#this has been in my drafts for like. 2 MONTHS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheftsunoda · 2 days ago

Note

hii my love, could i possibly request a poly with carlos and rebbeca? with reader being an architect/ archeologist studying in edinburgh?

redesigned— cs55 + rebecca

smau + blurbs

you always thought your life would be built in clean lines and quiet mornings. tucked away in edinburgh’s grey stone charm, buried under piles of models and sketches, you were content building your future from the ground up—brick by brick, draft by draft. loving quietly and living softly. until rebecca. model, muse, and your first real love—rebecca donaldson walked into your life like a thunderstorm in a glass house. she swept you into her world of fashion weeks and flights, of candlelit rooftops and cameras that never stopped flashing. and yet, somehow, she always made space for you. for the silence. for the stillness. for love that felt like breath. you both were never looking for more—until a gala in barcelona. until carlos sainz. he shouldn’t have made sense. but he did. he saw you. he saw both of you. and maybe, for the first time, your carefully drawn plans weren’t ruined. they were just… redesigned.

fc : julie knezvic

(a/n): hi angel!! i hope you love and i am sorry that it took so long, im just a little behind rn. love you sm.

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yourusername

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yourusername : random dump for you as i am too busy trying to survive my last few weeks of uni 😭

tagged : iamrebbecad

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yourbff : body is STILL tea tho. (so proud of you love) (you and rebe r so damn cute)

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↳ yourusername : we love and miss you SO MUCH.

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↳ yourbff : becs can you pls convince her to stop studying just for a night and we can all go out and have fun

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↳ iamrebeccad : babes i am working on it i promise. she is stubborn 😭

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↳ yourbff : trust me i KNOWWW

↳ yourusername : right here guys

↳ yourbff : we know. hopefully you see this and decided to let yourself have some fun.

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username0 : how long have her and rebecca been dating??

↳ username1 : around 2 years i believe!

↳ username0 : aw omg. they r so cute

yoursister : can’t believe my baby sis is about to graduate 😭

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↳ yourusername : you say ‘baby’ as if we aren’t a year apart

↳ yoursister : still a baby TO ME

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iamrebeccad : so proud of you baby! you deserve everything and more. love you 🩷

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↳ yourusername : love you even more. would not have survived w out youuuu

—

You’re on your third coffee of the afternoon, hunched over your desk, sleeves rolled up, graphite smudged across your hand like battle scars. The model in front of you is refusing to cooperate, and the sun is setting outside the Edinburgh flat you and Rebecca have half lived in for months. She leans against the doorframe—hair up in a loose bun, wearing one of your old hoodies that somehow still looks like a Vogue editorial.

“Babe,” she says, drawing the word out like honey, “how attached are you to your studies this weekend?”

You don’t even look up. “Deeply. Passionately. Borderline Addicted..”

She crosses the room, arms wrapping around your shoulders from behind, chin resting lightly on your head. “That’s cute. Unfortunately, I’m here to kidnap you.”

“Rebecca—”

“Barcelona,” she cuts in. “Sun. Sea. Minimalist wine bars. Me in a silk dress. You in that black jumpsuit that makes people fall in love with you. Come with me to the gala.”

You glance at her from the corner of your eye. “I have five boards to finish by Monday.”

“And I have one very stubborn girlfriend who hasn’t taken a break in weeks,” she murmurs, nosing against your cheek. “You’re starting to talk in floor plan metaphors in your sleep.”

You huff a laugh, trying to stay strong. “If I don’t finish this model, I’ll fail.”

“You’ll finish it. But not this weekend.” She pauses. “Because I have reinforcements.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Reinforcements?”

She grins like she’s won something. “Your best friend. She’s flying in. I booked her a flight this morning. She’ll be in Barcelona waiting for us with two Aperol spritzes and a disposable camera.”

Your mouth parts slightly. “You didn’t.”

You cave. Of course you cave. Because it’s Rebecca, because it’s Barcelona, because she’s looking at you like you hung the stars—and because part of you wants to be reminded that there’s more to life than models and deadlines.

You lean back against her, eyes closing for a second. “Only if you let me bring my sketchbook.”

She kisses your temple, smiling. “Deal.”

—

Your suitcase is open on the bed. And still, somehow, empty. Rebecca lounges beside it in a silky robe, legs crossed, sipping her oat milk latte like the world isn’t burning in the form of your wardrobe meltdown.

“Okay,” you say, flinging a pair of trousers onto the pile for the third time. “I have absolutely nothing to wear.”

She hums, unconvinced. “You have literally three garment bags of stunning outfits, and yet you are now debating between the same pair of linen pants and that ‘reliable’ black dress that’s one dry clean away from falling apart.”

“I don’t like being perceived,” you grumble, yanking open another drawer. “Especially not in Barcelona. At a gala. With your friends. Who are all supermodels.”

Rebecca slides off the bed and wraps her arms around you from behind, hands warm over your waist. “They’re not my friends. They’re acquaintances I occasionally make eye contact with at runways. You, on the other hand, are the love of my life. Which, I’d like to point out, is more important.”

You lean back into her, your voice softer now. “Still nervous.”

“I know.” She kisses just behind your ear, gently. “But you’ll be breathtaking. You always are.”

She pulls away slightly, rummaging through your closet and pulling out the slinky black jumpsuit with the open back that you wore on your first real trip together. “You’re wearing this.”

You blink. “That’s… from Paris.”

“Exactly.” She hands it to you with a wink. “Let’s remind the world who made me fall head over heels in the middle of a hotel hallway.”

—

The jet is quieter than you expected. Sleek leather seats, dimmed lights, and a tray of strawberries and champagne already waiting. You curl up against Rebecca in one of the oversized seats, your legs draped over hers, the hum of the engines low and steady beneath you.

“Is this a kidnapping or a honeymoon?” you ask, eyes closed as she runs her fingers through your hair.

“A prelude,” she says. “To your well earned escape from architectural hell.”

You laugh, half asleep, letting your hand trace lazy circles over the inside of her wrist. She leans down and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips—slow and unhurried.

“You’re going to love it,” she murmurs against your mouth. “The city, the sea, the food. I’ll take you to that Gaudí museum you’ve been obsessed with since forever. And the gala… You’re going to walk in and ruin everyone’s night in the best way.”

You smile against her lips, dazed and warm. “Only if you’re holding my hand.”

She tangles your fingers together. “Always.”

—

The wheels touch down on the tarmac just after noon, and you blink awake to golden light pouring through the windows of the jet, warm and sleepy against your skin. Rebecca is already smiling at you, one hand stroking your cheek, the other holding her sunglasses by the frame.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” she murmurs. ��We’re here.”

You stretch with a sleepy groan, her hoodie still drowning you as you sit up. Barcelona smells different already, even from the window — like heat and citrus and the sea in the distance. The flight felt short, maybe because you spent most of it curled up in Rebecca’s arms, half listening to her whisper soft, ridiculous commentary while flipping through design magazines with you. You’re halfway down the steps of the plane when you spot her—your best friend—bouncing on her toes near a sleek black car waiting on the runway, waving both arms in the air like she might take off.

“There she is!” you shout, already sprinting.

She crashes into you with the force of someone who hasn’t seen you in far too long, arms tight around your neck, both of you laughing so hard it echoes off the runway.

“Oh my god,” she says dramatically. “You’re real. You exist outside of voice notes and crying over thesis reviews.”

You mock glare at her. “I was not crying. I was… processing stress. Loudly.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, starchitect.”

Rebecca walks up behind you, smiling fondly at the chaos. “You must be the famous best friend who gets more good morning texts than I do.”

She shrugs. “Guilty. Someone had to emotionally support her through model glue disasters and coffee fueled breakdowns.”

“I can hear you both,” you deadpan.

Rebecca kisses your cheek in response. “Still adorable when you’re defensive.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm.

The three of you pile into the car, luggage loaded, air conditioning on blast. Your best friend immediately hands you a disposable camera and a tiny bottle of sunscreen.

“For the photos,” she says, “and so you don’t get roasted again like last summer. I’m not dealing with lobster YN in every candid this time.”

Rebecca leans over and stage-whispers, “Did she tell you about the time she got so sunburnt in Capri that she walked like a 90-year-old for three days?”

“Rebecca.”

“Oh, she told me,” your best friend grins.

You groan, burying your face in Rebecca’s shoulder, who just laughs and presses a kiss to your hair. As the car winds through the narrow streets toward your hotel, Barcelona spreads out around you—sun-soaked buildings, palm trees, motorbikes weaving through traffic, balconies draped in ivy. And in that moment, with Rebecca’s hand laced in yours and your best friend humming along to the Spanish pop song playing through the speakers, it feels like everything is exactly where it should be. It doesn’t matter that there’s a gala tomorrow. Or that you’re probably going to trip in heels at some point. Or that Rebecca’s world still feels a little too fast, a little too beautiful. Right now, it’s just the three of you. And it’s perfect.

—

The hotel suite smells…well…sweet, the scent of Rebecca’s perfume curling through the air like a promise. The sun’s nearly down, casting that golden hour glow across the skyline of Barcelona, softening the sharp edges of the city outside your balcony. From inside, the room hums with quiet movement—heels clicking gently on marble, fabric brushing skin, the low murmur of music from the Bluetooth speaker on the vanity. Rebecca stands in front of the full-length mirror, slipping into a floor length silk dress the color of champagne. It clings to her in all the right places, light catching on her collarbones and the soft curve of her back. She catches your eyes in the mirror and smiles softly.

“You’re staring.”

You hum, still barefoot in your robe, curled up in the corner chair with your sketchbook half-forgotten in your lap. “You’re literally unreal.”

She turns slowly, gliding across the room until she’s kneeling in front of you, her hands resting gently on your bare knees. “And you, my love, are not allowed to hide in that robe all night. Come on. Let me help you.”

You let her pull you up, fingers laced. The black jumpsuit hangs neatly on the closet door, the same one she picked out. She helps you step into it, zipping it up with steady hands, smoothing the fabric over your hips.

When you turn to face her, something shifts in her expression.

“God,” she whispers. “You’re gonna ruin me tonight.”

You blush, looking down, but she lifts your chin with one finger, pressing a kiss to your mouth—soft, reverent. “I mean it. You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

Later, with heels on and lipstick applied and nerves starting to stir low in your stomach, Rebecca slips her hand into yours as you step into the waiting car.

“I’ve got you,” she says, as if reading your mind. “Always.”

—

The venue is even more dramatic than you’d imagined—an old Spanish estate turned event space, all arches and climbing vines and warm candlelight. The crowd buzzes with the kind of energy you’ve only experienced at fashion week: air-kisses, flowing gowns, and laughter that’s just a little too practiced.You stay close to Rebecca at first, your hand tight around her fingers as she introduces you to people whose names sound familiar from Vogue articles. It’s not your world, not really. But the way she keeps glancing at you—checking you’re okay, brushing your arm with hers when no one’s looking—grounds you. You’re mid-sip of champagne, standing just off to the side of the courtyard, when he walks in. Carlos Sainz.

The buzz ripples almost immediately—subtle, but tangible. He’s wearing a dark suit that fits like it was made just for him, open collar, hair a little windswept like he stepped out of a commercial. There’s something warm and relaxed about him, like he’s completely at ease in the chaos. And yet, the moment his eyes find you—you—his expression shifts. Like you’ve pulled his attention into focus.

He walks toward you, slow and certain, and for a second you assume he’s going to greet Rebecca. Everyone here knows her. You brace for it. But then—his gaze lingers on yours.

“Hola,” he says, smile soft but curious. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

You blink, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “Hi.”

Rebecca steps in, hand still loosely curled around yours. “Carlos, this is my girlfriend. The brilliant architect I’ve been talking your ear off about.”

Something flickers behind his eyes. “So this is the famous Edinburgh genius.”

You laugh nervously, cheeks hot. “Hardly genius. Just a tired student who got bribed into coming to a gala.”

Carlos grins. “Best bribe anyone’s ever pulled, then.”

Rebecca’s thumb brushes the back of your hand. The three of you stand there a moment longer—his gaze darting between you both, your body language, the way you lean into each other naturally. He doesn’t look surprised. He looks fascinated.

He tips his head slightly, voice lower now. “May I steal you both for a drink?”

Rebecca glances at you, eyebrows raised. Your heart thuds once, hard. You nod.

“Sure.”

And with that, something shifts—quietly, subtly, like the first breeze before a storm. You don’t know it yet, but tonight is the beginning of something. Something uncharted. Something beautifully complicated.

—

You’re seated between them. Rebecca on your left, her hand resting gently on your thigh beneath the tablecloth, fingers drawing slow, absentminded circles into the silk of your jumpsuit. Carlos on your right, nursing a glass of red wine, elbow resting casually on the back of your chair like he’s known you for years instead of ninety minutes. The gala is in full swing now—waiters weaving through tables with trays of Spanish tapas and champagne, a string quartet playing something low and romantic from the garden stage. Lights glitter overhead like a net of stars. And still, you can barely focus on anything but the energy between the three of you. It’s subtle but electric. Warm, blooming quietly under the surface of every glance and word.

Rebecca leans in, murmuring, “This wine is actually amazing,” as she reaches for her glass, brushing her shoulder against yours. You can feel the heat of her, the scent of her perfume still clinging to the air around you.

Carlos glances over. “You two are making everyone here jealous, you know.”

You blink. “What?”

He grins, nodding toward the rest of the table. “Look around. Half the people here are trying to figure out who you are and how you managed to make Rebecca Donaldson giggle like that.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Rebecca says, though she’s smiling into her glass.

“I’m not,” he replies. “I just think it’s rare. That kind of… ease. Most people in this room are trying so hard to look perfect. You two look like you already have everything you want.”

Your breath catches a little in your throat. Rebecca squeezes your thigh gently. “That’s because we do.”

You look between them—Rebecca glowing under the golden light, Carlos watching you with something softer than charm in his eyes. He doesn’t seem like he’s trying to impress you. He’s just curious. Present. Drawn in.

“So, Carlos,” Rebecca says lightly, turning the spotlight, “tell us—how does a Formula 1 driver end up at a fashion gala on a Thursday night?”

He shrugs, leaning back slightly. “I got invited. My manager said it would be good for me to socialize with people who aren’t constantly talking about tyre degradation.”

You laugh, surprising yourself with how easy it feels around him. “Fair enough.”

“But I wasn’t planning on staying long,” he adds. Then, without missing a beat— “Until I saw you two walk in.”

Rebecca raises a brow, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Is that so?”

He holds your gaze when he answers. “Yes.”

Your heart skips. The silence stretches for a moment—not awkward, just thick with something unsaid. Rebecca reaches for her wine again, then turns toward Carlos with playful curiosity.

“So,” she says, tilting her head, “what exactly is it that fascinates you?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“She grounds you,” he says simply, looking at Rebecca. “You shine differently when she’s near.”

You feel the breath catch in Rebecca’s throat beside you. Her hand tightens on your leg, and when you turn toward her, her eyes are glassy with something unspoken. And then Carlos turns to you.

“And you… you look at her like she’s made of something holy.”

You stare at him, unable to speak. His voice is gentle, without expectation. He’s not hitting on you. Not in the way you’ve seen others try. He’s just seeing you—both of you—with a kind of quiet reverence that makes you feel… known. The moment is broken only by the clinking of silverware as dessert is served—some delicate Catalan cream and fresh berries—but the weight of it lingers. You eat in silence for a while, your thoughts buzzing.

Carlos turns slightly toward you as he dips a spoon into his dish. “So tell me something,” he says, tone light but curious. “Do you always design things with this much precision… or do you ever let yourself create something messy?”

You blink. “Messy?”

He shrugs. “Unplanned. Unbalanced. A little chaotic.”

You smirk. “I’m an architecture student. Chaos is my natural enemy.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But sometimes… chaos brings the best results.”

You glance at Rebecca. She’s already watching you with that look—the one that knows exactly what you’re thinking. That maybe… just maybe… this doesn’t feel like chaos. It feels like the start of something beautifully unexpected.

She leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes flicking between her and Carlos. “Yeah. I’m… just wondering what happens next.”

Rebecca smiles softly, hand resting over yours now on the table. “Whatever it is… I think we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Carlos clinks his glass gently against both of yours. “To figuring it out.”

And in the middle of that glittering courtyard in Barcelona, with Rebecca on one side and Carlos on the other, you realize: You don’t feel like you’re in between them. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

—

The morning starts with sunlight spilling through the gauzy hotel curtains, soft and golden. Barcelona wakes up slowly — a city that stretches before it rises, where the air smells faintly of sea salt and fresh bread, and conversations drift up from the streets like music. You wake with Rebecca curled around your back, still half-asleep, her hand resting lightly at your waist. Her breath is warm against your neck. You smile, eyes still closed. A knock sounds at the door.

Rebecca groans dramatically and pulls a pillow over her head. “If that’s room service and they forgot your croissant again, I swear to god—”

You giggle, rolling out of bed, slipping into one of the hotel robes. But when you open the door, it’s not room service. It’s Carlos.

Wearing sunglasses, holding three iced coffees and a brown paper bag full of pastries like it’s the most casual thing in the world. His smile is crooked. “I brought breakfast. And a proposition.”

Rebecca’s voice calls from the bed. “If the proposition doesn’t involve carbs, we’re not interested.”

He chuckles. “Good thing I know my audience.”

You wave him in and close the door behind him. Carlos steps inside, handing you your drink and then holding up a small envelope.

“What’s that?” you ask, sipping your coffee.

He grins. “Tickets. Gaudí House Museum. You mentioned it last night, remember?”

You blink, surprised. “You remembered?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Of course.”

Rebecca sits up in bed, hair messy and eyes still heavy with sleep, grinning at both of you. “Did you just ask us out on a museum date?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “If I did, are you saying yes?”

You glance between them, heart blooming.

Rebecca nods. “Let me put on a cute outfit and we’re in.”

The taxi ride is filled with sunlight and soft laughter. You’re sandwiched in the back seat between them, Carlos’s arm thrown over the headrest behind you, Rebecca snapping candids of you both with the disposable camera your best friend gave you yesterday. At some point, Rebecca leans across you to steal a bite of Carlos’s croissant, and instead of pulling away, he just watches the two of you with that warm, unreadable look again — the one that says he’s taking this in like it means more than he’ll say out loud. By the time you arrive at the Gaudí House Museum, the three of you are humming with that easy sort of energy people only find when they’ve stopped pretending.

The museum is quieter than expected, cool and airy despite the heat outside. Everything inside is curved and intentional, dripping with artistry — from the mosaic tiles to the asymmetrical windows to the wrought-iron details that make the house feel alive.You pause in front of a set of floor plans and models, your eyes scanning the intricate designs like they’re secrets waiting to be solved.

Carlos leans in beside you. “So this is your world, huh?”

You nod. “It’s strange. I’ve studied this for years. But being here, in it… it’s different. It feels like touching someone’s dream.”

Rebecca takes your hand gently, her thumb brushing across your knuckles. “You do that too, you know.”

You glance at her. “Do what?”

“Build things that matter,” she says simply. “Even when it’s just in your sketchbook.”

Carlos watches the two of you with that quiet gaze again — soft, and maybe a little reverent. You keep wandering through the house, taking your time. At one point, you all stand in front of a massive stained-glass window that throws patches of color across the marble floor. Carlos snaps a photo of you and Rebecca bathed in the light, and when he shows it to you, your breath catches. Rebecca has her hand at your cheek. You’re smiling at her like nothing else exists.

“You really do light up the room,” Carlos murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You blush, looking away. Eventually, the three of you make your way up to the rooftop terrace. The city stretches out in all directions, hazy and golden beneath the sun. The famous chimneys rise like sculptural flames around you — surreal and magical. Rebecca presses her back against the warm stone, pulling you gently into her side. Carlos leans beside you both, arms crossed loosely, the breeze tugging at his curls.

“I get it now,” he says, voice low.

You glance over. “Get what?”

“How people fall in love with Barcelona.”

You can’t help but smile. “It’s beautiful.”

He looks at you when he answers. “So are you.”

The words hang there for a moment — not a line, not a flirtation. Just truth. You look at Rebecca. She’s already looking at you. And you feel it — that same undercurrent from the night before. Like the three of you are circling something unspoken. Something delicate. But real. Rebecca kisses your temple and leans her head on your shoulder. “This might be the best morning I’ve had in a long time.”

Carlos shifts slightly closer. “Same.”

And in that moment, high above the city in a house built from dreams, you think maybe — just maybe — you’re starting to build something, too.

—

several weeks later

carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 : 📸

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lando : i feel like the other woman’s other woman rn.

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username00: whomst???

↳ username1 : i believe rebecca donaldson and her gf yn ln. check @/yourusername’s recent post.

↳ username00 : oh that is def carlos in her post.

alex_albon : okay carlossss👀

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yourusername : life + baddies first day on the job;)

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username0 : is this the girl from carlos’ post??

↳ username1 : i believe so…that is def him in the dump.

↳ username5 : him and lando in the likes 😭

↳ username7 : we have lost ladies

↳ username11 : she is dating rebecca though…

↳ username7 : they were both on his ig post…maybe throuple?

iamrebeccad : i am so proud of you, angel! you are killing it. i love you so much.

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↳ yourusername : love you even more. could not have done it without you.

carlossainz55 : Congratulations hermosa! So proud! ❤️

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↳ yourusername : thank uuu carlitos ❤️

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↳ username7 : oh yeah we are cooked.

—

The apartment is quiet, sun filtering in through the linen curtains, the scent of fresh basil and lemon lingering from the pasta Rebecca made the night before. You’re at the kitchen counter, barefoot and glowing — still not entirely used to the fact that you’re done with uni. That you’re officially working as a junior designer at one of the most respected firms in Edinburgh. That the world is beginning, finally, to expand. Rebecca hums to herself in the next room, curled on the sofa with a fashion book open in her lap, glasses perched on her nose. Her hair’s up in a lazy bun, an old t-shirt hanging off her shoulder. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Until the knock. You both freeze.

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you order something?”

Rebecca shakes her head. “No. Did you?”

You make your way to the door, curious, and open it—and there he is. Carlos. In jeans and a grey hoodie, holding a bouquet of wildflowers and a crooked smile that says he’s very pleased with himself.

“Hola,” he says, dimples deepening. “Surprise.”

You blink, stunned. “What—wait, are you—you’re here?!”

Behind you, Rebecca gasps and immediately darts to the door. “Are you kidding me?!”

Carlos laughs as you both wrap him in a hug, arms tangling. It’s warm and a little chaotic, the three of you practically swaying in the doorway.

“I couldn’t miss your celebration,” he says, pulling back just enough to hand you the flowers. “You graduated. You started your dream job. I figured that deserved something… dramatic.”

“You texted me ten minutes ago from Madrid!” Rebecca accuses, hitting his arm lightly.

“I was on the way to your place,” he grins, clearly unbothered. “Needed to keep the element of surprise.”

You’re still standing there barefoot, flowers in hand, heart pounding like you’ve just won something you didn’t know you were competing for. Carlos steps fully inside, glancing around like he’s been here before in his mind. “You two look like you’ve settled into something domestic and terrifyingly cute.”

Rebecca smirks. “We did. You just made it worse.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I’m here to ruin your cozy night in.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Oh?”

Carlos tugs two envelopes from the inside pocket of his hoodie. “I made a reservation at that rooftop place with the insane sunset view—Rebecca sent it to me weeks ago in a TikTok, so you’re both exposed. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

Rebecca bites back a grin. “You are unreal.”

“And then, if you say yes, I’m going to romantically kidnap you both.”

You pause, blinking. “Romantically… what?”

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. “I want you to come to my next race. I already booked the flights. There’s a suite. It’s hidden. Think sun, espresso, a lot of carbon fiber, and the three of us hiding from the media in style.”

Your jaw drops. Rebecca’s hand finds yours instinctively. “Carlos…”

He smiles, softer now. “Look. I know we’re not putting names on it yet. But I miss you. All the time. And if I can steal you for just a few days—to cheer me on, to kiss you under Italian moonlight, to pretend this thing between us is real for a little while longer… then I want to try. I want to keep trying. With both of you.”

You feel the words settle between your ribs like something sacred. Rebecca squeezes your hand. You look at her. She looks at you. You’re both already smiling.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, heart racing.

Carlos steps closer, brushing your hair behind your ear, his voice lower now. “I know. But admit it… you love it.”

You do. God, you do. Rebecca leans up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thirty minutes, Sainz. If we’re late for our own celebration, that’s on you.”

He winks. “I’ll be waiting.”

As he steps into the living room to give you time to get ready, you turn to Rebecca, breathless.

“We’re going to Italy.”

She grins. “With Carlos Sainz.”

You bury your face in her shoulder. “What are we even doing?”

Rebecca laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Something new.”

And you smile, because it doesn’t feel like chaos anymore. It feels like exactly what you want.

—

From the rooftop, the city looks like it’s breathing — windows flickering to life one by one, cars crawling slowly through the narrow streets below. There’s a warm breeze drifting over the tiles, carrying the scent of wine and sun-warmed stone. You’re seated at a candlelit table nestled beneath a string of golden fairy lights, the linen tablecloth fluttering gently in the wind. Everything is dusky pinks and golds and the soft clink of wine glasses. The kind of setting people spend months trying to plan. Carlos didn’t even flinch when he called ahead.

You’re in a silky deep blue dress Rebecca helped you pick out in ten minutes flat, your hair pinned up with tiny gold clips, and Carlos hasn’t stopped looking at you since you sat down. Not in a showy way — it’s quiet. Constant. His eyes find you every time you laugh, every time you turn toward the view. Rebecca sits across from you, a soft backless dress in burnt orange clinging to her like it was made for her, one arm stretched over the back of Carlos’s chair, her other hand holding yours across the table. Her skin is warm and golden in the candlelight.

“This is completely ridiculous,” you murmur after the waiter pours the first round of wine. “Like, offensively beautiful.”

Carlos lifts his glass. “You deserve ridiculous.”

Rebecca clinks her glass lightly against his, then yours. “To our girl. For surviving sleepless nights, evil professors, thesis disasters, and becoming a full time grown-up.”

You laugh and duck your head. “You two are being weirdly nice to me. I’m suspicious.”

Carlos leans closer. “Fine. Let me balance it out. Do you remember when you tried to explain structural cantilevers to me and ended up drawing a sketch that looked like a sad giraffe?”

Rebecca chokes on her wine. “That was a cantilever?! I thought it was a palm tree.”

Your hand flies to your chest in mock offense. “Wow. I am under attack at my own celebration.”

But you’re smiling. The kind of smile that feels like it’s living in your ribs, spreading slow and wide and warm. The kind you don’t even try to hide anymore. Carlos reaches over and brushes something off your shoulder — a petal from the small bouquet resting on the table — and his fingers linger just a second too long.

“You’re glowing,” he says, so quietly you barely hear it.

Rebecca meets your eyes and smiles, soft and knowing. “She always does when she’s happy.”

The food arrives — shared plates and small bites, things you’ve never tasted before but love instantly. You end up feeding each other across the table, laughing through full mouths, brushing hands as you pass forks and spill wine and get far too invested in an argument about what the best dessert on the menu will be. Eventually, after the plates are cleared and the second bottle of wine is opened, the wind dies down. The city hushes just a little. You lean back in your chair, tipsy and warm, the scent of Rebecca’s perfume wrapped around you and the sound of Carlos’s low voice filling the space between stories. He’s talking about racing, about how everything slows down the second he’s in the car. How quiet it is, even with all the noise.

“It’s not adrenaline,” he says, eyes on the skyline. “It’s clarity. Like the world only makes sense when it’s going a hundred miles an hour.”

Rebecca rests her head against your shoulder. “Is that why you’re so calm all the time? Because you’ve already met chaos head-on?”

He glances at her, something soft behind his grin. “I think I’m calm because I know what matters now.”

You don’t ask what he means. You don’t have to.

—

Later, the three of you are the last to leave. The waiter brings out one final glass of vermouth and a tiny plate of dark chocolate, and you all sit there beneath the fairy lights like you’ve slipped into another version of the world — one where nothing needs to be defined, only felt.

Carlos helps Rebecca up, his hand settling low on her back with a kind of gentleness that surprises her. When he turns to you, you hesitate for just a second.

Then you reach for him. Your fingers slip easily into his, and he doesn’t speak — just smiles. You walk back to the car with your heels in your hand, your head resting against Rebecca’s shoulder, Carlos’s arm around your waist, his thumb brushing back and forth over your hip. Three shadows under the moonlight. Three hearts slowly, steadily aligning.

—

You’re nestled into a private jet again — only this time, it’s not a whirlwind trip to a fashion gala. It’s something slower. Sweeter. Yours. Carlos insisted. No press, no handlers, no chaos. Just you, Rebecca, and him, headed for Italy.

“Technically,” Carlos says, settling into the seat across from you as the jet levels out above the clouds, “this is a work trip.”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow from where she’s curled beside you, your legs draped over hers. “Your version of work includes flying two girls across Europe for moral support.”

He grins. “High performance drivers require emotional regulation. You two are my favorite kind of therapy.”

You laugh, tipping your head back as the sunlight pours in through the window. “Well, we are professionals.”

Carlos slides his sunglasses to the top of his head and watches you for a moment — like he’s memorizing you. The way your hair falls against Rebecca’s shoulder, the soft flush in your cheeks, the way your fingers trace idle patterns into the blanket across your lap.

“You look lighter—calmer,” he says, just quiet enough to be real.

You glance at Rebecca. She’s already smiling. “We are.”

The seatbelt light clicks off, and Rebecca shifts to face you more fully. “Okay,” she says, nudging you with her knee. “Tell him your Italian bucket list. She made one.”

Carlos perks up. “You did?”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “It’s not a bucket list, it’s just… a few places I want to see. Sketch. You know. Architect things.”

Carlos moves to sit beside you now, across from Rebecca. His knee presses gently against yours.

“Let me guess,” he says, hand held out expectantly. “Villas, vineyards, maybe a Roman ruin or two?”

You place your phone in his palm, unlocked with your Notes app open. He scrolls slowly, eyebrows rising as he reads.

“You want to see the medieval towers in San Gimignano?” he says. “That’s like an hour from the track. We can go.”

Rebecca beams. “I told you he’d say yes.”

He keeps reading, and then—“You want to sketch the pit lane?”

You blush. “I don’t know, it’s a cool structure. It’s like a weird blend of utilitarian design and showmanship.”

Carlos stares at you for a second, and then says, “You’re genuinely the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

Rebecca hums. “Right? She makes buildings sound like poetry.”

The next half-hour melts into comfortable chatter. You talk about the race weekend, about places they’ll take you between sessions, about what you’ll wear to the paddock. Carlos jokes about putting you both in matching Williams polos and parading you around like his secret weapons. Eventually, Carlos disappears into the back cabin to take a call with his engineer, and Rebecca uses the opportunity to pull you closer, kissing your cheek, then your jaw.

“I still can’t believe this is real,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over your bottom lip. “You, me, him. Italy. This whole… thing.”

You tilt your head, voice just as soft. “Does it feel right to you?”

Rebecca looks at you for a long moment. “It feels like it was always meant to happen. We just had to get brave enough to let it.”

Before you can say anything, Carlos reappears, flopping into the seat beside you with a groan. “Well. Apparently my rear wing isn’t cooperating. But I’m not thinking about that yet.”

You smirk. “We can distract you.”

Rebecca grins. “Gladly.”

Carlos rests his arm on the back of the seat, his fingers just brushing your shoulder. “I think this might be the best race weekend of my life.”

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by lando and 2,188,001 others.

f1gossipgirls : So… let’s unpack the situation, shall we? First, Rebecca Donaldson and her longtime girlfriend YN LN make their debut on Carlos Sainz’s Instagram a few weeks back — soft lighting, soft smiles, soft launch vibes. Fast forward—the trio is now very much in Italy. Very much in the paddock. Very much together. Rebecca and Carlos? Spotted on a bike ride together. YN and Carlos? Photographed at lunch with his race engineer. Then YN and Rebecca are seen strolling hand in hand through the paddock like nothing’s changed.…Except on Quali day, YN shows up with Carlos. Walking in. Side by side. And standing next to him during a live interview, casually repping a Williams polo. We’re not saying it’s a throuple… but we’re also not not saying it’s a throuple. 👀

—

The morning begins with sunlight spilling across the balcony of your villa, the kind that turns everything soft and golden. Carlos is still asleep, tangled in the sheets, his arm slung over your waist. Rebecca is already up, barefoot in one of Carlos’s hoodies, sipping espresso and sketching something into your notebook that you’ll find later — a cartoon drawing of the three of you, hearts drawn over your heads.

“Get up, sleepyhead,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “We’re taking you somewhere.”

You blink awake. “Where?”

She just smiles. “Italy is full of secrets. Get dressed.”

They won’t tell you anything, but an hour later you’re in the back seat of Carlos’s rental car, winding through the Tuscan hills — green and sun-drenched, dotted with vineyards and wildflowers. Rebecca holds your hand loosely across the center console, and Carlos hums along to an old Italian song on the radio, sunglasses pushed up in his hair. Finally, the car slows near the edge of a medieval town, quiet and ancient. You step out, confused — until you look up. San Gimignano. Your breath catches.

The towers — the ones from your list — rise above the stone walls like jagged fingers reaching toward the sky. Brutalist, elegant, stubborn in their geometry. You’d written about them in a thesis once. But this… this is different.

You stare in awe. “Guys…you didn’t have to.”

Carlos smiles, locking the car. “Of course I did.”

Rebecca laces her fingers with yours. “We thought you deserved to see the real thing. You’ve been talking about it for years.”

You laugh, teary-eyed despite yourself. They walk you through the town slowly, letting you stop to sketch little pieces — an archway here, a crumbling façade there. Carlos carries your bag without you asking, Rebecca keeps tucking hair behind your ear and stealing kisses when you’re not paying attention. At one point, the three of you sit on a low stone wall overlooking the hills, passing a sandwich between you, legs tangled. You lean into Carlos’s side, Rebecca tucked under your arm.

“Do you ever get tired of being adored?” Carlos asks, only half-teasing.

You glance at him. “Do you?”

He pretends to think. “Nope.”

Rebecca hums. “I think she deserves to be adored. Every version of her. The architect. The sleepy one. The one who can’t remember where she put her pencil but can recite Roman history like it’s a love poem.”

Carlos leans in, brushing your shoulder with his. “Agreed.”

You don’t say anything for a while. You just breathe. You let it settle. This is what love feels like — not loud or rushed or fragile. But steady. Expansive. Soft around the edges. Later, Rebecca takes your camera and snaps a photo of you standing between one of the towers — Carlos behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You’re smiling, cheeks flushed, sun in your hair. And when you look at it later, you’ll think — this looks like a beginning.

—

Race weekend has a way of feeling overwhelming. But somehow, with Carlos, it feels calm. He meets you and Rebecca outside the paddock entrance, dressed in his full Williams kit, sunglasses perched on his nose, hair still slightly messy. You’re in one of his oversized team polos — partially on a dare, partially because it just smells like him — and Rebecca’s in all white linen and a pair of black sunglasses that make her look like she’s walking into the Cannes red carpet instead of an F1 paddock.

“Ready to be shown off?” Carlos teases, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and tugging you into a gentle side hug. He kisses the top of your head and then leans over to press another to Rebecca’s cheek.

“Bold of you to assume you’re the one showing us off,” she replies, linking her fingers with yours on the other side.

He grins. “Fair.”

The first few minutes are a blur of cameras and whispers, heads turning as the three of you walk past in tandem. You feel it — the way people are watching, curious. Wondering. But Carlos doesn’t let go of you, not even when one of the Sky Sports guys gives him a very obvious once over. He walks you through the garage first, introducing you to a few engineers, showing you the car like it’s a favorite pet. He explains the updates they’ve made for the weekend, and you’re so genuinely interested — asking questions, tilting your head at the suspension setup — that one of the techs looks thoroughly impressed.

Rebecca leans over and whispers, “He’s going to marry you if you start talking about aero.”

You laugh and Carlos hears and just smiles.

“Alright,” he says after a moment. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He leads you around to the Mclaren hospitality suite where, to no one’s surprise, Lando Norris is sitting on a bean bag, eating something from a takeaway box like it’s not Quali day.

“Ah, finally!” Lando jumps up as soon as he sees you. “The girls! The internet is losing its mind over you lot.”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “And what does the internet say, exactly?”

“That Carlos has taste,” Lando grins, holding out a hand to shake yours and then immediately pulling you into a hug. “I’m Lando. You’re YN. You’re Rebecca. You both terrify me, and I love it.”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “Ignore him.”

“Never,” Lando chirps. “Do you know how long I’ve been begging him to bring you both here? It’s like… morale, Carlos. Atmosphere. He’s been smiling like an idiot for weeks.”

You glance at Carlos. He’s pretending not to blush. Failing spectacularly.

“And you’re YN, right?” another voice calls — and then Alex Albon appears, holding a coffee and looking far too cool for someone awake this early.

You nod, shaking his hand. “Hi. Huge fan of your girlfriend.”

Alex laughs. “Aren’t we all.”

He turns to Carlos, eyes twinkling. “So this is the famous architect slash girlfriend. And the supermodel slash dangerous mafia wife energy girlfriend. Stunning work, mate.”

Rebecca gives him a dangerous little smirk. “You get it.”

The five of you chat for a while — it’s easy, natural. Alex and Rebecca get into an unnecessarily passionate debate about oat milk. Lando and Carlos talk strategy, but every few seconds, Carlos glances at you, just to check you’re still smiling.

—

Later in the afternoon, when the paddock thins out a little and the media starts to shift into race prep mode, Carlos leads you both to the back of the hospitality lounge and pulls you into a quiet corner. He sits down first, tugging you gently into his lap and resting his chin on your shoulder. Rebecca curls beside you on the padded bench, fingers brushing over your knee.

“I’ve never felt this calm before a race,” Carlos murmurs.

You lean your head against his. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s the best thing,” he says. “I’m usually somewhere between tense and mildly homicidal on Saturdays.”

Rebecca hums. “And now?”

“Now I feel like I’ve already won something.”

You’re quiet for a moment, fingers playing with the edge of his sleeve. The paddock noise feels far away now. Just the breeze through the flaps of the tent, the low hum of passing mechanics, the occasional click of a camera.

Carlos sighs into your neck. “Can I say something dumb?”

“Always,” you and Rebecca say in unison.

He smiles. “If I could take you both with me in the car, I would.”

You tilt your head, half-laughing. “We’d make terrible co-pilots.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But everything makes more sense when you’re near me.”

Rebecca looks at him then — really looks at him — and something shifts behind her expression. Something tender. “You know… this started as something casual. Something fun.”

Carlos nods.

“But it doesn’t feel casual anymore.”

You don’t say anything. You just reach for both their hands — one on either side of you — and squeeze. No labels. No pressure.

—

The sun is beginning to dip when Carlos crosses the finish line. P8. Not a disaster. Not what he wanted either. Not after how good race day looked. Not after how hard he pushed in quali. He doesn’t say anything on the radio after the cooldown lap — just a clipped, “Copy,” and then silence. His hands stay tight on the wheel until he’s back in the garage. The air inside is thick. No one meets his eyes. There’s too much noise and not enough at the same time — fans cheering in the distance, tires hissing, a metallic clang echoing from the back of the pit. Carlos doesn’t take off his helmet right away. He just sits for a moment. Letting it settle. Then, through the haze, he hears your voice.

“Hey.”

And just like that, the weight cracks. He looks up — and there you are, standing in front of him in the soft blue Williams polo you’d worn all day, eyes full of quiet warmth. Rebecca is beside you, sunglasses pushed into her hair, lips pressed together like she knows exactly what he’s feeling. You don’t ask about the race. You don’t say, what happened? or are you okay? You just hold your hand out. Carlos lets you help him out of the car. His gloves are still on, but your fingers fit between his anyway. Rebecca’s hand finds the back of his neck, grounding.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “We’re here.”

He nods once, blinking hard behind his visor before finally tugging it off. His hair is damp, cheeks flushed, eyes a little unfocused — like he’s still halfway between the car and the world.

Rebecca tugs him gently toward the back of the garage, away from the lights. “Come on,” she says. “Breathe.”

You sit him down on a flight case, crouching in front of him. “You don’t have to be on right now,” you whisper. “You can just… be. With us.”

Carlos closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

“It wasn’t a good race,” he admits. His voice is hoarse. Honest.

Rebecca kneels beside you. “That’s not why we’re here.”

You nod, smiling gently. “You are not your result.”

Carlos laughs, just barely. “You two are dangerously good at this.”

“At what?”

He glances between you, soft and overwhelmed. “Loving me anyway.”

And then he leans forward, presses his forehead against yours, and exhales. Rebecca wraps her arm around both of you, pulling you into a quiet little triangle of comfort — there, on the edge of the paddock, while the world buzzes just beyond the garage doors.

“I’d come to every race,” you say into his shoulder.

Rebecca kisses the corner of his mouth. “Even if you finished last.”

Carlos lifts his head, smiling now — small, real. “You know what? That might be my new strategy. Finish badly. Win anyway.”

And as the sky turns gold outside and the paddock begins to clear, Carlos sits between the two people who make it all feel okay — win or lose, podium or pit lane — and knows, with complete certainty—This is everything.

—

carlossainz55

liked by iamrebeccad, yourusername, alex_albon and 5,001,001 others.

carlossainz55 : may not have won the race but i am always winning off the track. i love you both so much.

tagged : iamrebbecad and yourusername

—

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antithetical-bolter · 3 days ago

Text

Hi everyone, here’s a WIP that fell out of my brain tonight.

4.5k words | Robby x Original Female Character

Seasoned ER nurse Iris had been treated to the best sex of her life almost exactly a month ago - from the attending she’s been low-key in love with for longer than she’d like to admit. Now, she’s sitting in her bathroom staring at three separate positive pregnancy tests. Unfortunately for her, Robby had dipped before she woke and has all but ghosted her since.

Title TBD? Pls suggest Taylor Swift themed titles if you have any.

This is the second fic I’ve ever posted anywhere and my first time posting to tumblr so pls be kind to me (but still tell me if you hate it), It’s also very much a first draft with minimal editing so keep that in mind

Well, shit.

That is most definitely two pink lines.

On three different tests. Iris Elizabeth McDowell, you fucking idiot.

Just my fucking luck, that getting tipsy and fucking the very hot and vey emotionally unavailable attending would result in a god damn pregnancy. I’d been blissfully ignorant the last 6 weeks, my periods have never been all that regular but as soon as the nausea and the sore boobs hit I knew it was time to face the music. And sure enough, the music was telling me that I was pregnant. With Michael Robinavitch’s baby.

Robby, who has barely made eye contact with me past what was required for patient care since it happened. Robby, who let it slip at the bar that he had been interested in me for months now. Robby, who I was unfortunately in love with. Had been for an embarrassingly long time now, so him up and leaving the morning after the best sex of my life triggered a full blown crisis. Almost a decade of pining, all for one (admittedly spectacular) night. He briefly had me considering switching jobs, but decided I wouldn’t let a man dictate my life. Even if it was that man.

Do I want to keep it? I think so. Should I want to keep it? Probably not.

It’s not like I’m some young new grad nurse who doesn’t have a career. I’ve been an ER nurse for 10 years now, working at the Pitt for all but the first two. I occasionally fill in for the charge nurses, I’m damn good at my job, and I have a great support system. But the thought of having to tell Robby that I’m carrying his child? Genuinely makes me want to puke. Again.

I have money, a 2 bedroom condo, a regular enough schedule that daycare wouldn’t be an issue. But do I really want to be a single mom? Put my body through the fucking wild ride that is pregnancy? Oh god. Pregnancy scrubs? The absolute worst. Not to mention actually giving birth.

Thankfully, the universe has seen fit to give me a single win in all this, and I have the next 4 days off to figure out how to be normal at work again. First order of business - call my OB. A brief phone call later, I have an appointment for 9:45. Just over two hours from now.

Fuck, I could really use my mom right now. Not like we were ever super close, with her living on the west coast and me getting the fuck out of my tiny ass hometown right after high school, but I’d like the option to call her and freak out. Both her and my dad were killed in a car accident just over three years ago, and somehow this scenario had never crossed my mind. Cue the tears - but they feel cathartic. A release I desperately need right now.

My therapist is going to lose her ever-loving mind. A quick look on her patient portal reveals that she has an opening this afternoon, so I guess that makes 2 wins from the universe for me today. I’ll take what I can get.

***

I am very picky about my medical providers. Working in the field myself means I have seen some shit doctors, and I just flat out refuse to put my care in the hands of someone I don’t trust. My OB is the best of the best, and she’s really earning her copay right now.

The transvaginal ultrasound was quick, confirming that I definitely have something cooking in there. The tech asked if I wanted to hear the heartbeat - but I said no. I’m right at the six week mark so a heartbeat can be heard at this point but I am not ready for that just yet. Not until I decide what I want to do. My OB, bless her, ran me through all of my options. She knows I know them, I’m an ER nurse after all, but it’s like all my schooling and experience fell out of my brain the second the stick(s) turned pink.

She encouraged me to take my time in making a decision. I have a few weeks to make a choice either way. We went through what it would look like to keep, terminate, and adopt. Having all the information laid out in front of me makes me feel both better and far worse.

She also tells me that no matter what the father wants, this is my choice. That I should lean on my people, and find someone I trust to tell. That if I do decide to terminate, I need to have someone with me after I take the medications to make sure everything progresses as it should.

I leave the appointment armed with 4 different pamphlets and 3 sonogram images that I have yet to look at.

Therapy is significantly harder. Erica, bless her, has been my therapist since I moved to Pittsburgh for college almost 15 years ago. She knows me far too well. Immediately clocks that it must be hard to be dealing with all of this without my mom’s support, which triggers a crying spell. Once I’ve recovered from that, we move on to how I’m going to tell Robby.

“I don’t know, Erica. He has barely looked at me since we slept together, I can count the non-patient related words he’s said to me since then on one hand and none of them were particularly nice.” That man needs therapy more than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s an incredible doctor and great to his friends, but ever since he fucked up his relationship with Collins so badly that she left the state he’s been especially moody.

“How do you think he’s going to react to this?”

“Not particularly well. He’ll freak out, not speak to me for a few days, and then inevitably come back around and say that he’ll help me with whatever I choose. I know that if I decide to keep it that he would help, but that it would be out of obligation and that is not what I want. I would never keep him away from his kid, but I can almost guarantee that I would be eternally fucked up over it.” Erica nods thoughtfully, taking a pause to formulate a reply that won’t send me over the edge.

“Maybe you should start by telling someone else, then. Maybe Samira, or Dana? Someone who will support you unconditionally without any emotional baggage taking up space in the back seat. They could help you decide what to say when you tell him, and support you if it goes as poorly as you think it will.” She gives me a very pointed look before continuing. “Also, and really think about this before brushing it off, maybe this conversation between you and Robby will help you both. A push that requires communication where there is a gap right now.”

“I - I, ugh. I just really, really don’t want to have to do this with him. He really hurt me when he just up and fucking ghosted me. Especially because he spent the whole night prior telling me that he’s been wanting to kiss me for months, and a whole bunch of other shit that he clearly didn’t mean.” He doesn’t seem like the type to spout bullshit to get a woman into bed with him, but I really cannot come up with another reason for him to be acting this way.

“It’s fair and reasonable for you to be scared. And if he screws this up, you have my blessing to tell him to fuck off. But no matter what you choose, you will be okay. It might suck for a while, but you will come out the other side.” The unspoken words are loud - that I will be okay but that it’s going to take a while for me to get there.

“I know you’re right but it’s hard to see right now.” Pretty much impossible, actually.

“That’s okay, I’m here to remind you. Your homework this week is to tell someone you trust.” Sad that I don’t consider the father someone I trust, but he definitely is not making that list right now.

“I��m going to call Dana literally as soon as we hang up - Samira’s working right now.” She nods in response, flashes me what I’m sure is supposed to be a reassuring smile but it just doesn’t land. We schedule an appointment for next week and then we hang up. I give myself 10 minutes to spiral before I pick up the phone and call Dana.

***

Dana picks up her phone on the third ring.

“Hey, kid! Where are ya?” I can hear the sounds of what is likely a bar or restaurant in the background and belatedly realize that there’s ER social plans today - most of day shift is gathered at the sports bar near the hospital to watch the first Penguins game of the regular season. Hockey is one of the few sports I will watch voluntarily, and I definitely told Dana I would try and make it out tonight.

“Shit, Dana. I totally spaced, had a bit of a personal crisis. Can I call you later? When you aren’t surrounded by our coworkers?” I hear a booming laugh in the background and immediately place it as Robby’s. Just my fucking luck. “Can you just, uh - text me when you leave the bar?”

“No, Iris, wait. Are you okay?” Her voice changes, drops lower and sounds muffled. Like she’s covering her mouth while she speaks in an effort to afford me some privacy. She knows something happened between Robby and I, and has had a front row seat to whatever the fuck is going on right now so she’s sensitive to the fact that I might not want him knowing about said personal crisis.

“I mean, okay is not really the word I would use but I’m safe and not currently in any physical danger.” Very much not okay, but I don’t want to make her change her plans for me. It’s so rare that we’re all able to see each other outside the Pitt and I know she values this time with her friends.

“Iris, honey. What’s wrong?” I don’t answer, but I do start to cry. My best efforts at keeping my sobs quiet are unsuccessful. “You know what, never mind, I’m just gonna come over. Hang tight, okay?” I hear the screech of a chair as she scoots back and presumably stands up. Her voice is quieter as she speaks next, having moved the phone so she can talk to whoever else is at the table. “Change of plans, guys. I have to go. Enjoy the game and I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

The crying has not slowed in the thirty seconds it takes her to get outside.

“Dana, really, I appreciate it but you can stay and finish the game. I can wait.” I must not convince her, because she laughs at me. Fairly so, given that my words are very much broken up by sobs.

“Absolutely not. I’m on my way, I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

She arrives in eight.

I’m waiting by the door, and open it before she has a chance to knock. I’m still crying - no longer sobbing, but a pretty steady stream of tears track their way down my cheeks. I see the question forming on her lips but I beat her to it and hold out my three positive tests for her to see.

“Are we happy? Shopping? Making an appointment at the clinic?” Classic Dana - no big reaction, just thoughtful statements of action. Unfortunately I don’t know what I want.

“I don’t know yet. Took the tests early this morning and was able to get in last minute to see OB this morning to confirm it. I’m just about 6 weeks along and I have no fucking clue what I want to do.” She closes the door behind her and immediately pulls me into a tight hug. Rubs my back with one hand and runs the other through my hair, tells me that it’s okay to not know what I want and that she’s here for me no matter what. Does not ask me who the father is. Unfortunately that is the biggest piece to this puzzle and I know I need to tell her.

We move to my couch and she makes me drink some water before continuing to fill her in. I decide it’s best to just fucking do it - no preamble and no backstory.

“Robby’s the father.” That stops her in her tracks for a second. Her eyes go wide and I can tell she’s working extremely hard to keep her own emotions under wraps.

“Well, shit. So that ‘thing’ that happened between you guys in August was sex?” I nod. “And, let me hazard a guess here, he freaked the fuck out and now he’s unable to act normal around you.” I nod again.

“That about sums it up. He left before I woke up and any effort I made to talk to him about it ended with him getting snippy and walking away from me. My texts went unanswered so I just stopped trying.”

“What an asshole - I’m so sorry, Iris.” She leans over to pull me into another hug. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I mean I kinda have to, don’t I? Would be a real dick move of me to not tell him about this. Even if he doesn’t deserve me speaking to him ever again.”

“I think that depends on what you decide you want to do. If you want to keep it, then yeah you’re gonna have to tell him. But if you don’t, then we go to the clinic this week and he remains none the wiser. Either choice is okay, whatever you decide to do will be the right decision for you.” I take a deep breath, enjoying having her here to support me.

“See that’s the thing, my first instinct is that I want to keep it. I’ve always thought that I could go either way on having kids, but now that it’s staring me in the face I can’t imagine not going through with it.” Saying it out loud all but confirms my decision - this is happening. I’m going to have a baby. And I’m going to have to tell Robby.

“Then that’s what will happen. I’ve got your back through all of it, and if you want me to hide upstairs while you tell Robby I can do that. I’ll even chase him out if he acts a fool.” She’s serious, and I love her for that.

“Might not be a terrible idea. The last thing I want is for him to be involved purely out of obligation.” I debate stopping there, not divulging the depths of my (unadvised) feelings for him, but I’ve already gone this far so what’s the harm. “I’m like, stupidly in love with that man. Have been for a long time, and I was happy to have it kinda live in the background of my life up until recently. He approached me at that party we had for Jesse and we hit it off, and he was really sweet. Told me that he’s been wanting to kiss me for months and that he hasn’t been able to get me out of his head. We each had a few drinks, but I wasn’t drunk. A little tipsy for sure, but sober enough to consent and be smart about it. Then he was gone when I woke up and you’ve seen how he’s been since then.” She grimaces a little before responding.

“Yeah, he’s been in rare Robby form. Very broody. But, Iris, I really think he meant what he told you. Handled it terribly for sure, but he’s so thoroughly fucked up in the past that his ex literally left the state. He’s probably just trying to protect you in his own, very fucked up way.” I laugh and try to wipe away the tears staining my face, but they just keep coming.

“Well he’s doing a terrible job. Is it crazy of me to make him go to therapy before I let him really be involved? Is that, like, blackmailing?” The last thing I want out of all this is for my kid to be hurt in the same way - their dad hot and cold, unable to really make a commitment to be present in their life.

“Maybe a bit, but I fully support you in that. I actually think that’s plenty reasonable, and if he gives you pushback then he’ll hear about it from me.” So quick to jump in and support me, even when the problem is one of her best and longest friends. “If it makes you feel any better, the second I said your name at the bar earlier he looked like he was two seconds away from taking my phone and checking on you himself.” A mirthful laugh escapes me at that, it does not make me feel better.

“Then blackmail it is. Now, how the fuck am I supposed to have this conversation with him when I can’t even get him to say three consecutive words to me that aren’t directly work related?”

We spend the next hour brainstorming, and by the time she leaves I feel better. I have a loose plan, my tear ducts have long since run dry, and I no longer feel like I’m about to fuck my whole life up.

I make myself a list before I go to sleep - things I need to buy for first trimester health, food I should avoid, and symptoms I’ve been experiencing so I can be as informed as possible.

My list exhausts me (that, and the tiny human I’m currently cooking) and I fall into a blissful, dreamless sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

***

I spend the next three days making more lists. Baby names, furniture, birth plans. If there’s a relevant list to be made - it’s currently up on my fridge.

My first day back at work since The Event (TM) is fine, I guess. Dana greets me with a hug and a quiet check in, and while this isn’t that out of the ordinary it is unusual that she pulls me off the floor to do it. I feel Robby’s eyes track us as we walk back in from the ambulance bay, especially when we get closer and Dana does not smell like she’s just come back from a smoke break.

I treat Robby to his own taste of the silent treatment. No niceties, no attempts at small talk. Strictly patient care and work related conversations, and honestly conversations is a generous word. Terse exchanges is more accurate. I don’t let it get in the way of my job, and if I do say so myself I really knock it out of the park nursing wise.

Three shifts pass in this manner, three shifts where I can feel him fucking watching me like he knows something is up. Thirty-six hours of me sitting on the biggest fucking secret I’ve ever kept when all I really want to do is yell “Hey, fuckface! You ghosted me and it sucked, and I’m fucking angry about. By the way, I’m pregnant with your child. Get some god damn therapy if you’d like to be involved!” And then walk out, leaving him to stand with the aftermath of his actions.

But, unfortunately, I am professional adult so I don’t do that. I do heavily fantasize about it though.

Samira notices that something is up right away, but she is also on a long stretch of shifts so we agree to hang out when our work weeks are both done. We meet for breakfast at the closest Denny’s and she spits her coffee out when I tell her that not only did I sleep with Robby, but that there’s going to be literal life long consequences for it come early June.

“Oh my god. I would ask if you’re okay, but I think I can answer that myself. When are you going to tell him?” I shrug as I finish my bite of French toast.

“Great question. He’s been fucking frosty towards me lately and it doesn’t have me feeling very generous towards him. I know he deserves to know but god the thought of that conversation makes me want to punch a wall.” Another bite of toast. “I know that a few weeks after we slept together was the anniversary of Pitt Fest and Adamson’s death, but the way he’s been treating me does not make me want to tell him. It makes me want to be spiteful and keep it from him until the last possible second, so he can be as blindsided as I feel right now. Very immature of me, and I won’t do that but it’s nice to entertain it for a bit.”

“He’s clearly fumbling the bag pretty hard right now, but you and I both know he’s going to do the right thing.”

“I know, and that’s almost worse. If he’s going to be all emotionally constipated while attempting to be present I am going to lose my shit. Dana said she thinks I am well within my rights to threaten him with therapy, so I think that’s my game plan.”

“That’s - that’s actually a great idea. If anything will get that man into therapy it’s the threat of potentially fucking up his child’s life.” She chuckles a bit. “Can I tell Jack? I will obviously swear him to secrecy but it might be nice to have him in your corner.”

“Please do - but if he tells Robby before I do I will kill him.”

“And I will help you hide the body. Also, he’s picking me up from this meal so if you’d like to fill him in yourself you’re about to have your window.” Like she summoned him, Jack Abbot walks in the door. He immediately finds Samira and she waves him over.

I decide that I do not have another long, emotional story in me and just spit it out.

“Hi, Jack.” He looks at me a little weird, we’re friendly at work but I don’t think I’ve ever called him by his first name before. “Welcome to the party, you’re about to hear some very classified information so prepare yourself.” He stares at me, a little stunned, but I just keep on talking. “I’m pregnant and keeping it. Robby’s the father, but I haven’t told him yet.” His jaw drops open, and he has to open and close it a few times before actual words come out.

“Uhhh, wow. Fuck. Are you, uhm, are you going to tell him?”

“I mean, yeah. Not sure when or how, but yeah. What’s your opinion on me using this as an opportunity to threaten him into therapy?” This gets a loud, genuine laugh from him.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. You want my therapists number? I’ve given it to him multiple times but he’s clearly never used it.” Abbot doesn’t wait for me to answer, just pulls a card out of his wallet and hands it to me. “Are you doing okay? Managing symptoms alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks. Freaking the fuck out, but okay.” With that, I decide I’ve had enough social interaction for the day. “Now that all that’s out of the way, I’m going to head home. Samira, love you, thanks for the support, and Jack I’m a little sorry to drag you into all this but thankful that you’re here anyway.” I leave them at that, dropping enough cash to cover my meal and all but running to my car so I can have my next meltdown in peace.

***

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I let another two full weeks pass before I even consider telling Robby. Erica, Dana, and Samira are all on my case a little bit but ultimately don’t push me too hard.

It takes an extra long session with Erica, complete with roll play and multiple outcomes of the conversation for me to feel even slightly ready to broach the subject with him. We decide that I’ll attempt to talk to him after our next shift together, a rare night where neither of us have to be in the next morning.

Dana knows, and as she leaves out the ambulance bay doors she shoots me a very encouraging thumbs up and a ‘call me!’ While I wait for him to leave. I don’t have to wait much longer. 10 minutes pass before I see him walk out, backpack slung over his shoulders and thick winter jacket thrown on like it’s armor. He doesn’t turn his head to look at me as he passes.

I parked at the very end of the lot today, hoping to use my car as an excuse to follow him for a bit. As we approach my green Honda CRV, I know it’s time to bite the bullet.

“Hey, uh, Robby? Can we talk for a sec?” He pauses, takes an AirPod out, and turns to face me. He looks like shit. Tired, like he hasn’t had a good sleep in weeks. I feel mean for thinking it, but I’m glad he’s getting just as much (little?) rest as I am.

“I’ve got somewhere to be, Iris. Now’s not a good time.” He maybe facing me, but he’s not really looking at me. Fucking infuriating.

“It won’t take long, please. It’s kinda important.” Fuck him for making me plead to have a conversation - this is starting to feel a little humiliating. I can feel the tears forming and threatening to spill out, but he isn’t looking at me so he doesn’t see them.

“Not now. There isn’t really anything for us to talk about. I have to go, I’ll see you later.” And with that, he’s got his AirPod back in and is walking away. Fucking dick. The hot sting of rejection sits heavy in my chest, and I have to take a few minutes before I feel steady enough to drive home.

I work myself up pretty well on the way home, moving from shame to anger. I kick my shoes off in the entry way and slam my bag down, feeling like I need to scream. I decide a run will suffice and quickly change into my running gear. As I slip on my shoes and grab my running belt I decide there’s something I need to do first, and pull my phone out to send the riskiest text I’ve ever sent.

Iris (7:58pm)

Hi, asshole. I have been working up the nerve to talk to you for weeks, but since I apparently don’t deserve even five minutes of your time I guess this is how you’re going to find out.

I attach a picture of the tests and hit send, and then immediately send a follow up.

Iris (7:59pm)

Before you have the fucking audacity to ask, yes it’s yours and I’ll be keeping it.

I immediately put my phone on do not disturb and start my watch so I can track my run. I hit the pavement with a vengeance. My feet feel heavy beneath me, and it takes me longer than usual to feel warmed up enough to really run. I play my angriest playlist, and run until I no longer feel like murdering the father of my unborn child.

I hit my favorite smoothie place on my way home, and as I walk and warm down I call Dana.

“So I told him.” She gasps. “But, uh, over text. I tried to talk to him as he left but he blew me off and I was just so fucking angry and maybe jumped the gun a little, but it’s done now.”

“How are you feeling about it, hon?”

“Terrified. Have not checked to see if he’s responded. A little elated? But like, in a manic way so maybe that’s not a good thing.” Dana laughs and reassures me.

“It’s alright, kid. That’s a big step you just took and you tried to do it in person, so fuck it. You want me to come over?” She asks, just as I turn the corner onto my street. My heart all but stops as I see an unfortunately familiar suburban parked in front of my house, and my breathing stops with it when I see that the man himself is sitting on my front steps.

“Ah fuck.”

“He’s at your house, isn’t he?” She’s far too smart for her own good, or maybe she just knows him too well.

“Yup.” God dammit, past Iris. Did you really have to send those texts?

“I can still come over if you want.” Seriously considering taking her up on that.

“No, I’ll handle him. But, maybe later? If and when I need to cry about this?”

“I’ll be waiting by the phone. You’ve got this, kid. Give him hell.”

#the Pitt #the pitt fanfiction #Robby x original female character #michael robby robinavitch #dr robby #dana evans #samira mohan #jack abbot #Robby x therapy #we stan therapy in this house #rough draft #wip

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astraljedi · 2 days ago

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Sexo Virtual (Miss American - Joaquin Torres)

President's Daughter AU Series | Joaquin Torres x Female Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, MDNI, 18+ only, mention of period symptoms (vomiting, nausea, cramps), fluff, yearning and long distance relationship. Word Count: 2.9K Song: Sexo Virtual by Rauw Alejandro A/N: Finally updated Miss Americana! This has been sitting in my drafts for a week now. Reblog, let me know what you think and ENJOY! Masterlist | Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | _

Chief of Shade Podcast DM from Anon says: Any updates on the first daughter? They just announced she's going to be a speaker in one of the biggest tech conventions early next year. Is this her starting her father's re-election campaign? Congrats to Miss Americana for nailing a gig like that! Though, I don't believe this is part of a re-election campaign. But I do have an update on what's going on with her dating life. My sources allegedly say she was seen having a private dinner date at "Emerald" a few months ago. Is the president's daughter dating or was this a casual friend dinner? -

FACETIME CALL May 3rd Duration: 3:42:16 Connected – 6:08 PM EST

“Why are you cubing your chicken so small?” Joaquin scrunches his nose, his face closer on my phone screen as he watches me cube my chicken through his.

“Because I need every piece to be equally small and slightly overcooked so I don’t gag at the thought of eating chicken,” I say, trying to keep my eyes on the cutting board and not on my shirtless more-than-a-friend guy as he rocks his ribbed body for me through the small screen. His sweatpants hang low, his curly hair a little damp from the shower he took before we jumped on the call.

It’s unfair to have him like this, miles away from me.

“What?” he asks, still confused. I watch him toss the whole chicken breast into his pan, and the sound of searing fills the room. He readjusts his phone, setting me behind his kitchen sink. I forget about my knife and rest it on the edge of the board, my eyes following the flex of his biceps as he rinses his dishes.

“If I’m cooking chicken, I need to have it in little pieces because the thought of it being even slightly undercooked I will not eat it,” I try to explain, tossing the tiny pieces into the hot pan. I can barely hear him laughing through my AirPods—the searing from his pan almost mutes him. “Hey, don’t laugh at me. And turn down the heat, you’re going to burn your butter.”

“Yes, chef,” he chuckles, actually turning off the stove. “If our cooking date over FaceTime has you this bossy, I don’t want to imagine our actual cooking date when we see each other.”

“As long as you cube my chicken into small pieces, we’ll be fine.”

“Oh, baby. I’ll cube your chicken however you want if it means I get to see you like this every time,” he says, a low growl. I blush, my hand flying up unconsciously to fix the skinny strap of my crop top.

Did I throw on the tiniest top and shorts on purpose? Yeah. Am I still blushing like a schoolgirl when he notices? Of course.

I let the chicken sizzle on medium heat and turn off the burner under the pot of pasta. “As long as you bring those low-rise sweatpants, we have a deal.” I wink at him, purposely not adjusting the phone’s angle. I walk out of view with the pan of cooked pasta toward the sink behind me.

I look over my shoulder as I drain the pasta water, catching Joaquin’s eyes practically falling out as he gets a full view of my ass. My tiny shorts barely cover my cheeks.

“Fuck,” I hear him mutter under his breath, and I laugh.

God, I love our FaceTime dinner dates—but I’d rather have him here.

FACETIME CALL May 27th Duration: 00:08:34 Connected – 1:45 PM EST

The familiar FaceTime tone rings through my AirPods, letting me know our call has connected.

“Babe, are you still working on that proposal?” Joaquin asks, resting me somewhere on his desk while sitting down in his office chair.

He was coming back from his lunch break—something I didn’t fully take on my part.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “We start pitching this new, amazing tech to our investors in a few days, and I just want it to be perfect.”

“Did you finish your lunch?” Joaquin eyes me, raising a brow. I glance at my half-eaten Caesar wrap salad in its to-go container, long forgotten on the other side of my desk. I don’t even have to answer—he already knows I completely skipped my lunch break.

“You have to eat something. You can't rely just on your coffee to get through the workload.”

“I also have my water,” I try to be cute, showing him the light pink water jug on camera. He tries to be serious for a second, but he breaks easily, his bright smile tugging at my heart.

“But I’m definitely planning on ordering a huge dinner once I get back home.”

“Good girl,” he smirks, typing away on his keyboard. “What are you ordering?”

“Remember the tacos you brought me last month? I’ve been craving them this whole week. Oh! And the ice cream with fresh churros and the Nutella dip.”

My stomach growls just at the thought of dinner.

Joaquin’s moan fills my ear, and I bring my knees together, forcing them shut as I try to act like that didn’t affect me.

“Those were so good. Now I’m hungry again.”

“Me too,” I laugh, trying to hide how turned on I am.

“I have to call you back—Sam’s calling me.” He leans over his desk, grabbing the phone from where he had it.

“Don’t worry, duty calls.” I smile, blowing him a kiss before the call disconnects.

FACETIME CALL June 9th Duration: 01:10:23 Connected – 10:32 PM EST

I grab the beautiful bouquet of white and pink lilies from my bedside table and place them on my lap carefully. I hold my phone high, trying to get the flowers and my body into frame.

Joaquin had sent me the bouquet congratulating me on a successful pitch, and I just wanted to send him something back—even if he’s overseas on a mission. The time difference has been hell. We haven’t had a real FaceTime call in days, just some short texts here and there.

I open my messages and the app opens on Joaquin’s text thread already. I attach the photo I just took and check it before hitting send, making sure it actually looks good.

You can barely see the white, tiny lace bralette and matching bottoms—the bouquet covering most of my body—but it’s enough to tease him before he starts the day.

iMessage 10:56AM Joaquin: Finally have service 10:58AM Joaquin: I can try and call you before you go to bed. I miss you 11:01AM Me: I miss you too 11:03AM Me: I’ll text you when I get out of the shower Be safe 10:31PM Me: *Attached Picture* Thank you for the flowers

I place the bouquet back on the nightstand and jump into bed, waiting to see if he replies. Not even a minute later, my phone starts ringing. I smile, my head sinking into my pillow as I answer.

His face pops up immediately—bare chest in frame, a light glow coming from his bedside table. His hair is messy and his dog tags stick to his skin. Ever since I saw them for the first time, the idea of pulling him down to kiss me by the metal chain haunts me day and night when we talk or when he sends photos.

“Hi baby,”

“You’re going to drive me insane,” He groans, setting his phone on the nightstand. I stare at his naked torso, the rest of his lower body hidden under his bedding. I don’t even try to hide that I’m staring, I let my eyes trail along his body.

“I just wanted to thank you for the flowers.” I say innocently, resting my back against the headboard. I position my phone at the perfect angle, chest in frame just a little to tease. “You didn’t like the photo?”

“Fuck, no. It’s my new favorite photo.” He reassures me, voice low. “Jesus, the things I would do to you if I was there.” He runs a hand down his face, groaning.

“Tell me,” I breathe, my body already reacting. “If you were here, how would you touch me?”

I test the waters, something we’ve been doing back and forth, but in person, we haven’t gone further than makeouts, touching and grinding. But, this is something new. This is untouched territory in our relationship.

“Shit, baby” Joaquin shifts, the hand on his chest disappearing out of frame. “Since you love being a tease, I’d start slow.”

I place my phone on the nightstand, resting it against the flower vase.

“I’d pin you down to that bed, kissing every inch of your neck while my hands cup your breast.” Joaquin’s eyes follow my movements. I copy his instructions, guiding my fingers from my neck to my breast. “And with my teeth, I’d slide that thin lace off your nipples and then swirl my tongue over them.”

I free my breast and cup it with my palm, imagining his mouth in place of my fingers. “Joaquin.” I breathe, pinching my nipple just enough to send my hips jolting up from the contact.

I watch him spit into his palm, his phone at a perfect angle to show me everything. He slides his sweats down, freeing his straining cock, leaving me gawking at his size.

I’ve felt it pressed against me before, but seeing it now? I press my thighs together instinctively.

“No, open those legs for me.” He demands, letting his cock slap against his stomach.

“Still with me?” He asks and I nod, forcing my legs apart.

“I’d slip my fingers down, pull the lace aside, and circle your clit” he continues.

The softest exhale escapes me as I follow his instructions, middle finger grazing and circling, my fingers soaked with my arousal.

“Hey—slow,” he warns. “You follow my orders, or I’ll stop.”

I whine, but nod. “Please,” I beg.

“The way I’d already be lost between your legs,” Joaquin went on. “Kissing your thighs, fingers coated in how wet you are. So wet, I could slide two fingers in and let you suck me deep.”

My eyes flutter shut as I slide two fingers in, the sound of his commanding voice nearly enough to send me over the edge.

“Fuck, I’m so wet, baby.”

Joaquin groans, his jaw tightening. “Don’t rush it. Let yourself feel it—curl those fingers, baby. Tell me what you feel.”

“Fuck,” I whimper. “It feels so good—I need more.”

“What do you need?” He says through gritted teeth.

“You. I need your hands holding me open, your cock filling me up. I’d let you take me any way you want.”

“I need your eyes on me,” he adds, breathless. “I need you to see what you do to me, even miles away.”

I force my eyes open and moan at the sight of him. His hand around his cock, biceps and shoulders flexing, dog tags stuck to his skin and glimmering under the light—nearly makes me cum on the spot.

“Fuck, I bet you’d ride my fingers so good.” Joaquin pants. “I can’t wait to taste you. Make you cum with my tongue, fingers and cock until I have your legs shaking.”

I bite my lip, and force myself to choke down my cry as I rock my fingers faster. My other hand reaches for my clit, circling the little nub.

“You sound so pretty like this,” he groans. “Desperate to cum. Aching for my cock to stretch you out.”

I spread wider, pressing deeper, harder—nearly knuckles deep— as my back arches into the pillows.

“Joaquin, I’m close.” My thighs tremble, heat spreads through my body. I squirm, desperate as my hips try to meet with my own thrust.

“I need you,” I gasp. “I need your hands, your mouth—fuck, I need your cock, Joaquin.”

“Fuck, say my name again,” he pants.

“Joaquin. Joaquin—” My voice breaks as I tremble, trying to keep my legs spread. Tears burning the corner of my eyes.

“I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me.”

And I do.

The white-hot wave crashes through me, and I cry out, letting it take over me. “Fuck, fuck.” I keep my eyes on him as his fist tightens around his cock. I whimper, feeling my walls flutter around my fingers.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he groans, breath catching. “So fucking good.”

I watch the twitch of his muscles, his mouth falling open as he spills over, gasping my name, eyes on me.

We stay quiet for a moment, just breathing but never looking away. Not even for a second.

“Are you okay?” he asks, still a little breathless.

I nod. What are words? Cause I don’t know any at the moment.

Shit, that was hot.

“I need to hear you baby, I can’t go on with my day without hearing you say it.”

“Fuck,” I rasp, smiling sleepily. “I’m more than okay.” I rest my hand on my chest, my breath calming down.

He laughs softly, leaning forward to grab his phone. “I miss you. I’m counting down the days until I’m done here.”

“I miss you too,” I sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How much longer are we going to be this far apart?”

“Not much, I promise.” Joaquin gets up from his small bed, dog tags clicking as he moves around the small room. I watch him slide a pair of boxers, then his cargo pants.

I walk to the bathroom, resting my phone on the vanity. “Did you get some sleep at least?”

“Not much. It’s hot and the bed is uncomfortable. My shoulders ache from training and from the bed.” Joaquin rubs his shoulder, trying to get rid of the tension bothering him.

“I’m so–”

“Torres.” A loud bang cuts me off from Joaquin’s side of the line. “We need you out here. Now.”

“I’m coming!” He yells back, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll call you later, get some rest, baby.” He rushes, slipping his boots.

“It’s okay, stay safe.” I managed to say, right before the call disconnected.

FACETIME CALL June 22 Duration: 05:33:45 Connected – 06:04 AM EST

The bathroom tiles feel cold against my hot sweaty skin as I sit in front of the toilet. I’ve been awake since four in the morning—puking, dizzy and struggling with awful period cramps.

I lean my back on the wall, closing my eyes while I try to steady my breathing and push down the nausea. My phone vibrates next to me, Joaquin’s contact picture lighting up the screen. My fingers hover over the phone. Do I really want him to see me like this?

But we haven’t talked in days, he’s been having a hard time with the wifi at the base he’s currently at.

Just as I slide my finger to answer, the awful wave of nausea creeps up from my stomach. I hurl into the toilet, gripping the bowl, leaving my phone unattended.

“Why am I looking at your ceilin—baby, are you sick? What’s going on?” I hear his worried voice through the speaker, but I can’t respond. Not when my gut is twisting inside me as I try to breathe through it.

I wipe my mouth with a towel, then grab the phone off the floor and settle back into my spot.

“Hi,” I whisper.

“Do I need to call someone? What’s wrong?” Joaquin’s face is pinched with concern. He looks like he’s ready to jump through the screen. He looks too cute when his worried forehead lines show up.

“I already told Carmen I’m not going into work today,” I say, my voice rough. “Just a bad period episode, that’s all.” I push the sweaty strands of hair from my face, trying to summon the strength to crawl back to bed.

“Does this usually happen?”

“No,” I admit. “But I think it’s the IUD I got earlier this week.”

I’d had the appointment, something I’d been meaning to do since our last FaceTime—but I hadn’t mentioned that it was for an IUD.

“You didn’t tell me you were getting it. I mean, you don’t have to, it’s totally your choice—but are the side effects supposed to be this bad?”

I chuckle as I listen to him ramble over the phone.

“I didn’t tell you because I did it just in case,” I shared. “Especially after our last few FaceTime calls.”

Joaquin blushes, cheeks and even the tips of his ears turn a cute shade of red. He scratches the back of his neck, but he doesn’t look away.

“I’m going to bed,” I sigh. “I already called off work.”

I stand up slowly, my hand braced against the wall for support. The nausea has passed, but my head still feels heavy, and the dizziness lingers.

“I hate not being able to be there,” he murmurs, his voice gentle. “I’d rub your back, grab the heating pad, feed you comfort food, run you a hot bath—whatever would help.”

“Hearing your voice helps.”

I lie down in bed, grabbing the heating pad and pulling the bed sheets over my body. I rest the phone on the nightstand, finally looking at him better.

Joaquin is in bed, shirtless, wearing only his cargo pants. He looks handsome, even with his messy hair, his tired eyes and the small constellation of moles on his face.

“You should go to sleep, handsome.” I yawn, rubbing my eyes.

“I don’t have to hang up. We can sleep together, baby—fall asleep together.” He yawns too, his free hand resting on his chest.

“I miss you so much.” I mumble, sleep already pulling me under.

“Descansa, mi amor. Te extraño mucho más.”

It’s the last thing I hear, his soft voice echoing through the phone, before darkness takes over.

#joaquin torres smut #joaquin torres x reader #captain america: brave new world #the falcon #joaquin torres fic #danny ramirez x reader #danny ramirez fic #danny ramirez imagines #the falcon imagines #joaquin torres #Joaquin Torres Fanfic #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres fanfiction #joaquin torres x you #Joaquin Torres Imagines #Marvel smut #danny ramirez smut #danny ramirez

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nuclearanomaly · 3 months ago

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Spite Loves...

#dragon age: veilguard #datv #Spite #spite dragon age #spite dellamorte #lucanis dellamorte #(adjacent)#Rook #zara renata #art: mine #I have had this sitting as a draft sketch / planned idea from like week 1 of veilguard release #back when I was still trying to grasp how to draw Lucanis / Spite #I'm glad I ended up setting it aside bc I'm so much more comfy with how to draw him now that it was sooo much easier #him and my rook tbh #honestly I am amazed I have not seen this meme for him yet???#is this meme old now?? am I old??? do the kids not know Ponyo Loves Revolution comic #(im joking but still amazed. if it's out there who ever else has made this joke your brain his huge and you're so smart)#I chose 'revenge' as I feel like I remember Mary specifically describing spite motivations re zara as revenge at some point...#im also so enamoured whenever people tag Spite as Spite Dellamorte... distinguished family member #anyway I'm glad to get this one off my list LOL it's been sitting in my procreate gallery taunting me for months #also wow 2 art posts in less than a week: i must be motivated or something :fingerguns:#tho its been a while since I've done a midnight art post and here we are again

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weatherera · 7 months ago

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“There were many like you.”

#generation loss #generation loss fanart #ranboo fanart #ranboo #traditional art #acrylic on canvas #acrylic painting #10x10 painting #genloss #generation loss the social experiments #genloss tse #genloss fanart #weathereraart #this has been in my drafts since like MIDDLE OF SEPTEMBER #so it’s a 2 month old painting at this point…#oops? :D

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arcanejude · 25 days ago

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the twins

#sorry becca there's a third twin in town #the pitt #thepittedit #melissa king #dennis whitaker #taylor dearden #gerran howell #*my gifs*#this has been in my drafts for like 2 months at this point #im just gonna send it

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hinge · 15 days ago

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Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

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yukaii · 5 months ago

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please play anthology of the killer

#yukart #bb aotk #director bosso #anthology of the killer #of the killer #aotk #this has been sitting in my drafts for like 2 months lol #replicating the style was so fun

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hydroj1ns · 6 months ago

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puppy hybrid hinata thoughts … and husky-hybrid kageyama cameo!

cw: hybrids, owner/pet, humping, jealousy

you couldn’t leave the shelter without adopting him, the cutest little puppy you ever laid your eyes on.

you couldn’t resist those huge, shining eyes that practically begged you to just please bring me home. and those little whimpers that left his mouth when you entered ran your fingers through his messy, but soft, orange hair. you were the first to come into the shelter in a long time, and it had been even longer since hinata felt someone’s warm touch on his skin.

when you finally took him home, he immediately started sniffing around your house, from the living room to the guest room (which was now his), until he finally made his way to your room.

you tried telling him that this one wasn’t his, that he had already passed the living space you had prepared for him, but he barged in anyway. his usually floppy ears perked up right when he entered, standing straight on his head like traffic cones.

you just stood there, unsure of what to do other than observe your new puppy’s strange behavior. little did you know, hinata was completely overwhelmed by the way your scent infiltrated his receptors. and he loved it.

he suddenly took long, quick strides to jump onto your bed, nuzzling the sheets and cuddling your pillows and oh god, it all smelled like you.

you smiled at the sight, now sure that yes, this was the right decision. you joined him, sitting on the edge of the bed, but as soon as your bottom made a dip on the mattress, he tackled you, forcing you to lay down with him.

the orange-colored hybrid rested his head against your chest and clung to you, wrapping his lanky limbs around your frame, pulling you ever so close. as he listened to the steady thump thump of your heart, his own started beating faster when you started absentmindedly playing with the hairs near his nape.

your puppy certainly did wear his heart on his sleeve (if that wasn’t already obvious by the way his tail was aggressively beating against your leg).

it had been a long day at work. your boss had tasked you with training the new hire, a husky hybrid by the name of kageyama.

honestly, he was kind of cute. because you were his assigned mentor, he was practically attached to your hip the whole day.

when you were teaching him the interface of the program he was expected to use, he was very attentive, practically breathing on your face as he observed every graph and date table you showed him.

you also appreciated the way he maintained eye contact with you, but honestly, it was a little bit intense; you couldn’t help but look away now and again because of that hungry, almost predatory gaze he held. he’s certainly very passionate about learning!

kageyama ate lunch with you too! he’s such a sweet coworker to keep you company while you eat! though, you swore you could feel someone staring at you when your attention was focused on your phone— you made it a habit to text hinata during your lunch breaks; you hate the thought of your adorable pup getting lonely.

and finally you could go home! not before receiving a bow from your grateful husky subordinate, however. he’s so polite.

when you returned home, you were immediately met with a strong hug from shoyo, causing the two of you to fall backwards in the entryway. giggling, you ruffle his soft hair.

you expected him to reply with his usual cheer, “welcome home!” but was surprised when he didn’t. instead, you were greeted by suspicious sniffs, hinata’s cold nose dragging through your hair and gliding over your neck and wrists.

“sho? what’s wrong?” you ask, worriedly. had something happened at home? did you forget to prepare him a meal in the fridge? did he-

“you… you smell like another hybrid.” he whispered, his agitation revealed by the way he refused to meet your eyes and rested his hands on the tail curled around his folded legs.

quickly, you make sure to comfort him, embracing him in your arms, “oh sho, please don’t be mad, it’s probably just the new husky my boss asked me to train! you know you’re the only puppy i want in my life….”

internally, you were amused by your pup’s possessiveness. he had never shown you this side of him before, and truth be told, it was very cute.

these thoughts were quickly expelled when hinata abruptly took you by the wrist and dragged you to your bedroom. you yelped; hinata had never been forceful with you, what was going on?

you were shoved roughly onto the matress, wrists pinned down by shoyo's cold hands. when did he get so strong?

"shoyo, honey, i swear you have nothing to worry about. it was just work between us, nothing more." you say in hopes of comforting your anxious pup.

but your words travel through one ear and out the other as the orange-haired hybrid noses at your neck, growling lowly. shoyo never growled. it was uncharacteristic of him. he was always well-behaved and cheerful, attributes that you loved.

fine. if he was going to be like this, "sho, i don't know what's gotten into you, but let me go. now." it wasn't often that you scolded shoyo.

for some reason, when he registered your stern voice, he felt something blooming in his chest. a hot, hot feeling, something he couldn't quite decipher. it confused him, and the throbbing feeling that was beginning to arise in his shorts wasn't helping. maintaining his grip on your wrists, he pressed his whole body onto yours, rendering you almost completely unable to move.

your pup started whimpering, unaware of what was happening to his body; all he knew was that he needed you against him.

shoyo began rutting his erection on your thigh, the friction relieving some of his desperate need for release. you could feel the immense warmth radiating from him as pants and whimpers fell from his mouth, pressed right against the shell of your ear.

then, realization hit you. the possessiveness, the jealousy...you weren't sure when to expect this kind of behavior from your pup because it hadn't been long since you brought him home, but you knew that estrous periods were when hybrids felt the most vulnerable.

you relaxed your tense muscles and managed to wriggle your arm from under his weight to tangle a hand in his bright hair. combing through his silky locks and scratching his soft ears, you whispered, "shh, its okay sho, just keep going...."

it was like your encouragement tightened the already tight grip you hand around his heart, his being, his reason for living. he loved you. he couldn't imagine being with anyone else. you were all he thought of when you went to work. you're the first person he thinks of when he wakes up and the last person he thinks of when he falls asleep.

your thigh against his heat felt so good. he couldn't help but imagine doing this every estrous cycle, going further with you, feeling your warmth embracing him... the grinding against you became faster, harder, more desperate, and shoyo could feel himself getting to his climax. you could practically feel how his cock throbbed, even between layers of clothing. as you gently tugged on his hair and whispered more sweet praises into his ears, sensitive from your light touches, he came into his pants. the warmth seeped through his boxers into his shorts.

he lifted his head from next to yours and you were met with his signature puppy eyes, blown wide from his orgasm and threatening to spill tears down his cheeks from how overwhelmed he felt. the hybrid pouted as you gave him a tired smile and leaned down to nuzzle his cheek against yours--- a silent apology.

you sighed and petted his hair--- your own silent forgiveness.

you got up first, "lets talk about this in the bath sho. your shorts are ruined."

and shoyo happily followed you like always, forgetting all the jealousy he welcomed you with.

#cw hybrids #hydroj1ns thirsts #sorry my first time writing hybrid and pet dyanmic im ngl this has been sitting in drafts for like 2 months thats why the ending is so bad #but its justa drabble anyway #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x male reader #hinata x reader #hinata fluff #haikyuu x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcannons #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fanfiction #hybrid haikyuu #haikyuu x male reader fluff #haikyuu male reader fluff #haikyuu hybrid au

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briskchips · 8 days ago

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How do you make your animatics? :0

Like, are there any techniques you use to make your animatics and storyboards so expressive and fun? The way they move reminds me of Shandzii in a way :]

Thank you so much!! Shandzii is very very talented, I'm flattered!

I'm not sure how helpful this is, but I think a big portion of my creative process in terms of movement and expression comes from daydreaming! In my head, I'm not held back by my own skill level or motivation, so it can look exactly as extravagant and expressive as I want.

I usually spend upwards of a week just relistening to the song/dialogue I'm interested in using and watching it in my head, sort of "directing" the composition and character movement in my mind until it looks good and I have a specific vision for everything. I build it all out in my head first, so there's zero limits, before I ever pick up a pen and start drawing

If I don't marry myself to the perfect daydream version of an animatic in my head, then I'll subconsciously end up making a simpler, easier to draw version, and it'll overall end up looking a lot flatter and more boring

#let your aspiration guide you!#that comes with a lot of downsides though. Mainly not thinking anything I make actually looks good LOL #man if you guys could only see how puppet boy looked in my head.... 🚬#Also sometimes struggling to keep up with the ambition can be. very stressful #my current animatic wip has been in progress for like 2 months now bc the ambitious first draft I made in my head required so much more wor #-than I thought it would. So many BGs..... shakes my fist at the sky #mailbox

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samcarpenters · 1 year ago

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WLWMEME ◇ [3/8] film characters — isabel lee (bottoms)

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hinge · 15 days ago

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Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

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malsorie · 1 year ago

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baby’s first trip to the surface of Toril

#this has been in my drafts for like 2 months #it looks better unrendered so 😭😭#minthara #minthara baenre #art #fanart #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #expressing violence and being bothered by the sun

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cat-b0t · 3 months ago

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Reddie are girl dads, trust me on this

#this is has been rotting away in my drafts for like. 2 months #someone smarter than me PLS expand on this idea because I can't form normal words about this #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #cats posts #gay clown movie

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wingsofhcpe · 10 months ago

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Aramis: trust me, I know what I'm doing

Athos, 0.2 seconds away from a stroke: NOT EVEN GOD KNOWS WHAT YOU'RE DOING

#the musketeers #bbc musketeers #athos #aramis #bbc the musketeers #comte de la fere #rene d'herblay #this quote lives rent free in my head and i laugh way too hard every time i recall ot and also IT'S VERY THEM #source is diehard 3 iirc #also this has been sitting in my drafts for like 2 months now. time to release it into the wild

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galaxgay · 1 year ago

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i think the thing that bothers me about a portion of the fandom misrepresenting Aziraphale's trauma is that the way Aziraphale acted in the final fifteen is so real. Trauma has pushed me to do stuff like that- to deny and push away what I truly want (and hurt people i care for most) for a false perception of safety and to be almost excited for it.

Regardless of whether or not Aziraphale simply didnt articulate his ideas with Crowley or not, his inability to accept the toxicity of Heaven is a huge piece of trauma and in a weird way, a common stage of healing.

If 18 year old me, and 23 year old me had a conversation about our trauma and how to handle it, I think it would've gone the same way that Crowley and Aziraphale's converstion went (minus the romance ofc 💀)

I think some would have preferred Aziraphale to act out a romanticized version of Trauma- that the kiss would undo all of Aziraphale's worries and misconceptions and they'd just be free. But i feel that would cheapen it all.

I think the final fifteen was exactly what it needed to be.

#this has been in my drafts for like a month #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #good omens 2 #final fifteen

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faecaribou · 2 months ago

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i love to dissect differences in relationships in blu and red teams. scout edition because i only gaf about him sorry lol

Scout and Spy

Blu Spy, Blu Scout: healthy father son relationship. well as healthy as it gets for a spy and a scout lol so still not great but they are capable of telling each other they care. Blu Spy is very careful about never showing any ounce of affection on the battlefield so Scout can't rely for help from Spy like that but off-field he goes to Spy for any and all advice, usually emotional advice.

Blu Spy Red Scout: blu spy is a major dick to him

Red Spy Red Scout: unhealthy father son relationship. spy might help out his son but they will beat the shit out of each other every step of the way. projecting their own self loathing at each other which leads to them being shitty to each other which is just. its a endless feedback loop but sometimes in the evening Spy is feeling particularly nostalgic and Scout needs advice and well. come on into the smoking room, Scout, I'll help. And if Red Scout is in a jam on the battlefield, well. Spy promised his mother he'd look out for Jeremy. But if he can get away without Scout even knowing who helped, that'd be great.

Red Spy Blu Scout: red spy does not have any particular hatred for this member of the blu team. He is jealous of the blu spy and scout relationship, you think he wouldn't pick up on it despite blu spy trying to hide it? haha. he doesnt target the blu scout at all even if he's jealous because he doesn't want blu spy 'randomly' deciding to focus on him all game. like red spy wouldnt do the same if someone targeted red scout, puh-lease

Scout and Medic

Red Medic Red Scout: two people who cannot stfu but neither wants to listen to the other so they dont bond over this but they're still cool. If I'm allowed to feel a little shippy I'd even add that Medic appreciates Scouts legs ^w^ and Scout is like "BOOBA" but Medic is exasperated by Scout's constant injuries though he WILL heal him. Scout is terrified of Medic's unnecessary experiments but if Medic is like "this is necessary and here's why" then Scout WILL sign up pretty quickly, he was second to get the uberheart after all. Medic appreciates that even if he's annoyed that when it comes to needles Scout will run.

Red Medic Blu Scout: blu scout is going to get tortured to death

Blu Medic Blu Scout: EMESIS BLU. if no EB then Medic alternates rapidly between distancing himself from Scout and smothering him. He doesn't want to care for his team but he does and so he keeps doing this hot-cold thing that drives Scout nuts, and if Scout is injured then Medic is definitely overbearing until he's healed in which case then he's getting yelled at and violently kicked out of medbay.

Blu Medic Red Scout: EB-wise I see Blu medic trying to replace his missing scout with this guy :( non-EB wise i feel like scout loves to kill this guy so that he can brag and thus blu medic does NOT care for him. he wants to sic Heavy on Red Scout sooo bad

Scout and Heavy

Red Heavy Red Scout: Older brother vibes to Scout but Scout highkey takes it for granted because hes so used to having older brothers. he harasses the shit outta this old man be nice scout >:( Heavy in exchange has wayyyyy too much patience for Scout because of his younger sisters. Though sometimes Scout will say something so jarring that Heavy remembers that Scout is in fact, not his little sister, and actually get mad, in which case Scout will back off immediately because ohhh fuck i angered the big guy. Scout's older brothers are pretty hot-headed, he knows when he actually needs to back off or get strangled, though he frequently toes that line too far

Red Heavy Blu Scout: never thought about this dynamic even once in my life tbh. standard rival team neutrality

Blu Heavy Red Scout: Scout i swear to god leave him alone stop killing him for sandwiches. one day Heavy is going to snap and when ubercharged he's going to beat the shit out of Scout and Medic won't be able to decide whether this is the best thing ever or mad at a wasted ubercharge but after that incident Scout will cool it a little

Blu Heavy Blu Scout: same as red heavy red scout except blu scout is a bit quieter and thus bothers him less

Scout and Sniper

Red Sniper Red Scout: i am not a sniperscout shipper but i imagine that they have a level of broship here

Red Sniper Blu Scout: standard rivalry, i genuinely believe as a general rule cross faction-wise that snipers are too busy dealing with spies or being jumped by a particularly irate Demo or Soldier to super care about Scouts on the battlefield. Scouts are like "MAN I HATE HEADSHOTS" because they hate all forms of dying but besides the random running up to the roost to bash a head in there's not much going on

Blu Sniper Red Scout: i seen this as a cross factional rival turned romance before and sure i guess

Blu Sniper Blu Scout: sniper is physically around the blu team more than red sniper but he is just as quiet, if not moreso so i think they just got a coworker thing going on here. blu scout has a significantly more protective father (or it just appears this way since blu spy is more vocal about it) so god forbid blu sniper makes any sort of move on scout ship speaking

Scout and Demo

Red Demo Red Scout: Scout doesn't care much for Demo unless Demo's breaking out the drinks and sharing. He's a teammate, he's nice, but he's hard for Scout to understand with the slurring and the accent and they don't have a lot of mutual interests. Explosions are fun but Demo's not going to set off explosions willy-nilly in the backyard so how much fun CAN he be. Likewise, Demo thinks Scout is a good kid but a tad annoying, definitely annoying younger brother vibes. Fond but not spending hours of his time with him

Red Demo Blu Scout: Run by each other. Kills them. Keeps running. Demo has bigger fish to fry and Scout likes to think he does too

Blu Demo Red Scout: About the same except I like to think Blu Demo is a little less jovial than Red Scout so a little more serious. Maybe a little more tense than the other dynamic but still the same.

Blu Demo Blu Scout: Blu Scout is juuuuust quieter than Red Scout so these two are less likely to fight than Red Demo and Red Scout, but somehow the red ones are closer to each other than these two. Blu Demo does not like sharing his alcohol with someone who has just horrible alcohol tolerance, Scout can achieve the same effect just drinking the blu beer

Scout and Soldier

Red Scout Red Soldier: They rough-house a LOT because they both consider themselves to be the best offensive class and they're both very hot-headed and prone to physical violence. The longer they've known each other, the less likely they're seriously injuring each other or sending each other to respawn while rough-housing. Soldier tries to dad scout but its so bad that literally no one realizes this is what he's doing. "let's go fishing scout!" Scout returns from this trip soaking wet, bleeding, one fish caught but he still doesnt know how to fish, which was the whole reason why soldier dragged him along, and now scout hates fishing. soldier thinks he did a job well done but he didnt

Red Scout Blu Soldier: bruhhhhh i hate fighting enemy soldiers-I MEAN SCOUT HATES IT whats the point of running fast if this asshole is going to fall out of the sky with a rocket. Scout hates this guy and while Soldier hates him back its more of a "I hate all Reds" than personal. It's personal to Scout.

Blu Scout Red Soldier: Blu Scout's a little more nervous about 1v1ing Red Soldier, which is fair because if he kills red soldier the guy will probably forget his original objective and spend the rest of the match trying to hunt him down and repeatedly kill him. like sure he'll forget by next fight but Blu Scout'll spend THIS fight miserable. Again, it's more personal to Scout than it is to Soldier

Blu Scout Blu Soldier: Soldier is definitely the leader of the offense team and he runs them to the ground making them train. Blu Soldier's easier for Scout to approach when it comes to emotional problems, and might be in his top 3 to go for advice, but its a very reluctant and grudging bond they have. The only rough-housing they have is on the wrestling mat.

Scout and Pyro

Red Pyro Red Scout: scared of pyro at first but eventually they becomes friends. they both like to draw, Pyro will pretend to like baseball (he's just waiting for his turn for the tv), and they both enjoy explosions. they're buddies

Red Pyro Blu Scout: Pyro is so scary to him. Also he's afraid of burning alive. Pyro of course does not have opinions on anything about the enemy team because as far as he's concerned he's giving lollipops to babies. If Scout knew about Pyrovision he'd only be more scared

Blu Pyro Red Scout: Also terrified of the enemy Pyro but he's so convinced red spy would mock him over his fear that he just keeps getting burnt up again and again until its less about fear of burning alive as it is just fear of Pyro

Blu Pyro Blu Scout: They bond because they suffer together under Blu Soldier's makeshift boot camp but Blu Pyro enjoys being outdoors more than Red Pyro (outdoor fires vs indoor fires preferences) so they're not as close as the reds because they dont necessary draw together or watch tv together

Scout and Engineer

Red Engineer Red Scout: yes yes we know. daddy issues Scout paired with "calls him son" Engineer. Scout goes to Engineer if Spy is too busy for advice, or to complain about Spy to Engie. Engie's work has juuust enough lack of explosions that he doesn't usually mess with Engineer's things and thus is allowed to be in the workshop, provided he still doesn't touch anything. If Scout touches anything that's a whole week banned from the workshop, and yes Engineer will hide in the workshop to hide from Scout during that week because Scout has perfected a quiet, insecure regret that will make Engineer break and they both know it. Engineer wishes he had a son I know it and he is taking that out on Scout

Red Engineer Blu Scout: Scout hates sentries but tf is he gonna do about it lolololol get fucked little guy. He never gets close enough to Engie to be a problem so Engie doesnt even care

Blu Engineer Red Scout: same thing honestly except Scout thinks Blu Engineer is a little scary when mad about sapped sentries so he just runs past the guy with only a few scattered shots at him. He shoots at the guy but he's not sticking around for a proper fight

Blu Engineer Blu Scout: doesnt have as much daddy issues as Red Scout but Blu Scout either goes to Blu Engie or Blu Solly if his dad is busy. He knows juuuust a little bit of knowledge where sometimes if Blu Engineer is in a good mood he'll let Scout sit next to him and hand him the tools he asks for. Blu Engineer is more for practical problems than emotional ones so they aren't quite as close as the red ones, and after the first year or so Blu Scout isn't causing any explosions in the workshop... on purpose

#is this anything burger #tf2 scout #tf2 headcanons #headcanon #tf2 mercs #team fortress 2 #team fortress two #spydad #sorry did i imply that scout and snipes ship is just ok to me and that i ship mediscout. SORRY LOL #this has been sitting in my drafts for a HOT MINUTE wow #like months

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