Oop

26

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

seeing double

summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…

pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader

warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint

notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂‍↕️

likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!

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masterlist

“Ew.”

The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.

You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.

“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.

McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.

“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.

You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.

After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.

“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.

“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.

“They’re raspberry flavoured.”

“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”

You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.

He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.

You: Are you coming in early today?

JA ❤️: Always.

You quickly typed out another message.

You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible

The reply came almost instantly.

JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.

You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.

JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.

You: are you psychic?

JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.

Your smile widened as his reply came through.

You: thank u 🩷

JA ❤️: 👍

“What are you smiling at?”

You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.

“What?”

“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”

“Nothing.”

Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.

Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”

“What?”

“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.

“That?” Whitaker supplied.

“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.

“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”

Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”

You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”

Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”

Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."

You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.

“Never give your triggers away Santos.”

“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.

You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.

You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.

“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”

“Not for a little while.”

“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”

“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”

You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”

Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”

You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”

“Apparently so.”

You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.

Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.

“Hey.”

You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.

“What?” You asked warily.

Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”

“The what?”

Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.

“Absolute smoke show.”

Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”

Your brows knitted together.

“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.

“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.

You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.

At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.

And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.

“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.

You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.

Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.

Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.

“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”

By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.

“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”

Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Well I’ll be.”

That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.

“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”

Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.

“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”

“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”

“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.

He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.

"Someone has to."

Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.

“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.

"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.

“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.

“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.

Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"

Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.

"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"

"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"

"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."

McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.

“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”

Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”

You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.

“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”

You snorted. “Please.”

“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”

You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”

He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."

He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”

You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”

“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."

"No."

"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”

"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.

“Wait let me guess.”

Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.

His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”

He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”

From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”

Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.

Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.

For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.

Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”

Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.

“I’m right."

You didn't answer.

"I am."

“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”

“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”

“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”

Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."

"He also has excellent aim."

"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."

And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.

"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.

“You’re happy?”

You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.

“I am.”

“He good to you?"

You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”

Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”

For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.

You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”

“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.

"So the usual then?"

“The usual.”

He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”

“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."

Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”

“Sloan.”

The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.

Mark's grin returned instantly.

“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.

"A lot less hair since I last saw you."

Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”

Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.

Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.

“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”

“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”

“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”

Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.

“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”

McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”

“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.

Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”

The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."

Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.

“You two know eachother?”

“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.

“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.

Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”

You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.

“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“

“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."

Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."

“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”

Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.

You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.

He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.

"Ex?"

You sighed. "...Ex."

Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”

“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”

Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.

You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.

“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.

Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.

You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.

When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”

You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.

For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.

By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.

“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”

You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.

“The old lady with the chest pain?”

“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.

You frowned. "That sucks."

“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.

“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."

Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”

Your eyes narrowed.

"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."

"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.

"I hate all of you."

Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"

Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.

You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.

You waited a couple minutes before moving.

The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.

A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that’s your ex.”

“That’s my ex.”

He nodded. "You left out a few details."

"Such as?"

His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.

“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"

Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."

Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”

“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”

“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”

“You’re not.” You insisted.

Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.

You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”

“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.

Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.

"Jack."

"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”

You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.

“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.

“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.

“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”

You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”

Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.

“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”

His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”

“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”

The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”

“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”

His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”

Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.

“Well, lucky for him it worked.”

The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.

He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.

“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”

You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”

“Yes.” He answered plainly.

You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”

Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”

You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”

Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”

Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Did you eat?”

You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”

Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”

“I will.”

“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”

“Of course.”

You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”

His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.

“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.

You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”

You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.

“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”

Jack raised a brow.

“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”

“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.

“I know I am.”

“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.

You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.

Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.

As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍

[sebsangell]

For him to be so big and scary he’s awfully shy

[swirledyouintoallmypoems]

SO HIGH SCHOOL MASTERLIST steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: you’re jonathan byers’s best friend. you live in hawkins, indiana, and you know everyone in the small town. you work two jobs to help your mom with bills while also managing to be the top of your classes. everything is normal until the day will byers goes missing, and the world as you know it is flipped upside down. and because of that, you form an unlikely friendship with the ‘king’ of your high school, steve harrington.

tags/warnings: steve harrington x fem!reader, use of y/n, mostly canon-compliant reader insert (maybe a few minor changes here or there), swearing, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to ??? to lovers, seasons 1-5, mentions of child abandonment/neglect, mentions of dead parents, minor eddie munson x fem!reader, reader lowkey has attachment/abandonment issues, minor miscommunication, i hate murray bauman, writing might be shit idk.

masterlist !

wattpad link , ao3 link

–

PART ONE – tell me ‘bout the first time you saw me chapter one chapter two chapter three

PART TWO – you know how to ball, i know aristotle chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight

PART THREE – are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me? chapter nine chapter ten chapter eleven chapter twelve chapter thirteen

PART FOUR – i want to find you in a crowd just to hide from you chapter fourteen chapter fifteen chapter sixteen chapter seventeen chapter eighteen chapter nineteen chapter twenty

PART FIVE – no one’s ever had me, not like you chapter twenty-one chapter twenty-two chapter twenty-three chapter twenty-four chapter twenty-five chapter twenty-six chapter twenty-seven

EPILOGUE – you knew what you wanted and, boy, you got her the epilogue

–

a/n: this series was originally posted on wattpad on christmas 2025, and i’m writing the last few chapters right now so i thought this was the best time to start posting it on here + ao3! idk i hope you guys like it. and don't worry, this series is basically completely written so i will still be focusing on writing other fics while posting this! more spidey steve is coming i promise you all.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added/removed): @karolinesvrsion @djopuppy @ophirei @redvelvetcupcke @notmily @jamietarttdodo @beaut1ful-stranger @kanabefairy @glittermermaid222 @glittrrx @boldlyfadingdinosaur @riddlersoupwrites @jamieexistss @marvelgirlie-4 @strangegirl26sff @dyanasaur @mortqlprojections @napofaprincess @dr0wsy-m00ns @rocklandhoax @foreverdjofan @lacywithdrawal @oohgeminii @imani4reading @angxlg0dz @sunflowergir62 @d4yanalav3nder00 @discodjo @nowprettybbyimrunning  @sugartalk-ing @hutaotao @carpetmumcher @peterthehorseisinhere @laufeysvalentine @harringtondarling @marcspectorondeeznuts @strawberryloveyy @onenightafewmoonsago @pzxielz @dwindella @lortheswiftie @exooojongdaeee @moonjellyfishie @jinxispunk @sloppyjoesandwich @percyjacksonsnosebleed @shautanashipman @exploding-bonbon

[raccooninthemachine]

take your troubles away from me

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader Reader: She/her pronouns, no given name

Warnings: Heavy angst, emotional neglect, marital conflict, pregnancy, divorce discussion, loneliness, hurt/no comfort, Jack missing an important event, a painful marriage breakdown, emotional abandonment, public humiliation, pregnancy reveal, divorce papers, and unresolved ending.

Author’s Note: Inspired by the kind of heartbreak that does not end just because someone leaves. Loosely inspired by Janine Berdin’s What If I Miss You For The Rest Of My Life?

This will be one of the few works I’ve decided to allow reblogs on, mostly because I want to see how I feel about it before deciding whether I’ll allow reblogs on future fics. I haven’t been the biggest fan of reblogs in the past, so please be respectful of that.

Summary: Jack promised he would be there. For once, on the most important night of your career, you believed him. But when the hospital takes him away again, you are left to stand alone beneath the lights, accept an award with his chair sitting empty beside you, and carry the secret you had planned to share with him. By the time he finally comes home, the marriage has already broken in a place apologies cannot reach.

I have built a house where I wait for your return

The dress had been hanging on the back of the bedroom door for almost two weeks before Jack finally noticed it.

You had left it there on purpose, though you told yourself you hadn’t. You told yourself it was there because the closet was too full, because the garment bag was too long, because the silk would crease if you shoved it between winter coats and blazers. You told yourself a lot of things because admitting the truth felt too humiliating, and the truth was that part of you wanted him to see it. You wanted him to remember without being reminded. You wanted him to walk past it after a long shift, pause with his hand still on the doorknob, and say, “That’s for the gala, right?” like the date lived somewhere in his head that wasn’t overcrowded by trauma charts, shift changes, hospital pages, and everyone else’s emergencies.

It was a black silk gown, simple in the way expensive things were simple. Off the shoulder, fitted through the waist, smooth over the hips, with a slit that opened only when you walked. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t need to be. The fabric caught the bedroom light softly, almost like water, and every time you passed it, you imagined wearing it beside him.

That was the part that embarrassed you now. You had imagined it.

Jack in a dark suit. You in the black dress. His hand at the small of your back while people congratulated you. Maybe he would be tired, because he was always tired, but he would be there. You pictured him standing slightly behind you when people asked questions about the hospital contracts, his expression quiet but proud, his thumb brushing your hip like he needed to remind himself you were real. You pictured him leaning down and saying something low near your ear, something dry and teasing, something only meant for you. You pictured walking into a room and not feeling like you had to be impressive alone.

Three weeks earlier, he had stood in the kitchen with the invitation in his hand, wearing sweatpants and an old Pitt hoodie, his hair still damp from the shower. His eyes had looked bruised underneath from exhaustion, but when he read your name embossed in gold, he smiled.

“Dr. Y/N Abbot,” he said, running his thumb over the raised lettering. “Founder and Chief Systems Architect. This is fancy.”

You had been sitting at the island with your laptop open, pretending not to watch him too closely. There was a half-empty mug of tea beside your hand that had gone cold while you answered emails, and Jack had been barefoot on the kitchen tile, still carrying the warmth of the shower and the fatigue of the hospital with him.

“It’s a major industry gala, Jack. It’s supposed to be fancy.”

He looked up, amused. “I know. I’m just saying. This is real fancy.”

“You’re acting like I invited you to prom.”

“Kind of feels like it,” he said, setting the invitation down. “Except I don’t think anyone at my prom was casually entering billion-dollar valuation territory.”

You laughed despite yourself, and he came around the island, slipping his arms around your waist from behind. For a moment, you let yourself lean back into him. He smelled like soap, coffee, and hospital laundry detergent, that clean, sterile scent that had somehow become part of your marriage. His mouth brushed the side of your neck, and for a second, the kitchen felt like a place where both of your lives still fit.

“Don’t say it like that,” you murmured.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous,” Jack said, his voice low against your skin. “In a good way. My wife builds technology hospitals are fighting to buy, and I’m over here trying to remember where I left my badge.”

You turned in his arms and looked up at him. His hands stayed at your waist, warm and familiar. You could feel the small tremor of exhaustion in him, the way he was never fully still after a hard shift, like some part of his body was always bracing for the next alarm.

“So you’re coming?”

His smile softened. “Of course I’m coming.”

“You asked Harper to switch?”

“Already done.”

“You’re not on call?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

Jack’s expression changed then, the teasing fading into something more careful. He touched your cheek with his thumb, and you hated how quickly your heart wanted to believe him. It was always like that with Jack. One gentle touch, one serious look, one promise said in that tired, sincere voice, and all the loneliness you had been trying to gather into evidence loosened in your hands.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m coming.”

You searched his face. “This one matters to me.”

“I know.”

“It’s not just dinner. We’re announcing the hospital network implementation contracts. The rollout plan. Market entry. The valuation estimate. This is the kind of night people remember.”

Jack nodded and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

That was the version of him you kept loving. The version that meant it. The problem was, Jack almost always meant it. If he had been careless, maybe you could have hated him properly. If he had forgotten because you did not matter, maybe the grief would have sharpened into something cleaner, something you could hold without blaming yourself. But Jack remembered in fragments. He loved in fragments. He showed up in small, exhausted pieces and looked at you like he wanted to give you everything, right before the world asked him for more than he had left.

And you kept living on those pieces.

A hand on your waist in the kitchen. His mouth against your temple before a shift. The rare mornings where he woke before his alarm and pulled you back against him like sleep had made him honest. The way he still looked at your face sometimes, quietly, almost helplessly, like he was surprised life had ever given him something soft. You had survived on that for longer than you wanted to admit, and that was the humiliating part. Not that he hurt you. Not even that he missed things. It was that one good look from him could still make you forgive a loneliness he had not yet apologized for.

On the night of the gala, he called you at 5:18 p.m.

You were standing in the bathroom in a silk robe while your makeup artist packed up her kit. Your hair was pinned into a low twist at the back of your neck, with a few pieces left soft around your face. Your earrings were already on, small diamond drops that caught the light whenever you moved. Your face looked finished in the mirror — warm skin, dark lashes, softly lined lips — polished enough that no one would know how nervous you were.

The bathroom smelled like hairspray, powder, perfume, and the faint steam from the shower you had taken an hour earlier. On the counter, your lipstick lay uncapped beside a little dish holding your wedding rings, which you had cleaned that afternoon because you thought there would be photographs of the two of you. The whole apartment felt too quiet, too prepared, like a stage waiting for someone who had not arrived yet.

Your phone lit up on the counter.

Jack.

Your stomach dropped before you even answered.

“Please don’t,” you said immediately.

There was a pause on the other end. Then Jack sighed, and the sound told you everything before he did.

“Y/N.”

You closed your eyes. “You said you weren’t on call.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You said you switched.”

“I did.”

“Then why are you calling me like this?”

He sounded tired already. Not physically tired exactly, but braced, like he knew he was about to hurt you and hated that knowing. “Harper’s kid got sick, and they’re short. It’s bad. I wouldn’t go in if they had coverage.”

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your eyeliner was perfect. Your lips were perfect. Your whole face looked calm in a way that made you feel almost detached from it.

“Did they ask you, or did you offer?”

Jack didn’t answer quickly enough.

You let out a small, humourless laugh. “Oh.”

“They were drowning,” he said.

“So you offered.”

“I said I could come in for a few hours. I’m going to try to get out as soon as I can.”

You pressed your fingertips into the cool marble counter. The makeup artist moved quietly in your peripheral vision, pretending very hard not to listen.

“Jack, the reception starts at seven. Dinner is at eight. Speeches are at nine-thirty.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“That’s not fair.”

You looked down at your wedding band in the dish. The diamond caught the bathroom light, clean and bright and cruel.

“I can’t do this right now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are.”

The silence stretched. You could hear hospital noise in the background already: a distant page, someone calling for transport, the low hum of a place that never cared what anyone had planned.

“I’ll make it,” Jack said, but his voice had changed.

You heard the lie before it fully left his mouth.

“Don’t,” you said softly.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t give me a second promise to cover the first one.”

He exhaled. “Y/N.”

“I have to finish getting dressed.”

“I love you.”

Your throat tightened. “I know.”

He waited, but you did not say it back. After a few seconds, he said he would text you when he knew more, and you ended the call before he could apologize again.

The makeup artist stood very still, her brush bag in one hand, pretending she had not heard enough to understand. You looked at her through the mirror and smiled with the exact expression you used in investor meetings.

“Sorry about that.”

Her face softened. “No, don’t apologize.”

You picked up your lipstick and opened it even though your lips were already done. “I’m fine.”

She did not believe you, which was kind of her. At least she did you the courtesy of not saying so.

You waited until she left before you put your rings back on. For a moment, you stood in the quiet bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. The woman looking back at you was composed, elegant, expensive. She looked like someone who knew exactly where she was going. She did not look like someone trying to decide whether it was more pathetic to cry before the biggest night of her career or to still hope her husband might walk through the door in time.

You got dressed carefully. You stepped into the gown and pulled it up over your body, smoothing the silk over your hips with both hands. The dress fit perfectly. That almost made you cry. You had wanted Jack to see it. You had wanted the private little intake of breath he sometimes gave when he forgot to pretend he wasn’t stunned by you. You had wanted him to look at you like he remembered you were not just the person waiting at home with leftovers and patience.

Instead, you zipped yourself up alone.

The first news segment aired from the lobby of The Pitt just after 7:00 p.m.

It wasn’t unusual for the televisions in the emergency department to run local news with the volume low. Most of the time, no one paid attention unless there was a weather alert, a mass casualty incident, or something affecting hospital funding. It was background noise beneath sharper sounds: monitors beeping, wheels rattling, phones ringing, curtain rings scraping open and shut.

Jack was at the desk reviewing imaging when one of the nurses looked up at the television.

“Wait,” she said. “Is that your wife?”

Jack’s head lifted.

The screen showed the front of the Meridian Grand, a luxury hotel downtown with a glass canopy and warm lights spilling onto the rain-dark sidewalk. A reporter stood outside in a wool coat, holding a microphone while guests moved behind her in formalwear.

The lower-third banner read:

L/N POWER SYSTEMS CELEBRATES MAJOR HOSPITAL GRID CONTRACTS Company valuation expected to climb as implementation phase begins

Jack’s hand tightened around the tablet.

The reporter smiled into the camera. “Tonight, L/N Power Systems is hosting a private gala following a major round of hospital infrastructure contracts that could place the company among the most valuable emerging players in emergency energy systems. Founded by electrical engineer Dr. Y/N Abbot, L/N Power Systems has developed adaptive microgrid technology designed to keep critical hospital units powered during grid failures, natural disasters, and rolling outages.”

A resident standing nearby glanced between the television and Jack. “Dr. Abbot, that’s your wife, right?”

Jack nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Damn,” the resident said, clearly trying to sound impressed rather than awkward. “That’s huge.”

Jack did not respond. The broadcast cut to a graphic showing projected contract values, implementation timelines, and valuation estimates. The numbers were careful, couched in analyst language, but the implication was obvious. If your company hit its implementation targets and the contracts expanded the way people expected, you were on track to enter billion-dollar territory.

A nurse whistled quietly. “Billion with a B?”

Another nurse said, “And she designed the actual system?”

Jack looked at the screen. “Yeah.”

The nurse shook her head. “That’s wild.”

The camera returned to the hotel entrance just as your car pulled up. Jack knew it was you before the door opened. He recognized the way Mara, your assistant, stepped out first and turned back toward the car, one hand hovering near the open door.

Then you appeared.

For a second, the desk around him faded out. The dress looked different on you than it had on the hanger. It followed your body with quiet confidence, the black silk catching silver from the camera flashes and gold from the hotel lights. Your shoulders were bare. Your hair was pinned low, elegant but not severe, and the diamonds at your ears glittered whenever you turned your head. You stepped under the canopy and smiled for the cameras.

It was a beautiful smile. It was also the smile you wore when you were trying not to feel something.

The reporter turned as photographers called your name. “And there she is now, Dr. Y/N Abbot, founder and chief systems architect of L/N Power Systems. Dr. Abbot has been described by analysts as one of the most closely watched engineers in the hospital infrastructure space, especially now that her company’s adaptive grid platform is moving from pilot installations into large-scale implementation.”

Someone at the desk said, “Jack, aren’t you supposed to be there?”

Nobody meant it cruelly. That almost made it worse.

Jack swallowed, still watching as you paused beside the step-and-repeat, your clutch held neatly in both hands.

“I was.”

The answer made the area around him go quiet.

On-screen, a reporter asked you, “Dr. Abbot, tonight is being described as a turning point for your company. What does it mean to have hospital systems moving forward with implementation?”

You smiled, and Jack noticed your fingers tighten slightly around your clutch.

“It means the work is becoming real,” you said. “Designing the system was one part of it. Proving it under stress testing was another. Implementation is where it starts to matter for patients, doctors, nurses, and everyone relying on those seconds when the grid becomes unstable.”

The reporter asked, “There’s already discussion of a possible billion-dollar valuation. Are you thinking about that tonight?”

You gave a small laugh, polite and controlled. “I think my CFO is probably thinking about it more than I am. The valuation matters because it affects growth and deployment, but for me, the focus is still the technology. If a trauma bay stays powered during an outage because of something my team built, that means more to me than a headline.”

The reporter thanked you. You nodded, smiled again, and moved inside.

Jack stood very still until the charge nurse beside him looked over. “You okay?”

He dragged his eyes from the screen. “Yeah.”

She held his gaze long enough to make it clear she did not believe him. Then a trauma page came through, and the whole department lurched back into motion. Jack handed off the tablet, shoved his phone into his pocket, and went where he was needed.

Again.

At the gala, people kept asking where your husband was.

You answered the first few times with patience. “He got called into the hospital.”

Most people responded kindly. Some even looked impressed, as if Jack’s absence made the two of you nobler somehow.

“Oh, of course. Emergency medicine.”

“That must be so difficult.”

“You both do such meaningful work.”

“Power couple, even when you’re in different places.”

You smiled through all of it. “Yes. He’s very dedicated.”

The ballroom was beautiful, but after a while its beauty started to feel almost cruel. The ceiling was high and painted cream and gold, with chandeliers throwing soft light over round tables covered in white linen. Each place setting had a black menu card with gold foil, a small arrangement of white orchids, and a tiny glass votive candle. Along one wall, a projection displayed animated renderings of your adaptive grid system: hospital wings lighting in sequence, power rerouting through alternate pathways, emergency loads stabilizing under simulated failures.

Your company’s leadership team sat near the stage. Your engineers were at the tables closest to you, dressed in suits and gowns that looked slightly unfamiliar on them. You loved seeing the people who had built the system with you getting treated like they belonged in rooms where money moved. Some of them kept taking discreet pictures of the menus and the floral arrangements. One of your junior engineers had shown up in a suit that still had a faint fold line in the sleeve from being fresh out of the garment bag. Another kept touching the stem of his wineglass like he was afraid of breaking it.

You should have been happy. Part of you was happy. That was what made the grief feel so unfair. The night was not ruined. The contracts were real. The applause was real. Your team’s pride was real. Your name on that screen was real. All of it was real.

So was the empty chair beside you.

By the tenth time someone asked where your husband was, you stopped hearing the question as a question. It became part of the room.

Where is he?

In the clink of champagne glasses.

Where is he?

In the scrape of chairs being pulled out for other wives, other husbands, other people with someone’s hand resting warmly against the backs of their seats.

Where is he?

In the empty space beside your plate, where his name sat in elegant black ink on heavy cream cardstock.

Dr. Jack Abbot

You stared at it for too long once, long enough that Mara touched your elbow beneath the table.

“You okay?”

You smiled before you answered, because that had become its own kind of muscle memory. “Yes.”

But your chest ached with something so childish and raw that it embarrassed you. You wanted him to think of you. Not the company. Not the press segment. Not the award. You. The woman in the dress he had promised to stand beside. The woman who had cleaned her wedding rings because she thought there would be photographs. The woman who kept glancing at the doors like wanting him hard enough might make him appear.

You hated yourself a little for that.

You hated that even surrounded by applause, even with your name glowing behind you, some stupid, tender part of you was still waiting to be someone’s favorite thing in the room.

Mara stayed close, fielding conversations when she sensed you needed a breath. She wore a deep green dress and carried a tablet even though you had told her not to work tonight.

“You’re doing great,” she murmured when a hospital executive walked away after asking too many questions about rollout costs.

You looked at the champagne flute in your hand. You had not taken a single sip.

“I’m doing rich-woman cosplay.”

“You are a rich woman.”

“Not emotionally.”

Mara almost laughed, then looked at your face and didn’t.

Your hand went to your clutch, where the white envelope from the doctor’s office was tucked beneath your phone. You had not told anyone. Not Mara. Not your mother. Not Jack.

Especially not Jack.

The result had come through that morning after bloodwork confirmed what the home tests had already said. Five weeks. Early enough that it still felt secret and unreal, but real enough that the nurse had told you to start prenatal vitamins and book a follow-up appointment. You had sat in your car outside the clinic with both hands on the steering wheel, staring at the printed result until the words stopped looking like English.

Pregnant.

At first, you cried because you were happy. Then you cried because you were scared. Then, worst of all, you cried because the first person you wanted was Jack, and you had already known there was a chance he would not be there when you told him.

During dinner, your phone buzzed once. You checked it under the table.

Jack: I’m still here. I’m so sorry. I watched your interview. You looked beautiful. I’m proud of you.

You stared at it for a long moment. For a second, you felt nothing. Then the hurt arrived slowly, settling into the parts of you that had already made room for it.

Mara leaned closer. “Is it him?”

You put the phone face down on the table. “Yeah.”

“Is he coming?”

You smoothed the edge of your napkin in your lap. “No.”

Mara went quiet. Across the room, your CFO was laughing with two investors. Someone from the hospital network raised a glass toward you, and you smiled back automatically.

“I don’t want to cry in this dress,” you said.

Mara’s voice softened. “Then don’t. Be mad instead.”

You looked at her, and something in your chest tightened. “I’m so tired of being mad.”

That was the truth you never said out loud. Anger took energy. Anger required the belief that something could still change if you made enough noise. You were so far past that now. You were tired in a way sleep could not fix, tired of dressing up disappointment until it looked like understanding, tired of giving Jack the best parts of your compassion while keeping none of it for yourself.

The first time the lights flickered at The Pitt that night, nobody really reacted.

Hospitals had a way of making disaster feel routine at first. A monitor blinked. A ceiling light hummed. Somewhere behind the desk, a printer stopped halfway through a page and then coughed itself back to life. The nurses looked up, annoyed but not afraid, because annoyance was easier to wear than fear.

Jack was in trauma two with both hands pressed around a patient’s bleeding thigh when the second flicker came.

This time, the room noticed.

“Power?” someone asked.

“Backup should catch,” a nurse said, but her voice had gone thin.

Then the overheads steadied. The monitors held. The ventilator kept its rhythm. The trauma bay stayed bright.

A few seconds later, someone from facilities came over the radio, breathless and stunned.

“Adaptive reroute engaged. Critical load stabilized. We’re holding.”

Jack froze.

Only for a second, but long enough for the words to land somewhere beneath his ribs.

Adaptive reroute.

Your system.

Your work.

Your sleepless nights, your marked-up schematics, your laptop glowing blue at two in the morning while he came home too tired to ask what you were building. Your hands, your mind, your stubbornness, your company, your impossible little gap between failure and recovery.

The trauma bay lights stayed on because of you.

And he was not beside you when the world clapped for it.

“Dr. Abbot?”

Jack blinked and looked down. His gloves were slick. The patient was still bleeding. The room still needed him.

“Clamp,” he said, voice rough. “Now.”

He kept working because that was what he did. He kept people alive. He kept rooms from falling apart. He kept going until the crisis passed and everyone around him could breathe again.

But after, when the patient was taken upstairs and Jack stepped into the hall, the television over the nurses’ station was still showing the gala.

Your gala.

The reporter’s voice filled the space between ringing phones and rolling carts.

“Moments ago, L/N Power Systems’ adaptive grid platform stabilized a critical load interruption at an emergency department participating in one of its pilot programs. Company officials have not yet confirmed which hospital experienced the event, but analysts are already calling tonight a live demonstration of the technology’s value.”

A resident looked from the screen to Jack.

No one had to say it.

Jack already knew.

The hospital had needed you tonight too. The difference was, the hospital had gotten you.

He had not shown up for you at all.

Jack saw your acceptance speech from the staff lounge.

He had missed the start because a patient had crashed, and by the time he made it to the lounge, his scrub top was damp at the collar and his hands still smelled faintly of antiseptic even after washing them twice. Someone had turned the television volume up because your gala was now the top local business story of the evening.

You were on stage behind a podium, your award resting beside the microphone. The lights made your skin glow and turned the black silk of your gown almost blue at the edges. Behind you, the screen showed a slow animation of your company’s system keeping a surgical wing powered during a simulated outage.

Jack stayed in the doorway.

On the screen, you took a breath and looked out at the room.

“When I started this company, a lot of people told me the idea was too difficult to scale,” you said. “Some were polite about it. Some were not. I was told hospitals already had backup systems, that emergency power was a solved problem, and that the failure gap we were focused on was too small to justify the investment.”

You smiled slightly, and the audience laughed when you added, “The thing about engineers is that if you tell us the gap is small, we tend to ask what happens inside it.”

Jack’s throat tightened. He had heard you practice versions of this speech in the shower, in the kitchen, in the car. He had teased you once for rewriting one paragraph eleven times. You had thrown a pillow at him and told him the paragraph was weak.

Now you were saying it without him in the room.

“We built this system because seconds matter,” you continued. “A few seconds without stable power can change what happens in an operating room, in a trauma bay, in a NICU, in an elevator carrying a patient between floors. The goal was never to make hospitals perfect. The goal was to give them a better chance when everything else is failing.”

The staff lounge was quiet. Jack noticed one of the nurses standing near the coffee machine, arms folded, watching with damp eyes.

You glanced down briefly, then back up.

“I’m grateful for my team. I’m grateful to the hospital partners who believed in the technology early. I’m grateful to the people who asked hard questions, because they made the system better.”

You paused.

Jack knew that pause. He knew it because he had lived with you long enough to hear the breath you took before saying something that cost you.

“Tonight is a professional milestone, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t feel personal too. Building something this demanding changes your life. It changes your relationships. It tests who shows up, who wants to, and who actually does.”

Jack’s face went still.

On-screen, your expression remained calm, but your voice softened.

“I’ve learned that success does not make loneliness disappear. It can fill a ballroom. It can put your name on a screen. It can bring applause, contracts, and congratulations. But at the end of the night, you still know which chair beside you stayed empty.”

Nobody in the lounge moved.

Jack looked at the floor. He did not have to see the screen to know the camera would have found his empty chair. A place card with his name. A dinner plate cleared untouched. A visible absence.

But the camera did find it.

Not for long.

Just long enough.

There it was on the television: the chair beside you, empty beneath warm ballroom light. A white place card sat above the untouched dinner setting.

Dr. Jack Abbot

Someone in the lounge inhaled quietly.

Jack stared at his name on the screen.

It was different seeing it like that. Not as a missed text. Not as a fight waiting to happen. Not as something he could explain with patients and short staffing and impossible nights.

It was a space with his name on it.

A promise that had a shape.

An absence everyone could see.

You continued, steadier now. “I am proud of this company. I am proud of the team who built it. And tonight, I am proud of myself for believing that the things I needed were worth building, even when I had to build them alone.”

The applause started slowly, then grew.

Jack stood there, unable to move.

One of the residents near the table said quietly, “I’m sorry, man.”

Jack nodded, because there was nothing else to do. A minute later, his pager went off again.

You left the gala after midnight with your award in one hand and your clutch in the other.

People tried to stop you on the way out. A board member wanted to introduce you to someone from a national health system. Your CFO wanted five minutes about a follow-up call. A journalist asked for one more quote. You gave polite answers, promised emails, and let Mara run interference until you made it to the lobby.

Outside, the rain had slowed to a mist. The hotel’s front drive shone under the lights, slick and dark like spilled ink. Your heels clicked against the polished stone as you waited for the car. The night air was cold against your bare shoulders, and Mara draped your coat over you before you could pretend you were fine without it.

“You don’t have to go home,” she said.

You looked at the road. “I know.”

“I can book you a suite upstairs.”

“I already did.”

Mara turned to you.

You kept your eyes forward. “I booked it this afternoon. Just in case.”

Her expression changed, but she did not make it worse by reacting too much. “Okay.”

The car pulled up. The driver took your award and placed it carefully in the back seat. When you slid into the car, the dress gathered around your legs in a pool of black silk. Mara got in beside you.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The city moved past in blurred lights and wet windows. Billboards, traffic signals, restaurants closing for the night, people standing under awnings with cigarettes and phones. The world looked ordinary, which felt insulting. Something inside you had cracked open, and outside, people were still ordering late-night fries.

Mara broke the silence gently. “Do you want me to stay with you for a bit?”

You looked down at your clutch. “I’m pregnant.”

The words came out flat, almost too calm.

Mara’s head turned slowly. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Your eyes burned immediately. “I found out this morning.”

“Does Jack know?”

You shook your head. “I was going to tell him tonight.”

Mara covered her mouth for a second, then lowered her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

That was what undid you. Not the empty chair. Not the text. Not the speech. Just someone being sorry for you without making you explain why you had the right to be hurt.

You bent forward slightly, one hand pressed over your stomach, the other over your mouth, trying not to sob too loudly in the back of the car. Mara moved close and put an arm around your shoulders, careful of your hair, careful of the dress, careful of all the pieces of you that were barely holding.

“I wanted him there,” you said, voice muffled through your fingers. “I wanted one night where I didn’t have to understand.”

Mara rubbed your back. “I know.”

“I hate that I still wanted him.”

“That’s love,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t always leave when it should.”

You cried harder at that, because she was right. You thought you had moved past needing him like that. You thought if you got busy enough, successful enough, full enough, maybe you would not notice the missing parts so much. But then something happened, something beautiful or terrifying or important, and he was still the first person you wanted to tell.

You looked out the window, watching the city smear itself into streaks of white and red through the rain. Pittsburgh looked softer from inside the car, almost forgiving. Like it did not know what had happened to you tonight. Like somewhere behind all those lit windows, people were still coming home to each other.

“I’m sitting here with an award, a company people are saying might be worth a billion dollars, a baby I don’t even know how to feel brave enough for yet, and all I can think is that I wanted my husband to call me his girl one more time and mean it like nothing else in the world mattered.”

Mara reached for your hand.

You let her take it.

“I don’t know where to put all of this love,” you whispered. “That’s the worst part. I can leave the apartment. I can sign papers. I can sleep somewhere else. But what am I supposed to do with all the years I spent loving him?”

Mara squeezed your hand.

You looked down at your wedding ring.

“What if I spend the rest of my life missing him?”

The question was so quiet it barely felt spoken, but once it was out, there was no taking it back.

Jack came home at 2:38 a.m.

He opened the apartment door quietly, like quietness could make his absence smaller. The living room lamp was on. Your award sat on the coffee table, still gleaming, still heavy, still proof that the night had happened whether he had attended or not. Beside it were two envelopes. One cream, one white.

You were sitting on the couch in your gown. You had taken your earrings off. Your hair had loosened, soft pieces falling near your cheeks. Your lipstick had faded, and there were faint marks under your eyes where you had cried and carefully wiped the evidence away. Your heels were lined up beside the couch. Your bare feet were tucked beneath you.

Jack stopped near the door. “Hey.”

You looked up. “Hey.”

He closed the door and set his keys in the bowl by the entryway. The sound was small and domestic, so painfully normal that you almost laughed. How many times had you heard that exact sound? Keys in the bowl. Shoes by the door. His tired sigh. Your voice asking if he had eaten. Marriage had so many tiny rituals that survived even when the people inside them were falling apart.

“You’re still dressed,” he said.

“I know.”

“I thought you might be asleep.”

“I thought a lot of things tonight.”

Jack looked down. He was still in his scrubs under a dark jacket. His hair was messy from running his hands through it, and there was a line across his cheek from where a mask had pressed into his skin. He looked exhausted. He looked guilty. He looked like the man you loved.

That was inconvenient.

That was devastating.

He stepped farther into the room. “I watched your speech.”

You nodded.

“You were incredible.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. The way you talked about the system, the contracts, all of it. You were…” He stopped, searching for the right word. “You were exactly who you are.”

Your eyes filled, but you blinked the tears back. “That would have been nice to hear in person.”

Jack flinched. “I know.”

You looked down at your hands. Your rings caught the lamplight.

He came closer, stopping at the end of the coffee table. “I’m sorry.”

You smiled a little, but there was no warmth in it. “You say that so much.”

“I know.”

“I think that’s part of the problem.”

Jack sat in the armchair across from you instead of beside you. You appreciated that. At least he could still read a room.

“I didn’t want to miss it,” he said.

You looked at him. “I believe you.”

He seemed thrown by that. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you sound like that?”

“Because wanting to be there and being there are different things.”

Jack rubbed both hands over his face. When he lowered them, his eyes were red. “Harper called. They were short. I thought if I went in early, I could help stabilize things and leave before dinner.”

“You thought.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t call me before deciding.”

“I didn’t want to stress you out while you were getting ready.”

You stared at him, and he heard it as soon as he said it.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly.

“You didn’t want to stress me out, so you made the decision alone and told me after.”

Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I made the wrong call.”

“You made the familiar call.”

He swallowed.

The room settled around those words. Rain tapped softly at the windows. Somewhere outside, tires hissed against wet pavement. The apartment smelled faintly like his hospital jacket and your perfume, like two lives still pretending they knew how to touch without hurting each other.

“You don’t understand what it’s like there,” Jack said quietly.

The words came out tired. Not cruel. Not even angry at first. Just exhausted enough to be careless.

You went still.

Jack looked at you and immediately seemed to regret it. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” you said softly. “Say it.”

He closed his eyes. “I just mean, when someone is dying in front of you, when there aren’t enough hands, when people are looking at you like you’re the last thing standing between them and the worst day of their life, it’s not easy to walk away.”

You nodded slowly. “I know.”

“I don’t think you do.”

That one hurt.

You stared at him for a second, and something in your face changed. Not anger. Not even shock.

Exhaustion.

The kind that comes when someone you love finally says the thing you always knew they believed underneath all the apologies.

“You’re right,” you said.

Jack opened his eyes. “What?”

“You’re right. I don’t know exactly what it’s like to be you.”

His mouth tightened. “That’s not what I—”

“But I know what it’s like to keep the lights on when a hospital can’t afford for them to go out. I know what it’s like to have people depend on something I built, something I signed my name to, something that could fail in ways that would haunt me. I know what pressure is, Jack. I know what responsibility is.”

His face softened, shame creeping in.

You looked at the award on the table. “And I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people congratulating me while my husband is on a television screen’s other side, using my work to save people, and still somehow unable to show up for me.”

Jack’s eyes shone. “That’s not fair.”

The words came out before he could stop them.

You laughed once, small and wounded. “There it is.”

“Y/N—”

“No, it’s okay. It’s not fair. Someone was dying. The hospital was short. Harper’s kid was sick. There was a trauma. There was a power issue. There’s always a reason, Jack. There is always a reason good enough to make me feel awful for being hurt.”

His jaw worked, but no words came.

You leaned forward slightly, your voice low. “You know what the worst part is? I believe all your reasons. I believe they’re real. I believe they matter. I believe you’re a good doctor and a good man and that people are alive because of you.”

Your eyes filled.

“But I also believe I have been lonely in this marriage. And you keep asking one truth to erase the other.”

Jack looked down.

You reached for the cream envelope on the table. Your fingers brushed over the thick paper, and Jack’s gaze followed the movement.

“What is that?” he asked.

You held it in your lap for a moment. Jack looked at you like he wanted to memorize you and beg forgiveness at the same time. You wondered if he knew how often you had done that to him.

Memorized him, you meant.

The slope of his shoulders when he came home defeated. The faint scar near his eyebrow. The way his hands looked too capable around a coffee mug, too gentle when they touched you, too absent when you needed them and they were somewhere else holding someone else together. You had loved his face through every version of your own disappointment. You had loved him in doorways, waiting for him to take off his shoes. You had loved him across dinner tables where his phone kept lighting up. You had loved him in bed while he slept beside you, too exhausted to notice you were crying.

You had loved him so thoroughly that leaving him felt less like choosing yourself and more like cutting your own heart out before it could beg you to stay.

“I don’t want you to be a lesson,” you said suddenly.

Jack’s brows pulled together. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “I don’t want to look back one day and tell people you taught me what I deserved. I don’t want you to become some sad, useful story about growth. I wanted you to be my husband.”

His face broke.

You swallowed hard. “I wanted you to be the person I came home to. Not the reason I had to learn how to stop waiting.”

Jack stared at you, and for a moment, you saw the words land somewhere deep enough to hurt him. You almost hated yourself for noticing. You almost hated that even now, a part of you wanted to soften the blow.

“When you asked me to marry you, I thought I understood what you were asking,” you said.

Jack’s face shifted. “What does that mean?”

You looked at him, and the ache in your chest sharpened. “I thought you were asking me to share your life. I thought it meant we would make room for each other, even when it was hard. I knew your job would be demanding. I knew there would be nights you couldn’t leave. I knew I would have to be patient sometimes.”

Your voice stayed even, but Jack’s expression was already changing.

“I didn’t know I was signing up to become the easiest thing to cancel.”

He closed his eyes. “Y/N.”

“I didn’t know I would have to feel guilty for needing you.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“But I do. Every time. Because there’s always a patient, or a shift, or someone sicker, or something worse. And I know those things matter. I’m not pretending they don’t.”

You set the cream envelope on the table and slid it toward him.

“I just can’t keep living like my pain only counts if it’s an emergency.”

Jack stared at the envelope. For a few seconds, he did not touch it. Then he picked it up.

You watched him open it. You watched him read the first page. You watched the colour leave his face.

“Divorce,” he said quietly.

You folded your hands together so he would not see them shake. “Yes.”

He looked up at you, stunned. “You want a divorce?”

“I don’t want this version of marriage anymore.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You breathed in slowly. “I know.”

Jack stood, then seemed to realize he did not know where to go, so he sat back down hard. “When did you decide this?”

You looked toward the window. The city lights reflected faintly in the glass.

“I think part of me has been deciding for a long time.”

He shook his head. “No. We’ve had hard months. I know that. But divorce?”

“You keep saying it like I’m being dramatic.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m trying to understand.”

“No,” you said. “You’re trying to find the part where I did this wrong, so you don’t have to look at how long you were doing it to me.”

Jack’s mouth tightened. “That’s not fair.”

The words left him fast.

Too fast.

You looked at him, and he looked like he wanted to reach across the room and take them back.

“Stop saying that to me,” you whispered.

His face cracked. “I’m sorry.”

“I am so tired of being told my pain has to be fair to yours.”

Jack covered his mouth with one hand and looked away.

You wiped your thumb over your ring. “I sat at that table tonight with your name card beside me. People kept asking where you were, and I kept making you sound noble because I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

Jack looked crushed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I did. Because I’m used to protecting you from how it feels to be married to you.”

His mouth opened, then closed again. That was the first time he really had no defense.

You continued, softer now. “I don’t think you’re a bad man, Jack. That would be easier. You’re kind. You care about people. You work yourself into the ground because you can’t stand leaving anyone unsupported.”

Your eyes met his.

“But somehow, I became the person you could leave unsupported because I was good at surviving it.”

Jack’s eyes shone. “That’s not how I see you.”

“I know. But it’s how you treat me.”

He pressed his palms together, his hands shaking slightly. “I can change.”

You looked at him with so much sadness that he almost looked away.

“I needed you to change before I had to beg myself to stop hoping.”

The room was quiet after that.

Then Jack noticed the second envelope. The white one. It sat beside the award, small and plain, with the doctor’s office logo in the corner.

His eyes stayed on it too long.

“What’s that?”

You felt your throat close. This was the part you had dreaded most. The part that made everything feel impossible.

You picked up the white envelope. Jack watched you like his body already knew what his mind did not.

“This is what I was going to give you tonight after the gala.”

His face went still.

You held it out.

He did not take it right away.

“Y/N,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Please just open it.”

He took the envelope. His fingers were careful, almost gentle, as if the paper might bruise. He pulled out the test results, unfolded them, and read.

You watched the exact second he understood.

His lips parted. His eyes moved over the page again. Then again. When he looked at you, his face had fallen apart so completely that you had to look down.

“You’re pregnant,” he said.

“Yes.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since this morning.”

“This morning?”

You nodded.

Jack looked back at the paper, then at you. “You went alone?”

“I didn’t know if it was real yet. I took tests at home. Then I booked bloodwork.”

“You didn’t tell me?”

You laughed once, and it came out more like a sob. “You weren’t even there when I tried to tell you after.”

He took that quietly.

He deserved it, and he knew he did.

You pressed a hand to your stomach, more for comfort than anything else. “I had this whole plan. It feels stupid now.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It was.” You wiped under your eye carefully. “I thought we’d get through the gala, and then maybe we’d go somewhere quiet. Maybe the balcony or the car. I thought I’d hand it to you and you’d look confused for a second, and then you’d understand. And I thought, for once, the night would feel like ours.”

Jack’s eyes filled. “I should have been there.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He put the divorce papers and the test results down on the table with shaking hands, keeping them separate, like mixing them together would make the whole thing more unbearable.

“I want this baby,” he said.

Your face crumpled. “I know.”

“I want you.”

You shook your head slowly. “Jack.”

“I do.”

“I know you want me.”

“Then don’t leave.”

“That’s not how this works.”

He stood again, and this time he came around the coffee table but stopped a few feet away from you.

“I’ll do better,” he said.

You looked tired suddenly. Tired in a way he had never really let himself see.

“You’ve said that before.”

“I mean it differently now.”

“You always mean it.”

He swallowed hard. That hurt him because it was true.

You stood too, the black silk falling around you as you rose. Without the heels, you looked more vulnerable. Less like the woman from the news. More like his wife, barefoot in the living room, exhausted from being brave in public.

“I don’t want to punish you,” you said. “I need you to understand that. I’m not doing this because I want you to suffer.”

“It feels like suffering.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Your voice broke. “Because staying feels like disappearing.”

Jack’s face tightened as if he had been hit.

You looked down, trying to keep your breathing steady. “I don’t recognize myself anymore sometimes. I used to tell you everything. I used to get excited to share things with you. Then I started editing myself because I didn’t want to add pressure to your life. I stopped telling you when I was upset because you already looked crushed when you came home. I stopped asking for dates because it was humiliating to watch you check your phone the whole time.”

Jack closed his eyes. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“You didn’t ask.”

The words came out quietly, but they landed hard.

He opened his eyes again. “You’re right.”

That made you cry harder, because you had wanted him to argue. You had wanted him to give you something to push against. Instead, he looked at you with tears in his eyes and finally saw the damage.

“You’re right,” he said again, his voice rough. “I should have asked. I should have noticed. I should have made room for you without you having to keep proving you needed it.”

You covered your mouth for a second.

Jack looked at your hand, then your stomach. His voice softened. “Are you okay? Physically?”

That question broke something small inside you.

“I think so.”

“Any pain?”

“No.”

“Bleeding?”

“No.”

“Are you nauseous?”

“A little.”

He nodded, doctor mode flickering in, then dying immediately because he seemed to realize how badly timed it was.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m doing the thing.”

You let out a tiny, sad laugh. “Yeah. You are.”

Jack wiped his face with the heel of his hand. “I want to come to the appointments.”

“I know.”

“Will you let me?”

You looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t know yet.”

He nodded quickly, even though it hurt. “Okay.”

“I’m not saying no forever.”

“I understand.”

“I just can’t make promises tonight to make you feel better.”

He breathed in shakily. “Okay.”

You moved toward the chair near the hallway and picked up a small overnight bag.

Jack saw it, and panic crossed his face before he could hide it.

“You packed a bag?”

“Yes.”

“You’re leaving tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“A hotel.”

“Which one?”

You looked at him.

He nodded once, backing off. “Right. Sorry.”

“I’m safe.”

“Okay.”

You slipped the bag over your shoulder. The movement was ordinary, almost boring, and somehow that made it worse. This was what leaving looked like. No screaming. No slammed drawers. Just a woman in a black gown picking up a small bag because she had reached the end of what she could carry.

Jack followed you to the entryway but kept a careful distance.

“Can I drive you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Can I at least walk you down?”

“No.”

He pressed his lips together, trying not to fall apart completely.

You put your hand on the doorknob. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Jack said, “Do you still love me?”

You closed your eyes.

Of course he would ask the one question that did not save anything.

“Yes,” you said.

His breath caught behind you.

You turned back to face him, and there he was: wrinkled scrubs, red eyes, hands half-raised like he wanted to reach for you but had finally learned that wanting did not give him the right.

“I love you,” you said, and the truth of it nearly ruined you. “I love you so much that I stayed long after I started feeling alone. I love you so much that I kept making excuses for you because I knew you were tired, because I knew your work mattered, because I knew you were good.”

Jack’s eyes filled again.

“But I can’t keep giving you access to me just because you’re sorry after,” you whispered. “I can’t keep building a home out of promises you only remember once I’m already hurt.”

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said.

“I know.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

You looked at him for a long moment. You thought of the gala. The black dress. The empty chair. The envelope. The baby. All the nights you had waited and waited, feeding yourself on old versions of him, surviving on memories like they were meals.

“Be someone our child can count on,” you said. “Start there.”

Jack nodded, crying silently now. “I will.”

You wanted to believe him.

God, you wanted to believe him so badly that for one dangerous second, your hand almost left the doorknob.

But then you remembered the chair.

You remembered your name being called in a room full of people while the place beside you stayed empty.

You remembered that love had not been enough to bring him there.

So you opened the door.

The hallway outside was quiet and softly lit. Somewhere down the hall, a neighbour’s television murmured behind a closed door. Life was still going on in all the ordinary ways.

Jack said your name once more.

You looked back.

He stood in the entryway with your award visible behind him on the coffee table and the two envelopes lying open beside it.

“I’m proud of you,” he said.

You gave him a small, broken smile. “I know.”

And that was what made it worse.

Because you knew.

You knew he loved you. You knew he was proud of you. You knew he would miss you when the apartment went quiet and the hospital could no longer give him somewhere else to run.

But knowing had never been the same as being held.

So you stepped into the hallway. This time, when you walked away, you did not wait for him to follow. You heard the door close gently behind you, and the softness of it hurt more than a slam would have.

After you left, Jack did not move for a long time.

The apartment stayed quiet around him. The lamp hummed softly. Rain touched the windows. Your heels were still by the couch, lined up neatly, as if even your heartbreak had manners.

On the coffee table, the divorce papers sat beside the pregnancy results.

The ending and the beginning.

Both addressed to him.

Jack picked up the remote with a hand that did not feel like his and opened the news replay. He did not know why. Maybe because grief made people stupid. Maybe because some part of him thought if he watched the night properly, he could punish himself into becoming the man who should have been there.

The video loaded.

There you were again.

Black dress. Soft hair. Bare shoulders. That careful, beautiful smile.

He watched you enter alone. He watched you answer questions alone. He watched you sit at the table alone. Then the camera panned, briefly, almost accidentally, to the empty chair beside you.

His name card was clear.

Dr. Jack Abbot

Jack paused the screen.

The room went silent.

There it was.

Not a feeling. Not an argument. Not your sensitivity. Not his schedule. Not bad timing.

Proof.

A chair with his name on it.

A space he had promised to fill.

Jack sat on the couch slowly, still staring at the frozen image. His face crumpled, but no sound came out at first. He had cried before. He had cried after losing patients. He had cried in stairwells, in supply closets, in the shower with one hand braced against the tile.

This was different.

This was not the grief of failing to save someone he had only just met.

This was the grief of realizing he had been losing you slowly while calling it survival.

His eyes moved from the frozen screen to the divorce papers.

Then to the pregnancy result.

Then back to your face.

“How do I forget you?” he whispered, but there was no one there to answer.

The apartment seemed to hold the question for him.

Your perfume still lived faintly in the room. Your mug was still in the sink. Your cardigan was still folded over the back of the chair. The book you had been reading was still open on the side table, a receipt tucked between the pages because you hated using proper bookmarks. There was a sticky note on the fridge in your handwriting reminding both of you to buy more oat milk. There was a pair of your socks half-hidden under the coffee table because you always kicked them off when you were working late. There was a framed photo from your courthouse wedding on the console, both of you laughing because Jack had been unable to get the ring onto your finger at first.

You were everywhere.

That was the cruelty of it. You had left, but the life you had built with him remained behind like a house still waiting for its owner to come home.

Jack covered his mouth with one hand and bent forward, shoulders shaking.

For once, no one was paging him. No one was asking him for help. No one was bleeding, crashing, coding, crying out, reaching for him from the other side of a curtain.

For once, there was no emergency left to run toward.

Only the life he had kept meaning to choose.

Only the wife he had loved too late.

Only the baby he had learned about on the same night he learned she was leaving.

Only the empty chair beside you, waiting on a screen for a man who never came.

And the worst part, the part that finally broke him open, was that Jack knew this would not be a clean grief. He would not miss you once. He would miss you in places. In the kitchen when the coffee brewed too strong. In the car when he passed the hotel downtown and remembered black silk under gold lights. In the emergency department when the power held steady because of the system you built. In every waiting room, every hallway, every quiet elevator ride where he would think of you standing somewhere else, living a life he was no longer trusted to enter.

He would miss you when the baby came.

He would miss you when your child had your eyes.

He would miss you when people asked about his wife and he had to learn how to say your name without saying mine.

Jack stared at the empty chair until the screen blurred.

For the first time all night, he understood that you had not left because you stopped loving him. You left because you were terrified you would spend the rest of your life loving him from a room he never came home to.

And Jack, too late, finally knew what it meant to wait. Not for a patient. Not for a shift to end. Not for the next crisis to pass. But for a woman who might never come back.

The television stayed paused on his name.

The apartment stayed still around him.

And Jack sat there in the home you had built together, finally surrounded by all the love he had assumed would wait forever.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Series Masterlist (Completed)

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Zak’s daughter OFC, forbidden romance vibes, very very slowburn romance, ableism on page, strong language, autistic meltdowns on page, eventual sexual content.

Notes — Hope you love it! Remember to check each chapter for individual warnings!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

THE WATTPAD LINK

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE GROUPCHAT INTERLUDE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 17: May 2024 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

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

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

Alexandra didn’t mean to become an investigator.

It wasn’t like she’d shown up to the Monaco GP Qualifying with a magnifying glass and a corkboard. But when you’d been dating Charles Leclerc long enough—and surviving his family dynamics even longer—you learned to pay attention. To the tone. To the silences. To the details no one else saw.

Which was why, as she sipped her matcha in the shaded calm of the Paddock Lounge, Alexandra looked across the table at Carmen Montero Mundt and said, without preamble:

“I think Isabelle has a boyfriend.”

Carmen snorted. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Alexandra said, leveling her with a look. “She has a Chanel bag and a new bracelet. And she isn’t flinching when her brothers snap at her these days.” 

Carmen blinked, clearly caught off guard. “That’s… quite a list.”

“She’s glowing,” Alexandra continued. “Like, actual glowy skin, soft hair, new moisturizer who this kind of glow. And she’s started saying no to her brothers. You don’t wake up one day and grow a spine for no reason. Something changed.”

Carmen laughed, a little too loudly. “Okay, okay. I mean… that’s crazy, though. Right? Isabelle? Dating? In this paddock?” She waved a hand. “Wild idea.”

Alexandra narrowed her eyes.

Carmen looked away.

“You know something,” Alexandra said flatly.

“What? No. I just—”

“Carmen.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being supportive.”

“You’re squirming,” Alexandra said, setting her cup down. “You know something.”

Carmen opened her mouth. Closed it. Fiddled with her sleeve.

“If I did know something,” she said carefully, “Charles would absolutely not be allowed to know.”

That was confirmation enough.

Alexandra leaned back, lips twitching. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Carmen said quickly, holding up her hands.

“You just did,” Alexandra whispered, eyes wide. “She’s seeing someone. She is.”

“I never confirmed that,” Carmen insisted, eyes darting. “This is purely hypothetical.”

“But you said Charles can’t know,” Alexandra replied, voice low. “Which means it’s someone Charles would hate. So. Let’s play a game.”

“No games,” Carmen said immediately.

Alexandra smiled sweetly. “Is it Lando?”

Carmen visibly short-circuited.

Carmen choked on her coffee. “What? No!”

Alexandra narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Lando is—no. No. Absolutely not.”

“Is it Lando?!” Alexandra repeated, scandalized. “Oh my god.”

Carmen clutched her water bottle like it might save her. “Alex, I’m begging you—I didn’t say it was Lando!”

Alexandra’s brain was already spinning. “Wait. It’s someone in the paddock, isn’t it?”

Carmen made a noise that could’ve been a cough or a plea.

Alexandra gasped. “It’s someone in the paddock. You just confirmed it!”

“No I didn’t.”

“You totally did.”

“I absolutely didn’t.”

“You’re panicking, which means I’m right.”

Carmen buried her face in her hands. “I hate you.”

Alexandra grinned. “You love me.”

“I will never survive Charles finding out.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

Carmen peeked through her fingers. “You won’t?”

“No,” Alexandra said, a little too gleefully. “Because I want to figure it out myself. And then I want to sit front row for the chaos when Charles does find out.”

Carmen groaned. “You’re evil.”

Alexandra took a victorious sip of matcha. “Isabelle has clearly been holding out on us.”

She glanced across the paddock, just in time to catch a glimpse of Isabelle—composed, chic, wearing that ridiculous bracelet that no one on her salary bought herself—speaking calmly to a Ferrari engineer.

Alexandra smiled.

Game on.

***

Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, painting golden streaks across the navy-blue sheets. The faint hum of the city below filtered through the open balcony doors, mingling with the distant sound of waves hitting the rocks. The air smelled like salt, fresh linens, and a hint of Max’s cologne lingering on the pillows.

Isabelle stirred, shifting slightly beneath the covers. Before she could open her eyes, a warm hand slid over her waist, pulling her back against a familiar chest.

“Stay,” Max mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

She smiled, settling against him. “We have to get up soon.”

Max let out a low hum, nuzzling into the back of her neck. “Later.”

She turned in his arms, finally opening her eyes to find him watching her with that soft, drowsy expression he only ever wore in the mornings. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. He looked at her like he had nowhere else to be, like nothing in the world mattered but her.

His lips curved into a slow grin. “Happy birthday, Schatje.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. “Thank you.”

Max propped himself up on his elbow and reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a small, velvet box. “I know you said no gifts until tomorrow, but…” He handed it to her. “I want you to have this today.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow but took the box, flipping it open. Inside, a pair of delicate diamond studs glimmered in the morning light. Simple, timeless—exactly her style.

Her throat tightened.

“Max,” she whispered, brushing her fingers over one.

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your real present comes tomorrow,” he promised. “But I wanted you to have something for today, too.”

She swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. “I love them.”

Max grinned, looking satisfied with himself, before rolling over her to reach for his phone. “We have time before we leave. Do you want scrambled eggs?”

She laughed, pushing at his chest. “You just want an excuse to make a mess in the kitchen.”

“I would never.”

She let him pull her out of bed anyway.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: 🕯️ I have lit the ceremonial birthday candle 🎂 You have officially survived another year of Leclerc-related nonsense 🪩 Proud of you, love you, and am mentally blowing up balloons in your honour.  (Also: do not lift a single finger today. Your brothers are on their own.)

Isabelle: It’s 6am. But thank you 🖤

Emilie: You’re welcome. Now go eat something sugary and dramatic and let Max spoil you.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria:  Happy birthday, Belle 💛 Victoria:   The boys made you a card—well, Luka drew a race car and Lio ate half a crayon, but it’s heartfelt. 💛 Victoria:   There’s cake waiting when you come up next ❤️We miss you.

Isabelle: Thank you, Vic ❤️ Tell the boys I love them. And I accept race cars with open arms.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: Happy Birthday, Belle! I know the day will be loud, but I hope someone takes a quiet moment just for you. You are thoughtful, steady, and stronger than you think. And you are so very loved.  Thank you for everything you’ve brought into Max’s life. Into ours.  We’re lucky to have you.

Isabelle: Thank you, Sophie. That means more than I can say.

Sophie: No need to say it. Just know.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Oscar Piastri

Oscar: Happy birthday, Belle! Lily says I have to include emojis so: 🎉🎂🧁💐 Thanks for adopting me into Monaco and teaching me how to not get run over by mopeds. (And how to find the best cheese…and saving my back from that couch.)

Isabelle: Thank you, Oscar 🧡 You were an excellent Monaco adoptee. Very teachable. Solid cheese instincts. 10/10 dodging reflexes. Good Luck today!

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lando Norris

Lando: happy birthday, belle!! i was going to say something cool and poetic but i’m not awake enough for that. you’re a legend even when you scare me a little. (in a good way.)

Isabelle: thank you, lando 🧡 You’re not so bad yourself—even when you’re making that face you make mid-qualy. Legend recognizes legend. Appreciate you. Good Luck today!

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lily Zneimer

Lily: 🎉🎂 HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO MONACO’S MOST UNDERAPPRECIATED GEM 💄👑 I hope today is full of peace, good coffee, and zero passive-aggressive family drama. (But just in case—it’s me. I’m your escape plan. Say the word, and we’re disappearing into McLaren hospitality with iced matchas and moral superiority.)

Isabelle: You had me at iced matcha and moral superiority. I’ll find you if the walls start closing in. Thank you, lily. Truly.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Daniel Ricciardo

Daniel: 🎈🎂 BELLE DAY!!! 🎂🎈

The only person I trust to emotionally manage Max Verstappen. Hope someone brings you flowers. And maybe a pony. If they don’t, I will personally cause a scene.

Isabelle: Thank you, Dan🩵 If a pony appears on my balcony, i’ll know who to blame. 

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lewis Hamilton

Lewis: Happy birthday, Belle. I hope someone reminds you today how deeply you’re appreciated—not just for what you do, but for who you are. Thank you for keeping half the grid emotionally intact. Sending love. 

Isabelle: Thank you! Sending love right back. Good Luck today! ***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Happy Birthday, Belle. Hope today brings you at least half the peace you bring Max. (And maybe a cupcake that isn’t from a sponsor.)

Isabelle: You saying that means more than a dozen cupcakes. (Though, for the record, I am on the lookout for a non-sponsored one.) Thank you 🩵

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Jos Verstappen

Jos: Happy birthday, Belle.

Isabelle: Thank you 🩵

***

The garage was buzzing already.

Ferrari reds were everywhere—technicians checking monitors, Charles pacing with purpose, Arthur trying to look official in his headset like he wasn’t a nervous wreck. Pascale stood just outside the garage in heels that defied logic, talking animatedly to a photographer. Lorenzo was in full PR mode, coordinating something Belle didn’t want to know about.

It was chaos. Familiar, electric chaos.

No one had said anything.

Not a word. Not a glance. Not even Arthur’s usual teasing “how does it feel to be ancient?” that she half-dreaded every year.

She didn’t know why she’d expected anything different. The race had swallowed them whole—Charles was starting on pole in Monaco. Nothing else existed. Not today.

Belle stood off to the side, near the rows of tire blankets, half watching the team run through final checks. Her arms were crossed loosely, her Ferrari pass swinging gently at her hip. She was calm. Mostly.

No one looked at Belle.

Not one person.

Not even the Ferrari comms girl who usually remembered these things and handed out team cupcakes with candles and Instagram captions.

Belle didn’t say a word about it.

She stood near the tire warmers, half-watching the screens, arms folded in her red windbreaker like she belonged—like she wasn’t a little hollow around the edges.

She didn’t need much. A nod. A quiet “happy birthday” from someone who shared her blood. 

She wasn’t a child. But she wasn’t made of stone, either.

“Belle,” came a voice from behind her, low and steady.

She turned. Carlos.

He was already in his suit, helmet in his hands, gloves off. His brows furrowed as he stepped a little closer, angled out of earshot from the others.

“Did they really all forget?” he asked quietly.

Belle gave a noncommittal shrug. “Race day. Everyone’s focused.”

Carlos looked unimpressed. “You’re Charles’ sister. You’re part of this team.”

“Not when he’s on pole at Monaco,” she said, her voice smooth. Not bitter. Not angry. Just… flat.

Carlos hesitated. “I could say something.”

Belle looked up at him, her eyes steady. “Please don’t.”

Carlos turned to face her more fully. “Belle—”

“I mean it,” she cut in gently, but firmly. “Don’t tell them. I don’t want a pity cupcake rushed from hospitality at the last minute. I don’t want a half-hearted ‘Oh my god, I forgot!’ over Charles’ shoulder after he wins Monaco.”

Carlos clenched his jaw, visibly holding back the urge to argue.

Belle folded her arms. “Let them forget. At least then it’s honest.”

“That’s not how it should be.”

“I know,” she said, softly. “But it’s how it is.”

Carlos looked at her for a long moment. 

A beat passed between them—quiet, unsaid, respectful.

Then Carlos exhaled, stepping back. “Feliz cumpleaños, Belle.”

“Gracias, Carlos.”

And just like that, he rejoined the team, already putting on his gloves, focus shifting toward the grid.

Belle didn’t move for a long time.

The noise swelled again. Charles laughed somewhere in the distance. Her mother was likely telling a cameraman how proud she was. Ferrari staff bustled past her, not one making eye contact.

Belle stayed silent.

She didn’t want fanfare. She didn’t need attention. But what she did want—to be remembered, without being the one to remind them—was clearly too much today.

So she folded her arms, stared at the screen, and reminded herself it was almost over.

And next year, she’d spend her birthday somewhere quiet. Somewhere far away from red walls and cheers that weren’t for her.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)

Carlos: we have a situation.

it’s belle’s birthday.

and her entire family has forgotten.

including ferrari.

including CHARLES.

it is 20 minutes to lights out and not. one. word.

Oscar: I’m going to throw something.

George: You’re kidding. Please say you’re kidding.

Carlos: do i look like i’m joking?? she’s just standing there. like nothing’s wrong. like she’s not quietly dying inside.

Lando: okay well now i’m dying inside

Alex: I feel physically ill

Daniel: WHAT EXCUSE ME???

Lewis: You’re joking Please tell me you’re joking

Carlos: no. I asked her. no one said anything. not a text. not even a joke. not even her own mother.

Lando: is this a new low?? is this the actual lowest the Leclercs have ever gone??

Daniel: I’m in a race suit and I want to cry. WHAT DO WE DO??

Oscar: We should tell Max, right? Like. Surely he should know??

Carlos: If we tell Max he’ll cause a scene.

George: He would literally buy out all of Cartier Monaco mid-race and hand-deliver it to her at parc fermé.

Fernando: Do not underestimate that man. 

Lando: we’re going to hell for this but do we… see how long it takes before someone notices?

Lewis: We don’t tell them. We watch and we wait. Let’s see how long it takes them to remember without her saying a word.

Mark: Ten bucks says they still won’t realise by the time Charles gets to the podium.

David: Make it twenty. I’ll double it if their mother starts crying and still doesn’t remember.

Alex: Yes. I want data. I want timestamps.

Daniel: I want Ferrari’s social team to panic at 8pm when they realise they posted five shots of Charles and zero birthday wishes for the sister in their garage.

Sebastian Vettel: We’ll make it up to her later. But let them feel this silence.

Carlos: She said not to tell them. she said—and I quote—“I don’t want a pity cupcake.”

Oscar: I respect her so much it hurts

George: She’s the most composed person I’ve ever met And they just… forgot

Nico H.: This is going to haunt me until I die

Alex: We need to do something. Like now.

Sebastian: Tell her we remember. That we care. Also—flowers. Immediately.

Mark: Seconded. No one ignores that girl on her birthday.

Nico R.: Are we sending a coordinated surprise or staging an intervention?

Oscar: What’s our over/under on how long it takes for Charles to realise

Alex: If he wins: never.  If he DNFs: thirty seconds

Fernando: Either way, he’ll make it about himself

***

Text Messages: Carlos Sainz Jr. & Max Verstappen

Carlos: I know it’s race day. But I need to tell you something.

Max: Is Belle okay?

Carlos: She’s fine. She’s… not saying anything. Her entire family forgot her birthday. 

Max: …What?

Carlos: No one said a word. Not Charles. Not her mother. Even Ferrari didn’t acknowledge it.

Max: You’re sure?

Carlos: I asked her. She shrugged it off. Said not to say anything. Said she didn’t want a “pity cupcake.” She’s just standing in the garage. Alone. Like she’s used to it.

Max: I’m going to kill someone. I swear to god.

Carlos: She said let them forget. She meant it.

Max: I can’t just do nothing.

Carlos: I didn’t say do nothing. I said let them do nothing.

Carlos: You do what you do best. You show up for her.

Max: I always do.

Carlos: I know. I just thought you should know before she pretends it didn’t matter.

Max: Thanks. I owe you.

Carlos: You don’t. But I’ll take beer.

Max: Done.

***

Max’s helmet rested against his hip like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

The garage was loud—buzzing with the usual tension of Monaco race day. The sound of compressed air guns, the low thrum of engines firing in intervals, the blur of pit wall calls and tire heat readings. But he barely registered it.

His whole body hummed with fury.

Not at Ferrari. Not at Charles.

Not even at the race.

At them.

Her family.

Carlos had texted him in a quiet moment, just minutes before Max was supposed to get in the car. He’d said it carefully, like someone diffusing a live wire.

She’s fine, he’d said. Her entire family forgot her birthday. 

Max hadn’t spoken for a full fifteen seconds.

Not even Charles. Not Arthur. Not Lorenzo. Not her mother.

Not the people who called her sweet when she baked for them. Not the team that draped her in red when it suited their image. Not the brother whose name she still defended in interviews, whose wins she supported even when her own milestones went ignored.

Max should’ve expected it.

He had expected it, in a cynical, detached sort of way. He’d seen the patterns—how easily they forgot her. How quickly they looked through her. Belle had always been the quiet background to their spotlight. The steady one. The peacemaker. The girl who remembered everyone else’s birthdays.

But this?

On her birthday?

On the day Charles was starting from pole in Monaco—his home race, his fairy tale, his childhood dream teetering on the edge of reality—they couldn’t spare a moment to remember her.

Not even Arthur’s usual teasing. Not a cupcake. Not a card from Maman. Not a stupid “Happy Birthday” badge from Ferrari’s comms team.

Nothing.

She hadn’t said a word. She never did. She was standing in that garage—arms folded, expression unreadable, surrounded by people in red who didn’t see her at all. Like she was just a shadow of the name stitched into their driver’s suit.

Max hadn’t seen her yet. But he didn’t need to.

He felt it.

He always felt it when she was hurting.

He turned slowly, trying to quiet the storm behind his ribs, and found GP near the telemetry monitors.

“GP,” he said, low and tight.

GP looked up immediately, blinking at the look on Max’s face. “You okay?”

“No,” Max said. “But I’ll deal with it. I just needed to say it out loud.”

“Say what?”

“They forgot her birthday,” Max said. “All of them.”

GP went still.

“Her brothers. Her mother. Ferrari. All of them. Not a text. Not a smile. Nothing.”

GP swore softly.

“She told Carlos not to say anything,” Max added, jaw clenched. “Didn’t want a ‘pity cupcake.’”

GP didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Max exhaled hard. “And Charles is about to win Monaco.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Because he couldn’t even bring himself to feel bitter about that—not really. Charles had worked for it. Earned it. Fought tooth and nail for years to cross this particular finish line. But the fact that his win would be the reason Belle went unnoticed? That the whole paddock would celebrate while she stood quietly in the shadows?

It made Max’s skin itch with something close to rage.

He hated them for it.

He hated how easily they took her for granted. How they smiled when she made their lives easier and then left her to disappear behind the noise.

And he hated that this would become a story Belle told herself—proof she wasn’t worth remembering. That her soft presence, her quiet kindness, her constant steadiness, somehow made her forgettable.

She wasn’t.

Not to Max.

Never to Max.

“I’m going to finish this race,” he said quietly, voice like steel.

GP met his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. I know you are.”

“And after that, I’m taking her home.”

“Good.”

Max didn’t move for a beat. He stared at the garage wall across from him, past the chaos of prep and the blinking monitors, and thought of her.

He thought of the way she still smiled at her family like she was proud of them.

He thought of the way she folded into his arms like it was the only place she was ever allowed to fall apart.

He thought of how easy it would be to make today better. To remember what they didn’t. To hold her hand and say, I see you. I always see you.

He pulled his helmet on.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1HistoryMaker: HE DID IT. HE FINALLY DID IT. CHARLES LECLERC WINS HIS HOME GRAND PRIX.

@/MonacoMagic16: I’M CRYING, YOU’RE CRYING, THE ENTIRE PRINCIPALITY OF MONACO IS CRYING.

@/RedFlagged: Ferrari actually didn’t ruin his race. Miracles do happen.

@/​​PitLaneProphet: Charles Leclerc winning Monaco is like a fairy tale finally getting its happy ending.

@/ScuderiaSimp: Charles crying, his team crying, the whole of Monaco crying, me crying in my living room—this is cinema.

@/RacingRoyalty: Not to be that person, but isn’t it also Isabelle Leclerc’s birthday today? Like… what a day for their family.

↳ @/F1Detective: So Charles wins Monaco on his sister’s birthday? This man really said, “Happy birthday, Isabelle, here’s the greatest achievement of my career.”

@/MonacoMonarch: Not to be dramatic, but I think the entire country of Monaco is going to declare today a national holiday.

@/ScuderiaFaithful: CHARLES LECLERC. MONACO GRAND PRIX WINNER. WE WAITED. WE SUFFERED. WE PRAYED. AND FINALLY, IT HAPPENED.

@/FerrariTifosi: Ferrari finally gave Charles a functional strategy in Monaco. I need a moment.

@/ScuderiaForever: CHARLES LECLERC WINS MONACO. I AM SCREAMING. I AM CRYING. I AM KISSING THE STREETS OF MONTE CARLO.

@/F1StatsGuy: Charles Leclerc becomes the first Monegasque driver to win the Monaco Grand Prix in 93 years. And all it took was years of heartbreak.

***

When Charles crossed the finish line, the world broke open around her.

The Ferrari garage erupted—screaming, fists in the air, champagne already being shaken loose from the back fridges. There were hugs, backslaps, high-pitched shouting in Italian. Team radios buzzed and clicked, Charles’ voice half-choked with emotion as he screamed in disbelief over the comms.

He’d done it.

 He’d won Monaco.

His home. His heartbreak. His ghost track.

And Belle was happy.

 Genuinely, undeniably happy for him.

She stood in the shadow of the celebration, just out of the camera frame, tucked near the telemetry screens with her arms loosely folded across her chest. Her lips were curved in something like a smile, her eyes glassy but bright. She clapped when the others clapped. She even let herself cheer when the Ferrari engineers surged forward like a wave.

She watched Arthur leap into Charles’ arms. Watched Pascale cry and kiss both her sons like the world had ended and been reborn in red and gold. Lorenzo filmed the moment on his phone with the focus of a man who would post it ten seconds later. The garage was shaking with joy.

And no one looked at Belle.

Not even once.

No passing “Happy birthday.” No late realization. No elbow nudge from Arthur, no cheek kiss from their mother. Not even the Ferrari comms girl with her clipboard full of media notes and scheduled shoutouts.

Nothing.

She didn't even know why she was still waiting. She should've known. She did know. But hope was funny that way—it always showed up, uninvited.

The hollowness wasn’t sharp. Just heavy. Just tired.

She felt it most when she watched Charles climb the fence to his team, red gloves in the air, face split in triumph. She felt it when the anthem played and the grandstands sang with him. She felt it in every photo she wasn’t in, every cheer she smiled through, every red flare that lit up the sky without once glancing her way.

It wasn’t malice. Just absence.

And Belle knew absence better than most.

Carlos found her at some point in the swirl of it all. He didn’t say anything. Just passed her a bottle of water, stood beside her for a while like a silent sentinel. She didn’t speak either. He didn’t need her to.

Later, when they followed the team up toward parc fermé, someone handed her a headset and someone else ushered her toward the group photo. She stood on the end. Smiled. Did her part. She had practice, after all.

She caught Charles’ eye once—just once—as he grinned like the world was finally giving him what he’d fought so long for.

After the photo, Belle quietly stepped away. Back into the shadows of the paddock. Back to silence.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t sigh. She just… breathed. Steadily.

She was proud of him. She really, truly was.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

***

Instagram Story: @/isabelleleclerc

***

He was waiting for her that evening. After the race…after the celebrations…she had texted him that she was on her way home…and he had come downstairs to wait in the lobby of the building they lived in…

He knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into the elevator with him and the doors closed. 

Belle didn’t move like herself.

She was too still. Folded in. Shoulders curled inward like she was trying to disappear into the seams of her own body. Her hands were clutched in the sleeves of her windbreaker. Ferrari Red. Worn over a cream coloured ress. 

She didn’t look at him—not when the doors opened, not when they slid shut. Just stood there blinking, like she wasn’t crying yet, but would be. Soon.

Max—who knew every version of her—recognized this one.

This was Belle when she’d given too much and received nothing back. When she’d swallowed every hurt and pretended it was fine until the silence pressed against her ribs.

She was unraveling. Quietly. Completely.

“Hi,” he said softly. Like a rope thrown out to sea. “I knew you’d leave early.”

She didn’t answer.

She took one small step forward.

Her knees buckled.

He caught her before gravity could.

She fell into his chest like the air had left her lungs. Her hands clutched at his hoodie—white-knuckled, shaking. Her face buried itself just beneath his collarbone. Her breath hitched, shallow and sharp. Not sobbing. Not yet.

But he felt it coming.

And God, he wanted to kill someone for it.

“They forgot,” she whispered.

Max closed his eyes.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

“All of them. Maman. Charles. Arthur. Lorenzo. Even Ferrari.” Her voice caught on the name. “Not even a text. Not even a joke.”

His jaw tightened until it hurt.

Max wanted to scream. He wanted to take every single person who called themselves her family and demand how they could stand beside her and not see her. Not notice the way she always noticed them. How she remembered birthdays, anniversaries, meaningless preferences about milk and Spotify playlists.

Belle held the whole damn family together like an invisible thread. And they’d looked straight through her.

“They looked through me,” Belle whispered, her voice breaking completely now. “Like I wasn’t even there. Like I was just… invisible.”

Max wrapped his arms around her like armor.

“You’re not invisible,” he said fiercely, pressing his mouth to her hair. “You’re everything. And I see you, Belle. I always see you.”

She made a sound then—small and broken—and the dam burst.

She sobbed like it had been building all day. Her whole body shook against his. The kind of grief that wasn’t about one thing but all of it—every quiet dismissal, every missed moment, every time she’d made herself small so someone else could shine.

Max didn’t speak. Just held her. Let her cry. Let her fall apart the way no one had ever given her permission to do before.

By the time they reached their floor, her legs barely worked.

Max carried her inside.

He didn’t ask if she was hungry. Didn’t ask if she wanted to talk.

He filled the bath instead. Lit candles. Got her out of her Ferrari red windbreaker and the cream dress she had worn and into the water, slow and careful, like she might shatter if he moved too fast.

He washed her hair in silence. Brushed it back from her face. Whispered her name and little nothings—soft words meant to ground her, not fix her.

Belle didn’t say anything more.

She just curled into him, damp and shivering in one of his old Red Bull shirts, and shut down completely.

He got her into bed. Tucked the duvet around her like a shield. Slipped in behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, face pressed to the back of her neck. The cats climbed up and curled against her legs—silent, instinctive.

She didn’t move. Barely breathed.

But slowly, eventually, her breathing steadied. Like maybe the worst had passed. Or maybe she just couldn’t carry it anymore.

Max lay there, wide awake, rage blooming quiet and white-hot behind his ribs.

He thought of the garage. Of Charles laughing, soaked in champagne. Of Pascale gushing to a camera crew, pride sparkling in her eyes. Of Arthur pretending to be important in a headset and Lorenzo posing for photos.

Not one of them had seen her.

She’d stood there, right there, in her red jacket and her quiet grace and her heartbreak—and not one of them remembered.

Max hated them in that moment. All of them.

They didn’t deserve the version of Belle they so often took for granted.

And in the quiet, he made himself a promise.

They would never get to hurt her like this again.

Not by accident.

 Not by carelessness.

 Not by forgetting the girl who remembered everyone else.

Let them celebrate Charles. Let them flood Instagram with podiums and champagne and family pride.

He would be the one who never forgot her.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)

Carlos:Charles still hasn’t realized.

Oscar: I thought he’d realize when Ferrari posted the celebration gallery.

Lewis: You’re telling me he looked at her IN THE GARAGE on her birthday, won the most emotional race of his life and still didn’t realize she was standing right there and it was her birthday??

Carlos: Yes. That’s what I’m telling you.

Daniel: WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM.

Alex: Everything.

Nico H.: This is the most committed man has ever been to the concept of obliviousness.

Mark: I think he deserves a prize for this.

Sebastian: A slap is a prize now?

Fernando: We should start a timer. See how long it takes him.

Lewis: We already are. George made a spreadsheet.

George: Currently it’s at around 16 hours. 

Oscar: Should we… drop hints?

Carlos: Belle doesn’t want pity cupcakes. Remember?

David: What happens if he remembers a week late?

Lando: We release the tapes.

Alex: There are tapes???

Lando: There are always tapes.

Nico R.: How do we not tell him?

George: Because now it’s a scientific experiment and also a moral failing.

Sebastian: Also because if he finds out now, it’ll be a dramatic guilt spiral and Belle will have to comfort him and she deserves better.

Mark: Can we send her flowers anonymously again?

Sebastian: Already handled.

Oscar: We should send her a plaque. “Survived the Monaco GP and her entire family’s emotional incompetence.”

Lando: New merch idea???

David: I want in on that.

Kimi: this chat is insane

Daniel: That’s rich coming from you.

Kimi: tell leclerc he’s an asshole.

Carlos: She told me not to.

George: So we do nothing.

Oscar: Except passive-aggressively track it like the disappointed siblings she deserves.

***

Belle woke up in the quiet.

The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the early sea breeze. The city was still sleeping off champagne and street rubber. And Max… Max hadn’t moved.

He was lying beside her, still in the same hoodie he’d held her in last night, one arm curled protectively around her waist like he’d never once let go.

Her eyes were dry. Her throat sore. Her chest hollow.

But she wasn’t crying anymore.

Belle just felt still.

Slowly, she shifted beneath the blankets. Max stirred instantly, his hold softening so she could move, but his eyes opened the second she sat up.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “How do you feel?”

Belle pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them loosely. Her voice came out steady. Too steady.

“I’m done.”

Max blinked. “Done?”

“I don’t want anyone to say anything to them,” she said. “Not yet. Not today.”

“Belle…”

She shook her head. “I want to see how long it takes. How many days pass before someone notices.”

Max sat up beside her, eyes on her face. “That’s going to hurt.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a long pause. The kind where most people would fill the silence with softness or sugar.

But not Max. He just waited.

“They forgot me,” Belle said. “And I think part of me always knew they would, eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be… so easy for them.”

Max’s hand brushed gently down her back. “You don’t have to forgive them.”

“I don’t even want to talk to them,” she said quietly. “Not right now. Not this week. Maybe not ever. I don’t want explanations. I don’t want excuses. I don’t want Charles saying he was too focused or Maman pretending she got the date wrong. I don’t want a retroactive Instagram post or some half-wilted apology bouquet.”

She turned her head and met Max’s eyes.

“I just want silence. Because that’s what they gave me.”

Max nodded once, slow and sure. “Then they get silence.”

She exhaled. Closed her eyes. Rested her cheek against his shoulder.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t bitter. She wasn’t even angry anymore.

She was just done.

She didn’t need to rage. She didn’t need to beg. She didn’t need to remind them why she mattered.

They should’ve known. And now, she was done teaching them how to love her.

The silence stretched again, but it felt easier now. Not so sharp around the edges.

Max stayed still for a moment longer, just letting her lean against him. Letting her breathe. Letting her exist without needing to perform for anyone’s comfort.

Then, he kissed the top of her head and stood.

Belle didn’t ask where he was going. She just stayed curled beneath the duvet, watching him move through the bedroom with quiet purpose.

When she finally followed the smell of something warm and toasty, the kitchen was already glowing with morning light. Monaco’s buildings gleamed gold just beyond the windows, and the sea sparkled like it didn’t know what day it was—or what it had cost her yesterday.

Max was barefoot, still rumpled from sleep, flipping something on the stove with quiet concentration.

Belle leaned against the doorframe. “You’re making pancakes?”

Max glanced over his shoulder. “Kind of,” he said. “You had a rough day. I figured a breakfast that doesn’t ask too much of you was a good idea.”

She blinked. “Pancakes ask nothing of me.”

“Exactly.” He nodded at the table. “Sit. I made tea.”

There were two mugs already waiting. Her favorite blend. A little honey on the side. A tiny bowl of berries that definitely hadn’t come from their fridge.

“Did you go out this morning?” she asked, touched but suspicious.

“I have resources,” Max said, which usually meant “I bullied someone over text until they delivered groceries before sunrise.”

Belle sat.

He placed a plate in front of her a moment later—pancakes with lightly caramelized edges, fresh raspberries (her favourite), and just a touch of powdered sugar. Not fancy. Not showy. But thoughtful.

Just like him.

Max sat across from her, sipping his coffee, watching her with the kind of quiet that meant he didn’t need to talk unless she wanted him to.

They ate in near silence. Belle didn’t finish everything. She didn’t need to. Max didn’t comment on it.

It wasn’t until he stood to rinse the dishes that he finally said, with a little smile tugging at his lips— “So,” he said. “Now that you’ve had coffee and carbs and emotional catharsis…”

Belle raised an eyebrow.

“…do you want your actual birthday surprise?”

She froze.

Max smiled, crooked and careful. “I know yesterday made it hard. And I didn’t want to push. But I have something for you. Well. Two somethings, technically.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “Two?”

Max stood, offered his hand. “Trust me?”

She didn’t hesitate as she took it. “Always.”

He pulled her to her feet gently, not rushing her, not asking her to smile. Just kissed her knuckles and said, “Put on something comfortable. We’ve got a drive ahead.”

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Max Verstappen

Oscar: Hey. Just wanted to check in on Belle. How’s she doing?

Max: She cried herself to sleep yesterday. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her fall apart like that.

Oscar: Shit.

Max: Yeah.

Oscar: Is she… okay today?

Max: She’s quiet. Said she’s done.

Oscar: Done like…?

Max: She doesn’t want to talk to any of them. Doesn’t want apologies. Doesn’t want excuses. She just wants silence. Said it’s what they gave her, so she’s giving it back.

Oscar: She’s allowed to be done.

Max: Yeah. I’m not going to stop her.

Oscar: You shouldn’t. They don’t deserve her patience.

Max: They never did.

Oscar: Is there anything you need?

Max: No. I’ve got her. Just… make sure people don’t push her. Don’t try to fix it.. She’s drawing the line.

Oscar: Got it. Tell her we’re here if she needs anything.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)

Oscar: Update from Max: Belle cried herself to sleep last night. And this morning she said she’s done with all of them.

George: …Jesus.

Lando: This is actually heartbreaking. I feel physically sick.

Carlos: She didn’t even look sad. That’s the worst part. She looked like someone who expected it.

Daniel: Max must be losing it.

Oscar: He is. But he’s also calm. The kind of calm where you know someone’s promising vengeance in five languages.

Lewis: And she still doesn’t want anyone to say anything to them?

Oscar: Nope. She just wants silence. Said it’s what they gave her, so she’s giving it back.

Alex: I’m going to scream.

George: How long do we think this goes before Charles realizes?

Fernando: Forever.

Mark: Until she is pregnant and married and they notice the child, maybe.

Sebastian: Even then, they’ll probably ask if it’s a friend’s baby.

Lando:  She stood in the garage on her birthday and they all just looked past her. I can’t get over that. 

Alex: And she didn’t say anything. She gave them every chance.

Sebastian: She gave them years of chances.

David: That’s the part I can’t get past. She was right there.

Carlos: I asked her if she wanted me to say something. She said, “At least this way, it’s honest.”

George: She always showed up for them. Every birthday. Every event. Every podium.

Sebastian: And they never noticed when she needed someone to show up for her.

Alex: I hope they feel that silence for a long, long time.

Mark: They will. Max will make sure of it.

***

The drive was short—fifteen minutes, maybe twenty with traffic—but Belle didn’t ask where they were going. She just watched the streets of Monaco blur past the passenger window, the sun bright against the water. Everything shimmered with the afterglow of race day.

The city was still coming down from its high.

Belle, however, was just beginning to breathe again.

When Max pulled onto a narrow road, Belle blinked. She knew the turn. Knew the uneven curve of the gravel path. Her heart tugged hard against her ribs.

“Max,” she whispered, sitting up straighter.

He parked, turned off the engine, and looked at her.

“We’re here,” he said softly.

Her favorite stables—one she had visited countless times over the years. Where she still had her twice weekly riding lessons. 

“Max…”

He just smiled, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Come on.”

She followed him, her steps a little hesitant, excitement bubbling beneath her skin. The barn was already awake with morning energy—horses shifting in their stalls, soft neighs filling the air, the scent of hay and earth grounding her instantly.

And then she saw her.

A grey mare, soft-eyed and dappled silver, resting quietly in the corner of a sun-warmed paddock. She turned as Belle approached—calm, regal, familiar in a way that made Belle’s lungs forget how to work.

It was like looking through time.

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Max moved beside her, voice low. “Her name’s Fleur. Short for Blanchefleur. She’s Blanche’s daughter.”

Belle’s knees nearly gave.

“I found her,” Max went on, voice low. “She was in Italy. Pregnant. Due in a couple months. Emilie helped me track her down.”

Belle’s legs went weak. She reached for the fence without thinking, steadying herself with one hand.

Fleur lifted her head and looked straight at her—calm, curious, and somehow impossibly familiar. Those eyes. That stillness. Belle hadn’t realized how much she missed that kind of stillness. The kind that didn’t expect anything from her.

“She looks like her,” Belle whispered. “Her eyes—God. Max…”

Max reached for her hand again. Her fingers trembled when they laced with his.

“I know I can’t bring Blanche back,” he said. “But I thought maybe… you could have a piece of her. And something for the future, too.”

Fleur stepped toward the gate, nosing at the wood gently. Belle lifted her hand without thinking, fingers trembling as she touched soft fur. The tears started behind her eyes, hot and dizzying.

“She’s beautiful,” Belle whispered. “She’s so beautiful.”

“She’s yours,” Max said simply. “Both of them are.”

Belle looked at him, wide-eyed, stunned. “You… bought her?”

Max nodded. “She’s yours. To ride. To keep. To just visit, if that’s what you want. You don’t have to prove anything to her. Or to me. Just be hers. Let her be yours.”

Belle didn’t know what to say. She only knew how it felt—like someone had placed the missing piece of her life back into her hands, quietly, without expectation.

Her throat closed up with emotion. “Max…”

“I know they’ve taken things from you,” Max said, his voice breaking just a little. “Blanche. Your birthday. The way they look through you like you’re air. I can’t give it all back. But I can give you this. Something no one can take away.”

Belle turned fully toward him—and that’s when he moved.

He sank to one knee in the sand, quiet and sure, pulling a small box from his jacket pocket. Her breath hitched.

He looked up at her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted to protect.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Max said softly. “And I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you’re never invisible again. Not for a single moment.”

Belle didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then he opened the box.

A ring. Elegant. Understated. An emerald set in gold—delicate and bold all at once.

She made a sound—barely a breath—and dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands flying to his shoulders, tears spilling freely now.

“Marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. 

She pulled him into her arms, face buried in his neck, both of them kneeling in the sand and sunlight and soft smell of hay and horses.

“Yes,” she said again, just to say it.“Yes. Max. Of course, yes.”

Because this time, she wasn’t forgotten. She was chosen.

And Max had made sure of it.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. Max. Of course, yes.”

***

[whoetoshaw]

W2S CLAN | h. lewis

summary: snapshot into life with the wroetoshaws.

pairing: reader x bog

notes: hopefully no mistakes in this, finally finished this after sitting in my drafts for so long! hopefully it ties you over with some bog content! really fighting through this writers block 💘 hope you enjoy, let me know what you think, lots of loveee, don’t forget to reblog! <3

Liked by calfreezy, miniminter and 181,098 others

yourusername average morning for the wroetoshaws 🌳🪵🐿️ furry child went for a swim in the swamp tho x

view all 3,922 comments

user the dog looked like a chocolate lab on your story 😭

yourusername and he still did 3 baths later!!!

user can i join this family

user can you believe this is the same instagram y/n posted her wild days on

user the pic of her with a spliff came up on my explore yday 😂

user i love you guys

user wroetoshaw in his family man era, you will be missed ❄️😔

user wow bro chill

Liked by zerkka, freyanightingale and 239,483 others

yourusername nesting era? no, we’re all in our walking-to-get-this-baby-out era 💅🏼 keeping occupied guernsey with our beach trips, garden parties and chasing the chickens 74924 times a day 🤣 momma needs this baby outtttt tho 🫠 #37weeks #ImStillScaredItsGoingToBeTwinsEvenThoughIKnowItsNot #SomeoneBookIbiziaWithMe

view all 6,375 comments

theburntchip aw you and harry in the second slide ❤️

yourusername fuck you

user moomin!!!!!

user love dis family

user such a cool mom 😎 you dress so cute and so do your kids

yourusername thanks babe! 💖 you won’t catch me paying anymore than £20 for clothes worn on my kids backs because they somehow manage to ruin them 🙂🫶🏼 i think the one time i bought a designer piece, they tore it and/or stained it with wall paint 😁

user the poor chickens!!!!

yourusername they chase them back, it’s fine 😂

user and what happens if they attack them hmm??? did you ever think if your child gets scratched to pieces!!! 🤬

yourusername well then they’ll learn won’t they karen

Liked by tobjizzle, zoe_sugg and 320,027 others

yourusername spending as much time as i can with my two big babies before the newest arrives and steals me from them 🥲 they have been the best these last few months and are so so excited for their new brother or sister!!! 🥹😭 harry is coping the worst out of all of us but what’s neww, my stressful man 🩷

view all 4,828 comments

user he just looks stressed

yourusername he’s had enough of my moaning 😂😂

user THEY’RE SO CUTE 🩵🩷🩵🩷

user the three little lambs 🥹🥹🥹

user y/n you’re literally the best mum 🤍

user you look so good!!!!!!

user i love how you’re always outdoors with them! 💖

yourusername harry has banned ipads in our house for the summer, that’s why 😂😂 unless it’s dinner time or before bed but they usually prefer playing with their toys anyway xx

user you make life in the country look >>> would you ever move back to london? xx

yourusername we visit london regularly when schools/nurseries are out and see the guys and girls but i don’t think we’d move back anytime soon. lol harry hates london for a raising a family but who knows. maybe in 15 years we might get tired of the smell of cow shit and have a midlife crisis and move back 😂 xxx

user you mean when there’s a sidemen relaunch 😎

user yeah and we’re watching 7 grandads

Liked by sabinablair_, taliamar and 775,708 others

yourusername soooo surpriseee 🤪 baby girl came a day before her due date!!! (14 hours before actually, if you wanna get specific) ‘n i luv being in my lil baby bubble 🫧🐣🍼 if ya see me strolling around in some wrinkly man shorts with louis vuitton for eye bags - congratulate me on my new aesthetic 💅🏼 happy one month to our girllll 🩷👶🏼 and shout out to the nans, grandads, aunts and uncle for taking my other two crazies out for a few hours every day so big momma and dada can sleep 😴😂 speak soon xxx

view all 8,929 comments

user it’s a girl! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

user CONGRATS!!! OMG!!! 💛💛💛

mollymae congrats gorgeous! 😭 what a beautiful beautiful family you have 🤍 xx

ksi amazing ❤️ visit soon

calfreezy nah i’m cryyyinnnng again

user y/n you remain my favourite mom-fluencer with your humor, NEVER CHANGE ❤️

user bogggg n baby bogggg 🥹🥹

user congratulations to my favourite couple once again 💓

user what do you think her name is?

user i have a feeling it’s quinn 👀 or wren

faithlouisak little muffin is just a dream like her mama 🥹🫶🏼 now get my girl on her flight to spain, she needs it 🤣🤍🍹

yourusername my wife gets it 🥂🤍😚

user milf x3

Liked by vikkstagram, r0sielewis and 399,020 others

yourusername our last 24 hours:

1. relax and unwinding w my boy before our hectic morning ahead -> there was no relaxing or unwinding on my behalf as i went over everything we needed packed

2. last-minute packing cus you can never be so sure you’ve got everything 🫠

3. saying goodbye to finn at the fellas office 🐶🌭

4. the princess waking up early & in a good mood for her holiday!!!!!! 😎

5. getting ready n brushing our teeth before heading to the airport

6. a tired dada

7. a tired bbg who looks to be fighting with her dada

8. a well needed coffee

9. ready for takeoff ✈️

view all 11,838 comments

user enjoy it babes! well deserved 😚

theobaker enjoy gang 👊🏼 look after those mini legends

taliamar ENJOY HUNNY BUN!!!! MISS YOU ALREADY 🩷🩷🩷

user how are the kids when flying? hopefully they’re good to you, lol! 😂🤍

user as long as harry doesn’t talk about the plans crashing, i’m sure they’ll be fine 🤣🤣

yourusername thank you 💘 lol they actually don’t get that nervous, i think it’s always nerves of excitement cus they’re ok when flying. we usually take a twin each and swap when they start to get bored of us 😆 as long as they’ve got colouring books, snacks and a movie downloaded, they’re fine, plus, they usually distract harry from any disaster occurring too so a win 🤣

user god harry is such a DILF

user crying at her not looking at harry 😭😭💀

yourusername like what’s the tea? what’s your beef??? who hurt youuu 😂

Liked by georgeclarkeey, faithlouisak and 221,483 others

yourusername aaaand relax 🧘🏽‍♀️ we made it!!! and without losing a child!!! 🥳 already sipping on some cocktails and matching fits w/ my girl. babes are smothered in suncream and never out of that pool 🤿 got dad on protective duties and slide 9 was when i accidentally brought up baby no. 4 💀 happy friday 🥂xxxx

view all 3,832 comments

user NAH SCREAMING AT HIM #9

user i cannot stress how much i love this family

user ok but the insta story of you and harry hammered trying to be quiet after putting the kids to bed

yourusername ok but why were we pissed off one cocktail

user if i’m not like this as a mom

user ADOPT ME

Liked by chrismd10, arthurtv and 301,192 others

yourusername still in full holiday mode ☀️ thinkin bout cancelling that flight home more and more . . .

view all 2,749 comments

user the second pic is a mood

yourusername being a right menace since we got him that water gun, i know i was laughing but i was really proper fuminnnn my eye is in agony

user he did not want that sun cream on 🤣🤣

user nooooo not all your babies matching

user not mum and dad playing mermaids

user penny and her accessories, i can’t 😭

user ocean beach lookin real different these days

user i remember old snapchats of 18yo bog trying to drown you for the snap ❤️ time flies

Liked by tialineker, danidyerxx and 455,300 others

yourusername first family ski holiday!! ❄️ never been the best skier so a lot of the time me n babygirl were side questing . . . 🙈 the other two were natural gems and in their element! (i was riddled with nerves and screaming for harry to be careful with them every 0.2 seconds 😃 not recommend for overthinking moms . . . )

view all 3,224 comments

user OMG 🥹🥹🥹

user gorgeous 😍

user my heart!! harry looks like he loved teaching them

yourusername he did! he really didn’t want them to give up, he’s soooo glad they love it

danidyerxx my head would be away 😂😂

yourusername i’ve just booked in for my hair, came home with a few grey hairs 😂🤣

user your kids are so cute

user did you ski everyday? xx

yourusername basically, but sometimes only for 2-3 hours and then we’d go out for food and explore! we went ice-skating one day, had a snow day (without skiing), went to a winter wonderland type thing with rides and a petting zoo but really we were just in our cabin a lot - we had a hot tub on the porch and coffee shop 2 cabins down so also had hot chocolate in that every day! my kids are very high energy so this trip done the trick at knocking them out at night (and harry 😂) xx

Liked by jacjossa, poppyhollins and 603,728 others

yourusername wanted to make a post that isn’t so ‘picture perfect’ cus i don’t want to sell a fake narrative . . . it’s easy to post nice pics with cute stories but really no one sees the day-to-day shit most parents face 😂 i can confirm my kids are absolute nutters. they can hardly sit still. they grind my gears with their attitude at times and they can be sooo so difficult. we have tears, we have tantrums, we have days we sit with our heads in our hands (as pictured, harry coping in a nando’s when one of ours was having a meltdown) and others sitting, contemplating life decisions in bath water that is went cold an hour ago (me every sunday before getting prepped for the new school week). my kids can be crazy (karma, some may say) they can be such wind ups with their jokes and stubbornness, especially in serious situations (if there is one thing about my spawns, they always act up at the worst times) i could pull my hair out. parenting is hard, it’s stressful, it’s tiring and it definitely is not aesthetic. i have pen on my walls, broken belongings, sabotaged school pictures (as seen in bottom corner) and bruises from not-so-kind-hands 🙃 i know my babies and i know they are good kids - they’re kind, they’re friendly, they’ve such good manners and overall a spectacular nature about them that i am proud of — but my days, do they have their days - but then again, doesn’t everyone? i could go on forever but i just want to tell all the parents out there that everyone struggles, everyone has hard days. everyone has days they don’t want to play mum and dad 😂 sometimes you just have to laugh through it, which is what harry and i do on the daily (if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry, right?) i am just like everyone else. i don’t reward my kids for bad behaviour, i tell them off when they do wrong, i tell them no, i give them the ‘mum look’ when they’re acting up in public and i lock myself in the bathroom too long after i’ve used the toilet 😂 i stood arguing with my daughter in a primark like she was my sister and then had to take on her brother as well when he piped up!!! (so mature arguing with 6 year olds 😌) anyway, i just want to give all those who can relate to this a massive hug and a pat on the back for all that you’ve conquered so far 🫂 pls don’t be hard and hate on yourself when you feel like this, it doesn’t mean you love them any less - if you’ve ever felt guilty for not ‘enjoying every second,’ please know—no one enjoys every second of anything: not sleep, not chocolate, not even vacations, so don’t hold yourself to an impossible standard, you’re doing the messy, beautiful work of loving someone more than life—and that’s more than enough.

view all 6,358 comments

user amazing babe ❤️

user love this 💘 you’re such an inspo

user and this is why y/n will always be my fav — REAL

user i needed this today - a struggling mum of 3 xx

calfreezy big up mummsy bog ❤️

user y/n they could never make me hate you

faithlouisak say it louder for the people in the back!!!! love you millions xxxxx

user thank god you said it, i thought i was the only one who felt like this

user 🩷🩷🩷

user my kids are wankers but i’d die for them !!!!!!!

user LOVE THIS!!!!!!

poppyhollins unreal babe ❤️ we’re in this together xx

user this might just make a grown woman cry 🥲 love you y/n xxxx

Liked by stephen_tries, joeweller and 459,280 others

yourusername few days in lovely london, exploring familiar places and catching up with old friends 🍓🍫🦢🌳🛍️ got to see some sights and dad at work fid also sweeped the toy shop clearrr, cries my bank card 🤧

view all 3,525 comments

user cutest fam ever!!

joeweller already lookin forward to the next time!

user can't be lieve the guys a dad

user hard day at the office clearly

mollymae stunning ✨

faithlouisak ok but where's the pic of you stuck in the swing at the park

sabinablair_ and getting attacked by the swan??

miaxmon or the chocolate spilled all down your top? the kids didn't even get any on their faces

user @ yourusername is a fraud!!! she's not aesthetic mum life at all !!!!

calfreezy was a nice surprise visit seeing the nieces n neph !!!

yourusername they'd do numbers on the fellas

Liked by mollysmith19, zoesugg and 593,929 others

yourusername back home appreciating the normality 😌 back to daily outings, ice-cream dates, colouring on rainy days and visiting nan and grandad, what more could you want 👶🏼🍨💛

view all 2,028 comments

user fav family always

user i love this wholesome era more than anything

user milfs !!!

user to think if they stayed broken up, they wouldn’t have this little family

user butterfly effectttt

user crying

user y/n you’re such a good mum ❤️

yourusername thank you so much 🥲 that’s all i want to be told

[ohpiastri]

thank you BARCELONA GP 😭🫶🏻 one of my top oscar win ranks

[tomsparkyr]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓!

following episode five of 'inside' — george clarke x fem!reader

by any means i do not own 'inside' and all credit is theirs (!!)

(… just read and see… but apparently i grinded out this many words idk how i did that ANYWAYS)

(ps. i will warn u that this is my favourite taylor swift song, if that’s not a big enough hint then we'll find out xx)

wc: 10.1K

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Who’s taking the first shift y’all?” Jason questioned as the room consisted of two chairs facing CCTV screens. You groaned as you realised what the challenge was and the lack of sleep you would get as a result.

George and Jason were given the first shift. George let go of you and leant in to press a kiss against your cheek, but as he crouched down to do so, you turned your head to face him which caused him to accidentally peck the corner of your mouth.

Both of you jumped back in surprise and your faces flushed red, “Oh, God! Y/N, I’m sorry!” George laughed and held your face which was stucken with a shocked facial expression and held back the opportunity to burst out laughing.

“Jesus, George!” Jason groaned, “Kiss your girlfriend goodbye later, we’ve got money to save!” You shoved George towards the American and wished him good luck, linking arms with Milli and walking out the room.

George sat down and pulled on the high vis jacket, “I think we’re gonna be okay. We’ve got the first shift.” Jason nodded, “Yeah, we’re good.” 

George placed his hands on the table, mind still reeling from accidentally nearly kissing you moments before, “We seem to understand the rules. I think we might be losing a lot of money tonight.”

Jason rocked on his chair and smirked, “How about this?” George glanced over at him, “Do you fancy anyone in that room?”

George rolled his head back with a smile, “Come on, man. You know the answer to that.” He laughed as Jason hit his shoulder. “When are you gonna make a move on her, dude?”

George shrugged his shoulders and gestured with his hands, “I don’t know, everytime I try to in this fucking house people always walk in!” He furrowed his brows and shook his head while laughing. 

Jason smacked the table through his laughter, “Swear down, brother. Put a note on the door or something, get down with her, and none of us will interrupt you! We’re all waiting for it!” George covered his face as his cheeks grew a shade red, Jason’s teasing getting to him.

George chuckled, “Just blokes being blokes, chatting about girls.”

Out of boredom, the boys decided to switch seats and Jason asked, “What temptation would you take? What if it said, ‘George, sign the contract?’”

George lifted an eyebrow, “They wouldn’t risk that.” He laughed at his own joke (as per usual) “Uh, I think a sleeping pill.”

“Immunity. That’s the only one. Yeah.” George decided, his legs kicked up on the desk as he shifted in his chair. Jason nodded at his answer, “Why’s that?” George sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Because I could be in here longer with her.”

Jason covered a smile with his hand, “Really?” George nodded and stared forward, thinking about you. What were the chances you were fast asleep on the floor right down, curled up in his hoodie that he gave you. Were you also still thinking about how close you two had been to kissing; which time? He mentally cursed himself for the dozens of cameras and people who constantly decided to tune in at the worst timings.

“I’m doing this all for her now, ever since I saw her enter on that first day.” George admitted, “If I have the chance to be in here as long as I can and enjoy… whatever we’ve got on at the moment with no pressure from the outside world; I’m gonna take it, man.” 

Jason patted George on the shoulder, “To be in love, huh?” George jokingly rolled his eyes and shoved Jason’s hand off him. 

“How about at the start of the next four minutes, you name 100 women.” George laughed, “Your top 100 women and then at the start of my four minutes, I then name my top 100 women.” The duo laughed and nodded their heads.

George started, “Okay, Biff from the Biff and Chip books. Uh, I’m gonna go for Hermione Granger.” Jason agreed with that one and started laughing. “Why are you laughing, man?” George asked through chuckles.

“I’m waiting to hear Y/N’s name.” He smiled. George winked at him, “Oh, don’t you worry, Jason. I’m saving my girl for top spot.” He licked his lips and cockily shrugged his shoulders, leaning back in the chair.

The screen in front of them changed, “Next on shift is Whitney and Mya.” George read out loud, “We have to go get them. That is… Oh, fuck.” George muttered and quickly stood out of his chair, Jason following suit and sprinted out of the room with the boy, shouting “Whitney and Mya!”

You jumped as you heard loud footsteps bounding down the hallway, sitting up abruptly from your uncomfortable seat on the floor sitting in between Milli and Cinna. Standing up, you saw George flinging off his high vis jacket and tossing it at Mya as she caught it.

George found himself gravitating towards you, his shoulder brushing yours as you stood opposite Jason, him explaining what had just gone on. “We didn’t have temptation. We were just talking about women.”

Your eyebrows shot up, “Women?” Jason laughed at you, “We were doing, like, name 100 women in four minutes. Don’t worry, Y/N, George put you first.” “Jason, you don’t tell her that!” George groaned and covered his face with his hands, turning away from the group in hopes they didn’t see his blushing face. Farah burst out laughing with you and you both pointed at George’s embarrassment.

“Wait, Jason! What did he say?” Farah exclaimed. Jason smirked and recited George’s words, “I’m saving my girl for top spot.”

DDG barked out in laughter as Farah wheezed next to you, as you giggled and covered your mouth. You walked over to George and wrapped your hand around his bicep to pull him close to you, his face hovering over yours as his height towered over you. “I think it’s sweet.” You mumbled for only him to hear.

He pulled his face out of his hands and looked at you, he pulled you into a tight hug and swayed the pair of you as the others in the room conversed. George tilted his head down to your ear, “God, I hope we get chosen to go on watch soon because I need to be with you alone for once.” Your stomach swarmed with butterflies and you couldn’t help the grin from spreading onto your face as George’s breath tickled your face and the manner of his words sent a rushing feeling into your stomach.

Some time had passed and you hadn’t been called in to watch for the night yet. The challenge was painfully slow and you found yourself drifting off ever so slightly. You were sitting on the sofa with George and Milli was sitting on the beanbag on the floor, opposite you.

Your head was leaning on George’s shoulder and his arm was draped on the back of the sofa. The position was a little uncomfortable as George’s shoulder was a lot higher than you could reach; groaning, you readjusted yourself and tried to get somewhat comfy.

“What’s wrong?” George asked, seeing you shuffle away from him. You sighed, “I can’t get comfy.”

George nodded and eyed you, “Come here.” He tapped his thighs. Tilting your head, you questioned him. “What?”

Suddenly, George pulled your figure onto his lap, adjusting you so you sat with you back against his but your legs could be sprawled out on the sofa where you had just been sitting. He snuck his arms around your waist and tugged you tight against his strong chest, hands slipping underneath your shirt and his cold hand settled on your stomach. 

“That better?” He whispered from behind you. You nodded contently and leaned your head back to rest against his shoulder, having a better height advantage now you were at his level. “Much better.”

You heard Milli scoff from opposite you, “Jesus, if we’re gonna be here a while; please keep the PDA to a minimum, I don’t wanna look over in a minute and see you two humping each other.”

Others in the room who heard Milli’s outrageous statement covered their mouth to suppress a laugh, while you lifted your hand and flipped her off without sparing her a second glance, but understood that she saw it as her giggles rang around the room.

You found yourself dozing off in George’s comfortable hold; the position familiar as you had spent all but one night attached to him in this house. The soft rise and fall of his chest against you helped your eyes flutter closed, and his fingers rubbing small patterns into your skin sent a chill down your spine.

The blaring alarm noise and the lights beaming red caused you to jolt up on George’s lap, your hips accidentally grinding against his in the process which went unknown to you. 

You looked in front of you to see Milli had gone and Cinna’s presence in the room had disappeared too. You blinked in surprise as you tried to calculate how long you had been out for. 

Upon realising you had lost money as Milli and Cinna hadn’t reached the room in time, you tossed your head back and readjusted yourself on George’s lap again. George’s hand suddenly found your hips to halt your movements and he suppressed a groan by hiding his head in your shoulder, “Fuck, don’t do that.”

You turned around to face him in confusion until you felt something digging into your thigh. You hid your laughter and shook your head at him, “Fucking hell, George. There’s a time and a place.” You teased him.

He groaned again and mumbled, “I can’t help it.” His strong hands situated you on his lap for full coverage, now fully aware he was in a room full of cameras and couldn’t handle people and the public seeing something so embarrassing from you simply sitting on his lap.

Meanwhile in the watch room, Milli and Cinna sat looking at the cameras. 

Milli nudged Cinna and pointed at the camera which was facing you and George in the main area, his arms wrapped around you and his head tucked into the crook of your neck. “Why can’t they just shag and get it over with?” Milli laughed.

Cinna whipped her head around and nodded wildly at Milli, “Literally! I’m just waiting to wake up and see an open condom wrapper chucked in the middle of the bedroom!” They both laughed and wheeled their chairs around to inspect the scene at hand.

They watched as you tried not to laugh and ran your hands through George’s mullet while he dared to show his face. “What’s she laughing at?” Cinna tilted her head.

Milli shrugged, “I don’t know.” They realised it had nothing to do with anyone else in the room as your attention was solely on George, yet he didn’t want to remove his face from hiding behind you.

The girls raised their eyebrows as you hopped to get up jokingly, only to be yanked back down on George’s lap immediately and his arms wrapping around your waist tighter so you couldn’t pull a stunt like that again.

Their jaws dropped as they saw George’s flushed face peek out from your second departure, “George! You dirty dog!” Milli yelled and Cinna covered her mouth to not burst into laughter.

“We’re never letting him live this down, right?” Cinna raised a brow at Milli. “Never.” The blonde girl confirmed.

The screen in front of them changed and said ‘George and Y/N’. The pair jumped up and screamed, “George and Y/N!” as they rounded the corner.

You head shot up from teasing George upon hearing your name, “Shit!” You cursed and stood up quickly with George still attached to you. “Oh, you’re joking.” George murmured as he tried to conceal his issue by waddling behind you as you tried to make a sprint for the room.

The entire group laughed at him, “George, you can let your girlfriend go for one second!” George shook his head and refused to look at them as they luckily hadn’t realised the need for George to keep his lower half hidden, “I can’t!”

Milli and Cinna passed you and George on the way to the room, seeing the predicament up close caused them to double over in laughter. The two girls walked back into the main area holding onto each other and giggling.

“Young love, am I right?” PK gestured to where you and George had left the room. Milli’s brows raised, “If that’s what you want to call it.” “What did you say?” Mya asked. “Nothing!” Milli and Cinna said at the same time, but not without looking at each other with a mischievous glint in their eye first.

You and George entered the room and quickly entered the code in, sighing in relief as the timer reset. 

George stood back from you while his hands still rested on your waist, you heard him sigh and leaned down to catch his breath. You turned in his hold and sent a cheeky smile his way. “Don’t even.” He grumbled, shaking his head.

You laughed, “Well, I can’t pretend it didn’t happen, George. I felt it--” “Alright! Alright!” He cut you off and sat down on the chair, crossing his legs.

You followed suit and sat down in the other chair, “I’m flattered, really--” “Fuck off, Y/N.” He laughed and shook his head.

The pair of you sat in silence for a moment, comfortable in each other's presence. George groaned, “I swear if Netflix put this in the show…” You looked at him and giggled, sliding your chair closer to his so there was no space between them.

George looked intently into your eyes, “I meant it, you know.”

Your eyes flickered from his own to his lips, “I know.”

The two of you stared at each other and found yourselves growing closer, neither of you realising you had leant in at any time. “I’m just waiting for you to make a move.” You whispered and never broke eye-contact with him.

George’s smirk grew and he leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the room before they landed on you, “We’re alone. No one’s in here.” He licked his lips and pulled your chair against his. 

You nodded with a grin, “Just us.” 

George’s hand brushed a stray hair away from your face and cupped your cheek, his face leaning into yours. “No interruptions.” He whispered as his eyes flickered down to your lips.

You hummed in agreement, mind frazzled from his face being so close to yours and the knowledge that no one could interrupt this moment. George swallowed and shook his head, “Fuck, Y/N.”

His lips connected softly with yours, sighing into the kiss and his unoccupied hand finding home on your waist. Your hands wound into his mullet and tugged his face closer to yours as his mouth opened to deepen the kiss.

He pulled back for a moment, “God, I’ve waited so long for this.” You were about to respond but he pulled you back in for a searing kiss, his fingers digging into your waist and his thumb stroking your cheek. 

Your hairs round to cup his face, feeling him groan into the kiss as you traced his jaw and pulled his face closer to yours. His breath quickened and he wanted to be as close to you as possible, hands pulling your figure tight against his that you were practically back sat on his lap. 

His lips parted from yours and you began to protest, but the words died on your lips as his connected with your neck. You sighed and tilted your head back to allow him better access which he appreciated, pressing your body against his and his mumbled praises got lost in translation as he littered kisses along your neck. 

Your hands tugged at his hoodie, biting your lip to quiet yourself as George’s lips never parted from you. You lulled your head back and glanced at the screen for a moment, this time it read: ‘Jason’.

“Shit!” You shouted and pulled George off of you, pointing at the screen as he yelped out, “What? What?” His eyes widened and he jumped out of his seat, hand attached to yours as the pair of you shouted for the American’s attention.

You sprinted back into the main area as Jason passed you, out of breath and cheeks flushed (not for the reasons the other Insider’s thought). 

DDG tilted his head, “Why were you gone for so long?” Your head snapped to him, “Were we long?” You furrowed your brows.

PK nodded with squinted eyes, “Yeah, you two had like an extra 2 minutes than everyone else.”

Beside you and hand in hand with, George shrugged nonchalantly, “Take that up with the Sidemen, we didn’t know.” That answer seemed justifiable according to everyone else as they returned to their previous conversations.

You sighed in relief and felt a tug on your hand, “I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.” George said to you, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head before strolling out the room.

You tried to contain a smile and fell back onto the sofa that Milli was sitting on, the blonde girl already looking at you with a knowing look, “What’s got you all smiley?” She tilted her head.

You raised your brows, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You couldn’t look her directly in the eye because you knew your face would give everything away.

Milli tutted and leaned in to whisper to you, “Maybe George’s boner or your little hickey forming there can give me more detail.”

Your mouth dropped open and gasped loudly in the quiet room, causing everyones head to snap around to you. “You alright, Y/N?” Whitney asked. You nodded quickly with bright red cheeks, “Yeah! All good here!” She nodded with a confused face.

You turned back to Milli who was sipping out of her bottle, before facing you and dusting her clothes off, “Your secrets safe with me.” She winked and walked away from you sitting gobsmacked on the sofa. 

interview!

“Well, that challenge was… something! I’m happy that I, personally, didn’t lose any money but I can’t say the same for everyone else. But, who cares? We all need to sleep for 10 hours straight now!”

“I’m feeling good about the last few days, with George, with everyone… It's all good. I feel like I’ve sort of solidified my friendships here now. I’m definitely closest with George--”

“Yeah, physically!”

“Shut up, Milli! Anyway, I’m closest with George, Milli and Cinna. They’re like my little quad, we’re like the group from The Hangover; I’m Bradley Cooper, of course, being the sexiest!”

“Oh my God! I didn’t feel like the lights would ever go off!” George exclaimed as you entered the room after the long day (and night).

You settled into bed again, a shirtless George already laid underneath the covers. The pair of you hadn’t spoken since the kiss, and neither had made a move to bring it up.

You shuffled under the covers and pulled it up to your chest, resting on your side and facing George who was already looking at you. 

George’s arms were open for you to cuddle into, and seeing this made you smile with a blush coating your cheeks before you obliged. You curled into his figure and tangled your legs with his, George’s hand resting on the back of your head as it tangled in your hair.

“Y/N?” He whispered. You shifted to tilt your head up and look at him, “Yes?”

He licked his lips, “I’m serious about this, about us.” You cleared your throat and lifted your hand to stroke his cheek, “Me too. I don’t wanna mess this up.” His head leaned into your touch and his face softened.

He slowly nodded at you with a bashful smile etched across his face in the dim light, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He decided for the pair of you, seeing your eyes fight to stay open as the tiredness crept up on you.

You leaned up and pressed a kiss against his pink cheek, “Night, Georgie.” You rested your head against his bare chest and intertwined your hand with his. “Night, Y/N.” He whispered, hearing your breathing even out as you fell asleep in his comfortable hold.

time skip!

You woke up around 11:00 the next day, face buried in George’s chest and his arm wrapped around you if he didn’t want to let you go. You peered up at him in your sleepy daze, him being wide awake and his other arm tossed behind his head, flat against the pillow.

He noticed you shift in his hold, looking down at you and brushing a stray hair away from your face. You blinked some of the sleep out of your eye, looking around the room and seeing that it was just you and George in bed, everyone else’s had been void of who owned it.

You lifted your hands and rubbed sleep out of your eyes, “Where is everyone?” Your voice croaked out. George looked at you, “All getting ready for the day, I just didn’t want to wake you up.” He explained his reasoning for staying in bed with you.

You appreciated his gesture and shifted to press a sweet kiss on his cheek, “You’re adorable.” He blushed and ruffled your hair. “Come on.” You pulled at his hand and helped him out of bed alongside yourself.

You ran your hands through your hair to brush out any knots that had formed in your snooze, stretching your limbs and yawning in the process. George reached down to the end of his bed and pulled on his t-shirt he had discarded the night before; not without you sneaking a subtle glance at his torso before it was hidden from your sight.

The alarm to signal lunch was ready to collect from the shop made your head perk up and caused you to sprint out of the room and collide with Milli as she walked the same way, “Morning, Sleeping Beauty!” She grinned at you and linked your arm.

The pair of you skipped down to the shop clad in your tracksuits, “Oh, yay!” Milli said as the doors opened and revealed your lunch. Picking up the pot, you groaned, “I’m never getting used to this food, it’s rancid.” You inspected the items inside.

Milli agreed with you and ventured off to see the new items in the shop, “Oh my God.” She breathed out.

“There’s lube on there!” You turned your head round to see George entering the room, his figure covered in a beige jumper that suited him a bit too well.

You followed George’s eyeline and saw what Jason said out loud, “Lube for £200.” He laughed and walked over to the food.

George positioned his body behind yours and let his hands drift to your hips, squeezing them lightly as he said, “I’m down for some lube.” In doing so, George had leant down and said this so his words brushed your ear; his fingers teasing the joggers that rested on your hips.

“You’re so stupid, George.” You laughed and shook your head, but didn’t make a move to shove him away as you normally would.

George’s chest vibrated against your back as he laughed. His head was still beside yours as he whispered, “Wasn’t what you said last night, beautiful.”

Your cheeks burned red as you recalled your kiss last night on duty, how his lips peppered kisses down your neck; and how far he would have gone if it wasn’t for being in the middle of a challenge.

The sound of Farah cursing the Sidemen brought you out of your George-infiltrated mind, momentarily pausing your inappropriate thoughts you knew your friends would mock when the show aired. “You think this is a motherfucking joke…” Farah gasped, holding her iced tea in a huge block of ice.

As you offered Farah some help and advice with how to tackle her ice-issue, you didn’t notice George walk towards the camera in the corner of the room, stare at it for a moment and spare a glance your way, “I would like to confirm one portion of lube, please.”

You looked his way in time to see him turn away from the camera sporting a proud smile. “Oh God, what did you buy?” You groaned knowing he was up to no good.

George just shrugged and scooped his spoon into his lunch, grinning while stuffing his face with the salad. Cinna looked at him and sighed in realisation, “You bought the lube, didn’t you?”

George happily nodded, his smile widening. You and Milli both looked at him with your mouths dropped open, “Want to fondle yourself, you sad, sad prick.” Milli tilted her head at George.

George’s gaze flickered from her to you who stood behind Milli. Noticing this, Milli turned around to be met with the sight of you and quickly snapped her head back to George, sticking her thumb out in your direction, “Want to fondle and get down and dirty with Y/N, you filthy bastard!” She exclaimed at his boldness.

Your cheeks blushed pink, “Milli, what the fuck!” You said through a mouth full of salad, shocked by her way of wording.

George simply laughed, not denying the statement and walked away from the scene. Milli followed, “Just because you have a mullet doesn’t mean you have to act like a guy with a mullet.”

He found himself drifting towards you, “What’s that even mean?” George said. You sighed and brushed shoulders with him, avoiding his teasing smile as you suspected his purchase had something to do with you.

The door opened and proudly presented George’s confirmation of lube. “Hey!” He cheered and gestured for you to follow him as he picked up his item. “Oh, look Y/N, it’s tingling lube.” His eyes squinted as he read its description.

You tilted your head, “Why did you single me out, George?” You said through a chuckle. George licked his lips and nudged you with his shoulder, “Well, it’s not exactly a one person job, Y/N.” He winked.

You scoffed a laugh as Jason slapped George on the back, “Get in there, man!” You shook your head at the boys and made your way for the shop’s exit. “I just wanna feel something.” George shook the bottle.

“Wait, Y/N!” You heard his voice call out, you poked your head back into the room, “Tingling lube, cheeky and fun!” He flipped the bottle so you could read what he was saying.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” You muttered and left him and his lube in the shop.

time skip!

“We’re just lubing everything up now.” George turned and squirted some of the lube on the table. “Y/N, look at the lube.” Mya said to you, making you lift your head from your lunch as you see George reach for your bottle.

He placed your bottle on the ping-pong table and slid it across where he had spread the lube, only for it to fall off the table as it reached its end. George covered his mouth to suppress a laugh and turned to you, “Aren’t you impressed, Y/N?”

You blinked, “Not really, no.” You bit back a smile through your deadpan tone of voice.

George pointed at you, “You’re next, Y/N.”

“Whoa!” The whole table erupted in surprised and shocked sounds, George’s eyebrows rising and he covered his mouth quickly after realising what he had just said and how it had come out.

You sat there in shock and eyes wide, “I’m what now?” Milli laughed and hid her head in your shoulder to not be too loud. George stuttered and waved his hands around, “No, no! I meant--”

“We know what you meant, George!” PK snorted and hit the table laughing, the girls opposite him giggling at the scene.

Luckily (for George), the usual noise rang out of the house and everyone’s attention turned to the screen which read: ‘Y/N, please come to the Temptation Room’.

“Shit.” You winced, rubbing your eyes with your hands as everyone cheered for you. “Come on, Y/N!” Milli whooped in support.

George’s hand grabbed yours, “You’ve got it.” He smiled at you and your heart raced. You looked directly in his eyes and for a moment it felt like you were the only two people in the room, “George?” You asked him.

His heart thumped in his chest, thinking you were about to have the conversation he’s been waiting years for now, in a room full of people. “Yes?” He whispered back.

“Your hands are covered in lube.” You whispered back, gently pulling your hand out of his. “Shit! I’m sorry!” His eyes widened, rushing to grab a tissue from the table.

You laughed and shook your head at him and he frantically rubbed your hands free of the lube that coated his, “That’s not what you need when the Sidemen are about to torture you.” He said through laughs, wiping off the remaining essence.

You watched his movements in awe, not exactly the romantic scenario you had imagined but it’ll do. “Hey,” His head lifted to meet your eyes, “We’ll talk about it when I’m back.”

He knew what you were talking about; the kiss. How George had you practically on his lap and neck presented to him as he mumbled how bad he had been wanting this. He nodded his head at you, “Damn right we will.”

You laughed at him and retracted from his hold, bidding goodbyes and accepting good luck messages thrown your way, eyes locking with the door to the temptation room as it entered your sight.

“Here we go.” You whispered to yourself and pushed the door open.

The room was empty besides a plinth displayed in the centre of the room with cards stacked on top of it, and one single door against the back wall. The room was bare of any life or hope, your stomach twisted with nerves as you knew it wasn’t as simple as the room appeared.

“What the…” Your voice trailed off. Walking towards the plinth, you picked up the first card and read aloud its content.

“Y/N, behind this door is your family, friends and your dog.” Your heart stopped at the thought of them all behind the door, especially your little dog, his little face and wagging tail you missed oh so much. “You have the option to spend an hour, no supervision, with them before returning to the Inside house.”

“However, if you wish to take this you will not receive a punishment of £30K being removed from your prize fund.” Your brows furrowed as you reached the end of the card, flipping it over to see if you read it correctly, which you did.

You scoffed, “Well, I’m fucking taking it. It’s a no brainer!” You shrugged and headed towards the door, a smile growing on your face as you knew everyone you loved stood behind that door, ready to meet you once again.

“Y/N, please may you read the second card.” The voice of Josh rang out in the room, stopping you in your tracks.

You obeyed and took slow steps back to the plinth, reluctantly reaching for the second card and reading it out loud.

“We must tell you that George is also in his Temptation Room right now.” Your heart pounded in your chest, “And he has been granted the opportunity for immunity in the next round of eliminations.” You swallowed as you finished the second card, mentally begging for George to take the immunity; you couldn’t handle it if he was eliminated.

You sighed as the final card was in your sight. Picking it up, you cleared your throat.

“If you wish to give into your temptation; George’s immunity, if he wishes to take it, will not be valid and he is at risk of being eliminated in the next round.”

“However, George could reject the immunity. And you could have missed out on a chance to be greeted by your loved ones with zero consequences.”

You shook your head and knelt down, arms leaning on the plinth and your forehead rested on its edge. “You’re fucking bastards.” You whispered, trying to hold back tears as the situation became overwhelming.

George’s fate was balanced in your hands while everyone you loved stood waiting for you. You could accept and pray on the fact that George rejected the immunity and no one would be hurt, you’d simply be doing what’s best for you.

But if George had taken the immunity, and you had chosen to see your friends and family. George would be at further risk of being eliminated and you’d be betraying him and his intuition. 

And if he had rejected immunity and you had rejected the huge chance you were being offered, no one wins. Everyone’s feelings are hurt and it’s every man for themselves during the next round of elimination.

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” You muttered the mantra over and over. You rubbed the brewing tears from your eyes and groaned seeing the door begging to be opened.

To make matters worse, a knock came from the door you were staring at and echoed, “Y/N? Are you there?” Emerged from the other side. You sunk onto the floor as you heard the voice of your family on the other side, inches away from holding you in a tight hug.

You hid your face in your hands and cried, unshed tears spilling into your palms as the room was engulfed in silence.

“Y/N, please make your decision.” Josh’s voice sounded out, almost sympathetically.

You really wished George had taken that goddamn immunity, every fibre of your body willed that he was walking back into the living room now, the token tight in his grip. You wanted him to stay, you needed him to stay; to be selfish for once in here and protect himself as he wouldn’t understand the lengths you would go to keep him here, with you. To be in his hold for a couple more nights, the bed being yours to share. The stolen kisses and whispered confessions that stayed between two tortured hearts, two people who had suppressed these feelings for so long that who knew being locked in a house for seven days and no access to the outside world would push you to admit that he was all you wanted. George Clarke, please take the immunity.

You stood up and sniffled, “I’m not taking it.” You turned and walked out the room, hearing and seeing the lights shut off as you ventured out.

The walk back to the living room felt longer than usual, heart pounding with each step you took; praying that you would turn the corner and see George proudly showing off his immunity token to everyone on the couch.

When you turned the corner, the couch was void of him. Everyone’s head snapped to you and your bloodshot eyes.

Milli was the first one to stand up and pull you into a tight hug, “What happened? What was it?” She rubbed your back while bombarding you with desperate questions.

Your eyes scanned the room, “Where’s George?” Cinna shook her head and stood up to comfort you, “He’s still in the Temptation Room. Y/N, are you alright?”

You shook your head and your bottom lip wobbled, “That was fucking awful.” You whispered and reciprocated Milli’s hug, tears staining her hoodie as Cinna held your hand and rubbed the back of it. Farah joined and played with the ends of your hair, “What did they do?”

Your voice broke, “It was my family, friends and my fucking dog.” Everyone’s mouth dropped open and their eyebrows knitted together in sympathy, “So, you didn’t take it?” PK asked, voice softer than usual.

You shook your head and wrapped Milli back into the hug, the blonde pulling you in tighter. “Hey, you saved £30K though, you can be proud of that, babe.” She tried to comfort you, trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

You didn’t deny her statement, preferring to lie and keep to yourself that losing £30K was never a threat in your case; rather George’s future was taunting you and your plagued mind.

The girls guided you to the sofa, letting you take up most of the space as they all drifted off for a nap, letting their minds rest as they debated George’s willpower. While everyone was confident he wouldn’t give in, you wished, for once, he would.

You couldn’t sleep a wink, your mind was running wild and your cheeks were stained with more tears that no one saw. Your bottom lip was chewed to borderline blood, heart never faltering and sniffles never persisting.

The sound of footsteps makes your heart leap in your stomach, sitting more upright on the sofa while everyone remains asleep.

George’s figure rounded the corner and your body moved before your mind could comprehend it, “Holy shit.” You muttered.

You flung your arms around George’s shoulders and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, taking him by surprise but his hands naturally wove their way around your waist. You buried your head into his chest and let out hollow sobs, “Hey, hey, hey. What happened?” You didn’t respond to his pleas, only shaking your head and tightening your grip on him.

Everyone else woke up to his voice comforting you. “What was it?” Mya asked out loud, the other joining in with her question.

George kept his arms around you. “It was fucking horrible, man.” He swallowed and wound his hands into your hair as your face remained hidden from everyone. “I went in, and there was this plinth with a box on it, card on top.” He explained the room similar to your own.

“Read the card, says, ‘If you take this, it will cost your team £30K, but you have immunity for the next voting.’” You winced at the reminding, waiting for the punchline that he took the immunity.

“I obviously deliberated for a while, and I said, ‘No, look, if my team want me gone, they want me gone.’” Your heart dropped into your stomach. No, no… surely he took the immunity, right?

“So I put it down, tried to mic-drop out of there.” He said through a forced grin. 

Your face fell against his chest, pulling back slowly and locking eyes with him. “You didn’t take it?” You whispered, cheeks flushed and eyes watering.

George shook his head at you, “No, I didn’t.”

You froze. Your head pounded with the image of your family and friends behind the door, knocking for you to see them, confide in them; but you had chosen George over them, and it had all backfired in your face. 

Tears fell down your face, George furrowed his brows at you and reached out to brush them away, you gently pushed his hands away and looked everywhere but him. “No, no, no…” Your voice came out coarse, throat dry from the sickening feeling.

“Hey, what happened--” “I need to be alone.” You cut him off and scrambled out of George’s embrace, the warmth of his chest against your cheek no longer providing you with comfort; now just a mockery of what you could have had.

“Y/N.” His hand wrapped around yours before you snatched it away, “Please.” You begged him, tears welling in your eyes and forehead creasing in desperation. George studied your face with his heart clenching at your distress, he reluctantly let you go, seeing your figure bolt out the room and into the bedrooms.

time skip!

You sat in silence in the bedroom for a while, the only noise that filled the void was your sniffles and you fumbling with your makeup sat on the desk in front of you. You pulled out some makeup wipes from your bag, hands shaking as you removed mascara that had smudged under your eyes.

“That was so fucking embarrasing.” You mumbled to yourself and your reflection. You were humiliated at how you had blindly chosen George over everyone else in your life, because you were stupid enough to think you understood him and what he would do. It seemed you didn’t know George as much as you thought you did.

You felt someone appear behind you in the doorway, “Hey…” Milli said quietly, not pushing you too far due to your current vulnerability. You looked at her in the mirror, “Hey.” You whispered back and cleared your throat.

“You alright, babe?” She walked slowly towards you. You were about to lie and admit that you were perfectly fine, whereas you knew you weren’t. Opting for honesty, you shook your head, “No, Milli. I’m not.”

She sighed and sat down next to you and pulled you into a hug, “Take your time.” She rubbed your back and let you cry into her shoulder. You stayed there for a while, mind dwelling on George and his now lack of immunity, and how your throat closed up the second he confessed he didn’t have the token between his fingers.

“I wish I took it.” You whispered into Milli’s shoulder, “I wish I opened that door and saw them.” Milli winced and hugged you tighter, “I know, I know.”

“Why didn’t he take it?” You said through broken sobs. Milli furrowed her brows, “Who?” 

“George. Why didn’t he take the immunity?” Milli pulled back from the hug, “Is that why you’re upset, Y/N?”

Your face fell a little bit, biting back the confession slipping from your lips. “No, no…” You backtracked, “It’s just all so overwhelming right now.” You covered your alibi. Milli seemed to buy it and smiled sympathetically at you, shifting herself closer to you and on the edge of her chair so she could comfort you.

You two stayed like that for a while, your cries settled to a stop, just bloodshot eyes exposing your inner turmoil. You had grown really close to Milli being inside this house, knowing to catch up with her outside of this place and do streams together, considering her one of your best friends now despite the chaos that ensued in this house.

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” You heard George stutter from the doorway. You didn’t look over at him, focusing your attention on the table in front of you instead. Milli looked up at the new identity in the room and reluctantly pulled her arms away from you, “Uhh,” She glanced between you two and noticed the tension, “Yeah, sure.”

“Y/N, you gonna be okay?” Milli said, hand grazing your shoulder. You looked up for once and nodded slowly, not trusting your words. 

She made an exit for the room, passing George on her way out and locking eyes with him. She nodded at him as his face seemed nervous, silently wishing him good luck.

You heard George take slow steps towards you and he sat himself down on the chair that Milli previously preoccupied. From where she had shuffled her chair closer to you, George’s shoulder brushed yours but neither of you made a move to pull each other in your arms, instead letting the tension simmer in the room.

George opened his mouth to say something but stopped, lips parting and closing after. He looked at you through the mirror, seeing your tear stained face made his heart stutter in his chest. He wanted to reach out and touch you, to comfort you, but due to your lack of eye contact he assumed it would be inappropriate to do so.

You felt sick at the awkwardness in the room. You could see George trying to make conversation from the corner of your eye, but glad he restricted himself because you didn’t know if you could handle talking to him at the moment. Not that it was his fault, it was yours completely, but a part of you hated him because you perhaps didn’t know the person you loved as much as you thought.

“I took it.” George broke the silence.

Your head snapped to face him, seeing his anxious face properly for the first time today; heart dropping as you could practically see his mind racing behind his head.

“What?” You expected him to be messing with you, but his face was etched with seriousness and looked you dead in the eye. He wasn’t lying. “Please tell me you’re serious.” You whispered.

George nodded at you, “I took the immunity.”

You stared at him in shock, every feeling you felt was overstimulating your poor mind. George watched your reaction with nerves swarming his stomach; would you think he was selfish for taking it? Would you call him a traitor and storm out the room? Did he do it for all the right reasons?

“Thank fuck.” You groaned and rubbed your eyes with your hands. You lulled your head back and felt like crying again as all the tension dropped out of your shoulders, relief flowing through your body.

George’s eyes widened, “What does that mean?” His eyes followed you and your body language.

You took your hands away from your face, tilting your head to look at him and bit back a soft smile. “Mine was about you.” You admitted.

George furrowed his brows and his breathing got quicker, “What was about me?”

“The Temptation Room. It was about you, George.” You smiled through your watery eyes, his confused expression not mirroring yours of relief.

“I’m gonna need you to explain, Y/N. I don’t understand--” “I wouldn’t have lost £30K.” You cut his ramble off, slowly guiding your hands closer to his that your fingertips brushed.

George’s silence was your prompt to go on, “They put me in a room with the option to see my family, friends and my dog.” “But he’s with--” “Chris. I know.” You finished his inquiry.

“They said I could see them and not lose £30K.” George furrowed his brow, “Why didn’t you take it?”

“If I had accepted, it would have made your immunity invalid.” You confessed, winding your hand into his, his warmth spreading across your body.

“But you didn’t know if I had taken it yet.” George intertwined his fingers with yours. You nodded at him, “I know. I did it for you.” 

George’s mouth dropped open just slightly, eyes searching yours as your confession slipped past your lips. You had never intended to tell him this, but after his admission, you couldn’t let it go unspoken.

The more the silence extended and the longer it took for him to respond made your heart sink a little bit, scared you had said too much; exposed yourself and let him understand the lengths you would go to for him.

“I did it for you, too.” George finally responded.

Now it was your turn to be stunned into silence, “What?” You blinked at him.

George bit back a wide grin, licking his lips and tightening his grip on your hands, thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

“If I knew I had the chance to be in here with you as long as possible, I knew I was gonna take it.” He started and shuffled closer to you, he took it as a good sign when you didn’t move away from you. “I’ve liked you for so long and if I knew I could be safe from elimination in the next round, all my time could be spent with you.” His hand lifted to cup your face.

“And after our kiss last night,” Your cheek burned under his touch. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Everything about you, Y/N.” He whispered, heart sinking at your silence, “Please say something.” He pleaded.

Instead of saying anything, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his harshly. He grunted in shock and quickly settled into the kiss, hand rounding to the back of your head and tangling in your hair, pushing your face closer to his. George tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips. You sighed at the contact and wound your hand through his mullet, finding yourself leaning forward to practically sit on his lap.

George noticed this and placed his hands on the backs of your thighs, hoisting you onto his lap, catching you by surprise. You yelped into the kiss which caused him to part from you for a moment, “You drive me insane, Y/N.” Your hands cupped his cheeks and you could feel his jaw moving from the intensity he was kissing you with, heat flowing through your body. 

You pulled back from the kiss and his lips connected with your jaw, “George, this isn’t some joke to me. I like you so much and I don’t wanna mess this up.” You mumbled through soft sighs as his kisses increased in passion. 

Parting from you, he lifted his head and rested his forehead against your own. “I’m not joking, Y/N. I’m so serious about you and this is real to me.” You smiled at him and your cheeks burned red. “Get back here, Clarkey.” You shook your head and pulled him back in for a soaring kiss, one in which he didn’t object to.

George’s hands drifted underneath your hoodie with the intention to lift it over your head. Just as you raised your arms to let him do so, you heard footsteps rounding the corner which made you and George part immediately and stand on opposite sides of the room.

Cinna’s head popped round the corner, “Do you mind if I speak to George alone, Y/N?” She swallowed and narrowed her eyes at the distance between you two, but cheeks flushed and lips swollen. 

You nodded at the American with a loose smile on your face, “I was gonna get in the shower now, anyways.” You said and left the room; not without seeing Cinna point at George, “Might wanna fix your hair, George.” She said through a teasing voice. You could practically see him fumble to tame his hair with pink cheeks.

You entered the bathroom and stripped down to enter the shower, groaning in displeasure as the cold water hit your skin. 

You estimated that you were in there for about 10 minutes before you heard a soft knock on the glass door of the shower. You furrowed your brows at the greeting and saw a blurred figure rocking back and forth with their hands stuffed in their pockets on the other side of the shower.

You opened the door and poked your head out to keep the rest of your body hidden, “George?” 

George stood there with a teasing grin on his face, and he pointed to the shower you were in, “Cold shower?” He questioned with a tilt of his head.

You nodded at him with squinted eyes, a smile forming on your face as your mind caught up with intentions. You hummed at him while he took a step back.

As he leaned back, he turned his head in either direction to scan the area before they landed back on you once he determined the coast was clear, “Interesting.” He mumbled.

You smirked at him, eyeing his figure as he bit back a cocky grin. You raised your eyebrows at him in confirmation and he looked down to suppress his smile. Looking back at you, he quickly pulled his white t-shirt off and chucked it behind him, doing the same with his bottoms; joining you in the shower before anyone else could walk past and see what was happening.

time skip!

“Y/N, come here!” You heard Cinna’s whisper from round the corner as you sat in George’s arms on the couch. Standing up and out of his touch, you turned to George and said, “I’ll be right back.” He nodded and winked at you, subtly pinching your ass on your way out without anyone seeing. You turned back to him and flipped him off, which caused him to laugh and throw his head back.

“What’s up?” You asked Cinna as you two stood in the gym where she led you. Cinna opened her mouth to start talking but shut it with furrowed brows, eyes inspecting your shirt, “That’s not your shirt.” Your eyes widened and looked down at the item of clothing that was way too big for you, “Yes it is.” You lied through your teeth, fingers tugging at the material to tighten it around you, acting as if it fit you.

Cinna laughed and shook her head, “Y/N, it’s massive on you. That’s not yours!” You faked nonchalance, “Definitely mine, Cinna.”

“It’s definitely not yours, Y/N.” She looked you up and down with a raised eyebrow. “How do you know that?” You tested her.

“Because it’s loose on the neckline and I can see your hickey’s poking out at the top.” Cinna tutted. You flinched and yanked the material further up your neck to hide yours and George's previous rendezvous.

“Anyway, Y/N! Something serious,” She shook her head and cut off your inner panic, “I’m working for the Sidemen.” You tilted your head in confusion, “What?”

“There will be an elimination tonight. Remember the code: 372. You can’t tell anyone, not even George.” You nodded, “I promise I won’t say a thing.” You held her hands and swore to her.

She jumped up and shook you, “Thank you, thank you! Y/N, I love you!” She cheered and sprinted out the room, leaving you laughing and strolling back to the living in which George laid.

You saw George waiting for you with open arms, ones you fell into on the couch. “All good?” He nudged you. “All good.” You confirmed and glanced over to Cinna, sending her a wink as she smiled gratefully at you.

“Hello Insiders!” The voice of Vik rang out in the room, everyone's eyes switching to the door to see him and Specs enter the living room. You all cheered at the arrival but nerves were brewing at the sudden appearance.

“We’ve got some fun for you. We’re gonna be doing a talent show tonight.” Vik announced, everyone clapping in response. He then revealed that there were free drinks downstairs, everyone jumping up and collecting their beverage of choice. 

Returning to the room, Vik displayed cards in front of you all. “Behind these cards lies your fate. There is a talent that each of you will have to perform. One of them is a pair, so two of you get to do the talent together.”

You were chosen to pick a card first. You read it outloud with a bashful smile on your face, “Relationship Yoga for two people.” 

Everyone cheered and pointed at George, slapping him on the back, “Come on, Georgie!” PK shouted and pushed him closer to you. George sighed with a smile on his face, “Time to simulate sex positions on Netflix.” You laughed at him and hid your face in his neck.

Being given 15 minutes of practice time, around 10 of the 5 was spent with your lips locked with George’s, claiming you needed the gym alone to ‘rehearse’.

“You’re so beautiful.” George grunted through kisses, hands gripping his shirt that clung to your back. You smiled into the kiss and parted to say, “You’re not too bad yourself, Clarkey.”

Just as he was about to reattach his lips to yours, a soft knock on the door broke the pair of you apart. Milli’s head poked through the glass in the door, “I need help.” Her muffled voice said past the door. You nodded for her to come in.

“You could do Donald Duck or Kermit the Frog, they’re animals.” George suggested as Milli entered, his arm still slung around your waist.

“Yeah, you have to just… ‘Hi, I’m Kermit the Frog.’” He said in Kermit’s voice. You glanced up at him, “So attractive.” You joked and shook your head, his elbow coming out to nudge you. 

Milli smiled and nodded, “So, what have you two come up with?” Both yours and George’s smiles faltered and you looked at each other, “Uhh… we’ve got the…” George clicked his fingers, “That one move! Yeah, we have the….” Both of your minds searched for an excuse or answer.

Milli tilted her head with a teasing smile, “Y/N, get your ass in the air and do some yoga with your boyfriend.” She winked and left the room, laughing out loud at yours and George’s flushed faces.

In the short time span, you and George had come up with a few moves. But none of them were executed without laughing or hands drifting from their original position, “George, you can’t grab my ass in front of everyone!” “It’s part of the move!” He deflected.

Entering the living room again, Vik said, “Okay, it’s time to kick off the show!”

Teased with the shop token, you looked at George and grabbed his face, “Game faces on.” He reciprocated your intensity, sporting a beer in his right hand.

Once it was yours and George’s turn, you stood up and laughed through PK and DDG’s wolf whistles as George fist bumped them on his way up.

You and George stood side by side, calming music being played in the background as you began your ‘relationship yoga’.

First of all, you simply sat back to back with George with your legs crossed, both of you giggling in the process. Everyone cheered your movement and clapped for you two, chanting for the next position. The next was George lent in a plank position, body shaking as he laughed, “You can’t laugh, I’ll fall!” You cursed at him, making him laugh even more. “Y/N, just get on!”

You copied his position on his back, this time the other way round. The pair of you shook with laughter bubbling around the room, Vik and Specs pointing and covering their faces to suppress a smile as you performed the move. You hopped off him before you could fall on your face, George letting his arms relax and lie flat on the floor.

“Last move, please.” Vik instructed. You looked at George, “Right, I’ll go into the handstand this time.” You recalled George trying to do it beforehand, obviously failing if it had reached this point.

You bent down to fall into a handstand, committing to it. Meanwhile, George wasn’t paying attention, instead facing the mockery of PK and Jason who pointed at him, “George, we saw that!” Jason shouted. “Stop looking at her ass, brother!” PK laughed loudly.

With George’s attention elsewhere, he didn’t see you in the handstand. “George!” You shouted from upside down which made his head snap towards you, catching your shin at the last minute before you fell onto your back.

Everyone screamed and laughed as George let you slowly down on the ground, “Oh my God, I didn’t see you! I’m so sorry!” He shouted apologies profusely, your laughter reassuring him it was alright. You relaxed on the floor, “Fucking hell, George!” You shook your head at him and he lifted you onto your feet, pressing kisses to your forehead, still feeling guilty despite you promising it was all good.

Vik and Specs looked at each other and deliberated, “We’ll give you two a solid 7 for effort!” You shrugged your shoulders and high-fived George, skipping back to the sofa to watch everyone else.

Once everyone was finished, Vik announced the winner. “So our winner of the Inside talent show is Milli Jo!” She stood up and jumped around in excitement. You joined her and cheered for her, “Yes, Milli!” You screamed and held her hands as she was given the shop token.

Vik and Specs left the room, leaving everyone still cheering for Milli. “So proud of you, babes!” You nudged her. “You were so good even though George nearly killed you.” “I didn’t see her!” George joined in with the conversation with mock offense, the two of you laughing at his reaction.

“Jason, you wanted a twist?” Vik popped his head back into the room.

“No!” Cinna immediately vocalised your inner thoughts, “Go away!” You and Milli said at the same time. “We can do a twist.” Vik ignored everyone. “I knew it!” Farah shouted in despair.

“The twist is that there will be an elimination.”

bonus!

@wherethezoes-at @sidemenslver @multifanxtvshows @bibissparkles @le-le-lea @tiamonetsworld @dopeysunflowers @viagracex @rebeccaw05-blog @sundarksposts @sabbrriiinnaa @lovingaphroditesworld @evisceratedmuke @youtubewag @happyclifford @liz140569 @addiemb8332 @isabellem2909 @madforgeorge @pookietv @georgeclarkeyscakeyass @marijas-stuff @maggie-readss @bambidollstar @lottiewills @lmaowhathaha @sukimoves @randomstufflol29 @isabelle-2934 @sophiexxclarkey @levidazai @smogballsstuff @loveheart-123 @alysbaby @octopusoptimusprime @mylillstuff @landoslvr @essieswurld @swaggerjagger2014 @isla-finke-blog @amyissocool @k0ul1ss @musicforsnoopy @bowielovesyou @fly-me-away @7leb-kakaw @je33123 @theresglittleronthefloor @geliophobias @w2sfever @grantgustluv @yourfavartistsfavartist12

[princemick]

OSCAR PIASTRI POLE TO WIN IN BAHRAIN!!!

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P8)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: I was worried you guys were gonna bomb my house after the chapter yesterday so I though I gotta dish this out quick, so here's the next part. This chapter is so hot- but so gut wrenching. no further comments.

(thats a lie- lowkey re-reading this now about to post and think I shifted through the chapter in the tense I was writing in, lowkey not deep but my apologies 😬)

warnings: mentions of alcohol, strip tease, lap dance, sexual tension, emotional distress, mentions of past harassment (implied sexual assault and rape), kinda smut but not really, sad and stressed bunny :(

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8)

Rafe’s steps were slow, unhurried, leading the girl up the staircase, the only glow in the dimly lit house coming from the room at the end of the hall. Y/N followed without a word, the air thick, her pulse matching the steady beat of their ascent. She had never been in this house before, but she had never expected it to feel like this. When they reached the office, Rafe pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. The scent of expensive cologne and whiskey filled her senses. He moved with a quiet confidence, walking toward the small bar cart in the corner, where he poured himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the light. He barely glanced at her before tilting the glass slightly in her direction.

“Want one?”

“No.”

She shook her head as she looked away from him, her gaze darting around the four walls. His eyes flickered over her, unreadable, before he took a slow sip murmuring out,

“Suit yourself"

Y/N shifted on her feet, taking in the room. It was painfully neat, every book on the shelf precisely aligned, the desk practically untouched save for a few scattered papers. Her eyes wandered, landing on the fireplace, and above it, a framed picture of three kids. Sarah, Wheezie, and Rafe himself- years younger, looking at the camera dressed smartly- if she had to take a guess she assumed it must've been for Midsummers. She swallowed, forcing her eyes away from the frame just as Rafe leaned back against his desk, glass in hand. He was watching her. Studying. The same way he always did, but there was something different now. Maybe it was her or maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t snapping at him like usual, wasn’t fighting him for control over whatever this thing between them was. She cleared her throat, crossing her arms.

“So...?”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, amused at her impatience. He swirled his whiskey in his glass, watching her.

“You’re actin' strange”

Her jaw tightened as she kept her arms tightly folded, “That a problem?”

“No,” He took another sip, letting the silence stretch, letting her sit in it “just an observation.”

She hated that he was good at reading her, hated that he noticed things, hated his stupid fucking smugness. Hated even more that he was right. But instead of answering, she just shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting. Rafe finally set his glass down on the deep mahogany desk, leaning against it, running his tongue along his teeth before speaking.

“Y/N, what are you actually doing here?”

Her stomach tensed, because she knew what he was really asking. God, she'd slapped him in the fucking face and now she was here, in his office, in his house. Yet she also knew she wasn’t about to give him a precise answer, cause two can play this stupid game of back and forth,

“I'm here to dance for you”

Rafe tilted his head slightly, as if he was mulling her answer over. Finally, he exhaled slowly, dragging his knuckles along his jaw before finally pushing off the desk.

“Right”

He moves, settling himself down onto the leather couch, legs spread wide, whiskey glass resting lazily in his grip. His eyes stay on her, watching, assessing. There's something heavier about the air between them tonight, something pressing at the edges and it causes her to speak up.

"I need music."

A hum rumbles through his chest, amusement flickering across his face at her little demand. He reaches for his phone, thumb lazily scrolling before selecting a song. The speakers in the background hum to life, the slow, sensual rhythm filling the room, seeping into the space between them. "So—" he drawls, swirling the whiskey in his glass,

"you gonna be my pretty little dancer tonight Bunny?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, creating a stinging feeling which she hoped would numb the pressure in her chest. This was what she asked for, what she came here for. So she swallowed down the lump in her throat and let the music take over, moving in tune with the slow, deliberate beat. Her fingers skim along the hem of her shorts, teasing, a light brush of fingertips against fabric before she hooks them just beneath the waistband. The motion is unhurried, drawn out, the shorts inching down the curve of her hips as she rocked them from side to side, before slipping lower, lower, lower- pooling at her ankles. She stepped out of it with precision, bare legs catching the glow of the fireplace, a flickering contrast against the deep shadows of the room.

The heat of his gaze is palpable, dragging over her newly exposed skin like a touch. He doesn’t sip his drink now, doesn’t move- just watches, the ice in his glass barely shifting as he grips it a little tighter. She lets her hands travel, brushing over her sides, her stomach, her ribs, before they come to rest just below her chest, teasing at the band of her top. A slow roll of her hips follows, matching the hypnotic rhythm of the music. Every movement is deliberate like a silent challenge, a game of control. Then, she turns her back now facing him, moving just enough for him to see the word printed onto the pink panties stretched across her hips.

'Bunny'

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

She keeps moving, hips swaying to the slow pulse of the music, rolling with the beat as she lets her hands drift up, fingertips grazing the hem of her t-shirt. The fabric lifts slowly, teasing, inching higher over her stomach, then her ribs. Rafe doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a sound, but she can feel the weight of his stare pressing into her skin, scorching her in the dimly lit room. She pulls the t-shirt over her head, her back now bare except for the delicate strings holding her bikini together, tied neatly into a bow at the centre. The soft glow from the fireplace casts shadows along the curves of her body, highlighting the sharp dip of her spine and the gentle slope of her shoulders.

Rafe shifts, sinking further into the couch, his grip tightening around the glass before he brings it to his lips. He takes a slow sip of whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the crystal as he urges the liquor to sooth his sudden dry mouth. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, catching the lingering taste of alcohol as his head tilts back slightly, eyes dragging over every inch of her. His gaze is lazy, hooded, but there’s something sharp behind it, something that burns hotter the longer he looks.

She moves closer, each step slow, deliberate, the soft hum of the music carrying her across the room. The whiskey-laced air between them feels thick, pressing against her skin as she nears. She doesn’t straddle him- doesn’t give him that satisfaction- but instead turns, her back facing his chest as she lowers herself onto his lap. His legs are spread wide, her body fitting perfectly between them. The moment she starts to move, grinding down in slow rolls, his breath hitches just slightly, barely noticeable- but she catches it.

Her hands plant firmly on his knees, steadying herself as she works against him, her movements unhurried, teasing. Rafe’s jaw tightens, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he watches, as he feels her. His fingers flex around his glass before he exhales, setting it down on the side table with a soft clink.

Then, both hands are on her hips.

His grip is firm and guiding, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there, dragging her down just a little harder, a little slower. He doesn’t rush it- he'd never rush something like this. Doesn’t take control just yet instead lets her move, lets himself sink into the heat of her movements. His head falls back against the leather, eyes half-lidded, lips parting slightly as a low groan slips from his throat.

“Fuck”

He breathes out, his grip on her hips tightening, but she swears she isn’t paying attention to his reactions. That was the whole point of this, right? To tune everything out, to focus on the goal, to make this stupid money and leave. But then she hears it—his breath, the slight hitch in it, the way it escapes his throat unbidden, then the quiet groan which follows that he probably hadn’t meant to let out.

It makes her feel hot.

The warmth spreads down her spine, settling deep in her stomach, and before she can stop herself, she presses down harder, grinding against him with just a little more pressure, and maybe, it's not just to please him anymore... Rafe lets out a low, amused hum behind her, and his fingers squeeze at her hips in a way that tells her he noticed—of course, he noticed. “Shit Bunny,” he muses, voice thick, laced with something she doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“Didn’t think you’d enjoy this so much.”

Her stomach tightens at his words, and she clenches her jaw, trying not to react. This is just for the money, she needs to remind herself, it's just a job. But the problem is, she can feel him- straining against his trousers, hot and heavy beneath her, pressing into her just right as she moves.

And for a second, she forgets herself.

Because she isn’t supposed to feel like this. She isn’t supposed to want to hear him groan again, isn’t supposed to feel her thighs clench at the sound of his voice, or let the heat between them seep into her bones. But it’s happening anyway, and she doesn’t know if she can stop it. She barely registers the shift, the way she moves, one moment she’s grinding against him with her back to him, and now she’s straddling him, facing him, legs on either side of his lap.

And he just drinks her in because it’s not just the whiskey that’s intoxicating him anymore- it’s her.

The way she moves, the way she breathes, the way her hands skim up his arms, fingers trailing over the firm muscle of his biceps before settling on his chest. She rolls her hips down again, firmly pushing herself down right where she can feel him. His pupils are blown, fully dark now, the usual sharp blue of his irises nearly nonexistent as he stares up at her, breathing heavier. Then his hands lift, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her forward, until there’s barely any space left between them.

She’s so close

Her lashes flutter as her eyes flicker down to his lips, just for a second, and when they snap back up, he’s already watching her do it, already smirking at the way her breath hitches, at the way her thighs squeeze just slightly around him. His nose bumps against hers, and when he shifts beneath her, pushing his hips up into her, her fingers press harder into his chest, her own hips stuttering. She bites her lip, holding back the sound threatening to escape and he catches it, one of his hands leaving her hips, coming up to her jaw, fingers sliding against her skin just enough to keep her looking at him. His voice is low, barely audible, a whisper that seeps into her skin.

“Tell me to stop…”

Yet she doesn’t say anything

Her hands move instead, fingers working the buttons of his shirt, one by one... Each undone button reveals more of his tanned skin, the warmth of him radiating beneath her touch. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t hesitate for a second, and a deep hum rises from his chest as he watches her, but then he moves- leaning in, tilting his head so his lips find the delicate skin of her neck.  

She sucks in a sharp breath, body tensing for a moment before melting under his touch.  

His mouth trails down, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses, and then his teeth graze lightly over her pulse point, making her shiver.  Her fingers still against the fabric of his shirt, and then one of her hands moves up, running her fingers up from the nape of his neck to the back of his hair.

“Didn’t think you’d fold so easily”

She lets out a quiet gasp and he smirks against her skin, lips brushing her throat as he murmurs,

“Where’s that loud mouth gone huh?”

His hands slide up her waist, fingers pressing firmly into her skin before one of them finds the thin strap of her bikini top. With a teasing snap, he pulls it back before letting it slap lightly against her heated skin. She jolts slightly, sucking in a breath, and he chuckles low against her throat, lips still working their way along the column of her neck. She doesn't stop moving, rolling her hips against his slightly more desperate now, and he meets her movements, pushing his own hips up in sync. The friction between them is thick, electric, and she feels the heat coil deep in her stomach, something dangerous and exhilarating all at once.

Her hands don’t falter as she slides his shirt down his shoulders, dragging her fingers over the broad muscles underneath before pushing it off completely. It falls to his elbows, and he pulls back just long enough to shrug it off, tossing it lazily over the back of the leather couch. His gaze locks back onto hers, eyes blown wide and unreadable. His hands tighten their grip on her hips, holding her there, keeping her close.

“Still not telling me to stop”

He mutters raspier than before, arousal evident in his tone as her body still presses into his in a way that feels too natural, too inevitable. He knows she feels it too- knows that whatever’s been simmering between them has finally reached a boiling point. His voice is teasing as he tilts his head slightly, lips just inches from hers.

"Is this really just about the money, hmm?"

She doesn’t answer.

Because the truth is, she can’t even think about whatever heat is crackling between them anymore, can’t allow herself to acknowledge it- not when her reality is suffocating her. She’s stuck in something she doesn’t want to be in, something she shouldn’t be in, and for the first time in a long time.

She doesn’t know what to do.

But she pushes it down and keeps moving, keeps rolling her hips down onto his, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly as if she’s trying to ground herself, as if she’s trying to pretend. His hands slide down her waist, rough palms skimming over soft skin before they settle firmly on her ass, squeezing, guiding her against him. And for a fleeting second, she lets herself fall into it- lets herself chase the momentary distraction, the heat of his body against hers, the way his breath pauses when she leans in and presses her lips against his neck.

But it’s not enough.

Because even as she kisses against his skin, even as his hands grip at her, even as her body moves in perfect rhythm with his- she feels it clawing at her chest, pressing in on her lungs until she can’t breathe.

The weight of it all

The desperation

The fear

She swallows hard, blinking quickly, trying to shove it down, trying to pretend it’s not happening. But then her throat closes up, and before she can stop it, her vision blurs. She's silent at first, just trembling shoulders, her fingers tightening against his skin. But then the tears come, hot and fast, slipping down her cheeks before she can catch them, before she can stop them. She squeezes her eyes shut and presses her face further into his neck, her lips brushing against his pulse, tongue gliding over the skin there, but barely. Rafe's eyes are closed when he suddenly feels it- small, warm droplets hitting his skin. It takes him a second to register what it is, his brows furrowing slightly as he clocks the sudden shift in her body language and he stills beneath her,

"What are you doing?"

His voice isn’t teasing anymore. It’s not smug, not taunting. Just… confused and then she crumbles

Right there on his lap.

A sob rips from her throat, and she tries to stifle it, pressing a trembling hand over her mouth, but it does nothing to muffle the sound. Her body shakes, shoulders heaving as she wails, the weight of everything hitting her all at once. She presses her face into the crook of his neck, as if she can disappear there, as if she can hide from hi gaze. Rafe's chest tightens, an unfamiliar pressure building inside him as he stares down at her, completely taken aback, "what the fuck", he mutters to himself his mind suddenly reeling. "Hey—" His voice is hesitant now,

"We can stop, it’s okay—"

But she just shakes her head, violently, desperately, refusing to look at him because she simply can't stop crying. His hands twitch at her sides, unsure of what to do, how to touch her. His mind is racing, trying to piece together what’s happening, why she’s like.... this? He rewinds everything in his head- her walking in, the way she spoke, the way she moved, but only one question keeps plaguing his mind- did he do something..? His hand moves hesitantly up her back, trying to soothe her, trying to ground her, but he feels so out of his depth, he’s not used to this—whatever this is. He murmurs, his fingers pressing lightly against her spine. He doesn't know what else to say, doesn't know how to fix this.

"Shh, hey…"

All he knows is that something in his chest is pulling tight, something he doesn’t understand.

Minutes pass, and the heavy, body-wracking sobs have quieted into something softer, just her breath hitching every so often as she sits there in his lap, unmoving. Her head feels heavy on his shoulder, her weight pressing into him like she might collapse entirely if she weren’t anchored there. Rafe says nothing. His hand moves against her back, rubbing slow, absent-minded circles, his touch surprisingly gentle and she’s just… not sure what to do anymore.

"I'm sorry."

The words are barely a whisper, her voice hoarse from crying, she still can’t bring herself to pull back, to look him in the eye, to see whatever expression is on his face right now. Rafe stays quiet. His other hand, the one that isn't on her back, is thrown lazily over the back of the sofa. He taps his finger against the leather, slow, rhythmic,

Like he's thinking

Like he’s waiting

She presses her lips together, willing herself to get it together, to push this all down the way she always does. Her hand comes up to wipe at her flushed cheeks, fingers brushing away the tear tracks as she straightens up. Pushing herself off his chest, she sits up properly in his lap, her back straight now, shoulders squared. His hand slips off her back, falling away completely as he takes in her flushed face. "I need the money-" she says finally, voice still a little raw but steadier now.

"Cause I need a ferry ticket to Charleston."

Rafe watches her, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes. His arms come to cross over his bare chest, muscles flexing slightly as he leans back against the couch. His brows pull together as he speaks out,

“What’s in Charleston that you can’t find here?”

Her eyes snap up to meet his, narrowing slightly, her body tensing as she sits there still almost naked, in his lap. She bites back, defensive now,

“That’s none of your business,”

“Yeah? Well, considering you just had a meltdown in my lap, I think I’m pretty entitled to know.”

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief, and his tone is sharp, edged with something between frustration and curiosity. Her jaw clenches, fists tightening slightly in her lap before she exhales sharply, mumbling something incoherent causing his brows to furrow even deeper,

“Speak up”

“I need to see a doctor.”

His confusion only deepens. He watches her closely now, his blue eyes flickering over her face like he’s trying to read between the lines, trying to make sense of whatever the fuck is going on. His gaze lingers on her pupils for a moment, scanning her like she must be high or drunk because none of this is making sense.

“There’s doctors on the island Maybank”

He points out, slow, deliberate, as though an adult scolding a child. She clenches her jaw, hand coming up to rub the arch of her brow before she mumbles something again, barely audible. His patience thins completely as he bites at her,

“God, can you stop fucking mumbling and just spit it out—”

“I’m pregnant, okay?!”

She bursts, voice loud and sharp as it echoes through the dimly lit room. Rafe’s eyes widened for a split second, caught completely off guard by the outburst. The word crashed into him, heavy, knocking the air from his lungs. Pregnant? For a brief moment, there was nothing but silence between them, a suffocating pause. Slowly, he tilted his head, trying to keep his cool, but the way his jaw locked, the way his fingers flexed against his bicep where his arms were still crossed digging into his skin, betrayed him. His voice came quiet, almost too calm.

“You- you’re pregnant...?”

The words settled in the air between them, so much heavier than anything else that had been exchanged tonight. Y/N’s throat tightened, her eyes burning all over again but she refused to let the tears fall as she forced herself to nod, voice breaking as she whispered,

“Yes”

Rafe sat stiffly, his gaze lingering on her, unblinking, as if waiting for her to take it back. As if he’d misheard. But the weight of her words settled deep in his chest, and he felt something shift- something uncomfortable rising, something that left a bitter taste in his mouth. His eyes narrowed slightly, confusion flickering across his face before something cold crept in, tension crackling in the air between them.

“Whose is it?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them his voice harsh, his effort to stay composed now out the window. A part of him hated that he even asked, but he couldn’t help it. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white, though he tried to mask the anger bubbling beneath the surface. Y/N scoffed, shaking her head.

“Are you serious-”

“-are you?”

His voice was tight as he cut her off, edged with something she didn’t like. She could hear the tautness laced through his words, and it only pissed her off more. But beneath her anger something else twisted in her stomach- something that made her uneasy, that made her want to disappear. She swallowed, her pulse thrumming in her ears.

“I-... I don’t know"

The second the words left her mouth, the silence that followed was deafening, worse than when she'd first told him what was going on. The disbelief on Rafe’s face was obvious as he let out a short, almost mocking breath. He shook his head, eyes flicking over her expression as he ran a hand down his face, searching for something- anything- that made this make sense.

“Yeah, right.”

Y/N felt heat rush to her face, a mix of frustration and something deeper—something raw and aching- clawing at her chest- that inescapable pressure. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, as though protective,

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You think I believe you don’t know who knocked you up?”

Rafe scoffed, running a hand over his jaw again and her breath hitched. A bitter laugh left her lips, but it didn’t sound like her, not at all.

“Yeah- I don’t fucking know who he was.”

“Right. So you just slept with the guy without even getting his fucking name? Jesus Y/N, I know you’re a stripper, but I didn’t take you as a slu—”

“I didn’t fucking sleep with him!”

Her voice cracked, the force of her words slamming into him like a gunshot. Rafe blinked, his expression shifting into something unreadable, a small laugh of disbelief slipping out.

“Well, how the fuck are you pregnant then?”

“I didn’t sleep with him.”

Her voice was smaller this time, but no less sharp. Rafe was still looking at her, still waiting for an explanation. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t getting it. Y/N felt her throat close up, that overwhelming shame which hadn't reached her yet since it happened, was finally engulfing her now. She finally whispered,

“I don’t even know who he was,”

And then, it clicked.

“...oh”

The realisation hit Rafe like a freight train, knocking the breath from his lungs. His chest tightened uncomfortably. He was still staring at her, his face unreadable, and Y/N felt something cold settle in her chest. The way he was looking at her- it wasn’t disgust, it wasn’t pity, it was just… blank. And it made her panic.

“Fucking say something”

She snapped, voice breaking slightly. Rafe’s mouth parted like he was going to, but then he just… didn’t. He shook his head instead the slightest bit, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he pressed them into a thin line, still silent and she couldn’t take it.

“Fuck this”

She pushed off his lap so fast that at first he didn't even register her weight lifting off of him as she yanked her oversized t-shirt on angrily. “This was fucking stupid,” she muttered, shoving her arms through the sleeves, “Don’t know what the fuck I thought would happen.” She stepped into her shorts, dragging them up her legs quickly as she grabbed her shoes off the floor. By the time she reached the office door, she could hear Rafe finally snapping out of whatever daze he was in.

“No, no- wait! Y/N-”

She didn’t stop.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she mumbled under her breath as she pulled open the front door, but before she could step outside, a warm hand pressed flat against the wood, shutting it back in place. "Just listen-" his voice spoke out and Y/N turned sharply, staring up at him, still barefoot, shoes gripped in her hand. Both their breathing was uneven, chests rising and falling too quickly from all the sudden movement. Rafe swallowed hard, his blue eyes locked on hers.

“…Let me help, alright?”

She stared at him, trying to figure out if he actually meant it, or if this was just some weird attempt to settle his own guilt. She should just tell him here and now, to give her the money and leave- she was sure it would probably be enough to pay for a ferry ticket to Charleston, a hotel for the night and for an appointment at the... clinic. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes burning, torn between running and staying, between pretending this conversation never happened and letting him in, because truthfully? She had no one else. Rafe’s voice was quieter this time, steadier, softer.

“Let me help you Maybank.”

Y/N pressed her lips together, exhaling shakily as her hand came up to wipe away a stray tear.

She hesitated, then finally she gave him a small nod.

taglist: @xoxosblogsblog @moonywhisp3rs @i-love-gvf @my-name-is-baby @ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @mariamadison6-blog @rafesgurl @rafecameronswhoore @lovelytoomusic @mysticbby2009 @vanessa-rafesgirl @silkenthusiasts @partygirl14 @amterasuu @xoxo-ada @icaqttt @ivysprophecy @mauvesmax @larema121 @ggraycelynn @emeloyy @pluviophilis @slut-4-gojo @willowpains @wtfisastiles @rafecqmeronslove @pleasstory @lolasangelz @beau-dabomb @psychocitylights @constantsadness @rhianthebest @emmiesummers @sfotiegiuls @ggraycelynn @larema121 @emeloyy @pluviophilis @urgoldens @insominagirlss @urfavoritebrunette007 @mauvesmax @miniiminie @kythefangirl25 @niyalovests @scream4mami @aizawawify @prettybabyyyy @barbiefan14 @keennerdslover @rafeysslut @rafeysworldim19 @jennieonline @hannieskzzz @sugak00kie03 @gabrielaperez11 @simonejacpbsen @bambigirl10 @prettycoochieee @dreamybabbyy @annoyingprincebread @mattyskies

[insideparcferme]

landoscar + being horrendously fond

[lilliofavalley]

i have never seen oscar happier than in these photos and i genuinely can’t take it 😭😭

especially the one with daniel 🥺 it just makes me so emotional

[neopuppy]

what the fuck

[maggieithink-06]

[eightyonefour]

"I definitely think I'm ruthless enough but that doesn't have to come at the expense of being calm and a nice person as well."

[formulanni]

I know my goat ‼️

Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo