#is he even sleeping now? or is it not part of his schedule?

[cheftsunoda]

hello, I wanted to ask for a charles + Alexandra poly fic where they ignored her for the longest time while dating her until she's had enough and breaks up with them (make them work for it) but a slight happy ending but lots of angst plssss

too late - cl16 + alexandra

smau + blurbs

charles leclerc x reader x alexandra saint mleux

slight carlos sainz x reader

yn has been with charles and alexandra for a little bit over a year now- and over that past year- she has felt like she has been desperately trying to be seen in her own relationship. yn has had enough and decides to end things with charles and alexandra...the two realize what they lost but will it be too late?

fc : bella hadid (im so gay for blonde bella holy shit)

loosely inspired by 'too late' by sza bc solana is my queen and i love her dearly

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alexandrasaintmleux

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 1,507,023 others.

alexandrasaintmleux : happy happy happy

tagged : charles_leclerc

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username0 : oh shocker another post without yn

username8 : y'all do know another person exists in your relationship right??

charles_leclerc : prettiest girl in the world

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

↳ username10 : oh yn baby close your eyes

yourusername : so beautiful! miss you both <3

↳ username15 : bbg pls just leave this relationship for us and for your sake.

↳ username17 : i get so tired of seeing her comment on both of their posts and her get absolutely ignored.

↳ username20 : fr like why add a third if they act like she isn't even there?

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'every time you break my heart, it feel new'

I unlocked the door with the key I still wasn’t sure I should have. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of a Formula 1 replay on the living room TV. Alexandra was curled into the corner of the couch, her hair tucked messily behind her ear, her laptop open but untouched. Charles was pacing the hallway, his phone pressed to his ear, mumbling in French. Neither of them noticed me at first. Figures.

“Hey,” I said softly, dropping my carry-on at the entryway.

Charles turned, surprise flickering in his eyes. “YN? I didn’t know you were coming back tonight.”

“I told you.” My voice was calm. Too calm. “Last Tuesday. Before my flight.”

Alexandra looked up now, blinking. “Oh—right. You said something. Sorry, I’ve been slammed with deadlines.”

I nodded slowly. My heart thudded in my chest, the weight of what I’d come here to say crushing my lungs.

“You look beautiful,” Charles offered, walking closer. “Tired, but beautiful. You always are.”

I didn’t smile. They both looked at me then—really looked. And maybe for the first time in weeks, they noticed the shadows under my eyes. The clenched set of my jaw. The red rim around my waterline from the plane ride, and the crying I did in the taxi. I took a breath.

“I’m ending this.”

Alexandra sat up straight. “What?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” I said, staring at the floor because if I looked into their faces I’d break. “I feel like a ghost in this relationship. I come home to you and it’s like I’m interrupting something I’m not a part of.”

Charles looked genuinely confused. “YN, we love you.”

“No,” I said, voice sharper. “You love each other. I’m just... extra. Decorative. Like something you post when you remember I exist. I’ve been screaming silently for months and neither of you heard me.”

Alexandra stood up now, her eyes wide and panicked. “That’s not true. You’re part of us—”

“Then why do I feel so alone?” I snapped. “Why did I cry myself to sleep in Milan because neither of you even texted me goodnight? Why do I know Charles’ race schedule better than he knows where I was this week?”

Charles stepped forward. “That’s not fair—”

“It’s not fair,” I agreed, cutting him off. “But it’s the truth.”

They both stared at me like I was shattering the world. But it had already broken. I’d just been the only one trying to hold the pieces together.

Alexandra reached for me. “We can fix this. We didn’t realize—”

“No,” I said again, quieter this time. “You don’t get to realize it when I’m already halfway out the door.”

Silence.

“Are you leaving?” Charles asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded. “I packed most of my stuff before I left for the shoot. I’ll send someone for the rest.”

“Please don’t do this,” Alexandra begged. “Please.”

I looked at her—her beautiful, tear-streaked face. Then Charles, who finally looked like he understood the gravity of it all.

“I loved you both so much,” I whispered. “But I won’t keep setting myself on fire just to keep you warm.”

And with that, I turned and walked out the door. Neither of them followed me. Not yet. But maybe, one day, they would.

-

I didn’t even knock. I just buzzed the door and waited, arms wrapped tightly around my chest, sunglasses still covering eyes that hadn’t stopped burning since I left Charles and Alexandra’s apartment. Kika opened the door in her sweats, blinking sleepily.

“Oh, my baby,” she said softly, immediately stepping aside. “Come in.”

I didn’t say anything—I couldn’t. The lump in my throat was lodged deep, painful and stubborn. But when she closed the door behind me and pulled me into a hug, the dam cracked wide open.

“I left them,” I whispered into her shoulder.

Kika didn’t flinch. She just held me tighter.

“I can’t do it anymore,” I mumbled, words muffled by her hoodie. “I begged and waited and tried and they didn’t see me. And now I’m so tired, Kiks. I’m so—tired.”

She pulled back just enough to look at me, brushing hair out of my face. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I knew something was off, babe. I just wanted you to figure it out on your own time.”

“I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not,” she said firmly. “You’re brave. And honestly? You’re overdue for a little revenge sparkle.”

I blinked. “A what?”

“A revenge. Sparkle.” She grinned, already pulling me by the hand toward her room. “We’re going out.”

“Kika, I can’t. I’m wearing sweatpants and yesterday’s mascara.”

“And I love you, but you’re a model. You’re going to look like you just walked off the runway no matter what. Give me twenty minutes.”

Twenty-eight minutes later, I was wearing one of Kika’s dresses—black, short, with delicate straps that barely held on. She’d done my hair in soft waves, the kind that looked careless. My eyeliner was sharp enough to cut diamonds, and my lips were slick with gloss that shimmered like I hadn’t just cried out my heartbreak on her floor.

She stood behind me at the mirror, fixing her earrings. “You look like sin.”

“I feel like a mess.”

“That’s okay,” she said, handing me a shot. “We drink to that too.”

—

'had to be alone to figure out how i should be loved'

The club was loud and hazy and full of people who didn’t know me—or worse, did. I felt their eyes. Some recognized me from campaigns. A few, maybe from F1 weekends. A handful, probably from Charles’ arm. But tonight I was no one’s anything. I was just me.

Kika pulled me to the dance floor with the kind of joy that only comes from a friend who knows exactly what you need and isn’t afraid to drag it out of you. We danced. I laughed—really laughed—for the first time in weeks.

Some guy tried to touch my waist. Kika practically hissed at him. “Not tonight, Romeo.”

A girl complimented my shoes. Another asked if I was the face of the Tom Ford campaign. We continued to dance until our legs hurt, until sweat made my hair stick to the back of my neck, until I could almost forget the aching hollowness in my chest.

Kika dragged me off the dance floor and into a quieter section of the VIP lounge. “You need water,” she said firmly. “And probably a fan.”

I flopped down onto one of the couches with a huff, head tilted back and the lights above making halos in my vision. I felt hazy. Not drunk—just overwhelmed. Light-headed from too many emotions and too little oxygen.

“YN?”

I blinked. The voice was familiar, warm, and just surprised enough to make me sit up straighter. Carlos.

He was standing a few feet away, wearing a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a slightly confused smile on his face. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times. And he was holding two drinks.

“Kika?” he asked, eyes flicking between us. “What did you drag her into?”

Kika smirked. “Revenge clubbing.”

Carlos’ brows lifted. He looked at me again—really looked. And then it clicked. His face softened.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and careful.

“I’ve been better,” I admitted, adjusting the strap of Kika’s dress. “But I’ve also been worse.”

He hesitated for half a second, then walked over and held out one of the drinks. “This was supposed to be for Lando, but he left to flirt with someone, so…”

I accepted it with a small smile. “Thanks.”

Carlos didn’t sit, not at first. He just hovered there, like he wasn’t sure if he was invited or if I wanted space. But I didn’t.

“Sit,” I said, gesturing to the spot beside me.

He did. Kika glanced between us and then stood. “I’m gonna go powder my nose—or whatever people say when they want to let friends talk.”

She disappeared into the crowd. Carlos leaned back, sipping his drink. “So. You really ended it.”

I turned to him, startled. “You knew?”

He shrugged gently. “Charles hasn’t said anything. But I know him. And I know you. And I’ve been watching this… thing… with the three of you for a while. You didn’t look happy anymore.”

I stared at the ice melting in my glass.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You deserve better than being someone’s background.”

I looked up at him. “Thanks. That’s… really kind.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “I’m Spanish. We’re either reckless or romantic. Or both.”

I laughed—actually laughed, surprising even myself.

Carlos tilted his head. “There she is.”

“What?”

“That smile. Haven’t seen it properly in a while.”

My heart tugged a little. Not in a romantic way—not yet, not tonight—but in that aching way you feel when someone really sees you.

“Wanna dance?” he asked suddenly.

I looked at him, brows raised. “You?”

“I’m not terrible,” he said with a mock-wounded pout. “And I figured… if anyone deserves to be spun around the floor like a queen tonight, it’s you.”

I paused for half a second. Then set down my drink.

“Let’s go.”

And when he pulled me toward the music, laughing as I rolled my eyes but let him lead anyway, I felt something click—not healing, not completely. But something warm. Something light.

-

f1gossipgirls

liked by lando and 874,302 others.

f1gossipgirls : Model YN LN was spotted in the club last night with none other than, Carlos Sainz. The two were seen dancing and sitting rather close in the club and then were seen leaving hand in hand. LN has been in a relationship with both Charles Leclerc and Alexandra Saint Mleux for over the last year but sources close say that their relationship has recently went south? Is this confirmation of that?

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username0 : lando's messy ass in the likes

username7 : idc if they’re just friends. yn was glowing and that’s all that matters. let my girl heal in peace

username8 : alexandra and charles ignoring her for months and now they’re gonna see her thriving with carlos?? iktr mama

username15 : they always had chemistry whenever they were spotted in group pics i KNEW IT

username11 : i can sleep well at night knowing the carlos will treat her how she deserves

username18 : notice how none of these comments pity charles or alex bc everyone knows they did our girl wrong

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third person pov

Charles was half-asleep on the couch, phone in hand, the Monaco sunset bleeding into the living room. Alexandra sat cross-legged beside him, scrolling absentmindedly until she suddenly froze.

“Charles,” she said quietly, tone sharp with disbelief.

He barely looked up. “Hm?”

“Look at this.”

She turned her phone toward him. There it was — a grainy paparazzi photo, flash caught mid-motion- YN in a tiny black dress, smiling. Carlos Sainz beside her, hand in hers, leading her out of the club. Another shot, closer, of them dancing. Charles sat up fully now, taking the phone from her hands. His jaw clenched.

“I didn’t even know she was still in Monaco,” he muttered, voice low, unreadable.

Alexandra swallowed hard. “Did you see the caption? The comments?”

Charles nodded slowly, scrolling.

He exhaled, almost scoffing—but there was no humor in it.

“She really meant it. She is done."

Alexandra didn’t say anything. The air between them thickened, heavy with the realization they were both too late. And Carlos… Carlos had been right there to pick up the pieces. Charles handed her back the phone, but his eyes stayed locked on the screen, like if he stared hard enough, maybe she'd look back at him. She didn’t.

-

yourusername

liked by franciscagomes, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc & 2,084,035 others.

yourusername : kika helped me build the furniture for my new apartment so i made her a romantic candlelit dinner ;) and carlos... he just looked pretty

tagged : franciscagomes, carlossainz55

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pierregasly : were the rose petals and candles really necessary?

liked by yourusername and franciscagomes

↳ yourusername : she deserves the best pear. and if you hate that- you'd really hate what i gave her for dessert.

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↳ pierregasly : BLAH BLAH BLAH I CAN'T HEAR YOU

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lando : carlos is rlly pretty. (get your paws off my man)

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↳ yourusername : dw i could never break up carlando 🙄

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username0 : charles in the LIKESSSS

↳ lando : oh but im the messy one

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↳ yourusername : messy and NOSEY

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carlossainz55 : could never be prettier than you, cariño

liked by yourusername and lando

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'you be on my phone talking 'bout what's my problem?'

your pov

I opened the door and nearly tripped over the latest delivery. Another bouquet. Bigger this time. Deep red roses mixed with white lilies, tied together with a silk ribbon that had 'please read the card' scribbled in familiar handwriting. I stepped over it. The hallway was already crowded—vases on countertops, little gift bags lining the entryway, a Chanel box I hadn’t opened, and a coffee table book on Italian photography I hadn’t asked for but knew Charles had once said I’d love. I should’ve felt flattered. Wanted. I used to dream about gestures like this—grand, romantic, persistent. Now it just felt… too late. My phone buzzed on the counter again. The screen lit up.

Charles is calling...

I stared at it long enough for it to stop ringing. It buzzed again two minutes later. And against every instinct, every ache in my chest, I answered.

“Hello?”

Silence—just for a beat—and then-

“YN?”

His voice was so soft I nearly forgot how much it used to feel like home.

“Yeah,” I said, quietly.

“I—uh—I didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“I almost didn’t.”

I heard him exhale, like just hearing my voice knocked the breath out of him.

“How are you?” he asked, hesitant. “I mean… how’s the new place?”

“It’s good,” I said. “Kika helped me build furniture. Carlos made pasta.”

He didn’t reply at first, but I heard the tightness in the silence.

“You’ve been sending a lot of flowers,” I added.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

I leaned against the counter, eyes on the newest bouquet.

“I didn’t leave because I wanted you to prove you cared, Charles,” I said gently. “I left because I was tired of begging to matter.”

“I know,” he said, voice low. “And I’m sorry. God, YN, I’m so sorry. We both are. We… we messed it all up.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “You did.”

There was a pause. A long one. He didn’t argue. He didn’t defend. For once, he didn’t try to fix it with charm or promises. I appreciated that.

“But I can’t… forgive you yet,” I said finally. “I’m not saying never. Just… not now.”

The silence on the other end was heavy.

“I understand,” he said softly. “But we’re not giving up. Me and Alex. We’re going to keep trying. Even if it takes time. Even if it hurts.”

I closed my eyes.

“I know you will,” I said. “But I don’t need flowers or gifts.”

“What do you need?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“Space,” I said. “And maybe one day… honesty. Real honesty. About everything. About why it took me leaving for you to realize I was fading.”

He didn’t respond to that. He didn’t need to.

“Take care of yourself, Charles,” I murmured. “Goodbye.”

And then I hung up—gently. Not in anger. Not in heartbreak. Just… in peace. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had the final word. And it was enough.

_

weloveyn

liked by franciscagomes, alexandrasaintmleux, lando & 905,043 others.

weloveyn : YN was seen leaving her apartment in Monaco today with a new look. She is now BLONDE. And can we just say....SHE ABSOLUTELY ATE DOWN.

tagged : yourusername

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username0 : she didn’t just eat… she devoured… she licked the plate clean… she sent the kitchen on fire

liked by yourusername and franciscagomes

username10 : charles and alexandra are going to be ill over this

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lando : oh it EATS

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↳ yourusername : i love you but this further proves my point that you are nosey as hell.

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franciscagomes : the prettiest angel there ever was

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↳ yourusername : forever in love w u

username00 : alex in the likes OH SHE IS SICK

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'moving so close, we combust'

I hadn’t meant to walk this way. The bakery was muscle memory — early mornings, almond croissants, little old ladies who called me “chérie” and complimented my shoes. I’d forgotten it was their bakery too. I was halfway to the door, sunglasses pushed into my hair, when I saw her. Alexandra. Standing at the outdoor table, two empty coffee cups in front of her, phone in hand. She looked up at the sound of my steps — and froze. So did I. She was still beautiful, of course. The kind of beauty that felt timeless and cinematic. But her eyes looked tired, like sleep had been something optional lately. Or impossible. I thought about walking away. I didn’t.

“Hi,” I said softly, arms folded over my chest — not in defense, just to hold myself together.

Alexandra stood slowly, slipping her phone into her coat pocket.

“Hi.”

We stared at each other for a second too long.

“Blonde,” she finally said, her voice tight but not unkind. “It suits you.”

I gave her a small smile. “Thanks. New era.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I can tell.”

There was a pause. Monaco traffic buzzed behind us. Someone’s dog barked down the street. But everything felt muted.

“I’ve been meaning to call you,” she said. “I just… didn’t know what I’d say.”

“That I was right?” I offered, half a joke. Half a wound.

Alexandra winced — not dramatically, just a flicker. “Yeah. That too.”

I looked at her for a long time. I didn’t hate her. That was the strangest part. I loved her once. Maybe some part of me still did. But the hurt was louder.

“You didn’t fight for me when it mattered,” I said quietly. “Neither of you did.”

“I know,” she said, and her voice cracked just enough to make me look away.

“I don’t hate you,” I added. “I’m just done bleeding for people who only notice the mess after the fact.”

Alexandra nodded, swallowing hard.

“Carlos?” she asked softly.

I tilted my head. “Maybe. I’m not rushing anything. He’s… kind.”

A beat passed.

“I’m glad,” she said, and her smile — though fragile — looked real. “You deserve kind.”

I didn’t say thank you. I just gave a small nod, stepping past her toward the door.

“YN?” she called gently, just as I reached the handle.

I turned.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For all of it.”

I didn’t answer right away. Then, simply- “I know.” And I walked inside, the door clicking shut behind me.

-

third person pov

Alexandra closed the front door behind her with a soft click, like anything louder might shatter the silence that already felt fragile. She didn’t take off her coat. Didn’t slip off her shoes. She just stood in the hallway, staring at the bouquet of slightly wilted flowers on the console table — the ones Charles had picked out last week. Another offering YN never accepted. Charles appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel, brows furrowing the moment he saw her.

“Alex?”

She looked up, and that was all it took. The tears started before she could even speak. He rushed to her, towel dropping to the floor as he reached out, but she shook her head and stepped back, covering her mouth with one hand like she could hold everything in.

“I saw her,” she choked. “This morning. She was at the bakery.”

Charles froze. “YN?”

Alexandra nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “She looked so… good. Bright. Like she was breathing again. Like we were never anything but a bruise she already healed from.”

Charles didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, expression crumbling slowly with every word.

“I told her I was sorry,” Alexandra whispered, voice cracking. “And she said she knows. But she didn’t say she forgives us. She didn’t say she misses us. She didn’t even… flinch.”

Charles stepped forward then, gently pulling her into his arms. She collapsed against his chest, burying her face in his shirt as the sobs came harder now, heavy and guttural.

“I let her go,” Alexandra cried. “We let her go. We ignored her and she left, and now someone else is making her smile and we just—stood there.”

Charles’s arms tightened around her. “I know,” he whispered, eyes closed, his own throat burning. “I know.”

She pulled back, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, eyes searching his face.

“She’s not coming back, is she?”

He didn’t answer right away. Because he couldn’t lie.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “But I don’t think she should—not until we’re better. Not until we’re someone who’d never make her feel that way again.”

Alexandra let out a shaky breath, wiping her face, her voice nothing but a whisper now.

“Then we have to become those people. Even if it’s too late.”

Charles looked at her — at the woman who once stood beside him as they promised the world to a third they thought they’d never lose. And for the first time in weeks, he nodded.

“We will.”

Even if it meant they’d have to love her from a distance. Even if it meant she never looked back.

-

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55 & 8,010,005 others.

yourusername : my new brand @/yourbrandname has officially launched worldwide!! i have worked on this collection for so long and have poured my heart and soul into every piece. thank you all for all the support! i love love love you!!

shop online and in select stores now!

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username0 : mkay but can we talk about the fact that charles and alexandra showed up at the launch??

↳ username15 : whattttt?

↳ username0 : yeah they were there watching her- i don't know if they had any interactions but they were there. vid is on twitter

↳ username8 : its ironic how when they were dating- they wouldn't show up but now that she broke it off with them - they show up.

↳ username20 : some ppl don't realize what they have until it is gone

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lando : So like… do I get a friends and family discount or do I have to model?

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : i do not want YOU on my advertisements so i will just give it to you for free

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↳ lando : gonna act like you didn't just insult me and take this as a win

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franciscagomes : SO FREAKING PROUD OF YOU!! i love you sm my angel

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↳ yourusername : love you even more

lilymhe : SLAYYYYYED. need the whole collection.

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↳ yourusername : it is on it's way to yours rn ;)

↳ lilymhe : OH MY GOD FDHASDLJ ily

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carlossainz55 : so proud of you. you are absolutely incredible.

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charles_leclerc : Well deserved. Congrats, YNN.

↳ username0 : OHHH

arthur_leclerc : Congratulations, YN! Looks great!

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↳ yourusername : thanks for the flowers, thur!

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↳ username8 : her and arthur always got along so well. this break up pains me

↳ username15 : they are def still friends just not future in laws anymore

lewishamilton : So talented! I love every part of this collection!

liked by yourusername

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'is it too late for us? we both scared to love.'

I wasn’t sure what I expected—chaos, maybe. Nerves, definitely. But instead, the store buzzed with warmth. Friends wandered between racks, models sipped champagne, cameras clicked gently as people snapped photos of the collection I’d dreamt of for years. And at the center of it all- me. Standing in something I designed, something that carried my name on the tag. I kept waiting to feel like a fraud. I didn’t.

Kika had cried the second she walked in. She pulled me into a hug and whispered, “You did it,” in that proud, soft voice of hers, and I nearly cried too. She was still floating around now, chatting with a stylist near the window, holding one of the trench coats I had stitched the prototype of in a hotel room six months ago.

Carlos had arrived not long after. No entourage, no flash. Just him—warm, solid, smiling. He’d brought flowers wrapped in brown paper and joked that he’d read somewhere it was what sophisticated men brought to fashion launches. I hadn’t stopped smiling since. I was halfway through answering a question from someone with a clipboard when I felt it. That prickle. Like eyes on the back of my neck. I turned casually. Slowly. And there they were.

Charles and Alexandra.

They were standing by the far wall, mostly tucked behind a display of curated accessories. He had his hands in his pockets, brows faintly drawn like he didn’t know what to do with himself. She stood beside him, quiet, her expression unreadable but not cold.

They didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. They were just there. And somehow… I didn’t feel shaken. I didn’t feel anything jagged. I looked at them for a moment—long enough that Charles seemed to hold his breath. Then I smiled. Soft. Gentle. Distant, but real. He smiled back, just a twitch of the lips, like he was surprised I’d acknowledged them at all. Before I could think about it too much, an arm slipped around my waist and pulled me back into something warm and familiar.

Carlos.

“Hey,” he murmured into my ear. “You okay?”

I nodded, leaning into him instinctively. “Yeah. I am.”

He pressed a quick kiss to my temple before pulling back, hands still on my waist as he grinned at me.

“They’re all obsessed with you,” he said, motioning to the crowd. “You’ve got about six stylists fighting over that coat you’re wearing.”

I laughed, tension slipping off my shoulders like an old jacket.

“Let them fight,” I said.

Carlos chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

And when I looked back toward the wall, Charles and Alexandra were gone.

-

third person pov

Charles exhaled slowly as the door to the boutique shut behind them, the soft chime of the bell swallowed by the hum of the Monaco street. He stood still for a moment, eyes lingering on the shop’s glowing windows — on the movement inside, on her.

YN.

Laughing as someone held up a dress. Reaching for Carlos’s hand as he leaned in to whisper something. Shining. Alexandra didn’t speak. She stood beside him in silence, her coat wrapped tightly around her frame despite the warm air. She was staring at YN, too.

“She looked… happy,” Charles said finally, his voice rough.

“She is happy,” Alexandra answered softly, not bitter, not broken — just honest.

A beat passed.

“She saw us,” he added. “She smiled.”

Alexandra nodded, her throat tightening. “But not for us. Not like before.”

Charles dragged a hand through his hair, jaw clenched. “Do you think she hates us?”

“No,” Alexandra whispered. “But I think she learned how to live without us. And that’s worse.”

The words sat between them like weight. Inside the shop, YN had moved behind the counter. Carlos was helping her with a gift bag, their hands brushing. She laughed again — lighter this time. Effortless. Charles turned away from the window like it burned. His hands shook a little, just enough that Alexandra noticed.

“She was the best thing that ever happened to us,” he murmured. “And we ruined it.”

Alexandra stepped closer, looping her arm through his. “Then we fix it.”

He looked at her, searching her face.

“Even if she’s with him?”

Alexandra nodded. “Even then. If she’s happier without us, then we let her be. But if there’s even a chance she still loves us…”

“We fight,” Charles finished, voice firmer now.

Alexandra’s grip tightened. “We earn her back. Properly. No grand gestures. No noise. Just real change.”

Charles looked back at the store one last time — at YN glowing in a space she’d built with her own hands.

“She deserves that,” he said. “More than anyone.”

And though neither of them said it out loud, they both knew one thing for sure: They weren’t giving up. Not yet. Not ever.

-

alexandrasaintmleux added a post to her story!

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{caption : so proud}

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f1gossipgirls

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f1gossipgirls : Carlos Sainz has arrived today with YN LN- the two have sparked romance rumors off and on since she split with Charles Leclerc and Alexandra Saint Mleux. YN was later seen during the race with Kika and a few other wags. Thoughts?

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username0 : js she looks way more relaxed and radiant with carlos than she ever did with them

username10 : charles and alexandra fumbled the bag so hard, i don’t even think it’s recoverable at this point

username11 : i know charles saw her walk in and just stopped breathing for a full thirty seconds

username20 : this is messy but i respect it

username18 : anyone see that vid of her and alexandra talking?? im unwell

↳ username22 : NO i need it now

↳ username18 : @/f1drama on twitter

↳ username15 : omg omg

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'and if it's just us, is that enough?'

The sun was relentless — Monaco golden, glinting off everything from garages to mirrored sunglasses. I adjusted my purse on my shoulder, the heel of my boot clicking steadily on the paddock concrete. Beside me, Carlos kept pace easily, hands in his pockets, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t talking much — he didn’t need to. It was in the way he tilted his head when someone looked too long, in the way he shifted slightly closer when we walked past cameras. Protective without being possessive. Soft without asking for anything in return.

We turned a corner, and I spotted them instantly, Kika, standing with one foot popped in front of the other like the natural model she is, and Lily beside her in a red midi skirt and dark shades, waving me over like I wasn’t surrounded by half the media circuit.

“There she is,” Lily grinned, pulling me into a hug. “You’re literally glowing. Like — did heartbreak make you stronger or are you just sleeping now?”

“Both,” I laughed, squeezing her back. “Also Carlos brought me espresso this morning, which honestly rewired my brain chemistry.”

Carlos chuckled behind me. “Just doing my part.”

Kika leaned in with a grin, brushing hair from my shoulder. “The top is from your line, isn’t it?”

“Obviously,” I winked.

We were still mid-catch-up when I felt the shift. Like a shadow casting across bright fabric. Like silence that doesn’t belong. I turned — slowly — already knowing. Alexandra.

She stood a few feet away, hands clenched around the strap of her bag, eyes flicking between me and Carlos before landing on mine and staying there.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft but steady.

Lily glanced at me, then Carlos. Kika took a subtle step back, as if ready to deflect any unwanted energy, but I held up a hand. Just a flick of my fingers. It was fine. Not comfortable. But fine.

“Hi,” I said, not unkindly.

Her gaze darted toward Carlos again, then back. “Can I talk to you?” she asked, barely above a whisper. “Alone?”

Carlos shifted beside me, hesitant, but I touched his arm lightly.

“It’s okay,” I murmured.

He nodded once, catching my eye. “I’ll be in the garage.”

I watched him go — the back of his Williams polo disappearing into the crowd — and then turned to Alexandra fully. The silence between us was thick. Not angry, not awkward. Just… heavy. Like memory.

Alexandra’s eyes brimmed with something close to hope and heartache. She looked like she wanted to fall apart and apologize a hundred times over, all at once.

“I’m not here to push you,” she said, voice quiet. “I just… miss you. We both do. I know we handled everything horribly. I just wanted you to know I’ve been working on that. I’ve been trying.”

I let out a slow breath, my gaze dropping to the ground for a second before returning to her. She wasn’t lying. That much I could feel.

“I know,” I said gently. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t hate you. I never did.”

Her lip trembled slightly. “Then maybe… maybe we could talk sometime? Not now. Just… whenever you’re ready. About everything. Or nothing. I’d just like to see you. Really see you.”

I hesitated — not because I didn’t want that. But because I was still learning how to not give all of myself away too quickly.

Still, something in me softened. That ache, the unfinished thread that tied us together, tugged gently at my ribs.

“Okay,” I said finally. “We can talk. Not today. But… soon.”

Alexandra’s eyes lit up just a little. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “I mean it.”

She didn’t move to hug me. She didn’t try to push it further. She just smiled — small, real, a little broken — and whispered, “Thank you.”

And when I turned to walk back toward Kika and Lily, Carlos already standing there with a patient smile on his face, I felt the strange calm of forward motion.

I wasn’t going backward. But maybe — just maybe — I didn’t have to pretend like nothing had ever mattered.

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yourusername

liked by franciscagomes, alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55 & 5,090,002 others.

yourusername : blondes do have more fun

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username0 : oh that is so alex and i do not want to hear anyone tell me otherwise

username15 : omg alex in the pic and in the likes

username20 : i will be so sad if she went back to them

franciscagomes : god u r so beautiful it is unfair to the rest of us

liked by yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ yourusername : you are literally the most beautiful person ive ever seen hush

lando : ok im being nosey again answer my texts plz

liked by yourusername

yourbrandname : sooooooo pretty

liked by yourusername

-

'i just wanna be loved

and loving you sucks

i can't get enough

is it bad that i want more?

is it too late for us?'

It started with a message from Kika. Just a simple, 'Wear something nice. No questions. I’m picking you up at 7.'

I stared at the text for a full minute, considering ignoring it — considering staying on the couch in Carlos’ hoodie and watching reruns of New Girl and pretending I didn’t feel the weight in my chest. But something in the quiet confidence of her words, something in the way she'd never pushed before, made me pause. So I got dressed.

Nothing too much. Just a silky navy dress that I hadn’t worn in a while and a soft makeup look. Hair pinned loosely back. Like I wanted to feel like myself, not someone trying too hard. The car ride was mostly silent. Kika just smiled at me when I asked where we were going, and I gave up trying to guess.

Until we pulled up outside a quiet little art gallery tucked off a side street in Monaco. The lights inside were dim, warm, golden. A soft piano track was playing — live, I realized, as we stepped inside and I saw a man sitting at a baby grand in the corner. And then I saw them.

Charles. Alexandra.

Standing at the center of the gallery like they were holding their breath. The instinct was to leave. To turn on my heel and walk back into the night where I could control the narrative, keep my heart zipped up in the steel-walled suitcase I’d packed it into. But then I looked around.

The gallery wasn’t just any gallery. The walls were covered in photographs. Of me. Not paparazzi shots. Not campaign stills. But moments.

Private, quiet ones. Me laughing in a car window. Me curled up on a couch with a book. My hand slipping into Alexandra’s under a blanket. My head on Charles’ shoulder backstage at a shoot. A polaroid of all three of us in the kitchen at two a.m., flour on our faces and smiles in our eyes.

All framed. All lit delicately. A hundred memories arranged like an apology. I swallowed hard.

“This was Alexandra’s idea,” Charles said first. His voice cracked slightly, and that made my throat ache.

“I helped,” he added, trying for a smile. “But she… she planned everything.”

I turned to Alexandra. Her eyes were glassy, but her voice was steady.

“I didn’t know how else to show you,” she said. “That we see you. That we remember every moment. That we’re not trying to erase what we did wrong — just to prove we can be better.”

I looked at the photo nearest to me. It was from last summer. Me in a sundress, barefoot on the terrace, holding a drink and laughing like the world was soft and mine.

“I don’t need grand gestures,” I whispered, not taking my eyes off the photo. “I needed you to listen. And for so long, you didn’t.”

“I know,” Alexandra said, her voice breaking.

“We know,” Charles echoed, stepping forward. “We were selfish. And we hurt you. And we kept hurting you, even when we didn’t realize it. But YN… we never stopped loving you.”

“I thought I stopped loving you,” I admitted, voice thick. “I really did. I needed to.”

“And now?” Charles asked gently.

I turned toward them. Both of them. Alexandra had tears on her cheeks. Charles’ hands were shaking at his sides.

“Now… I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Part of me still aches. Part of me still wants to run. But there’s also a part of me that… that sees this. That sees what you’re trying to do. And I don’t want to keep pretending like none of it mattered. Because it did. You did.”

Alexandra stepped forward, slowly, like I was made of glass.

“We’re not asking you to come back,” she said. “Not yet. Maybe not ever. We just… we wanted you to know you were worth this. You are worth this.”

I let the words sit between us.

Then I said, “I don’t want to go back to what we were. But maybe… maybe we can try something new. Slowly. Carefully.”

Charles exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.

“We’ll go as slow as you want,” he said. “We’ll wait as long as you need.”

I looked at them — both of them. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself believe in the possibility of something gentle again.

“I’m not promising anything,” I said, lips trembling. “But I’m here.”

Alexandra reached out, hesitating, then carefully took my hand. Charles followed, his fingers brushing mine softly like he was afraid I’d disappear. And under the soft lights of a gallery full of memories, I didn’t run. I stayed. Maybe not to fall back into love. But maybe, just maybe… to rebuild it.

-

[ghwostcult]

It's too early for this

Paring: Lando Norris x reader Summery: Lando loves talking to you, even if its not at the most reasonable of times. Notes: This is really short but I ran out of ideas also I'm not sure how to feel about the texting part, once again not proof read

You liked to sleep. It was safe to say that one of your favorite moments of the day was lying down in bed, under the covers, putting on a random movie you wouldn’t end up watching, and falling asleep.

Unfortunately for you, Lando liked you more than you liked sleep. So, you had grown used to adding his ridiculous racing schedule into your Sunday night plans, even if it meant staying up till midnight watching your boyfriend drive in circles.

Don’t get it wrong. You were a fan. You loved watching him, just not at midnight when you could be sleeping. Today was like most Sundays, you had a late dinner and put on a movie before the race, then watched the race until it was over. Unfortunately, Lando hadn’t won this race, but he still got a podium. And like every night you were away from each other, you had a quick call. Both of you shared what you'd done during the day and what you had planned for Monday.

By the time the call ended, it was two in the morning, and your eyes were falling shut as you spoke. After saying your goodbyes and trading “I love yous,” you were ready to sleep.

You felt the regular comfort as you shut your eyes, falling into a peaceful slumber. Until it was interrupted by your phone. It was buzzing insistently on your bedside table, and you had half a mind to throw it across the room. Picking it up, you checked both the time and who was calling. It was almost five o’clock in the morning, and, three guesses who it was, none other than your boyfriend, Lando Norris.

A tired smile made its way onto your face as you answered. “Hello, love,” you greeted him softly, your voice cracking with tiredness.

“Hey babe, guess what I’ve just found!” he practically yelled into the phone. You could almost see the smile on his face. Before you could reply, he continued, “There were these stuffed toys in a shop I passed. There was an orange one and a yellow one, and I thought of us, so I had to call you!” he explained joyfully. “You wanna see?”

You let out a laugh, attempting to rub the sleep from your eyes. “Love, it’s five in the morning. Send me a photo, please. I’m too tired to FaceTime right now,” you whispered into the phone, a quiet yawn escaping your mouth.

You felt your phone buzz almost as soon as you finished your sentence. “Okay, sent! I’ll call you again tomorrow.” You smiled, hoping he could feel it through the phone.

“Ok, love-” Before you could finish your goodbye, a gasp cut through the line.

“I’ve just seen these two birds, and they were sharing a chip! They were so cute. Would you still love me if I was a bird?” Lando quickly spewed into the phone.

“Were they sharing a chip or fighting for it?” you asked, putting your phone on speaker and laying it next to you, too tired to hold it to your ear anymore.

“I think they were fighting but- Hey, don’t avoid the question!” he cut himself off.

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Depends what kind of bird, Lando. But yes, I would love you if you suddenly transformed into a bird.”

You could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Good. Because if you were a bird, I’d make you a little birdhouse and feed you worms and seeds every day. You’d be the most spoiled bird in the world.” He spoke like he’d just won a million dollars. And if you asked him, he had. You were worth more than that.

You shook your head before replying, “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m about to fall asleep, but I really want to hear how you’d treat me.” You spoke softly.

“Oh, right. Yeah, sorry,” he apologised quietly.

“Love, it’s okay. I just need some sleep, and I promise we can talk all day tomorrow if you want,” you quickly assured him, not wanting him to cut his little rants short.

You loved hearing his thoughts about the little things, because they were, well... interesting. Just not at five o’clock in the morning, when you’d only had three hours of sleep.

“I love you, Lan,” you murmured into the phone after a quiet moment.

You could hear the cheerfulness return to his voice as he spoke. “I love you too. I’ll talk to you later.” Once the call ended, you placed your phone on Do Not Disturb, just in case, before sinking back into bed and falling asleep again. You were unaware of the messages you were about to receive.

[fic-girlie]

The one who sees

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x model!reader Summary: After a paparazzi ambush turns ugly, Pedro stands up for you—and later, wrapped in his arms, you remember that love drowns out the noise. Warnings: established relationship, haters disrespecting you, Pedro being very protective, slow mornings, pure fluff A/N: It was requested by @kellyxo1! Thank you again!

It starts with the campaign.

You knew the photos were going to be everywhere, of course. That was part of the job. A soft launch for a new lingerie brand with a luxe, minimalist aesthetic—sheer mesh in moonlight tones, gold-stitched underwire, delicate silk straps like brushstrokes across your skin. You’d signed the deal months ago, but the company waited until spring to drop the first wave of images. Your face, your body, blown up in SoHo and Sunset billboards. Trimmed in glossy black-and-white for Paris, golden-brown sun-kissed in São Paulo. You floating through your phone in bed one night, rosy and shocked, because you hadn't even known they were already up. Pedro crinkling beside you half-asleep, arm thrown around your hips, his post-sleep scratchiness rasping out, "Oh, that's gonna break the internet."

You laughed, leaned against his chest. "Too much?"

"No," he said, warm hand spread across your belly. "Hot enough."

You hadn't been thinking about doing the press tour. He was off to Europe for a week and a half of interviews, early screenings, some festival panels — not even that bad of a schedule. But he wanted you to go, and the way he worded it made it clear that he really needed you there. A bit gruff-around-the-edges, as if it had cost him something to mention that he did not wish to be away from you for that length of time. You kissed the corner of his mouth and rolled your carry-on into the trunk that night.

The airport would have been understated. Early flight, early landing. A side entrance they'd organized, as Pedro's people were used to how wild foreign travel was. But the tip was leaked—paparazzi and supporters lined up along the curb, all packed together behind barriers, cameras already snapping when the SUV arrived. Pedro's face hardened at once when he spotted them, sunglasses firmly planted and shoulders tensed.

You slid your hand into his. He squeezed once, twice. You okay?

You nodded. This wasn't new, not really. You'd both been in this spotlight long enough to know how volatile it could be. But still—this was more intense. Louder.

The moment you step outside, it gets to you like heat.

They're yelling his name, screaming your own, shoving forward with phones already in hand just in case. It's flattering, sort of. You'd been used to attention recently, but this isn't like that. Some girls are yelling about how gorgeous you are, whether they can take a picture—one gasps, "You're literally a goddess, oh my God." It's nice. Sweeping, but nice.

But then there are the others.

You hear it like a note of bass under song. The timbre of their voices—apart from the rest. Half-slurred laughter, maybe, or something worse. A group of men against the barricade, not holding signs or phones, just watching with smiles that fall short of their eyes.

One of them whistles as you walk by. "Yo, Pedro, damn! She's fine as hell."

You feel Pedro wince next to you.

"Bet you don't get much sleep, huh, bro? Lucky bastard." A snicker like static noise in the background. "She's got that lingerie body, you know what I'm saying?"

It takes a second.

Pedro stops dead in his tracks.

You feel it in the looseness of his grip, the way his fingers tighten around yours as if they don't want to rattle. He spins slowly, close enough to be calm, but there's a fire behind his shades now. It radiates from him in great waves.

He moves a step forward toward the man who talked. Not running, not shouting—just walking, but it's enough to make the man take half a step back.

"What did you just say?" Pedro's voice is icy. Biting. Glass-cutting.

The man laughs, trying to brush it off. "Hey, man, relax—just a compliment. You know what they say—don't hate the player—"

"No," Pedro interrupts, and his voice echoes over the crowd, now louder. "That's not a compliment. That's you disrespecting my partner in front of me like a coward."

There is a moment of silence, and for one awful second, you believe he's going to shove the guy. His hand tightens at his side.

You grab at him, holding your hand on his chest. "Pedro," you say, barely loud enough for him to hear. "Not here."

He looks at you. Really looks. You can feel the fight raging behind his eyes—anger and protectiveness burning so fiercely it hurts your chest.

But he stiffens.

His jaw tightens, his shoulders rise on a profound, wary breath, and then he turns away from the man as if he isn't worth a second glance. Takes your hand again. You both move on like nothing happened.

Inside, past security. Through the gate, toward the lounge. No words exchanged until the door closes behind you and the din at last fades.

He collapses on the top of the leather couch, rubbing both hands over his face. "I'm sorry," he tells you.

You crouch down in front of him. "Why?"

He blinks at you. "I nearly lost it out there. I was so close to—"

"You didn't."

He's gasping for air. His hands are sweaty when they lie against your cheeks. "I just don't like that people talk about you like you're not a real person. Like you're just—photos. Skin. An illusion."

You tilt your head, your forehead against his. "You think I don't know that? I'm proud of what I do. But that doesn't mean I like being used as a prop."

His thumbs trace the lines of your cheekbones. "I'll always protect you. But I can't be the one to make them spout more crap about you, either."

You close your eyes. "You weren't. You stood up for me. There's nothing wrong with standing up for the ones you love."

Later, when the plane takes off and you're curled up beside him with his arm draped over your shoulders, both of your phones light up.

Someone got the whole interaction on video.

They post it to X—distorted and jittery, but audible enough. Pedro's voice. The man's words. Your hand on his chest. How he holds himself, how he flinches away instead of retaliating. It goes viral.

You are already trending when you arrive in Cannes.

#PedroPascal #RespectWomen #ProtectPedro'sGirl

Your phone buzzes with repetitive messages. Screenshots, quotes, fan edits already circulating. People addressing him as a king. Addressing you as a queen. Some even stating it as the most romantic thing they've ever seen in a year.

Pedro watches you scroll through and says nothing, just kissing your forehead and burying his nose in your hair.

The Cannes suite is beautiful—too beautiful, actually. The kind of place that's meant for press kits and photo ops interviews, all floor-to-ceiling windows and velvet armchairs, shining surfaces and softness carefully designed. There's a subtle smell of lilies and bergamot throughout, and someone left a bottle of champagne cooling on the sideboard with a card reading Welcome to Cannes, Mr. Pascal in bold calligraphy.

You set down your bag softly. Pedro's already pacing, jacket off, one hand running through his hair as he mutters something to himself in Spanish too low for you to catch. The sun's pouring in golden and warm across the parquet floors, but the space between you has tightened like a muscle that won't unclench.

You can feel it in the air. He's shaken. But not just upset—shaken.

You perch on the edge of the bed and watch him pace like he's attempting to throw something off. The sunglasses are gone now, tossed onto the marble table. His eyes are darker than usual, a storm still raging behind them. And it's only when he finally stops to lean against the wall next to the window—one hand on the windowsill, the other on his hip—that you say anything.

"Talk to me."

He turns his head but doesn't look at you. Just stares out at the street. "I know this is part of the life. I know we both signed up for the visibility. But today…"

You wait. You've learned not to push him when he pauses like this, when his throat works around a feeling that hasn't found shape yet.

"…today felt different," he finishes, voice low.

You nod. "It was."

He turns finally, eyes meeting yours. "It wasn't what they said about me, okay? It was the way they looked at you. Like you were something they owned. Something they had the right to touch with their words."

You swallow. His voice cracks on owned, and it's just a nail in your ribs.

"They weren't fans," you whisper. "They were vultures."

Pedro moves toward you slowly, like each step is deliberate. He kneels in front of you, hands on your thighs, eyes searching yours with such intensity that it steals your breath. "I wanted to hit him. I've never actually felt that way before—not like that. That white-hot desire to punch him."

"But you didn't."

"Because of you."

You shake your head, brushing a hand over his cheek. “No, Pedro. Because of you. Because you’re a man who knows how to walk away and don’t care about those people who don’t deserve it.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes. “You kept me steady.”

“You’ve done the same for me.”

His fingertips trace the hem of your top, restless now. "Do you ever feel like we're living in a glass house?" he says quietly. "Like the world is sitting there watching us sleep, breathe, touch—and every time you step out into public, they think they can take a piece of you just because they've seen your body in a picture?"

You breathe in sharply. He asks as if he's ashamed to be asking, but you don't detect judgment in his tone—just gentle, pained concern.

"I do," you admit. "But you make it feel like it doesn't. You're the only one who makes me feel like I'm more than the body they see. Like I'm not just a headline or a hashtag. You see me."

His lips part slightly, and something in him unravels. You watch it happen—his shoulders loosen, his mouth softens, his whole chest rises and falls in a deeper breath. As if letting that truth in takes effort.

Then he whispers, almost shyly, "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."

The words open like a sunrise in your chest.

You press your forehead to his. "Then let it scare you. I'm not going anywhere."

He puts his arms around your waist and pulls you down onto the floor with him, the two of you kneeling beside the bed, holding each other like gravity doesn't work in this glamorous suite.

Later, after room service and a long shower, you’re curled up in one of Pedro’s oversized shirts on the couch while he scrolls through his phone, every once in a while, muttering something like, “Jesus, this went viral fast.”

You sit up. “Bad viral or good viral?”

He shakes his head, awe creeping into his smile. "No. All good. Like, overwhelmingly good. They're all calling me your 'respectful protector' now." He snorts. "Someone made a whole thread called 'Pedro Pascal being feral about his girlfriend for seven minutes straight.'"

You blink. "Seven minutes?"

"With timestamps. And background music. There's even a playlist to it."

You bury your face in your hands, laughing. "God. That's so embarrassing."

"It's perfect," he says softly.

You gaze at him through your fingers.

"I don't mind if the entire world knows how much I love you. I just don't like it when they make you into something cheap. You're not their fantasy. You're mine."

You can't speak for a moment. That knot in your chest—fear, tension, the hurt of being gazed at too long—starts to come undone.

"I'm yours," you say, voice trembling. "And you're mine."

He slams down the phone. Stands. Takes three deliberate steps across the room and holds out his hand. "Then come here."

You go to him. And in that moment, you don't care about Cannes or photographers or fans or headlines.

You only care about the way his hands close around your waist, the way his nose buries into your temple, the way his heart rate decelerates when you whisper, "I love you, too."

And when he picks you up and sweeps you over to the bed, the city outside just disappears.

——

You wake to the aroma of coffee and the far-off rustle of pages. There is a cold wind sneaking in through the open balcony door, with the sleepy stillness of a Cannes morning on its breath—the muted thrum of scooters deep below, pigeons battering against rooftops, and the ringing of a church bell tolling the hour. The suite is filled with warm, golden light, pulled long across the walls in languorous shadows. The sheets are warm from sleep, twisted loosely around your legs, and Pedro is there, busy in the chair next to the window, glasses sliding a little down his nose, thumbing through the pages of a much-thumbed paperback and cradling a cup in his lap.

He looks like something from a dream—rumpled and real, bare feet stretched out in front of him, curls still disheveled from sleep. The T-shirt he wears was your chioce, too large and draped across his chest like a sloppy afterthought. You can't understand how one man can be this desperately loose and still make your chest ache this way.

You shift slightly, and he lifts his gaze, a slow smile creeping over his face. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"Hey," you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

"Didn't want to wake you. You were out cold."

You stretch out, arms over your head, letting out a gentle sigh as the tension leaves your muscles. "I slept better than I have in days."

Pedro stands, puts the book on the table, and walks over. He leans over the bed to put a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, and looms over your lips with that grin that always makes your stomach twist.

"Good. You needed it."

You tug lightly at the hem of his shirt until he climbs in next to you, working himself in behind you so your back curves to fit the shape of his chest, his arm settling around your waist like second nature. It is. His body has been knowing yours for three years now, like muscle memory.

Neither of you say a word for a few minutes. You just lie there, wrapped in each other's arms and silent, the rest of the world like a mere background hum.

And then he whispers, his voice low and rough against your neck, "I keep thinking about yesterday."

You nod, fingers tracing the hand on your stomach. "Me too."

He places a kiss on your shoulder. "You were so cool. You kept me grounded. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been there."

"You didn't need to do anything," you respond quietly. "You'd already saved me. Just for being with me and not letting it shatter you."

He exhales slowly. "It did shatter me, though."

"I know," you whisper. "But you stayed calm and composed. That takes more courage than anything else in this world."

You feel him hold you tighter. "You're too good to me."

"No," you say, turning around in his arms so that you could look up at him. "I'm just right for you. And you're just right for me."

He studies your face the way he's studying a map—eyes tracing each curve, each line, as if he must memorize it all yet again. "Do you ever wonder if it will always be this way?" he asks. "The press, the comments, the noise?"

You nod. "Sometimes. But I think we'll get used to it. Or perhaps we'll figure out how to tune it out. Like we both did for all these years"

"I want a life with you," he says to you. Without ceremony, without buildup—just the plain honesty of a man who's learned enough to know his own mind.

You flinch. Your heart stutters. "You already have one."

Pedro moves in and kisses you—slow and long and hot, like every molecule of him is whispering thank you and I love you and I'm not going away all at once.

And when he leans back, smiling, he says softly, "Yeah. I do, don't I?"

Later, you have room service bring you croissants and fruit and eat on the tiny balcony in your pajamas, legs folded under the tiny café table, as Pedro works the phone again with a look of wonder.

"I swear, this one's had over eight million views. Eight million."

You reach for your coffee, a smile tugging at your lips. "And the comments?"

"All dry. But respectfully so," he replies, an eyebrow raised. "One of them called me 'Zaddy Supreme of the Year.'"

You nearly spit out your drink laughing. "Are you embarrassed or are you proud?"

"Both. But more proud."

He snaps a photo of you at that very moment—eyes crinkling, cheeks reddening, hand clamped over your mouth laughing. And he never posts it, never shares it with anyone. He simply keeps it. For himself.

For certain things are meant to be introduced to the world.

And others—such as your lazy mornings, and sleepy kisses, and whispered I love yous spoken with croissants balanced on your fingers—are just meant for two.

[laxvode]

#vode

Pairing: Yandere Boyfriend x Female Reader

Tags: Cockwarming, Perverted but Patient M!Lead, Mentions of Stalking, Sexual Themes

Readers Personality Description: not described but is unaware of his intentions.

Writers Note: Something short to start out my blog. Just getting a feel for it before diving into the real thing.

Yandere boyfriend who, at the start of the relationship, had no idea how to think around you.

Even way before you and him became friends, he had your schedule memorized from the moment you woke up, to the second you knocked out in bed.

And to think someday you'd unknowingly welcome your stalker into your daily routine?

Unlucky. Well, for you at least. But he considers himself otherwise.

Who is he to blame you when he masks his facade oh so perfectly. Luring you in by becoming the type of man you've giggled with your friends about.

His hairstyle, tone of voice, type of body, personality, even down to similar interests was all sculpted just for you.

Aren't you lucky to have a boyfriend like him?

A man who is willing to be a fake?

If only you knew how much he had to sacrifice just to be here in bed, laying side by side with your back pressed against his chest.. and his throbbing cock pushing against the crevice of your ass.

Isn't he so selfless selfish?

"Mmm.." You hum in your sleep, feeling the rock of his hips against you. "It's late, go to sleep." You managed to grumble out before throwing a leg over the pillow you had wrapped in your arms.

"I know hun.. but I can't help it." He let's out a sigh, his right hand caressing your hip. "Can I put it in..? Just the tip.. hah.." He pushes against you harder. "J-Just the tip honey. I promise.."

You shoot him a skeptical look over your shoulder. "..okay. Just the tip." With that, he smiles. "Thank you."

It takes him a moment to adjust himself, and for a second you think he may have changed his mind and had fallen asleep.

But your train of thought comes to a halt when you feel the familiar press of his tip against your clothed entrance, his hands circling around to the front to pull your panties aside.

His wet fingers slowly find their way on your slit, rubbing and lubricating, preparing you for what's to come.

"Gonna be a good girl f'me..?" You hear him breathe against your ear, nipping on the lobe before dragging his tongue gently across it.

You nod, goosebumps flaring all over your body. "Use your words for me hun. Wanna hear your voice."

"..it's embarrassing." You mutter, shaking your head. You hear him let out a chuckle before lining himself up. "That's alright baby, no pressure."

Then you feel it. The familiar burn from the stretch of his tip just merely entering. It hurt, but the pain feels so good. And you were far too exhausted to complain now.

"You alright?" He asks, giving you a kiss on the cheek as he rubs circles against your clit. Like a perfect boyfriend would. "Y-yeah.. ah.. I'm good." -- "Good."

You stay that way for a couple minutes, and you start finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

Unlucky.

He waits until you're fully gone before giving shallow thrusts, testing the waters. But he wouldn't fuck you while you're sleeping. Heavens, no yes!

..No, he'll wait. Even if it means torturing himself.

But it's okay to be a little selfish, right? You'll forgive him for making a mistake.

He sinks in, inch by inch, and he finds himself losing a part of his self-control.

You'd forgive him for this much. Right?

"Shit." He curses under his breath. His lips breaking into a smile. He brings his hand to rest on your thigh, giving it a little squeeze.

What he'd give to fuck you awake right now- to see the look on your face when you realize the man of your dreams wasn't what you initially thought of him to be.

But it's fine, he convinces himself. He loves you. And he'll wait until you fall into sin on your own.

[prapaiwife]

Babe: "Charlie... you love me that much? "Then why are you leaving me?

Babe was so desperate that he was really pleading with Charlie to not walk out of his life. He can't even think nor accept them being anything other than boyfriends! He couldn't fathom with how charile said a "break" turned into him, walking out of his life right before his eyes.

This whole scene broke me, but what really got me in this scene was this whole section of Charlie telling babe that he scheduled out his appointments for the doctors and his practices for races. And organizing his medications and persisting for babe to not drink as much. If babe can't sleep, he can call him, and he'll pick it up. It's all the things that have now become a part of Babe's routine that without Charlie being there, he wouldn't have done any of this on his own. These two love for each other runs incredibly deep it's so profound. It's care, devotion, surrendering to each other, making choices that hurt because you think it's better for your lover. These two love each other very differently but very immeasurable it's borders on toxicity, but together, you don't care about it. After this episode, I don't want to see people question Babe's love for Charlie.

Charlie is trying to stay strongheaded in this while just having one last request, and that's for Babe to take care of himself.

[siriuslywicked]

A Different Kind of Pain - Blueberry Pancakes

Description: After losing a gem of a next door neighbor, Jack worries what the new resident will be like. Instead of a young obnoxious college kid, he meets you. Instantly struck by your warm nature (and good looks but he won't admit to that), Jack finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn't experienced in years.

A/N: hi all! I’ve been having a rough week and writing the second part to this series has been uhm- not happening. I really want to do it justice, so I’m taking my time and waiting for when I have the capacity to do well. But! I don’t want to abandon this series because I love it, so have this little blurb/idea I had for these two a while back. I imagine this takes place maybe a month or so after when the first part ends. I hope you all enjoy!

You can tell Jack has been having a bad week. After your first walk together you take advantage of the ice being broken and start texting him on occasion. Just to check in, be friendly. How was your day off? He tells you about getting drinks with Robby, or his never ending list of chores and errands.

Or if it was nice out, and his truck was still in the drive when you got home: Going for a walk in 10 if you want to join.

Sometimes you’d make too much food, or bake cookies and don’t want to eat all of them alone. So you drop containers off by his door on your way out the door for when he gets home: Had extra pasta from last night, left you some.

Jack asks about you too of course, checking in about how research is going, making sure you’re taking proper care of yourself. You’re always quick to reassure him that things are going well. Even if research often leaves you frustrated to the point of tears, and you come home exhausted and then can’t sleep, and you can’t find the time to cook, so you live off whatever you can whip up for less than $5 dollars in under 10 minutes.

But this week is different. Jack rarely texts you back, not unusual, he is a busy man and your schedules are far from similar. What is unusual is that Jack has not once asked about your week, and instead of answering your queries has been sending one word responses. At first you think you must have done something to upset him, but after a few days of his truck being gone well before he needs to leave for shift you start putting things together.

It’s Saturday morning when you finally catch him coming home, close to 9. When you hear his truck pull in you’re quick to throw on some slippers and wander outside. You watch him come up the front steps, standing in your snoopy slippers and sweats, coffee mug in hand.

“Mornin’ Jack.”

He looks like he’s been hit by a truck. You can tell his leg and back are killing him just by the way he stands. His eyes crinkle when he gives you a tired smile, dark circles bordering on purple. “Hey kid.”

“When was your last day off?”

“I have the next two nights off, courtesy of Robby fucking with the schedule.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

He shrugs in response.

A beat passes, and you’re desperate to do something, anything, to show him that you care. That he isn’t on his own, or at least he doesn’t have to be.

“Well, if you’re gonna be up for a bit I was about to make pancakes.” You weren’t, but he looks like he could use some. And you doubt he has any food in his fridge by this point. “I could bring you some?”

“Yeah, I’ll be up for a bit.” He nods, hands shoved in his scrub pockets. “Only if you’ve got extra though, don’t wanna put you out sweetheart.”

“Don’t be silly, always got extra for you, Jack.”

You let him wander into his unit, presumably to shower off the grime of the ER. Shit, now you have to make pancakes.

Luckily, you have the basics: eggs, milk, butter, pancake mix. You also rummage through your freezer and find a ziplock bag with potato pancakes, a few stray breakfast sausages, and some frozen blueberries. Perfect.

Half an hour later you have a fully loaded plate, covered in foil, and a thermos of freshly brewed coffee (decaf, that you’d bought just in case you ever caught him for coffee in the morning).

You knock on his door, waiting only a few moments before he opens it.

As you suspected, he had showered and changed into sweatpants to match your own. A black worn t-shirt covers his chest, and his prosthetic had been switched for crutches.

“Made you breakfast,” you say, lifting the plate slightly in indication. “Also, coffee. It’s decaf.”

“Thanks.” You can tell his brain is slow to process, eyes locked on yours, but not making any move to take the plate. With how burnt out he must be, you aren’t shocked. You invite yourself in to put the plate and thermos on his coffee table, guessing it might be a challenge to carry both with the crutches. He doesn’t protest, watching blankly as you enter his living room.

You push down the part of you that feels giddy at being in his space, refusing to look around beyond what you need to to put the food down. You won’t take advantage of his vulnerability and overstep more than is necessary to make sure he eats.

Seeing you stand awkwardly by his couch, Jack’s brain finally catches up. “You uh- didn’t need to do all this, but thank you.”

His face betrays how touched he is, a mix of shock and gratitude. Maybe relief. This must be the first time in a long time that someone has taken care of him, rather than the other way around.

“It was nothing,” you smile. Taking a deep breath, you begin to show yourself out.

“Let me know how everything is, and then get some rest, okay?” You touch his shoulder lightly as you speak, walking past him again to stand in his doorway. “I’m here if you need anything, anything at all.”

“I will, go eat your food, kid.” And if Jack has a lump in his throat from how good it feels to be checked in on, no he doesn’t.

You leave him be, returning to your own plate of cheesy eggs, sausage, and blueberry pancakes drenched in syrup. You’ve only just tucked in when your phone vibrates.

Jack: Blueberry?

You: Yes.

Jack: How’d you know?

You: Lucky guess.

[ilovedwardfpe]

Hey sweetie :) It’s your mother again! You did great on the last one i really enjoyed it! Hope you’re doing well! Could you do c00lkid and reader baking a cake at 3am but they are missing some ingredients? 

Ty sweetheart! <333

( ◠ ◠ ｡ Oh look a request!

—————————————

MOMMMYYYYY

Im so sorry I didn’t go according to schedule,something came up so I’m trying to rush myself🥀

Mentioned characters: 1x1x1x1x

Warning: mentions of killing,fire..remember that…mentions of stealing,cursing

Pairing PLATONIC c00lkid x Afab!parent!reader

—————————————

You lay on your bed, restless. It was 2:53 AM, and in just a few hours, it would be your time—to take down Two Time, Shedletsky, Elliot, Chance… all of them. But tonight felt different. For some reason, sleep wouldn’t come, and your body felt off. Uneasy. Sick, even. Muttering curses under your breath, you pressed a hand to your burning forehead, everything in you screaming that this wasn’t right. Not tonight. Then—*creak*—the sound of the door slowly opening broke the silence. Hand still resting on your head, you looked up. Standing there was C00lkid, eyes locked on yours. The moment he saw you awake, he stepped inside without a word and drifted silently toward your bed.

“Hey…Can we bake a cake?”

A cake… A cake? Really? To be honest, that *does* sound like him—random, impulsive, totally unpredictable—but still, why now of all times? You glance over at the clock, squinting through the dim light. Yep, it’s 3 AM. That fact alone makes everything feel even more surreal. You’re completely drained, your limbs heavy, your eyes burning from lack of sleep. None of this makes sense. It’s too early for anything, let alone cake. Your brain is foggy, struggling to process what’s happening, but despite how ridiculous it all seems, you find yourself moving. Do you get up anyway? Yeah… yeah, you do. You push yourself upright with a groggy sigh, blinking a few times as your mind tries to catch up. It’s like your body’s on autopilot. You sit there for a moment, trying to fully grasp the situation, but all you can do is stare ahead in growing confusion, unsure whether this is some strange dream—or just *him* being exactly who he is.

“At 3 in the morning? Fucking…why?…” “Pleasee?”

Here you were now, standing in the dimly lit kitchen, staring in quiet disbelief at the painfully limited supplies laid out in front of you. One egg. Just one. A small bottle of water. Somehow, against all odds, a box of cake mix had managed to survive in the back of the cupboard, as if it had been waiting for this very moment. That part almost felt like fate. But everything else? A disaster. The real issue, though, was the icing—or rather, the complete *lack* of it. There was barely enough left to coat even half the cake, and that was being optimistic. You already knew what was coming. c00lkid, with all his usual chaotic energy, was going to eat most of the icing before the cake was even in the oven. You could picture it perfectly: him dipping a spoon straight into the tub, grinning like a gremlin, acting as if it was totally normal behavior at three in the morning. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable. Then, slowly, you turned to face him

“Hey buddy,try not to eat all the icing we don’t have-“

“I’ll g0 steal s0me!”

He suddenly turned and took off, yelling something about getting icing like it was a life-or-death mission. But before he could make it out of the kitchen, you reached out, grabbed the back of his shirt, and pulled him back. With one quick motion, you turned him to face you, stopping him in his tracks as he blinked in surprise.

“Number one: Quiet down,Number two:Why don’t we just do this in the morning?” “Come on! Please?”

Another skip. Now you were here, mixing together whatever ingredients you managed to scrape together, half-asleep and running on fumes. Surprisingly, c00lkid was actually behaving—he hadn’t touched the frosting, though he kept eyeing it like it was calling his name. Once the batter was in the oven, all you could do was hope it baked properly and that you could stay conscious long enough to take it out. You were standing there, swaying slightly, barely awake, your eyelids heavy. Then c00lkid shook your arm, a rare look of concern on his face. When you groggily asked what was wrong, he didn’t say anything—just pointed toward the oven, which was, to your horror, completely on fire.

“wh…wh..what…What?…WHAT?”

You snapped into action immediately, grabbing a nearby bucket and shoving it toward c00lkid, yelling at him to fill it with water. While he ran off, you grabbed a towel, ready to try and smother the flames. But just as you turned back to the oven, things took another turn. c00lkid came rushing back—with 1x right behind him. Before you could say a word, 1x snatched the bucket and, clearly confused by the chaos, threw the water at both you and the fire in one big splash. Soaking wet and surrounded by smoke, you looked at him as he stood there, eyes wide, completely lost.

“What the hell was-“ “cake.” “It’s almost 4am.” “Yeah…I know.”

In the end! No cake,You let c00lkid eat all the icing before putting him to bed,then taking yourself to the couch which was only where you could make yourself too,Did you have fun? Yeah! Just wish it was when you weren’t tired

—————————————

Here we go! I’m gonna do my other request first before I do my said two time x reader

Have a good day!

[randompiecesofwriting]

Your Side of the Bed

Summary: Robby finds himself in an arrangement of sharing the reader’s bed. Sleeping side by side in the most literal of senses. It was simply a way they could be there for one another, offer comfort on hard days. And yet he found himself wanting more.

Paring: Michael “Robinavitch” x reader

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: NO SMUT I don’t think it’s even joked about here lol so there’s no smut in here! Brief mention of suicide prevention measures in a joke. Reader gets a small cut and is freaked out by medical procedures.

A/N: Really this was born out of me just wanting to write some Robby fluff. I think I’m slowing down on my writing frenzy y’all so please don’t expect my previous schedule of nearly every other day story releases I’m sorry! All in all as always I just wrote what I thought I would want to read so I hope y’all enjoy it and as always let me know what you think!

You hadn’t expected the night to end the way it did when you left your job that evening.

And honestly there was no reason you should’ve, afterall you hardly knew the man.

Sure you’ve met Robby a few times before. Interacted with him enough to know what he did for a living but beyond basic elevator small talk you’ve never really spoken to the man.

So when you spotted him standing outside of his apartment, keys in hand, just staring down at them dejectedly you didn’t really have a plan when you opened your mouth. You just knew you recognized that look on his face, the way his hands shook, the way he stayed rooted in place even as the elevator dinged as you got out, and you wanted to help.

“Hey Robby” His head snapped up at the sound of his name, the way his eyes went wide at your voice telling you he truly hadn’t noticed your approach “just getting back?”

“Yeah” he sighed out the word, telling you more than you thought he really meant to, his gaze going back to his keys, reluctance on his face as his shoulders dropped slightly.

“Have you eaten yet?” The words basically tumbled out of you, the offer though made spontaneously was no less sincere “I’m just getting back too and was going to make something quick if you want to come in” and you could see the hesitance quickly building, the denial on every part of him but his lips “I was thinking pasta and I struggle to make anything less than four servings”

He seemed to pause at the joke, to take a second to reconsider. “It’s late I don’t want to impose”

You shook off the worry easily, moving past the man to your own door faking confidence he would follow “I promise you aren’t, besides I’ve kinda had a shit day so being alone doesn’t sound like a lot of fun right now”

It wasn’t a complete lie to be fair. Your day hadn’t been the best but more than anything you knew this man shouldn’t be alone right now and he wasn’t going to take help unless he could offer some in return.

“I should shower first” The implied acceptance had you smiling as he turned back to his door, you could practically see him hype himself up to go in.

“You can use mine” You offered, forcing a level of nonchalance you didn’t feel into your tone “no pressure obviously the dinner invitation stands either way  but since you’re going to be over anyways” you let the end of your sentence dangle purposefully as you shrugged “plus I don’t mean to brag but the landlord just fixed my plumbing so I have the best water pressure in the building”

Your attempt at a joke had him snorting as he cast one final look at his door before wordlessly turning away from it and heading in your direction, following you back to your place “If that’s true the landlord and I will be having words”

Trying to tamp down the odd mix of anxiety and excitement at having Robby listen to you, you kept your gaze ahead, focusing a bit too hard on getting your key into the lock as he stood behind you patiently “I had to threaten to sue and it still took months so good luck with that one, you’ll need it”

Opening your door you toed off your shoes and put them to the side in your entryway prompting him to do the same while you started turning on lights “Feel free to set your bag anywhere, kitchen tables covered in my work stuff so that may be your best bet” you instructed him as you set your own work bag down at one of the chairs at the table “in the meantime make yourself at home I’ll grab you a towel and some clothes you can use”

You rushed through the process of grabbing an extra pair of clothes you thought would fit him and a towel, knowing the longer you left him alone in your living room the more likely he was to back out entirely. Something that was quickly proved correct as you joined him with the stack back out in the living room, hesitation and awkwardness practically carved into his bones as he stood rigidly in the center of the room.

“These should fit but obviously let me know if you need anything else” you ignored the trepidation on his face as you handed him the stack, Robby blindly grabbing it as he already started to backtrack.

“You really don’t have to-“

“Please I want to” you interrupted him, walking back towards the kitchen forcing him to hold onto the stack as you got out a pot “besides I need someone to get wine drunk with. Can’t do it on my own, I think that’s when they call it alcoholism”

Still he stared at you silently, you could practically see him trying to think of a way to politely extract himself.

“Unless you don’t drink of course in which case I’ve got soda or water or-“

“No no” he chuckled though it sounded slightly strained, patting to top of the stack you had given softly “wine’s good”

“Good I’ll open the bottle then” you smiled warmly at him, gesturing with a nod back towards the hallway behind him “bathroom’s down on the left I’ll be out here if you need anything”

Still he just stared at you for a brief moment, silence stretching with words unsaid, before he finally accepted it and nodded, giving you one last thanks before he made his way to go shower, leaving you to start cooking and distract yourself from the death spiral of regret and anxiety your brain was trying to force you down.

You heard the shower start up just as you put the pot on the stove to boil, you’d honestly planned on doing as little as possible when it came to getting food in you tonight after work but with Robby here you figured you could at least put in a minimal amount of effort. All things considered though boxed pasta and jarred sauce was as far as you were willing to go tonight.

Deciding last minute to add at least a salad to the side you were chopping up vegetables by the time that Robby joined you once again, looking tired but clean and a little lighter at least.

“You weren’t kidding about the water pressure” he noted as he sat on the other side of the bar that separated living room from kitchen, watching you continue to chop.

“I know right” you grinned at him “I don’t know what they did but I’m considering letting all my other unanswered maintenance requests go as a thank you”

He chuckled at that, looking back out at your apartment appraisingly “do you need me to do anything cause I-“

“Sit down doc” you chided him harmlessly “have a glass of wine you look like you’ve had a long shift”

He took the glass you slid his way with a nod, a small huff escaping him as he shook his head “what about you what’s got you coming home this late?”

A part of you wondered if you should commend his effort to try and fix your shifty night in lieu of his own or condemn his clear avoidance of the conversation turning to him. For now you chose to do neither and instead just answer “parent teacher conferences”

He hummed at that, watching you carefully as you threw the salad together and checked on the noodles “they go that badly?”

“They didn’t but that’s kind of the problem” you shrugged as you stirred the boiling water.

He raised a brow at that, no question coming to his lips just a silent ask to continue.

“It’s always the parents of the kids I’m not worried about who show up” you shrugged, leaning your elbows on the counter in front of him as you spoke “The straight A students, or at least the students who are clearly putting in the effort and trying”

“Meaning the students who’s parent’s you want to speak to don’t come” he answered for you in understanding.

“Exactly” you nodded, grabbing out a colander to drain the pasta as you continued “Which I get it parents can be busy or can just not make the conference hours but given all the emails I’ve sent over the course of this semester that have gone unanswered…”

You trailed off with a shrug, dishing up two portions of pasta and salad without a thought and placing one in front of Robby before putting yours in front of the seat next to him.

He nodded in thanks, starting to eat as you did the same, a small silence passing over the two of you that felt infinitely more comfortable than the one shared earlier in the evening, before he broke it “do you know what you’re going to do about it yet?”

You nodded in answer, twirling your fork absentmindedly in your pasta as you thought “Yeah it’ll be another round of emails, maybe some printed notes sent home with kids offering to meet at other times, I’ll see if I can at least get some of them on a phone call or something”

He hummed in thought, studying you for a moment before his eyes cut back down to his plate “you’re a good teacher”

You snorted at that, furrowing your brow at the man beside you in response “what makes you say that”

“You care” he shrugged like it’s obvious “you’re going out of your way to try and set these kids up for success. That’s what a good teacher would do”

“Feels like the bare minimum” you chuckled slightly “it’s my job to make sure they leave my classroom set up for whatever comes ahead”

“The fact that you so clearly believe that proves my point” he smiled back at you “it’d be a lot easier to write it off, to say you tried and give up but you keep pushing, keep advocating for these kids. You’re a good teacher”

And truly you didn’t have anything to say to that, the words dying on your tongue as you looked up at him and saw the complete sincerity in his eyes. Instead you simply offered him a small smile that he mirrored back.

“What about you how was your day” the question was out of your mouth before you could think better of it, the action of asking him in return feeling too natural.

You could see him shut down at the question, could see his walls going up as his gaze cut back to his plate “Fine. It was fine”

And maybe you should’ve left it there but you were already in too deep to feel comfortable with letting it go “you’re a good doctor, you know that right?”

His gaze cut back up to you quickly with a furrowed brow, a shocked huff leaving him at your words “have I treated you before?”

“No” you assured him with a snort “but no matter what you claim I can see that you’re not fine” you watched him tense at your words, would’ve found it almost funny in any other circumstance “I just mean a good doctor wouldn’t have a day get to him like that. You clearly care about your patients. Like actually care not just pretend to care until you can shuffle them along to the next person, that’s what a good doctor would do”

He chuckled slightly at your words, a lopsided small smile tugging at his lips as he looked you over “Feels like the bare minimum””

“You throw my words back at me and my response will be the same as yours” you chided him good naturedly, relishing the sound of his laugh you got in response as he shook his head.

“touché”

You smiled at the concession, taking note of both of your empty plates and looking back out at your living room before making a decision “do you want to watch a movie?”

He raised a brow at you but you watched the corners of his mouth tick up in response making you smile back “Obviously you can tell me if you’re tired and would rather go to bed but I like a movie at the end of the day to wind down” you shrugged in response.

“Only if you let me do the dishes”

You tried desperately not to let it show how much his easy acceptance shocked you “Robby you can come over and do my dishes anytime”

He laughed easily at that as he took both of your plates and made his way over to the sink, collecting the various dishes you’d used to cook from around the kitchen.

“I hope you know this means I will be subjecting you to my objectively terrible taste in movies”

“I think I’ll live” and you tried to ignore exactly how it made you feel to see this man smirking at you from your kitchen as he handwashed your dishes. Instead you choose to make your way over to the couch and start looking at your options.

And that was how you found yourself seated comfortably next the neighbor you’d had maybe five conversations with before, watching a movie much too late into the night. And thus how you found yourself waking up the next morning to the light streaming in through your living room windows and a comfortable chest beneath your cheek, with an admittedly painful twinge in your neck but feeling more well rested than you had in months.

-

You didn’t see Robby for a few days after that. The morning after had been awkward enough you counted it as a blessing.

There’d been a brief moment of serenity, admittedly, right before you fully woke up where all you could notice was how warm you felt, how comfortable, how secure. You remember burying yourself further into the comfort, giving a soft wiggle as you pressed your face further into what you had assumed was your pillow, until you heard a chuckle.

Rather you had felt the chuckle first, could feel it ruminate up Robby’s chest beneath your head before it broke to the surface. You felt what you quickly surmised to be an arm thrown over your shoulder and wrapped around you pull you in tighter, hardly enough to notice but enough to send butterflies through your stomach, before you finally opened your eyes.

Robby had already been staring down at you, his eyes wide in clear surprise but still the corners of his mouth ticked up, you wondered if he noticed. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you as you looked back up at him, neither of you moving for a moment, almost afraid to burst the bubble before you spoke “good morning”

His eyes got almost comically wider as his gaze cut to the nearest clock, a verification of the time seeming to fully solidify exactly what position the two of you were in for him as he quickly retracted his hands, open palms coming up by his head as if to placate you in the situation as a million apologies spilled from his lips.

You had just barely pulled yourself off of him before he was on his feet and grabbing his bag, all but running out of the door before you’d even finished stretching.

So naturally the first time you would see him in days would be when you were drunk off your ass after a night out with friends.

You all but stumbled out of the elevator, heels as always were a terrible choice for a night out but you couldn’t help but love the way your legs looked in them. So focused were you on keeping upright as you exited the elevator that you completely missed Robby standing in front of his door.

Looking up from your feet finally however you noticed the man frozen in place, keys in hand, lips slightly parted as his gaze made a slow climb from your feet up to your face. You couldn’t have stopped the grin from growing on your face if you had tried “Dr. Robinavitch we have got to stop meeting like this”

You speaking seemed to have snapped him out of whatever daze he was in, a startled huff escaping him as his posture relaxed “Well you look like you had a good night”

“I had a great night” you affirmed, taking a wobbly step forward that had him surging forward to brace you by the forearm, a slight chuckle escaping him as he helped you steady yourself.

“And how many drinks did we have tonight?”

“Not enough” you shook your head, griping his hand in yours happily as you took another step “ohhh we should do shots”

He laughed much more freely at that, shaking his head in response “we absolutely should not do shots we should do carbs. When was the last time you ate something?”

“Fuck I love carbs” you hummed letting him lead you back to his place without a thought, leaning up against the wall while he put his keys in the door “French fries, we should do French fries”

“I can manage French fries” he smiled at you, pushing open the door before extending a hand to you, helping you into his place with a hand on your hip.

You leaned into him happily as you more pawed at the buckle on your shoe than actually tried to get it off, this going on for just long enough Robby was getting ready to help you with it when it finally slipped off your ankle and you fled the shoes where they dropped, making your way to his kitchen and going right for his freezer.

“Make yourself at home” Robby teased as he carefully picked up your shoes and set them off to the side alongside his, making his way next to you in the kitchen to start preheating the oven as you dug around in his freezer for the fries.

“yes you got the good ones” you cheered as you unearthed the bag, handing it to him without a thought as you immediately dipping into his fridge “we should do cheese on top”

Smiling in amusement Robby took the fries without a word and got out a baking sheet, dumping a good amount onto it before fielding the block of cheese you tossed his way without even looking to see where he was.

“Now you don’t have salsa but you do have tomatoes and onions and I can make that work” finally you shut the door to the fridge and turned to face him with the required ingredients clutched in your hands.

“Salsa?” he asked with a raised brow, putting the fries in the preheated oven.

“We can’t have loaded fries without salsa” you answered as if it were obvious, eyes skating around his kitchen looking for something “now where do you keep your knives”

“Absolutely not” he chided immediately, making his way across the kitchen over to you and grabbing the produce from your arms.

“No I swear I can do it” you tried to assure him even as you let him push you out of the kitchen.

“Swear all you want but I’m chopping the vegetables”

“You chop the vegetables I’ll chop the fruit?” you asked hopefully, giving him your best charming smile that Robby couldn’t help but mirror.

“Nice try now will you please sit down at let me do it” he shook his head as he led you around the bar to the stool on the other side, hands on your waist to steady you as you stepped up into the chair and plopped yourself down.

“But I could help!” though you thankfully stayed put you still tried to get involved, swinging your legs energetically in the air as you watched Robby start to dice “I could be like that person who hands you the scalpel”

He furrowed his brow at you with a smirk, looking up at you from his slightly bent position as he worked “person who hands me the scalpel?”

“Yeah you know in the tv shows. You go scalpel and hold you hand up like this” you demonstrated the proper movement to him, choosing to ignore his grin as you talked “and someone puts it in your hand without saying anything that could be me”

“You do know I’m not a surgeon right?”

“All I’m hearing is you don’t have a scalpel person and it could be me”

He laughed at that, shaking his head as he gathered up all of your fry toppings “why don’t you sober up first then we’ll talk about your career options”

With a disgruntled huff you rolled your eyes, resting your head in your palm as you watched Robby finish off your loaded fries, dutifully instructing him on how much of each ingredient was required before happily digging into the plate he set in front of you, a myriad of content hums coming from you as you ate making Robby smile.

“You know I like this way better” you pointed out without looking at him, taking the time to pick the perfectly loaded fry.

“Like this better than what?”

“Better than you being weird” if you noticed the way the room went cold around Robby at your words you didn’t let it show, instead snacking happily as you stole a glance at him from the side of your eye.

“I’m weird?”

“You acted weird” you corrected him with a shrug “after we woke up on my couch you basically ran away from me”

A tense silence followed but you watched him unabashedly, waiting patiently for a response Robby wasn’t sure he wanted to give “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable” again the words came out of you so easily, a part of Robby wished he could be drunk for this conversation too “in fact I was really comfortable until you moved”

A huff left him at that, a small smile growing on his face despite his inner turmoil “Really?”

You nodded in response, finishing off the last of your food and wiping off your fingers on a napkin, pushing the plate off to the side and finally turning your full attention to him “I mean the couch wasn’t the best but you make a comfortable pillow”

He couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at that, an anxious hand coming to rub at the back of his neck as he laughed it off “well I’m glad I could be of service”

“I don’t think I realized how bad I had been sleeping lately until that night” you revealed softly, the carbs and the late hour clearly kicking in as you seemed to sober slightly “stress of parent teacher night ya know? But I slept really well that night”

“I know what you mean” the words slipped out of him before he could think any better of it, the way they put a smile on your face making it hard for him to regret them though.

You studied him for a moment, a comfortable silence blanketing the two of you before you broke it softly “you wouldn’t admit it but you were having a bad day. Did I make it better?”

Now it was his turn to examine you, to watch the lazy way you kicked your feet out from the chair, the way your hair fell half hazardly around your face as you tilted your head slightly at him, the soft curve of your lips as you smiled absentmindedly at him “yeah. Yeah you did”

“Good” and now you were beaming at him, spreading a warmth through his chest he wasn’t prepared for “we should do it again sometime”

“Pass out on your couch?”

“I’d prefer the bed but beggers choosers” you shrugged through the idiom with a chuckle “but no I meant be there for one another. It’s nice to have someone there, even if it’s just to exist next to them in silence”

“yeah it is” the admission again left him without much thought, a smile growing on him as he watched you perk up slightly at the response “for now though you need to get to bed and work on sleeping this off, you good to head home now?”

You nodded happily at the question, pushing yourself off the stool with practiced ease as you did so “Just need to grab my purse and I’ll be good”

He frowned at that “what purse?”

“Black tiny bag” you described it to him, looking around his apartment lazily “got my keys in it”

“You didn’t come in with a purse”

“no” you shook off the statement without a thought “I remember packing it before I left, got all my stuff in it”

“No I mean you didn’t come into my place with a purse” he explained slowly, watching as the news seemed to hit you, your shoulders dropping in defeat “You didn’t have it with you when you got off the elevator”

With a heavy sigh you cursed under your breath, the palms of your hands coming up to dig harshly into your eyes as you swore softly, the last of your fun drunkenness abandoning you fully.

With a huff Robby couldn’t help but smile at the move, gesturing back to his room with a nod “Go take a shower I’ll call the bar you were at and see if they have it”

With a grumble you nodded “thank you”

“Don’t worry about it” he shook you off as he pulled out his phone “bottom left drawer of my dresser should have clothes you can wear, take whatever you want”

Nodding you slowly pulled yourself off towards his room, tossing the name of the bar you were at over your shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Calling confirmed the bar did in fact have your purse and were willing to hold onto it until the morning so Robby made sure to inform Jack he would be running a little late the next day so he had time to go with you to pick it up. By the time he had finished his calls and cleaned up the kitchen you had joined him back out in the living room, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with dripping hair in sweatpants that were just slightly too long and a shirt you had no business looking that good in.

“I’m sorry I could’ve helped clean”

He shook you off again with a swipe of his hand, practically forcing his eyes away from you as he surveyed the space around him “don’t worry about it there wasn’t much to do” he assured you, offering you the glass of water he had gotten you earlier “drink all of that first but go ahead and go to bed, we can go pick up your purse tomorrow”

With a nod you took the glass with a small thank you, “will you-uh-“ you stuttered on the words, fidgeting slightly on the spot making Robby frown “do you think we can share the bed?”

His furrowed brow raised as he realized what you were getting at, already shaking his head “Oh don’t worry about it I was already going to insist you take the bed anyways, I’ll sleep on the couch”

You chuckled nervously at that, taping your fingers on the side of the glass as you shook your head in response “no I mean. Just it was really nice last time we-ya know-shared the couch. Would it be okay if we did it again?”

Robby was at a loss for words at the question, his entire mind going blank on the spot as you fidgeted beneath his gaze.

“The answer can of course be no” you quickly cut in with a small laugh “I just haven’t slept as well since so I figured”

“Yeah” the word all but slipped out of him without his head clearing it, Robby finding in the moment that he didn’t really want to walk it back anyways “yeah we can share the bed”

Finally your fidgeting broke as you smiled in relief, relaxing on the spot as you nodded “okay good”

“You go on ahead I’ll meet you in there” he instructed softly with a smile “just gotta lock up first”

Giving him a nod you heeded his instructions, slipping underneath his covers on one side of the bed and laying still, listening to Robby’s nighttime routine as he locked the door and brushed his teeth.

When he finally made it back to the bedroom you could practically feel the hesitance rolling off of him as he stood beside the bed for a moment, not moving an inch as he debated just taking the couch anyways, before he carefully peeled back one corner of the blanket and slowly lowered himself, careful not to jostle the bed too much in case you were sleeping, careful not to get too close to what he considered ‘your side’.

You, however, were having none of that. The minute he seemed to settle you turned around and moved yourself beside him, placing your head directly onto his shoulder with a soft hum.

A startled inhale sounded from Robby as you did so, the muscles in his arm all tensing beneath you the second you made contact.

“I warned you, you make a comfortable pillow” you whispered out into the room attempting to cut the tension in the air. Something you seemed to at least partially accomplish as he huffed out a laugh in response, his arm remaining tense nonetheless “unless you’re uncomfortable cause we don’t have to-“

“no no” he interrupted you softly before you could get too far, his voice slightly hoarse causing him to pause as he cleared it quietly before continuing “could you just lift your head for a second”

Complying quickly Robby slipped his arm beneath your head and wrapped it around you wordlessly, prompting you to drop your head back down onto his chest and wrap your arm around him in response, one leg naturally tangling with his as you buried yourself fully into Robby’s side with a content hum that made him chuckle.

Your mind stayed fixed on the soft patterns he was tracing on your arm with his finger, wondering if he was even aware he was doing it. “Thanks for saving me tonight Robby”

Another appreciative laugh escaped him, your head bobbing slightly as his chest rumbled with it “’saving’ is a strong word there, I just gave you a place to crash, basic human decency”

And you thought about arguing the point, pushing back on his refusal to properly accept your thanks, point out that he was doing a lot more than the ‘basic’ nice thing. But if you knew Robby, and you were starting to think maybe you did, that would just make things worse, would just push him further away, so you let it go, for now at least “and supplied the French fries. You can’t forget the French fries”

“You’re right I did save you didn’t I? Think they’ll knight me?”

“Pretty sure that only applies in England” you hummed back, enjoying the quietness of the moment, the simplicity of it, the lack of any expectation “maybe a key to the city?”

“Not nearly as cool”

“No. No it isn’t. We’ll get you something to make up for it” your next words left you in a sleepy whisper, your eyes already closed, your brain not conscious enough to fully recognize the weight of your words as they slipped out “you deserve nice things Robby”

His fingers stilled at the words, no sound escaping him as he went silent, staring at the ceiling above the bed, all while you finally succumbed to sleep.

-

Things changed after that.

It wasn’t quite as you hoped, you still went days without seeing one another but whenever you had a bad day you had someone to go to, someone you knew would be there for you without question, without comment if that’s what you preferred, and you knew Robby felt the same.

There was no dramatic change, you didn’t automatically start spending every night together but still you found your excuses to cuddle up every now and then.

Something that apparently wasn’t going unnoticed, at least on Robby’s end.

“You seem lighter lately. Happy almost” Dana’s comment came out of nowhere at the end of a fairly standard Thursday shift. As usual with the charge nurse there was no preamble, no beating around the push, no coddling of feelings, she went right to the issue. For the first time Robby found that he really wished she wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry?”

“No it’s good. It’s creeping out the med students, our number of charting errors have been cut in half” She smirked at him, a smile that foretold trouble he did not want to deal with.

“Ah then you’re welcome”

“So you gonna tell me about her?”

And there it was, the metaphorical shoe “her?”

“The woman who’s been making you happy” Each statement was said with such a level of confidence, of finality, it felt absurd to try and push back.

“There is no woman” And yet still he must.

“There has to be a woman”

An incredulous laugh left him at that as he finally lifted his gaze fully from the chart in front of him to look at her. “Is it so impossible to think I’m just feeling better lately” he knew how weak the argument would be before it even left his lips “Maybe I found inner peace”

And based on the glare Dana sent back at him she thought so too “Either there’s a woman or I’m asking Gloria to up suicide prevention measures on the roof”

“Ask her to hire more nurses while you’re at it”

Surely there had to be something else to do in the emergency department than badger him “Does she work here?”

Surely she had to accept his flat out denial eventually “There is no woman”

“There’s a woman” The two of them both tensed slightly at the emergence of a new voice, Purlah’s sudden arrival catching them both off guard.

Dana, however, recovered quickly with a wolfish grin “What do you know”

“I know a lot of things you’ll have to be specific” Purlah leaned on her forearms against the nurse’s desk as she settled eagerly into the conversation. Now was his time to escape.

“About the woman”

“The woman up front? Is there something to know?” The last question was directed to him as the two woman fixed him with their gaze, halting him mid tip-toe.

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about” Robby groaned softly, rubbing a tired hand over his face as he grabbed the first tablet he could see “now if you excuse me I think at least one of us should be doing thier job right now”

“Wait but the woman up front” Purlah stopped him before he could leave “She’s asking for you, says her name is Y/N Y/L/N”

A strange mix of panic and dejection filled Robby at the revelation, both feelings only growing as he watched Dana break out into a wolfish grin over Purlah’s shoulder as she watched his face drop before finally conceding “Yeah send her back”

Purlah nodded and took off and Robby knew news of your existence would be spread to every medical professional on the floor within the hour. So much for flat out denial.

“So there is a woman”

He refused to look at Dana as he switched out tablets “I promise it’s not what you think”

“Believe me I’m trying very hard not to think about it” she snorted, gaze pulling to the door to the ED as it opened and you scurried in behind Purlah, head ducked low and eyes planted firmly on the ground as you held a familiar looking kitchen towel to your hand “She’s cute”

“Not a word” Robby tossed the empty threat over his shoulder as he made his way to the room you were being placed in, choosing to ignore the cackle Dana let loose as he did so, instead putting all of his focus on your clearly panicked figure that sat up on the bed before him.

“Hey I’m really sorry”

“Don’t be sorry” he brushed you off easily, docking the tablet and pulling on a pair of gloves with practiced ease “What’s going on”

“I cut myself honestly a while ago and it hasn’t stopped bleeding” you held the towel wrapped hand out in front of you, offering it to him, speaking much faster than you normally did.

“Alright let’s take a look” he tried to slow down purposefully, to speak lowly and quietly, to put as much calm into his tone as he could.

“Again I’m so sorry to bother you at work and ask for you specifically I didn’t-“ Still you took off at double speed, not even making eye contact with him as you spoke.

“Hey you’re okay you should always come in with stuff like this” he cut you off with a reassurance, hand coming out to squeeze your knee in a small offer of comfort.

“Yeah I know I just feel like I used you to bypass the whole line and you guys probably have a whole system in place-“

“You’re rambling what’s going on” he cut you off again, a small frown as he watched you squirm on the spot, gaze never staying in one spot for long enough to be natural.

“I don’t really do hospitals well” you admitted shyly, the corners of Robby’s mouth ticking up slightly at your words as he shrugged.

“That’s okay me neither”

For the first time your eyes finally met him as you sent him a cold glare “you’re not helping”

He tried desperately to fight back his smile “Okay I’m sorry but listen, small cut, just a few stitches, we’ll have you out of here in no time”

“Right sure, few stitches” he let you all but talk to yourself as he gathered the suture supplies, tuning back in when he heard you voice raise slightly as you addressed him “I’m assuming that requires a needle”

“If you’d prefer I can hold the skin together myself until it starts to heal but I’ll warn you my hourly rate is incredibly expensive”

Another death glare was sent his way, he choked back a chuckle.

“Jokes’re really not helping got it.” He changed tactics with a warm smile, planting himself onto a backless stool a breath away from you, giving your knee a soft knock with his own “I’ve done a million of these it’ll be over before you know it”

Still you looked at him skeptically, a look that told him you were seriously considering his offer of simply holding your skin together himself.

“Hey you’re the one that told me I was a good doctor not that long ago, let me prove you right”

That finally got to you, a dramatic huff leaving you as you deflated slightly on the spot, a defeated “fine” slipping through your teeth Robby couldn’t help but chuckle at as he got the lidocaine ready.

“That’s the spirit. Now local anesthetic, small pinch and a burn” The words came out quickly, more one amalgamation of sound than individual words, his brain already starting to go through the motions when he paused “Imma need you to stop tensing, it’s just going to make it worse”

“Yeah I know I’m sorry” you sighed out the words, giving your shoulders a little shake to try and relax.

“You’re still tensing”

“I can’t help it I’m freaking out” the words exploded out of you as you tried to pull your hand back, Robby grabbing you by the wrist softly to try and direct you back into place.

“Hey hey look at me” he approached calming you down like dealing with a wild animal, entirely soft words and slow movement “sweetheart please I’ve got you. Do you trust me?”

With a huff you let him have you hand back, staring back at him blankly with an expression that told him the second he let go of you you were out the door.

“I’m going to pretend this hesitation doesn’t hurt”

With a roll of your eyes you sighed again, forcing a deep breath as you shook out the tension in your shoulders once more before refocusing your gaze, locking eyes with him and nodding softly “yeah I trust you”

Before you could even think of doing anything else he inserted the needle and depressed the plunger, pulling back quick enough to escape the way you dramatically snatched your hand back from him “Fuck did you just stab me with a needle without looking”

“I told you I’ve done a few of these” he shrugged with a smirk, already moving on to prepare the next step.

“Did you do each of them blind too?”

“The needle was already lined up” he motioned for you to give him your hand back, unable to keep the smile off his face as you glared at him.

“No I’m not listening I want a new doctor”

“What if I promised to look when I actually do the stitches”

“That should be a given?” The words came out in an incredulous shriek that had Robby fully laughing

"I'll give you a lollipop when we’re done”

You narrowed your eyes at him at the offer, hand on your injured wrist tightening slightly before you suddenly thrust it back at him with a huff “If I have a scar I’m suing”

“Deal” he conceded easily, threading his needle and inserting it before you could call it off again, the cut requiring just two quick stitches Robb had you done in minutes “See that wasn’t too bad”

Only when he had finished bandaging did you pull back your arm again, cradling it protectively into your chest as you sent him another glare “I want you to know I’m leaving this hospital with emotional pain as well as the physical pain I was already in”

“Oh that’s my specialty” Robby snorted as he started to clean up “Call it a two for one special”

“I’m demanding a red lollipop in recompense”

Robby looked surprisingly sheepish at that, hands tucked deep into his pockets as he swayed back on his heels “ah so about that we don’t actually have lollipops here. More of a family medicine thing”

You let the silence stretch uncomfortably as you glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest for an effect that pulled a small snort out of him.

“I can offer you a crisp five dollar bill for the vending machine though”

“And you lie to patients” you mused with an shake of your head and a condescending tsk “I’m adding this to my pile of evidence for the malpractice suit”

“My first name’s Michael just so you can make sure to get the right person on that”

You paused at that, cocking your head to the side slightly as you asked “is it really?”

“Yeah” he chuckled softly “you didn’t know that?”

“Always thought your parents just had a thing for alliteration” You shrugged it off with a smile, watching the corners of his tick up in response “seriously though thank you for this. I know I’m not the easiest patient”

“You didn’t get bodily fluids on me or try to hit me so that’s a win in my book”

“Damn so the bar’s low”

“Everytime I think we hit rock bottom someone shows up with a pickaxe to prove we can go deeper”

You let out an almost hollow chuckle, a sound more to fill the awkward silence following a statement you guessed held more truth than you could know.

“About what you said earlier” he hedged the words in, seemed almost hesitant to let them fall.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be held responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth for the duration of this visit”

He chuckled appreciatively at the break in tension, running his knuckles up and down across the palm of his other hand as he looked at you for a moment before physically shaking himself out of it “no I mean if you’re ever back here again, for any reason, tell the nurses to come find me okay? Don’t worry about messing up our system I promise it’s a myth anyways, just come find me”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him at that, the promise falling softly from your lips “I will”

“Good” he answered just a softly with a nod “now how are you getting home”

“Ah I walked” you answered sheepishly “Tried to delay the inevitable for as long as possible”

He shook his head at that but didn’t say anything to condemn it, reaching into his pockets to pull out his wallet “I get off in 45, here”

You furrowed your brow as he tried to thrust a few folded bills into your hand “oh you don’t have to”

“Please it was cruel of me to dangle candy in front of you without following through” he was brushing off your denial quickly, grabbing your hand to force the money into your fingers when you refused to grab it “Get yourself something from the vending machine and wait in the breakroom I’ll take you home”

“Its not that far” you tried again

“Let me anyways” and you could see the silent question in his eyes, the plea, it was a look not dissimilar to the one he wore when he showed up at your door late at night.

“Which way’s the breakroom”

He responded with a soft smile, making his way behind you and leading you forward with a hand at the small of your back, stopping just outside the door to point to a room across the way. “Just through there, I’ll come find you when I’m done”

With a nod you started to make your way to the room, not making it more than a step before he was calling back to you.

“Also if a blonde woman introduces herself as Dana you run in the opposite direction”

“You realize that just makes me want to talk to her more right?”

“It was worth a shot”

-

For perhaps the first time in his life Robby was ready to leave work on time, some may even say he was eager to do so. And if the smirk on her face was anything to go by Dana was certainly one of these people.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve checked your watch in the past five minutes”

Robby chose to ignore her teasing tone, bouncing on his feet lightly as he eyed the board with dread “My shift did end five minutes ago”

She snorted at that, shaking her head as she watched him avoid her gaze “I wasn’t aware you knew what time your shift ended”

Robby sent her a cutting glare “I don’t suppose you’re going to get on Jack’s case like this too for being five minutes late when he’s always twenty early”

She sent him a dangerous smirk and a shrug “Don’t have to Jack’s here already”

Robby furrowed his brow at that, casting his gaze over the bustling ED in search of the attending “He is? Since when?”

“Bout twenty minutes ago” there was a forced casualness to her tone that made him dread whatever she was going to say next “I sent him to the breakroom for coffee, weird he hasn’t come back yet”

Another sharp glare was sent her way she couldn’t help but grin under “You’re too invested in my personal life”

“What personal life” she snorted “thought you said ‘it’s not what you think’”

“I’m leaving” he declared with a nock on the desk “you should too”

“You going to offer to walk me home too” she called after him as he made his way to the bank of lockers, enjoying the pointed way he ignored the comment.

Grabbing his things quickly he threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the breakroom, barging through the door without a thought to see you and Jack sitting side by side, the corners of his mouth tipped up in as close to a smile as Jack got while your soft laugh rang through the air, your injured hand without any of the dressings he had so carefully applied half an hour ago cradled softly in one of his.

“Hey Robby” Your greeting snapped him out of his staring contest with your hands, his gaze meeting yours across the room as you offered him a soft smile.

“Hey” he greeted back, watching Jack slowly, deliberately, retract his hand from yours “is everything alright with your stitches?”

“Yeah they’re good” you affirmed happily “Jack just wanted to take a look at them”

Jack, not Dr. Abbot or even just Abbot, Jack.

“Can’t remember the last time you did stitches, gotta make sure you don’t horribly scar the poor girl” if the smirk on Jack’s face was anything to go by the man knew exactly what he was doing.

“And the verdict is?”

“I’ve seen worse”

He snorted humorous-lessly “high praise coming from a combat medic”

Jack sent him another smirk before turning back to you “let me get you another set of dressings and you’re good to go”

“I got it” Robby cut in before Jack could get up, not enjoying the amusement that danced in the man’s eyes as his gaze cut back to Robby still standing in the entryway.

“I don’t mind-“

“I said I got it” Robby forced a polite smile to his face, one he knew didn’t reach his eyes, a fact that only made Jack’s smirk deepen “Besides I heard you have a case of explosive diarrhea to take care of in south 7”

Jack chuckled as he leaned slightly closer to you, stage whispering while he kept his gaze on Robby “I think I’m in trouble”

You giggled back at him knocking your shoulder against his playfully as you stage whispered back “you better go before you get me in trouble too”

Standing up slowly Jack made his way out of the breakroom finally, sending Robby off with a mirth filled smile and a slightly too aggressive set of pats on the shoulder, finally leaving you and him alone in the breakroom.

“In my defense you told me to avoid Dana, nothing in there about Jack”

With a huff he shook his head, dropping his back next to you “My mistake clearly. Now lets get you some new bandages and get out of here before she has a chance to sink he claws into you”

“Ah you’re about thirty minutes too late for that” you giggled at the way he sighed dramatically at that, sitting down next to you to start applying a new set of bandages to your hand. “I like your coworkers though, they’re nice”

He chuckled at that with a shake of his head “nice is not the word I would go with there, try lacking any semblance of boundaries”

“The best of friends are” you shrugged with a grin, Robby unable to help himself from mimicking it as he finished off your bandage.

Finally free to leave the hospital the two of you made your way out, Robby doing his absolute best to avoid the gaze of everyone as he led you through the packed waiting room. Only when he was safely outside with you did he finally breathe easy.

The silence between the two of you as you walked stretched, blanketed the surrounding area, he couldn’t help but focus on it and yet it didn’t feel oppressive, didn’t feel awkward, he didn’t feel the need to try and break it.

This was the moment everything changed, there was a charge in the air you could feel, a weight to the moment that was palpable.

Robby looked down at you wordlessly, eyes dancing over your face as he just studied you for a moment, the corners of his mouth tipping up as you offered him a soft smile.

“Let me take you out” a simple offer, said on a shrug, followed by an endearing clarification “like on a date”

It wasn’t a grand declaration, wasn’t a cathartic clash, wasn’t a dramatic outpouring of emotion. It was quiet, casual, understated. A facsimile of that first time you spoke in the hallway. A simple hand held out, palm up. An offer for the taking.

“I’d like that”

You hadn’t known all that would result from that chance meeting late at night in the hallway. Hadn’t known all of the comfortable silences, awkward moments, and heartfelt conversations that would be shared in the weeks to come. And honestly you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[sugardollcurse]

Hiii! So you know that time when Paul pretended to be French and mysterious n stuff? What if he encounters a reader who is French/ speaks French and kinda sees through his bullshit? I love your writing and especially the ones about Paul and George!!

-Love <3

𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑖 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑤𝑎𝑦 | paul mccartney x reader

𐙚 summary ; paul puts on a french act and gets called out, charmingly, by someone who actually speaks the language.

𐙚 note ; i took french every year they’d let me... and i’m canadian so i am basically legally obligated to pretend i’m fluent (don’t tell the real french people). also my sleep schedule is butt & i have no idea if this turned out good or not let me know

Paris. Cold January light streaked in off the Seine, gold diluted in mist, and on the corner outside some cafe, Paul stood with one hip cocked and a cigarette burning between his fingers. The coat collar turned up wasn’t fooling anyone; neither was the tilted beret (was that even real? had he bought it just for this?), nor the sunglasses perched on his nose, blocking the grey sky, not the gaze of anyone passing by, he was also holding an espresso.

He was doing a voice.

You weren’t even trying to listen, you were just waiting for your coffee and people-watching in that sluggish way only jetlag or heartbreak inspires, but then you heard it, like a wine cork halfway through a sneeze:

“Ah, mais non, mademoiselle, je suis… comment dites-vous ? Mmm, mystérieux.” (ah, but no, miss, i am… how do you say? mmm, mysterious.)

You blinked. There was no mistaking him. Even in black-and-white photos in magazines, you could tell how bright-eyed he was, how much he liked being seen. That glint of half-held laughter in the corners of his mouth, that was always there, even now as he leaned in close to a pretty brunette who looked thrilled just to be in his orbit.

She giggled something, probably asking if he was really French.

“Oui,” he said far too quickly. “Je suis de… de Marseille.” (yes. i’m from… from marseille.)

You snorted into your sleeve.

It caught his ear. You saw him glance, quick and suspicious, over the rim of his shades. You didn’t look away.

He tried again.

“Je suis poete, vous savez. Et… un peu de musique, oui ?” (i’m a poet, you know. and… a little music, yes?)

The girl smiled politely, clearly not understanding a word, and he lit her cigarette like some kind of noir Casanova. You watched her nod along as he launched into some bullshit about art and revolution, all mispronounced and strung together with hope.

You couldn’t help it.

“Dieu,” you called over, flat and unimpressed. “Vous êtes embarrassant..” (god. you're embarassing)

He paused mid-sentence, the lighter and espresso still in his hands, and turned toward you. Slowly. Like a man trying to place a face from a dream, or a heckler from across the street.

The girl giggled again, this time more awkwardly, and slipped away.

He followed her with his eyes, then faced you fully.

“You speak French?” he asked.

“You don’t.”

He blinked. “I do, y’know.”

“Oh, really?” You tilted your head, eyebrows raised. “You’re from Marseille now?”

He hesitated, lips twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to double down or bail out. “Well… I didn’t say I was fluent.”

You stared at him. Flat.

“I just said I do,” he tried again, voice lighter now, clearly edging into defensive charm territory. “Couple words here and there. Phrases. Enough to get by.”

“Get by what? Customs?”

He winced. “That obvious?”

“Painfully.”

“Well, now I feel wounded.”

“No,” you said. “Now you feel caught.”

He rested his elbows on the tiny café table, hands clasped like he was about to confess something deep. But the smirk still curled his lips, lazy and unbothered, a man more amused than ashamed.

“Alright,” he said, tilting his head toward you, hat still crooked like a metaphor for this whole goddamn thing. “Suppose I’ve been… playing the part a bit.”

“A bit?”

Paul raised one brow. “You saying I didn’t almost pull it off?”

You just blinked at him. Slowly. “She thought you were quoting Rimbaud. You were quoting a wine label.”

He shrugged, unrepentant. “It was a nice bottle.”

“Do you even know who Rimbaud is?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then grinned wider. “Someone who’d be flattered to have me steal his lines?”

You let out an audible breath, somewhere between disbelief and a laugh you refused to give him.

“How many people have you tried this on?”

His expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes flickered. He looked away for just half a second, toward the café window where condensation blurred the reflection of passersby, then back to you. “D’you want an honest answer?”

You nod.

He leaned back, draping an arm over the back of the chair like he was ready to spin a yarn for the ages. “Let’s just say... enough to know it works more than it doesn’t.”

“That can’t possibly be true.”

“Oh, but it is. You’d be shocked at how many women melt the second they hear me speak."

You squinted, rolled your eyes, and looked back at him.

“That's right, it worked.”

You pointed at the empty spot the brunette had abandoned. “She left.”

“Because of you!”

“Because you said you were from Marseille and she asked where in Marseille, and you panicked and said ‘by the ocean.’”

“Well, technically Marseille is by the ocean.”

“Oh my god.”

“You're the first one to call me on it,” he admitted, without shame, like it was a compliment to you. “Usually I just keep the shades on, mumble a bit, and let the mystery do the heavy lifting.”

You leaned forward, elbows on the table now, incredulous. “So you're telling me… you’ve just been walking around Paris-”

“Just a few blocks.”

“-and it works?”

He looked deadly serious. “Like a dream.”

“That’s absurd.”

Paul leaned back with a shrug like that alone might justify it, his grin cocky and warm, like he’d just pulled off a petty heist in broad daylight. That expression, boyish, shameless, made your jaw tense.

You were still reeling from the sheer nerve of him, the idea that this worked on people, the certainty with which he described it, like it was science. But then he looked at you again, and for a half-second, something clicked, a strange sharp edge of familiarity slicing through your confusion.

And it hit you. You blinked, slow. Your mouth opened, then closed.

Oh yeah, this was Paul McCartney.

You’d known, of course, in that vague this-guy-looks-familiar way. You’d clocked the sunglasses, the swagger, the face that grinned from every damn magazine stand in Europe and America right now, even the haircut, God, especially the haircut. But your mind hadn’t made the jump. Not all the way. Not until now. He’d been so ridiculous. Pretending to be French. Making you laugh. Acting like a drunk poetry student on a dare.

But now your stomach dropped a little as you replayed everything he’d said.

The insane confidence. The "you’d be surprised what I can get away with" delivery.

Of course he could get away with it. He was a Beatle!

You stared at him in new light. And it was blinding.

He sipped his espresso and made a face. “Bloody awful. They burn it here.”

You let out a sharp laugh, loud enough that a couple heads at the next table turned. Paul blinked at you, lips still pursed from the bitter taste, clearly not expecting the outburst.

“Oh my God,” you wheezed, hand over your mouth. “You’re really out here doing a fake French act and then gagging on the coffee? That’s your commitment to the bit?”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes, but the smirk still clung to the edge of his mouth. “Well, excuse me for having taste.”

You were still grinning, too amused now to keep up the deadpan. “You’re faking being French. French. You’re a Beatle. Do you understand how insane that is? You could just walk into any room in the world and people would trip over themselves just to hear you say anything, in any accent. You could say ‘I’m from Liverpool’ and girls would faint.”

“I do say that sometimes.”

“Then why the fake Marseille backstory?”

He set his cup down with a small, tight clink. His smile flattened, polite, but distant in that instantly familiar British way. His voice went a notch cooler. “Didn’t realize it was such a crime to want a bit of fun.”

You caught it. That tiny shift in his tone, the flicker of defensiveness under the surface. His pride had taken a ding. You hadn’t meant to go that hard, but watching him flail in his own web of performance was just... funny. Too funny.

“I mean,” you said, still laughing under your breath, “it’s not a crime. It’s just, why? You’re pretending to be mysterious when everyone on Earth already wants to know everything about you.”

He looked at you then, properly, and for a second he really did look irritated. Not angry, just pricked, like you’d poked at something delicate he kept wrapped in layers of charm and dumb hats. You could almost hear the internal snap of his ego getting a paper cut.

He tilted his head the way a cat does when it’s considering knocking a glass off a table purely out of spite. “Y’know, you’re not exactly making it easy for me.”

You blinked. “Easy for you to what?”

“To charm you,” he said plainly, like it was the most natural goal in the world.

Your brows shot up. And then, goddammit, your skin betrayed you.

Not in some romantic comedy way where your heart fluttered and angels played the harp on cue. No. It was more like the heat of embarrassment climbed your neck, fast and sudden, like someone had just caught you staring, or worse, thinking too hard about someone who hadn't even said anything remotely worth thinking about. Charm you? He hadn’t said a single flattering thing. Hadn’t complimented you, hadn’t even tried, really, he’d just paraded around in that absurd beret he was now clentching, fumbled a fake French accent, and talked like every word was auditioning for the role of enigmatic, but tripped and fell on their own shoelaces.

And still. Your skin warmed. Your throat tightened. You looked down like your own face was giving you away.

Paul watched you. He wasn't grinning now, not the cocky, lopsided kind. This one was smaller, slower. A smile that wasn’t aimed at the café or the passing world, but at you, like he’d already decided you were funnier than the rest of Paris, like you were the only one who’d actually spoken to him instead of at him.

"Ah," he said, leaning forward like he’d spotted something glinting on a sidewalk. "There it is."

“There what is,” you snapped, too quick.

He hummed low, sipping again from the burnt espresso like it hadn’t just offended every taste bud in his mouth. “You look like someone who didn’t mean to laugh.”

You blinked, genuinely confused. “I didn’t laugh.”

“You did.”

“No.”

“A little.”

You squinted. “It was more of a snort.”

Paul nodded solemnly, resting his chin on one hand like you were under study. “A snort, then. Beautiful thing, that.”

You scowled, flustered again. Not because he was smooth, he absolutely wasn’t. But because he was watching you too closely now. Not with heat or intent, not trying to impress. Just... watching. Like he wanted to see what happened next. Like the game had shifted from ‘bullshit a girl at a café’ to something quieter and more reckless.

“You said you were trying to charm me,” you muttered. “But you haven’t actually done anything charming.”

He tilted his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “No?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” He tapped his fingers once against the table. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

You folded your arms. “And here I thought you were a professional.”

“I usually let the accent carry me.”

“That,” you said, “explains a lot.”

He grinned, finally. Not a smirk, not a show, just grin. Honest and sheepish. “I thought the beret might help.” he said, holding it up.

“It didn’t.”

“No?”

“You looked like a street magician with commitment issues.”

He laughed, genuine and loud, startling a guy off the next table. His shoulders shook with it, head falling back for a second like the insult had hit a sweet spot he didn’t know he had. When he straightened again, he was watching you with new eyes. Something behind them had relaxed. He didn’t look like he was trying anymore.

“Christ,” he said softly, like it wasn’t even meant for you. “I’ve been out here playing the fool and still ended up talking to the only person in this arrondissement who won’t let me get away with it.”

You paused, and this time, it wasn’t the heat of embarrassment. It was something stranger. Weightier. Like the conversation had shifted on its own axis.

“I’m not trying to make it hard for you,” you said.

His expression changed just a touch. “Didn’t....exactly say you were.”

You glanced down at your coffee, lukewarm now, the surface scummed with milk foam and cracked like the skin of day-old paint. “I just… don’t know what we’re doing. This doesn’t feel like flirting.”

“No?” he said again, gently this time.

“No.”

“Alright,” he said. He reached up and took off the sunglasses, finally. His eyes were brighter than you expected. “Then what does it feel like?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Thought for a second, but the words didn’t come. You looked at him, closely now, without the layer of cheap sunglasses and bad accent between you, and you saw it. The remnants of the earlier scene still clung to his shoulders like cigarette smoke: the Marseille nonsense, the clunky French, the absolute meltdown at “by the ocean.” And now here he was, all earnest eyes and gentle phrasing, like you were supposed to forget that just minutes ago he’d been getting burnt to a crisp by some person at a cafe.

“Oh,” you said, letting your voice drop into something almost amused, almost accusing. “That’s what this is.”

Paul tilted his head, the faintest flicker of guilt brushing over his face, like a dog caught mid-sock theft. “What is?”

You gave a dry laugh, no heat in it. “You’re changing the subject.”

He paused.

Then smiled, faint and guilty and pleased with himself. “Was it working?”

“Almost.”

The smirk cracked wider, but his eyes didn’t move from yours. “Suppose that means I’ll have to try harder.”

You shook your head, standing slowly, hands stuffed into your coat pockets as the wind whipped along the street again, tugging at napkins and stray receipts. You didn’t know what this was. Not really. But you knew what it wasn’t. And it wasn’t about Marseille, or poetry, or even mystery.

“Good luck with that, Paul,” you said over your shoulder, walking toward the corner. “Maybe next time try Lyon.”

He groaned. Loudly. “Oh come on! You really think Lyon’s better?”

You didn’t answer, just laughed once, low and sharp, then disappeared around the corner.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels, @wisepainterprince, @emz2092

[reveriebae]

Chapter 14 - Terms and Conditions May Apply

ICE ON MY TITS SERIES

<< PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER >>

The morning after the rooftop showdown felt like a collective hangover, even for the ones who didn’t drink. The air in Eden Heights wasn’t just tense—it was humid with leftover lust, guilt, and jealousy. Someone even burned their toast in the communal kitchen. Twice. No one pointed fingers, but everyone knew it was Yeosang. That man hadn’t slept right in three nights.

You? You were fine. Great, even. Towel wrapped around your wet hair, oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder, you strutted into the kitchen with zero shame and enough confidence to kill. You were glowing. Probably because you were freshly fucked and deeply unbothered. Yunho’s words—“I want to marry you”—still looped in your head, but you weren’t ready to unpack that yet.

You grabbed your coffee. Two guys stood awkwardly in the kitchen with you: Seonghwa pretending to clean a countertop that didn’t need cleaning, and Wooyoung standing in front of the fridge like he forgot what cold air was.

No one said anything.

Until Hwa cleared his throat. “We need to talk.”

That was never a good sentence.

10 Minutes Later

Group Meeting, Communal Lounge, Chaos Central.

Everyone was there. Even Mingi, wrapped in a blanket like a sad little meatball, eyes barely open. Yunho sat with his arms crossed, legs wide, jaw clenched. Hongjoong leaned back on the couch, unreadable as ever. San stared out the window like he was a main character. Jongho sat stiffly, knees together, stealing glances at you. Yeosang wouldn’t make eye contact. Wooyoung kept biting his lip and Mingi was eating cereal out of the box.

Seonghwa clapped his hands once, like a damn preschool teacher. “Okay. So. About Saturday night…”

“You mean the rooftop orgy—” Wooyoung said.

“I said okay,” Seonghwa snapped, then exhaled slowly. “We need rules.”

That got everyone's attention.

Yunho looked up. “Rules?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa replied. “Because clearly, this is spiraling. Fast. So, until everyone gets their feelings sorted out—only one person per week.”

Silence.

Then:

“WHAT THE FUCK—” Wooyoung.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Hongjoong said.

Yeosang looked physically ill. Mingi dropped his cereal. Jongho blinked hard, then blushed. San leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “That’s not gonna work.”

You just sipped your coffee, leaning against the doorframe, completely unfazed.

“Why not?” Seonghwa asked calmly.

San shrugged. “Because some of us don’t like sharing.”

“Oh, now that part works,” you muttered.

Wooyoung turned to you, mouth open. “You’re okay with this?!”

You raised your eyebrows. “I didn’t say that. But I think it’s cute you all suddenly care about rules after cumming on my stomach, chest, thighs, and—”

“OKAY!” Jongho stood up, face red. “We get it!”

Seonghwa looked like he aged five years in that moment. “This isn’t a punishment. It’s to protect us from... imploding.”

“Too late,” Yunho muttered.

Then Hongjoong stood up slowly, licking his lips. “Let’s be honest. This isn’t about protecting anyone. This is about feelings.”

“Oh no,” Mingi whispered.

“And feelings,” Hongjoong continued, walking toward you, “are messy. Especially when the girl you want is... sleeping in the room next to yours.”

You blinked.

“You got something to say, Joong?”

He tilted his head. “Do you?”

You smirked. “I’ll say it when I figure out who I wanna sleep with next week.”

That shut everyone up. Even Wooyoung.

Then Jongho, soft-spoken but firm, said, “Why not just admit you like more than one of us?”

You turned to him, taken off guard. “Because that would mean it’s not just sex,” you said softly.

“Exactly,” Jongho replied. “And that’s the problem.”

For a moment, the room went still.

Until Mingi whispered, “...Can I still be on this week’s schedule?”

Everyone groaned.

It only took four hours before the new rule crumbled like overbaked cookies.

The boys tried to play it cool. Real composed. Mature. Whatever the hell that means.

But once Seonghwa dropped the “one guy per week” bomb, their brains short-circuited.

So what happened?

They started campaigning.

DAY 1 – MONDAY

Wooyoung appeared at your door in a mesh shirt, hair still damp from the shower, holding a tray of literal cupcakes.

“You like chocolate, right?” he winked.

You looked him up and down. “Why do they say ‘Eat Me’ in frosting?”

He grinned. “Because subtlety is for cowards.”

You shut the door in his face—but you took the cupcakes.

DAY 2 – TUESDAY

Yeosang helped you carry groceries without being asked. Then reorganized your spice rack. Then cleaned your mirror. Then fixed your curtain rod. He didn’t say much. Just blushed every time your arm brushed his.

When you offered him water, he said, “I don’t want water. I want you to choose me.”

You choked on your own spit.

DAY 3 – WEDNESDAY

San showed up at the gym wearing a muscle tee and sweatpants low enough to be illegal. “Need a spot?” he asked, voice dark.

You said you weren’t working out. He said, “That’s fine, I’ll just watch you stretch.”

You weren’t stretching either. He stayed anyway.

When you walked past him later, he whispered, “You’re gonna break the rule for me. I know it.”

You did not deny it.

DAY 4 – THURSDAY

Mingi posted a thirst trap with the caption: “If I had her for a week, she wouldn’t walk straight. #JustSaying”

You saw it. Everyone saw it.

So did Jongho, who DM’d him a passive-aggressive comment: “That’s not how we treat someone we claim to care about.”

Mingi replied with a pic of your panties from his nightstand and said: “Oops. My bad.”

Jongho didn’t reply. But he did drop off flowers at your door an hour later with a handwritten poem.

DAY 5 – FRIDAY

Seonghwa invited you to dinner.

Candlelit. Italian. Real silverware. A playlist of soft R&B. He wore a blazer. In the apartment.

Midway through dessert, he leaned forward and said, “I’m not competing. I’m reminding you who always puts you first.”

Your thighs clenched under the table.

DAY 6 – SATURDAY

Hongjoong didn’t do shit.

He just looked at you during the tenant meeting and said, “So…who you choosing this week?”

You shrugged. “Still thinking.”

He smirked. “Tick-tock, baby.”

DAY 7 – SUNDAY NIGHT

You were curled up on your couch in a robe, wine in hand, ready to sleep.

Then…

Yunho texted the group chat: “I’m not playing this game. If she wants to fuck, she can come to my room.”

And immediately, the whole building exploded.

Wooyoung replied: “SHE AIN’T YOUR WIFE YET, HOBBIT.”

San: “You don’t deserve her if you can’t wait your turn.”

Mingi: “I literally got pneumonia last time. I’m next.”

Jongho: “You all need therapy.”

Hongjoong: “You’re all pathetic.”

Yeosang (rare voice message): “I vacuumed her rug and no one thanked me.”

Seonghwa: “I’m turning this Wi-Fi off if you don’t all calm the fuck down.”

You stared at the screen. Then put your wine down.

Walked to your mirror.

Unwrapped your robe.

And said:

“Let’s see who breaks the rule first.”

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Anime Convention (feat. someone real). Part III

Self-Aware! Nikolai Gogol x GN! Reader

Description: Life is moving forward. You are still jobless, and selfdoubt is still here and it's strong.

Adult live is a constant battle between want and need. You need to sleep, you need to be healthy. Midnight snacks won't let you sleep, or help your health. Tonight, you will do what you want.

And you have a company.

Warnings and tags: OOC. English is my second language. Unemployment. Midnight eating. Reader are nervous about Nikolai. Selfdoubts. Reader are still have low opinion about themselves.

<| Part II |

A/N: I slightly redo the ending of a previous part. Once again, Reader mentally are in a bad place. They will get better.

You were tossing and turning in your bed, trying to find a comfortable position and finally sleep. So far, you couldn't do it.

You open your eyes, sit up on your bed, and look at the clock on your bedside table. It was too dark for you to see the time. You reached your hand towards it, pressing a small button, turning on a small lightbulb inside the clock.

1:00 am

You rubbed your forehead with your healthy hand. The cut was healing just fine, but you still need to have it wrapped up. It doesn't sting, as long as you aren't using that hand too much. Pain wasn't the reason you couldn't sleep.

You were tired, you were exhausted, and you wanted something to eat.

The last few days were... something. You tried not to show that you were upset for losing your job, but, it seems, BSD Cast could see through your pretend confidence.

They doubled their attempts to make you happy.

Fitzgerald... Francis told you time and time again that you shouldn't worry about finances. There was enough for you not to panic and take your time in finding a new job. Somewhere deep inside, you understand it. But you needed your own money. Your savings could get you so far.

If you became a burden, they will leave sooner, and when they leave, you will have nothing to return to

You groaned. You were tired, you wanted to stop thinking about what you were thinking. And you wanted a sandwich.

You weren't against the idea of midnight snacks. Yes, night wasn't a good time for a meal, it could mess up the sleeping schedule or bring some strange dreams. But who could say no to something tasty?

Determent, you stand up from your bed. Go to the kitchen. Make a sandwich. Return to bed.

Nothing hard.

------

The kitchen's lights were on. Even before you entered, you heard a quiet rustling. A moment later, after entering the kitchen, you saw that you weren't the only one who wanted a snack in the middle of the night.

He was facing the open refrigerator, holding a sandwich in his hand. He froze when he heard your footsteps and turned towards you. It took a couple of moments, but he recognized you.

A wide smile blossomed on Nikolai's face.

"Birdy! What, you also wanted to have something yummy in your tummy at this hour?"

You muttered something unintelligible, trying not to flinch. Nikolai, and especially his friendliness, scared you.

Lately, you rarely thought about Kafka, Harukawa and manga. But sometimes you really wanted BSD to be closer to the end, or even finished.

Because you didn't know what to feel about some characters. Namely, DOA. And if everything wasn't that bad with Sigma and Bram (one was a calm and sometimes nice guy, and the second just wanted to do his own thing), then Fyodor, Fukuchi and Nikolai were dark horses.

All you knew about Nikolai was that he loved freedom and was ready to kill his best friend to achieve true freedom.

And now this man, who was calling you Birdy, said that he considered you a friend and was patient, soft and warm towards you... You had every reason to be afraid of him.

Or, perhaps, you were a narrow-minded person who couldn't accept that BSD Cast members could behave differently and not according to Kafka's ideas.

A hand was placed on top of your head.

You focused your gaze on Nikolai. He abandoned his sandwich in the refrigerator, choosing to stay closer to you. He just kept his hand on top of your head, not moving it. He frowned, looking at you.

"[Y/N], are you okay? You were staring into the nothingness for some time now."

You owlishly blinked.

"It's nothing, just tired." You think for a moment. "And I am hungry, so... "

A smile immediately returned to Nikolai's face. He put his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to one of the chairs near the kitchen table.

"Why haven't you said so from the start? I can't let my Birdy starve. Wait for a second, and I will cook you a great meal. "

You didn't protest and sat down. But, after gathering all your mental courage, you firmly stated.

"Just a snack, Nikolai. I am not that hungry. "

Nikolai, who had already returned to a fridge, waved his hand, showing that he heard you.

Nikolai's cooking talent was one of the many surprises you faced after that fateful day when BSD Cast appeared in your old apartment. He can cook, he knew how to do it, and he does it well. Unfortunately, there was his tendency to go beyond the necessary amount of cooking.

----

On a seven day after Nikolai does some baking.

"Come on, everyone, eat your piroshki! We only have five hundred left!"

-----

Nikolai looked at you over his shoulder. He still was facing the refrigerator, but it was clear that his hands were full of food products.

"What do you think about cheese rarebits with onion and garlic?"

You nodded.

"Sounds good. Thank you, Nikolai."

Nikolai's grin, somehow, became wider.

"Got it, Birdy!"

He turned around, closed the refrigerator by kicking the door, and started preparing the ingredients. You observed the cooking processes. Nikolai sliced bread, grated cheese, diced onions and garlic.

It was the middle of the night, and someone was cooking for you. Rarebits weren't the most complicated thing to make, but still... Only your parents cooked for you before.

After you went to the university and moved out, you were cooking for yourself. Now you have someone to cook for you.

you should probably enjoy it while it lasts. when that little dream come true will be over, when they left you, you will only have memories of those great moments...

"Birdy... [Y/N], do you have something on your mind?"

Nikolai put down the knife, looking at you. He looked worried. You quickly shook your head and repeted your earlier statement.

"No, just tired."

Nikolai frowned. He hold his hand towards you.

His hand was gentle. He cupped your cheek, making sure, that you are looking at him.

"Birdy... Do you want to share something? You know, that if you want to vent, or have something on your mind you can tell us, right? You can tell me..."

It was hard to look at Gogol, when he was looking at you with this expression.

Attentive, warm, kind. He was ready to listen. To learn more about you. Sometimes, you were ready to confess.

Sometimes you wanted to tell him about your fears and anxiety.

But you always stay silent.

You couldn't bring yourself to spill the beans.

As long as you pretend to be interesting, you have time. You have time to have friends, to be seen. To be noticed.

Until one day you messed up. And they will leave you.

Dream will be over. And in reality no one need you, or care for your emotions...

🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

Nikolai returned to cooking. His mind was full of thoughts.

No one would think, that Nikolai was actually good at feeling people's mood. He was a performer, a clown to be specific. The performer should understand their audience, and the clown must understand they are scaring kids.

You weren't a kid, of course, but you were a very nervous audience.

Just yesterday (or day before yesterday?) they have another meeting. It was an attempt to discuss how to cheer you up after losing a job. They couldn't reach an agreement. The theme of discussion changed after Ayatsuji told them about the rent contract you still have. No one talked with you about it. For now, it was just another mystery about your behavior.

You were doing a very good and very poor job in hiding your true emotions.

Nikolai could bet that the happiness they see on your face, when you were watching movies together, spending time together, or goofing around outside, was genuine. You didn't pretend. You liked it. You liked spending time with them.

But, there were little slip ups. Strange emotions flashing in your eyes, nervous attempts to lie about your thoughts.

What was going on? Who did this to you?

Nikolai felt, like he was a poor clown and a friend. He has no idea how to cheer you up.

He just hoped, that rarebits would make you happy just for a bit.

Come to think about it... Anime was making you happy, right? Maybe, he can speak about it.

🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

After some frying, a plate full of cheddar rarebits with onions and garlic and a glass of milk were put before you. You stared at it for a moment. Nikolai pushed the plate towards you.

"Eat up as much as you want."

You take the first rarebit. You swallow the saliva.

"Eat with me. There are enough for two."

Nikolai sat down, taking a rarebit for himself.

"With pleasure, Birdy."

You take a first bite. You closed your eyes, fighting the urge to let out a purr-like sound. Rarebit was that good.

"Mhmmm, perfect! Thank you, Nikolai!"

Nikolai chuckled. You take another bite.

First rarebits were eaten in silence (not counting your little slip up). With the second rarebit came questions.

"Birdy, can I ask you something?"

You nodded, your mouth was full.

"When we were back there, but could interact with the Real World, we were pretending to be cosplayers to earn money. We wanted to be prepared for our meeting and living with you. It would be the most special event in our lives."

You swallowed, hiding your gaze.

you were special to them. the picture of you they imagined was special to them. real you can't be special... he will ask you why you weren't what they expected...

"And sometimes we were asked if we would attend conventions. What conventions were they talking about?"

Okay, you didn't expect that question.

"Conventions are multi-day events focused on something fans enjoy. There are cosplayers, sometimes, official guests, merchandise, fan art. Conventions can be about films, games, cartoons, anime, or manga. It's actually a fun way to spend weekends. Fun thing, Anime Expo, one of the biggest conventions, will start in a few weeks."

stop yapping about your childish interests! stop bothering him!

You finished talking, and saw, that Nikolai was looking at you with fascination.

"Um... Nikolai?"

Nikolai's eyes light up.

"I love when you talk about your interests. So, have you been on a convention before?"

You shook your head. You had no time. First school, then university. And when you have time, you have no one to go with. Your parents didn't like your interests in anime and manga, they refused to go with you, and you have no friends. You also were too shy to wear a cosplay. You weren't sure you would enjoy convention too much. And, of course, let's not forget the cost of train or plane tickets, hotel, food, taxi and convention ticket.

Nikolai asked again.

"Do you want to?"

You thought about it for a moment.

"To be fair... Yes."

Nikolai clapped his hands.

"I get it. Well, Birdy, thank you for the company. I know what to do next. Good night. Don't worry about the dishes. I will wash them in the morning. I am on breakfast duty."

Nikolai left the kitchen. You just blinked.

What was that?

You ate the last two rarebits in silence. You swear, that you heard someone tiptoe around the manor

You drank your milk, washed the dishes and returned to your room.

You need some sleep.

🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

They were gathering in the basement, in Bram's room. Everyone was standing here, half-asleep, in their pajamas.

Fyodor glared at Nikolai.

"Kolya, it's almost two in the morning. Where is the fire? Why an urgent meeting?"

Nikolai grinned.

"I know how to cheer [Y/N]!"

It got everyone's attention. They were listening. Nikolai continue.

"Let me tell you about anime conventions and Anime Expo."

[yanderes-galore]

Hello :> I was wondering if you could do a more angsty yandere scenario for Sans. Maybe he wakes up from a nightmare (he has plenty of reasons for them) and looks for comfort in his darling? How darling reacts is up to you ^^

Sure! I struggled with a plot here so this may be a short little story if that's okay?

Lonely Nights

Yandere! Sans Short

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Post-Kidnapping plot, One-sided love, Trauma, Yandere wants to be a better person, Forced companionship/relationship.

Nightmares are a common occurrence for Sans.

When it comes to night Sans can never seem to get a good night's sleep. He always looks tired and others always ask what's up. He simply responds that his sleep schedule is off due to his constant naps.

In reality, Sans is plagued with nightmares that no one else can comprehend. Memories of timelines where people die, of pleasant memories being torn away from him. It's a constant cycle.

Lately they've even been including you, the one he loves.

He knows you two are in a rough patch lately. You're the only person who can distract him from his own fears. Yet lately... well... It's complicated.

There's been arguments since he had you move in with him and Papyrus. Things have been tense between you. You always lash out when he tries to come close... You never leave your room....

His fears are definitely part of it.

Due to his latest nightmares, Sans has been scared to lose you. Perhaps at one point you two got along, having pleasant conversations and subjecting each other to pranks. He thinks of those times fondly... They're his favorite.

Nowadays though... You haven't wanted to speak to him. It's been... a week now. You ignore him... His delusions have made it so he doesn't let you talk to others for long.

He wants to be better, he really does. Yet he fears being better will mean letting you go. His nightmares make him hesitate, they convince him keeping you locked here is a better decision.

He should really just let you go.

Another nightmare strikes through the skeleton's mind, one where he lost everything once again. His brother... you... all his friends. It makes him shoot up in his bed, breathing heavy as he looks around the chaotic mess that is his room

He knows he shouldn't disturb you. At the very least he should let you sleep after everything he's done. Yet... before he can stop himself... he's getting up.

Within the blink of an eye, Sans arrives at your room. It's quiet, you're no doubt sleeping. But, his selfish desire for comfort makes him open the door.

The door shuts with a soft click once he's inside. Looking at the bed he can see you sleeping softly. He takes a moment to observe you, then sighs as he walks over to the bed.

You stir slightly when he sits on the bed, the bed dipping enough to wake you. You tiredly grumble and look up at the skeleton's nervous gaze. You look like you're going to tell him off...

But he stops you with a pleading gaze.

"... I'm sorry... I just need you... One night, alright?"

His plea seems to make you hesitate. You hated him, he knew you did. He made you go through so much already.

You didn't seem to hate him enough to push him away though.

Quietly you comply with his plea, rolling over just enough. The skeleton seems relieved, tucking himself against you as you hold him close. You don't complain, not like you usually do...

Is it just because you're tired...?

He doesn't complain though. He's missed your touch. You may hate him... yet it seems you care enough to soothe his nightmares even now.

It's a quiet night. For him, it's full of comfort. To you... it's just your typical night. You still don't feel happy, exactly....

You still feel lonely. While Sans enjoys your comfort, you're still alone. He's still the one that's keeping you locked away... He's still keeping you from having friends.

Part of you hopes if you help with the fears... his nightmares... maybe you can have your life back. Maybe if you are supportive, things can go back to normal. You yearn for normalcy....

Yet as Sans settles closer, seeming to finally get some sort of comforting rest, you sigh. It doesn't matter what you feel right now. You're surprised you even care about him now.

You ignore the part of you that feels a slight bit of comfort. You may enjoy this moment... but you know what he's done. You still hate him...

Yet if your life isn't back to normal anytime soon...

Part of you doesn't mind if nights like this become your new normalcy... Anything for comfort, right?

[hamzahsbiggestfan]

ARE YOU SCARED ?

pairing succubus!reader and best friend!hamzah

⤷ summary : in a small, rotting town where nothing ever changes, except the bodies piling up. you, a cursed succubus bound by a pact you don’t remember making, hunger for more than just flesh and blood. after a tragic fire at a local show unleashes something ancient inside you, your thirst becomes insatiable. you kill, you feed, and you try not to feel anything. but hamzah does. your best friend since childhood, smart, quiet, always there hamzah has watched you slip through the cracks of who you used to be. he knows you’re not the same. he sees the blood. smells it. but he can’t turn away.

⤷ warnings : this series contains of blood, killing, cannibalism, drugs, smut, and angst, if any of those topics make you uncomfortable, i’m not forcing you to read.

PART FOUR - he deserves to know

a/n : suuuper long part for today before i leave for vacation. i’m not staying for too long so i’ll be back to posting on the regular schedule in a couple days! hope you guys enjoyed tho!!

the next day felt longer than most. every sound was too loud. every hallway too narrow.

hamzah didn’t look at you in class. not once. not when you came in late. not when you laughed at something that wasn’t funny. not even when the teacher said the dead boy’s name by accident and the whole room turned to ice.

you didn’t blame him.

you still wanted to.

when the final bell rang, you didn’t go home. you slipped into the empty locker room, the one that always smelled like chlorine and mildew and something older. the pool hadn’t been open since the fire. they said the water got contaminated, some kind of chemical spill.

but you knew the truth. you felt it in your skin, in the way your reflection shimmered whenever you passed by anything deeper than three feet.

you didn’t hear the door open. but you knew he was there.

hamzah always walked like he was trying not to bother the earth beneath him.

“you gonna keep avoiding me?” his voice was softer now. no more edge. just tired.

you turned. The pale light above you flickered like it had a pulse.

he looked worse than yesterday. hollowed out eyes. same hoodie. he’d been crying, maybe. or not sleeping. probably both.

“i didn’t think you’d come,” you said.

“you didn’t ask me to.”

“you’re not gonna lie again, are you?”

you looked at him. just looked. it hurt more than it should have.

“no,” you said finally. “not this time.”

hamzah took a few steps closer, careful, like you might break. or bite.

he stopped when there was nothing between you but silence.

“what are you?” he asked. voice cracking halfway through. not with fear, grief.

you swallowed. your throat burned.

“i don’t know,” you whispered. “something… happened that night. during the fire. i was supposed to die, hamzah. i felt it. i felt everything inside me tear open. and then I woke up… like this.”

“like what?” he breathed.

you didn’t answer with words.

you raised your hand to his chest, hovered just above his heart. close, but not touching.

he didn’t move away.

you could feel the heat of him, the pulse, the fear.

“i’m hungry all the time,” you said, voice low, shaking. “it’s not just blood. it’s everything. wanting. needing. i feel it in my teeth, in my bones. it hurts not to feed, but every time i do, i lose more of who I used to be.”

his eyes glistened. “and you can’t stop?”

“i don’t want to stop,” you admitted. “not really. that’s the worst part.”

hamzah didn’t flinch. didn’t scream. just looked at you like he was trying to memorize every scar on your face. every shadow under your eyes.

“you’re still you,” he said.

“no. i’m not.”

and then, without thinking, without meaning to, you kissed him.

it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t sweet.

It was teeth and desperation and every part of you screaming don’t do this, even as your hands curled into his shirt like you’d never let go.

and for a second, he kissed you back.

but then he pulled away. breathless. eyes wide.

“is this you,” he asked, “or the thing inside you?”

you didn’t have an answer.

you just stepped back. back into the shadows. back into the thing you were becoming.

“i told you to stay away from me,” you said.

“and i told you i wouldn’t.”

his voice didn’t shake this time. and that was somehow worse.

you turned away before he could see the red blooming behind your gums. before he could smell the blood under your tongue.

because you were still full.

but not for long.

and hamzah

hamzah was getting too close.

taglist : @screamertannie @blair3claire @giuliannna @prttyinpink7 @xoxoange1l @hamzahswhispers @weirdogirl888 @isathefantastic @lil-elliesgf @pictureperfectblue @odessa444 @chickie-nuggets-h0 @h-yalexaaaa @viviansturns @xoxoomel @babyd0ll3 @grrrfrogs @xxalemn

[bellesaisonn]

when we're side by side

early morning cuddles with (early sias!)alex

contents: smut, fluff, early sias!alex, cuddling & tickling, oral sex (f receiving), handjobs, cockwarming, p in v (unprotected), creampie

word count: 6k

New York in February has a way of pressing in on you. The air is dry and heavy, the kind that cracks your lips and seeps through windows no matter how tightly they’re shut. Snow turns to slush, and slush turns to grime, and you learn to move through it all without looking down. Everything feels a little colder, a little slower, like the city itself is in hibernation.

But five floors up, in a pre-war apartment with hissing radiators and windows that rattle in the wind, it’s warm. Quiet in that way things get when they’ve been waiting a while.

Five weeks apart doesn’t feel like much, but airports and time zones stretch it out, make everything seem further away than it should. There were late-night calls. Scrambled mornings. His voice on the line, half a world away, saying “Wish I was there."

You couldn’t go with him. Not this time. Work had you locked in place, deadlines stacked like bricks, meetings that kept getting rescheduled but never canceled, and the pressure of being good at what you do. You wanted to be there but your life here didn’t pause just because he was gone. And he never made you feel guilty about it. Never asked you to choose. Alex had always been the one reminding you that your career mattered, that you were building something real and solid.

But even then, even in his constant support, you could hear it sometimes. In the way his voice dipped when you said, “I can’t get away right now.” In the pause before he said, “I get it.” Like he did get it, but that didn’t make it easier. Like part of him was still wishing for something simpler. For closeness that didn’t have to be scheduled around flight times and calendar invites.

You'd counted down the days without meaning to. Tried not to miss him too much, tried not to make a big deal out of it. But still, when he showed up at your door, tired and rumpled and carrying the same old leather jacket, your chest had gone quiet in that very specific way. The kind that only happens when something that's been out of place clicks back in.

Alex flew in last night. Straight from five weeks in Los Angeles, where the sun never really set and the days blurred into studio sessions and notebooks full of crossed-out lines and coffee stains. He looked wrecked when he showed up at your door. His hair a mess, jumper stretched at the collar, a smudge of ink on his hand.

He hasn’t said much about the album. Just that it’s done. Just that he’s glad to be out of LA.

And now, it's morning. Or close enough. Neither of you has looked at the clock. The suitcase is barely touched, still by the door. You’ve spent most of your time under the covers, talking when you feel like it, not talking when you don’t.

The sun’s barely pushing through the curtains when Alex wakes up. His right arm is pinned under you, the other draped over your waist. Somehow, even in sleep, you stayed close.

He watches you for a moment. One of his old t-shirts hangs loose on your frame and the underwear you grabbed from the clean laundry pile still carries the scent of lavender soap. Your breath is steady, lips slightly parted, your hair spilling messily over the pillow.

He brushes a bit of hair from your face, careful not to wake you, not yet. His fingers trail down, tracing the curve of your jaw, then pause at the corner of your mouth. He missed this. The softness of your face first thing in the morning, the weight of your leg draped over his.

Quietly, he leans down, pressing a barely-there kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek. Your nose. A line of soft, sleepy affection.

You start to stir.

"Al…"

"Mornin’, love," his voice is thick, still rough from sleep, softened by a grin.

"Mmm. S’too early," you mumble, eyes still shut.

"You don’t even know what time it is."

"I feel it," you groan, pulling the blanket up to hide from the soft light sneaking in through the curtains.

Lowly chuckling to himself, he pulls the cover off your face. He tugs you closer, bringing you to his chest, wrapping his arm around your waist. His lips press a soft kiss to your temple, lingering just for a moment before he rests his cheek against your hair.

You melt into him, your body softening as his warmth surrounds you. His arm tightens around your waist, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your skin.

You shift, drawing your legs up, letting them tangle more with his, feeling the comforting heat of his body pressed against yours. A soft sigh escapes you, content and peaceful, at ease in his embrace.

"I missed you so much," he says, voice low, almost muffled.

You smile, eyes still closed. "You’ve only said that, like, six hundred times."

"Mean it every time."

You brush your fingers along the line of his ribs.

"Wanna know how much I missed you?" he asks.

"Tell me."

He hesitates like he’s waiting for the punchline to land.

"You noticed your perfume’s missin’?"

You pull back just slightly to look at him. And the moment he says it, it clicks — the little pink bottle. Your favorite. You’d turned the apartment upside down looking for it.

"No. You didn’t."

"I did. Took it to L.A. with me," he smiles, the lazy kind, all proud of himself.

"You stole my perfume."

He shrugs, eyes bright. "It’s not stealin’ if I’m givin’ it back, is it?"

You laugh, head dropping back onto his shoulder.

"I sprayed it on my sheets," he says. "On my jumpers. Even sprayed it on me before goin’ to the studio. Smelled girly. But I dunno. Made me feel closer to you."

You’re laughing now, properly. That kind of breathless, soft laugh that only happens when you’re stupidly happy.

You lean into him, your voice softer now. "You’re such a sap."

He hums. "Remember that day we watched The Good, the Bad and the Ugly three times in a row?"

"Of course I do. You kept quoting Clint Eastwood for a week after."

He grins. "Well, I kept watchin’ them in L.A. Leone. Peckinpah. That one with the harmonica and the train."

"Once Upon a Time in the West."

"Yeah. That one. They felt different without you."

You rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him. "You went full cowboy while you were gone, huh?"

He gives a half-smile. "Maybe. But it didn’t feel right watching them alone. You were supposed to be there, curled up next to me, making fun of their mustaches."

"Terrible, terrible mustaches.”

"Exactly. No one to share that with. Just me, smelling like your perfume and talking to the TV."

You chuckle, "I still can't believe it was you. I thought someone stole it for real."

"What, broke into the apartment just to take your perfume?"

"It’s a really good perfume."

"Fair enough."

You nudge his leg with yours. "You missed me so much you walked around L.A. smelling like me."

"Course I did," he says. "You think I could survive five weeks without you completely?"

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. "No. You’re helpless without me."

Alex exhales a quiet laugh, like he knows you’re right. "Yeah. I am."

There’s a beat. His thumb is moving slow circles over your hip again.

"Are you helpless without me?" he asks, quieter now.

You smirk against his chest, but your voice stays steady. "I manage."

"Oh, you manage, do you?" he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice before you see it. "That’s how it is?"

You tilt your head up. "Exactly how it is."

He looks down at you, amused. “So while I was walking round smelling like you, homesick every night, you were here just... managing?”

You shrug, pretending to think. "Well. I did miss you. A bit."

"A bit," he repeats, like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all week.

He leans in, presses a kiss just behind your ear, and mumbles, "You’re full of it."

"And you love it."

He doesn't answer, and for a moment, you think maybe he's just letting it go. Then, in one smooth movement, he flips you onto your back, his body pinning you down beneath him.

Your breath catches in surprise, but before you can even think of protesting, his fingers are at your sides, merciless.

"Alex—no!" you gasp, trying to squirm, but his grip is too steady, his hands too sure.

He digs in, his fingers lightly brushing over your ribs, quick and relentless. The moment your laugh escapes, it's a full-blown squeal.

"Say you missed me more," he grins, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I didn't!" you laugh through the tickling, wriggling beneath him as you struggle to get free.

"You're lying."

His fingers slip under your shirt, pressing lightly against your stomach, and you can't help the burst of laughter that escapes.

"Come on. Just say it. You know you missed me," he presses, a playful edge to his voice.

"No! I won't," you choke out, laughing so hard it hurts. "Stop! You're evil!"

"Oh, I'm evil now, am I?" He laughs, but there's a softness in it, too, a kind of warmth that only comes with being too comfortable around someone. His fingers are still dancing against your skin, and you're still trying to catch your breath.

Finally, you give in, gasping between laughs, "Fine! Fine, I missed you! I missed you so much, alright?"

He stops, hands hovering above your ribs, giving you a moment to recover. You're breathless, a smile pulling at your lips even as you glare up at him. He looks down at you, face flushed from laughing, his breath still uneven.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he says, smug and pleased with himself, his accent cutting through the teasing.

"You're impossible," you mutter, still catching your breath.

He leans in, presses a lingering kiss to your lips, a quick, gentle thing that lingers just a bit too long for it to be just playful.

When he pulls back, his grin is wide, that satisfied, content look in his eyes that makes you feel like he's won, even if it's a small victory. You push at his chest, but it's weak—more for show than anything.

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close as his lips find your neck, tracing slow kisses across your skin like he's discovering it for the first time. His hands roam upward, tugging your shirt higher to uncover more of you, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake.

"Hey– no tickling," you murmur, half-laughing.

"No tickling," he promises with a smirk, pressing a tender kiss just below your belly button, his lips teasing the edge of your panties. "Gonna show you how much I missed you."

Truth is he already had. Twice in the last twelve hours.

First, it came in the form of messy, fast-paced, no-time-to-think kind of sex. The kind that happens when five weeks of wanting crash headfirst into the present. You were half-laughing, half-gasping as you fumbled toward the bed, knocking into walls and tugging at clothes, hands everywhere at once. It wasn’t about finesse; it was about release.

Afterward, he barely lasted ten minutes before passing out, head heavy on your stomach, one arm flung across your hips, breath evening out into soft, rhythmic snoring.

He woke up with your name on his lips, kissing the inside of your thigh. The second time was marked by quiet I love yous, soft I missed yous, and the unspoken language of two people finding their way back into each other.

But now, in the present, Alex looks up at you with hungry eyes, his breath warm against your skin as he catches the waistband of your panties between his teeth.

He gives the fabric a tug, a glint in his eye that says he's not asking. You raise your hips, making it easy for him, and he slides them off in one smooth motion, tossing them aside without looking.

Now it's just you. Bare, open, and stretched out beneath his gaze.

He pauses, eyes trailing slowly over you, and lets out a low breath through a crooked smile.

"I'm never gettin' tired of this, y'know?"

You run your fingers through his hair, a smile tugging at your lips. "Good. I expect you to still be giving me head when we're seventy."

He chuckles, kissing your thigh. "Oh, baby, I will."

You smile, tugging gently at his hair. "Stop yapping then. Shoot. Don't talk."

He laughs, nose nuzzling into your thigh. "Aye, Tuco," he says in his best mock-dramatic voice. "But fair warnin'—I'm a damn good sharpshooter."

You don't answer, spreading your legs wide, exposing yourself to him. He bites his lower lip as his eyes drag over you, soaking in every detail.

One hand smooths up the inside of your thigh, fingers grazing so close to where you ache that it makes your breath hitch. He pauses there, eyes flicking up to meet yours again, relishing your every reaction.

He dips lower, mouth brushing your skin in a featherlight path. The kisses start soft, almost innocent, before deepening into something far more intense. When he finally kisses your core, it's with unbearable slowness, just the faintest press of his lips against your folds like he's savoring the first taste.

"God, you're perfect," he murmurs, and you feel his words as much as you hear them.

Then comes the first lick. His tongue drags through your folds with maddening patience, enjoying every drop, every twitch of your body under him.

He presses a kiss to your clit. Then his tongue flattens against it, slow and firm, and he groans against you– because fuck, you're soaked, you're shaking, and you taste like everything he's ever wanted.

Your body jolts, already sensitive from being fucked earlier, and the shock of sensation makes your thighs tremble around him.

"Al," you whimper.

He understands what you want.

Without a word, he slides his hands beneath your thighs, coaxing you to bend them and open yourself wider to him. You oblige, and the new angle has your cunt glistening in the low light.

Alex slides two fingers into you with a practiced ease. You gasp, back arching, and he watches your face for a moment, drinking in your expression.

"Like that, love?" he rasps, eyes dark and dilated.

You don't have time to answer. His mouth is back on you, lips sealing around your clit in a gentle suck that has your vision sparking.

Your head falls back into the pillows, a cry catching in your throat as waves of pleasure surge through you. You fight the urge to clamp your thighs around his head, your body on the verge of giving in completely.

But Alex doesn't mind. He'd stay there between your legs all day if you let him. His mind is a haze, thick with you. The scent of your arousal clings to his skin, fills his lungs, smears wet and warm across his lips. It's intoxicating.

Every desperate sound that escapes your lips goes straight to his cock, already hard and straining beneath the unforgiving fabric of his boxers. It aches with a dull, pulsing need, every beat in time with the flutter of your walls around his fingers, the flick of his tongue against your clit. He grinds his hips down into the mattress chasing friction.

A low groan escapes his chest, and he pulls his fingers out just long enough to spread your folds apart with his thumb. His gaze flickers down, watching the way you tremble under him. His tongue dips lower, fucking into you with wet, languid strokes before he circles back up to your clit, wet and swollen and begging for attention.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with lust. "Fuckin' shakin' for me."

You can barely reply but the way your body arches into his mouth says everything.

Alex leans in again, lips closing around your clit, and sucks a little firmer this time, just long enough to make your entire body pulse with need. You cry out, the sound desperate, raw, and your thighs start to quiver.

"Shh," he soothes, one hand stroking your hip, the other pressing down gently on your thigh to keep you open for him. "Just let go."

And he knows. He can feel it. His mouth doesn't let up, tongue working faster, lips moving in sync, his name falling from your lips again and again. His jaw aches, his cock is leaking, but none of that matters.

You're teetering on the brink, your body trembling with the effort of holding back.

He growls against you, and it shoves you right to the edge.

Your body breaks apart beneath him, back arching, a cry ripped from your chest as pleasure surges through you. It floods you from the inside out, rolling over every nerve like a crashing tide. You tremble, thighs shaking around his head as your climax pulses through you.

Alex doesn't stop right away. He keeps his mouth on you, easing you down from the high with slow, gentle licks. You twitch with sensitivity, hips jerking, but he only hums low in his throat and presses a kiss to your thigh, then another, then one to the soft skin just above your mound. He lingers there for a moment, breathing you in, grounding himself.

He lifts his head, face flushed, eyes glassy and tender, lips slick with you. He drags the back of his hand across his lips in an attempt to clean himself.

"Hey," he whispers, his voice a low rasp as he crawls up the bed to you, bracing himself on his forearms as he hovers above your spent body. "You alright?"

You nod, dazed, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. "Yeah," you murmur, smiling faintly. "I'm... wow."

He grins softly, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead,"You were so fuckin' good," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Always are."

His body settles beside yours, warm and solid. One hand finds your waist, pulling you close as the other smooths over your thigh, calming the aftershocks still fluttering through your muscles.

You tuck yourself into him, still catching your breath, your head finding the curve of his shoulder. His skin is hot, slightly damp, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your cheek.

You shift slightly, your thigh brushing against the hard press of him through his boxers. He's still aching. Still hard. And though he hasn't said a word, you feel it in the way his breath catches, the subtle tension in his muscles.

You lift your head and look at him. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes heavy, and they meet yours with a heat that simmers just beneath the surface. His lips are swollen, kiss-bitten and parted slightly as if he's still catching his breath. His hair is a beautiful mess, tousled and damp, strands sticking to his forehead where your hands had pulled at him earlier.

"Al," you whisper, "you're hard."

"I know," he breathes, voice wrecked, "It's okay. I don't need anything. Just wanna take care of you."

You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "But I want to make you feel good too."

He looks down at you, searching your face. "I've kept you up all night. I know you've been working a lot lately, you must be tired."

"I'm not," you say quickly, eyes wide, honest. You press another kiss to his chest, then let your mouth trail higher, up his collarbone, to the warm curve of his neck. "I swear. I want this."

He cups your jaw, fingers gentle but firm, and pulls you into a kiss. This one is slower, deeper, soaked with something heavier than need. You can taste yourself on his lips, the sharp edge mixing with the familiar heat of his mouth. It makes you dizzy. You press closer, letting the kiss grow urgent, messy. His hands slide into your hair, holding you there, his breath stuttering each time your lips part and find each other again.

Your hand moves down between you, fingers grazing the line of his stomach. His muscles twitch beneath your touch, tightening as you trail lower. You push beneath the waistband of his boxers, your knuckles brushing the coarse hair at the base of him before wrapping your hand around his cock.

He's hot and heavy in your palm, the skin silky-smooth over the hard length of him. He jerks slightly when you touch him, hips lifting from the bed in a reflex he can't control. A broken moan tears from his throat, raw and immediate.

"Fuck," he gasps, his head falling back, eyes fluttering shut.

You shift again, propping yourself up so you can kiss his neck, your lips dragging slowly along the curve of it. His skin tastes like sweat and heat, and you leave open, sloppy kisses there, letting your teeth scrape gently across the sensitive spot beneath his jaw.

Your hand strokes him steadily, your grip firm but familiar. You know exactly how he likes it. You twist your wrist at the top, thumb brushing over the head, spreading the precum that's already beading there. The slick sound of it fills the space between his breathless gasps.

He grips the sheets beside him, his knuckles white, and bucks into your hand again, chasing every motion like he's desperate for more. His mouth is open, his breathing ragged, every sound that escapes him winding tight in your belly.

You drag your tongue along his throat, feel the vibration of the moan he swallows, and press a kiss just below his ear as you whisper, "You look so good like this."

His response is a shudder, his whole body tightening beneath you, as if your voice alone undoes him.

You pull back for a moment, letting your hand take over, stroking him slow and steady as you look up at him. His head is tipped back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling fast now, flushed down to the collarbones. He's falling apart, piece by piece, and you're the only one who gets to see it like this. His hand cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek as his hips give the smallest, involuntary push into your touch.

"You gotta stop," he murmurs, the words strained and hoarse. "If you don't stop, l'm gonna cum."

"Not yet," you whisper. "Wanna feel you inside me."

His gaze drops to you, dark and glassy, pupils blown so wide there's hardly any color left. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, chest heaving like he's trying to pull himself back from the edge just long enough to make it to you. "Yeah?" he breathes, the sound barely there.

"Yeah," you stare back at him.

He leans back against the headboard, spreading his legs slightly as his hands guide you towards him.

"Right then, love," he says quietly. "C'mere. Let me feel you."

You crawl into his lap, knees sinking into the sheets on either side of his hips, the warmth of his body already pulling you in. Your skin is still tingling, your core still sensitive and slick from the climax he coaxed from you.

You reach down between you to tug at the waistband of his boxers, and he helps you, lifting his hips just enough. His cock springs free, thick and flushed. You wrap your fingers around it again, guiding him to your entrance with practiced familiarity.

"Wait," he says, voice suddenly low, almost hoarse. "Let me grab a condom."

You hesitate, just for a second. Up to this point, you've only gone without protection a handful of times. Even then, you always asked him to pull out, the fear of getting pregnant curling like a knot in your stomach. It was always there, that boundary you both understood.

But right now, that distance feels unbearable.

You missed him. Missed him so much it aches under your skin, makes your lungs tight, your chest hollow. You want all of him. Every inch, every drop, every part of him pressed deep and nothing separating you.

You smile, soft and a little sheepish, but your voice is steady.

"No," you whisper. "I want to feel all of you this time."

His eyes search yours for a beat, something dark flickering behind them. Then his hands tighten, and the look he gives you in that moment is pure, undone devotion.

"Are you sure?" he asks quietly. There's heat in his voice, but gentleness, too. That careful way he always gives you space to change your mind, even when he's shaking with want.

You nod, your slickness coating him as you grind slowly along the length of him, not taking him in yet, just sliding over him, letting him feel every bit of how ready you are. He groans again, louder this time, the sound scraping raw out of his throat.

"Fuck, love," he says, voice shaking. "Don't tease."

You lean down, mouth ghosting over his. "You said you didn't need anything."

"I lied," he gasps, his hands coming up to grip your hips, fingers digging in like he's barely holding back.

His cock is trapped between your bodies now, hot and rigid, the pulse of him matching your own. You shift your hips, just a little, just enough, and the head of him catches right at your entrance.

His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, and you can feel the tremble running through him, that edge of control fraying as you stay poised right there, the tip of him resting against your entrance, your bodies barely connected but already unraveling.

Alex reaches between you, guiding himself gently, breath caught in his throat as he slides in. It's slow. He fills you completely. The stretch is deep, almost overwhelming, your walls fluttering in response to the intrusion. You let out a soft, helpless whimper.

"Too much?" he asks gently, brushing his nose against yours.

You shake your head, threading your fingers into his damp hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp. "No," you whisper, though your body trembles slightly. "Just... full."

He hums, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as if just being inside you settles something restless in him. His lips graze yours. A kiss, soft as a sigh. Then another. Then deeper.

"That's my girl," he breathes, shifting his hips just slightly. Just enough.

You gasp, the subtle motion dragging a delicious friction through your core. His cock twitches inside you, and you feel every pulse, every heartbeat, every throb of want pressing deep into where you're already stretched around him.

"Always take me so well," he murmurs. His half-lidded eyes roam your face, filled with lust and something deeper. "I love your pussy," he adds with a crooked grin, rough affection in his tone.

You smirk, teasing, "How romantic." But the way he's looking at you makes a heat coil low in your stomach.

Alex chuckles, a soft, throaty sound. "I'm serious. Fits so well. Made for me."

He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you taste yourself on his tongue again. It's raw and intimate, and you meet him with equal hunger. One hand strokes along his jaw, the other rests over his heart, feeling it beat strong and steady beneath your palm.

His head falls back slightly as he gasps, breath stuttering. "Please move," he chokes out, his voice barely holding together.

And you do. You start slowly, rocking against him with long, unhurried strokes. He meets you there, rhythm syncing with yours. His hands map the lines of your back, then one slides up to cradle your jaw again. The other tangles in your hair, anchoring you as he presses kisses to your throat, your collarbone. He can't seem to get close enough.

Your forehead leans against his, breath mingling in the scant space between your mouths. His nose brushes yours with each thrust, eyes fluttering open just long enough to find you, to hold your gaze as you move together.

"Can feel you everywhere," you whisper into his mouth, your voice thick with it, with the way he fills you completely, with how right it feels.

"Yeah?" he groans, thrusting up slow and deep. "This what you wanted?"

You nod, teeth sinking gently into your bottom lip as you ride him harder now, your thighs burning, his cock dragging against everything that makes you gasp and shake.

His fingers dig into your skin with each roll of your hips, urging you to take him deeper, to stay right there. The tension in his arms is palpable, a silent plea written in the way his thumbs press into your hipbones like he's afraid you might disappear.

"Wanna fuck you for the rest of my life," he says, voice low and cracked open, like the words come from somewhere deeper than just lust. They pour out of him, unfiltered, aching with truth. "Wanna wake up like this every morning. You on top of me. You wrapped around me. Nothing in between."

Your breath catches. The rhythm of your hips falters for a beat, the weight of what he's saying sinking into your chest. But his hands pull you right back into motion, slow and steady.

One hand slides up your spine, cradling the back of your neck, pulling you down into a kiss. It's messy, hungry, your tongues sliding together, teeth clashing slightly. He's moaning into your mouth now, trembling beneath you, every muscle taut.

The bed shifts with every motion, the rhythm growing more frantic, more desperate. You chase the build rising between you, that tightening coil low in your belly. His lips find yours again, messy and urgent, and you lose yourself there, in the taste of him, the feel of his hands, the thick, perfect stretch of him inside you.

You can feel how close he is, the tension growing in his body, the way his breathing shortens and his grip tightens. You curl your hips just right, clenching around him, and he groans deep in his throat.

"I'm close," he gasps, the words broken and barely more than a breath, his voice cracking as he presses his forehead to yours. His whole body trembles beneath your hands.

"Please, come inside me," you manage between gasps, your voice strained.

He groans, long and guttural, as though the request physically hits him.

"God—" Alex's voice is wrecked, shredded by the heat crawling up his spine. He's too far gone now, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack, every muscle in his body pulled tight with the effort of holding back.

You lean in close, lips brushing his ear, voice dropped low and hungry. "I want your cum," you whisper, each word dripping with heat, with knowing. "Fill me up, Al. Give it to me."

That's all it takes.

Alex breaks with a ragged cry, hips slamming into you once, twice more as he comes hard, spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves. His entire body arches beneath you, every muscle locking as he pours himself into you, lost to it. You feel him twitch deep inside you, feel the heat of it flood you, and it sends your own climax crashing through you in a sharp, helpless rush.

You cry out his name as you clench around him, shaking with it, the two of you unraveling together in a mess of gasps and moans and tangled limbs. His arms wrap around your back, pulling you down, crushing you to him as though he needs you pressed close just to survive the aftershocks.

You hold him through it, forehead to forehead, breathing together like your lungs were made to match. His hips twitch a few more times, riding out the aftershocks, and then he slumps back against the headboard, taking you with him.

Minutes pass in the hush, but neither of you moves. His arms remain around you, secure and unmoving, holding you there like the world outside the bed doesn't exist. Skin sticks where sweat has dried, hearts still thudding out a slower rhythm now, but still in time. His thumb traces lazy circles against the curve of your spine, not for any purpose other than to remind himself you're real. Still here. Still his.

His lips brush lightly against your hair. "I don't want to pull out yet," he murmurs into your scalp. "I just want to stay here. With you. Feels... too good."

The idea of staying like this, wrapped up in the quiet cocoon of him, makes your heart swell. No words need to be said, because everything that matters is here, in the way his body fits with yours, in the way you can feel him move just the slightest bit, still buried deep inside.

"Tell me," he whispers, voice thick and raw. "What're you feeling right now?"

No teasing. No smirk. Just an open, aching need to understand what's happening inside you. He leans back just far enough to look at your face, his eyes dark and wide, scanning you like the answer is already there, written in the softness of your mouth or the flush on your cheeks.

Fingers trace a line up his spine as you take a breath, trying to name the sensations unraveling through you.

"Warm," you start, the word catching in your throat. "And full... you're all over me. Inside me." A slow inhale follows. "I can feel it all."

He exhales through his nose, shaky, eyes closing like he's overwhelmed by the idea of it. One hand slides up your back, beneath the fabric of your shirt, palm spreading between your shoulder blades.

His forehead rests against yours again, and he sighs, deep and full of need.

"You're too warm, y'know that? Too soft. I could stay buried in you all day."

You hum, stroking your fingers through his messy hair again. "Then do it."

"I am." He kisses the tip of your nose. "I'm not going anywhere."

The words settle into you, and you hum approvingly, content in his arms.

"In fact," he continues, his voice dropping lower, more possessive, "I'll take you with me on tour. Don't care where we go. I want you backstage every night, just waiting, all ready for me."

You snort softly. "What, I'm your groupie now?"

"Aren't you already?" he grins.

"Fuck off," you say with mock annoyance, but your smirk gives you away.

He laughs, then leans close again, his breath hot at your ear. "Gonna fuck you in every country. Every city. Would you like that, baby?"

You nuzzle against his cheek, pressing your nose to his skin, a soft sound of agreement escaping you. The idea of being his, in every corner of the world, stirs something deep inside. You shiver, the possessiveness in his tone sinking into you. Your hips shift, just a little, craving more.

His breath hitches, and his cock moves inside you, the soft grind of him making your eyes flutter. He growls, low and warning, "Careful, love. You keep that up, and I won't be able to stop."

"Sorry, I'll behave," you whisper playfully, content in keeping him close just like this.

So you don't move. Neither does he. It's not about friction right now, it's about presence. The way he fills you completely, the way your bodies are molded together so tightly that you can't tell where you end and he begins.

Outside, the sky has softened from inky black to gray-blue. Pale golden light spills into the room, touching the edges of the bed, brushing against your skin. The warmth between your bodies feels richer by contrast like you've built your own small world in the cradle of morning.

His fingers trace the edge of your collarbone, lightly, as though savoring the feel of your skin beneath his touch. "We should get up soon," he murmurs, but there's no rush in his voice, no impatience. "I'll make coffee. We'll go slow today."

"Sounds perfect," you whisper, shifting slightly so you can press a kiss to his neck.

A soft sigh escapes Alex's lips, and without a word, you feel it settle in your chest. He’s here now. Everything will be alright.

-

a/n: dear followers, today i offer you another fic with oral sex (f receiving) and cockwarming. tomorrow? who knows

been working on this since april and it just never felt right until now… finally feels like what i wanted. very boyfriend-coded. hope you liked it <3

ps: all the western stuff came from google and alex interviews. i've only watched one single western in my whole entire life so if it makes no sense… yeah same

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[kingkatsuki]

Specifically thinking about long distance relationships today.

So tell me how you and your f/o would first meet online?