#jolt 2021

[goverment-mandated-femslash]

Today's government mandated femslash couple of the day is

Detective Nevin and Lindy Lewis!

[mydarkapron]

JOLT, 2021

Tanya Wexler

[gayzing-away]

Jai Courtney in Jolt (2021)

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART FIVE

paige x azzi

word count: 8k

A/N: Alrighttyy here’s the next chapter as promised. I am so sorry in advance for the beginning it was needed for the plot and I’ve kinda been following the accuracy of their season 😔. I swear I make up for it by the end of the chapter so you guys won’t hate me. They’re taking steps that’s all I’ll say 🙂‍↕️

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December 2021 - Connecticut

The next two weeks were a noticeable shift for both Paige and Azzi. With Azzi sidelined by her foot injury, Paige took it as an opportunity to grow closer to her outside of basketball, though it often came with a bit of dramatic flair. Paige would still FaceTime Azzi at all hours of the night, her voice playful but a little over the top as she begged, "Please come to the gym, it’s so boring without you." Each call, Paige would act like the gym now felt empty without Azzi as she showed her on the camera, exaggerating how she couldn’t get anything done without her presence.

Azzi, pretending to be annoyed, would respond with something like, “You’re dramatic, Paige,” but there was always a smile hidden behind her words. She’d act like she wasn’t going to answer, rolling her eyes at the screen, but it never took long before she found herself grabbing her shoes and dragging herself over to keep Paige company.

Sometimes, she’d help her shoot around or go through drills, other times they would just sit, talking about everything and nothing at all. Paige loved to come up with silly games to pass the time, and Azzi would play along, even if her foot wasn't fully healed. It wasn’t that Azzi didn’t mind taking it easy for a while; in fact, being with Paige made it a lot easier to forget the frustration of sitting out. There was something about Paige’s energy that kept her entertained, and it made the quiet moments in between practice feel a lot less lonely.

The rest of the team noticed Paige’s shift too, though they didn’t mention it directly not wanting to mess anything up. While Paige had always been intense and all about basketball, now there was a certain lightness in her. She was taking care of herself more—spending time with Azzi, relaxing instead of overworking. She had found a balance she hadn’t had before, and it didn’t go unnoticed by everyone.

…

The clock was ticking down, and UConn was firmly in control of the game against Notre Dame, leading 73-54. The tension in the air had long lifted as the final seconds of the game wound down. Paige was dribbling the ball up the court, her focus on running out the clock. But suddenly, as her left foot hit the floor, there was a sharp stumble, and her knee buckled in a way that sent a jolt of concern through the entire arena.

Pain flashed across Paige’s face, and despite her obvious discomfort, she kept dribbling, fighting to push through it. She passed the ball to Caroline, her right leg taking the brunt of the movement as she hopped on it, trying to stay upright. With every move, her limp grew more pronounced before Paige fell just in front of the UConn bench, clutching her left leg as she hit the hardwood floor hiding her face from view.

Azzi’s stomach dropped at the sight, her eyes widening in shock. It felt like the world around her paused, the entire arena quitting as her focus narrowed only to Paige. The gym’s noise fading as she heard nothing but her heart racing.

Geno immediately called a timeout, signaling for the trainers to rush over. Azzi’s breath hitched, her legs frozen in place as her gaze remained locked on Paige, the moment causing her chest to tighten slightly. Her mind was racing, wondering what had happened, how bad it was. She was on her feet in an instant, but the trainers were already around Paige, and Azzi hesitated, not wanting to crowd them. Why did she feel like this? She had seen plenty of teammates get injured before and she was fine but right now she felt sick to her stomach.

The trainers were around Paige, speaking to her softly, trying to calm her down as her breathing was uneven. But Paige’s face was twisted in clear discomfort as she kept repeating, "My knee," her voice shaky and urgent. Azzi's gaze didn’t leave her, watching even as Evina and Amari gently lifted Paige, one on each side, helping her off the court and to the end of the bench where the trainers could work on her.

Azzi stayed back, knowing she couldn’t talk to her yet. She had to wait until the game was officially over. Her mind kept replaying the moment Paige fell, and the worry was gnawing at her. Her stomach was in knots, but she knew better than to add to the chaos.

The final buzzer sounded, and the team went through the usual handshakes with Notre Dame, but everyone’s mind was far from the celebrations. Azzi’s eyes constantly flicked over to the bench, still keeping an eye on Paige as the trainers helped her up.

Paige limped toward the locker room with the help of the trainers, frustration and pain evident on her face. She was clearly trying to fight it, to stay composed, but her limping gait told the story. Azzi could feel her chest tightening again as she followed her into the locker room.

Once inside, Paige reached for her jersey, pulling it off roughly in frustration, and tossed it across the room not caring where it landed. Azzi could see the discomfort written all over Paige’s face, her frustration clear to everyone as she threw the piece of clothing away.

Evina, not knowing what else to do but be the leader she always has, stepped in with a scolding tone. "Paige, you know that’s not how we do things here," she said sternly, her voice filled with authority though there was a hint of uncertainty this time.

Azzi, however, knew that wouldn’t make anything better. So she moved closer, stepping in between Paige and Evina, her voice softer but firm. "She has to get it out, E. You gotta let her.”

Evina paused, glancing between Azzi and Paige. She looked like she wanted to argue but finally sighed, understanding. She nodded and stepped back, giving Paige the space she needed to process everything that just happened. Azzi knelt beside her, her voice low but filled with concern. "You okay?" she asked, her hand gently resting on Paige’s knee, though she wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. But she couldn’t stand seeing Paige like this—frustrated, in pain, and clearly overwhelmed.

Paige didn’t respond immediately, but her shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight of the situation had finally caught up with her. Her eyes welled up with tears, and her body trembled as she whispered, "I think it’s broken, Azzi." Her voice was small, barely audible, but the fear in it was unmistakable. "I heard it crack... pop... I don’t know... it hurts like hell."

As the words left her mouth, the tears started to fall, and her shoulders shook. Azzi immediately moved closer, her arms wrapping around Paige, pulling her into a comforting embrace. The hug was a little stiff at first, the two of them never being this close in this kind of situation. But eventually Paige sunk into Azzi’ chest trying to let the younger girl soothe her as she continued to cry. Azzi didn’t say anything at first—she didn’t need to. The team, watching silently from a distance, could only stand by, understanding the gravity of the moment. Everyone knew how much this game and the season meant to Paige. To see her like this, in pain, and terrified was something none of them had even thought to prepare for.

Azzi kept her hold on Paige, gently rubbing her back, whispering soft words of reassurance. "You’re gonna be okay, Paige," she murmured, her voice steady and calming. "We’ll figure this out. It’s going to be okay."

The sound of the door opening cut through the tension, Geno entered, his presence commanding the room. He didn’t waste any time on post-game talk, his focus solely on Paige. "No talk just get changed, everyone," he ordered, his voice curt but concerned. His eyes flicked to Paige, the worry clear in his eyes.

Before anyone could move, the trainers entered with a wheelchair, approaching Paige with gentle but firm insistence. Paige, still in tears, looked up at them, her stubbornness flaring despite her pain. She shook her head violently, her voice hoarse as she snapped, "I’m not using that shit."

Azzi, who had been holding Paige, leaned back slightly and looked at her with a mix of concern and understanding. "Paige..." she began softly, trying to coax her to let the trainers help without saying it directly. But Paige, her face contorted with frustration and fear, shook her head again, this time more vehemently.

"I’m fine. I can walk," she said, but the words were more defensive than convincing. Azzi stayed quiet, knowing Paige’s stubbornness well at this point, but she wasn’t sure how to get through to her at this moment. The last thing Azzi wanted was to push Paige further into herself, but she also knew they couldn’t let her walk out on her knee.

"Paige, let them help," Azzi said quietly, her voice full of empathy but still firm. "You’re not going to get miraculously better by fighting it." She gently but firmly squeezed Paige’s shoulder, hoping to make her understand.

The rest of the team remained silent, a heavy tension hanging in the air as everyone waited for Paige’s response, not knowing how she was going to react. Finally, after a long, drawn-out moment, Paige let out a frustrated sigh, her defiance still burning but her body sagging in defeat. She didn’t speak but slowly, reluctantly, she allowed the trainers to assist her into the wheelchair.

As one of the trainers began to push the wheelchair forward, Paige’s hand hesitated at her side before reaching out. Her fingers brushed against Azzi’s, almost tentative, as if she was unsure whether she should ask for that comfort or if this was even ok to do. Azzi didn’t hesitate when she saw it. She immediately took Paige’s hand causing the blonde to let go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

The subtle exchange didn’t go unnoticed. The rest of the team exchanged glances but said nothing, the weight of the moment pressing them into silence when they would usually make a joke.

Azzi remained close, walking beside her as they left the locker room, her heart aching as she watched Paige, trying her best to hide her tears. Azzi stayed silent, squeezing Paige’s hand, knowing it wasn’t the right time for empty words that wouldn’t change anything.

…

A few days later they were sitting together in Paige’s room, the tension of Paige’s injury still hanging slightly in the air, though there was a quiet calm between the two of them. Paige had her knee elevated, a heating pad resting on it, her face a mix of frustration and exhaustion. The injury was worse than she’d expected. It wasn’t just a sprain or a twist like she hoped—it was a fracture and a torn meniscus. She’d need surgery and would be out for at least two months. The weight of it all had hit her hard when she found out, and while she didn’t mind being surrounded by her teammates, right now, she only really wanted to be around one person. This thought process only added more to her confusion and frustration.

Azzi, understanding the gravity of the situation from when she tore her ACL, had been quietly sitting with her everyday, offering her presence without pressing for details. But now, as Paige spoke about her surgery, Azzi could see the hurt in her eyes.

"I’m scheduled for surgery next week,” Paige was saying, her voice quieter than usual. "They said I’ll be out for a minimum of two months. I know it’s not that long and I’m kinda lucky but it still feels like forever."

Azzi, trying to lighten the mood a little, cracked a joke. "Well, perfect timing then. You’ll be back just in time for March Madness. Look at that, you can’t even make a dent in our run!" She grinned, trying to ease the tension that was in the air.

Paige’s lips curled into a small smile, the tiniest spark of humor returning to her face. She kicked Azzi with her right leg—her healthy leg—and laughed a little, shaking her head. "Yeah, perfect timing," she muttered, her tone still tinged with sarcasm but a little lighter than before.

Azzi held her hands up in mock surrender, exaggerating her defensive stance at Paige kicking her. "Careful there, I’m mobile," she teased, easing back against the headboard of the bed. "This would be a losing game for you. You’re stuck on the bed."

Paige’s grin widened slightly, her eyes glinting with the playful defiance Azzi had grown to know so well. "You think so, huh?" she challenged, though it was clear that the teasing had pulled her out of the heavy space she’d been in for the last couple of days.

"Oh, I know so," Azzi replied, her voice playful and teasing, her smile matching Paige's as she leaned back against the headboard without a worry in the world.

Without warning, Paige’s hand shot out and she tickled Azzi’s side. Azzi squealed in surprise, instantly breaking into laughter and hopping off the bed, trying to get away from Paige’s relentless fingers.

"Hey, that’s no fair!" Paige muttered, her face lighting up with amusement as she tried to push herself up, wincing slightly at the discomfort in her knee. "I can’t get over there that fast."

Azzi pouted exaggeratedly, her laughter still bubbling out as she stood just out of reach. "Tough luck," she teased, grinning widely. "You’ve got a bum leg, so I’ll win the next few rounds."

Paige huffed, settling back into her spot on the bed, though she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. "You’re lucky I can’t chase you," she muttered, looking at Azzi like she was plotting her next move.

Azzi stuck out her tongue in mock defiance, still standing just out of range. "I’ll take my win. But don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you next time," she teased as she sat back on the bed, crossing her arms with a satisfied grin.

Paige muttered something under her breath, her eyes downcast as she crossed her arms, her mood shifting slightly.

Azzi smirked, leaning in closer with a playful glint in her eyes. "What was that?" she asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

Paige shot back, pouting slightly, her voice almost a whisper, "Nothing, leave me alone."

Azzi couldn't resist teasing her further, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Aww, did I make the big baby sad?" she cooed, her voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness.

Paige rolled her eyes, trying to hide the small smile threatening to break through. "Stop," she muttered, though the lighthearted teasing was clearly exactly what she needed.

Azzi grinned, enjoying the little back-and-forth, and leaned back into the bed, her eyes softening as she watched Paige. "Okay, okay. I'll stop for now," she said, giving Paige a break from the teasing, though she was clearly pleased to see the faint smile tugging at the older girl's lips.

A while later, the two of them had settled into a comfortable silence. Paige, however, found herself looking at Azzi once again, unable to stop the way her thoughts seemed to linger on her. Azzi noticed, her eyes glancing toward Paige before raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Azzi asked, a teasing edge to her voice.

Paige’s ears flushed pink, and she quickly looked down, feeling the warmth of embarrassment flood through her. "Nothing," she murmured, avoiding Azzi’s gaze. "Just thinking."

Azzi’s curiosity piqued, and she leaned in slightly, her tone soft but insistent. "About what?"

Paige didn’t immediately respond, just shook her head with a light laugh, trying to dismiss the moment. "Nothing," she repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Really."

Azzi studied her for a moment, a smile forming as she relaxed back into the bed. "Alright, keep your secrets weirdo," she teased.

Paige couldn’t help but steal a few more glances at Azzi here and there, her gaze drifting over her without meaning to. Azzi definitely noticed, but she didn’t comment, merely raising an eyebrow at Paige the few times their eyes met. Paige quickly looked away, her heart beating a little faster each time Azzi caught her staring.

She didn’t know when it started—this acute awareness of Azzi, these small details she found herself noticing more and more. Small details that shouldn’t really matter to. Her dimples when she smiled, how her laugh made Paige feel lighter just hearing it, the way Paige couldn’t help but enjoy seeing Azzi’s smile and her brown eyes light up, like they somehow brightened the entire room, how Paige just always wanted Azzi around. Maybe it had started during all the late nights in the gym or maybe it was when Azzi would drag Paige to get a “sweet treat” despite the blonde grumbling everytime. All Paige knew was she liked having Azzi around a lot more than she would admit to anyone else.

December 2021 - DMV

Paige sat on her bed in the quiet of her room, the only sound being the occasional click of her phone screen as she scrolled through her social media absentmindedly. She was struggling a bit because she missed Azzi more than she wanted to admit. Despite talking every day since they left UConn for the break, the physical distance between them made the days feel longer.

She glanced at the clock. It was still early, but she couldn't stand the silence any longer. She reached for her phone and opened FaceTime, her thumb immediately hitting the call button. She leaned back against her pillows, the soft hum of her thoughts swirling in the background, waiting for Azzi to pick up.

The call rang twice before Azzi's familiar face appeared on the screen, her expression laced with that playful, sarcastic grin Paige had come to like a little too much. "Wow you almost made it to a reasonable hour before bothering me today. Bored already?" Azzi teased, raising an eyebrow.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. "What you doing?" she asked, shifting slightly on her bed to get comfortable.

Azzi panned the camera down, revealing she was lounging in bed, a pile of blankets surrounding her. "Nothing," she said casually, her voice lazy. "Just enjoying the quiet."

"Hm," Paige hummed. "What you doing today?"

Azzi’s eyes glinted with mischief. "Aww, does Paigey miss me?" she teased, her lips curving into that knowing smirk. "You’re all about me now, huh?"

Paige groaned, rolling her eyes again. "No, I’m just bored. That’s all. I’m literally stuck here with nothing to do because I can’t drive."

Azzi chuckled softly, then raised her eyebrows as if she had an idea. "Well, I’m going to a kickback with some friends from high school later. You should come with me."

Paige paused, the offer hanging in the air for a moment. She didn’t know anyone from Azzi’s high school, and she was still recovering from her surgery a week and a half ago, which made her hesitate even more. She bit her lip. "I don’t know, you know I just had surgery. And I don't really know anyone there. They probably hate me for whooping your ass all the time anyway."

Azzi rolled her eyes at the last comment before her face softened into a reassuring smile Paige had grown to be comforted by. "It’s gonna be chill, I promise. Plus you don’t gotta worry about your knee. I’ll be with you the whole time. You know I got you."

Paige’s heart fluttered at the thought of spending time with Azzi, even though she was still a little unsure. The idea of being around a bunch of strangers didn’t sound all that appealing, but the thought of being by Azzi’s side made everything feel a little more manageable.

"I don’t know..." Paige started again, but Azzi interrupted her with a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Come on," Azzi coaxed, her voice playful. "Don’t be boring. I’ll take care of you I swear. And if you’re worried about the knee, I’ll literally carry you if I have to."

Paige laughed, shaking her head, though she could already feel the excitement building despite her reluctance. "Alright, fine. I’ll come. But I’m not doing anything but sitting down."

Azzi’s eyes widened, feigning surprise. "Oh, you’re so gonna dance. I’m dragging you on that floor with your stiff knee whether you like it or not."

Paige groaned, though there was a smile on her face now. "Yeah, we’ll see about that."

Azzi’s grin softened, the playfulness replaced with something warmer. "You’re coming, and that’s all that matters. I’ll make sure you’re good the whole time. Nothing you can’t handle."

Paige felt the butterflies stir in her chest as she met Azzi’s gaze through the screen. "Alright, I’m in. But if I get too tired, you’re carrying me out of there."

Azzi laughed, her eyes lighting up with amusement. "Deal. But don’t think I won’t drop you if you start complaining too much."

Paige grinned. "You’re so kind to me. Really."

"Only because you’re special," Azzi teased with a smirk

Much later the conversation had gone on longer than either of them had planned, but it felt impossible to hang up. Even now, with their plans for the night set, neither seemed ready to end the call.

Glancing at the time on her screen, she groaned softly. "Alright, I really need to eat and get ready before I’m late picking you up. My phone’s about to die, and you can’t watch the magic happen."

Paige raised a brow, leaning closer to the camera as if challenging her. "Magic? Azzi, I see you every day. What could possibly be so—"

"Uh-uh," Azzi cut her off, wagging a finger at her through the screen. "This is party-ready Azzi, Paige. Not practice Azzi. There’s a difference, and I’m not giving you a sneak peek."

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her grin. "You act like I’m going to be taking notes or something."

Azzi tilted her head, a sly smile spreading across her lips. "You might. Gotta keep some mystery alive, Paigey."

Paige let out a laugh, shaking her head. "Fine, fine. Go charge your phone. Leave me here. Alone. Abandoned."

Azzi grinned, leaning closer to the screen for a moment before softly saying, "You’ll survive. I’ll call you back when I’m on my way."

And just like that, the call ended, leaving Paige staring at her reflection in the now-blank screen. She let out a long sigh before tossing her phone onto the bed beside her.

…

Azzi pulled up outside Paige’s house, her headlights cutting through the early evening darkness. She grabbed her phone and shot Paige a quick text: I’m here. A few minutes later, Paige stepped out, in a hoodie, her crutches tucked under her arms. Azzi hopped out to help, her lips quirking into a teasing smile as she opened the car door for Paige.

“You know, I’m not helpless,” Paige muttered as she settled into the passenger seat.

Azzi smirked as she slid back into the driver’s seat. “I know. But it’s fun watching you try to act tough.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at her lips.

The car ride was casual at first, filled with light chatter. Azzi talked about her old teammates and how she wasn’t sure who’d actually show up tonight. Paige mostly listened, her responses short but warm.

After a while, the conversation lulled, and Paige found herself sneaking glances at Azzi. The way the dim light from the dashboard highlighted Azzi’s features—her sharp jawline, the curve of her lips, the casual way her hand rested on the steering wheel—it was almost unfair.

Azzi caught her once, her eyes flicking over for a moment before she stopped talking and smiled. “What?”

Paige’s ears turned pink, and she looked out the window. “Nothing. Just… listening.”

“Hmm.” Azzi’s hum was teasing, but she didn’t push it, much to Paige’s relief—and frustration.

When they arrived, Azzi helped Paige out of the car, steadying her for a second as she adjusted her crutches. They walked inside together, the hum of chatter and music growing louder as they stepped into the living room. A few heads turned, and someone called out Azzi’s name.

“Azzi!” one of her old friends greeted her, pulling her into a quick hug. “Yo nice to see you. You want a drink?”

Azzi shook her head. “Nah, I’m driving. Thanks, though.”

The guy turned to Paige, his eyebrows lifting slightly in recognition. “What about you?”

Paige shook her head. “No, I’m good.”

Azzi led Paige to a couch where a few of her former teammates were sitting. They greeted her warmly, the conversation flowing easily as they caught up. Paige mostly stayed quiet. She chimed in here and there when prompted, but for the most part, she sat back, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her hoodie.

Azzi noticed and leaned closer, her voice soft so only Paige could hear. “You good?”

Paige nodded, glancing at her. “Yeah, you know me. Not the most chatty if I don’t know them.”

Azzi smiled, her voice taking on a light teasing tone. “Mmm ok. I’ll make sure I keep you company then.”

The quiet exchange helped Paige relax a little, and soon the two of them were chatting quietly, their heads close together so no one else could hear. Azzi leaned back on the couch, her arm draped casually over the backrest, while Paige leaned in slightly, her knee bouncing as they talked.

At some point, Azzi stood. “I’ll grab us some water, you look parched.”

Paige nodded, watching as Azzi disappeared into the kitchen. For a moment, she was content to sit alone, scrolling idly through her phone. But it didn’t take long for people to notice she wasn’t occupied anymore.

It started with one or two people approaching her hesitantly asking for pictures, but within a few minutes, a small crowd had gathered around her. Paige smiled politely, answering their questions and posing for pictures, though her knee started to ache from standing without her crutches that Azzi had propped up on the wall.

After talking to someone in the kitchen for a bit Azzi returned to the living room, holding two bottles of water, only to pause when she saw the scene. A smirk tugged at her lips as she leaned against the doorway, watching for a moment. Of course, she should’ve known this would happen.

Still, Azzi’s smirk faded slightly when she noticed the tightness in Paige’s smile, the way her weight was shifted entirely to her right knee.

Azzi shook her head and made her way over, weaving easily through the people standing near Paige. “Alright, alright,” she said, her voice cutting through the chatter in a playful way to not draw too much attention. “Give her some room, y’all. She’s gotta rest that superstar knee.”

The crowd dispersed almost immediately, some people backing away sheepishly while others gave her a grin, clearly recognizing her from school as well. Paige glanced at her, relief flashing in her eyes as Azzi handed her one of the bottles.

“Sit,” Azzi said firmly but gently, her hand brushing Paige’s shoulder as she guided her back to the couch.

Paige exhaled as she sank back down, her fingers wrapping around the bottle. “Thanks,” she murmured, glancing sideways at Azzi.

Azzi dropped down beside her, leaning back casually. “No problem. You’re the one who decided to be famous, though,” she teased, earning a soft laugh from Paige.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t sign up for this part,” Paige muttered, though her tone was light.

Azzi chuckled, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Welcome to the life, Bueckers.

As the crowd thinned out around them, Paige and Azzi settled back into their own bubble of conversation. Paige leaned back against the couch, her bottle of water balanced on her knee. Azzi, ever relaxed, stretched out beside her, one arm resting along the back of the couch.

“So,” Azzi said, her voice soft but teasing, “you having fun yet?”

Paige smiled faintly, glancing at her. “I guess. It’s... different.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Different good or different bad?”

“Good,” Paige replied quickly, then hesitated before adding, “Probably because I’m here with you. If it was anyone else I would be miserable.”

Azzi froze mid-sip of her water, her eyebrow arching higher as she set the bottle down. “Wait a second,” she said, her tone dripping with playful suspicion. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Paige?”

Paige’s eyes widened slightly at the accusation, her ears turned red as she stumbled over her words. “No! I—I was just saying—”

Azzi leaned closer, giving her an amused, knowing look. “Mhm. Sure you were.”

Paige groaned, looking away to hide her flustered expression. “I wasn’t,” she mumbled, though her voice lacked conviction.

Azzi let it go—for now—but the teasing smile never left her lips as she leaned back, clearly picking up on Paige’s reaction.

A little while later though Azzi knew she wasn’t making things up in her head.

One of Azzi’s friends walked by, their arm brushing against Azzi’s as they held a drink, and in the process, the liquid sloshed over the edge, spilling onto Azzi’s shirt.

“Dude you’re drunk!” Azzi exclaimed with a laugh, pulling her shirt away from her skin as it stuck to her chest uncomfortably.

“Sorry!” her friend called back, but Azzi just waved it off.

Paige, however, couldn’t help but glance down. The damp fabric clung to Azzi’s chest, highlighting the curves beneath. She quickly looked away, but it was too late. Azzi had caught her.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first, but her eyes glinted with something as she grabbed a napkin to dab at the spill. After a moment, she set the napkin down and turned toward Paige, her movements a little slow.

“What were you looking at Paige?” Azzi asked, her voice low and teasing as she leaned in slightly

“Nothing!” Paige said quickly, though her voice cracked slightly, betraying her.

Azzi smirked, inching closer until Paige instinctively leaned back against the wall, Azzi made her stand by in the name of getting her knee used to standing. Azzi placed a hand on the table beside Paige, her other hand reaching up to twirl a strand of Paige’s hair around her finger.

“Hmm,” Azzi mused, tilting her head as she studied Paige’s flustered expression. “You sure? Because it kinda looked like you were... distracted.”

Paige swallowed hard, her heart pounding. “I wasn’t.”

Azzi’s smirk deepened as she fluttered her eyelashes, leaning just a fraction closer. “Paigey...” she whispered, her voice almost a purr. “Do you have a crush on me?”

The words sent a jolt through Paige, and she found herself nodding before she could think, her brain short-circuiting under Azzi’s gaze.

Azzi blinked, momentarily surprised by the response, but then her expression softened into something almost unreadable. Her hand stilled in Paige’s hair, her thumb brushing against the strand lightly before she pulled back with a smile.

“Well,” Azzi said softly, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and something else Paige couldn’t quite place. “Good to know.”

Paige stared at her, still trying to process what had just happened, as Azzi settled back into her seat on the couch, acting like nothing had happened. But the glint in her eyes and the slight curve of her lips said otherwise.

Azzi kept her teasing smile as she leaned back into the couch, picking up her drink and taking a casual sip. Paige, still frozen against the wall, tried to compose herself.

“So,” Azzi said after a moment, glancing sideways at Paige, “what’s going on in that head of yours, huh?”

Paige forced a laugh, her voice slightly shaky. “Nothing. Just... thinking about how weird this party is.”

Azzi smirked, clearly not buying it, but she let it slide. “Weird, huh? I don’t know—seems pretty normal to me.” She raised an eyebrow, her tone playful. “Or are you just feeling weird because I called you out?”

Paige groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Azzi, please. Don’t start.”

Azzi chuckled. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

Before Paige could respond, someone called Azzi over to the kitchen. She excused herself, leaving Paige to sit there, her thoughts swirling.

When Azzi returned a few minutes later, she plopped back down beside Paige with two more fresh waters. “Here,” she said, handing one to Paige.

“Thanks,” Paige muttered, her cheeks still faintly pink.

Azzi grinned as she twisted the cap off her own bottle. “You’re welcome. You good now, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

Paige glared at her, but there was no heat behind it. “You’re the worst.”

“Nah,” Azzi said, leaning back lazily and tossing her arm along the back of the couch, close enough that her hand brushed Paige’s shoulder. “Apparently you like me too much to think that.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched, betraying the smile she was trying to suppress.

As the night went on, the two of them fell into their usual rhythm of casual conversation as if nothing happened. Paige occasionally chimed in when Azzi’s friends asked her a question, but for the most part, she stayed content in her role as an observer.

It wasn’t until they were heading home that Azzi brought it up again.

The car ride was quiet, the hum of the engine and SZA playing quietly in the background filling the space between them. Paige stared out the window, her knee bouncing slightly in a restless rhythm.

“You’re awfully quiet for someone who talks so much,” Azzi said, breaking the silence.

Paige glanced at her, her fingers tightening slightly around her phone she was holding. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi replied, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Paige shifted, trying to focus on the passing streetlights. But then Azzi glanced over at her, catching the faint way Paige’s eyes flickered toward her hands on the steering wheel.

“You keep looking at me,” Azzi said suddenly, a sly grin tugging at her lips.

“I am not!” Paige said, her voice shooting up an octave as her ears turned red.

Azzi laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “It’s okay, you know. I don’t mind. I actually kinda like it.”

Paige groaned, sinking into her seat. “Can we not do this right now?”

Azzi shrugged, her grin never faltering. “Fine. I’ll save it for later.”

Paige sighed, but her lips twitched despite herself hanging on to the way Azzi said she liked it. She glanced at Azzi again out of the corner of her eye, noticing the way the passing streetlights highlighted her profile—her relaxed grip on the wheel, the faint smirk tugging at her lips, the calm confidence she always seemed to carry now.

Deciding to be a little bold and before she could second-guess herself, Paige blurted, “You looked really good tonight.”

Azzi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and for a moment, the car was silent except for the hum of the music. She glanced at Paige briefly, her expression unreadable, before a small smile curved her lips.

“Thank you Paige,” Azzi said softly, her voice quieter than usual.

Paige’s ears burned, and she quickly turned her gaze back to the window, biting back a nervous laugh. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.”

Azzi chuckled, the warm sound filling the space between them. “Too late.”

The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, but Paige couldn’t shake the small, knowing smile Azzi wore the rest of the way home.

As they pulled into Paige’s driveway, Azzi shifted the car into park. She glanced at Paige, her earlier teasing replaced by a softer expression. “Well, here you are, safe and sound.”

Paige hesitated, fiddling with her seatbelt. “Do you, um… do you want to stay over? It’s late, and I’d rather you not drive home alone.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her gaze. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Paige rolled her eyes, already pushing the door open. “Azzi, just come in. It’s not a big deal.”

Azzi chuckled softly, unbuckling her seatbelt and following Paige to the door.

When they stepped inside, the faint sound of video game explosions filled the living room. Drew, was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, his eyes glued to the screen.

Paige sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “Yo what are you still doing up?”

Drew jumped up, his boundless energy kicking in as soon as he noticed her. “Paige!” he exclaimed, jumping toward her before his attention shifted to Azzi. His eyes widened slightly, and he hurried to put the controller down, becoming more calm.

“I’m Drew,” he said confidently, holding out his hand like a little gentleman.

Azzi smiled, shaking his hand. “Azzi. Nice to meet you.”

Drew grinned up at her, his voice brimming with admiration. “You’re really pretty.”

Azzi laughed softly, her gaze flicking to Paige. “That seems to be a thing for the Bueckers family tonight.”

Paige groaned, already starting to head toward the stairs, albeit slowly due to her knee. “Oh my god, Drew, go to bed,” she called over her shoulder.

Azzi followed behind her, suppressing a grin as Drew called after them. “Goodnight, Azzi!”

Azzi’s laughter echoed softly as they climbed the stairs, and Paige shook her head, muttering, “I don’t know where he gets it from.”

When they reached Paige’s room, she pushed the door open and gestured for Azzi to come in. “You can hang out in here for a sec I’ll grab you something to drink.”

Azzi stepped inside, taking in the trophies, photos, and basketball memorabilia that decorated the space. “Nice room,” she said, settling onto the edge of Paige’s bed.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Paige teased, disappearing to the kitchen.

Azzi leaned back slightly, her gaze lingering on the doorway where Paige had just disappeared. Her smile softened, and she shook her head, amused at how easily the night had taken such an unexpected—yet intriguing—turn. Anyone with eyes could see that Paige was attractive but Azzi never let thoughts linger too much of anything beyond that. But now Azzi sat there thinking about her and Paige’s dynamic, it definitely wasn’t lost on Azzi how much time they had spent together. How Paige was able to get her out of the bed at all hours of the night with just a FaceTime call. How easily they had fallen into each other's orbit after breaking past the tension they once had.

When Paige returned to her room, she found Azzi standing by her shelf, studying a framed photo of Paige with her teammates. “You were tiny in this,” Azzi commented with a small smile, glancing over her shoulder.

Paige set the drink down on her nightstand, rolling her eyes as she started undoing her bulky metal knee brace. “I wasn’t that small. You were just as scrawny back then.”

Azzi smirked, turning to face her fully. “Yeah, but now I’ve got muscles. You’re still trying to catch up.”

“Whatever,” Paige shot back with a grin, adjusting her leg with a slight wince as she set the brace aside. She got up and moved to her dresser, rummaging through the drawers until she found a soft hoodie and a pair of shorts. “Here,” she said, holding them out to Azzi. “I already put a toothbrush for you in the bathroom.”

Azzi walked over, taking her time as she crossed the room. When she reached for the clothes, her fingers deliberately brushed against Paige’s. The subtle touch lingered just a second too long, and when Paige glanced up, Azzi’s eyes were unreadable but warm.

“Thanks,” Azzi said, her voice light but carrying a hint of something Paige couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” Paige mumbled, quickly stepping back as if the proximity was suddenly overwhelming.

Azzi’s lips curved into a faint smirk, and without another word, she turned and headed for the bathroom. Paige watched her go, her stomach twisting in a way that was both confusing and exciting.

The soft click of the bathroom door brought Paige back to reality, and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She flopped onto her bed, pressing her hands over her face as her mind replayed the look in Azzi’s eyes

When Azzi emerged from the bathroom, the sound of her footsteps was soft but enough to draw Paige's attention. Glancing up from her phone, Paige’s eyes immediately caught on Azzi’s figure as she crossed the room. The oversized hoodie hung loosely on Azzi’s frame, her toned legs visible beneath the hem of her shorts. Her damp curly hair tumbled around her shoulders in an effortless way that made her look almost ethereal.

Paige gulped, quickly averting her gaze before she got caught staring. She swung her knee over the edge of the bed slowly and stood, grabbing her clothes. "I’m gonna hop in the shower now," she said, her voice sounding a little too rushed. "Be right back."

Azzi, who was checking her phone, gave a nonchalant hum of acknowledgment. "Take your time. Don’t hurt yourself, though."

Paige shot her a playful glare. "I’m not that helpless, you know."

Azzi smirked, not looking up. "Sure, you’re not."

With that, Paige escaped into the bathroom, closing the door and letting out a long breath she didn’t know she was holding. What is wrong with me? she thought as she set her clothes down and began the careful process of getting in the shower.

The shower helped clear her head, but it took longer than she anticipated with her knee, which was stiff from the day. By the time she emerged, dressed in her own oversized hoodie and shorts, her hair still damp, she felt a little more composed. That composure, however, faltered the moment she stepped into the room.

Azzi was laid out on Paige’s bed, her hair in curls sprawled everywhere as she scrolled through her phone. She looked entirely too comfortable, her body stretched out and her face lit by the soft glow of the screen.

Paige froze for a moment, her stomach fluttering. Something about seeing Azzi so relaxed in her space made her heart skip a beat. "You look a little too at home," Paige teased, trying to cover the nervousness in her voice.

Azzi turned her head, a slow grin spreading across her face. "You’re the one who invited me in. What did you expect?"

Paige scoffed, moving toward the bed with her hands tucked into the pocket of her hoodie. "Just don’t hog all the pillows," she muttered, sinking down onto the mattress.

Azzi let out a soft laugh, her eyes glinting with amusement. "No promises. You know I sleep a little crazy sometimes."

Paige rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she settled against the headboard. Despite the teasing, the air between them was warm, and Paige found herself relaxing, even if the butterflies in her stomach were stubbornly refusing to settle.

Azzi’s gaze flicked down to Paige’s leg, the faint furrow of concern returning. "Hey," she said, her voice softer now. "Before we knock out, let’s switch spots. You should be on the inside, where your knee’s by the wall."

Paige blinked at her. "I’m fine, Azzi. You don’t have to—"

"Humor me," Azzi interrupted, sitting up and giving her an expectant look. "I’d rather not accidentally knee you in the middle of the night."

Paige hesitated for a moment before sighing dramatically. "Fine. But if I wake up smooshed against the wall, I’m blaming you."

Azzi grinned, already shifting so Paige could scoot over. As Paige moved, Azzi reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a cozy darkness. The faint light from the street outside filtered through the blinds, casting soft patterns on the walls as the two of them settled into place.

It was quiet for a moment, the only sound was the faint rustling of blankets as they got comfortable. The tension was noticeable, though not unpleasant. This was different from the other times they’d ended up in the same bed—those moments had been accidental, born of exhaustion or laziness. The two of them falling asleep watching a movie or Azzi throwing a pillow at Paige in the middle of the night after the blonde fell asleep on Azzi’s beanbag telling her to get in the bed. But now, they were both wide awake, fully aware of each other’s presence in the shared space.

Paige lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, hyper-aware of Azzi beside her. She could feel the faint warmth of Azzi’s arm, just inches from her own, and it took everything in her not to glance over.

"Well, this isn’t awkward at all," Azzi said suddenly, her soft chuckle breaking the silence.

Paige turned her head, giving her a mock glare. "You saying that made it awkward."

Azzi smirked, rolling her eyes. "No, it didn’t. I was just stating a fact."

"It was fine until you opened your mouth," Paige teased, her voice light but edged with humor.

"Okay, so if I stop talking, we’ll be back to normal?" Azzi challenged, her tone playful as she shifted onto her side to face Paige.

Paige’s lips twitched upward. "I don’t know. I feel like the damage is already done."

"Wow," Azzi said dramatically. "Way to make me feel self-conscious."

"Good," Paige shot back, smiling now.

Azzi shook her head, grinning as she propped her head up on her hand. Her dark eyes studied Paige for a moment before she asked, "So, was today exhausting for you? Or are you secretly a robot and just pretending to be tired?"

Paige laughed softly, glancing at the ceiling. "No, it was exhausting. My knee’s sore from all the moving around, and my social battery is completely drained."

Azzi’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across her face. "Your knee’s sore? Why didn’t you say anything?"

Paige shrugged. "It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve had worse days."

Azzi hummed, not entirely convinced but letting it slide. Her gaze lingered on Paige’s face as the faint light from the window shifted, casting a soft glow that made the blue in Paige’s eyes seem impossibly bright.

For a moment, Azzi found herself captivated, the vivid color catching her off guard. It reminded her of the sky after a storm, a striking clarity that was hard to look away from.

"You’re really pretty, Paige," Azzi murmured, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Paige turned her head fully toward Azzi, her cheeks flushing slightly. A shy smile crept onto her lips as she whispered back, "You’re really pretty too, Azzi."

Azzi’s heart skipped at Paige’s response, the quiet sincerity in her voice making the moment feel heavier in the best way. Neither of them looked away, the stillness between them now filled with an unspoken understanding.

"Do your eyes always look like that?" Azzi asked softly, almost to herself.

Paige blinked, confused. "Like what?"

"That blue," Azzi said, her voice barely above a whisper. "They seem…different."

Paige’s blush deepened, and she bit her bottom lip to hide her growing smile. "I guess… I don’t know they’re just eyes, Azzi." Paige said, trying to hide just how much those words affected her.

"If you say so," Azzi said, the words so quiet they barely reached Paige’s ears.

The softness of Azzi’s tone settled over them like a blanket, and neither of them spoke again. Paige slowly turned onto her side to look at Azzi, her exhaustion catching up with her as her eyelids began to droop. Azzi stayed where she was, her gaze lingering on Paige’s relaxed features until she finally let herself sink into the quiet comfort of the moment, her eyes closing as she softly held Paige’s forearm.

[cryoculus]

— TRACK 10: HEAVENSENT ⟢

part of every journey is the end, and once the tour wraps up in its final stop, it unknowingly spells the start of something new. that being: defining whatever the hell is between you and mydei.

★ featuring; mydei x f!reader

★ word count; 12k words

★ tags; rock band au, found family, hostile acquaintances to friends to lovers, grief/mourning, angst, slow burn, SMUT

★ warnings; graphic sexual content (MINORS DNI), hospital visits, brief descriptions of injuries

★ notes; we're at the end of the line WOOHOO!! i cranked out like 84k words in the span of a month, and the last time i did something as insane as that was in 2021 with genshin's thoma lmfao i didn't think i still had it in me, but this is what happens when you're batshit insane about a 2d pixelated character! smut tags below the cut bc... DUH?? and thank you also for sticking with this series all this time!

★ header art cr; sarhiyu on x & ig

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

★ smut tags; first time together, resolved sexual tension, oral (f receiving), nicknames (princess), vanilla, rough sex, missionary, multiple rounds/orgasms, creampie, mydei is pent up as FUCK okay

The world feels sterile. Too clean, too still.

The kind of silence that hums in the walls and presses on your eardrums, where time slows to the soft beep of machines somewhere behind a curtain. You’ve been staring at your phone for nearly ten minutes, thumb hovering over Hyacine’s name. The longer you wait, the heavier it feels because the truth is, you miss her. And more than that, you hate the idea of her thinking you don’t.

So, you call her before you can talk yourself out of it.

It rings once, twice before you hear a bleary, cautious: “Hello?”

“Hey, Hyacine,” you say.

There’s a pause. Then, a stunned breath followed by your best friend uttering your name.

“Yeah. Sorry. I know it’s early.”

“N-No, it’s okay. I just…” She hesitates. “I wasn’t sure if I should reach out first.”

“I figured we both weren’t sure,” you say softly. “But I’ve been thinking about our last call together. And I just want you to know… you weren’t at fault. Not for the tweet, not for any of it. You were looking out for me. And I should’ve said thank you.”

She doesn’t respond right away, and, knowing Hyacine, you can almost picture the teary-eyed look on her face.

“Stop,” she breathes, voice trembling. “You’re gonna make me cry in the middle of work.”

“Maybe that was my plan all along,” You laugh, pressing the heel of your palm to your eye. “So yeah. We’re okay. If you still want us to be.”

“Of course I do!”

You smile a little, heart easing for the first time today.

“So,” she says, trying to keep her tone light, “you’re in Januspolis now, right? Final stop? What time’s soundcheck start? Or do you have time to talk longer?”

“Oh,” you say. “I’m not playing today.”

There’s a brief pause after that.

“What? Why not?”

You glance at the ID bracelet on your wrist, and the flimsy gown draped over your lap.

“I’m at the hospital.”

You first noticed it in the tour bus. 

It was an afternoon like any other on the road, except the air conditioners were finally pulling their weight, and the bus that had hauled the band across Amphoreus was humming along faster. Even the usual jolts and rattles felt muted. For once, the ride was almost comfortable. You had the mechanics in Castrum Kremnos to thank for that.

Castorice was noodling on her guitar in the corner, Cipher was tapping out something weird and spacey on synth, and Phainon was cursing softly over a crossword. You were half-draped across a beanbag with your guitar balanced over your knees, and Mydei was close by, humming a line from one of the band’s older songs.

It felt almost peaceful. Like the ache in your chest from everything that happened finally dulled into something survivable.

You were mid-strum when it happened—courtesy of a pesky F minor.

Pain. 

Sharp and fast and wrong.

Your fingers seized up like they’d been yanked backward by a wire. The pick flew out of your hand and bounced off Cipher’s boot, making you curse and clutch your wrist, stunned at how fast it came.

Mydei was the first to speak. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you said, even though you kind of did. You just didn’t want to think about it.

Because the pain wasn’t new.

It had started that night outside his hotel room.

You remembered the weight of the door more than the moment—how fast Mydei had moved to shut you out, how desperate you’d been to keep the conversation from ending like that. You’d stuck your hand in the gap just before it slammed. It had connected with a clean, brutal force. 

It was difficult to forget the remorse that quickly eclipsed his anger then. He even helped ice it for you inside his hotel room before your recent falling-out. 

But everything was okay now. You and Mydei were on good terms. He didn’t bother looking around first before pecking your lips when he felt like it; didn’t hesitate to hold your hand where others could see. Things were better now. Real. 

So you tried to shake it off. It was just an old injury from a time when everything was falling apart. It would heal.

You managed to laugh it off in the moment. Made a joke about your hand revolting against bar chords. Cipher tossed the pick back at you with a grin, and your little jamming session rolled on.

But the next day, the pain didn’t go away.

It pulsed beneath your knuckles when you woke up. Dull at first, then sharper when you tried to tie your boots. You flexed your fingers, shook your wrist out. Pretended it was fine.

By the time rehearsals rolled around, it still wasn’t.

You were halfway through the opening riff of Firestarter, a song you were intimately acquainted with at this point, when your hand jerked. A firework of pain cracked up your wrist and splintered at your knuckles. This time, you couldn’t keep from hissing. The pick dropped again. Your guitar nearly followed. The sound that came out of your amp was a sharp, ugly squeal. Like a sob through metal.

Everyone stopped.

Mydei looked up from his mic, brows pulling together. Anaxa’s fingers froze on his bass. Cipher slowly lifted one hand off the synth pads, hesitant. Even Tribbios, who’d been pacing near the monitors, turned her head.

You tried to shake it off again. Smiled through the pain.

“Sorry, I— One of the strings got caught,” you lied.

But Mydei was already crossing the stage. “That’s not a string issue.”

“No, for real! I’m okay.”

“Diana.” 

And there it was again—that same look he’d given you that night. The one right after you’d yelped and yanked your hand from the doorframe. Guilt wrapped in fear, further wrapped in something too careful to name. Mydei didn’t say anything else. He just stepped forward and took your wrist.

You flinched as he brushed his thumb gently over the strained tendons, the soft swelling you’d hoped no one would notice. His brow furrowed.

“My hand’s fine,” you insisted again, voice brittle. “This is nothing.”

“Is it?” Tribbios asked, arms crossed. “Because you’ve been babying it since Castrum Kremnos, and I’ve been trying not to say anything.”

You looked at her. Then at Mydei. Then at your traitorous wrist, starting to throb in time with your heartbeat.

“This isn’t nothing,” he murmured. “You need to get this checked.”

“I’m not missing the last show,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Mydei didn’t argue.

Instead, he just said, “Then we better fix it before you do.”

“And that’s how I ended up here.”

It takes a moment for Hyacine to respond again, but you don’t fault her for it. You hear her inhale shakily and then exhale just as slowly, like she’s trying to breathe out all the worry clawing at her throat.

“Gods, I thought you got caught in an accident or something!” Hyacine squawks. “Stop pulling my leg like that when I’m too far away to give you a knuckle sandwich!”

You can’t help the peal of laughter that bubbles in your throat. “Nope, no life-threatening accident. Just an unexpected visit to the hospital. My doctor made me get an x-ray just to be sure nothing’s broken.”

“Are you really okay?” Her voice softens with worry. “You and Erin always brushed it off whenever one of you got hurt. Stubborn twins…”

You let your head fall back against the wall behind your seat. The ceiling tiles blur a little, whether from exhaustion or emotion, you’re not sure. “Yeah. I mean. They’ve kept me here for a couple of hours, just to be safe. Ran a bunch of scans beforehand. They think it’s soft tissue trauma. It’s not like I need surgery or anything, but my hand’s in a cast, so...”

“God,” Hyacine whispers. “That’s serious.”

“I know.”

“You should’ve said something earlier. To someone. Even to me.”

You don’t answer right away. Your thumb brushes the end of the splint the nurses wrestled your arm into. 

“I kept thinking it’d go away,” you admit. “And the show’s tonight, you know? It’s the last stop. Everyone’s been talking about how full-circle it’ll be. How perfect. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined it,” Hyacine says fiercely. “You couldn’t. It’s your tour too. Your story. If anything, you’ve been carrying half of it on your back.”

You breathe out a soft laugh. “You’re just being biased 'cause you’re my best friend.”

“Yeah, and I really wish I could strangle you through the phone right now.”

You swallow hard. Something in your chest stirs—maybe shame, maybe relief, or both tangled together.

“I just… didn’t want to make a scene. Didn’t want Mydei to feel responsible.”

“From what you told me, he’s the one who shut the door on your hand, right?”

“Yeah. But it wasn’t like that. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. It was just…” You sigh. “A bad moment. We’ve been through a lot since then.”

Hyacine groans. “You sound like someone who’s defending her toxic boyfriend, by the way.”

You sputter a laugh. “He’s not toxic!”

“Oh-ho. So he is your boyfriend.”

There’s a beat of silence. You blink at the wall, heart suddenly thumping louder than before.

“…Yeah,” you say, too casually. “He is.”

Hyacine chokes. “Excuse me?”

But before you can answer, a soft knock comes at the door. A technician peeks in, clipboard in hand. “Miss Diana? We’re ready for you.”

“Coming,” you say automatically, then lift the phone back to your ear. “I have to go. X-ray time.”

Hyacine’s voice is a blend of betrayal and disbelief when she says, “You did not just drop the boyfriend bomb just to hang up on me.”

You grin despite the nerves curling in your stomach. “We’ll talk after. Promise.”

“You better—!”

But you’re already ending the call, heart racing a little faster than before—not from pain this time, but from the weight of what you just said out loud.

The first thing you see when you’re discharged is Mydei.

He’s waiting just outside the sliding glass doors of the hospital, hair pulled back messily like he’d done it with one hand in a hurry. He’s pacing, clearly trying not to. You catch the way he bounces slightly on the balls of his feet, the toe of his boot digging a restless crescent into the pavement. His fingers keep twitching toward his jacket pocket, like he’s not sure whether to grab his phone or fold his arms or start praying.

You think he might not have seen you yet until he does.

And then he freezes. Completely.

His eyes drop immediately to the thick white cast strapped around your right wrist, and his mouth parts like he’s just been punched. For a second, he doesn’t move. Then he takes one step forward. Then another.

“Mydei,” you say, your voice small.

He’s in front of you in three long strides, looking utterly wrecked as he whispers your name. “What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

You shrug your good shoulder. “Didn’t know it was this bad until today.”

“But you knew something was wrong,” he says, and there’s no anger in it. Just worry. So much of it it makes your throat feel tight. “You should’ve said something. You should’ve let me—”

“I didn’t want you to blame yourself.”

His jaw locks. He looks down at the cast again. His fingers twitch again at his side, like he wants to touch you, hold your arm, but doesn’t know if he’s allowed. You nod slightly, and he reaches out carefully, slowly, like you might flinch. His hand cups the edge of your forearm just above the cast, thumb brushing your sleeve. You see his throat bob as he swallows.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “For everything. For that night. I should’ve never reacted like that. I should’ve noticed sooner.”

“It wasn’t just you,” you say quietly. “I kept putting off the pain. I didn’t want to stop playing.”

Mydei lets out a shaky breath like that admission cracks something open in him. His hand tightens just slightly on your arm, and he steps in a little closer. There’s a moment where he’s looking at you like he might pull you into his chest and never let go. Like he doesn’t know whether to wrap you in his arms or fall to his knees and beg for another chance.

Then:

“Ahem.”

The sound is crisp and artificial. If a throat can be cleared with intentional dramatic timing, Garmentmaker has perfected the art. Their silhouette appears by the curb, backlit by the hazy sun.

“Mydei,” they say, voice a precise instrument. “You’re scheduled to be back inside the arena fifteen minutes ago.”

Mydei doesn’t move. He’s still looking at you.

Garmentmaker’s attention turns toward you now. “And you, Diana. I’ve been informed by the attending nurse that you’re under strict doctor’s orders not to exert yourself for the next seventy-two hours.”

You square your shoulders. “I’m not going to exert anything. I’ll just be sitting in a van.”

“A van that is en-route to the concert venue,” they counter flatly. “In which you will, statistically, exert yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

Garmentmaker tilts their head, gears whirring just a touch louder than usual. “Defiance noted.”

Mydei finally blinks, sighing as he looks at you again. “You sure about this?”

“I’ve got one good hand,” you say, lifting the one that’s not in a cast. “That’s all I need.”

He lets out a low laugh under his breath, warm and pained and a little awed. “You’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”

“Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a touch that feels too gentle for the mess between you. “I want to be.”

He doesn’t kiss you, but the look he gives you before he leads the way back to the van makes it very, very clear that he wants to.

The moment you and Mydei step into the prep lounge, it’s like someone paused the room. Sound engineers, stylists, techs—all of them whip around. Aglaea spots him first, eyes narrowing like a hawk mid-dive.

“You’re twenty-seven minutes late,” she snaps, marching straight toward him. “Do you have a death wish, or is this just the start of your rebellious phase?”

“Wait—”

“No. No talking.” She plants both hands on his shoulders, spins him around, and steers him with surgical precision toward the waiting squad of stylists and makeup artists. “He’s yours now,” she barks. “Put him together with contour, eyeliner, the whole damn circus. You’ve got eighteen minutes.”

Mydei just manages to look over his shoulder at you, mouth half-open like he wants to argue—but the next second, he’s swallowed by a swarm of brushes and hairspray.

Then all eyes fall on you.

“Diana!” Cipher’s up in a flash, gently pushing your shoulder so you don’t have to walk far. “Are you okay? What did they say? Can you still play?”

“She shouldn’t even be standing,” Tribbios says, crossing her arms, though there’s obvious relief in her voice. “Garmentmaker said you’ve got a doctor’s note.”

“I do,” you say, holding up your casted wrist with a wry smile. “So I’m not playing. I’m just… here to watch.”

Phainon raises an eyebrow. “You want to sit through the chaos backstage? Tribbios has told us enough stories.”

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like from the sidelines,” you say honestly. “Besides… it’s kind of beautiful, in a weird, destructive way.”

Cipher grins. “You’re so fucking weird.”

Minutes pass, but they don’t pass quietly.

Aglaea flits around you like a storm in heels, muttering about hydration and nerve damage and how the nurses better not have given you “those trash-tier painkillers they always peddle.” She adjusts the way you’re sitting three different times, drapes a hoodie over your knees, and shoots dagger-eyes at anyone who comes within three feet of you holding anything heavier than a clipboard.

“Gods, Aglaea,” Anaxa drawls from the corner, arms crossed, leaning against a stacked amp. “If you coddle her any harder, you’re gonna have to start filing tax forms.”

You glance over just in time to see his smug grin and Aglaea’s immediate, fire-eyed reaction.

“Says the man who couldn’t tell the difference between antiseptic and perfume when I told him to get the first aid kit last week.”

“It was in the same drawer,” he says, lifting his hands. “They were both in little glass bottles. One had Latin on it.”

“It was Chanel No. 5!” Aglaea snaps.

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Which is hard, because now that you know, it’s impossible not to see it. The way Aglaea’s voice pitches higher when she’s snapping at him. The glint in Anaxa’s eye every time he gets a rise out of her. 

For a while, their quiet bickering is the object of your attention, but then a certain someone steals all the thunder.

Mydei strides back into the lounge like he’s walking out of a music video, every line of him perfectly styled. His hair’s been left half-down in soft, roguish waves, a single braid tucked behind one ear. There’s eyeliner smudged expertly beneath his lashes, just enough shimmer at the inner corners to catch the light when he tilts his head. The outfit clings like sin—dark synthetic leather with flickers of bronze, open enough at the collar to feel a little dangerous.

But none of that is what knocks the wind out of you.

It’s the guitar strapped across his chest.

Your guitar.

You blink, confused for a moment, until you realize no one else looks surprised. Cipher is calmly typing away on her phone. Phainon is flexing his wrists and tapping his sticks together like it’s just another night. Castorice catches your eye and offers the smallest smile, warm and steady, like to say: it’s all taken care of.

Your mouth parts, the question barely formed, but he’s already in front of you.

Mydei doesn’t say anything just yet. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, warm and unhurried, his hand resting lightly against your good shoulder. It’s intimate enough to earn a round of whoops and wolf-whistles from across the room, making you groan.

It’s really going to take a while before you get used to being this open with him. 

“Do you trust me?” he murmurs against your skin.

“With my firstborn?” You roll your eyes, trying not to smile, though your face is already warm. “Hardly.”

He smirks, but before he can say more, the stage director walks by, headset askew, handing out in-ear monitors with the efficiency of someone juggling five crises at once.

“Five minutes to standby,” the guy barks, not even looking up.

Chaos begins to rise again—backpacks zipped, picks checked, water bottles exchanged. Mydei lingers just a second longer beside you, his fingers brushing yours in tentative affection. Then he turns, the weight of your guitar settling against his back like it’s where it was always meant to be.

You’re still not sure what he’s about to do.

But you know you trust him.

Minutes later, you’re seated on a folding chair just off the backstage corridor, eyes glued to the monitor feed propped on a rolling cart. Tribbios is perched beside you, one knee bouncing nervously, and Aglaea hovers behind with her arms crossed, muttering critiques every time a spotlight hits someone the wrong way. But you barely hear them.

Because Mydei is center stage, lit like a god and on him is your guitar.

Your sound, your heartbeat, in someone else’s hands. 

The crowd screams when they see him on the strings, and they grow even louder at his first chord. His fingers move across the frets like he’s been playing it his whole life. The band follows him in perfect sync—Cipher's synth shimmering above Castorice's steady rhythm, and Phainon pounding the drums over Anaxa’s steady bass line with a focus that leaves no air in your lungs.

It’s good.

No—it’s incredible.

Years ago, this is exactly what you did. Huddled behind glowing screens, watching them from the outside. You’d memorized every camera angle, every guitar riff, every lopsided grin Mydei ever tossed the crowd. You’d imagined yourself in the chaos, never daring to believe you might belong to it.

And now you do.

You're not just some girl dreaming from afar. You’re here. Your guitar is on that stage. Your blood is in those songs.

Tribbios nudges your arm gently with hers, then tilts her head toward the monitor. “He’s showing off,” she says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You can’t help it. You smile because he is.

The lights dim between songs, casting the stage in a wash of violet haze. Mydei takes a few steps toward center, guitar still slung across his shoulder. The crowd’s still buzzing from the last number, but there’s a shift when he lifts the mic—an almost instinctive hush, like they know something different’s coming.

You lean forward without realizing it.

“Alright,” he says, voice low and rough from singing, but still with that trademark lilt that makes the crowd lean in. “So, some of you might be wondering why we’re missing a person tonight.”

There’s a ripple of confused murmurs, and then a cheer because of course they noticed. Of course they felt it.

“And probably why I’m the one on strings instead of up to my usual nonsense.”

That earns a bigger laugh. 

Mydei adjusts the mic slightly, glancing down for half a second, just enough to soften the moment. “Someone in our band is currently doing the very rockstar thing of recovering from an injury backstage instead of taking it easy like a normal person.”

A cheer goes up again, scattered but warm.

“She’s good,” he adds quickly, “but she’s stubborn as hell. If I didn’t step in on the lead, she probably would’ve walked out with a fucked up wrist anyway.”

You press your good hand against your mouth.

“So this one’s for her,” Mydei continues. “And I know she’s watching right now. Probably biting her tongue. Probably judging my chord shapes.”

The crowd laughs again. And then he turns his head, just slightly, toward the nearest stage cam. His expression shifts imperceptibly. You’ve seen it a hundred times, but never when it was meant for you.

“Get well soon, Diana.”

And then he winks.

The monitor feed jolts slightly as the cameraman adjusts, but it doesn’t matter. Because for a breathless second, it feels like the entire stadium is looking in your direction. The screen flares white as the lights return and then they launch into the next song, the guitar kicking in with a confidence that’s all Mydei and yet still, somehow, yours.

You blink hard, swallow once, and sit back.

The cheers echo from the speakers like distant waves, crashing over a version of you that used to sit on bedroom floors, breathless over grainy livestreams and stolen moments. Back then, the dream felt galaxies away. Now you’re here backstage. Broken wrist and all.

You’re not just part of this.

You’re written into it.

THE FLAMECHASERS CLOSE OUT Hell in the Rearview TOUR WITH A BANG — AND A DELUXE SURPRISE 🔥

Okhema, AM — The Flamechasers have officially crossed the finish line of their incendiary Hell in the Rearview tour, closing out their final stop in Januspolis with the kind of full-throttle ferocity only they could deliver. But if fans thought the band was going to ride quietly into post-tour recovery, they were sorely mistaken.

Within 24 hours of their final bow, the group dropped a deluxe edition of their latest album, Heaven on the Horizon—a bold move that’s already sending shockwaves through the industry. The reissue features three new tracks and a moody, fire-drenched music video for the breakout single “Ashes in Bloom.”

While the entire tour was packed with memorable moments, Januspolis delivered one of the most unexpected: Diana, the band’s lead guitarist, was benched due to a wrist injury sustained days earlier. But rather than cancel, frontman Mydei stunned the crowd by stepping in to play lead, strapped with Diana’s signature guitar.

That moment alone might have been enough to trend, but the release of “Ashes in Bloom” only fanned the flames. The video, filmed on location between tour stops, is already being hailed as the band’s most visually ambitious to date. Though Diana only appears briefly during the bridge—trading a charged glance with Mydei across a darkened, ruin-lit set—that split second has ignited a storm of fan speculation.

With the deluxe album climbing charts and fan theories spinning out of control, one thing is certain: The Flamechasers have closed the chapter on this era with every bit of intensity they’ve become known for. And if Heaven on the Horizon hinted at where they’re headed next, the future looks anything but quiet.

💬 COMMENTS:

@ ChaoticFriedRice i was skeptical at first, but they sure proved me wrong! congrats <3

@ MostNormalMydeiFan y’all telling me she was INJURED during the last show and MYDEI PLAYED HER GUITAR??? we’re living in the most romantic timeline i fear

@ phainonssticks: justice for phainon not getting enough screentime in the mv again. but also i am spiraling over that bridge scene so never mind i guess

@ GODNAXA: “get well soon, diana” *winks at camera* sir do you realize what you’ve done to the collective mental health of your fanbase

@ guiltykiss: nah because this entire tour felt like slowburn fanfiction and now we’re in the epilogue

@ omganewbeat: it’s official: i am now a MyDiana shipper.

The first few days after the tour blur into something warm and slow.

Aglaea had made it very clear that the week-long break wasn’t a suggestion, it was non-negotiable. For once, nobody argued. Everyone had been running on fumes by the end of Januspolis, and you, with your wrist still healing in its cast, had the added weight of doctor’s orders pressing you into compliance.

So you stayed home.

And every day, without fail, Mydei came by.

Sometimes he knocked first. Sometimes he didn’t, especially if he knew you were still half-asleep. He brought groceries the first day. The second day, he cooked with them. By the third, he was already too comfortable in your tiny kitchen, sleeves rolled up, wrist adorned with flour or sauce or oil depending on the meal. The rhythm grew easy—like water carving a groove through stone.

He didn’t talk about Januspolis. Or what came next. He didn’t ask you to open up or plan ahead. He just… showed up. Quiet and steady.

There were days when he stayed until sundown. Days when he washed your dishes and fed your houseplants and gently took the laundry basket out of your hands when you tried to do too much too soon. You never had to ask. He was just there.

Once, while he was wiping down your counters, you caught yourself watching him too long.

He glanced over, eyebrow arched. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said. “It’s just weird seeing you this domestic.”

He flicked a drop of water at you. “Don’t get used to it.”

But you kind of already did.

One afternoon, when the apartment was still and soft with late-day light, you dug the old box out from under your bed.

You hadn’t touched it in years.

Mydei was sprawled on the floor, watching something on your TV. He looked up when he heard the rustle of cardboard and leaned over to help, popping the lid loose with gentle fingers.

Inside: posters, photo cards, backstage wristbands. A flag from your first show, still creased at the folds. Pages of notebook paper scrawled with lyrics in someone else’s handwriting. A hand-painted fan sign that had started to fade, the infamous MYDEI OR DIE sign in the flesh.

You tried to act casual. “I used to be really into this band. Maybe you’ve heard of them. The Flamechasers?”

He didn’t laugh, but the smirk was instant. “They sound exhausting.”

“They were. Still are.”

He pulled out one of the old fanbooks and flipped through it with unhurried hands. “Is this your handwriting?”

“Might be.”

“Is this a poem about Phainon’s biceps?”

You groaned. “Please don’t—”

“‘Carved like thunder. Arms of war. He holds his sticks like—’ Damn.”

You pelted him with a pillow one-handed. “This was Erin’s.”

He caught it with a grin and didn’t let go, just leaned against the couch, resting his chin near your knee. “So,” he said softly, “was there a poem about me?”

“No.” You snorted.

It’s late again by the time he gets up to leave.

The sky outside your window is in that inky, blue-lavender stage right before night gives in completely. The smell of garlic and thyme still lingers in the kitchen, stubborn and comforting. He cooked again tonight, this time humming the riff of some unfinished song while chopping onions like he wasn’t aware you were watching.

You were, though. You always are.

Mydei’s standing near the door, one hand hovering over the knob, the other stuffed in his jacket pocket like it’s anchoring him there. He doesn’t move just yet.

“Are you okay?” you ask now, leaning against the doorframe between the living room and the entryway. “You’ve been weird all night.”

Mydei doesn’t look at you at first. Just shifts his weight like he’s bracing for a stage dive.

Then, very quietly:

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say something without sounding like a complete idiot.”

You straighten. “That bad, huh?”

He glances at you. There’s a little smile on his lips, but it’s fragile. His eyes—usually so steady—are uncertain. “I keep thinking maybe I already blew it,” he says, just a touch nervous. “Or maybe it’s too soon. Or I missed the right time and now it’s just gonna be awkward.”

You step toward him, heart beginning to race. “Mydei.”

“I like you,” he blurts out, and then immediately corrects, “I mean, obviously I do, I—gods, that’s not what I meant to say.” The frontman drags a hand through his hair like it could help organize his train of thought. “What I meant to say is… I want this. Like, really want this. Not just making out in dark corners or flirting during rehearsals. I want—”

You reach out, grab the edge of his jacket to keep him from spiraling. His eyes flick to yours, burning gold filled to the brim with emotion.

“I want to call you mine,” Mydei says finally, almost hoarse. “But not unless you want that too. So… do you?”

You try not to smile too fast. You try. But your mouth is already twitching before he finishes.

“Oh,” you say. “I already told Hyacine you were my boyfriend.”

He blinks. “You—what?”

“Like a week ago. When I was in line for an x-ray in Januspolis.”

Mydei stares, clearly offended. “You told Hyacine before me?”

You shrug. “I figured you’d catch up eventually.”

He groans and drops his forehead to your shoulder. “You’re actually unbelievable.”

“And you’re mine,” you say softly, threading your fingers into his hair.

When he lifts his head, his eyes are different—darker now, hungry and sweet all at once. He cups your cheek with one hand like he’s still not sure you’re real.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

You lean in. “You’re mine.”

Mydei kisses you before the last word even finishes.

It’s not tentative, not this time. There’s a kind of reverence in the way he touches you—palms mapping the shape of your waist like he’s memorizing it, mouth lingering at your jaw before he even dares move lower. He kisses you slow and deep, like he’s drinking something he never thought he’d be allowed to have.

You let him. You want him to.

And when you pull him towards your bedroom, he follows without a word.

Despite himself, Mydei hesitates just inside the threshold, like he’s walked into a memory instead of your room. His eyes flick over the small space: the half-made bed, the books stacked on the nightstand, the posters that have made a home out of your walls. His gaze lands on you again—a little wonderstruck, a little undone.

“I’ve thought about this more times than I’ll admit,” he says softly.

You know what he means. Lethe. The way his hands were on you in that private lounge; the way his mouth made promises it never got the chance to keep. You remember the heat in his voice when he murmured your name, the way you nearly unraveled from his touch alone.

Now, he doesn’t have to stop.

You tilt your head. “You gonna make good on it, rockstar?”

Mydei exhales a laugh, but it’s ragged. He steps closer, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t touch you again.

“I want to do this right.”

He steps closer, easing the jacket from his shoulders—the same one he always wears after practice, too big and lived-in—and drapes it over the back of your desk chair. Then his hands come to the hem of his shirt.

You watch him, the movement quiet but heavy with intent. When he pulls the fabric over his head, your breath catches. Not just because of the view (though that alone is enough to set your pulse racing), but because it’s him. Here. In your room. Looking at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

His shirt drops to the floor with a whisper of cotton.

Mydei stands in the soft light of your room like he’s stepping out of a dream you never dared to finish. He’s all lean muscle and quiet strength, carved like a song only your hands remember how to play. His skin is kissed golden, a contrast to the smoldering red at the tips of his loose blonde hair that tumbles past his collarbones. The bright red ink coiling around his arms and chest look like they’re glowing under the heat of his golden-eyed stare. 

Carefully, he reaches for you, fingers brushing the bottom of your oversized tee. He lifts it slowly, giving you the chance to stop him, but you don’t. When it’s gone, he pauses to take you in—not with hunger, but with awe. You glance down, a little self-conscious in your lounge shorts, but his hands come to your waist like they’ve always belonged there. Mydei leans in, pressing a kiss just above your brow.

“I’ve been helping you change your splint all week,” he murmurs. “I think I can handle this without hurting you.”

You laugh softly. “You better.”

His answering smile is crooked. “I’ll be careful.”

You don’t doubt that he will.

Because Mydei—steadfast, thoughtful, fiercely passionate Mydei—has only ever touched you like you were something precious. Even now, as he lowers you onto the bed with practiced care, it’s like he’s afraid of pushing too far too fast. But you’re already gone for him by the time your skin touches the sheets.

“I mean it,” he says again, hands braced on either side of your hips, his voice coming out rougher. “Tell me if anything feels wrong.”

You nod, but the look you give him makes it very clear that you trust him. Entirely.

So he kisses you again, slow and sweet. He maps a path from your lips down your throat, over the curve of your collarbone. His hands splay over your ribs like he’s still trying to memorize every inch of you, and when his mouth dips lower, it’s with the kind of patience that leaves you trembling. 

Clothes become afterthoughts, discarded gently but eagerly. And when there’s nothing left between you but skin and heat and the hush of your name against his lips, Mydei finally asks:

“Still good?”

“Still yours,” you whisper, and pull him down to you.

You kiss him like the two of you have nothing left to prove. Your tongue meets his in a rhythm that’s as familiar as it is electric, and when you moan into his mouth, Mydei holds you tighter. One arm wrapped firm around your waist, the other hand cradling the back of your neck like he’s anchoring you to the moment.

But there’s a tension in him, still. He’s holding back. You feel it in the way his touch trembles with restraint, and it makes you pull back just enough to shoot him a look.

“I could’ve sworn you always kissed me like you wanted to eat me alive.”

He blinks, dazed, then lets out a soft, breathless laugh. “That was before you were on the injured list.”

“So a measly splint is enough to make you not want me the same way?”

Mydei leans in, presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth like it’s a compromise. “Not saying I don’t still want to,” he murmurs against your skin. “I’m just trying not to break you.”

“You won’t,” you whisper, guiding his hand back to your waist. “But if you do, you better do it right.”

That’s all the permission he needs.

The restraint cracks. Not completely, but just enough for you to feel it—the shift in his kiss, the urgency beneath it. His hands roam more freely now, drawing heat from every inch of skin he touches. You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, and the sound of it coils low in your stomach.

And, by god, the look in his eyes steals the breath from your lungs.

Molten gold; the kind that reminds you of those breathtaking sunsets in Carmitis. Mydei looks at you like this is something he’s dreamed about. Like you’re not just someone he wants, but someone he’s afraid to lose.

“You sure?” he whispers, voice raw with desire.

You cup his cheek. “I’m not made of glass, Mydei. I want you.”

He studies you for a moment longer, like he’s memorizing everything—your face, your breath, the way you look up at him like you trust him with every part of you. 

Then, your lover starts to move.

His hands glide down your sides, skimming over familiar curves with rediscovered wonder. He doesn’t rush. Instead, he kisses his way down your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. Every inch of attention is precise and careful, like he’s worshipping instead of touching.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until his mouth reaches just below your navel, and even then, Mydei pauses with a glance. 

It reminds you of that night in Lethe—the one that lit the match and never let it burn out. The heat in his eyes now mirrors the way he looked at you then, all fire and longing, but there’s something steadier beneath it this time. He doesn’t just burn for you anymore. He holds you like he’s finally learned how to keep the flame from consuming you both.

“Go ahead,” you sigh as you ease your legs apart, letting Mydei hook your thighs over his broad shoulders. “Pretty sure my apartment is paparazzi-proof.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “It better be. I’m done getting interrupted.”

The moment his mouth finds your cunt, you just know you’re done for.

Mydei laves at the slick that’s pooled along your seam, his nose somehow angled well enough to brush your clit as he thrusts his tongue inside your leaking entrance. His fervor makes you gasp, enough to make you claw at your sheets. And when you think the onslaught of sensation couldn’t get any more intense, he replaces his tongue with one of his long, thick fingers.

Your hands are in his hair in an instant. He carefully eases the digit into your wet heat as he mouths at your clit—suckling with just enough pressure to make you squirm. Your brain barely catches up to the sensation of him starting to thrust his finger in and out, too frazzled at the pleasure coming for you in waves. 

“S-Slow down,” you plead, but your mewls only drive him further. “Mydei—!”

You can’t even form the words the moment he stuffs you full with another digit, the pads dragging along the spongy flesh of your pussy. A choked up noise lodges somewhere deep in your chest, and Mydei moans into your dripping sex as he fucks you loose with those damn fingers. 

It’s filthy. You can hear every squelch of flesh and slick between your thighs, and while you want nothing more than to peel away out of embarrassment, Mydei keeps your hips pinned onto the mattress as he helps himself to your cunt. He drinks up your essence like he doesn’t know anything else but the taste of you. 

You thought you would last longer. You always do when it comes to this. But when you have a boyfriend that’s nothing but patient, someone who’s been denied this deep sort of intimacy one too many times, you suppose it’s normal for him to be a little too good at his job.

That being: making you come apart on his mouth.

Mydei practically growls when he feels your entire body seize up—sheer bliss cresting into something you thought was always just out of reach. But he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give you any reprieve. If anything, your lover pins down your hips more firmly into the bed, his sinful tongue helping you ride out the delicious orgasm tearing through your nerves like a thunderstorm. 

There’s nothing innocent about the way you sob out his name, hips rocking into his face as he slurps up every drop of your release. You don’t even realize you’re using your splinted hand to dig your fingers into his scalp—the overwhelming pleasure eclipsing any and all flares of pain. Mydei breathes out a long, heady laugh as he parts with your twitching cunt, carefully easing your injured hand out of his hair before placing a soft, tender kiss just on top of it.

“Careful,” he rasps, lips still glistening with your slick. “This is my girlfriend’s hand you’re using.”

Gods above, you fucking love this man. 

Shaky and half-delirious from the aftermath, you laugh. Mydei’s fingers lace gently with yours, his thumb brushing over the edge of the splint as he watches you with something too tender to name. 

You tug at his hand, guiding him upward until he’s hovering over you again, your bodies flush and your breaths mingling in the quiet hum between kisses. You slide your free hand along the curve of his jaw, then lower—down the strong line of his chest, across his stomach. He shivers under your touch the moment your fingers wrap around his hard length. 

“Mydei,” you whisper, eyes locked to his. “I need you.”

His breath catches.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the same way he did earlier—but it’s softer now, laced with wonder instead of hesitation. “You’re still—”

“I know.” You reach for him, coaxing him closer. “But I want you. All of you.”

He nods, forehead pressing to yours for a beat as he gathers himself, all steady hands and careful movements. There’s a tenderness to everything he does, like this is as much worship as it is desire.

“Okay,” he says, voice barely more than a breath. “Okay.”

In an instant, Mydei kisses you again—slower this time, like he’s savoring every second. There’s no rush in the way he settles between your thighs. No urgency in how his hands trace over your body with that quiet, aching intensity that only he can make feel like a promise.

One of his hands laces with yours, careful not to squeeze too harshly, while he uses the other to guide himself to your sopping entrance. Your pussy is still dripping from that prior release, and it doesn’t take long for Mydei to figure out you’re still plenty sensitive as well as he drags the flushed head of his cock along your slit. 

“Don’t tease me,” you whimper. 

Of course, he simply laughs. “So you’re the type who always needs to get what she wants?”

“You’re the type who’ll give it all to me anyway.”

The grin that slices across his face is nothing short of wicked, and you have to keep yourself from moaning again when the tip of him catches along your entrance. Mydei leans down, his hot breath fanning your face as he presses a kiss across the cut of your jaw.

“I’d give you the world, if I could,” he whispers, and your pussy clenches around nothing.

Your reaction, isn’t lost on Mydei. You can see it in the way his smile bows into a smirk. But you can’t even chastise him for it. Not when his fingers squeeze yours where they’re still entwined, grounding you both as he finally presses into you—inch by careful inch. You inhale sharply at the stretch, and his hand immediately goes to your waist, steadying you, easing the pace.

“Breathe, princess,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve got you.”

Princess? 

“What? The nickname not doing it for you?”

You would tell him that you’re too busy trying to accustom yourself to the sheer girth of him stretching the walls of your cunt. But the words evade you as your lips frame around a breathless moan. You breathe through it, through the slow, deep slide that leaves you gasping when he finally bottoms out. Mydei is still for a moment, letting you adjust, forehead resting against your temple.

His breath is ragged, his body trembling slightly with restraint, but he doesn’t move until you give him the smallest nod.

With that green light, Mydei draws his hips back slowly, then pushes in again with the kind of care that makes your heart ache. Like he’s savoring every second, every sound you make, every flutter of your lashes and hitch of your breath. You squeeze his hand, the one still tangled with yours, and feel his thumb brush over your knuckles in reply.

“You alright?” he murmurs, voice low and hoarse against your ear.

You answer with a soft gasp, then, “More.”

Something in him seems to break. 

Mydei picks up the pace, never rough but deeper now—rhythmic and steady, as if he’s working his way into the parts of you you didn’t know were empty until he filled them. Your body adjusts to him quickly, pleasure beginning to unfurl low in your belly, warm and building. He ploughs into you with restraint pulled taut at the edges, and you don’t think you can ever get used to how good his cock feels inside of you. 

His other hand slides from your waist to your thigh, hitching your leg higher around him to get a better angle. The next thrust punches a moan right out of you.

“There,” you gasp. “Right there—”

“Yeah?” Mydei kisses the corner of your mouth, lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “You feel it too?”

You nod frantically, fingernails digging into his shoulder, and the ragged noise he lets out sounds like he’s barely holding on. 

He’s close. You can tell by the way his breath stutters and how his movements grow just a little less controlled, more urgent. But he doesn’t chase it. Not yet.

Instead, he leans in and whispers, “Let go, princess. I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

Mydei’s pace shifts again, just slightly, matching the rhythm of your ragged breathing and the pulse deep in your core. His thrusts turn smoother, deeper, coaxing your pleasure higher with every pass until it feels like the world narrows down to the points where your bodies meet.

You’re so close. He feels it; he must, because he’s watching you like he’s willing you there, eyes locked on yours even as sweat gathers at his temple and his jaw tightens with the effort to hold back. The walls of your cunt are unforgiving in the way they milk his throbbing length for all he’s got to give you, and Mydei looks like he’s too willing a victim.

Your name—the real one—slips out of his mouth like a prayer.

You respond with a choked moan, your body arching into him as you crash over the edge with a broken cry. The climax rips through you—fast, hot, and all-consuming. Your thighs quake around his hips as every nerve lights up, your walls clenching tight around him with no rhythm, no restraint. The air stutters from your lungs as you tremble beneath him, mouth parted in breathless ecstasy.

Mydei groans, guttural and barely contained, the sound laced with desperation as your pussy flutters around his aching cock. He thrusts once, twice more, rougher this time, the control finally slipping from his grasp. And then he breaks—hips pressing flush against yours as he spills into you with a low, shuddering growl, forehead pressed to yours like he’s grounding himself in your breath, your skin, your everything.

His hand finds your cheek, cradling it with a kind of reverence that makes your chest ache, and he stays buried inside you as his body trembles with the aftershocks. The two of you are tangled together in a haze of sweat and heat and something far more terrifying.

Your pulse hammers in your ears. His nose brushes yours. And for a long, suspended moment, all you can do is breathe.

But then you feel it: his fingers ghosting along your hip, a shift in the way his weight presses against you, the slow roll of his still-hard length inside you. A soft gasp escapes your lips as your oversensitive body flinches, and Mydei has the audacity to smirk against your cheek.

“You still with me?” he murmurs, voice low and gravel-edged, the teasing just barely veiling the hunger returning to his gaze.

“I just came,” you whisper, half-dazed, half-indignant.

“I know.” He presses a kiss to your jaw, then to your throat. “I was there.”

You open your mouth to snap back, but it melts into a gasp instead as he shifts his hips again, deliberate this time. Testing the way your walls flutter around him, still aching, still drenched.

“You’re insatiable,” you breathe, the protest in your voice weak at best.

“And you’re still wet,” Mydei counters, biting back a groan. “So unless you stop me—”

You hook your legs around his waist.

“Didn’t say I would.”

He doesn’t wait for another signal.

Mydei sinks his teeth lightly into the curve of your neck and starts to move.

He thrusts into you with a sharper rhythm, chasing the heat already reigniting between you. The restraint from earlier is gone; what remains is something far more primal. Every roll of his hips is rougher, angled to drag a cry from your lips. His grip tightens on your waist, fingertips digging in like he needs to feel every inch of you—needs to hold onto something before he loses himself.

You claw at his back, already oversensitive, already aching, but gods, you want more. Each breath comes faster, swallowed by the messy tangle of your mouths. He kisses you like he needs it to survive, all heat and tongue and broken groans against your teeth.

“Mydei—”

His name is a gasp, a plea, a curse. Your lover growls in response, burying himself to the hilt with a sharp snap of his hips that leaves your vision white-hot around the edges.

“Say it again,” he pants, lips brushing yours.

“Mydei... F-Fuck! Please don’t stop—”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

You don’t realize how close you are again until your body starts trembling beneath him, every thrust unraveling you more than the last. Mydei is relentless now—not frenzied, but firm with intention. Like he’s determined to give you everything he has, and then some. The slick drag of him inside you makes you sob out loud, already raw and aching from your shared release.

But Mydei doesn’t stop. He leans over you, mouth hot on your throat, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he growls, voice ragged.

You try to answer, to breathe, to steady yourself, but the force of him rocks you into the mattress. Mydei’s rhythm falters for a second as your walls pulse around him, fluttering, and he groans like it’s the only sound he knows how to make.

“Look at me,” he grits, eyes locked with yours.

You do—and that’s all it takes. You tumble over the edge with a long, breathless cry, your climax crashing through you like a wave breaking on the shore. He follows seconds later, pulled under by the feel of you, the sound of your voice, the look on your face. His white hot emission floods your insides as he chokes out your name, the tension in his muscles finally snapping as he shudders through it. 

For a while, neither of you speak. The only sounds are your mingled breathing, the slow thud of your hearts trying to settle back into rhythm. Mydei doesn’t pull away. He stays nestled close, one hand drifting up your back, the other still wrapped in your fingers.

“Still in one piece?” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple.

You nod, boneless and aching, your forehead pressed to his shoulder. “Barely.”

He laughs softly, the sound low and spent. Then he shifts, so carefully, drawing his length of you with a hiss and settling beside you without breaking contact. You try not to shudder as you feel his spend drip out of your cunt. But Mydei effectively distracts you when his hand finds your waist, tugs you close until your head rests over his heart.

“You know you’re buying me Plan B tomorrow, right?” you grumble.

Mydei snorts, barely able to stifle his laugh. “Fair. Last thing we need is another band baby.”

You huff a sleepy chuckle. “I’m serious. Aglaea would literally kill us. Like, actual murder.”

“She’d make it look like an accident,” he murmurs, mock grim. “And then Tribbios would give a heartfelt eulogy about how we were a cautionary tale.”

You grin against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. “We’d deserve it.”

“Probably,” he agrees, brushing his fingers through your hair. “But damn if it wouldn’t be worth it.”

The quiet settles in soft and slow, like mist on glass. Mydei’s hand finds the chain around your neck and he toys with the guitar pick absentmindedly. You open your eyes just in time to see him watching you, expression unreadable, but his grip on the necklace stills.

“I love you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “You know that, right?”

It knocks the breath from your chest—not because it’s unexpected, but because it lands with the weight of truth. You slide your hand up the side of his face, thumb brushing the sharp line of his jaw.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I love you too.”

Mydei exhales like he’s been holding it in for months. Then his eyes flick down, just briefly, before returning to yours with that smirk you’ve come to crave.

“I’ve held back long enough,” he murmurs, already shifting on top of you again. “Think you can survive round three?”

You can’t help but bark out another laugh. “You fuck me like I’m not injured.”

He leans in, teeth grazing your lower lip in a slow drag. “That’s ‘cause I know you’re stronger than you look.”

If you were any less of a fool for him, you would have refused. But Mydei proved tonight that he’s divine in his devotion and relentless in his desire. Heavensent, yet hellbent on ruining you in all the ways that feel like worship.

But if this is what ruin feels like, you’d let him do it every time.

You barely have time to enjoy the strange, breathless high of finally making things official with Mydei before Aglaea’s message lands in your inbox like a warning shot.

It’s short and clipped. Just vague enough to make your stomach twist. Director Caenis wants to meet you two at the company today. 

When you walk into the label’s office, you half expect a lecture—or worse, a PR lockdown. But when you find her, Aglaea just gives you a look. One of those sharp, knowing glances that says you’re not slick, but I’m letting it slide. It has you spiraling in your own thoughts in seconds, whereas Mydei doesn't even flinch. 

Caenis strolls in with Lygus in tow shortly after, all business and brilliant grins.

The look on her face alone confuses you. If she really was going to chew you out for finding out you and Mydei are a thing (like you initially assumed), she doesn’t really look the part. In fact, the director practically raves about the public reception of the Ashes in Bloom video, calls your on-screen chemistry “magnetic,” and waves a stack of analytics like a trophy.

“You two,” she says, pointing between you like it’s strategy, not truth, “this feels real. Which is exactly why it’s working. Let’s lean into it. Controlled burn. Give them just enough to keep talking.”

She’s convinced it’s all for show.

And Aglaea, who knows otherwise, remains silent.

“Of course,” Mydei plays along with an easy smile. “Any other requests?”

Caenis grins wider, like she’s just been handed another marketing goldmine. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing. The deluxe drop’s numbers are exceeding projections, and fan engagement is through the roof. We’re pivoting the next press round to keep the narrative going.”

You feel it like a pinched nerve, the way she says narrative. Beside you, Mydei’s still smiling. Unbothered and effortless. You wonder if he’s just that good at playing it cool or if he’s gotten too used to pretending.

Caenis doesn’t wait for a response before moving on, flipping to another page in her folder. “We'll talk timelines for the next music video once the Mnemosyne footage finishes processing. You’re free to go.”

Lygus, who’s been silent the whole time, nods once and opens the door like he’s dismissing class.

As you both step into the hallway again, you let out a slow breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Mydei’s already walking like the meeting never happened, hands in his pockets, loose-limbed and quiet.

“She really thinks it’s fake,” you say under your breath.

He hums. “That’s the only reason it’s allowed to exist.”

“And Aglaea just... said nothing.”

“She has her own dangerous secret, remember?”

You nod slowly, trying not to laugh, then pause when Mydei suddenly veers left. “Where are you going?”

“Thought we’d stop by the studio,” he says over his shoulder. “I want you to hear something. Just five minutes.”

You follow him, suspicion curling at the edges of your mood. The studio’s usually locked when not booked, but this time the door’s cracked open. Light spills out.

Everyone’s already there—Cipher on synth, Castorice tuning her guitar, Anaxa checking levels with that usual deadpan focus, Phainon twirling a drumstick between his fingers. Everything is set up like there’s a full rehearsal underway, only there isn’t one scheduled. Not for another few weeks.

You freeze. “What’s… going on?”

Mydei doesn’t answer right away. He just walks toward his mic, picks up his guitar, and glances back at you.

“We wanted to surprise you.”

He nods at Cipher, who cues something up. The room floods with a soft, slow swell music as everyone else follows through the synth. A progression you know all too well. 

It’s that damn song; the one that started it all. 

Except now, it doesn’t sound like the rough, scattered demo you pieced together with Mydei and Cipher on those late nights. It doesn’t feel half-finished anymore. It feels alive with the full band breathing new life into every layer you once imagined alone. Every subtle guitar swell, every buried synth line, every sharp percussion hit you snuck into your edits—they're all here, and they’re louder than you remembered.

And then there’s Mydei.

Rasping the lyrics into the mic with that infuriatingly precise, low-simmering heat like he’s been rehearsing this behind your back every single day of the post-tour break. Like he knew this moment was coming as if he planned it weeks in advance.

Even if you’re still struggling to catch up, stunned into silence by the sheer weight of it all, one thought roots itself stubbornly in your head:

How long has he been waiting to give this to you?

When the final chord rings out—Mydei’s voice tapering into a hush and Castorice’s fingers sliding off the last note like a benediction—it takes you a second to realize the song’s over. You’re still standing there like your soul hasn’t quite caught up to your body, blinking too hard to keep your vision from going blurry.

The silence that follows is soft and intentional. No one speaks. They’re all watching you, and for once, it doesn’t feel like pressure. 

Then Mydei steps forward. 

“It was supposed to be on the deluxe,” he says, voice lower now, like this part’s just for you. “But we missed the deadline because I never got to ask you what to call it. We kinda... had a falling out.”

You manage a breath, but your throat’s already tight.

“We ran it by Heph, by the way,” the frontman adds, like an afterthought, but not really. “Just to be sure it sounded right. You know how he gets with arrangements. Said it was his favorite thing we’ve done since—”

That’s what breaks you.

The tears come fast, hot, and impossible to stop. You try to cover your face with your hand, but it’s no use—your shoulders are already shaking. It’s the mention of Hephaestion, the thought that he heard this before it was yours, that he liked it, blessed it, in his weird, grudging, soft-hearted way.

You feel it all crash into you at once—the surprise, the love, the song, the loss.

Mydei doesn’t move right away. Just lets you have the space. When he finally reaches for you, it’s careful and warm. His fingers brush against your wrist, and you don’t pull away.

“I didn’t want it to live in the cloud forever,” he says quietly.

You sniff. “I didn’t either.”

An awkward cough cuts through the moment like a cymbal crash—deliberate, but not unkind. You turn, eyes still wet, to find Anaxa with his arms crossed, one brow arched with the kind of dry amusement only he can deliver without saying a word.

“So,” he says, deadpan. “Are we calling it workign title.mp3 forever, or is someone finally going to grow a spine and name the damn thing?”

The band chuckles—nervously, gently, like they’re easing you back into your skin. You open your mouth, but before you can speak, Cipher’s hands are still in the air, and now she’s grinning like she’s about to change the trajectory of the universe.

“What if,” she says, dramatic pause and all, “we let the fans name it?”

Everyone stares.

You blink. Mydei goes still beside you.

Phainon squints like he’s doing math. “Like… a poll?”

“Or a hashtag,” Cipher says, bouncing on her toes now. “This is probably gonna join our album next year, right? We drop the track unlisted, tease a clip, and make it a whole thing. ‘Unnamed track. You decide.’ Fans lose their minds, engagement spikes, we don’t have to argue about it—boom. Genius.”

“She’s not wrong,” Castorice murmurs.

Anaxa sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know that means our mentions are going to be a war zone for, like, a week.”

Cipher only shrugs, smug as hell. “That’s showbiz.”

You glance at Mydei. He looks back at you like he wanted to name it with you or something way more sentimental than a hashtag. But you’re still laughing when you nudge him gently and say, “Don’t look at me. It’s kind of brilliant.”

Mydei huffs a quiet laugh beside you, then tips his head back toward the mic, addressing the room like it’s a sold-out arena. “Alright, Cipher wins. We’ll let the world weigh in.”

Cipher throws both fists in the air like she just landed on the moon. “You will not regret this!”

“Highly debatable,” Anaxa mutters, but even he’s smiling now.

The others start packing up—Castorice tuning down her guitar with careful fingers, Phainon stretching like he’s just finished a marathon. Laughter filters through the space in loose threads, wrapping the whole moment in something light, almost tender. You stay where you are, eyes drifting back to the empty stage. The instruments still buzz faintly in the cables. The air still carries the echo of your song.

It started as a mess in your head, an unnamed file in a cluttered folder.

Now it’s real.

And they gave it back to you like a gift.

Mydei brushes his hand lightly against yours. The look he gives you is the one he always saves for when he means something more than what he’s allowed to say out loud.

You squeeze his fingers once before letting go.

“Guess it’s official,” you say softly. “We’re a democracy now.”

He smirks. “With a synth player dictator.”

You laugh, and for once, it doesn’t catch in your throat.

@TheFlamechasers [🎥 Preview Video: Teaser for the band’s new single with writing credits for Mydei and Diana towards the end.] 🕯️ unreleased from the heaven on the horizon deluxe vault 🎧 never played. never previewed. 💫 where you find the courage to be seen; fully, loudly. now it’s yours. help us give it a name — drop your titles with #NameThisFlame

Fan Replies (via #NameThisFlame):

@ sunstruckcipher MY DIANA. make the ship canon. don’t be cowards, they wrote it together!!! #NameThisFlame

@ flamechasersarchive “Untitled (For You)” feels right. like… if u know u know. #NameThisFlame

@ cunnilonimbus  a band that lets their fans name the song?? your faves can never (i say we call it Step Out, btw) #NameThisFlame

@ dyingtoglow i don’t care what the title is just give us the full lyrics i’m BEGGING #NameThisFlame

The cemetery looks different in late spring—less solemn, somehow, when the grass is this green and the air smells faintly like sun-warmed lilac. You always made sure to visit every year, on this particular day. But this time is different.

This time, you’re not alone.

Hyacine insists on carrying the pizza, even though the box is barely holding together. “It’s tradition,” she says, like it isn’t also the same flavor Erin always demanded—pineapple and jalapeño, against all logic and culinary decency. “She’ll haunt us if we don’t.”

“She’d haunt you regardless,” you reply.

Mydei trails behind you both, careful steps, the cake box in his hands as if it might fall apart under his touch. He hasn’t said much since he parked his car, just nodded quietly as Hyacine filled the space with her usual mix of nostalgia and low-stakes chaos. He looks calm, but you know better. His shoulders are too straight, his jaw too still.

You cradle the flowers in one arm—fresh, bright ones, the kind Erin used to buy and rearrange until they were “perfectly imperfect.” Hyacine told you once it was her way of flirting with impermanence. Erin had said it was just because she liked being extra.

As you approach the gravestone, you kneel to set the bouquet down, brushing a stray blade of grass off the carved letters. Her name still knocks the wind out of you. No matter how many times you see it.

Hyacine opens the pizza box and fans the lid like it’s a dinner table centerpiece. “Okay, now it’s a party.”

You glance over at Mydei, who shifts from foot to foot like he’s waiting in a line he isn’t sure he belongs in.

A faint smile rises on your face. “You can sit down, you know. She won’t bite.”

“Not unless you mess up your lyrics,” Hyacine adds.

“I never do,” he murmurs.

You raise a brow. “Mmm. Debatable.”

He kneels beside the grave, carefully setting the cake down next to the pizza. It’s smaller than last year’s—chocolate, marbled with blue, two candles stuck dead center. But Erin has never been picky, neither were you. As long as it was something sweet, it will do.

“Erin always made me light the candles twice,” you say quietly. “She’d blow them out early so I couldn’t beat her.”

Hyacine snorts. “She did that the year you two turned twenty-one and then poured wine into the cake.”

“That was your idea.”

“I said drizzle. She dumped the whole glass.”

A peal of laughter reverberates in the air as the three of you sit in a loose triangle—Erin’s grave between you, the pizza scent oddly grounding. 

And then, after a quiet beat, Mydei says, “Hi, Erin.”

You glance at him, mildly startled.

“I’m Mydei. I—” He hesitates, clears his throat. “I know we haven’t met properly. But I’ve heard a lot about you. Good things, mostly.”

Hyacine covers a smile with her hand as Mydei shifts, eyes flicking to the stone. “I brought cake. I hope that’s okay. It’s, uh… your sister’s favorite. Or one of them. I couldn’t pick just one. I—anyway.”

You rest your chin on your knee, watching him as he fumbles through it; tender and awkward and completely, unmistakably sincere. What once was The Flamechasers’ hotheaded vocalist is now Erin’s future brother-in-law mumbling pleasantries into the wind.

“I guess I wanted to say… if you were here, I’d ask for your permission to date her. Even though she’s already said yes. I just thought you should know I’d ask.” Mydei’s golden eyes flicker to yours briefly. 

You open your mouth to tease him. Pause. Then say, “You know I can’t answer for her.”

“I know.”

“You’re really doing this, huh?”

He nods. “I know how much she means to you.”

You let out a soft breath, the kind that wants to be a laugh. “God, you’re so superstitious.”

He looks at you, then at the necklace resting just below your collarbone—the old guitar pick strung on a worn, old chain. You don’t wear much jewelry, never have, but this one stays. Always. You’ve replaced the chain four times, polished the pick twice. But the edges are still dulled from years of habit, your thumb grazing it when you're nervous, when you’re quiet, when you need to remember where you came from.

Mydei’s gaze lingers on it for a second longer than he probably means to. Then he nods—not to you, but to the gravestone.

“Happy birthday, Erin.”

Then, after a beat, Mydei turns to you with his mouth turned up into a handsome smile. “And happy birthday, to you, too,” 

Your gaze holds his, but your mind wanders only for a moment. Past the tour buses and sleepless nights, the hotel hallways and backstage glances. You remember the first time Mydei looked at you like you were more than just the new guitarist. The way his voice softened when he thought you couldn’t hear. The look on his face like he was falling and couldn’t stop himself.

Mydei can be reckless and stubborn, but he always treats your heart like something worth learning how to hold.

“We’ve come a long way, huh?” You lean into him slightly, shoulder brushing his. “You hated me on my first day on the job, and now you’re asking permission from my sister to date me.”

Mydei hums, not even bothering to deny it. “Yeah. And I’d do it all over again.”

You don’t say anything, just let the moment sit there—quiet, a little tender, threaded with all the things you’ve been through together. 

And then, from behind you, Hyacine claps her hands and says, “Alright. Time to desecrate the spirit realm with our musical crimes. Everybody come sing Happy Birthday!”

“Oh god,” you mutter, already bracing yourself.

Mydei clears his throat, mock-serious. “I take no responsibility for this. I have perfect pitch.”

“Then this’ll be extra painful.”

You pick up the lighter and lean toward the cake. Two small candles. One flame for each of you. You light them with practiced care.

The wind stills.

The lilac breath of spring lingers in the quiet.

And then, in the most off-key harmony known to humankind, the three of you begin to sing.

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

© cryoculus | kaientai ✧ all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms.

[meazalykov]

perform

catarina macario x f!reader

warnings: angst

the cheers from chelsea supporters run through your body as you jog off the pitch, sweat dripping down your temples, your legs burning from another ninety minutes of relentless play. 

another goal, another two assists and another player-of-the-match award is tucked under your belt against west ham like it’s just another tuesday.

your chelsea teammates lucy, millie, and sam clap your back as you pass, their grins wide and proud. 

“bloody hell, y/n, keep this up and i’ll see a d’or in your future,” lucy says, her voice rough with that familiar edge of admiration. you force a smile, nod, let the praise roll off you like water on glass. 

it’s what you do. it’s what you’ve always done.

if you’re not performing, if you’re not the best, the brightest, the one they can’t look away from, what are you? nothing. that’s what your childhood taught you, back when the house was too quiet, too empty of anything resembling warmth. 

your parents didn’t hit you, didn’t yell. they just… didn’t see you. not unless you were winning something, not unless you were perfect. so you learned early: love isn’t free. it’s a transaction. you perform, you get a scrap of it. you falter, it’s gone.

now, you are one of the best footballers in the world, a name whispered in the same breath as bonmatí and putellas. you are a star for the uswnt and chelsea and you’ve built a life on that performance, a fortress of accolades and highlight reels. however, it’s fragile. you know it is. 

beneath the shine, beneath the player everyone sees, there’s you…small, scared, convinced that if anyone saw the real mess of you, they’d turn away.

at least you have your bestfriend, catarina.

she’s been your anchor since you met her on the national team back in early 2021. you remember that first drill when the two of you were fighting for the ball. your aggressiveness matched hers, she needed that ball just as much as you did. since then, she has become your best friend, your everything you won’t let yourself name.

you wouldn’t have it any other way. you need her close, even if it kills you to keep her at arm’s length.

“you did nice todayyyy,” she says now, dragging out the ‘y’ in today as she is catching up to you in the tunnel. your bestie’s voice is soft, teasing, the way it always is with you. the woman’s dark curly hair with blonde highlights is pulled back, a few strands sticking to her sweat-damp forehead, and her eyes…god, those brown eyes…sparkle with something that makes your stomach twist. 

you shrug, mutter a “thanks,” and look away because if you hold her gaze too long, you’ll drown in it. 

“you’re too hard on yourself, you know,” she adds, bumping her shoulder against yours. it’s casual, friendly, but it sends a jolt through you anyway. 

you laugh it off, a brittle sound that doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“gotta be,” you say, “or i’m nothing on this team.” 

you mean it as a joke, but it lands heavy, and you see her frown out of the corner of your eye. she doesn’t push, though. 

nobody at chelsea are people who mind their own business. they’re aware of the mutual yearning between cat and you. lucy’s caught you staring at catarina across the locker room too many times to count, her smirk saying she knows exactly what’s up. 

millie’s dropped hints… “you two are basically married, just kiss already”... that you brush off with a roll of your eyes. sam, with her sharp aussie humor, once said, “mate, if i looked at kristie the way you look at cat, she’d ask if i was horny or some shit.” 

niamh and aggie exchange glances when you and catarina sit too close on the bus, erin whispering something to them that makes them all laugh. they see the yearning, the way your eyes soften when catarina’s around, the way hers linger on you when she thinks you’re not looking.

unfortunately, you can’t and you won’t take it further.

what if it falls apart? what if she sees you, the real you and not the footballer, and decides it’s not enough? you’ve never had nice things that last. your parents’ attention flickered out like a dying bulb. friendships faded when you couldn’t keep up the act, even the fleeting flings with other women that you’ve had over the years always ended with you feeling emptier than before, because they only wanted the shine, not the person beneath it. 

catarina’s different…she’s seen you at your lowest, crying after losses, angry after fights with coaches, quiet when the world felt too heavy but you think that she hasn’t seen it all. 

so you keep her close but not too close, a tightrope you’ve walked for years. it hurts, though. god, it hurts. every time she flirts, because she does and you’re not that oblivious, your heart stumbles.

“you look good today,” she’ll say, her voice low, and you’ll laugh it off, “yeah, right,” because you can’t let yourself believe it. she’ll brush her hand against yours when you’re watching film together, and you’ll pull away, pretending you didn’t notice, even though your skin burns where she touched you. it’s safer this way. if she never gets in, she can’t leave.

it was last night after a match against arsenal, that things start to crack. you scored twice, assisted once, carried the team to a 4-1 win. the adrenaline is still pumping in your veins as you head to the locker room, but there’s a heaviness too, a quiet ache that’s been growing lately. 

catarina’s beside you, as always, chattering about the game, about how your second goal was “pure class.” 

you’re half-listening, nodding, when she stops walking and grabs your arm.

“hey,” she says, and her tone is serious, “we won the match…what’s going on with you?”

you blink, caught off guard, “what do you mean?”

“you’re… i don’t know… distant? more than usual.” her brow furrows, and she’s looking at you like she’s trying to peel back your layers, see what’s underneath. it terrifies you. 

“did i do something?”

“no,” you say too quickly, shaking your head. 

“no, cat, you didn’t…it’s not you.” your voice cracks on the last word, and you hate it, hate how fragile you sound.

she steps closer, and you want to back away, but your feet won’t move, “then what is it? talk to me, y/n. please.”

you swallow hard, your throat tight, “i’m fine. just tired… i think i pushed myself too hard today.”

“bullshit,” she says, soft but firm, “i know you. you are not tired but this is something else and you know it.”

your chest tightens, panic rising. she’s too close, too warm, too everything, “i don’t want to talk about it,” you mutter, turning away, but her hand catches yours, gentle but insistent.

“y/n,” she says, and it’s the way she says your name…like it matters, like you matter…that undoes you. tears prick your eyes, and you yank your hand back, hating how exposed you feel.

“just drop it, okay?” you snap, sharper than you mean to. cat’s face falls, and guilt twists in your gut, but you can’t stop now, “i don’t need you fixing me or finding out what's wrong with me, cat. i’m not some project.”

“i’m not trying to fix you,” she says, voice steady despite the hurt in her eyes. 

“i’m trying to be here. because i—” she stops and looks down bites her lip, and you feel the unspoken words hanging between you like a storm cloud.

“don’t,” you whisper, shaking your head, “don’t say it.”

if she says she loves you, you’ll break. you’ll believe it for a second, and then you’ll ruin it because that’s what you do. you don’t get to have her like that, not when you’re this mess of a person who only knows how to perform, not how to be.

she stares at you, eyes glistening, and for a moment, you think she’ll push anyway. but then she nods, steps back, and the distance feels like a chasm. 

“okay, fine.” she says quietly. 

cat walks away to the locker room, and you’re left standing there, trembling, the weight of your own cowardice pressing down on you. you want to call her back. you want to tell her everything. the longing, the way you’ve loved her since you were twenty and too scared to admit it. 

you don’t. you just watch her go, because that’s all you know how to do.

the next evening, you’re sitting on the edge of your couch. the flat is too quiet, too still. the match replay hums faintly on the tv, but you’re not watching. your knees are pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them, and your face is wet. you had tears you didn’t even realize were falling until they started soaking into your shirt. 

it’s stupid, you think, crying like this. you’ve got everything… trophies lining your shelves, a contract with chelsea, a great spot on the uswnt thanks to your last chelsea coach emma who is now the uswnt coach, many fans chant your name. you’re living the dream of many. 

so why does it feel like you’re drowning?

why can’t you just believe it? that someone could love you…not the footballer, not the star, not the girl who’s always on but you, the one who’s quiet and flawed in ways you’ve never let anyone see. 

your whole life, it’s been the same: perform, win, be perfect, and maybe someone will care. the second the spotlight dims, the second you’re just y/n, it’s like you disappear. your parents taught you that. their indifference carved it into you, a wound that never healed. 

now, with catarina, it’s worse because she’s the one person you want to believe in, the one person you want to see you, and you’re too terrified to let her.

your phone vibrates on the cushion beside you, and you glance at it through blurry eyes. catarina’s name lights up the screen, her goofy contact photo… a shot of her mid-laugh from a team bonding night back in the united states…staring back at you. 

your chest tightens, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. you want to answer. you want to hear her voice, let it wrap around you like it always does, steady and safe. however, your hand won’t move. if you pick up, she’ll hear the crack in your voice, the mess you are, and you can’t bear that. 

so you let it ring, and ring, until it stops, leaving the silence heavier than before.

twenty minutes later, the phone vibrates again. 

this time it’s niamh. 

you wipe your face with your sleeve, take a shaky breath, and answer after the third ring, trying to sound normal. 

“hey,” you say, voice rough but passable.

there’s a beat of silence on the other end. no “hi” back. just niamh’s voice, sharp and knowing. 

“why’d you answer me and not cat?”

your heart sinks, a cold weight settling in your stomach. 

“i, uh… just got out of the shower. she calls me when i was still in there,” you mumble, the lie slipping out before you can stop it.

another pause. you can practically hear niamh raising an eyebrow through the phone. 

“your hair’s dry, y/n. it’s six o’clock. we all know you don’t shower ‘til half nine like some weirdo with a bedtime routine.”

you glance at the facetime screen and curse inwardly. she’s right, your hair’s a dead giveaway and the lie’s so flimsy it’s almost laughable. you force a weak laugh anyway, but it sounds hollow, “well you’ve caught me, i guess. i’m sorry.”

she doesn’t laugh back. instead, she sighs, long and tired, like she’s been carrying this conversation in her head all day, “are you okay?”

“yeah,” you say too fast, too bright, “i’m fine.”

“have you talked to catarina since she called?”

“no.” 

the word comes out small, and you hate it.

niamh doesn’t let it slide. she’s too perceptive, too stubborn, and right now, it’s the last thing you need. 

“y/n,” she says, her tone shifting, softer but firm, “i can’t keep ignoring this like everyone else on the team has… you’re in love with cat and we all see it. so why the hell aren’t you doing anything about it?”

you freeze. your breath catches, and for a second, you can’t move, can’t think. the phone feels like it’s burning in your hand, and every instinct screams to hang up, to run from this because if you stay on the line, she’ll see right through you. 

you could end the call and claim a bad connection, dodge this until training tomorrow but she’d just corner you there instead, probably with lucy or millie in tow, and that’d be worse. 

so you stay, pinned by her words, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“i’m not—” you start, but the denial sticks in your throat, weak and unconvincing even to you.

“don’t,” niamh cuts in, gentle but unyielding, “don’t lie to me. you look at her like she hung the moon for you, y/n. cat looks at you the same way. she’s in love with you too so why aren’t you together?”

you swallow hard, the lump in your throat choking you. 

“i don’t know,” you whisper, and it’s the most honest thing you’ve said all night but you do know. it because you feel like you’re not enough. you do not feel good without the goals, the wins, and the shine. 

catarina deserves someone whole, someone brave, someone who doesn’t flinch at the idea of being loved. not you, with your niches and your late-night doubts.

she’s your best friend, your everything, and you’d rather keep her at a distance than risk losing her entirely.

niamh waits, like she’s giving you space to say more, but you don’t. you can’t. she sighs again. 

“y/n,” she says softly, “you don’t have to figure it out tonight. but you can’t keep running from her. she’s not going anywhere…none of us are.”

the call ends with a quiet click, and you’re left staring at the blank screen, niamh’s words echoing in your head. she’s in love with you too. it should feel like hope, like a lifeline, but instead it twists the knife deeper, because what if niamh is wrong? what if catarina loves the version of you she knows? the footballer, the teammate, the friend…and not as a potential romantic partner?

you drop the phone and bury your face in your hands, the tears coming harder now, because you want it so badly to be enough and to be hers. you don’t know how to let yourself try.

your phone’s still dark on the couch beside you when it buzzes again. it is not a call this time, but a text. you don’t even want to look, but your eyes catch the name anyway: catarina. your stomach lurches. 

you swipe it open, hands trembling, and the words hit you like a punch.

you answered niamh but not me? what the hell, y/n?

you stare at it, the guilt clawing up your throat. she’d called earlier before niamh, before the tears and you’d let it ring since too afraid to face her. you didn’t think she’d know. you didn’t think niamh would text her about this. you sighed when you realized that niamh is catarina’s closest friend on the team besides you… and of course they planned this.

your fingers hover over the keyboard, searching for an excuse. it takes you ten minutes before you can type or think of anything. however, as you grabbed your phone… there’s a sharp knock at your door.

you freeze. it’s her. you know it’s her. no one else would show up unannounced like this, not at this hour, not when you’re this much of a wreck. the knock comes again, harder, insistent, and you drag yourself off the couch, wiping your face on your hoodie sleeve like that’ll hide the evidence of your breakdown.

when you open the door, catarina’s standing there, her jaw tight, eyes blazing. she doesn’t wait for an invitation since just steps past you into the flat, her energy crackling like a storm about to break. 

“what’s wrong with you?” she says, spinning to face you as you shut the door. cat’s voice is sharp, hurt bleeding through every word. 

“you can pick up for niamh, but not me? your best friend? i’ve been worried sick, y/n, and you just ignore me?”

“it’s not what it looks like,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest like that’ll shield you. your voice is small, shaky, and you hate it.

“then what is it?” she snaps, stepping closer, “because it looks like you’re pushing me away. again. you always do that when i get too close. i don’t get it…i don’t get you anymore.”

“cat, stop—” you start, but she cuts you off, her hands flying up in frustration.

“no, i won’t stop! i’m tired of this, y/n. i’m tired of you shutting me out every time i try to be there for you. what did i do? tell me because i’m racking my brain trying to figure out why you won’t even talk to me!”

“you didn’t do anything!” you shout back, louder than you mean to, and it startles you both. your chest heaves, the dam inside you cracking, “it’s not you, okay? it’s me…it’s always me!”

she stares at you, her anger faltering which is replaced by confusion, “what are you talking about?”

you turn away, pacing toward the window, because you can’t look at her when you say this. your hands tangle in your hair, pulling at the roots like it’ll steady you, but it doesn’t. 

“i’m in love with you,” you blurt out, the words ripping free before you can stop them, “i’ve been in love with you for years, cat, and it terrifies me. you’re my best friend and my everything… i can’t… i can’t lose you because you’d pull away.”

silence. 

it’s suffocating, pressing down on you as you wait for her to say something, anything. when you finally turn back, her eyes are wide, glistening with something you can’t read.

“y/n—” she starts, but you’re not done, the floodgates open now.

“i don’t deserve you,” you say, voice breaking. 

“i’m not perfect, not yet and maybe not ever. i’m a mess, cat. i criticize myself until there’s nothing left, because that’s all i know how to do. i perform, i win, i make people proud, but outside of that? i’m nothing. you shouldn’t love me. you can’t because if you do, you’ll see things that i do not notice and you’ll leave.”

your knees buckle, and you sink onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. the tears come hard now, ugly and unstoppable, and you don’t care anymore. she’s seen it all anyway. 

“i can’t lose you,” you whisper, barely audible, “i’d rather keep you like this…safe and at a distance than risk it.”

there’s a long pause, and you brace yourself for her to walk out, to prove you right. however, the couch dips beside you, and her hand which is warm and steady rests on your shoulder. 

“y/n,” she says softly, “look at me.”

you shake your head, too ashamed, but she doesn’t give up. cat’s fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face up, and when you meet her eyes, they’re soft, fierce, brimming with something that steals your breath.

“you know that i’ve seen you,” she says, her voice low and sure. 

“not just the footballer, not just the star. i’ve seen you when you’re not perfect…when you miss a shot and curse yourself out for hours, when you’re jet-lagged on the national team bus and drooling on my shoulder, when you burn toast because you’re too stubborn to ask for help. i’ve seen you outside of football, y/n—when you’re quiet and moody, when you hum that awful off-key tune you think no one hears, when you’re laughing so hard you squeal by accident. i’ve seen it all, and i love you. not because you’re perfect but because you’re you.”

you blink at her, stunned, the words sinking in slow and deep. 

“but—” you start, and she shakes her head, cutting you off.

“no buts. i’ve loved you for years, even every time you’ve pushed me away because you’re scared. i’m not going anywhere, y/n. you don’t have to ‘perform’ for me. you don’t have to earn it. i just… i love you.”

your chest cracks open, hope and fear spilling out in equal measure, and before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you lunge forward and kiss her. it’s not gentle, not tentative…it’s hot, desperate, full of everything you’ve held back for too long. 

your hands fist in her blue shirt, pulling her closer, and she kisses you back just as hard, her fingers tangling in your hair like she’s afraid you’ll slip away.

it’s messy, all tension and need, lips crashing together like you’re both trying to prove something. you taste salt, your tears, maybe hers…and it’s overwhelming, the heat of her mouth, the way she presses into you like she’s been waiting for this as long as you have. 

after a full minute you pull back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, and whisper, “you mean it?”

“every word,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your lips, and then she’s kissing you again, slower this time but no less intense, like she’s sealing a promise.

you don’t know how long you stay like that. minutes, maybe hours just wrapped up in each other, letting the world outside fading away. 

one thing to know is that you do not need to keep up an act in order to receive love, you deserve love simply because you exist <3

masterlist

[sparkleofpizza]

The Alchemy

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Norris and Button traveling around the world together.

THE 2021 SEASON

PRE SEASON TESTING  Sakhir, Bahrein, 2021 

The McLaren office is silent as I scan over the list of reporters that will be present for the pre-season testing. This is my first time at a testing of Formula 1 and also my first day at the job as not an intern, but as a junior PR assistant. 

I’m nervous, again, just like I was the first day as an intern two years ago. Sophie isn’t here this week, she told me she wanted to see how I’d deal with this by myself, considering pre-season is supposed to be a bit more chill, as I only have to deal with the press and not the fans as well. 

As I finally finish jolting down the necessary notes, I get my phone and smooth down my skirt. I’m trying to appear more professional, wearing a skirt and a button down shirt. 

I walk out of McLaren and onto the eerily quiet paddock. I spot Lando talking to Daniel Ricciardo, his new teammate. The fellow brit waves me over and I smile walking to them. 

“Hey guys.” I smile, standing beside Lando who grins at me. 

Once again I have the same thought as I did earlier this week when I saw Lando for the first time since my five week vacation with my family. What the fuck. 

There was something different about him, I don’t know what it is, but he’s different. I don’t know if he changed something in his hair routine, or is trying out a new workout with his personal trainer. Or if he had an attitude change. There is something different about him, and I can’t get my heart to beat normally around him. 

The two McLaren drivers include me in their conversation and we carry on talking normally. There’s a new dynamic here, Daniel and Lando, the new duo, but they get along well and I can’t help but think that it’s because it’s humanly impossible to dislike Lando. He’s just so… Wow. 

“Mick!” I squeal in delight once I spot the new Haas driver walking side by side with Sebastian. 

Mick Shumacher smiles big once he sees me and I run to him, tackling him with a hug. He catches me with ease and spins me around before putting my feet back on the ground. 

“Oh, I’m so happy to see you here!” 

“I’m happy to see you here, as well!” He says back, matching grin on his face. 

Our eyes are wide and we look like hyperactive children. 

Sebastian sighs dramatically “Will we have to keep you both separated again?” 

Daniel smirks, piping into the conversation. 

“Again?”

Sebastian nods, looking as if he’s in pain. 

“They once set a car on fire.” 

Mick and I yell in protest. 

Daniel’s eyes are wide and Lando arches an eyebrow at me. 

“It was a plastic car.” I explain. 

“And someone who was supposed to be baby sitting us let us loose at the Red Bull garage” Mick complements. 

Daniel laughed delighted, throwing his head back and Lando cracks a small smile, which is extremely unsual of him.

“Hey, don’t put this on me.” Sebastian defends himself “She was an angel and you were an overall well behaved child. How would I know you’d corrupt her sweetness in such a short amount of time?” 

Mick grins as he shrugs “We weren’t that bad.” 

“Didn’t you call Kimi once because you two got drunk and he would be the nicest of the bunch to pick you up?” 

I smile at the memory “Yeah, we called Kimi and he took care of me and then yelled at Mick for being a bad influence.” 

Mick shudders as he recalls the night Kimi Raikonnen yelled at him as he scolded the Shumacher young boy. 

“Oh damn, the iceman went all out on you.” Daniel laughes again. 

This time Lando joins in on the laugher, but his eyes are focused on me and he has his arms crossed. 

Imola, Italy, 2021 

Lando has been a bit weird for past few weeks, ever since Bahrein, which is confusing. Pre season testing went great, the first race of the season he managed to get p4. Still, he was in a kind of bad mood. 

I’ve been watching the race intensely from the McLaren garage, once there are only four laps left, I go wait for him at parc fermé. Lando’s gonna get a podium, the first podium of the season and his second podium of his career. 

I try to keep a professional appearance as I stand at parc ferme. He parks his car at p3. He hasn’t taken off his helmet yet, but I can tell from his body language that he is buzzing with excitement. 

Lewis and Max clap him on the back and he runs to his team. I try to keep a smile at bay, I know there are lots of cameras on me right now, wanting to get the attention of the girl who only got the job because of her daddy. 

He takes off his helmet and balaclava after he weighs down and his eyes lock on me. 

Lando grins, placing his helmet at the table and takes large steps to where I am. Before I can even process he scoops me up in his arms and squishes my body. 

“I got p3.” He mumbled onto my neck. 

“You did. It was amazing.” I smile as I let him continue to squeeze me in a tight hug “Congratulations Lan.” 

“I did that.” He says, emphatically on the I. “You saw what I did, right? You were paying attention to me at the race, weren’t you?” 

I’m a bit confused at what he means by that, but nod. 

“Yes, of course, Lan.” 

“Good.” He mumbled, finally letting go of me, but his hands continued on my body “You’re here with me, Norris and Button traveling the world. No one else is part of that.” 

I nod, still not following what he means by that. Lando stares at me with those beautiful eyes and smiles. 

What is going on? 

Barcelona, Spain, 2021 

The Sainz family, as sweet and welcoming as ever, invited me and Lando to have dinner with them. It's Carlos' home race, but we all still keep our friendship up and his father loves to have us around, mostly Lando who shares his love for golf and I’m pretty sure became an honorary son to him. 

As we sit in a restaurant I take on the opportunity that Lando, who’s across from me, is engaged in a conversation with Caco, so I turn to Carlos. 

“Hey… have you also noticed that Lando has been acting a bit weird this year?” I ask him in a low tone so no one else but me, him and his girlfriend Isa can hear. 

Carlos’ tilt his head to the side a bit confused while Isa smiles fondly at me. 

“No, not really. He’s been normal.” 

Isa lightly taps his arm and they seem to have a silent conversation before Carlos turns to me again, a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. 

“Oh, pequeñita. You haven’t noticed yet, have you?” 

“Notice what?” I question him, even more confused than before. 

“It’s because of Shumacher.” 

I frown “Mick? What does Mick have to do with Lando’s weird behavior?” 

Isa laughs softly as she leans closer to me. 

“You know what that means, he’s jealous of Mick.” 

I widened my eyes incredulously. 

“Jealous? But why?!” 

The couple share another glance before Carlos pats my head in a sweet but annoying gesture. 

I grow a bit annoyed with the fact that they won’t tell me why, but I decide to keep quiet and not say anything else. I’ll just have to figure it out on my own. 

Le Castellet, France, 2021 

Daniel flanked me through the paddock, a frown on his usual smiley face. He was pissed, I had never seen him pissed off before. 

I had arrived at the paddock with him, Lando had arrived earlier as he rode with Carlos. 

When we got out of the van there were fans waiting for Daniel and he stopped for pictures and autographs. There was a small child with their parents who gushed me over, as they had been Jenson Button’s fans. They asked for a picture and I couldn’t say no when they were so sweet. And that’s when the shit show went down. 

Some fans, overhearing our conversation, started to shout bad words at me. They called me an opportunist, said I didn’t deserve my job, they called me a whore, accused me of sleeping with the drivers so I’d keep my job. 

I was frozen in place, I didn’t know how to react. I had never been publicly hated before, it was already horrible to read those things online, but hearing them being shouted to my face, it was much much worse. 

Daniel snapped the minute he heard those words. He told the fans off, called security and took me inside the paddock and quickly to the McLaren hospitality. 

Lando was lounging on the couch when Daniel slammed the door open, he was on his feet the minute he saw our body language. 

“What happened?” He rushed over to me. When I didn’t say anything he turned to Daniel “What happened?” 

“Some fucking assholes saying fucking bullshit to her.” Daniel answered angrily. 

And it’s like things finally clicked in place and I realized what happened. The tears came out in waves. 

Lando was quick to wrap his arms around me, cradling my head on the crock of his neck. 

Daniel explained to him what the fans had been saying outside the paddock and Lando only held me tighter as I cried. 

“Come on, let’s go to my driver's room.” He mumbled once he realized some of the McLaren staff had been looking at us. “You’ll be much more comfortable there, love.” 

Still keeping me in his arms, he walked me to his driver's room, closing the door shut behind us. He guides me to the couch, sitting me in between his legs and still holding me close. 

Lando caressed my hair as he whispered reassuring words into my ear. 

“I’ll never be good enough for them.” I sob onto his neck “No matter what I do, I will never be able to prove myself. I should just give up… yeah, yeah… I’m gonna quit my job.” 

“Hey, no!” Lando says sternly. He pulls my face off his neck and cups it in his hands, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You’re not quitting. I’m not letting you give up, that’s not happening. Not now, not ever.” 

He wipes away my tears with his thumbs. 

“You are good enough. You’re more than good enough.” He tells me. “You have been doing an amazing job. You’re not here because of your father.” 

“But my dad helped me get this job.” I protest, still softly crying. 

“Yes, he did help you get the job and you never denied it, you’ve been vocal about getting this jump start.” He nods “But it wasn’t your dad that made you keep the job. It wasn’t your dad that made you get the promotion from intern to junior assistant. It was all you. It was your talent, your professionalism, your hard work. It was you, only you.” 

I stare at him, processing his words. 

“And those assholes that said those things to you? They are nothing but pathetic people who need to put others down to feel good about themselves. You don’t owe them anything. “ 

I nod slowly, my tears finally slowing down as he still has my face in between his hands. Lando smiles softly at me. 

“You are incredible, love, I wish you could see how amazing you are.” 

He leans in, placing a soft tender kiss on my forehead. I close my eyes, enjoining his affection. 

Lando lets go of my face, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as he leans back on the couch, making me lie on his chest. One of his hands rests on my hip, holding me close. 

I take a deep breath, snuggling against him and keeping my eyes closed. 

Silverstone, England, 2021 

“And then, he refuses to let her buy her own records!” I exclaim to Lando. “So she didn’t own her own music anymore. The music she worked her whole life on!” 

We were sitting at the McLaren hospitality together. It was way too hot outside at the Silverstone circuit so the two of us were sitting inside, where there was air conditioning, and we were having ice cream. 

“But, Taylor is really smart, and she decided to re-record her albums. So if there is a Taylor’s version after it it means she owns it. And she releases songs from the vault that are songs she wrote originally for that album but that got cut off.” 

Lando nods along to what I’m saying, a small smile on his lips. 

“And she’s releasing… purple Taylor’s version in November?” He asks me. 

I chuckle, “It’s red Taylor’s version.” 

“Oh, I see…” he hums “Why red?” 

“It’s her favorite color. Oh, I can’t wait to dress in full red on the release album date.” 

“That’s a no.” He shakes his head. 

I tilt my head to the side confused “What do you mean that’s a no?” 

“I’m not letting you dress in red! Red is Ferrari’s color and you're a McLaren girl.” 

I place a spoonful of chocolate ice cream in my mouth, letting it melt on my tongue before smiling mischievously at him. 

“Everybody is a Ferrari fan.” I tease him.

“No! No! You’re not quoting Sebastian Vettel to me!” He exclaims dramatically “I already lost my best friend to Ferrari, I can’t lose my girl too!” 

I felt the blush taking control of my cheeks when he called me his girl. 

“Not happening. Doesn’t she have a papaya album?” 

I shake my head, still a bit dazed with his words. 

“The closest she has to an orange tone is her evermore album that is more of a terracota.” 

Lando nods “That works for me, it’s better than a red themed one.” 

I giggle at him, poking his side.

“I can’t believe you’re mad over an album color theme.” 

He rolls his eyes, but he has an affectionate smile on his face. 

Magyórod, Hungry, 2021 

The knocking on the door startled me awake. I jump in bed, rubbing my eyes as I click on the screen of my phone. It’s midnight. I frown wondering who it could be at this time of night. 

I throw the blankets to the side as I pad quietly to the door. I open just a tiny bit to see who it is. 

Lando smiles big when he sees my face. I sigh in relief that it’s a familiar person, I open the door wider and there he is. Standing in a hoodie and sweatpants and holding a birthday cake. 

“Happy birthday!” He exclaims.

I widen my eyes, having completely forgotten it is my birthday. 

“Thank you, Lan!” I smile, stepping to the side to let him into the room. 

Lando walks to the table and places the cake there. I follow him close behind as I look at the beautifully decorated cake. In a cursive letter it’s written I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22! 

“Oh my god, you got me a Taylor Swift birthday cake!” 

Lando grins before wrapping his arms around me and kissing the top of my head. 

“Of course, how couldn’t I get a 22 birthday themed cake for the 22 year old girl who’s obsessed with Taylor Swift?” 

I smile as I squeeze him in the hug. 

“You’re the best of the best of the best!” I squeak happily. 

He smiles before kissing my temple.

“You only deserve the best.” 

We stayed hugging for a few more minutes, enjoying the hug before pulling away. I smile at him again, that’s all I do when I’m around him, and I grab his hand pulling him towards the bed. 

“Sleep over?” I ask softly as he sits together in the fluffy bed. 

“Yes.” He nods. 

Lando looks nervous for a moment and I get concerned I might have crossed a boundary of asking him to stay over, although it won’t be the first time we slept on the same bed. 

He sighs before putting his hand inside his hoodie pocket and pulling out a velvet box from inside of it. He smiles nervously before handing it to me. 

“Your birthday present.” He mumbled 

I gasp as I open the box. Inside of it there’s a beautiful gold necklace, the pendant is a heart with its outside full of tiny pink swarovskis. I take the delicate jewelry in my hands as I turn it around, on the back of the heart it’s written LN. 

“Lando…” I murmur 

“I-I wanted to have my… my initials on it so you ’d… so you’d always have me close to you.” He mumbled awkardly, his cheeks pink.

“It’s beautiful.” I smile “I love it. Thank you.” 

I turn back to him and pull my hair to the side “Can you put it on me, please?”

“Y-yeah.” 

Lando’s hands are a bit shaky as he places the necklace around my neck, his fingertips bringing goosebumps to my skin. 

I turn around again and his eyes fall to my neck and chest, where the heart necklace he gave me rests. He smiles proudly. 

“It looks beautiful on you.” He said, lifting his eyes to look at me “You’re beautiful.” 

I smile, leaning over and placing a kiss on his cheek. 

“Thank you, Lan. I’m never taking this off.” 

He grins harder, leaning over and placing a kiss on my cheek as well. 

SUMMER BREAK 

Mallorca, Spain, 2021 

“Retirement huh?” I ask Kimi Raikkonen as we’re enjoining the beach in Mallorca 

It’s not usual for the Raikkonen family to join us during summer break, along with the Rosbergs and Vettels. Lewis used to come along with Roscoe but since his fallout with Nico he never joined us again - even after when I was seventeen and I called him crying asking him to join us because my dad was retiring and we should all spend one last summer together. He came, after Nico left. Those dramatic middle aged men. 

Kimi gives me a lazy smile, which also isn’t usual contrary to popular belief. He has his sunglasses on and is building a sandcastle with me and his two children, Robin and Rianna. 

“Eh, racing is a hobby and I got tired of it.” He shrugs “Now I’m more into dirty bike riding.” 

I chuckle, shaking my head “Somehow that sounds even worse than driving cars in circles.” 

Robin gives me a bright smile as he says “Don’ wowwy, I race car soon in Formula 1 and you cheer I!” 

I smile at him, ruffling his blonde hair “Of course, Rob! I wouldn’t dare to cheer for anyone else but you!” 

The little boy seems content as he goes back to building the sandcastle. Rianna actually grew bored of it a few minutes ago and is now busy with playing, tugging, at my hair. 

“Who’s he?” Kimi asks suddenly. 

“What?” I frown confused. 

“The boy who gave you the necklace.” 

“Oh.” I feel my cheeks warm up, truth to my words I have indeed been wearing the necklace Lando gave me all the time. “Lando gave me as a birthday gift.” 

I can see the furrow on Kimi’s eyebrows even if he’s wearing sunglasses. 

“That thing made a move on you?!” He exclaims “I’m running him off track when we’re back from summer break.” 

“What? No!” I shake my head “It’s just a necklace.” 

“A custom heart shaped necklace! It’s like he has a death wish or something.” He whips his head to the side “Sebastian! Come here! Now!” 

Seb, who was peacefully napping under the umbrella, sits startled at Kimi’s urgent call. He runs to us. 

“Norris made a move on her!” 

“What?” Sebastian asks scandalized “He did what? That little asshole!” 

“He didn’t do anything, Seb.” I explain as I point to my necklace “Kimi is just freaking out over the birthday gift Lando gave me.” 

Seb sits on the sand beside me, leaning closer to scan the necklace. 

“Yeah, I’m running him off track when the summer break is over.” 

“That’s what I said!” Kimi smiles big “We’re running him off track together so he doesn’t have anywhere to escape to.” 

Seb hums, nodding his head “That’s a good plan.” 

I look at them in exasperation “No one is running anyone off track.” 

They ignore me as they keep plotting. 

“Hey!” I snap at them and the two grown men finally look at me “Lando and I are just friends, stop this. And even if we weren’t, I’m 22, I’m allowed to date.” 

They share a look before laughing. 

“No, you’re not allowed to date.” Seb says, still chuckling “You’re funny, prinzessin.” 

I glare at them but they only continue to laugh at me. 

“You’re still the first pieni vauva, you always will be.” Kimi grins at me “And that means you’re only allowed to date when you’re… fifty.” 

“You’re both ridiculous.” I scoff but I have a small smile on my lips. 

Deep down I know they don’t actually mean it. But I have to keep an eye out so that they won’t threaten Lando or something like that. 

Monza, Italy, 2021 

“You’re here!” Lando yelled over the loud music, arms open wide and a drink in his hand. He was for sure already drunk. 

Daniel had won the Monza Grand Prix and Lando came just in second, it was the first time in his F1 career he had gotten p2. The team had decided to go out to celebrate at a club and some other drivers joined in - Max Verstappen, who had a terrible race and dnf, was there drinking the night away to celebrate his best friend and also drown his feelings. 

I stepped up to where Lando stood and smiled at him. 

“Yeah, sorry it took me too long.” I let him hug me “I couldn’t decide what to wear.” 

Lando grabbed my hand, twirling me around and whistling as my sparkly short blue dress shone under the club lights. 

“You certainly made a great choice.” He smirked at me “You look incredible.” 

I feel my cheeks grow warm. 

“Thank you.” 

I went over to the bar to order myself a drink and Lando followed me close behind. As I stood leaning over the bar to order my drink, I could feel his warm chest against my back. 

I stood up straight as I waited for the bartender, and I tilted my head to the side to look at Lando who was already looking down on me. 

He's wearing a simple white shirt and jeans, but he’s wearing his damn cap backwards. He always looks fucking good when he wears it backwards and it actually makes me weak in the knees seeing him so up close like this, his chest pressed against my back.

I’m snapped out of it when the bartender hands me my drink. I thank him before letting Lando lead me back to where the rest of our group is. I sip on my drink, letting the alcohol flow through me and relax me. 

Carlos is dancing with Charles while Max laughs at their terrible moves. Daniel is screaming the music as he hugs Zac and they both sway side to side. 

I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous they look. 

Lando grins at me as he’s sitting on a stool, his left arm resting on top of the table. 

“Come here.” He says as he wiggles two of his fingers for me to get closer. 

When I’m at reach distance, he turns me around and pulls me to stand in between his legs. My back hits his chest and he wraps an arm around my waist, keeping me close. 

My breath hitches as he does this so effortlessly and as if it’s normal to hug me from behind. 

“They’re gonna be all over Instagram and Twitter tomorrow.” Lando whispers in my ear “They look ridiculous.” 

I chuckle “They really do.” I sip my drink “Aren’t you gonna join them?” 

I feel his laugh against the side of my face. 

“Are you calling me ridiculous?” He asks in feign hurt. 

I giggle, craning my neck a bit to the side so I can see his face. He has a smug smile on his lips. 

“You ridiculous? Never!” I giggle harder when he squeezes my waist in a playful warning “It’s just that usually you’re the life of the party and right now you’re sitting on a stool drinking peacefully.” 

Lando smiles, his dimples even more evident as the pulsing lights of the club shine on his face. 

“Can you blame me for wanting to stay here with the prettiest girl in the club?” 

Once again I feel my cheeks grow warm, but since I’ve already had drunk, my mind is a bit dazed so I smile at him. 

“Really? And where is this pretty girl?” I ask him in a tease. 

He smirks, squeezing my waist again and relishing in me squirming against his chest. 

“She’s right here… in my arms.” He mumbled before placing a long lasting kiss on my cheek. “The prettiest girl in the club.” He moves his lips a bit down and kisses my jaw “The prettiest girl I have ever seen.” 

I feel my heart flutter in my chest at his words and at his touch. I know he’s drunk and doesn’t mean any of it, but for a night I can pretend he does mean it, so I let him hold me close. 

Cidade do México, México, 2021 

“Oh, Mick…” I whisper as I hug him, softly rubbing his back “It’s okay… this kind of thing happens.” 

Mick huffs annoyed against my shoulder. He crashed into Yuki Tsnuoda during the race today and they both had a DNF. 

“You’re both rookies… that’s normal to happen.” 

I apparently said the wrong thing because the German boy lifted his head from my shoulder, our face millimeters apart as he glared at me. 

“Don’t say things that aren’t true.” He mumbled angrily “You’re not even a driver.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him “There’s no need to take out your frustration on me, I’m not the one who crashed your car.” 

We keep staring at each other, waiting for the other to back down. Eventually Mick sighs and goes back to burying his head on my shoulder as he continues to complain about it being unfair. 

I don’t say anything, knowing that if I do we will end up having a fight, just like it happened when we were younger and he crashed into Formula 3 - he kept whining about the crash that had been his own fault and I called him out on it. We didn’t speak for three weeks. 

“There you are!” Lando’s voice cut through the silence of one of the cool down rooms of the paddock. 

He gave Mick an unimpressed look and a glare. 

“Hi, Lan.” I smile at him. 

Ever since our little encounter at the club right after the Monza Grand Prix things between us have been different. He certainly kept touching me every chance he got and I wasn’t going to complain about it when in reality I loved to be wrapped in his arms. 

“I need you for something.” He said, and I tilt my head confused as I was off the clock “It’s important. Please.” 

“Sure.” I nod as Mick lifts his head from my shoulder and away from me “Take care, Mick.” 

The Shumacher boy looks at me with a slight pout of being deprived of comfort after his DNF, but didn’t say anything as Lando grabbed my hand and got me out of the cooldown room. 

We walked in silence for a moment before we entered the paddock’ parking garage. Lando opened the back door of the van and helped me up inside before sitting beside me and taping the driver on the shoulder to signal we’re ready to go. 

“So… burritos?” He asked. 

“What?” I blink at him 

“Do you want burritos for dinner? And some tacos? And nachos?” 

“I… you…” I’m at a loss of words for a moment as I catch up to what he’s done “You called me here to help you because you want dinner?” 

Lando nods, a sly smile on his face as he shifts his body on the back seat to take a better look at me. 

“Yes, I’m hungry. That’s why I need your help, to have dinner with me.” 

I can’t help but laugh at his audacity and then a memory comes up to my brain. Back in Spain, at the beginning of the season when I asked Carlos about Lando acting weird and Isa told me he was jealous. Jealous of Mick. 

“Why don’t you like Mick?” I ask, catching him off guard. 

Lando is momentarily stunned before he shakes his head. 

“I do not not like him.” 

“Yes, you do.” I say, a slight frown on my forehead “Whenever I’m with him you’re either glaring, snappy or you find excuses to drag me away.” 

He avoids my eyes for a moment, looking at the rooftop of the car before finally looking at me again. 

“It’s not that I don’t like him, it’s just that…” he trails off and is quiet again for a moment before he grumbles “He hogs all your attention.” 

“Oh God, he’s my childhood friend and I don’t even spend that much of a time with him.” 

“Do you like him?” He asks me. 

I look at him stunned “What?” 

Lando rolls his eyes “Do you like Shumacher? Like, do you have a crush on him or something?” 

“No. He’s my childhood friend.” I repeat my words from earlier. “Why?”

He shrugs and won’t look at me. 

I huff “Don’t do this, Lando.” 

He looks at me from the corner of his eyes “Don’t do what?” 

“You know very well what I’m talking about.” I cross my arms over my chest. 

He doesn’t say anything and neither do I. We both look at the opposite windows of the car, watching as Mexico City passes by in a blur. 

Doha, Qatar, 2021 

Lando and I weren’t talking. Well, mostly he wasn’t talking to me after Mexico. During the Brazilian Grand Prix and his 22nd birthday, I snuck into his hotel room and left this gift there. 

It was a small golden bracelet, it had his full name and race number on it. I left a sweet message alongside it, hoping he would get the hint of what I meant. I guess he did get the hint and didn’t like it because I woke up after the Brazilian Grand Prix to see Instagram and Twitter flooded with pictures of him making out with some girl at a club in São Paulo. 

And now I was the one not talking to him because he has been texting me and calling me non stop on the two week break in between races. 

I asked Sophie to take care of this scandal of him as I had never dealt something like that before and didn’t know where to start, so I just stayed on the sidelines watching her do her job and learning - in all honesty I just didn’t want to have to deal with him after seeing him kiss some random girl. 

I was heartbroken and I didn’t want to let anyone know about it because if Kimi or Seb caught wind of this… I might be sad, but I’d like to keep Lando alive. 

“Stop looking so sad…” Daniel pokes my arm “Those big sad eyes of yours… I can’t handle it.” 

We were sitting together as we were waiting for the press conference to begin. 

“I’m not sad.” I lied, “I’m just tired.” 

“C’mon!” He all but whines “We’ve been working together for almost a year now, I know you’re lying.” 

I don’t say anything so Daniel keeps talking “He’s sad too, you know.” 

I give him a side eyed glance as I mumble “I don’t know who is this he you’re referring to.” 

He sighs exasperated. 

“You should talk to him.” He says after a few minutes of silence “Lando misses you.” 

“No. I got his message loud and clear.” I shake my head, feeling the stupid tears gather in my eyes once again “I don’t need him to say it to my face. From now on we’re just… work colleagues.” 

“But you’re not just work colleagues, you’re way more than that and you know it. Also, you both are dumb asses who got this all wrong.” 

I turn to look at Daniel, the stubborn tears ready to spill out onto my cheeks. 

“How did I get it wrong, Daniel? I wrote him a note basically saying he’s the best thing that has ever happened in my life and that he meant so much more to me than just a friendship that blossomed because of work.” I say wobbly as I refused to let the tears roll down from my eyes “And he went out and kissed someone else. Things have never been more clear to me. I was just a fool and stupid.” 

Daniel says my name softly, but I shake my head. 

“The press conference is about to start, get in the room. I’ll be waiting for you here.” 

The Australian man sighs before nodding and following my instructions. He gives me one more look over the shoulder and I hate how he seems to pity me right now. 

Abu Dhabi, Saudi Arabia, 2021 

I didn’t go to the anual Abu Dhabi McLaren end of season party. Instead I went out to dinner with the Raikkonen family.��

Tonight has been Kimi’s last race of his Formula 1 career and I wanted to be there with him for his last night. I’ve known him my whole life, I was the flower girl at his wedding and I had been the first baby in his life. Right now being with family seems better. I need this. 

I decided not to be secretive about my motives of not being at the McLaren party as I posted a picture hugging Kimi on Instagram. 

Old man retired. Now that you’re out of f1 I can finally say it: you’ve always been my favorite. Love you Setä Kimi 🥺💙

After dinner, Sebastian drove me back to the hotel. He had been quiet most of the night and I can tell he is sad. All of his friends have retired, now it’s just him, Lewis and Fernando who have decided to come back. 

Once we’re out of the car and entering the elevator I turn to him. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to leave as well.” I whisper. 

He chuckles softly “I can’t say I’m not considering it. I’m getting old.” 

“No, you’re not old.” I shake my head. “You’re not even forty yet!” 

“But I’m not at my prime anymore. I only got one podium this year.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything.” I argued back. “You switched teams, you’re still getting used to the car! You can’t leave!” 

Suddenly it was like it had all hit me at once, the changes of it all. Kimi was leaving, he isn’t coming back next year. I’m not talking to Lando, who has been by my side since I started this job. And now Seb wants to leave as well. 

“Hey, prinzessin, no, please don’t cry.” 

I didn’t even notice the tears falling down my face as Sebastian hugged me tight. He caressed my hair in a soothing manner, like he used to do when I was a child. 

We were standing in the middle of the hallway of the hotel. He rocked me gently in his arms, shushing me. 

When I finally calmed down, Sebastian spoke again, his voice gentle. 

“You need to talk to Lando.” 

Before I could protest he continued to talk. “I know you’re not only crying because Kimi is leaving and I’m considering retirement. You need to talk to help, fix things between you two before it’s too late.” 

“There’s nothing to fix…” I whisper sadly “He… I… I really like him, Seb. But he doesn’t feel the same way.” 

“You’re kidding right?” He chuckled amused “That boy is head over heels for you.” 

I open my mouth, but once again he cuts me off “I know what he did. He told me.” 

“He… told you?” I question with a frown “And you’re still telling me to go talk to him?” 

Sebastian nodded “Yes. He was desperate, he misses you so much and doesn’t know what to do anymore to get you to talk to him. He’s… hopeless, but he likes you too.” 

When Sebastian left me in my hotel room, tucked into bed warm and safe with a kiss on the forehead, I kept replaying his words in my mind. 

Lando likes me. That sounds weird. But I also know Sebastian would never ever lie to me about something like that. 

I text Daniel asking him if Lando has already left the party. Daniel answers me with a yes in big bold letters and lots of exclamation marks. 

I pace back and forth in my hotel room before slipping on my shoes. I open the mini fridge and get to mini liquor bottles. I dart out of my room and soon enough I’m standing in front of Lando’s room. 

I take a deep breath before I knock on the door. 

There are a few moments of silence, I can hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears. I hear the lock turn and soon enough Lando is standing in front of me. His green eyes are rimmed red and he looks like he has been crying. 

He whispers my name, a slight tone of disbelief. 

“We didn’t toast to another year of Norris and Button traveling the world together.” I say. 

We stare at each other before he smiles and ushers me inside. 

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - part five

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) the next chapter i spent literally so much time on and i can't wait to share it!!!!

m.list

—

Running. Rafe had always been inherently good at running. It was noticed for the first time in middle school by the track and field coach when he outran a bully. The talent was nurtured and he went on to be a track star in high school and college. It was a good skill for a surgeon to have in the midst of an emergency, the ability to run with dexterity and endurance and speed. At least that’s what Molly had convinced him of so she could ogle at his muscular thighs and chest at every track meet. God, did he miss her. The one thing he never thought he would have to run to is his girl, his wife, his molly, as she was wheeled into the emergency room. The words of the surgeon on her case played over and over in Rafe’s head – no matter where he was or what he was doing – the flashback of that night, of those words in that setting – about his wife – it was all too much, no matter how long she had been gone. 

“Rafe, I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.” 

Dr. Charles Richardson looked his colleague, his friend, in the eye with a somber gaze. It felt to Rafe like the look of someone after they had spent an entire afternoon reading Edgar Allen Poe. The look in Charles’ eye made him angry. It wasn’t because of the circumstances, it was because he knew what the look meant – it meant his wife was gone. It meant Charles was looking at him the way he looks at a patient’s family and Rafe, while he was her family, he knew the speech, he knew the words, he knew this world. He knew it was all bullshit.

“Don’t bullshit me, Charles. If my wife is dead, tell me she’s dead.”  

He growled. 

“I’m sorry, Rafe.” 

“You keep saying you’re sorry – say the fucking words. I need to hear you say the words. Not ‘I did everything I could’, not ‘I'm so sorry.’ You say the fucking words you coward.” 

“She’s gone, buddy. She’s gone.” 

—

Rafe was jolted out of his thoughts, out of the memory he had been encapsulated in for the last two years as you stirred awake. He sat there watching you, the steady rise and fall of your chest doing little to comfort him, though he knew it meant you were alive. His eyes moved from your sweet face to your leg that he had previously operated on, a black hinged brace lined it where it sat elevated against three pillows in an attempt to keep the swelling minimal. You looked so fragile, yet incredibly ethereal and soft and he couldn’t help but stare. It was impossible not to stare at something, someone that beautiful. To grow up that beautiful — he wondered what that was like as he sat there ogling at you. He pondered if he should let himself go there with you, if he could let himself feel the rush and the high of serotonin and dopamine that he clinically knew would be released if he was to allow himself to love again. Was he selfish for wanting to be happy? Was he chaos on two feet? Was he damnation on earth the way that he had convinced himself he was? What would become of you, if you were to love him? Would you wind up just like her? 

He forced his overactive brain to stop spinning once he noticed your eyes were open and he brushed his fingers against your forehead. 

“Hey, sweet girl. Welcome back.” 

He cooed, his fingers running up and down the bridge of your nose and across your eyebrows in the shape of a “T”. 

“Hi.” 

You croaked out, throat dry and begging for a source of water. Rafe obliged, rising to his feet as his brain recognized your desperation, hearing the desert within your windpipe and bringing the water up to your lips with a straw. 

“Suck slowly, okay?” 

He instructed, running his fingers through your hair slowly and you followed his directions. 

“How’s the pain?” 

He questioned with a softness that you were convinced was less about him being a good doctor and more about him just being who he was – just being a good person. 

“Like a five maybe. You’re still here?” 

You lied, not wanting to see the life leave his blue eyes when you told him otherwise. 

“That’s good. Yeah, I just wanted to sit with you for a while. Is that okay?” 

He smiled softly, questioning you.

“Of course it is. Can I go back to sleep? I mean, will you be here when I wake up if I do?” 

You questioned, a curiosity looming in your features, unsure why you would’ve stayed up if it meant more time with him.

“Absolutely, sweet girl. I’ll always be here.” 

He smiled, sitting next to you, rubbing soothing circles into the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep. You weren’t sure what it was, but you knew that he was telling the truth, that somehow he’d always be around.

—

You looked up at Rafe as he moved around you, fluffing the pillows behind your head, you sat at an incline in the bed again, trying desperately to reach the tv remote that sat on the table beside you. He had been talking – asking you questions about your day, as if you had done anything except lay here, again. But, all you could think about is the fact that your favorite movie was coming on tv in less than thirty minutes and it was a simple pleasure you were going to indulge yourself in. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing them against your eyelashes with the force of a thousand suns. Rafe must’ve noticed the pained expression on your face because before you could even ride out the wave of discomfort, he had the remote in his hands and he was kneeling in front of you, squatting on the balls of his feet.

“Hey, sweet girl, can you look at me?” 

He asked kindly and when the torment had subsided enough you blinked your eyes open, his piercing blue ones staring back into yours. 

“What is it, from 1-10? and don’t bullshit me this time.” 

His voice was soft but stern and you knew he meant business. 

“It’s a nine.” 

You said, grunting exasperatedly, frustrated and tired and sick – of – this. 

“Shit – sweetheart you can’t let it get that bad before you tell me and why are you putting yourself in more pain by reaching for this? You could’ve asked me, I’m right here.” 

He blurted out his questions in a brash way, waving the remote control in the air.

“My favorite movie is coming on, I just –, sorry, I’m just –” 

A whimper escaped your lips as you stuttered and Rafe moved toward you again, bringing your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your head up towards him as he took in the tears that lined your eyes. His heart broke at the sight. 

“Hey – I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to be sorry, I know you’re frustrated.” 

“How do you know how I feel?” 

You questioned him with a hint of attitude. In your mind, it didn’t matter how many people he had operated on with your same injuries, he hadn’t lived it and because of that fact, he didn’t understand. 

“Let me guess, you’re frustrated, annoyed, tired, sad and really wanting a shower?” 

He asked you with a light chuckle, smiling the Rafe Cameron smile as you looked up at him with bewildered eyes. 

“How could you possibly know any of that?” 

You questioned him, confused. Did he go through this, physically? Did this sweet, sweet man hurt the same way that you had?

“Because I’ve been where you are.” 

He stated very matter-of-factly and you were confused.

“You cracked your bones in a million places, too?” 

Had he been through this, too?

“No, but I’ve been in a situation that was eerily similar.” 

You were silent at his declaration, wondering what situation he was referring to. 

“I can’t do much for you about a shower, it’s only been three days since your surgery and with you in this much pain, I don’t want you up and moving. But I can have Jenni give you a sponge bath. Would you be up for that?” 

“Yes, please. That would – be amazing.” 

He nodded and gave you the Rafe Cameron smile again, leaning in and placing a kiss on your forehead. Jenni and another nurse stepped into the room with everything they needed, setting up a bucket of water, some hypoallergenic soap and a sponge on the rolling table that each hospital room came with. Once they had everything set up, Rafe stepped out, being the gentleman he was, he wanted you to have privacy and he definitely didn’t want the first time he saw you naked to be in a hospital bed. 

“He’s quite dreamy, isn’t he?” 

A nurse that stood beside Jenni spoke into the air and your breath faltered. Were you that obvious? If this blonde bimbo picked up it – he probably did too. How fucking embarassing. Rafe had left the room only moments ago with a promise to come check on you shortly, but you so desperately wished he would save you from this woman as she stood in front of you preparing to strip you bare and see the most intimate parts of you, though it felt like she already had. 

“He’s very nice to me.” 

You stated, nodding with a soft smile though your tone was a bit curt. Jenni’s pager went off, signaling another emergency in the hall. 

“Shit – I'll be right back.” 

She muttered, running out of the room in a hurried fashion. The other nurse, who’s name you couldn’t bring yourself to remember, looked at the door as Jenni exited through the threshold – you were sure your recollection, or lack thereof, had more to do with the meds and less to do with her and the shitty vibe she gave off. She worked diligently, pulling down the hospital gown, noting the stitches that lined your chest as she drug the sponge gently over your soft skin. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll get you better and forget you ever existed. He won’t give any of us nurses the time of day. Don’t get your hopes up. Besides – look at you.” 

She replied, rolling her eyes as the words left her mouth. ‘What a bitter bitch’, you thought. You bit your tongue for only a moment before deciding to fully send it – there was nothing she could do to you – you were already bedridden, recovering from surgery and would be for the next few months – there was nothing she could do to you. 

“You know, maybe Rafe hasn’t given you the time of day because your personality fucking sucks, just a thought.” 

You spoke nonchalantly and before she could respond, she laid down the sponge she was using to bathe you with on top of your chest, took off her gloves and dug her long, manicured finger into the incision site Rafe had just stitched up on your hip. Your yelp was so loud Rafe heard it from the hallway, where he stood at the nurse’s station, finishing off your surgical notes. Suddenly, the hammering in his chest overtook him and he rushed into your room to see if you were experiencing post-operative pain or if something else was wrong. What he never expected to see was a nurse, finger deep into a surgical incision and you – your sweet face with tears cascading down it as your eyes pleaded for him. 

“What the fuck are you doing to her?!” 

He growled, rushing to your side, pushing her to the side and grabbing gauze off the table next to your bed, immediately holding it to your hip to stop the bleeding. 

“I know, baby – I know it hurts. I’m sorry, I’m gonna fix it, okay?” 

He pulled the gauze away from your hip and Jenni rushed into the room, taking in the sight of your stitches that were fresh and clean and showing signs of healing only minutes ago and were now torn and bloody and frayed like the pages of an old book. 

“What the fuck happened, Rafe?” 

Jenni all but squealed, rummaging through drawers searching for more gauze and a suture kit. 

“F-f-fingers –” 

You choked out, crocodile tears rolling down your bright pink cheeks as your fists clenched the sheets beside you. 

“Sweet girl, we’re gonna fix it, okay?” 

“No, R-rafe!” 

“What do you mean, no, sweetheart? Talk to me.” 

“Can’t do it anymore, can’t keep getting fixed. I’m not a stuffed animal that you can just keep sewing back up until all the stuffing has fallen out.” 

He cooed, brushing the hair away from your forehead. 

“I know, baby – I know you’re tired. But, if we don’t fix it you’ll get an infection and you’ll get sick okay? We have to fix it, sweet girl.” 

You reluctantly nodded, letting him work, continuing to wail as each stitch was placed into your hip again, the skin irritated and sore and only adding to the discomfort that raked through your entire body. It was almost like Rafe knew when your breaths picked up and the weight of your new reality had fallen on your chest because he started asking questions – questions that you hadn’t answered – questions that no one had bothered to ask you in years. 

“So, what did you do before – I mean, I can only assume you don’t frequent hospitals very often? Unless you’re one of those crazy people. Are you one of those crazy people?” 

You threw your hand up to your mouth and let out a giggle. 

“You’re cute when you ramble, Rafe.” 

His lips turned up into a smirk. Your pain filled haze had you simply not caring about flirting with the man in front of you.

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” 

He questioned, eyebrows furrowed, laughing as he checked the fluids that hung behind your bed. Your face was red, realizing what you had previously said to him once his words had reached your ears. You wished the bed you laid in would swallow you whole, scared to look this beautiful man in the eye and face rejection. There’s no way the feeling is reciprocated. 

“I mean, yeah. You’re an attractive guy, you’ve gotta know that.”

You stuttered out awkwardly and he simply giggled at the way you were shrinking into yourself, embarrassed at the compliment you had given him.

“Sweetheart, don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay, I’m flattered.” 

He smiled – the Rafe Cameron smile – rubbing circles into your hand as you took in the words that left his lips. 

He’s flattered. That’s what you say when you’re trying to let someone down easily. He doesn’t reciprocate and how could he? Just look at you. 

The assault on your heart at the mercy of your brain was interrupted quickly by Rafe’s voice again. 

“So, what did you do before? For work, I mean. You never answered my question.” 

“Okay, nosey. I’m – well – I was a high school English teacher.” 

You replied, with a sad smile. 

“What made you want to teach?” 

He asked, interested in everything that involved you.

“My younger sister, Ella has special needs and she wasn’t always treated fairly in the classroom; so I just wanted to make sure no child ever experienced that again.” 

“You know what that tells me?” 

He asked, a sly smile dancing across his face.

“What?” 

You wondered out loud.

“It tells me that you’re sweet and a good person and that you could’ve never deserved for this to happen.” 

“Thank you, Rafe –” 

He looked at you as tears fell down your face.

“Sweetheart, what can I do?” 

You didn’t answer him and your breaths only seem to quicken by the second and before Rafe could even think, he had kicked off his shoes and climbed in the bed with you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, one hand draping across your waist and one around the back of your head, pooling your hair in his hands. 

“Shh. It’s okay, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

He cooed. 

“I-I’m never gonna b-be the same am I? I-I’ll n-never b-be able to teach again.” 

You whimpered, crying into his chest. 

“Hey, sweet girl, don’t say that. I’m gonna do everything in my power to make sure you teach again, okay? I won’t let anyone take that away from you, ever.” 

His voice was soft and tender, afraid the wrong octave might rip you in half and you’d cease to exist right then and there. 

“Do you understand? I won’t let that happen.” 

This time he spoke with more force and you nodded your head reluctantly, unsure if you really believed him or not. 

“Tell me something to make me forget, Rafe – What made you want to become a doctor?” 

You questioned and he was uncomfortable, but the pleading look in your eyes made him answer anyway.

“It’s not a story full of glory, sweetheart. How about I tell you a better one, huh? How’s that sound?” 

He questioned, his hands working against your scalp like his life depended on it. 

“That sounds good.” 

You replied, somberly, wondering what kind of hurt this beautiful, sweet human being had experienced to make him so closed off about his own life. 

“Well – once upon a time, there was this doctor and he was a real asshole until this pretty girl walked into the hospital he worked at.” 

“What did she look like?” 

You questioned with curiosity-stricken features. He smiled at you, how he was the only one who got to see you like this. He couldn’t help but feel honored. 

“I think she looked a lot like you, sweetheart.” 

Your breath is caught in your throat at the fact that those words were coming from him. His hand motions continue against your scalp as you listen to his words, the euphoria that’s felt from the action is something you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt in your entire life. 

“I’m glad I found you, Rafe.” 

You mutter sleepily, listening to him continue the details of the stranger's beauty, who in his words, looked similar to you, before you promptly fell asleep.

“And I’m glad I found you, angel.” 

He whispers, continuing to rub soothing circles into your hair, letting you cuddle deeper into him and for the first time Rafe had felt warmth in someone that wasn’t Molly. He had felt warmth and goodness and it wasn’t from her and it simply scared him half to death. 

—

taglist:

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[ohlookapan]

Respite | Ethan & Heisenberg

After escaping the village, certainly far from unscathed, Ethan and Karl talk like normal people--or at least, as normal as two bioweapons can.

Pairing (platonic): Ethan Winters & Karl Heisenberg (Resident Evil: Village (2021)) Content Warnings: None Word Count: 1962 Tagging: My Heisenmoots @hollowg1rl, @thesassyspork, and @thatsthewrongwallcraig A/N: I don't really have a reason for this I just miss writing banter for these two so here y'all go lmao.

Enjoy below the cut! Thanks for stopping by!

**** For a litany of life–some old, some ancient, some new–onboard a helicopter, everyone seated had a dead look on their faces; some dead tired, some dead and broken, some just… Dead. Nothing more to it than that. 

A pair of piercing, pale eyes meandered around the drab and unremarkable craft before looking down at his gloved hands–what was left of the gloves anyway. Scar after scar dashed across his already calloused skin, some dancing in the grooves of the lifelines of his hands.

That was par for the course with Heisenberg, though, wasn’t it; scarred and marred with a war that took too long to arrive, and was over just as fast as it began? Every scar, both before and after the fight with Mother Dearest, swiped unceremoniously and haphazardly along skin that held the illusion of a tan in the right light (even if it were very faint). They were just… There. 

Heisenberg almost wished that the damn things hurt, just so he could feel a little something. He stared too long at the digits, hoping that they’d twitch in confirming recognition of a hard-fought battle, a hard-earned success. Yet, all he felt was nothing. It was over! The witch was burned, the village she reaped sowed her very pyre! He was free, damn it! Where was the celebration, the drinking–hell, the crying?

Maybe it was for the best he wasn’t crying yet, as his eyes were visible, unobscured by the obsidian discs that perched on the bridge of his nose. 

Ah, there it was. Of all the things he was feeling, Heisenberg was really missing those damn– “Here.”

It was only then Heisenberg realized his head was fixated on a swivel, darting up to the source of the voice jolting him back to the helicopter. Like a magnet all their own, his eyes spotted in a shaky, mold-worn hand, a pair of chipped, cracked sunglasses. His sunglasses. 

The wariness to accept them was short lived, though Heisenberg made no hurry to pluck them from Ethan’s hand. His intact hand was lazy to reach, pulling them from what was left of the father’s offering hand. “Surprised you could even hold the damn things,” the former Lord muttered, thumbing one of the glasses arms between two fingers. “Thought they’d crumble with the rest of that hand.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ethan sighed, not bothering to ask permission before slumping down across from Heisenberg. “Been thinking about finding a chisel just so I don’t have to look at it anymore. Already sick of it.”

“Better you than some other pissed-off woman you have a pension for crossing paths with.”

Heisenberg’s eyes flickered to the innermost interior of the copter, where Mia was cradling Rose in Ethan’s coat to keep her warmer, holding her baby girl as if she too would crumble in her arms. He didn’t look away as he regarded Ethan. “Thought you be attached to the hip of your missus by now–your kid, too.”

Ethan’s cloudy hazel eyes followed the man’s opposite him, tired features softening to something more relaxed at the sight of his family. He too didn’t look away–not for long anyway. “Yeah, well, I… I wanted to thank you.”

Intrigued, Heisenberg’s eyes flicked back to face the man across from him. “For…?”

Ethan glanced toward the back end of the helicopter, watching the faraway dust twirl and wander aimlessly through the air as it searched for a place to settle over what remained of the village. “Not being like the rest of them, down there. Even if you tried to grind me into paste. Multiple times.”

“Considered it.”

“Course you did,” the father sniped. “It’s in your nature. But you didn’t, and for a place like that,” he gestured down below, “and what I’ve seen before, I’ve learned beggars can’t be choosers.”

Heisenberg had it in him to snort at that. “Already a better parent than the one we killed, if it’s any consolation. Better person, at that, even if you are a dead mold walking.”

Ethan gave Heisenberg a filthy look, perfectly befitting the shreds of dead mold, dirt, blood, and gunpowder dusted over the both of them like confetti. Perhaps that was the sign of a witch-burning well done. “I still have a gun on me, jackass.”

Heisenberg wasn’t phased. “Don’t make me laugh, Winters, or embarrass you in front of your ladies. You’re still a hero in their eyes for now,” his eyes narrowed, voice drifting to a mocking whisper. “Maybe keep it that way.”

Murky eyes rolled like marbles as Ethan sat back in his seat, and for just a moment, Heisenberg thought he saw a smile curve up on the father’s face. His eyes had to still be adjusting. 

“So what’re you going to do now,” the blonde asked, a lilt of interest in his voice. “Now that you’re a free man, like you wouldn’t shut up about before?”

“You really think Captain Boulder-puncher over there’s going to let me fly the bioweapon nest that easy–if at all? Technically speaking, I’d be surprised if he let your little family stray a little ways away from his eye without having a trigger-happy panic attack.”

In sync with each other, Ethan and the lord tipped their heads in Chris’ direction, who was leaned over with his arm up against the side of the aircraft, staring intently at the B.S.A.A. bioweapon they recovered. Though most of the Captain’s expression was unreadable, there was a familiar anger written between the lines of his wrinkles; as if his stillness wasn’t further proof of how much he wanted to pounce at something like the old wolf he was. Heisenberg wondered if Chris knew who–or what–to pounce at to begin with.

The father didn’t look away from Chris, an unknown expression imitating concern nestled between his own exhausted wrinkles and dirtied skin. “Something tells me you’re going to take a back-burner for a while, all of us will.”

“Even your little one?”

Just like that, the exhaustion was gone from the father’s features, replaced with a stiff, coiling anxiety. His head slid a few degrees to the left toward the little baby in his wife’s arms, who was cooing and attempting to paw at the  unbuttoned flap of her dad’s coat. 

“Trying not to think about it right now. Not onboard a chopper full of soldiers.”

Heisenberg nodded, if only a little, an unspoken half-apology in the quiet, rumbling air of the helicopter between them. 

“You still didn’t answer my question, Heisenberg.”

A salt-and-pepper eyebrow lifted, scarred lips opening to harbor any words he wanted to say inside–only for none to take the bait. Ethan leaned forward, holding the remnants of his right hand in his left.

“Let me put it this way: Where do you want to go? Whole lot of world out there. Once you get past the monsters and crazy witches, it isn’t that bad.”

The lord huffed, a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Is that right… You would know a thing or two about monsters, wouldn’t you, Winters? If you’re so keen on the big, wide, world out there, then where are you headed after you get hosed down, poked and prodded by these boot-knockers?”

“I asked you first, Heisenberg.”

“Ladies first, Ethan.”

The blonde scoffed, shaking his head. “Jackass.”

For once, Heisenberg found himself with a flicker of a smile on his face. “Get a better insult or answer the damn question.”

“Alright then, discount Magneto,” Ethan bit, only to be cut off but the lord’s confusion. 

“Who the fuck is that?”

The question hit the father like a whip, snapping him out of his biting wit. It didn’t dawn on him just how sheltered the man seated across from him was until they were facing each other, posed with a simple question of who a superhero everyone knew was–or apparently not. 

He had to stumble into a response, picking the shards of a snappy response up along the way. “Um, some superhero or something. Fine, you want to know where I’m going? I’m going with my family, somewhere away from all this shit. I may not be able to forget any of it, but I can damn well avoid anything new.”

It was Heisenberg’s turn to lean forward, looking at Ethan with curious expression. “Thought you couldn’t escape whatever monsters and crazy bitches were out there. What then?”

“Witches. I said crazy witches.”

“I know what you meant, Winters. Now, what if you can’t run? What if your little soldier buddies aren’t within earshot?”

Ethan didn’t answer, not with words anyway. He pulled his handgun from behind him and responded by pulling the hammer back, effectively cocking it, pale hazel eyes flicking up to Heisenberg’s to ensure he got the message. 

A smirk quirked and slitted through the old lord’s lips, and he limply held up a hand. “Point taken, Winters. I’d almost think you were a badass if I didn’t know what you sounded like in pain.”

“Can always see what you sound like in pain, Heisenberg,” Ethan countered, glancing down at his gun. “Have the perfect tool right here.”

“Alright, alright,” Heisenberg chuffed with a chortle. “Easy, Papa. Down boy.”

After a beat, he suddenly had more to say. “Fine. I’ll bite. Where am I going after all this shit, if I’ve got the chance? Somewhere on my own. Away from any and everyone. Maybe some little shack in the woods; m’already dressed like a hermit. Maybe a junkyard, someplace abandoned that nobody remembers anymore. My own little shitshow in the quiet. That’s where I’ll go. Sounds romantic doesn’t it?”

Ethan unloaded his gun, twirling the small magazine between his fingers. “Real holiday getaway. How… You.”

“What can I say? I appreciate the finer things in life. Modern day Clark Gable, right here.”

Ethan stopped his ammo-twirling to glance at Heisenberg in surprise. “What, you know Gable but not Magneto?”

Heisenberg leaned back, resting his head on the steel wall of the copter. His sunglasses rested next to him as his hands laced together against his stomach. “Old crushes die hard, Winters. You never forget em’.”

Ethan had to shake his head to rid himself of the urge to unpack all of that, forcing himself to move on. Instead, he stared at the sunglasses folded up next to the defunct lord. “You going to put those on? Thought you’d never be without them.”

As Heisenberg looked down toward the accessory, his hat tipped down, hiding his eyes from view. It was a shame, as a lot of thoughts swirled around in the vacuum of his dark pupils. Maybe, if he looked up, just a touch, the blonde across the way might have an idea of what was going on between and beneath those silver, slithering locks of his. 

Quiet, rumbling minutes wafted by before Heisenberg abruptly stood up, picking up the broken glasses before making his way to the back of the helicopter. “No. No, Winters. I’m not.”

The ex-lord made careful work of navigating the floor just near the hatch of the helicopter, holding on tightly to a bar to insure he didn’t take the harsh route back ‘home.’ As if by chance, his hat leaped out for him, tilting and twirling as it fell like a leaf to the ground far below. That was all the sign he needed, and with a last look at the shades, he tossed them and sent then down with his hat. They glinted and sparkled as the last blinks of daylight caught them, and Heisenberg swore that was them waving back at him amid their free fall. Maybe even wishing him luck, congratulating him on a battle best fought.

“As far as I see it. Karl Heisenberg is dead. Good fucking riddance.”

[dawnoftime22]

wait for you.

| N.R

Warnings: none!

Summary: While Nat was busy doing her work late in the night, you sat sleepily in her lap.

Word Count: 426

Category: pure fluff

| Started on 04/12/2021, 9:12 AM |

| Finished on 05/12/2021, 1:21 PM |

Masterlist

“If there shall be a day where I must go to sleep without you, then I'd rather not rest.”

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

Your head was in the crook of her neck, and your tired eyes started to slowly droop, but you tried to stay up longer.

Natasha, on the other hand, was working on something on her laptop, her hand going around your body to reach the keyboard and touchpad. It's past midnight by now, and the two of you have been in bed for a few hours.

She didn’t mind having you there in her lap, since she knows how much you don’t sleep well when she isn't around.

But you tried to reject the sleep either way, still wanting to wait for her to finish.

The sound of the keyboard clacking was probably the only thing you were able to focus on because of your tiredness.

Natasha noticed that you weren’t asleep yet, and felt your head slightly dropping then going back up every now and then.

She didn’t want to jolt you fully awake by speaking, so instead she spoke quietly.

“Любов (love), why aren’t you sleeping?” Her hand trailed away from the laptop, placing it on the side of your arm instead and drawing small circles with her finger.

Your only response was a small, quiet whine, nuzzling further into her neck to hide.

The redhead sighs, and tries to gently push you so that your head was on her chest. It didn’t take long though, considering your energy was gone to the point that your body couldn’t even try to stiffen itself to defend from the movement.

That was when she saw how tired you looked with your half-lidded eyes.

She wished she could just betray this piece of work she had to have done by the early morning, but she was almost done. So, every now and then her head goes to kiss you on the forehead or cheeks, whispering soft reassurances.

Your body was desperately trying to fall asleep at this point, but your brain still didn’t let you.

Finally, Nat turned off her laptop and set it aside so that she could cuddle you back properly.

Her hands went around your waist, one going under your shirt to draw meaningless patterns on your skin.

Yours, though, was near her neck, playing around with her arrow necklace. You always loved to fidget around with it whenever you were cuddling with her because it helped to calm you.

“I’m right here. I won’t be going anywhere, детка (baby).” The redhead above you says as you sleepily look back at her.

She smiled, taking in how adorable you were in your sleepy state.

“Promise?” you whisper, but you were so close she could hear you.

“Promise.”

“Now go to sleep.”

---------------------

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@notevenanna

[pitufitaispunk]

Velvet Ring

Chapter Eight: Hay Una Chica Muy Sola en Esta Ciudad

Pairing: Riff x Latina!Reader (West Side Story 2021)

Velvet Ring Masterlist

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

June 12, 1957

The next morning, I wake up at 5:30 in the morning to the feeling my throbbing cheek. Slowly, I sit up and cup it gently with a wince. This nasty bruise has been bothering me all night, but I didn't want to tell Bernardo and Anita about it; Manuel is in enough trouble with Nardo as it is.

I get up from my bed, wrap my robe around myself, and trudge into the kitchen to grab the ice bag. The apartment was peaceful and quiet, the only sounds echoing through the neighborhood were the soft song of the morning lark and the distant beeping of construction. With a sigh, I place the ice bag on my cheek carefully and make my way back into my bedroom. As I snuggle back beneath my bed covers, my head fills with thoughts of Riff again. Considering how awful I felt this morning with just a bruised cheek, I wondered how Riff was holding up in his much worse state.

I groan softly both at the pain I felt and at the fact that I couldn't seem to drop this idea of Riff and I. At this point, I'm beginning to question if he's put some sort of spell on me.

I feel my eyelids begin to get heavy again and I decide one more quick hour of sleep couldn't hurt. That is until Anita rushes into my room, dark circles around her eyes and her nose red. She plops herself on my bed and groans, "Mamita, creo que estoy enferma..." She says, her voice sounding nasally and whiny.

I grimace, sitting up and scooting away from her slightly, "Well, don't get me sick."

She pouts, looking down at me with pleading eyes, "No seas mala, Y/N. Do you think you could go to Doc's later and get me unas pastillas para mi cabeza?"

I sigh softly and nod, "Fine, just let me sleep for a little while longer." I murmur before laying back down and pulling my warm covers over myself.

I can practically hear the grin in Anita's voice as she hugs me and says "Ay, gracias, pollita. I'll leave you the money on the kitchen counter."

I nod, groaning softly, "Sí, sí, ya déjame dormir."

She laughs and leaves my room quietly, closing the door behind her.

I hum tiredly as sleep consumes me again.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

My brows pinch in confusion as I find myself back at my date from last night, Manuel and I were just a few feet away from the Jets and Riff. Only this time, the faces of the Jets and Manuel were blurred out and their arguing was warbled. I begin pulling Manuel away as I had last night when I hear a distinct voice.

"Call me when you want a date with a real man, doll!"

I turn around and see Riff, walking towards me slowly, he looked almost as if he was floating. Manuel and the Jets fade away as Riff grabs me by my waist and pulls me flush against him. My eyes widen as he leans in and kisses me fervently. I melt into him, grabbing onto his shirt tightly, like I was afraid he would fade away too.

Suddenly, we're no longer on the street, but instead laid out on my bed. Riff was on top of me, still kissing me passionately. I squirm beneath him, feeling my dress ride up slightly. Riff smirks against my lips, his hands slowly gliding down my sides until-

I abruptly jolt awake, sitting up straight in my bed. I pant softly, wiping the slight perspiration from my brow as I check my alarm clock, which read 7:05. I sigh softly and decide that it's time to finally get up. Especially after that dream.

I climb out of my bed and neatly tuck down my covers before shuffling over to my dresser. I pull out a light blouse and a simple skirt, shimmying them over my body. As I pass by my mirror, I stop and take a look at my bruise. I grimace at the blooming purples and blues on my skin, figuring that maybe some light makeup would distract from it. I grab a tube of mascara and run the brush through my lashes, nodding at myself in the mirror. I sigh, realizing that didn't really help, but decide to continue anyway. I dab on some lipstick and gently rub blush onto my cheeks. I give my reflection a thin lipped smile before grabbing one of my shawls and tying it around my head to try and cover my bruise. I then hurry to put on my shoes and grab my purse.

Finally ready, I rush out of my room and grab the money Anita had left on the kitchen counter before leaving the apartment.

I walk to Doc's briskly, hoping no one would notice my bruise and stop me to ask questions.

When I finally get to Doc's, I hurry inside, but as soon as I walk in, I see him. Riff was stood by the front counter, his head down as he sifted through the small display of candy bars. I scoff softly to myself and quickly walk to the far end of the store, hoping he wouldn't acknowledge me. I'm standing in front of the shelves of medications, searching for the aspirin when I suddenly hear Riff's slow footsteps moving towards me. I turn to face him, wincing as I'm immediately met with the sight of his black eye, split bottom lip, and bruised cheek. With a huff, I cross my arms over my chest and speak quickly, "I can't believe you... Do you always need to start a fight? What is wrong with you?"

Riff's brows raise in shock, a small smile of disbelief tugging at his lips, "Hey, I'm not the one who started the fight, remember? And..." He scoffs, "W-What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? You've been flirting with me and all this time, you've had a boyfriend!"

I sigh in exasperation, waving my hands wildly, "He's not my boyfriend! We just went on that one date and it's only because my brother wanted us to!"

Riff rolls his eyes, resting his arm on a higher shelf, "Yeah, that's some great excuse."

I glare up at him, "It's not an excuse! I'm just trying to explain why I was with him! Why are you so upset anyway? I'm not your girlfriend."

Riff's eyes flit down to mine, "You're right. You're not my girlfriend." He says coldly, a hint of a smirk on his lips. He walks away from me and heads back towards the front counter, "Excuse me for thinking there was something between us..." I hear him mutter beneath his breath.

I storm after him, yanking him back by the collar of his shirt.

"Ow!" He lets out a strangled yelp of surprise, whipping around with wide eyes, "What was that for?"

I narrow my eyes at him, "Do you think I feel nothing for you? I spend every second thinking of you, even when I don't want to!" He quirks a brow at me and I sigh, "I mean, I like you and I-I want to get to know you, but... I can't. We can't."

Riff's brows furrow, "Why not?"

I huff at his complete obliviousness, "You know why we can't. My brother would kill you if he ever found out. And me." I stare at the checkered floor of the store in silence before looking up at him again, "And do you really think your friends would be thrilled to hear that you're with a Puerto Rican girl? There's so many things working against us, Riff. What's the use? I mean, is the trouble really worth it? Think about it."

"Yes." He answers quickly.

I can't help but laugh at his abruptness, "You didn't even think about-"

"Well, that's because I don't need to think about it! I really like you and I don't care if we need to keep it a secret, just... as long as I can talk to you. That's all I need." He sighs.

I purse my lips, "Riff, neither of us deserves to be a secret-"

"¿Y/N, eres tú?" I hear Valentina call from the store's basement. My eyes widen.

A slow smirk spreads across Riff's face as he sees my look of shock, "Y/N. So that's your name."

My cheeks flush at the way my name rolls easily off his tongue.

I quickly hurry back to the medicine shelf, pretending to look through the different packages before Valentina comes back upstairs. I glance back at her, watching as she shoots Riff an icy glare, "Don't even think about stealing another candy bar today."

Riff raises his hands defensively, a cool expression on his face, "Wasn't going to."

As Valentina steps behind the front counter, I rush over with the bottle of aspirin.

Valentina inhales dramatically upon seeing my bruised cheek, "¿Mija, qué pasó?" She winces, grabbing the aspirin from me gently.

I wave my hand dismissively.

Obviously, I could tell her that my 'date' got into a fight with a specific Jet who was standing just a foot away from us.

With a sheepish smile, I say, "Anoche, Anita me pegó accidentalmente en la cara mientras estábamos cocinando la cena cuando abrió un armario. Estoy bien." I fiddle with my purse strap awkwardly, feeling Riff's eyes on me as I spoke.

Valentina nods slowly and gives me a warm smile, a vast difference from how she looked at Riff, "Ah, ok... Estaba preocupada por ti." She rings up my aspirin, "That'll be 25¢."

I nod and quickly fish a quarter out of my purse and hand it to her, I could still feel Riff watching me intently.

"Gracias, Valentina." I say softly, Valentina nods.

I grab the aspirin bottle off the counter and quickly rush out of the shop.

It only takes about 10 or so seconds before I hear Riff rush after me, "Hey, wait up!"

My eyes widen as he calls after me, I quickly dash into an alley. As soon as I'm sure Riff and I are out of sight, I spin around and swat his arm, "Ow!" He groans, rubbing his bicep, "You sure are abusing me a lot today."

"What were you thinking?! Following me out of Doc's and then shouting at me! Someone could've seen!" I snap, making Riff smirk.

"Listen, doll, you need to relax. No one saw us, I swear it." He hums, his eyes roaming my face.

I roll my eyes at his carefree response, "Weren't you the one who said we couldn't walk together because people might get suspicious?"

He nods, his lips puckered slightly, "Yeah, I did... but you don't need to be so uptight."

My brows pinch, "I'm not uptight. I'm just trying to be careful."

Riff steps closer to me, "So, Y/N," He drawls, putting emphasis on my name, "I finally get to know your name." He says with a proud smile on his face.

"Only because of Valentina." I huff. Truthfully, I wish I could've kept my name a secret from Riff for a bit longer. I enjoyed how he would practically beg me to tell him what it was. I got to see a very different side of the tough leader of the Jets.

"Well, it was about time. I was running out of ideas of nicknames for you." Riff chuckles, "And besides, Y/N's a nice name. I like the way it sounds. Y/N..." He says, a tenderness in his eyes as he gazes down at me.

I blush, "You really need to stop flirting with me."

Riff grins mischievously, "I'm just paying you a compliment, girly girl. Not flirting." I quirk a brow at him, making him laugh, "Well, not right now, at least."

I look around nervously, "I should get home before someone sees us. I have to give Anita her aspirin." Gripping my purse strap, I begin heading towards the alley's exit.

Riff frowns and calls after me, "When will I see you again?"

I pause and turn to look back at him, "What do you mean? We can't do this again."

His brows pinch, he shoves his hands in his jeans pockets, "Why not?"

I laugh incredulously, "You ask that a lot." I sigh at his unchanging expression, "Riff, I'm Puerto Rican and you're not. Your kind hate my kind and my kind hate your kind. As long as you all keep fighting each other, you and I will never be able to even walk together in public without a war breaking out. Just forget about me. You're better off." I say softly, not truly buying my own words.

Riff shakes his head, grabbing my hand gently, "Nah, that's the easy way out. You can't give up before we've even tried. Look, I like you like I've never liked nobody before... that means something to me. So, can we try?"

Looking into Riff's eyes and seeing how sincere he's being, I desperately want to say yes. Just once, I want to give in to that little voice in the back of my head that dares me to be rebellious. I want to give Riff and I a try.

But at the end of the day, he's still a Jet.

How could I ever look past everything he and his friends have done to the people I care about most?

I swallow hard and shake my head slowly, "No. I can't, Riff." I say softly, "Just... don't talk to me again. Please? It's easier for both of us that way. I mean, it's no big loss, right? We don't even really know each other. We never got the chance to."

Riff looks down at our intertwined hands dejectedly and slowly pulls his away from mine, my face falls at the loss of his warmth, "Alright... if that's what you really want." He mutters, his eyes still locked on mine, pleading for me to change my mind.

"It is." I murmur. But it wasn't.

He nods and backs away from me, a cold smile on his face, "Fine then. Adiós, señorita." He murmurs before quickly fleeing the alley.

I watch him walk off, leaving me alone and my heart heavy.

"Goodbye, Riff."

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

I walk up the stairs of the apartment complex with my head down and my eyes slightly glossy.

I wasn't sure how I could mourn something that never really happened or how I could miss someone I didn't even know. It was ridiculous to be crying over something so trivial. Riff wasn't my boyfriend and I wasn't his girlfriend. By tomorrow, he'll probably be chasing after some other girl and forget all about me.

For all I know, he never even really liked me. Maybe it was all some sick Jet trick and I fell for it.

I scoff softly to myself before grabbing my keys out of my purse and unlocking the apartment door, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. I walk towards Anita and Bernardo's room and knock on the door, "Anita, it's me. I have your aspirin." I call.

"Come in, nena." Anita responds, still sounding nasally and hoarse.

I step inside the room, hand her the bottle of aspirin, and hurriedly turn to leave the room again.

Anita quickly grabs my arm, "Siéntate conmigo."

I sigh softly and sit on the edge of the bed, hoping she wouldn't notice my red eyes and the faint tear streaks on my face. But of course she does.

"¿Estabas llorando, mamita?" She asks, gently pulling me closer to her.

I shrug, keeping my eyes on my lap as I fiddle with the hem of my skirt.

Her brows pinch, "¿Es por Manuel? Are you still upset about last night?" She asks, stroking my hair tenderly.

I purse my lips at the mention of last night's events. That should be what I'm hung up on, but it's not. I should be thinking of Manuel, but Riff won't leave my mind. And it makes me feel awful, like there's a pit in my stomach.

I force a small smile and nod, "Sí, es por eso. My cheek still hurts and Manuel hasn't come to visit me. It's all very upsetting."

Anita pulls me in for a hug, "He just hasn't come by because he's scared of your brother. He'll come over to see you as soon as Bernardo's wrath comes to an end." She jokes, poking my sides teasingly.

I laugh, despite myself, "You're probably right... gracias, Anita." I murmur as I nuzzle into her.

Anita smiles lovingly at me, reminding me a bit of my mother, "De nada, nena." She says quietly, pressing a kiss to my temple. "You know you can always come to me whenever you need some help and you can tell me anything."

I stiffen slightly in her arms then nod, "Sí... lo sé."

She hums softly, not detecting my sudden tension. I swallow hard and try to relax, telling myself not to think about Riff again.

I wish I could tell Anita everything.

I used to be able to.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Next Chapter

[gayzing-away]

Jai Courtney in Jolt (2021)

[kathlare]

a familiar stranger

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: At the annual drivers' dinner in Abu Dhabi, Lando is caught off guard when Amelie unexpectedly returns to the scene.

Wordcount: 1.8 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

November 17th, 2024 - Yas Island, Abu Dhabi

The drivers' annual dinner in Abu Dhabi was never meant to be anything special—just a casual night where the drivers could sit down, have a meal, and share some laughs away from the prying eyes of the media and their teams. They were all used to the spotlight, but for tonight, they could relax and be themselves without the pressure.

Lando had always enjoyed these dinners, even if they were a little too formal for his liking. It was an opportunity to unwind, have a few drinks, and catch up with everyone, especially after a long, grueling season. As he arrived at the venue, the air was thick with chatter and laughter. It was a familiar sound—the kind that always seemed to echo in his mind when he thought of the drivers as a group. There was camaraderie here, shared experiences, and a sense of community that Lando could always count on.

He slid into his seat at the long table, offering a grin to Charles and Alex, who were already bantering about something—probably racing strategies or their most recent online game debacle. Lando’s eyes scanned the room, exchanging pleasantries with a few more familiar faces before he sat back and relaxed.

As the evening unfolded, the conversation flowed effortlessly, with jokes and stories bouncing between the drivers. Lando laughed along with them, nursing a drink in hand. It was easy to lose himself in the moment, surrounded by friends who had become like family over the years. For the first time in a long time, he felt a semblance of peace—a break from the whirlwind of his life.

Then the door opened, and everything changed.

He wasn’t the only one to notice. The atmosphere shifted as heads turned toward the new arrival. At first, Lando didn’t pay much attention, assuming it was just a latecomer or maybe a server bringing something in. But then he caught a glimpse of familiar blonde hair, a laugh that sent a jolt through his chest.

It couldn’t be.

Amelie.

She stood in the doorway, her face lit up in surprise as Checo jumped to his feet. Lando watched as the two embraced, Checo pulling her into a bear hug, his voice breaking as he said something Lando couldn’t quite hear. The room erupted in cheers and applause, everyone clapping at the unexpected reunion.

Lando felt his breath catch in his throat, his grip tightening around his glass as he stared at her. It was her. It had been months since he’d last seen her, and yet somehow, she looked both completely different and exactly the same. Her outfit was simple but effortlessly elegant—jeans paired with a black tank top and a leather jacket slung over her shoulders. But it wasn’t just her appearance. She carried herself differently. There was a lightness about her, a glow that Lando hadn’t seen before.

Fuck, she looked beautiful.

He told himself to look away, to focus on the conversation happening around him, but he couldn’t. His chest tightened with a flood of emotions he hadn’t felt in months—emotions he thought he’d buried. Seeing her now, so close yet so far, it was like she was reopening a part of him he’d locked away.

Amelie made her way into the room, her laughter ringing out again as she greeted the drivers one by one. The others were on their feet, crowding around her, welcoming her back like a long-lost sister. It was no secret that she’d grown up around the sport, spending years traveling to races with her family, forming bonds with many of them. To the drivers, she was more than Checo’s sister-in-law—she was family.

Lando stayed in his seat, his mind racing. The last time he’d seen her was in May of 2021, when everything between them had fallen apart. He’d told himself it was for the best, that their lives were too different, too complicated to make things work. But now, sitting here, he wasn’t so sure.

Charles, who was sitting next to him, nudged his shoulder. —You alright, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.—

Lando forced a laugh, shaking his head. —Yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t expect her to show up, that’s all.—

—None of us did,— Alex chimed in from across the table. —But it’s good to see her. She looks happy, doesn’t she?—

Happy. That was the word that kept echoing in Lando’s mind. She did look happy—happier than he’d ever seen her. And that realization hit him harder than he cared to admit.

He watched as Amelie finally made her way to their end of the table, her smile widening as she approached Checo. The older man’s eyes were misty as he pulled her into another hug, his voice thick with emotion.

—I can’t believe you’re here,— Checo said, his words carrying over the chatter in the room. —You didn’t tell anyone you were coming.—

—I wanted to surprise you,— Amelie replied, her voice soft but filled with warmth. —It’s been too long.—

Checo stepped back, wiping at his eyes with a laugh. —Too long? It’s been forever. Look at you... you’re all grown up now.—

Amelie rolled her eyes playfully, but her smile didn’t waver. —I’m 21, Checo. Hardly ‘all grown up.’—

The exchange brought a round of laughter from the drivers, and for a moment, Lando allowed himself to smile. She hadn’t changed that much—still quick-witted, still capable of lighting up a room without even trying.

As Amelie greeted the others, Lando felt his stomach twist. He knew it was only a matter of time before she reached him. Part of him wanted to stand up, to walk over and say something—anything—but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor.

And then, it happened.

Amelie’s gaze met his, and for a split second, the world seemed to stop. Her smile faltered, just for a moment, before she composed herself and continued down the line of drivers. She didn’t say a word to him, didn’t even acknowledge his presence beyond that brief glance. It was as if he didn’t exist.

Lando’s chest tightened, his jaw clenching as he tried to push down the sting of her indifference. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—a warm greeting, an awkward conversation, maybe even a cold shoulder—but this? This was worse.

Amelie moved on, her laugh ringing out as she embraced George, then Alex, and finally Carlos, who made some joke in Spanish that had her doubling over with laughter. The others were equally animated, everyone drawn to her like moths to a flame. She was the same Amelie he remembered, yet... not. The effortless way she carried herself, the confidence that seemed to radiate from her—it was new. It was different.

Lando sat frozen, his hands gripping the edges of his chair as he fought to keep his emotions in check. She hadn’t looked at him again, not once, as if the brief flicker of eye contact they’d shared had never happened. His mind raced with everything he wanted to say to her, everything he wanted to ask. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

—Mate, you okay?— Carlos’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. The Spaniard had returned to his seat, his dark eyes studying Lando carefully.

—Yeah,— Lando replied, his voice tight. —I’m fine.—

Carlos raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t push. Instead, his gaze flicked across the room, where Amelie was now chatting animatedly with Charles and Pierre. She looked completely at ease, her head tilting back as she laughed at something Pierre had said.

Max, seated on Lando’s other side, leaned in slightly. —You’re not fine,— he muttered under his breath, his tone more knowing than curious.

Lando shot him a glare. —Drop it, Max.—

But Max didn’t. His gaze flicked between Amelie and Lando, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. —It’s been a while, hasn’t it?—

Lando didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Max knew. He always had.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for Lando. Conversations swirled around him, jokes were made, and drinks were poured, but he was only half present. His focus kept drifting back to Amelie—her laughter, the way her hands moved as she talked, the way she effortlessly drew everyone in.

He watched her from across the room, his chest tightening every time she smiled or tossed her hair over her shoulder. She was magnetic, and the fact that she seemed so completely unfazed by his presence only added to the sting.

He remembered how things used to be—the stolen moments, the whispered conversations, the way she’d look at him like he was the only person in the world. He thought he’d moved on, that he’d buried those feelings deep enough to forget. But seeing her now, so close yet so unreachable, brought everything rushing back with a force he wasn’t prepared for.

At one point, Amelie caught Max’s attention and walked over to him. Lando tensed, watching their interaction out of the corner of his eye. Max greeted her warmly, pulling her into a quick hug, but his gaze flickered toward Lando as they spoke. There was something in Max’s expression—an unspoken understanding that made Lando’s stomach churn.

Carlos, who had been quietly observing the entire evening, leaned closer to Lando. —So, are you going to talk to her, or are you just going to sit there sulking all night?—

—I’m not sulking,— Lando shot back, his voice low. —And no, I’m not going to talk to her.—

Carlos tilted his head, studying him. —She looks... different. Happier.—

Lando didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Carlos was right, and it only made the ache in his chest worse.

Across the room, Amelie was now chatting with Esteban and Mick, her smile as bright as ever. Lando felt a pang of jealousy—an irrational, stupid feeling that he had no right to. She wasn’t his. She hadn’t been his for a long time.

But that didn’t stop the memories from flooding back. The late-night drives, the quiet moments when it was just the two of them, the way her laugh used to make his heart race. He’d thought he could handle seeing her again, that he’d be fine. He was wrong.

Max returned to his seat, and for a moment, there was silence between him and Lando. Then Max spoke, his voice low enough that only Lando could hear. —You still love her, don’t you?—

Lando froze, his jaw tightening. —It doesn’t matter.—

Max raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward Amelie. —It’s going to matter, mate. Sooner or later.—

Lando didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew Max was right.

[purplephantomwolf]

Savoring the Finish Line

Chapter Three

Synopsis: You are a bakery owner. One day Max Verstappen comes into your bakery.

Note: This is not an accurate portrayal of how the real people in this act. I do not know them personally, so I will not be portraying them accurately.

Warnings: Panic attack mention

Previous Chapter: Chapter Two

Masterlist

I AM REWRITING THIS FROM AN OC STORY. IF I MISS ANYTHING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW SO I CAN FIX IT! THIS IS CHAPTER 3 OF 5 OF ALREADY WRITTEN CHAPTERS. THEY WILL ALL BE POSTED THIS WEEKEND.

December 19, 2021

     You slam your hand down onto your phone, turning the alarm off. You feel the bed jolt as your puppies jump onto it. You laugh as they nudge your face, trying to wake you up more. “I’m up, I’m up,” you mumble, sitting up. Your dogs jump off the bed and run to the stairs. You climb out of bed and get ready to take them outside. Crippling on the leashes, you let Elise and Lacey lead you outside. You wander around the block, the dogs sniffing the same things they do every day. They need to make sure nothing has changed in the past 24 hours. 

     The puppies take off upstairs once you arrive home. You follow them up the stairs, making sure they have enough food and water for the day. “Okay, girls. I need you to behave for me,” you say, giving both of them kisses on their heads. You reach the bottom of the stairs as Louis and Estelle walk through the front door. “Good morning, Estelle. Good morning, Louis,” you greet them. 

     “Good morning, Y/n. How did the rest of your night go?” Louis asks, heading for the office. 

     “Really interesting!” You laugh. Louis and Estelle stop to look at you, both of them raising their eyebrows. “I forgot to lock the door after you guys left, and I had a wonderful, but unexpected visitor,” you start to explain. 

     Louis interrupts you before you can tell them who the visitor was. “That’s dangerous! You can’t forget to lock the doors!” He scolds you.

     “I know, I know! But this was a good visitor! It was Max Verstappen!” You respond. Louis’ mouth drops open. Estelle looks between you two. 

     “Max Verstappen? Isn’t he that Formula 1 driver?” Estelle asks, looking confused. 

     “Yeah, he’s the one who won the world championship this year,” Louis turns to her. He turns back to you, looking skeptical, “Are you sure it was Max Verstappen? You weren’t in some fever dream?” You scoff, rolling your eyes. You put your hands on your hips. 

     “I’m sure. Considering he spent at least 30 minutes here, I don’t think I was hallucinating or having a fever dream,” you smile. “Now come on, we’re opening soon!” You wave your hands, shooing them into the office to put their stuff up. 

     “Too bad it wasn’t Charles,” Louis calls, as you are about to enter the kitchen. You and Louis have a playful rivalry going on as he’s an avid Charles fan. You laugh, shaking your head. You enter the kitchen, getting everything in the bakery ready for the day. 

     You hear the door’s bell ring right at 6 am, as you’re putting some croissants in the oven. “Y/n, there’s someone here who would like to see you,” you hear Louis call. Your eyebrows knit in confusion. You wipe your hands on your apron as you walk out of the kitchen. 

     “Oh, bonjour Max!” You greet him. You walk up to the counter, feeling both Estelle’s and Louis’ presence behind you. 

     “Bonjour, Y/n,” Max smiles at you, before looking at the menu. As he looks at it, you turn to Louis, mouthing I told you so. He just shrugs, before you turn back to Max. “What would you recommend? My trainer told me to pick something up for us after working,” Max asks, looking form the display to you. 

     You hum, thinking. “Well, I assume you’re going to want something light. I’d go with either some scones or croissants.” Max nods, looking at your options of scones and croissants.

     “Can I take two of your blueberry scones and two of your regular croissants?” He asks. 

     “Of course,” you say, grabbing a bag. As Louis rings up Max, you grab his pastries. “Have a good day, Max,” you smile. 

     “You too, Y/n,” he says, waving bye. You wave back as he leaves. You whirl around, looking at Louis.

     “I told you!” You laugh. Louis holds his hands up. 

     “Alright! Alright! I believe you now!” Louis laughs. You laugh as you walk back into the kitchen to continue baking. 

******************************************************************************

December 28, 2021

     You look up from placing some pastries on the display as the bell on the door rings. “Good afternoon, Max. Did you have a good Christmas?” You grin. 

     “I did! I spent it with my family back in the Netherlands. Did you have a good one?” Max smiles. You nod, finishing up the display. 

     “I did. I spent it with Louis and Estelle,” you say, “Now, what can I get you?” Max takes a look at the display and then the menu. 

     “I’ll try one of your cupcakes and a pain du chocolat,” he answers. 

     “Good choices. These cupcakes are my guilty pleasure,” you say, grabbing a cupcake and pain du chocolat. You place them in your to go box and ring up Max. 

     “Where are Estelle and Louis?” Max asks, looking around and taking the box from you. 

     “I give them the days off between Christmas and New Years. The bakery never gets so busy that I need to have them working at all, but I like the company. Plus they’re basically like my parents,” you shrug. Max walks to one of the bakery tables and sits down. 

     “Okay, tell them hi for me next time you see them,” Max says. He shifts in his seat a couple of times. He opens his mouth to say something else but then closes it. 

     “Everything okay, Max?” You ask, concerned. You sit down across from him, waiting to see if he’ll tell you. 

     “I wanted to thank you for helping me through the panic attack the other week. I’ve never had one before, so I didn’t know what to do,” Max explains. 

     “Max, you don’t have to thank me for helping you. I know how tough they are to go through alone. I wouldn’t want anyone to experience that,” you softly smile. 

     “Okay, but I still wanted to thank you, so I thought I’d give you this as a thank you,” he says, sliding you an envelope. You look at him confused, picking up the envelope. You open it and gasp. Inside is a paddock pass to the Red Bull garage. 

     “Max! I can’t take this! You didn’t have to get me anything as a thank you!” You exclaim, pushing it back towards him.

     “I wanted to,” he says, pushing it back to me. “It’s a pass to the REd Bull garage during the Bahrain Grand Prix. It should get you in on all three days.” You take the pass and inspect it. 

“Thank you, Max,” you say, looking up. He just smiles and takes a bite of his cupcake. The bell rings as someone enters. “Thank you again, Max.” You stand up and walk behind the counter. “Hello, welcome to Delicieux Gateries!” You greet the customer. As you take their order, Max waves bye. You wave back, before continuing with the customer. 

******************************************************************************

January 17, 2022

     “Welcome back, Max,” you grin, as he walks through the door. 

     “Thank you, Y/n. How is your day going?” Max asks, smiling. 

     “It’s been quite alright. Louis and Estelle left for vacation earlier today, so it’ll be just me for the next week. How has training been going?” You ask, taking up your place at the register. 

     “It’s been going good. We have a pre-season track session in Spain here in a month, so training has gotten tougher,” he explains, “I’ve tried your cupcakes, pain du chocolat, blueberry scones, and croissants. What would you recommend next?” 

     “Well, I just made fresh batches of both the choux a la creme and the kouign-amann,” you think aloud. 

     “I’ll try both of those then!” Max answers. You nod and get to work packing them up for him. As you pack them up, he asks about Bahrain. “So, do you have a hotel for Bahrain yet?” 

     “I do! I fly in on the Tuesday before the race and then leave on the following Monday. I wanted a few days to explore the city before the race,” you answer. You finish up with Max’s order as he nods. 

     “I fly in on the seventh because we have pre-season testing the weekend before. Hopefully I’ll get to see you before it all gets hectic for the race,” Max tells you. 

     “I hope so, too. If not, I’ll be cheering for you from your garage,” you grin. 

     “You’re right. Well, I’ll see you in Bahrain if I don’t come in before then. Have a good day, Y/n,” Max says, heading for the door. 

     “See you in Bahrain, Max. Have a good day,” you wave bye.

Next Chapter: Chapter Three

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist:

@freyathehuntress

[eveninggstar]

what is this feeling?' ⊹ ࣪ ˖

max verstappen x ferraridriver!reader

12.12.24

୨ৎ back one page ୨ৎ back two pages

part one, part two, ....

୨ৎ In the high-stakes world of Formula 1, Y/N, a rookie Ferrari driver, enters the paddock with the weight of legacy on her shoulders, replacing the legendary Sebastian Vettel. Armed with charm and determination, she quickly wins over fans and drivers alike. But not everyone is so easily impressed—least of all Max Verstappen, the controversial Red Bull prodigy whose dominance on the track is matched only by his polarizing personality.

*dear universe this is not me manifesting max retiring, if he wants to take a season or two off to be with his kid i fully understand that but i need him in f1 *

imagine that max is still as hated as he was during the 2021 season and still acts the way he did, and yes this is inspired by wicked

The paddock buzzed with life, reporters running wild like headless chickens in a desperate bid to extract every last detail before the Abu Dhabi GP drew to a close. Cameras clicked like clockwork, capturing fleeting moments, while engineers barked orders in preparation for the season's final race. Yet amidst the beauty and glamour, one name cast a shadow large enough to shroud even the brightest lights: Max Verstappen.

To many, Verstappen was the villain of Formula 1. Some called him "Mad Max," while others simply labelled him wicked. A driver who thrived on chaos and adrenaline, his daring overtakes and unapologetic demeanour had earned him countless trophies—and just as many critics. His success on the track seemed almost effortless, but his reputation came with a price, leaving what many described as "blood on the asphalt."

As the last cars crossed the finish line, a new kind of chaos erupted. The usual end-of-season celebrations were overshadowed by a statement that reverberated through the paddock like a shockwave. It wasn’t just about the podium or the champagne—it was about him.

Max Verstappen had announced his retirement.

The reporter standing before you barely registered as a person, her voice blending into the noise of the moment. You were only half-listening, waiting for the key phrases that would prompt your rehearsed responses. But this time, her words jolted you out of your trance.

"How are you feeling about Max’s retirement?"

“His what?” Your eyes widened, searching her face to confirm you hadn’t misheard. The news hit like a bombshell, one no one had seen coming. Max Verstappen—arguably the most dominant driver of his era—was walking away.

"Let us be glad and grateful that he’s taking time for himself," you replied with a smile that felt as stiff as the tension in the air.

The reactions to his departure were as polarizing as the man himself. Some celebrated as though tyranny had ended, gleefully tweeting about a "freer grid." Others expressed grudging respect for his legacy. But one sentiment echoed louder than any other: "No one will mourn him."

Another question came, cutting through the murmurs. "How would you describe your relationship with Verstappen?"

Your mind betrayed you, flashing through secret memories you’d carefully buried—moments shared with Max away from the cameras and the chaos. A fond smile softened your features before you could stop it.

“Well, it depends on what you mean. I knew him well.”

The sharp intakes of breath around you made you realize your mistake. Your eyes darted to the reporter’s raised eyebrows, and you scrambled to recover.

“That is, our paths crossed a few times,” you added hastily, forcing the smile back into something neutral.

The memory hit you like the roar of an engine at full throttle.

You were replacing Sebastian Vettel. The Sebastian Vettel. It was a surreal honour and an immense pressure, all rolled into one. As a wide-eyed rookie in the scarlet Ferrari suit, you stepped into a world dominated by egos as sharp as the turns at Suzuka. Despite the intimidating atmosphere, you had already gained a reputation in junior categories for your kind nature and willingness to lend a hand to those around you—traits that endeared you to fans and teammates alike.

But in the paddock, another name was whispered with equal parts awe and trepidation: Max Verstappen.

You had heard the stories before you ever saw him. He was the paddock prodigy—unstoppable, unrelenting, and, if the rumours were true, utterly unbearable. Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the reality of meeting Max Verstappen.

Your thoughts were momentarily elsewhere as your parents dropped you off, their excitement practically radiating. Who could blame them? You were about to make a name for yourself in F1.

“I love you both so much!” you said with a smile as they each kissed your cheek. “Remember, it’s not goodbye, it’s farewell.” You held their hands, knowing they couldn’t travel the world with you and trying not to let the bittersweet moment dampen your nerves.

“We love you,” your mother said, squeezing your father’s hand as he wiped away tears threatening to spill.

“You’ll write, won’t you?” he asked, his voice choked.

“I’ll text,” you promised, feeling a pang of second-hand embarrassment as you noticed some bystanders watching. “Alright, off you go. Love you both, but this is getting sad.” You began shooing them toward the car with exaggerated motions. “Miss you already!”

As the door closed and the car pulled away, you let out a small sigh, a fond smile tugging at your lips. “They’re going to miss me so much,” you said mostly to yourself.

“Not to ruin your moment, but my parents didn’t give me a send-off like that when I started.”

The voice startled you, and you turned to find an awkward-looking boy standing nearby. He seemed about your age, his British accent immediately catching your attention.

“I’m Lando!” he said with a cheesy grin, holding out his hand.

You blinked, feigning interest but not taking the offered handshake. “Nice to meet you,” you replied, though your tone made it clear the sentiment was forced.

“I know we don’t really know each other yet,” Lando continued, undeterred by your cool demeanour, “but—”

“You know what I believe, Bando?”

“It’s Lando—wait, did I just call myself Bando?” He paused, blinking in confusion as he realized his mistake.

“That strangers are just people I haven’t met,” you said smoothly, cutting him off before walking away with a quick “Bye.”

Lando stood there, staring after you in stunned silence. You didn’t look back, but if you had, you might’ve seen the hint of admiration in his gaze.

As you strolled through the paddock, clad in a Ferrari-branded top and a denim skirt, you could feel the public falling more and more in love with you. The cameras followed your every move, and you basked in the attention, your charm effortlessly captivating drivers, reporters, and fans alike.

While chatting with a fellow driver, you noticed the whispers around you growing louder. People were glancing over your shoulder, their curious expressions hinting at the presence of someone noteworthy. Though intrigued, you refused to let anything interrupt the conversation.

“Nice shirt.”

The voice came from behind, startling you enough to make you let out a small yelp as you spun around. Standing there was Max Verstappen, his outfit eerily similar to yours—jeans and a Red Bull-branded shirt. His smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, a clear sign he wasn’t here to make friends.

“It’s Ferrari,” you replied coolly, your voice steady. “Of course, it’s nice.”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that made you feel like the punchline to a joke you hadn’t heard. “Right. Tradition over innovation. Bold choice for someone who actually wants to win.”

You bristled, the jab hitting its mark. “Bold words for someone who’d rather push people off the track than pass them cleanly.”

His smirk faltered, just for a moment, before returning sharper than ever. “So, you’re a fan of the rulebook, huh? That explains why I’ve never seen you near the front.”

The remark stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Well, I prefer to race with integrity, not turn every Grand Prix into a demolition derby.”

The tension between you was palpable, crackling like static electricity and drawing the attention of other drivers nearby. Daniel Ricciardo, ever the diplomat, stepped in with a quick joke to diffuse the situation, breaking the charged silence.

Even as the event continued and the focus shifted elsewhere, you could still feel Max’s gaze on you, like a challenge waiting to be answered.

That night, as you replayed the interaction in your mind, it left you feeling equal parts irritation and curiosity. Max was everything you’d been warned about—brash, arrogant, and maddeningly self-assured.

But there was something else too, something in the way his eyes had lingered on yours, as if he saw you as a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

And maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[educatedsimps]

Heyo! Quick request here because my FYP wants to make me suffer with all the Bokuto angst I’ve been seeing related to different fics (like in another life, ect). WHY DO FANFIC AUTHORS KEEP KILLING HIM OFF??? ITS DRIVING ME NUTS 😭😭 Anyway, I’d like to request some fluff with Bokuto to counteract the angst I’ve been seeing. Maybe the reader wakes up from a nightmare similar to what’s been going on in these fics and he cheers her up by being his normal happy self? Take that my FYP hahaha

(I love your writing btw! I literally pause whatever I’m doing to read anything you’ve posted! You’re my fav author on this website <3)

≪ back to fics masterlist

bokuto kōtarō x f!reader

a/n: nah bro in another life fucking broke me 🥲 i read it in like 2021 (i think??) and that angst still haunts me to this very day 😀 anyway ofc bae i literally had a fic with this nightmare/comfort idea in my google keep drafts for the LONGEST time so it's time to finally put it out there lol. ALSO I'M SO GLAD U LIKE OUR WORKS omg "favourite author"??? MY HEART ✋😭 TY FOR READING ANON ILYSM 😭💕 hope u enjoy this bae and thanku for requesting, it was truly a joy writing this!

cw: idk man just bokuto fluff and comfort typa thing cuz he’s bokuto and the B in bokuto stands for best boyfriend (b)ever

"so he’s killed in the straight aus and sent back to be with akaashi cause we will nvr recover from in another life" -yves 2024

Jolting awake, you felt fresh tears rolling past your cheeks and staining your pillow. Eyes wide, you scanned your surroundings. Same room, same bed, same pyjamas...

Was that all a dream? But... It had felt so terrifyingly real that you had woken up in a cold sweat with ugly tears streaming down your face. Heart palpitating, you tried to regulate your breathing and convinced yourself that it was just a dream.

Feeling a warm breath brush the back of your neck, you turned to see your boyfriend, Bokuto Kōtarō, sleeping soundly next to you. His breaths were slow and deep, and you watched as his bare chest rose and fell. With a beefy arm slung over your waist, he held you close to him throughout the night, keeping you warm. The dim moonlight from your window illuminated his features and his face looked so peaceful (and beautiful) you couldn't help but stare.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you soaked up the warmth radiating from his body. Not wanting to wake him, you furiously wiped the tears from your cheeks and tried to quiet your sobs.

Unfortunately for you, Bokuto's hearing was as sharp as an owl's, and he stirred with a groggy "Y/n?"

A sniffle.

He jerked his head up to look at you clearly. Your head was buried in his chest. "Y/n?"

Another sniffle. He was starting to panic.

"Babe! Babe, what happened?" He asked softly, placing a hand under your chin and tilting your head up. He swore he heard his heart go crack when he saw your tears. You responded by burying your face in his neck again.

Realising you probably weren't ready to talk just yet, he decided to distract you first. Pulling your trembling body to his, he gently rubbed circles on your back and pressed a sweet kiss to your temple.

He hummed, "You know, I was thinking the other day. Maybe we could install a small spinning light thingy in the corner of our room so it's not so dark at night. I know you don't really like it when it's pitch black in the room sooo I figured maybe that could help! I was scrolling online and saw some designs I thought you'd like, but I forgot to copy the link to send it to you but I can look for it again and show it to you later-"

He paused abruptly when you raised your head, sitting up and looking at him with a half-smile on your face.

"You okay?" He asked, concern taking over his features. He shifted so that you both were half sitting with your legs still tangled under the blanket. "Wanna talk about it?"

With yet another sniffle, you nodded. As you recounted your nightmare, Bokuto continued rubbing your arm soothingly, occasionally wiping away your tears with his thumb. His head was tilted to the side in the most adorable fashion and his eyes were fully focused on you as you spoke.

"And... and then you died," You whispered, voice hoarse and shaky. Looking into his bright amber eyes, you continued. "It was so scary, Kō..."

"But I’m right here, aren’t I?" He asked almost immediately. Bending down to your eye level, he looked at you with such a pure and genuine smile. Your heart beat faster under his gaze.

"And I’m gonna be right here forever. I’ll be here when you wake up from bad dreams and good dreams, and I’ll be here on the nights you can’t fall asleep. I’ll be your protector, Y/n!” He continued, beaming. He swiftly placed a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll protect you from all the nightmares, I promise! And see? I’m totally fine! Those killers ain't got nothing on us. I won’t let ‘em touch my baby.”

He concluded his little cheer-up speech with a sweet kiss on your lips. His hand brushed your jaw, pulling you closer. If you weren’t seated firmly on the bed, your knees probably would’ve given out from how sweet the kiss was. Either that or you would’ve gotten severe cavities before the kiss ended.

Pulling away, he wrapped you up in his arms and you felt your lips pull into a smile. His cheery mood really was contagious.

Gently pushing you into a lying position, he grabbed the blanket and pulled it over your bodies, essentially bundling the two of you together.

“Time to get some sleep, babe. I’ll be right here, ‘kay?” He said, now hugging you under the covers. You hummed, feeling safe and content.

“Oh yeah, we should definitely get a spinning light thingy. It might help with the nightmares ‘cause it won’t be as dark,” you piped up. Chuckling, Bokuto agreed.

“I love you,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

“I love you more,” you yawned.

“I love you the most-est!”

You felt another kiss on the crown of your head before you drifted off to sleep.

a/n: UMMM i hope this was nightmarish/comfort/cheery enough?? IDK IM SORRY IF IT DIDNT MEET THE REQUIREMENTS 😭 but still, tysm for requesting and thanku for reading too!! hope u liked it :,) (feel free to request another part if you’re not satisfied)

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