

“You need help?” She asked.

You shook your head immediately but seethed and clutched your ribs when you tried again. Collins set her sweatshirt aside, placing a comforting hand on your back and dropping down.

“I got it.”

She helped you out of your bloodied pants, and you placed your hands on her shoulders as you put one leg into each hole of the pants she got for you. Your eyes watered at the familiar feeling; how old were you the last time you did this? Seven? It’s so strange to remember such a small thing as your mother dressing you, not knowing when it would be the last time.

“There we go.” Collins smiled, standing back up, then guiding you to sit back down on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” You finally managed to say, even if it was barely above a whisper.

She shook her head, handing you an ice pack. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

She hates you. You told yourself.

You saw Kiara come to the door, and your heart leapt into your chest. She waited as Collins cracked it open, and they talked in hushed tones. In the end, Kiara came in and she sat at your side.

You had to cross your arms to keep yourself from throwing them around her. You doubt she would’ve cared, but it was strange; at that moment, you wanted to be held, but still would’ve felt like you were suffocating.

“Hey.” She greeted gently.

“Where is he?” You asked.

 “Well,” she began, not knowing exactly who you were asking for. “Whittaker’s being checked on, and he won’t stop asking if you’re alright. Trent was secured in a room, but the police just arrived so he’s in custody now. They want to talk to you, is that okay?”

You nodded. “If it’s a fucking man, I’m leaving.”

“There’s a woman.” She comforted. “She already volunteered to speak with you. At any point, if you want to stop-.”

“-I won’t.”

She said your name, warning but not to scare you. “I know you want justice; we all do. Still, you have to do what is best for you in the moment. You have every right to react the way you need to. Do you want Dr. Collins to be in here?”

You shook your head.

“Alright.” Kiara looked at her. “Could you send in officer Moreno, please?”

Collins nodded. “I’ll be back to check on you.”

Before you could say that her shift was over, she left. There you sat with Kiara, staring at an empty corner of the room. Without thinking, you laid your head on her shoulder. She said nothing; just ran her hand up and down your back as the officer came in.

It was different being the one to tell the police what happened to you. You were either in the cop’s position asking questions, or Kiara’s, just being a support for the other person.

Officer Moreno was nice enough. She never pushed you, but she wasn’t exactly comforting either. You understood she just wanted everything to write a report for, but you knew this wouldn’t be the last person you’d have to talk to.

The more you spoke about what happened to you in the last fifteen minutes (fuck…was that all it’d been?), the heavier your body became. You didn’t even feel a hint of fear or sadness within you; just the aching in your nose, and the exhaustion that swept over you.

Officer Moreno asked to take photos of your injuries, and you told her you’d taken them already, saying you’d give them to her.

“You’re efficient.” She complimented.

I have to be; you wouldn’t do anything if I wasn’t. You said in your head, but aloud you uttered. “Thanks.”

She left you with a phone number to send pictures to the police, a case number if you “remember anything else”, and a “Goodnight.”

That left you and Kiara together.

“Where’s Kimi?” You asked.

“She was calling her mom to pick her up last time I checked.” She answered. “Do you need a ride home?”

You shook your head. “I’ll get my dad to.”

“Dr. Abbott’s on call right now.”

Of course she knows.

“I can do it.” She offered.

“Kiara.” You said. “I’ll call a friend from my building.”

“I just want you to get home safe.”

“I will.” You smiled. “You’ve been here longer today. Go home.”

She sighed, standing. “You’re not coming in tomorrow. I’ll get Zidan to escort you out if you do.”

You forgot who that was for a moment, until you remembered him as the security guard. You were going to have to make him cookies or something; he probably had to deal with not just Trent, but a million other people.

Kiara said goodbye, giving you one last look before leaving. Just as you stood up to escape, Collins came back inside, carrying your purse and lunchbox.

“I’m sorry, I got the code from Jack.” She set them down. “How’re you feeling?”

You don’t know why, you had been asked that damn question countless times that day, but Collins asking it was the final nail in the coffin. Hours of repressed tears finally escaped your eyes, and you covered your mouth.

She immediately placed her hands on your arms, looking over you. “Are you in pain?”

“I’m sorry.” You hiccupped, rubbing your eyes.

“There’s nothing to-.”

“-Yes, there is!” You sobbed, and everything came out like a confession in a Catholic church. “I-I didn’t know you and Robby were together. I-I didn’t even know that he’d be a supervisor, or-or that I’d work with him, or even-or even that…”

Collins wrapped her arms around you, and you hid your head in her shoulder. She shushed. “I’m not mad.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No,” she pulled away, still holding onto you. “I’m not.”

You searched her face. You couldn’t find a hint of anger, but you knew she had to have felt something towards you. “Weren’t-weren’t you together…?”

“Not for a long time.” She shook her head.

You rubbed your face with your sleeve; you had cried all of your mascara off. Sighing, you picked up your belongings.

“I’ll wash your pants. Thanks.”

She laid a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Just wait a little bit.”

“You’re done with your shift, I’m done with mine.” You shrugged her off. “I’ll call a friend, I won’t drive.”

Except you would.

Collins said your name, and you only wished her goodnight, walking out the door. It was a miracle no one was instantly surrounding you, asking for answers to questions you had no energy to even listen to. You were making your way to the door to Chairs when-.

Your name left your stepfather’s mouth. You glanced to the side and saw him making a beeline towards you from across the room. Without any uncertainty, you turned around and walked back where you came from.

Like a demon in the night, you felt panic fester within you once again, just when you thought it was all over. You weren’t running, but your legs began to burn alongside your chest as you tried to find the nearest exit.

You pushed your way outside and found yourself in the ambulance bay. Still, despite there being only two paramedics and one security guard, there were still too many people. Your vision blurred once again, and you limped against the wall until you found the small opening to the alleyway.

Collapsing against the brick wall, you dropped everything you were holding and hid your eyes in your hands.

And you cried; really, truly cried.

Then crying turned into sobbing, then to weeping, then into you having to cover your mouth as you started wailing. You didn’t know when the walls of the alleyway started closing in on you, and neither did you know if it was your own shame or the walls crushing you to the point where it hurt to breathe.

You couldn’t even think. Every time you panicked, the weight of the world and all of your actions came into your head like a horrible flicker. Not now; no, there was nothing but white, hot pain.

“Put your head between your legs.”

They were just words. You couldn’t recognize the voice, but you listened. Knees bent, you bowed your head.

“Breathe.” The voice said, and it sounded deeper. “In and out. In and out.”

You did. The countless times you had to coach someone through an anxiety attack coming back to you.

It must’ve been another minute before you could feel your heart slow down and hear the ordinary sounds of the night; a pleasant mix of the bugs on the ground beside you, and a near-distant ringing of an ambulance.

“Rough day?”

It was Robby. That was the voice who had guided you through the second panic attack that day…or was it your third? Or had you just been in one that lasted a full half-hour?

You laughed upon looking at him, shaking your head and drying your eyes.

He offered a pitiful smile. “That bad?”

“Yeah.” You heaved. “Does this mean I’m doing a good job at coping if I’m laughing?”

Robby shrugged. “If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.”

“I’ve done too much of that today.”

He nodded, not saying anything. You rested your head against the brick wall. Maybe it was better that you saw him after all the shit that hit you in such a short amount of time. In the end, tears and all, the whole day was just ridiculous.

“Do you want me to tell you what happened?” You asked.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He looked at you.

Sighing, you realized that, yes, you actually did.

“I wasn’t sexually assaulted.” You said it so easily. “It just…hurt, what he did. Nothing’s broken but I still feel like shit and it’s…it’s funny. I apologized. I was so unprofessional towards him, and I apologized, but he still did this. I did everything right and he still did this!”

Robby shook his head. “Don’t go down that road. Nothing you did to him could ever justify what he did to you.”

“No,” you didn’t even listen, tone laced with sarcasm. “I did so many things wrong now that I think about it. ‘Christie’s Ideal Victim, 1986’; there are five things that make the perfect victim. ‘She, always a she, is physically weaker than the attacker’; gold mine if she’s a kid or a grandma, so I did that wrong. ‘The victim is doing a respectable task when the attack happens’: I was having a mental breakdown, so debatable. ‘Next, the attack happens in a place she could not be blamed for being in’; I was in a sketchy as fuck bathroom in the basement, so yeah, my fault. ‘The offender is physically stronger’; holy shit, he was, so I did that one right! ‘Finally, the victim has no prior relationship to the offender; he is a stranger.’ Well shit, I failed the perfect victim test.”

He sighed, saying your name.

“I’m not done.” You said, voice shaking. “Now I added my own qualifications to this obviously bullshit concept we were taught for ‘educational purposes despite how out of date it is’. What did I add, you’re asking? Only pretty girls, only nice girls, only virgin girls, and only white girls. Those are the only girls that apparently are the perfect victims to a lot of people. It’s been almost forty years, and there are still people who believe it.”

Robby’s gaze never left you, even when you looked away from him, talking to the actual brick wall in front of you. Yet…he listened. He was quiet after you finished, but only to let you breathe.

“I didn’t know any of that.” He finally said. “It’s horrible.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry, that teaching just always stuck with me and…”

“It came out tonight?” He asked.

“Yeah…” You brought your knees to your chest. “I’m gonna have to see Trent and Kimi again. Court, I think.”

“If you ever need-.”

“-I need a cigarette,” you tried to diffuse the pain, despite bringing it up. “that’s what I need.”

He scoffed. “Should’ve asked me five years ago. Anything else I could get for you?”

“Is there a Jewish prayer that kills someone?”

“You smoke and you’re religious?” He feigned shock, but you could still see inklings of it on his face. “Didn’t know you had so many secrets.”

“Answer the question, Robinavitch.”

“No.” He huffed. “Not that I know of, at least.”

“I’m not really religious either.” You sighed. “After the day I had though…”

He nodded. “I’ve been there.”

“You’ve been a girl lost in her twenties before?”

“I’m a son-of-a-bitch in my fifties, and I’m still lost.”

As if you shared a mind, you both laughed. It wasn’t loud or even jubilant; more so just an acknowledgement of how weird the whole situation was. There was a sense of familiarity with how you were talking to him.

How you and Michael joked around but also were capable of serious conversations, whether it was about personal struggles or just current events.

Now though? As you sat in an alleyway just outside of the place you discovered who Robby really was? There was more of an honesty; a shameless one.

“Makes sense,” you wheezed. “we fucked each other.”

Although he was getting over his laughter, he still asked. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Your smile began to fall, but somehow, you couldn’t lose it fully. Call it insanity, or call it nerves, you still spoke with it.

“I mean…I actually liked you.” You admitted, and instead of feeling horrible, it felt better to finally say it. “I slept with you because you were nice, and you made me feel safe, not just because I had an itch or something. I knew we wouldn’t date or anything, but…I just really liked you.”

Robby had a horrible poker face when it came to women; he told you that when you first caught him smiling in a way you’d never seen a man smile at you before. Now, he was looking at you, face fallen into…not exactly pity, but something alike to it.

He took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt you; it was never my intention.”

“…You kissed my forehead the next morning, then left. I saw the note saying I could stay but…I felt stupid just waiting for you, so I went home. You didn’t leave me your number or anything else, then I didn’t see you again.” You sounded more confused than wounded. “I know I was stupid. You probably just wanted to feel younger and-.”

“-It mattered to me.” He stopped you. “Yes, there’s no way we can keep this up; I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. Don’t think that I regretted it, or that it didn’t mean anything to me. I liked you too.”

You genuinely didn’t expect him to be so vocal about it. It would’ve been easier for him to just nod and agree that it was nothing more than a primal feeling; no emotions on his side. Still, there he was, openly admitting it all.

You breathed in through your nose, despite how strange it felt. “I wish I was born the same year you were.”

Robby kept his eyes on your form, and when you glanced over at him, you wondered if his response would be ‘Me too.’

But it wasn’t.

“I wouldn’t have been good for you.” He confessed.

“Why not?”

He said your name, shaking his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

You swallowed, knowing that he meant it. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s…” He sighed heavily. “You’re going to find the right person one day, and they’ll be your age-.”

A laugh left your mouth. Except, it wasn’t a spiteful or doubtful one, even Robby could tell. It was the most genuine and honest one you felt that day.

“I fucking knew it!” You bragged.

He snorted. “What?”

“You had to have had that line in the holster or something.”

“Maybe I’ve just seen too many movies.” He laughed with you.

The both of you just sat there in the peculiar change of emotions. Of course it wasn’t the strangest thing to happen to you that day. To add to it, you said.

“I’m wearing your ex-girlfriend’s pants. She and Dr. King know, by the way.” He snapped his gaze at you, and you thought he was going to go into cardiac arrest. You shrugged. “Collins she…it’s probably just because I got the shit beaten out of me, but she acted like she didn’t care.”

Robby looked back at the brick wall, taking it all in. After a while he said. “That’s why she looked like she was gonna kill me a second ago.”

You snorted. “When?”

“Before you ran out here.” He clarified. “Jack saw you, I told him I’d talk to you because he was technically on duty, Heather comes out guns blazing saying something like ‘Don’t say a word to her,’. She tried to go after you, but I managed to get her to go home.”

You pursed your lips, surprised at Collins’ protectiveness. “Wanna divide and conquer? I talk to King, you talk to Collins?”

He nodded. “Sounds good. You uh…you gonna be alright? Going home?”

Looking down at your shoes, you took a bit to think. You didn’t really want to go back to your apartment, and maybe Kimi would stay home with her mom…but you were immature, you had just been beaten to a pulp, and you didn’t want to talk to her on the small chance she was at your apartment.

“Yeah, I mean…” It was second nature to avoid the conflict, but you caught yourself. “I know Trent won’t be there, hopefully never again, but I don’t know how I feel around Kimi. I was a piece of shit for what I said, but I don’t know how safe I’ve felt around her for a while. I told her how I felt about her boyfriend, she saw how he treated both of us, and I feel horrible she’s with him, but I won’t be collateral damage again.”

Robby nodded, taking a deep breath. “I might be overstepping, and I get if it’s a last resort, but if you ever feel unsafe at your apartment, you’re welcome to sleep at mine.”

You furrowed your brow, scoffing. “Is that really professional?”

“Just be respectful; and unless you’re dying, you’re on the couch.”

You both chuckled, the overall day only becoming more ludicrous by the second. You decided to add onto it.

“So, save for Collins and King,” you held your pinky up. “swear to never tell anyone about us?”

He snickered. “Really?”

“Yeah, mutually assured destruction. Whoever tells, has their pinky broken.”

 “Makes perfect sense.” He locked his pinky with yours. “Do we have to swear on anything or-?”

“-Nope.” You let go. “Pinky sworn.”

It felt natural after that, how you moved to hug him with no hesitance. He responded in kind, enveloping you into his arms. It felt…different. When you thought of it, the only times you really embraced were in moments of desperation, passion, even.

Now, it was quiet. For the first time that day, you felt at peace; both in your body, and inside his arms.

When he pressed his lips to your cheek just for a second, while it brought back memories, it was simply innocent.

He pulled away first from you, and you rubbed your eyes. “Thanks. Sorry about everything.”

“Don’t be.” He said. “‘Let everything happen to you, beauty and terror. Just keep going, no feeling is final.’”

“Oh hell yeah,” you smiled. “Jojo Rabbit.”

He furrowed his brow, not hiding his amusement. “Rainer Maria Rilke.”

“Yeah, it was in Jojo Rabbit.”

“Really? Haven’t seen it.”

“Oh, you’d love it. It’s about a little German boy in the 1940s who has an imaginary friend, and you’ll never guess who it is!”

“I don’t think I want to know who it is.” He chuckled.

You hummed, feeling just a little better. You looked around the alleyway, feeling as if you weren’t outside of an ER. “No wonder this is Jack’s favorite place to have a mental breakdown.”

“I would’ve thought the roof?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, you saw that he wanted to take them back.

You blinked. “The…what?”

Well, there was something you had to talk to Jack about. It certainly wouldn’t be that night; too much to unpack.

“You didn’t hear it from me.” Was all Robby said, standing up and holding his hand out to you.

Sighing, you took it. “Think he’ll say more to me, or to you?”

“Whenever I find him up there,” he pulled you up. “I just guilt trip him into not jumping because that’s a horrible way to start a shift.”

“On parr with finding out you screwed the new hire?”

“Don’t push it.”

You snickered. “I’ll leave you alone. Have a good night.”

He wished you one as well, watching you go back into the ER, carrying all of your belongings. It seemed about as chaotic as you had known the night shift to be; although, it wasn’t even seven-thirty. There was one more person you wanted to see before you left.

Turns out though, there were two more who needed to speak with you.

“We’re not gonna ask if you’re okay because you’ll probably have an aneurysm.” Trinity Santos came up to you with Dennis Whitaker at her side. Her hair was down.

 “Okay?” You snickered, then looked at Whitaker. “Hey…thanks. I’m sorry your nose is fucked.”

He shook his head, offering a shy smile. “Don’t be. My brothers have hit me harder.”

“Aw, he’s just being modest.” Santos draped her arm around his shoulder. “He’s a regular ol’ Superman.”

“More like Clark Kent.” He corrected.

“Same person, Huckleberry.” She counter corrected. “Okay, so medically speaking, how are you doing?”

You pursed your lips. “Medically, my nose isn’t broken but always needs an icepack, I kinda have a headache, and my ribs hurt. Emotionally…everything.”

Santos nodded, a forlorn feeling upon her face; but somehow, you didn’t feel like she was pitying you. “I was about to beat the shit out of that guy if I didn’t have a baby coming in at the same time for a spinal tap. But we-Dennis has a proposition for you.”

All eyes fell on the poor boy whose nose bore a similar, semi-swollen resemblance to yours. He stumbled a little until he found the right words.

“We sometimes get together after a shift and watch a movie to decompress. We get food, and the person who had the worst day gets to choose the movie. We uh…we kinda appointed you, if you want to come. It wouldn’t be anything huge, just the three of us. That might be too much, and maybe you’re exhausted-.”

“-Oh,” you interrupted, crossing your arms. “so the only reason you’re inviting me to this secret movie club is because I got the shit beaten out of me?”

“No!” Whitaker gasped. “I-we just thought it’d be good to help overall after a stressful shift-.”

“Huckleberry,” Santos snickered. “she’s just fucking with you.”

He paused. “Oh…”

You smiled. “I’d love to. I uh…I technically shouldn’t be driving but my car’s here-.”

“-Do you mind stopping at Target to get some snacks?” Santos asked.

Pleasantly surprised by her question, you chuckled. “Um, no?”

“No sorry,” she laughed at herself. “I mean that I’ll drive your car, but is it okay if we get snacks on the way back to my place?”

“Oh! Yeah, sounds good.”

“Great!” She slipped her keys out of her pocket, holding them out to Whitaker. “You remember how to drive something other than a tractor, right?”

He made a face. “I’ve never driven a tractor before.”

“Bullshit, you told me you did.”

He shrugged. “Nebraska doesn’t even exist, why would I know how to drive a tractor?”

The conversation from earlier that day came to mind, and you saw in his eyes that he had it in mind as well. You smiled, turning your face down to hide it from the world. It had been a while since you had an inside joke with someone.

Whitaker took the keys. “I’m just kidding. Yeah, I’ll meet you guys there.”

“See you soon.” You wished him goodbye. Santos gave him a nod before he left. She turned to you, a shit eating grin on her face. You frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Ready to go?”

“Actually, I need to talk to someone first.”

“Who?”

Ah fuck it, You decided.

“My stepdad.” You answered. “He works the nightshift.”

“Damn! Who?”

You smirked. “You’re welcome to follow me at a distance to see.”

She made a face as if debating it. “Nah, I’ll give you privacy.”

Smiling, you nodded. “I’ll see you out front?”

“See you.”

She left through the doors into Chairs. Sighing, you began your search for Jack. On the way, you said a quick ‘hello’ to Ellis and went to check up on the little girl who had a bee sting. She was still there, speaking with the same police officer you had.

Your name cut through the air, and you looked to your right, seeing Jack approaching you. He wore the same look on his face you’d only seen on parents who had just lost their child in a supermarket only to soon find them.

“Hey.” He greeted once he stood in front of you.

“Hi…” You said. “Uh…is it okay to talk? I don’t know if you’re busy-.”

“-Unless Death himself comes into the ER, we’re gonna talk.”

Jack Abbott had technically only been a father for a few years (who knows if you can even count all of them considering you barely were at home after high school?), but he somehow managed to perfectly blend his strict tone into one of reassurance.

So, the two of you walked into the breakroom, and he spoke first.

“How was the shift?”

You smiled, sitting at the table. “Aside from getting the shit beaten out of me by my roommate’s boyfriend? Pretty okay.”

He sat beside you. “That’s a win in my book.”

That was the thing you and Jack had in common the second your mom introduced you to him: dark humor. You never hated him, but you never exactly got close with him. Maybe it was time to change that?

“Are you still in any pain?” He asked.

“Nose is getting a little better but is still sore, and so are my ribs.”

Jack nodded. “You got a ride home tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m actually gonna go hang out with Santos and Whitaker at their place, and then…” You couldn’t finish it. What were you going to do? You didn’t have the strength anymore to lie, saying you’d drive back to your apartment where Kimi might be.

You refused to stay with Robby, maybe Santos and Whitaker would take pity on you?

“I don’t know.” You choked on your words. “I said some horrible things to Kimi, but she also blamed me for what Trent did, and I…I don’t wanna go back to the apartment.”

Jack’s eyes softened. “You still got a key to the house?”

“Yours? Yeah.”

 “If you want to, your room’s still the same.”

You hadn’t slept in it since your mother died. You’d sometimes drive home from college and sleep over, so both your mom and Jack left it alone.

“You didn’t change it?” You couldn’t believe it.

He shrugged. “It’d take more effort to turn it into something else. I mean, it’s probably dusty as hell, but your bed’s still there, all your weird little trinkets and stuff from high school too.”

You scoffed. “It’s only weird to you, grandpa.”

“Sure, Jan.”

Both of you snickered, falling back into a rhythm you hadn’t known you lost. As it died down, Jack asked.

“But, you’re doing okay, kiddo? If you want to talk about it-.”

“-Not tonight.” You interrupted. “It’s just a lot but…you’ve probably seen worse.”

Jack looked like he wanted to say more, but he held back. It would’ve led down a farther hole of trauma, which you both knew you could not deal with. Instead, he asked. “You do anything I taught you?”

You grinned. “Yeah. Kicked his knee in and got creative with what I had around me.”

“Your pad, I heard.”

“It was his own fault he dabbled in fuckery!”

“Certainly was.”

“What…happened to him?”

Jack’s face grew sullen. Breathing through his nose, he said. “I got to him first and Robby had to pry me off. Bastard’s lucky he didn’t get a taste of my right foot.”

Damn…he was serious.

“Police took him away; I didn’t even get a slap on the wrist because he assaulted both you and a student doctor.”

You nodded. “Thank you...”

“Don’t mention it.”

You both fell into a tender yet awkward silence. There was so much but also nothing to say. It was actually Jack who tried to end the conversation.

“Well,” he stood. “I don’t wanna keep you from your new friends-.”

“-Would you wanna get breakfast sometime?”

It just fell from your mind and out of your mouth. You were hungrier than you thought and also wanted to spend time with him.

Despite working several shifts with Jack, and knowing him for years, you never saw him so surprised. Still, his face soon relaxed into one of mild glee.

“I’d love to, kiddo. How does tomorrow after my shift sound?”

Your eyes grew. “Really? You wouldn’t want to sleep in or something?”

“There’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

You weren’t going to cry, you had decided. Your stepfather, and essentially everyone else who had comforted you that night, were making it incredibly difficult.

“Do you need a hug?” He asked upon seeing your face; and most likely your attempt at repressing tears.

You shook your head. “I’ll bawl my eyes out again, and I gotta be somewhere after this.”

He hummed. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass you now, would I?”

“Well…” You placed your hand on his shoulder, attempting to still have physical affection without being overly vulnerable.

The awkward act, alongside a beat of silence, caused a fit of giggles to erupt between both of you. You must’ve laughed this hard with him at some point, but you couldn’t remember.

“I have therapy tomorrow at ten-thirty anyway.” He said, recovering.

“How’s it been?” You asked.

“Fine, nothing out of the ordinary.”

You nodded. “I’m really proud of you for going. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

He shifted in his seat but smiled. “Honestly, with what you’d been studying, it helped convince me. It sounds like the bare minimum for everyone if they’re able to go.”

Smiling, you teased. “You’re doing great; you’re raising my standards for men.”

“That a fact?”

You hummed. “If you didn’t start going to therapy, I would’ve married the first military man who asked, even if I only met him three weeks ago.”

“Hell no,” he played along. “eight weeks, I told you that.”

“Would you have proposed to my mom that quickly if you met her before you were deployed?”

“I would’ve married your mother sooner because I loved her.”

“Did you think that while you were dating her?”

“Of course I did.” He leaned forward, saying your name. “There are some people in this world who know in an instant who they want to spend the rest of their life with.”

You pursed your lips, thinking back to Robby, and everyone else you had ever dated in your life. “I don’t think I’m one of them.”

“And that’s okay.”

Sighing, you looked down at your watch and immediately stood with your belongings. “I should go. Hey…thanks for everything.”

Jack got up with you. “Don’t mention it. You got a ride?”

“Yeah, Santos. She’s driving my car.”

“Are you gonna sleep at the house tonight?”

“Uh huh.” You walked out of the breakroom, and he followed. “I’ll pick you up after your shift and we can get breakfast.”

“Are you okay to drive home?”

You turned to face him in the hall as you approached the door to Chairs. “I’ll be fine. If anything bad happens, I’ll call Ellis because you don’t have your phone on you, and she can tell you. Okay?”

Jack sighed. “Just doing my job, kiddo. Have you figured out which shift you want to do?”

That was the question. You’d done a week’s worth of the night shift, and only one day shift. You enjoyed people on both, and had personal history with both of the attendings…

“I think the day mostly.” You said. “I can’t come back in tomorrow, but I will after that. I think I like the vibe more. But, I’d also like to do at least one night shift a month; maybe two.”

Independence, but also not ignoring your stepfather’s existence.

Jack smiled. “I think that sounds reasonable. Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Jack.”

You’d work your way up to ‘dad’, and even the casual ‘I love you’. Still, it was more than apparent both of you were wholeheartedly fine with where you were at. Progress, that was what was being done.

Finally, you made your way out to the front of the hospital, and there was Santos, leaning against a streetlamp. She smiled, approaching you.

“How’s your daddy?”

You snorted. “He’s doing fine. How was your shift?”

She began walking to the parking lot with you beside her. “Not bad. I mean, kinda boring until your roommate and her batshit insane boyfriend came.”

“Glad they could entertain you.”

“I don’t mean it like-.”

“-No, I know.” You eased. “Do you have Mel’s number?”

She took out her phone. “Yeah, why?”

“I had her take pictures of my injuries, and I have to send them to the police.”

Santos glanced up at you. “How’d it go talking with them?”

“Eh.” You shrugged.

She chuckled, showing you her phone with Mel’s number on the screen. You created a new contact in your phone, then texted Mel as you and Santos walked.

“Hey, it’s your fellow member of the ‘Dead Moms and Unknown Dads’ club.”

Just as you typed it, you deleted it. Apparently, you still had the mental power to overthink things.

“Hey it’s,” you typed your name. “Could you please send me the pictures you took so I can give them to the police?”

It was then you decided to send another message. One completely different.

“I still owe you dinner, or lunch if you prefer. If you have any questions about what Kimi said after I blew up at her, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m okay with talking about it. Just could you not bring it up to anyone else, please?”

You had a feeling she wouldn’t text back that night. Maybe she’d talk about it tomorrow, or maybe she never wanted to hear about it? Still, you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

“All good?” Santos asked.

You smiled, putting your phone back in your pocket. “Good.”

“If you ever need help with legal shit, I’ve kinda been around the block with it.” She reassured. “But I know you’re probably smart enough to handle it if you want.”

“Thanks.”

The two of you walked in silence, apparently you had parked in Kansas, your car was so far away. To fill the space, Santos said.

“Whitaker likes you.”

You looked over at her, a funny look on your face. You knew what she meant but tried to deflect. “Yeah, I like him too. He got decked in the face so I wouldn’t.”

“No.” She shook her head, chuckling. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I think he wants to ask you out.”

There it was. Even with all the shit that happened to you that day, there were good things. You reconnected with your stepfather, you somehow managed to have the most mature “breakup” with a guy twice your age, his ex-girlfriend took care of you despite knowing about all the shit you had done, and you made new friends for the first time in a while.

Still…it was all so much.

“I don’t think I’m ready to date anyone right now.” You admitted. “I’ve got a lot going on.”

“No, of course.” She said. “I just wanted to give you a heads up, just in case if you weren’t feeling that way towards him, or if you were-.”

“-Trinity,” you stopped her, smiling. “I’m good.”

She nodded. “Right.”

Even with an abrupt ending, there was not a hint of discomfort. After finally finding your car, you thought it would’ve all been over when.

“Hey, doctor Robby.” Santos greeted.

You drew your head up at his name and saw him approaching the car beside yours. This whole time…he had parked beside you and hadn’t even known. He rose his brow as if he had the same thought process as you.

“Hey, how’re you two?” He asked.

She shrugged. “We’re just dying down for the night, you?”

“Same. I have a date with my bed.” He chuckled, then looked right at you. “Are you doing alright? I can only guess how many times you’ve been asked that.”

You smiled. “Several, but I’m doing better now.”

“That’s good. Are you okay to drive?”

Santos jumped in before you could answer. “Nah, I’m driving little miss Starshine.”

“Starshine?” He asked, trying to hold back his amusement.

You hid your face in your hands. “Oh god.”

“How’d you get that from Dr. Santos’ extensive list of nicknames?” He questioned.

Santos took that as her cue. “She had too much caffeine one night shift, and both Whitaker and I were greeted by her.”

“It’s not that funny.” You rolled your eyes.

Robby disagreed. “I for one think it’s hilarious.”

Santos jumped in. “Please say you’re in tomorrow. I was gonna rely on her to be entertaining, but Kiara ordered her to stay home.”

He clicked his tongue. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s my day off.”

She sighed. “At least tell me you’re gonna do something useful.”

“I was thinking of going to a coffee shop, maybe.”

“Where?” You asked, curiosity bettering you.

Robby pursed his lips. “I heard Big Dog is good. Ever been?”

You tilted your head, managing to hide how perplexed you were. “Yeah, a few times. It’s alright.”

“I might try that one.”

All you could do was smile, not knowing his intentions. It could have been bait for a reconnection, it could have been a way of saying goodbye to a fantasy, or it could have just been him making conversation.

You tossed the keys to Santos. “Let’s go before Target closes.”

She smirked, unlocking the door. “You think I drive slow?”

“Maybe.”

Robby stepped in. “Please don’t get either of yourselves killed.”

“Yes sir, Dr. Robinavitch sir.” Santos snorted, getting into the car. “Come on, Starshine.”

You gave Robby one last smile before ducking into the passenger seat. After buckling up, Santos plugged her phone into the aux chord.

“Don’t play trash.” she said, starting the car and putting it into reverse.

Snickering, you put on your favorite song. As Santos pulled out of the parking spot, you made eye contact with Robby. Not knowing what else to do, you waved to him.

He waved back.

While Santos drove, you couldn’t help but ponder the day. It was one of the worst, there was no doubt about that, and it ended with more questions than answers. Yet, where that would leave you in a deep storm of turmoil, you decided to weather it.

If all of that happened in a day, who’s to say what would happen in a year?

Maybe you’d still be in Pittsburgh, maybe you’d be in a different continent.

Maybe you’d still be single, maybe you’d be married.

Maybe you’d still be roommates with Kimi, maybe you’d never talk to her again.

Maybe you’d still work the day shift, maybe you'd switch back to the night.

The best part?

You didn’t have to know right away.