INNER THOUGHTS

Wattpad: harrystyle_5sos New to this 23 yrs old

[formulas-bitch]

Masterlist

Charles Leclerc

the dark lord 2 3 4

Come back home x leclerc/sibling 2

Carlos Sainz

media reporter

For you, Always / CEO carlos 2

Lando Norris

the streamer and artist

Oscar Piastri

welcome to the family 2

Max Verstappen Mate Meant to be

Pierre Gasly

Forbidden Love

Daniel Riccardo

Family above all

Lance Stroll

unknown sister

MARVEL

Tony Stark

She's Mine

[formulas-bitch]

She's my Little Girl /the End

Michael Robinavitch x Daughter/reader ft Uncle Jack Abbot

part1 part2

Jack exhaled through his nose—a slow, measured breath that did nothing to hide the tremor in his hands. "Yeah," he murmured, staring at Scarlett's hovering fingers like they held the answer to a question he'd stopped asking years ago. "But it's the burn that tells you you're still alive." His prosthetic clicked as he leaned forward, bridging the gap between them until his calloused palm covered hers. The heart monitor stuttered at the contact.

The overhead lights flickered again—not from another power surge, but from the sudden wetness in Scarlett's vision. She blinked hard, forcing the world back into focus just as Jack's thumb brushed the inside of her wrist. His touch landed exactly over the pulse point, where her skin still smelled like aviation fuel and desperation.

The cardiac monitor's steady rhythm stuttered when Jack's grip tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to ground them both. His thumb traced the ridge of Scarlett's knuckles, following the same path he'd taken when teaching her to tie fishing knots. The scent of antiseptic and burnt nylon faded beneath the ghost of campfire smoke and river water that still clung to his skin.

Scarlett's fingers twitched against his palm—three taps—before curling into a fist. "Voss had a kid," she rasped, the words shredding her throat raw. "Four years old. Blonde." Her eyelids fluttered, fighting the morphine's pull. "She showed me pictures before takeoff."

Jack's hand froze against hers. The cardiac monitor flatlined for half a second—just long enough for Scarlett to notice—before resuming its erratic beeping. He didn't pull away, but his fingers went rigid, the warmth leaching from his touch. Outside, a gurney rattled past the curtained partition, wheels squeaking against linoleum.

"Four years old," Jack repeated, his voice hollow. He shifted his weight, the hydraulic hiss of his prosthetic knee filling the silence. His other hand reached up to adjust the IV line near Scarlett's collarbone, fingers lingering on the tape. The gesture was purely medical, but his thumb pressed against her pulse point again, as if checking for signs of life.

" what about the kids dad"

Scarlett's lips parted, then pressed into a thin line as she exhaled through her nose. The morphine made her thoughts swim—too slow, too thick—but the memory was sharp enough to cut. "Dead," she said, the word landing between them like a stone. "IED in Kandahar, two years back. Voss had the folded flag in her locker. Never talked about it." The heart monitor skipped again as Jack's fingers twitched against her wrist, his grip tightening for half a second before consciously loosening.

Outside, the PA system crackled to life with a staticky page for Dr. Park to OR Three, stat. Jack's head turned toward the sound, his prosthetic knee giving a mechanical whir as he shifted his weight. "You know they're gonna ask you to ID the body," he said quietly, watching the curtain ripple from the AC vent above.

Scarlett's fingers dug into the thin hospital blanket, the fabric bunching like a parachute caught in turbulence. "I know," she said, louder than she meant to. The morphine drip hissed beside her, a counterpoint to the sudden tightness in her chest. Somewhere beyond the curtain, rubber soles squeaked against linoleum in a hurried rhythm—nurses, orderlies, people whose worst problems today were spilled coffee and double shifts.

Jack's thumb moved again, this time tracing the edge of the bandage peeking out from under her gown sleeve. The gauze crinkled under his touch, stiff with dried antiseptic. "They'll wait until you're off the drip," he said, his voice low enough that Scarlett had to read the words in the way his shoulders tensed. "Robinson's running the morgue now. He'll make it clean."

Scarlett’s throat worked around nothing, her tongue heavy with the metallic aftertaste of morphine. She tried to swallow, failed, tried again. "Robinson," she echoed, the name dragging up memories of a too-tall medic with ink-stained fingers and a habit of humming Sinatra during triage. "He still owe you that twenty from poker?"

Jack’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. The overhead light caught the scar running from his temple to his jawline, pale against his stubble. "Paid me in cigars and regret." His thumb stilled on her wrist, pressing just enough to feel her pulse jump. "You remember what to do if it gets bad?"

Scarlett's fingers tapped three times against Jack's palm—their old signal from basic training, back when words were too dangerous during night ops. "Breathe through the nose," she recited, her voice scraping against the memory of sand and gunpowder. "Count the ceiling tiles. If that fails—"

"—sing the damn alphabet backwards," Jack finished, his thumb pressing into the hollow of her wrist like he was memorizing the rhythm of her pulse. The curtain rippled as someone rushed past, their shadow flickering across the IV stand.

:"how do you even remember the god dam alphabet back words?" Roddy looked at the two astonished, he had been listening to them the entire time. He stood there with his arms crossed, watching the two exchange glances. The silence stretched for a beat too long before Scarlett's fingers twitched again—four taps this time, a signal Jack hadn't heard in years. His prosthetic knee hissed as he pivoted toward the doorway, foregetting that Robby was there the whole time.

Robby’s presence hit the room like a live wire. His arms stayed crossed, the sleeves of his scrubs riding up to reveal faded The silence between them thickened, broken only by the arrhythmic beep of Scarlett’s heart monitor and the distant wail of a code blue down the hall.

Jack’s prosthetic knee locked with a hydraulic sigh as he straightened. "You always this quiet, Doc?" he asked, voice rougher than he intended. Robby didn’t flinch. His gaze slid from Jack to Scarlett’s hand, still curled into a fist on the blanket, then back up. The overhead lights caught the flecks of gray in his stubble, the way his jaw worked before he spoke.

"just making sure your not scaring my daughter too much jack"

Jack's entire body went rigid—not the controlled tension of a soldier bracing for impact, but something looser, more human. His prosthetic knee gave a soft whir as he turned fully toward Robby, the movement slower than usual. Scarlett's fingers twitched against his palm, four taps dissolving into a weak grip that barely curled around his thumb.

"how about we let Scar get some rest: Robby said, his voice low and steady like a surgeon making the first incision. His eyes never left Jack’s face—not when Scarlett’s fingers spasmed against the blanket, not when the heart monitor skipped another beat. The silence stretched between them, taut as a suture thread. Somewhere down the hall, a gurney rattled past, the wheels clicking over the linoleum seams in a rhythm that almost sounded like morse code.

Jack exhaled through his nose—slow, deliberate—before lifting his palm from Scarlett’s wrist. The absence of his touch left her skin oddly cold. "Right," he said, the word clipped. His prosthetic knee hissed as he stepped back, giving Robby a wide berth. The fluorescent lights caught the sweat beading along his hairline, glinting like old shrapnel scars.

Robby's fingers twitched toward the stethoscope around his neck—an unconscious reflex, like reaching for a sidearm. His gaze flicked to Scarlett's IV line, then back to Jack's face. The overhead fluorescents caught the tremor in his left hand before he clenched it into a fist. "She needs fluids," he said, too calm, like a man counting down to detonation. "And you need to get ready for hand over."

Scarlett's fingers spasmed against the blanket—three taps, then two—a cadence Jack hadn't heard since Fallujah. Her pupils were still dilated from the morphine, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Dana still using that clipboard like a battering ram?" she slurred, the words thick but coherent. Robby's shoulders lifted half an inch at the sound of her voice as he laughted.

Jack's laugh came out as a startled huff—half-amused, half-pained—as he rubbed the back of his neck where Dana's infamous clipboard had left a bruise last winter. "Swear to God, that woman could disarm a man twice her size with a damn spreadsheet." The tension in the room fractured, just for a second, before Robby's hand landed on the IV pump with a quiet click of adjustments. Scarlett's eyelids fluttered at the sudden rush of cold saline, her fingers slackening against the blanket.

Robby's thumb brushed the inside of her elbow—checking the catheter, Jack thought at first, until he saw the way Scarlett's pulse jumped under her father's touch. The heart monitor stuttered again, but Robby didn't react. His attention was on the morphine drip now, turning the dial down incrementally, his movements precise as a sniper adjusting windage. "Handover's in twenty," he said, not looking up. "I'll stay with her."

"alright ill let everyone know "

Jack nodded, the movement stiff like a marionette with rusted joints. His prosthetic knee gave a low hydraulic whine as he turned toward the door, but paused when Scarlett's fingers twitched against the blanket—three quick taps followed by two slower ones. The old extraction signal. His throat worked around something that wasn't quite words before he forced out, "Tell Dana her spreadsheet formatting still sucks."

The door hissed shut behind him with the same finality as a airlock sealing. Robby exhaled through his nose—a sound Scarlett knew too well, the one he made before resetting broken bones. His fingers lingered on the IV tubing, tracing the path of fluid like he could read her vitals through touch alone. The overhead lights caught the tremor in his hands before he clenched them into fists.

" i thought i would never see my little girl again: Robby cried out, clutching Scarlett's hand with both of his own. His surgeon's fingers trembled against her knuckles—not the steady hands that had stitched up half their battalion, but the shaking grip of a father who'd spent year waiting for this exact phone call. The heart monitor skipped when Scarlett squeezed back, her fingers weak but deliberate. Outside, the PA system crackled with another stat page, the words dissolving into static as Robby's forehead pressed against their joined hands.

Scarlett's lips moved before sound came out, her voice hoarse from intubation. "Still…your girl," she managed, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. Robby made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob, his thumb finding the scar on her wrist from when she'd fallen out of the oak tree at twelve. The bandage over her collarbone crinkled as she shifted, the movement pulling at fresh sutures. Robby's breath hitched—the same sound he'd made stitching that same collarbone after the tree incident, back when the worst thing she'd faced was gravity and adolescent recklessness.

Robby's thumb stilled on the scar—that old, familiar groove in her skin—and for a moment, the hospital room vanished. He was back in their backyard with a butterfly stitch kit, Scarlett grinning through bloody knees while fireflies dotted the dusk like tracer rounds. The memory shattered when her IV pump beeped a low battery alert, dragging him back to the present with its sterile glow and the scent of iodine. His fingers tightened around hers, not enough to hurt, just enough to prove she was real.

Scarlett blinked up at him, slow as a morphine drip, her pupils still blown wide from the drugs. "You—" she started, then swallowed hard, her throat clicking. "You kept the oak tree." The words came out cracked at the edges, like old pavement after winter.

Robby's breath escaped in a rush, half-laugh, half-sigh. His thumb traced the edge of her pulse point—not checking vitals now, just remembering. "Cut it down after your third concussion," he murmured. The callus on his index finger caught on her IV line, the one he'd gotten from years of sutures and scalpel handles. "Turned it into a damn coffee table. Still got your initials carved into the underside."

Scarlett's fingers twitched against Robby's palm—three taps, then a pause, then two more. The pattern made his breath catch. He hadn't felt that particular rhythm since she was sixteen, sneaking back into the house after curfew with grass stains on her jeans and the smell of bonfire in her hair. The heart monitor synced with the taps for half a second before stuttering again. Robby's thumb moved on instinct, pressing into the hollow of her wrist like he could manually regulate her pulse.

"dad you ever wonder what life would be like if i followed in your foot steps"

Robby's grip tightened fractionally—not enough to hurt, just enough to feel the bones of her knuckles shift under his fingers. "Every goddamn day," he admitted, his voice cracking around the edges like old paint. The IV pump beeped again, louder this time, demanding attention neither of them gave. He could feel the ghost of her pulse beneath his fingertips, erratic but present, anchoring him to this moment.

Scarlett's eyelids fluttered, the morphine making her gaze soft around the edges. "Woulda been easier," she slurred, her tongue thick with drugs and fatigue. The corner of her mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. "Less… explosions."

Robby's chuckle came out wet and uneven, his thumb still circling the scar on her wrist. "Easier, yeah." He blinked hard, the overhead lights catching the moisture in his lashes. "But you'd have hated every minute of suturing drunk college kids at 2 AM." His other hand reached up to adjust her oxygen cannula, fingers brushing her cheekbone—too quick to be anything but accidental. The heart monitor skipped when Scarlett leaned into the touch, her eyelids drooping like she was fighting sleep in the backseat of his car again.

A crash cart rattled past the doorway, the sound jarring against the quiet between them. Robby's head snapped toward the noise, his shoulders squaring on instinct before he caught himself. Scarlett's fingers flexed against his palm—three taps, deliberate despite the morphine—and he turned back to find her watching him through half-lowered lids. "Still got that twitch," she murmured, the words slurring together. "Like when—" Her breath hitched as the pain meds crested, her grip going slack for a second before tightening again. "—when Mom burned the Thanksgiving turkey."

Robby's breath left him in a sudden exhale, sharp as a scalpel blade. The memory hit like shrapnel—smoke pouring from the oven, Scarlett perched on the counter at fourteen, laughing through a mouthful of charred turkey skin while her mother waved a dish towel like a surrender flag. His thumb pressed harder into Scarlett's pulse point now, as if he could physically hold that version of her here, untouched by desert sand and rotor wash.

The IV pump beeped again, insistent as an incoming mortar. Robby glanced at it automatically, his brain noting the drip rate before dismissing it. "That turkey was cremated," he said, forcing his voice lighter than his chest felt. "Your mother claimed it was 'cajun style.'" His fingers skimmed the edge of Scarlett's bandages, checking tape edges by reflex. The gauze crinkled under his touch, stiff with dried antiseptic and something darker.

The overhead fluorescents buzzed like a swarm of angry bees, their glow catching the tremor in Robby's hands as he adjusted Scarlett's IV line. She watched through half-lidded eyes, her pupils still dilated from the morphine, tracing the new lines around his mouth that hadn't been there when she'd shipped out. "You're getting old, Doc," she murmured, her voice rough from intubation.

Robby's fingers paused on the IV clamp. "Takes one to know one, Captain," he shot back, but the barb lacked its usual bite. His thumb brushed the inside of her elbow—ostensibly checking the catheter site, but they both knew better. The heart monitor skipped when Scarlett's fingers twitched against his wrist, her nails catching on his watchband.

Scarlett's fingers curled around Robby's wrist, her grip weak but deliberate. "Still ticked you missed my promotion ceremony," she mumbled, her words thick with morphine and memory. The heart monitor stuttered when Robby's pulse jumped under her fingertips—proof that even surgeons couldn't control their own vitals when their kids weaponized guilt.

Robby's exhale came out as a shudder. He remembered the letter—thick cardstock with the army seal embossed in gold, arrived three days after her unit shipped out. He'd framed it next to her high school diploma, right above the coffee table that used to be her favorite climbing tree. "Had a big trauma came in that morning," he said, too quickly.

The IV pump beeped again—three sharp tones in succession—but Robby didn't turn to silence it. His fingers stayed locked around Scarlett's.

Scarlett's eyelids fluttered closed, then open again—slow as syrup—her pupils still blown wide from the morphine. "Still lying like a rug," she mumbled, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. The heart monitor skipped when Robby snorted, his thumb pressing into her pulse point like he could manually reset her rhythm.

"Sooo when can i go home ?"

Robby's fingers froze mid-adjustment on Scarlett's IV line. The fluorescent hum of the hospital room suddenly felt louder, pressing against his eardrums like decompression sickness. He opened his mouth—closed it—then exhaled through his nose in that particular way that meant he was counting backward from ten in Latin. Scarlett knew the tell; she'd seen it every time she'd asked to extend curfew.

"When your lungs stop sounding like a maraca full of gravel," he said finally, tapping the oxygen saturation monitor with a knuckle. It beeped in protest. "And not a second before."

Scarlett's laugh came out as a wheeze that dissolved into a coughing fit—each hack rattling her ribs like a loose gear in a helicopter's undercarriage. Robby's hands were on her shoulders before the second cough finished, his thumbs pressing into her collarbones with the exact pressure needed to stabilize without restricting airflow. The heart monitor shrieked in protest as Scarlett's fingers clawed at the blanket, her knuckles bleaching white around the fabric.

"Easy," Robby murmured, his voice low and steady despite the way his own pulse hammered against Scarlett's fingertips. The oxygen cannula hissed as he adjusted the flow rate upward with one hand while the other pressed a styrofoam cup to her lips. "Small sips. Like sprite when you were little and ended up snorting out of you nose"

Scarlett's fingers trembled around the cup, water sloshing over the rim as she took a shaky sip. The liquid hit her throat like broken glass, but she swallowed anyway, forcing it down past the raw ache of intubation. Robby's thumb rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades—the same motion he'd used when she'd choked on grape soda at seven years old. The heart monitor's erratic beeping evened out gradually, syncing with the rhythm of his touch.

Outside, the PA system crackled again—a stat page for Dr. Park that dissolved into static halfway through. Robby didn't flinch this time. His attention stayed locked on Scarlett's face, watching the way her pupils contracted slightly at the sound. Progress. The oxygen cannula hissed as she exhaled, her breath fogging the plastic for half a second before clearing.

" are we going to be ok Dad?"

Robby's breath caught—sharp as a scalpel slipping between ribs—before he forced it back out through his nose. His thumb found the familiar groove of Scarlett's pulse point, pressing harder than medically necessary. The heart monitor stuttered when her fingers twitched against his wrist, her nails catching on his watchband like she was anchoring herself to him.

"We've survived worse," he said, too roughly, staring at the bandages crisscrossing her collarbone where shrapnel had grazed too close to her carotid. The memory of her at twelve flashed behind his eyes—same collarbone fractured from that damn oak tree, same stubborn set to her jaw as he'd set the bone. Back then, he'd bribed her with mint chocolate chip ice cream and a promise of no school for a week. Now the only comfort he could offer was the steady pressure of his thumb on her wrist and the lie that everything would be fine.

" get some rest now, your safe now sweetheart, you will always be my little girl"

" i love you dad"

" i love you too honey"

[formulas-bitch]

She's my Little Girl pt2

Michael Robinavitch x daughter/reader

since the first part did so great here is the second part enjoy!

part 1

The elevator light blinked out entirely. For three heartbeats, the hallway plunged into darkness—long enough for Robby to feel the weight of every second his daughter had spent alone on that operating table. Then the emergency lights flickered on, casting everything in a sickly yellow hue. Dana's coffee cup hit the floor with a hollow clatter.

"Power surge," she muttered, but her fingers dug into Robby's forearm like she expected the ground to open up beneath them. The intercom crackled to life with a burst of static before cutting out again. Somewhere down the hall, a crash cart alarm warbled—the sound of batteries dying.

The crash cart alarm cut off abruptly—not with the crisp finality of a machine being unplugged, but with the slow, whimpering fade of a system giving up. Robby's shoes stuck slightly to the linoleum as he broke into a run, Dana half a step behind. The hallway seemed to stretch unnaturally, the flickering emergency lights casting elongated shadows that made the walls feel like they were breathing.

They rounded the corner just as the backup generator kicked in with a shuddering roar. The sudden flood of white light revealed Private First Class Elara Voss being wheeled into Trauma Bay 3 on a gurney, her uniform sleeve torn open to expose a tourniquet already soaked through. The medic riding the stretcher barked numbers at the receiving team, but Robby's brain snagged on the wrong detail: her left boot was missing. Just gone. Like someone had ripped it off mid-stride.

Robby's fingers twitched toward the gurney before he caught him self he wasn't in the right head space . But the medic's next words froze his joints: "IED shrapnel trajectory suggests cardiac involvement—" Dana's grip on his arm became the only thing holding him upright. His daughter co-worker layed on the stretcher screaming.

The gurney wheels squeaked like dying rodents as they rolled past, leaving a smeared trail of dirt and something darker on the linoleum. Robby's throat closed around the medic's words—cardiac involvement—but what came out was a strangled noise even Dana couldn't interpret. The trauma bay doors hissed shut behind the team, cutting off Elara's screams mid-breath.

all Robby was wonder is what the hell had happened that his daughter Scarlett and her co-pilot had ended up in this predicament.

Inside the bay, machines whirred to life—the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor syncing with his own hammering pulse. Through the observation window, Robby watched as the trauma team moved with practiced precision around Elara's 's limp form. A nurse yanked the tourniquet free, and Robby flinched as arterial spray hit the overhead light.

The observation glass fogged under Robby's palm as he pressed against it, his breath coming in ragged bursts that left condensation blooming and fading like fleeting ghosts. Across the bay, the trauma surgeon's gloved hands moved with mechanical certainty—too certain, Robby thought, for a man wrist-deep in someone else's daughter. Someone else's only daughter.

Dana's voice cut through the medical chatter like a scalpel. "Robby, look at me." Her fingers gripped his chin, forcing his gaze away from the blood-slicked instruments. "Scarlett's strong. You know what that kid's made of—she didn't survive three tours by being fragile. now you can stand there and stare or you can help save Scarlett's partner and save someone's else daughter while yours is being saved in the or" The overhead lights caught the silver in Dana's braid, making it gleam like the flight medal Scarlett had once pinned to her childhood teddy bear.

Robby exhaled sharply through his nose, Dana’s words lodging somewhere between his ribs. The sterile smell of antiseptic burned his throat as he turned away from the glass. Across the hall, another gurney rattled into Trauma Bay 3—Scarlett’s co-pilot, he realized, when he caught a glimpse of the same unit patch sewn onto the tattered uniform sleeve. The medic trailing behind was shouting about compromised vitals, his voice fraying at the edges like old gauze.

Robby's fingers twitched toward the second gurney before his training kicked in—ten years of muscle memory overriding paternal panic. He caught the IV bag the medic fumbled, his thumb automatically checking the drip rate. The fluid was too pale. Not enough blood replacement. "Get me O-neg and a pressure sleeve," he snapped, and suddenly the hallway became a theater where he knew every cue.

Dana was already gloving up beside him, her movements sharp as she ripped open a sterile pack. The co-pilot's face was all wrong—swollen, lopsided, one eye sealed shut with drying blood. Robby's stomach lurched when he recognized the pattern of burns radiating from the collar: flash ignition. The kind that happened inside cockpits.

The co-pilot's fingers twitched against the gurney rails—a weak, involuntary spasm that sent Robby's pulse spiking. "Pupils unequal," he barked, leaning in close enough to smell the burnt nylon of the flight suit. The medic's hands shook as he tried to adjust the oxygen mask, the plastic fogging unevenly with each shallow breath. Robby didn't need the EKG's jagged line to tell him what his gut already knew: they were losing her.

Robby's hands moved before his brain caught up—years of emergency protocols overriding the tremor in his fingers. He grabbed the crash cart handle, the metal cold against his palm as he dragged it toward the gurney. The co-pilot's lips were tinged blue beneath the oxygen mask. "Dana, get me a pericardiocentesis kit," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Now."

Dana didn't hesitate. She tore open the sterile tray with her teeth, gloves snapping against her wrists as she handed him the long needle. Robby's thumb found the xiphoid process through the torn flight suit, counting ribs by memory. The needle slid in with a sickening pop—relief flooding him when the syringe filled with dark, viscous blood. The co-pilot's chest rose sharply, her first full breath since they'd wheeled her in.

The co-pilot's fingers spasmed against the gurney rails—a wet, rattling cough bursting through the oxygen mask. Robby's hands moved on autopilot, swabbing the needle site with betadine while his brain raced three steps ahead: pneumothorax risk, possible cardiac tamponade, that uneven pupil dilation suggesting intracranial pressure.

The overhead fluorescents buzzed like angry hornets as Robby's fingers worked the syringe, drawing off another 30cc of blood from the pericardial sac. The co-pilot—her name tag read 'VOSS' in fraying embroidery—arched off the gurney with a guttural sound that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with air finally reaching her lungs. Dana was already prepping the chest tube kit, her movements quick and precise as she poured sterile saline over the trocar.

Robby didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until his vision spotted at the edges. The cardiac monitor's erratic beeping smoothed into something resembling rhythm just as the trauma bay doors hissed open behind them. A nurse in blood-smeared scrubs thrust a tablet at Dana—lab results blinking urgently. Robby caught a glimpse of Scarlett's CT scan before Dana angled the screen away, but the shadowed blotch near the left ventricle needed no interpretation.

The tablet screen dimmed as Dana's thumb swiped across it—too fast, but not fast enough. Robby had seen enough trauma scans to recognize the spiderweb fracture of shrapnel trajectories, the way metal fragments bloomed outward like malignant seeds. His fingers twitched toward the tablet before curling into fists at his sides. The co-pilot—Voss—groaned as Dana adjusted the chest tube, her breathing shallow but steadier now.

The chest tube gurgled ominously as Robby secured the last suture, his fingers moving with practiced precision even as his mind fractured—half here with Voss's ragged breathing, half worrying about his daughter Dana's elbow brushed his as she reached for the sterile dressing, her touch warm against his clammy skin. "She's got a pulse," Dana murmured, as if reading his thoughts. "That's more than most get."

Robby's reply died in his throat when Voss's hand shot up, her fingers clamping around his wrist with surprising strength. Her one good eye—the left one swollen shut beneath a crust of blood—fixed on him with terrifying clarity. "Scarlett," she croaked, her voice raw from intubation. "She ejected me —" A wet cough wracked her chest, sending fresh blood bubbling into the drainage tube. "out of—the blast shadow."

Robby's pulse hammered against Voss's grip. The drainage tube gurgled again, but all he heard was the static roar of his own blood in his ears. "Blast shadow?" he repeated dumbly, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth..

Dana's hands stilled over the chest tube dressing. The trauma bay's fluorescent lights reflected off the sweat beading on Voss's forehead as she strained to speak. "Ejection… sequence," she gasped. Her fingers dug into Robby's wrist, nails leaving crescent moons in his skin. "Scarlett… manual override—"

Voss's grip went slack as another coughing fit seized her—the drainage tube filling with pink froth that made Robby's stomach twist. He barely registered Dana barking orders for fresh platelets, his entire body leaning toward Voss like a compass needle finding north. "Manual override?" He wiped a streak of blood from her chin with his sleeve. "What does that—"

Voss's head lolled to the side, her eyelid fluttering like a dying moth. The words came in gasps between the ventilator's rhythmic hisses: "Chopper… spinning… she held course—" A glob of bloody spit slid down her chin. "Punched my seat… before—" Her fingers twitched against the gurney sheet, miming a button press. The heart monitor spiked as she convulsed, her back arching off the bed.

Dana jammed a syringe of atropine into the IV port while Robby's brain stuttered over the implications—manual ejections required perfect timing. Too early and the rotor blades would dice you; too late and the fireball got you first. His vision tunneled until all he saw was Scarlett's eighth birthday, her small hands gripping the controls of a carnival helicopter ride, tongue poking out in concentration.

The overhead lights buzzed like a swarm of flies trapped in glass. Robby watched Voss's lips move—shaping words that dissolved into wet coughs—and suddenly he was back in that dusty fairground, Scarlett's knees knocking against the toy helicopter's flimsy pedals as she shrieked with laughter. The memory tasted like cotton candy and diesel fumes.

Dana's elbow jabbed his ribs. "Pressure's dropping," she hissed, nodding at the monitor where Voss's vitals were unraveling into jagged peaks. Robby's hands moved on autopilot, reaching for the crash cart adrenaline while his brain kept replaying that stupid carnival ride—how Scarlett had demanded to go three times until she could land it perfectly every time.

The syringe felt like ice between Robby's fingers as he plunged it into Voss's IV line. Her body jerked—one violent spasm—then went still. Too still. The heart monitor flatlined with a relentless tone that drilled straight into his skull. Dana was already climbing onto the gurney, her knees bracketing Voss's hips as she started compressions.

"Clear," Robby growled, thumb hovering over the defibrillator button. The paddles hit Voss's chest with a wet smack. Her torso arched off the bed, the smell of burnt flesh curling between them. Nothing. Robby dialed up the joules, his pulse thundering in his ears. Second shock. Voss's flight suit smoked at the contact points. Still flatline.

The defibrillator whined as it recharged, its high-pitched drone slicing through the trauma bay’s stale air. Robby’s thumb hovered over the button—third shock, 360 joules—but Dana’s hand closed over his wrist before he could press it. Her grip was firm, her eyes darting to the monitor where Voss’s EKG line hadn’t so much as twitched in the last 10 minuets.

"Time of death," Dana said softly, her voice frayed at the edges. The words hit Robby like a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs. He stared at Voss’s face—half of it still smeared with soot from the cockpit fire, the other half eerily smooth in death. Her left eye, the one that had stared at him with such desperate clarity, was now glassy and vacant.

" Robby please call time of death"

Robby's fingers trembled around the defibrillator paddles—still warm from the last futile shock—before Dana gently pried them from his grip. The sterile clock above Trauma Bay 3 ticked mockingly as he forced the words out: "Time of death… 14:37." His watch beeped softly in confirmation, the sound swallowed by the ventilator's dying hiss.

The silence after pronouncing time of death felt thicker than the blood on Robby's scrubs. He stared at the streak of crimson smeared across his forearm—Voss's final grip imprinted on his skin like a brand. Somewhere beyond the trauma bay doors, a phone rang with shrill insistence. Nobody moved to answer it.

Dana's hand settled between his shoulder blades, warm through the sweat-drenched fabric. "They need you in Bay 2," she murmured. Her thumb rubbed a slow circle—the same motion she'd used to calm nervous interns during their first codes. The familiarity of it cracked something open in Robby's chest.

The phone kept ringing—four, five, six times—before someone finally picked up. Robby didn’t hear the words, only the sudden silence after the receiver clicked back into place. Then footsteps, too quick, too heavy for hospital protocol. A nurse burst through the doors, her scrubs streaked with something that wasn’t blood but smelled like fuel. "Dr. Robby—" she panted, gripping the doorframe. "Scarlett pulled through, their wheeling her to ICU —"

Robby's knees buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the crash cart, sending a sterile tray clattering to the floor. The nurse—Peterson, her nametag read—was still talking, but her words dissolved into static. ICU. Scarlett. Pulled through. The phrases looped in his skull like a broken record.

Dana's fingers dug into his elbow. "Breathe," she commanded, her voice low and steady. Robby realized he'd been holding his breath when colors burst behind his eyelids. The scent of antiseptic and burnt flesh sharpened as oxygen flooded back into his lungs. he didn't waste any seconds and ran toward the elevatos.

The ICU doors hissed open before Robby reached them, revealing a tableau that made his pulse stutter—Scarlett’s small frame swallowed by the bed, her face obscured by an oxygen mask, one arm strapped down to prevent her from tearing out the central line. The cardiac monitor beeped a steady rhythm that didn’t match the chaos in his chest.

"Left ventricular shrapnel," Dr.Garcia said, materializing at Robby’s shoulder with a tablet displaying Scarlett’s angiogram. The screen showed a jagged metal fragment lodged millimeters from her heart—so close Robby could see arterial pulses nudging it with every beat. Garcia tapped the screen, zooming in on the artifact’s serrated edge. "Military-grade alloy. Shows up like a Christmas tree on imaging."

Robby’s fingers hovered over the tablet, tracing the trajectory that should’ve killed her. The math didn’t add up—that placement, that angle—until he noticed the faint shadow behind the shrapnel. A second object, smaller, wedged between ribs like a stopgap. "That’s—"

"Flight recorder casing," Garcia finished, rotating the image. The metallic shard had embedded itself just deep enough to wedge the recorder's aluminum housing against Scarlett's pulmonary artery—a makeshift dam holding back the flood. Robby's throat tightened. The Army didn't issue those casings; they were standard on civilian copters. Scarlett must've jury-rigged it mid-flight.

The ICU monitors chirped as Scarlett stirred, her fingers twitching against the restraints. Robby watched her eyelids flutter—that same stubborn rhythm she'd had as a toddler fighting sleep. A rasping breath fogged the oxygen mask before she stilled again. Garcia adjusted the IV drip. "She coded twice in the OR," he said quietly. "Came back swinging both times."

The cardiac monitor's steady beep filled the silence between Garcia's words. Robby stared at the flight recorder casing on the scan—its edges warped from heat, one corner sheared off at a perfect 45-degree angle. He'd seen enough crash debris to recognize the pattern: rotary blade strike. The kind that happened when someone ejected too close to spinning rotors.

Scarlett's chart lay open on the bedside table, her dog tags coiled atop the paperwork like a discarded necklace. Robby's thumb brushed the stamped letters of her blood type—O NEG—just as her fingers spasmed against the restraint. A weak, aborted movement, like a pilot reaching for controls that weren't there. The central line tubing swayed with the motion.

The ICU door wheezed shut behind Garcia, leaving Robby alone with the rhythmic hiss of Scarlett's ventilator. He stared at her chest rising in artificial synchrony—too even, too controlled—until the reality of her survival hit him like a delayed shockwave. His fingers found hers beneath the restraint, her skin warm but unnaturally still. No returning squeeze. Just the faint tremor of muscle memory firing beneath sedation.

The cardiac monitor skipped a beat—just once—and Robby's own heart stuttered in response. He leaned closer, watching Scarlett's eyelashes tremble against cheeks still streaked with engine grease. A vein pulsed in her temple, the only movement in her otherwise statue-still face. The ventilator tube taped to her mouth fogged with each mechanical breath.

Then her fingers twitched again—not the spasm from before, but something deliberate. One finger extended, tapped twice against the restraint. Robby's breath caught. He'd seen that motion before, in home videos of Scarlett at six years old, practicing Morse code with a flashlight after bedtime. Dash dot. Dash dot. N.

The cardiac monitor beeped twice—once for Scarlett's pulse, once for Robby's skipped heartbeat—before he realized what she was repeating. Not Morse. Something older. Their secret tap code from when she'd crawl into his lap during thunderstorms: One for scared. Two for brave.

Scarlett's index finger lifted again—trembling—and tapped three times against the restraint.

Three taps. Robby's stomach dropped like an elevator cable snapping. Their code had never needed a third tap before—not when she was seven and the thunder shook the windows, not when she was fifteen and wrecked the car. His fingers tightened around hers, slick with sweat against the restraint. "Scarlett?"

The ventilator hissed. Somewhere beyond the ICU's glass walls, a printer whirred to life, spitting out lab results no one would read for hours. Scarlett's finger lifted again—slow, deliberate—and drew a shape against his palm. A curve. Then another intersecting it. Not letters. A symbol.

Robby's breath hitched as Scarlett's fingertip dragged across his palm—the unmistakable arc of a rotor blade, intersecting with the jagged slash of shrapnel. His mind flashed to Voss's dying words: manual override. The ICU walls seemed to press closer, the ventilator's hiss morphing into the ghostly whine of failing hydraulics. Scarlett's finger stilled, her nail digging into his lifeline.

Robby's breath crystallized in his throat. Scarlett's fingernail left a crescent moon indentation in his palm—not pain, but pressure, the kind that precedes a detonation. The ventilator cycled again, its mechanical sigh drowning out the arrhythmic tapping of rain against the ICU windows.

Three taps.

The overhead lights flickered as thunder rolled outside—not the distant grumble of a passing storm, but the bone-deep shudder of something breaking the sound barrier. Scarlett's finger went rigid against Robby's palm, her nail pressing hard enough to leave a white crescent. The cardiac monitor spiked.

"Scarlett?" Robby's thumb found her pulse point beneath the restraint. Too fast. Not the steady rhythm of sedation, but the rabbit-quick thrum of adrenaline. Her eyelids fluttered—not the slow drift of unconsciousness, but the rapid flicker of someone trapped behind their own lashes. The ventilator tube fogged erratically now, out of sync with the machine's rhythm.

"hey hey wait ill call someone to remove the tubbing"

The ventilator alarm shrieked—a sound Robby had silenced a thousand times for other parents—but now it drilled into his skull like live voltage. Scarlett's fingers locked around his wrist, her grip stronger than the restraints could contain. The cardiac monitor's beeps accelerated into a single sustained tone as she grew panicked.

The restraint buckle snapped open with a metallic ping—Scarlett's fingers curled around Robby's wrist like a lifeline, her nails biting into his skin with the same desperate pressure as when she'd clung to him during childhood nightmares. The ventilator tube jerked violently in her mouth as her torso arched off the bed, muscles taut with the memory of ejection seat G-forces.

"Easy, easy—" Robby's free hand cradled the back of her skull just as she choked out a wet, rattling cough against the tube.

just then Dr.Garcia just walked in "oh she's awake already, we can remove the intubation then"

The ventilator alarm reached a fever pitch as Garcia moved—too slow, Robby thought—toward the bedside. Scarlett's fingers spasmed around Robby's wrist, her pulse hammering against his thumb like a bird trapped in a fist. Her lips moved soundlessly behind the oxygen mask, forming words that dissolved into wet, choking coughs.

"Hold still," Garcia murmured, one hand steadying Scarlett's forehead while the other reached for the tube's fastener. Robby watched his daughter's chest hitch—not the smooth rise and fall of mechanical ventilation, but the ragged, uneven gasps of someone relearning how to breathe. The tube came free with a slick pop, followed by a strangled inhale that sounded like it tore through scar tissue.

Scarlett's first unassisted breath ended in a coughing fit. Robby quickly poured some water in a cup and held it as Scarlett took small sips threw the straw.

The water trembled in the cup as Scarlett's fingers brushed against Robby's—her grip weak but insistent, like she was anchoring herself to the present through touch alone. A drop spilled over the rim when she coughed again, tracing a path down her chin that mingled with the sweat beading at her collarbone. Behind them, Garcia adjusted the morphine drip with the detached precision of a woman who'd seen too many soldiers wake up screaming.

"Easy," Robby murmured, his thumb catching the water droplet before it could vanish into her hospital gown. The cardiac monitor stuttered as Scarlett's breathing hitched—not from pain, he realized, but from the effort of forming words. Her lips moved soundlessly, shaping syllables that dissolved into ragged exhales.

Scarlett's fingers twitched against the IV line—three deliberate taps against the tubing. Robby's breath caught. The same pattern from before. Her cracked lips parted, exhaling a word that tasted like burnt metal and hydraulic fluid: "Voss?"

Garcia's pen stilled on the chart. The cardiac monitor skipped a beat.

The ICU lights flickered again—not from another power surge, but from Robby's vision tunneling. He watched Scarlett's fingers curl into the bedsheet, her knuckles blanching white around the fabric. The heart monitor stuttered.

"Voss didn't make it," Garcia said, too clinically. The words landed like a grenade in the sterile silence.

Scarlett's fingers went slack against the bedsheet. Robby watched her throat work—a slow, painful swallow—before her gaze flicked to the ceiling, where fluorescent lights buzzed like dying insects. When she spoke, her voice was raw from intubation but razor-sharp: "Bullshit." The word cut through the antiseptic air, leaving a wake of stunned silence. Garcia's pen hovered over the chart, dripping black ink onto Scarlett's blood type designation.

Robby's pulse thrummed in his fingertips where they still brushed Scarlett's wrist. He knew that tone—the one she'd used at eight years old when he'd tried to convince her the tooth fairy was real. The one that said she'd seen too much to believe in gentle lies.

The IV line trembled as Scarlett pushed herself up on her elbows—too fast, too soon—her face draining of what little color it had. Robby caught her shoulders before she could collapse back, his palms registering the heat radiating through the thin hospital gown. Garcia moved to adjust the oxygen mask, but Scarlett batted it away with a weak flick of her wrist.

"im sorrry for your loss Scarlett"

Scarlett's fingers dug into Robby's forearm—not the weak flutter of a recovering patient, but the iron grip of a pilot bracing for impact. Her pupils dilated, swallowing the green of her irises until only black remained. "I felt her pulse," she rasped, each word sandpaper-rough. "After landing. Right carotid. Eighty beats per minute." Her thumb twitched against his wrist, mimicking the rhythm she'd counted in the dirt.

The overhead lights hummed—a sound Robby hadn't noticed until it filled the silence between Scarlett's words and Garcia's frozen expression. Scarlett's grip tightened, her blunt nails leaving half-moons in his skin. "She was alive when I let go," she whispered. A drop of sweat traced the curve of her temple, following the same path as a tear might.

Garcia's pen clicked once—deliberate. "Scarlett—"

Scarlett's heartbeat thundered against Robby's palm—not the steady beep of the monitor, but the wild staccato of adrenaline pumping through bruised veins. Her fingers curled into claws around his wrist. "She was," Scarlett insisted, the words shredding her throat raw. "I checked twice." A fleck of dried blood flaked off her eyebrow as she strained forward, the hospital gown slipping to reveal angry burns along her collarbone—perfect radial patterns from cockpit wiring melting into flight suit fabric.

" Garcia you mind calling Abott in for me"

The door hissed shut behind Garcia, leaving Scarlett's ragged breathing as the loudest sound in the room. Robby watched her fingers spasm against the bedsheet—once, twice—then go still. Her pupils were still blown wide, black swallowing green like an oil spill.

"Dad," she croaked, her voice cracking on the single syllable. The word landed like a grenade between them—she hadn't called him that since basic training.

Robby's hands froze mid-adjustment of her IV line. That one word—Dad—struck him like a bullet between the ribs, ricocheting through muscle memory. Scarlett hadn't used it since she'd traded civilian clothes for camo, back when she still thought deployment letters were something you could protest with slammed doors.

The cardiac monitor skipped. Scarlett's fingers found his wrist again, her grip weaker now but more insistent. Her cracked lips moved soundlessly before she managed, "The ejection—" A wet cough rattled her chest. Robby caught the fleck of blood on his sleeve before she could see it. "Manual override only works from the pilot's seat."

The IV stand wobbled as Scarlett jerked upright, her movements sharp with the kind of frantic energy Robby recognized from trauma codes—adrenaline overriding exhaustion. Her fingers clawed at the thin hospital blanket, twisting it into knots. "Voss was alive," she insisted, the words fraying at the edges like torn webbing. "I felt her pulse for two full minutes before the medevac lifted me out."

Robby's thumb found the familiar divot in Scarlett's wrist—the one left by her first attempt at suturing rabbit wounds at age nine. Her pulse rabbited beneath his touch, too fast for someone flat on their back.

The IV bag swayed as Scarlett's fingers dug into Robby's forearm—her nails leaving crescent indents mirroring Voss's death grip. "Dad, listen—" Her voice cracked like overheated engine blocks. "The ejection sequence takes twelve seconds. Twelve. Fucking. Seconds." Each word punched through labored breaths. "I counted every one while holding that goddamn stick."

Robby's stethoscope slipped from his shoulders as Scarlett twisted toward the bedside monitor, her movements jerky with phantom turbulence. The heart rate line spiked erratically—not the smooth arcs of atrial fibrillation, but the jagged peaks of someone reliving impact.

The monitor's alarm blared—a single sustained tone—as Scarlett's heartbeat flatlined for three terrifying seconds before stuttering back to life. Robby's fingers instinctively pressed harder against her wrist, feeling the erratic skitter beneath her skin. "You weren't supposed to survive that," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Scarlett's lips peeled back in something too sharp to be a smile. "Neither was Voss." Her fingers twitched against his palm—three taps—before curling into a fist. The movement pulled her IV line taut, sending a bead of saline trembling at the junction.

"im just glad your safe now honey, i may not know what it feels like, but you know who you can talk to"

"who" Scarlett asked

"your uncke Jack"

The name hit Scarlett like a defibrillator jolt—her spine stiffening so fast the IV line jerked taut. Jack Abott. her dads best friend. Robby watched her throat work—that same tell she'd had as a kid trying not to cry. "He's an attending for the night shift, you remember him right" he said carefully, thumb brushing the old scar on her wrist from Jack teaching her to whittle at age six.

Scarlett's fingers went still against the bedsheet, her nails catching on a loose thread. The name Jack Abott unspooled something in her chest—a memory of birchwood shavings curling around a pocketknife, of calloused hands guiding hers over pine. The cardiac monitor stuttered in time with her exhale.

The door clicked open before she could respond, and suddenly Jack was there—not the rumpled uncle who'd let her sneak sips of root beer at cookouts, but a man whose scrubs hung loose on shoulders that had lost twenty pounds since she'd last seen him. His stethoscope was slung around his neck like a noose.

Scarlett's IV line swayed as she tried to sit up further. "You look like shit," she rasped.

Jack's laughter was a dry, rasping thing—like boots on gravel after too many desert deployments. "Still got that silver tongue, kid." He moved to the bedside with the quiet precision of a man who'd spent years stepping around landmines, both literal and emotional. His hands, speckled with old burn scars from field surgeries, hovered over Scarlett's chart without touching it. "Heard you tried to outfly an explosion."

Scarlett's fingers twitched toward her sternum, where the flight recorder casing still held her heart together. "Outflew the rotors, at least." The words came out hoarse, edged with something that wasn't quite pride. Behind her, the cardiac monitor skipped—once, twice—as if remembering the centrifugal force of a spinning helicopter blade.

Jack's fingers hovered over Scarlett's wrist—not touching, just tracing the air above her pulse point like he was reading an invisible chart. Robby recognized the motion; it was how Jack had checked for fever when Scarlett was little and pretending not to be sick before soccer games. "Twelve seconds, huh?" Jack's voice was deceptively light, but his eyes tracked the jagged EKG line like it was a missile trajectory.

The IV bag shuddered as Scarlett shifted, her hospital gown slipping to reveal the angry red lattice of burns across her shoulder—a perfect negative of the cockpit wiring that had fused to her flight suit. "Thirteen," she corrected hoarsely. "I held it one extra." Her fingers mimed a death grip on cyclic controls, the motion pulling the central line taut.

Jack's stethoscope swayed as he leaned in, his breath stirring the sterile air between them. "Thirteen," he repeated, the word landing like a verdict. His thumb brushed the edge of Scarlett's burns—not quite touching, just close enough to feel the heat radiating from cracked skin.

The heart monitor's steady beep stuttered as Jack's fingers hovered over Scarlett's burns—close enough to feel the heat but not the pain. Scarlett's breath hitched, not from the wounds but from the look in his eyes. That same expression he'd worn when she'd crashed her bike at eleven, right before he'd told her gravel cuts healed faster if you didn't pick at them.

Jack's thumb finally made contact—just below the worst of the burns, where unmarked skin still held the freckles from their last fishing trip. "Thirteen seconds buys you a lot of altitude," he murmured, his voice sandpaper-rough. The EKG spiked as Scarlett's fingers dug into the sheets, her nails snagging on starched cotton.

The heart monitor's steady beep stuttered as Jack's fingers hovered over Scarlett's burns—close enough to feel the heat but not the pain. Scarlett's breath hitched, not from the wounds but from the look in his eyes. That same expression he'd worn when she'd crashed her bike at eleven, right before he'd told her gravel cuts healed faster if you didn't pick at them.

Jack's thumb finally made contact—just below the worst of the burns, where unmarked skin still held the freckles from their last fishing trip. "Thirteen seconds buys you a lot of altitude," he murmured, his voice sandpaper-rough. The EKG spiked as Scarlett's fingers dug into the sheets, her nails snagging on starched cotton.

The overhead fluorescents buzzed like dying wasps as Jack's fingers lingered near Scarlett's burns—close enough to stir the hairs on her arm but not close enough to hurt. His eyes flicked to the jagged EKG line, then to Robby's blood-crusted scrubs, then back to Scarlett's face. "Thirteen seconds is a goddamn eternity in the air," he said finally, voice low enough that the heart monitor nearly drowned it out.

Scarlett's throat clicked when she swallowed. "Longer when you're counting." Her fingers twitched against the sheet—not the weak flutter of sedation, but the deliberate tap-tap-tap of a pilot running pre-flight checks. Jack's nostrils flared. He'd taught her that rhythm when she was nine, back when her biggest worry was remembering soccer plays.

"how do you deal with the pain and loss " Scarlett ask jack

Jack's hands stilled—those roughed fingers that had stitched up her knees and splinted her broken fingers now frozen midair. The fluorescent light caught the silver in his stubble, the new lines around his eyes that hadn't been there when she shipped out. his hand went subconsciously to his Right leg where his prosthetic was.

Jack's prosthetic leg whirred softly as he shifted his weight, the sound cutting through the ICU's antiseptic silence. His fingers lingered near the socket before dropping away. "You don't deal with it," he said, his voice stripped raw. "You carry it. Like extra fuel—heavy as hell, but it keeps you flying."

Scarlett's pulse jumped on the monitor. Her gaze dropped to where Jack's thigh met polished titanium, remembering the IED blast that had taken his leg three tours ago. The same tour that had sent her his dog tags wrapped in a bloodstained handkerchief—a scare that made her enlistment papers seem like rebellion rather than suicide.

The IV line trembled as Scarlett reached out—not toward Jack’s prosthetic, but to the space just above his knee where the fabric of his scrubs bunched. Her fingers hovered, close enough to feel the residual heat from his skin through the thin material. The heart monitor skipped when Jack didn’t flinch away.

"Fuel burns," Scarlett whispered, her voice cracking like dry tinder.

[formulas-bitch]

Thats my little girl part 1

Michael Robinavitch x Daughter/reader

part 2 part 3

The espresso machine screamed like a wounded animal. Dr. Robby winced as steam billowed out, flecking his lab coat with droplets. He’d forgotten to tamp the grounds properly—again. The hospital cafeteria was empty at this hour, just how he liked it. No interns hovering with questions, no administrators cornering him about budget reports. Just the hum of the ice machine and the occasional distant page over the intercom.

He rubbed his temples, the caffeine headache already gnawing behind his eyes.8 hours in the ER, and all he had to show for it was a stiff neck and the lingering scent of antiseptic clinging to his skin. The PTMC badge on his chest was crooked. He didn’t bother fixing it.

The pager on his hip erupted like a landmine. Robby fumbled the espresso cup—hot liquid seared his fingers as it shattered on the linoleum. The digital display blinked three words in jagged red: TRAUMA BAY ONE.

He was already running when the intercom crackled to life. "Code Crimson, repeat Code Crimson—multiple blunt force trauma, ETA two minutes—"

Robby's sneakers squealed against the waxed floors as he skidded around the corner into Trauma Bay One. The overhead lights flickered to full brightness, casting the sterile white room in harsh fluorescence. His resident, Dr.Langdon, was already snapping gloves on, his dark eyes sharp behind the surgical mask. "Thirty-two-year-old female," he said, voice tight. "Helo crash near Fort Bragg. BP's cratering."

The double doors burst open. The gurney came through sideways, trailing IV lines and the coppery stink of blood. Robby's hands moved before his brain caught up—checking airways, barking orders for O-negative—until his fingers brushed a dog tag tangled in the patient's shredded uniform. The name etched there stopped his heart mid-beat: CAPT. S. ROBINAVITCH.

The dog tag swung like a pendulum, catching the light in staccato flashes. Robby's fingers locked around it—cold metal biting into his palm—as if holding it tighter could rewrite the letters stamped there. Around him, the trauma bay erupted into controlled chaos: the rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor, Langdon calling out vitals, the wet suction of blood being cleared from airways. But all Robby heard was the static roar of his own pulse.

"Doctor." Langdon's voice cut through the haze. He was holding out a pair of shears, his brow furrowed behind his mask. "Uniform needs to come off." Robby blinked, his gaze dropping to the shredded fabric clinging to his daughter's torso. There was so much blood. His hands—usually so steady—fumbled with the shears, the blades slipping against the sweat-slicked material.

The shears bit through fabric like regret. Robby's fingers trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the absurdity of the universe folding in on itself. Twenty years of silence, and here she was, broken on his table. The uniform peeled away in ragged strips, revealing a tattoo curling over her ribs—a half-finished constellation he didn't recognize. His mind flashed to her at five years old, demanding he draw stars on her knees with markers.

"BP's 80 over palp," Langdon snapped. The resident's gloved hands were already pressing gauze to a gash along her ribs where metal had torn through muscle like tissue paper. Robby's medical brain kicked in, autopilot overriding the primal scream building in his throat. He reached for the ultrasound wand, the gel cold against her skin. The monitor flickered to life, revealing the sluggish dance of her heart beneath the bruising.

The ultrasound wand slipped in Robby's grip as the image on the monitor clarified—a dark, ominous pooling beneath her diaphragm. "She's bleeding into the abdominal cavity," he said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. Langdon didn't hesitate, already calling for the crash cart, his movements precise as he prepped for an emergency laparotomy. Robby's hands hovered over his daughter's abdomen, the sterile blue drape hiding everything except the ruin of her skin. He could see the ghost of her childhood freckles beneath the bruises.

"do we have any id on the patient yet?' Dr.Langdon as the hear nurse Dana Iverson was cutting away the rest of the uniform. Robby's throat locked. The truth sat on his tongue like a lead weight—my daughter, this is my daughter—but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he watched Dana fish a folded photograph from the chest pocket of the shredded uniform. It fluttered to the floor face-up: a much younger Robby in dress blues, holding a gap-toothed girl on his shoulders at some long-forgotten county fair.

Langdon's breath hitched. His gloved fingers hovered over the photo before snapping up to adjust the oxygen flow. The monitor's beeps grew erratic. Robby's hands moved on instinct—a bolus of epinephrine, the cold steel of a scalpel against skin—but his mind was twenty years away, remembering how she'd screamed with laughter when he'd spun her too fast on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

The scalpel trembled in Robby's grip—not from the weight of the instrument, but from the way Dana was staring at the photo, her lips parted in silent recognition. The overhead lights buzzed like wasps trapped in glass. He could feel Langdon's questioning gaze burning into the side of his face, but the resident said nothing, his focus snapping back to the monitor as the EKG stuttered.

"Pericardial tamponade," Langdon barked, his hands already moving to prep for a thoracotomy. Robby's fingers moved automatically, swabbing betadine across his daughter's—no, the patient's—chest, the orange-brown liquid mixing with the blood smeared across her sternum. The bone saw screamed to life, its whine drowning out the sudden hitch in Dana's breath as she connected the dots.

The bone saw's whine cut off abruptly as Robby's fingers slipped on the trigger. He didn't realize he'd frozen until Langdon's elbow bumped his—a deliberate nudge, the resident's eyes darting between the stalled procedure and Robby's bloodless face. "Robby give me the saw, let me do it," Langdon said, low and urgent, "we're losing her." The heart monitor flatlined with a dull, endless tone.

The flatline tone drilled into Robby's skull. Langdon's gloved hand snatched the bone saw from his slack grip—metal teeth whirring back to life—but Robby was already moving, shoulder-checking the resident aside with a force that sent instruments clattering. His hands found the center of her sternum, fingers splayed over the tattooed constellation. He didn't count compressions. He remembered teaching her to swim at the base pool, how her small hands had clawed at his wrists when he'd made her float on her back. Thirty shallow breaths per minute, his own voice echoed from twenty years ago.

Dana's fingers flew over the crash cart, prepping the defibrillator pads with a efficiency that belied the way her eyes kept flicking to the photo on the floor. "Clear!" she shouted, but Robby didn't move. The shock arched his daughter's body off the table—a grotesque parody of the way she'd once leaped into his arms from the diving board. The monitor stuttered, then spat out a weak rhythm. Langdon's scalpel flashed, making the first incision along the sternum before Robby could process the color returning to her lips.

"Dana get Robby out of here" yelled Langdon as his scalpel traced a clean line down the sternum. Robby didn't resist when strong hands pulled him back from the table—his fingers left bloody crescents where they'd dug into his palms. The defibrillator charged again with that rising whine, the smell of burnt hair cutting through the antiseptic. Someone had picked up the photograph; he saw it being passed to a wide-eyed orderly like contraband.

The hallway outside Trauma Bay One was suddenly freezing. Robby leaned against the wall, the tile pressing cold through his scrubs. His pager went off again—some mundane alert about inventory forms—and he ripped it off his waistband hard enough to send batteries skittering across the floor. The orderly hovered, clutching the photo like a holy relic. "Sir, I—" Robby snatched it without looking, the edges digging into his fingers where the paper had yellowed. Twenty years folded in quarters, carried next to her heart.

The orderly lingered, shifting from foot to foot, until Robby's glare sent him scurrying down the hall. The photo trembled in his grip—her gap-toothed smile blurred by a water stain in the corner. He'd taken that picture the day before he went to med school, and later found out her mother had ran the second Robby went to school, leaving Robby taking her to school with him.

The trauma bay doors hissed open behind him. Dana stepped out, gloves streaked with rust-colored smears. She didn't speak, just pressed a styrofoam cup of something lukewarm into his hands. The coffee tasted like ashes.

The cup warmed his palms—too hot, then too cold—as Dana leaned against the wall beside him, her shoulder brushing his. She didn't ask. Just peeled off her gloves with a snap, the latex dangling from her fingers like shed skin. The silence between them wasn't empty; it was thick with the things neither of them said.

Through the small window in the trauma bay doors, Robby caught glimpses of Langdon's hands moving—quick, precise—suturing what he couldn't see. The rhythmic beep of the monitor was steady now, a metronome counting down to whatever came next. Dana exhaled, long and slow. "She's tough," she said, and it wasn't platitude. It was the same tone she used when reassuring parents in the pediatric ward—firm, factual. "That tattoo on her ribs? It's the Orion constellation. Missing Betelgeuse."

Robby's thumb traced the missing star in the photo's water stain—right where Betelgeuse should have been. The coffee cup crumpled in his grip, lukewarm liquid seeping through his scrubs. He didn't feel it.

Dana's pager chirped, but she didn't move. "Orion was your favorite," she said quietly. It wasn't a question. Robby remembered drunkenly pointing it out to her during one of their many after work drinks in the park.

The trauma bay doors burst open again, and Langdon emerged, peeling off his surgical cap with hands that shook only slightly. His dark curls were matted with sweat, sticking to his forehead in jagged lines. He didn't look at Robby—just leaned against the opposite wall and exhaled hard through his nose, like he'd been holding his breath for hours. "Pericardial window," he said to the ceiling. "Spleen's toast. Packed her with six units."

Robby's fingers twitched toward the door handle, but Dana's hand clamped around his wrist—warm and insistent. "Give them five more minutes," she murmured. Langdon finally looked at him then, and Robby saw the unspoken verdict in the tightness around his eyes: she made it, but barely. The resident's gaze flicked to the crumpled photo in Robby's other hand, then away just as fast.

The overhead lights hummed like a distant swarm of bees. Robby's knees gave out—not dramatically, just a slow slide down the wall until he was sitting on the frigid linoleum, the photograph clutched in both hands. Dana crouched beside him, her knee popping audibly. She didn't speak, just pried the ruined coffee cup from his grip and replaced it with a fresh one from the nurse's station. This one smelled of cinnamon—someone's idea of comfort.

Langdon peeled off his gloves with a snap. "She asked for you," he said abruptly, staring at the bloody wad of latex in his hands. "When we induced sedation. Said 'tell Dad—'" His voice cracked on the word. Robby's head snapped up. Langdon met his gaze then, really met it, for the first time since the gurney rolled in. "She knew she was coming here. Demanded the medevac bring her to PTMC."

The overhead fluorescents flickered as Robby's fingers curled around the photo's water-stained edges. The orderly had left a smudged thumbprint over his daughter's face—now a woman's face, all sharp angles where there'd once been baby fat. Langdon's words hung between them like surgical smoke: she knew.

Dana's pager buzzed again. This time she stood, stretching her back with a series of audible pops. "I'll check her vitals," she said, but her hand lingered on Robby's shoulder for half a second too long—the way she'd done in residency after their first failed code.

The trauma bay doors hissed shut behind Dana, leaving Robby alone with Langdon and the hum of the ventilation system. The resident scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing sweat and stray flecks of blood across his cheekbone. "She coded twice on the table," he said, voice stripped raw. "Kept saying your name." Robby's thumbnail dug into the photo's crease—right through his younger self's smiling face.

Langdon's shoe scuffed against the linoleum. "There's something else." He pulled a crumpled envelope from his scrub pocket—khaki-colored, military issue—with Robby's name written in a looping hand he hadn't seen since she was sixteen. The seal was broken. "Found it in her flight suit. Read it when you're—"

The envelope crackled like dry leaves in Langdon's grip. Robby reached for it automatically, but his fingers froze halfway—hovering between them like a diver hesitating at the edge of a cliff. The resident's knuckles whitened around the khaki paper before abruptly releasing it. The envelope fluttered to the floor between them, landing with a soundless finality beside the crumpled coffee cup.

Somewhere down the hall, a janitor's mop bucket squeaked against tile. The smell of bleach mixed with the metallic tang still clinging to Langdon's scrubs. Robby stared at the looping handwriting—how the 'R' in his name curled like a question mark. Twenty years ago, she'd signed her last letter that way too, right before she realized that email existed.

The envelope lay between them like a live grenade with the pin pulled. Robby's fingers twitched, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it—not yet. Langdon cleared his throat, the sound jagged in the sterile silence. "I'll… check her vitals," he muttered, and disappeared back into Trauma Bay One, leaving Robby alone with the khaki paper and twenty years of unspoken words.

Robby exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, the way he'd taught med students to steady their hands before a procedure. The envelope was lighter than he expected—almost weightless—but it dragged at his fingers like an anchor. He unfolded it carefully, the creases resisting after years pressed against his daughter's ribs. Inside was a single sheet of paper, the edges frayed from being opened and refolded too many times.

The paper smelled like jet fuel and sweat. Robby's vision blurred as he recognized his own handwriting from twenty years ago—the letter he'd slipped into her backpack the day she told him she signed up for the army. Every word was underlined in red ink, her adolescent scrawl filling the margins with angry rebuttals. At the bottom, in fresh blue ballpoint: You were right about Betelgeuse. It's unstable. But I'm not.

The trauma bay doors hissed open. Langdon emerged holding a plastic baggie with a twisted piece of shrapnel inside—the culprit that had torn through her spleen. "She's stable," he said, tossing the bag on the nurses' station with a clatter. "For now." His eyes dropped to the letter in Robby's hands, then flicked away. "They're prepping OR three for the splenectomy."

The envelope slipped from Robby's fingers, fluttering to the floor like a wounded bird. Langdon bent to retrieve it, his movements stiff with exhaustion, but Robby was already pushing past him toward the trauma bay doors. The resident's protest died in his throat—some mumbled warning about sterile fields and post-op protocols—but Robby didn't hear it. His palm hit the door release with enough force to send it hissing open violently.

Inside, the trauma bay smelled of iodine and burnt flesh. Dana was adjusting the ventilator settings, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The overhead lights cast harsh shadows over the figure on the table—smaller now without the bulk of flight gear, swallowed by tubes and monitors. Robby's breath caught at the sight of her wrist: the same bony prominence she'd had as a child when she'd clung to his hand crossing busy streets.

The ventilator hissed like a sleeping dragon. Robby's fingers hovered above the IV line—not touching, just mapping the new topography of her veins where they snaked under bruised skin. Someone had washed the blood from her face; her forehead shone pale under the fluorescents, except for the butterfly stitches arching over one eyebrow in a perfect imitation of the scar she'd gotten falling off her bike at seven.

Dana didn't look up from the monitor. "She squeezed my hand when I told her you were here," she murmured, adjusting the oxygen flow. The words landed between them like a stone dropped in still water. Robby's throat tightened at the thought of his daughter—conscious beneath the sedation, aware enough to respond—while he'd been standing frozen in the hallway.

The heart monitor beeped a steady rhythm, incongruously cheerful for the battlefield of her body. Robby's fingers twitched toward the constellation tattoo—now half-obscured by bandages—but stopped short. A single drop of betadine slid down her ribcage, pooling in the hollow where Betelgeuse should have been. He wiped it away with his thumb, the antiseptic stinging the papercut he'd gotten from her letter.

Dana's pager buzzed again. This time she sighed and peeled off her gloves with a snap. "OR's ready," she said, her voice carefully neutral. She didn't say you should go, but her fingers brushed his elbow in the same gesture she used to steer grieving families out of the room.

Dr.Garcia came down to escort his daughter to the or, but Dana intercepted him at the door—her palm flat against his chest, her voice low and urgent. "Let them prep her," she said, not unkindly. "You know the drill." Robby nodded numbly, watching as they wheeler her towards the elevators to the or .

The elevator doors slid shut with a muffled thump, cutting off Robby's view of his daughter's pale face beneath the oxygen mask. The orderly hesitated, clutching the clipboard like a shield. "Sir, the consent forms—"

Robby snatched the pen so hard the plastic cracked. He signed without reading—his signature jagged, the 'R' in 'Robinavitch' slashing through three lines of fine print. The orderly scurried away before the pen hit the floor.

The elevator light blinked from "2" to "3" with agonizing slowness. Robby's fingers twitched against the wall—counting the seconds like pulse beats. Somewhere above, a scalpel was being sterilized, a team scrubbing in to carve more of his daughter away. The orderly had left the clipboard on the nurses' station; Robby could see the top sheet fluttering under the AC vent, his signature already smearing where antiseptic drips had hit the paper.

Dana reappeared holding two styrofoam cups, the steam curling in ragged tendrils. She pressed one into his hands—too hot, the liquid sloshing over the rim to scald his fingers. "Decaf," she said, and the lie was so transparent it ached. Robby took it anyway, the ceramic rim leaving a half-moon indentation on his lower lip when he drank.

Dana sipped her coffee, the sound obscenely loud in the empty hallway. "They'll page when she's out," she said. Her scrubs were speckled with old blood—someone else's tragedy from yesterday. Robby stared at the brown flecks, wondering how long it took to stop seeing ghosts in every stain.

The elevator light blinked from "3" to "4" and Robby's coffee cup crumpled in his grip. The orderly had left the shrapnel baggie on the counter—the twisted metal glinting under the fluorescents like some perverse trophy. Robby picked it up, the plastic cool against his palm. It weighed nothing. How could something so small have nearly taken her from him twice? Once when she enlisted, and now—

"OR four is vascular," Dana said quietly. Her coffee cup left a ring on the countertop. "Garcia's taking her time." Robby's fingers traced the jagged edges of the metal through the plastic. He could almost hear the moment of impact—the screech of tearing aluminum, his daughter's gasp as hot shards buried themselves in her flesh. The baggie slipped from his fingers, landing atop the consent forms with a sound like rain on tin.

The elevator light blinked to "5"—OR Five, orthopedics. Robby's fingers tightened around the empty styrofoam cup. Wrong floor. Dana exhaled through her nose, a sound like a valve releasing pressure. "Garcia's thorough," she said, but her fingers drummed against the counter in a staccato rhythm that betrayed her.

Robby's pager buzzed against his hip. He ignored it until Dana plucked it from his waistband with the efficiency of a nurse used to confiscating contraband. Her eyebrows arched. "Blood bank's short on O-neg." She said it like an apology, like the universe itself was petty enough to interrupt this moment with inventory woes.

The pager's screen blinked "CRITICAL SHORTAGE" in jagged red letters. Dana sighed, tossing it onto the counter where it skidded to a stop against the shrapnel baggie. Robby stared at it, the plastic casing reflecting the fluorescent lights in tiny starbursts—like the way his daughter's eyes used to crinkle when she laughed at his terrible jokes.

Dana's fingers twitched toward the pager, then away. "I can cover it," she said, but didn't move. The elevator light stalled on "5." Robby's coffee had gone cold, the styrofoam sweating condensation onto his palm. Somewhere in the bowels of the hospital, an alarm warbled—not the shrill code blue, but the mundane bleat of a freezer door left ajar. The ordinary world kept turning.

The elevator light blinked "6"—cardiology. Robby's fingers twitched against his thigh, counting the floors like a prayer. Dana nudged his shoulder with hers, her warmth seeping through his scrubs. "Remember when she was five," she murmured, "and you brought her to the hospital cafeteria? She stole all the jelly packets."

The memory hit him like a defibrillator—his daughter's small hands sticky with grape jelly, grinning up at him with purple-stained teeth. He'd scolded her, then let her press the packets into his pockets like contraband. Now his throat burned with the ghost of peanut butter sandwiches and stolen moments.

The elevator light blinked to "7"—the surgical floor. Robby's breath caught as the doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss, but it was just an orderly pushing a mop bucket. The smell of bleach flooded the hallway, sharp enough to make his eyes water. Dana's coffee cup tapped against the countertop in a nervous staccato. "She'll be fine," she said, but the words hung in the air like a question.

Robby's fingers found the crumpled photo again, the edges softened from decades of handling. The water stain over Betelgeuse had bled through to the back, leaving a ghostly imprint of his younger self's smile. He wondered if his daughter had pressed her thumb there too, tracing the absence like a wound.

[formulas-bitch]

She's Mine

Tony Stark x daughter/shield agent

so its been awhile since i have posted hope you guys enjoy

In a dimly lit workshop, the smell of burnt metal and oil filled the air as a solitary figure moved with purposeful grace amidst the mechanical chaos. Tony Stark, his eyes hidden behind the glowing arc reactor, meticulously tinkered with the latest iteration of the Iron Man suit, his hands dancing over the exposed circuits with the finesse of a maestro. The room was alive with the steady hum of machinery, each whir and clank a familiar melody to his innovative mind. He had been working tirelessly for hours, his thoughts consumed by the ever-evolving blueprints in his head, oblivious to the passage of time.

Suddenly, an alert pierced the tranquility, the screens flickering to life with urgent red hues. A mission had gone awry, and S.H.I.E.L.D. needed his assistance. Tony's gaze shifted to the new agent's profile, the name "Lenora Lennox " etched in his memory as he studied the intel. Her mission was simple: extract a high-value asset from the clutches of a rogue HYDRA cell. Yet, something about the intel didn't sit right with him. The pattern of the operation was too… personal. Too much like something he would have designed in his youth.

With a grimace, Tony donned his half-finished Iron Man suit. The metal plates clamped shut around him, the familiar weight a comforting embrace. As the suit powered up, he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just another mission. The suit's systems interfaced with his mind, the HUD displaying the location of the trouble in the form of a pulsing red dot. His heart raced as he launched into the night sky, the rush of wind and the roar of the thrusters the only sounds that broke the silence of his thoughts.

On the ground, chaos reigned. Explosions echoed through the streets, and the distant sound of gunfire painted a grim picture. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on the scene were scattered and outmatched, their fear palpable in the tense air. Tony's heart sank as he approached the epicenter of the conflict. There, amidst the wreckage, was the unmistakable silhouette of the new agent, her suit damaged and smoking. He saw the determination etched on her face, the same stubbornness he recognized in the mirror every day.

As he touched down, the earth trembled beneath his feet. The Iron Man suit's sensors went haywire, detecting a surge of power that seemed to be emanating from the very core of the battle. The rogue HYDRA agents had brought some serious hardware to this fight, but Tony's focus remained on the unconscious form of Agent Lennox. He scooped her up with the grace of his iron avatar, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

The HUD in his helmet flickered with a message from Fury, the director's voice gruff and urgent. "Stark, get her out of there. That's an order." But Tony's mind was racing, piecing together the puzzle before him. The intel, the precision of the mission, the technology… it all pointed to one unthinkable conclusion. He had to confirm it before he could leave.

Ignoring the cacophony around him, Tony gently pried open Agent Lennox's visor. The moment their eyes met, a jolt of recognition shot through him. Those piercing brown eyes, that fiery spirit—it couldn't be a coincidence. He scanned her DNA with his suit's systems, his suspicion growing stronger by the second. The data confirmed his fears: she was his daughter. The result was as shocking as a bolt of lightning, leaving him reeling. does she know that he's her father?

The chaos around them grew more intense as the HYDRA forces closed in. Tony knew he had to act fast. "Lenora," he called out, his voice a mix of urgency and awe, "can you hear me?" Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him with a hint of confusion. "Mr. Stark?" she murmured weakly, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on her.

"Yes, it's me," he said, his voice strained. "We need to move. Your mission's gone sideways." He tried to keep the tremor of emotion out of his voice, but it was a futile effort. The realization that this brave agent, this stranger fighting so fiercely, was his flesh and blood was overwhelming.

With a Herculean effort, Tony cradled Lenora in the arms of the Iron Man suit and took to the skies. The suit's thrusters blazed a trail through the smoke and debris as he ascended, dodging a barrage of incoming fire with a finesse that seemed almost preternatural. In the safety of the air, he allowed himself a brief moment to process the revelation. He had a daughter, a young woman who had grown up without him, and she was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, no less. The weight of his absence in her life crashed down on him, a heavy burden of regret and guilt.

Landing on the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, Tony's mind was a whirlwind of questions. How had she ended up here? What did she know about her past? And, most importantly, how could he tell her the truth without breaking her spirit? The medical bay was a flurry of activity, but the moment the doors hissed open, the room fell silent. The medics rushed over to tend to Lenora, their eyes wide with a mix of awe and apprehension as they approached the legendary Tony Stark. He stepped aside, his mind racing as he watched them work.

Fury, his expression a thundercloud of concern, approached Tony. "What the hell happened down there?" he barked, the urgency in his voice barely contained.

Tony took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving his daughter's unconscious form. "It's… complicated," he began, his voice tight. "This isn't just any agent, Fury. She's… she's mine." The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Fury's eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer. "Explain," he said, his tone low and demanding.

Tony swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation weighing on him. "Her DNA… it matches mine. She's my daughter." The words felt foreign on his lips, a truth he had never thought to speak aloud. The room grew colder as the revelation sank in, the air thick with unspoken questions.

Fury's gaze was unyielding. "How is that possible?" His voice was a low rumble, the kind that could shake mountains—or the very foundation of Tony's world.

Tony's heart thudded in his chest as he recounted the brief moments of their encounter. "The intel, the tech, the way she fights—it's all… me," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "But she called me 'Mr. Stark.' She doesn't know."

Fury's expression shifted, a storm of emotions playing across his usually stoic face. He rubbed his chin, contemplating the situation. "We'll keep it classified for now," he decided. "But you need to tell her, Stark. Soon."

Tony nodded, his mind racing. He couldn't just let her go back into the field without knowing the truth. The thought of losing her after just finding out she existed was unbearable. "I know," he murmured, his gaze never leaving her.

As the medical team worked tirelessly to stabilize Lenora, Tony retreated to a quiet corner of the bustling bay. His mind was a storm of thoughts and emotions, each demanding his attention. He had built weapons and faced gods, but nothing had prepared him for this moment. The realization that he had a daughter, a child he had never known, filled him with a sense of responsibility that was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

The hours ticked by, the steady beep of the medical equipment a metronome to the silent symphony playing in his thoughts. He watched her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, her youthful face marred by the scars of battle. She had grown into a strong, capable woman, and the fierce determination etched into her features was a mirror to his own. How much of her spirit was a product of his own making, and how much was she all on her own?

When her eyes finally fluttered open, Tony was at her side in an instant. She looked at him with a mix of confusion and pain, her gaze questioning. "You're okay," he said, his voice a soothing balm. "You're safe now."

Lenora's gaze searched his face, her brow furrowed. "Mr. Stark?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Tony's heart skipped a beat. "Just Tony," he said, trying to keep his tone light despite the gravity of the situation. "You can call me Tony."

Lenora's eyes searched his, seeking understanding. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tony took a deep breath, the weight of his words threatening to crush him. "There's something I need to tell you," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "Something I should've told you a long time ago."

Her eyes searched his, a hint of wariness creeping in. "What is it?" she asked, her voice still weak but her curiosity piqued.

Tony took a deep breath, the words sticking in his throat like shards of shrapnel. "Lenora… I know this might come as a shock, but… you're not just any agent to me. You're my daughter." The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to detonate. The medical bay's buzz of activity seemed to fade into the background, as if the world had stopped spinning for a moment.

Her eyes widened, the color draining from her face. "What?" she managed to choke out, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"Yes," Tony nodded solemnly, his heart aching with every beat. "I had you when I was much younger. Your mother… she thought it would be best for you to be raised away from all of this," he gestured to the high-tech medical bay, "away from the dangers of my world."

Lenora's eyes searched his, a tempest of emotions brewing within them. "My mother's dead," she said flatly, the words a knife to Tony's soul.

Tony felt his chest tighten. "I know," he said softly, his voice filled with regret. "I've missed so much of your life, but I'm here now."

Lenora lay there, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Why?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Tony's heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice grip. "I wanted to," he said, his voice thick with regret. "But I didn't think it was safe for either of us. The world is… complicated, and I didn't want to put you in harm's way."

Her eyes searched his, the storm of emotions swirling in their depths. "You're Iron Man," she said, her voice a mix of awe and accusation. "How could you not be a part of my life?"

Tony felt the weight of his armor grow heavier with each passing second. "I've been watching over you from afar," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I never wanted to put you in the crosshairs of those who would harm me or use you against me. But I see now that I was wrong to keep you in the dark."

Lenora's breath hitched, and she looked away, trying to process the bombshell he had just dropped. "So, what now?" she asked, her voice tight.

Tony reached out, placing a gentle hand on hers. "Now, we get to know each other," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "We figure out how to move forward. I know it's a lot to take in, but I promise, I'm here for you."

Lenora's eyes searched his, the anger slowly giving way to curiosity. "What's it like?" she asked, her voice a whisper. "Being Iron Man?"

Tony's hand tightened around hers, his mind flooding with memories of battles fought and friends lost. "It's a responsibility," he said, his voice earnest. "One that I never wanted to burden you with. But it's also a gift. The ability to protect those I care about."

Lenora looked down at their joined hands, her eyes glistening. "And now you know you have someone to protect you too," she murmured, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Tony felt his chest constrict with a mix of pride and fear. "You're not supposed to be on the front lines," he said, his voice strained. "I've spent my life keeping you safe without you even knowing it."

Lenora's eyes narrowed, the hint of a smile replaced by a fiery resolve. "I've spent my life being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," she retorted. "I can handle myself."

Tony's gaze softened, understanding her need for autonomy. "I know," he said, "and I'm incredibly proud of the woman you've become. But now that we know the truth, I want to be more than just a legend in your life. I want to be your father."

Lenora's expression was a maelstrom of emotions, torn between the comfort of her newfound truth and the fear of the unknown. She nodded slowly, her grip on his hand tightening. "Okay," she murmured. "But what does that mean for me and my career?"

Tony's jaw clenched as he considered the implications. "It means," he began, his voice firm, "that we'll work together to ensure you're protected while you continue to serve. I'll be your support, your mentor, and your biggest fan."

Lenora studied his face, her own emotions a tumultuous sea. "What about the Avengers?" she asked, the hope in her voice unmistakable.

Tony sighed, the reality of the situation setting in. "For now, let's focus on you getting better," he said, his voice a gentle coax. "Once you're fully recovered, we'll talk about your future with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers. But remember, the choice is yours."

Lenora nodded, her eyes still on their joined hands. "Thank you," she whispered, the weight of the words heavy in the air.

Tony felt a warmth spread through him, a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time—the warmth of connection, of family. He squeezed her hand in response. "You're welcome," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Now, let's get you out of here."

The medical team, aware of the delicate situation, gave them a moment of privacy before they began the process of transferring Lenora to a more comfortable recovery area. The ride in the elevator to her new quarters was tense, the air charged with unspoken words. Tony's mind raced with thoughts of all the moments he had missed: her first steps, her first words, her first heartache. He had been there for none of it, and the regret was a bitter pill to swallow.

When the doors slid open, revealing a sparsely furnished room, Tony couldn't help but feel like he was stepping into a world that should have been his all along. The sterile white walls and the faint scent of antiseptic were a stark contrast to the warm, lived-in spaces he had imagined for her. He laid her down on the bed, the softness of the pillow a stark contrast to the hard metal of his suit. As the medical staff fussed around her, checking her vitals and setting up monitors, Tony felt an overwhelming need to protect her—not just as Iron Man, but as her father.

As the room grew quieter, and the medical staff retreated to give them space, Tony took a seat beside her bed, his heart heavy with a mix of emotions. He watched her sleep, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that was eerily soothing. The quiet was only broken by the occasional beep of the heart monitor. He reached out, his hand hovering over her forehead, unsure of how to comfort her without waking her. In the end, he settled for a gentle squeeze of her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against his metal gauntlet.

Days passed in a blur of medical briefings and strategy sessions. The HYDRA cell had been defeated, but the repercussions of their failure rippled through S.H.I.E.L.D. like a stone thrown into still water. Fury remained tight-lipped about the situation, but Tony could see the worry etched into the lines of his face. The truth about Lenora's identity remained a secret, and Tony found himself torn between his desire to protect her and the need to be honest with the world.

When Lenora was finally discharged from the medical bay, she was outfitted with a new, more advanced S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. The sight of her in the sleek black and blue brought a lump to Tony's throat. She looked every inch the hero she had become, and he was both proud and terrified of what lay ahead. The bond between them grew stronger with each passing moment, but the shadow of his past decisions loomed large.

They walked the corridors of the helicarrier in silence, the rhythmic clack of their boots the only sound echoing through the halls. Tony could feel the tension in her posture, the way she held herself with a newfound wariness. The truth had changed everything, and now they had to navigate the murky waters of their newfound relationship.

"Your mother," Tony began, breaking the silence, "she was a brilliant scientist, much like you. She wanted to protect you from all of this." His voice was thick with regret, his gaze drifting to the floor as if the memories were too painful to hold.

Lenora studied his face, trying to reconcile the man she had idolized with the one who had been her unknowing protector all along. "What was she like?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Tony's eyes searched the ceiling, as if the answer was written there. "Your mother, she was… she had a heart as big as the universe and a mind that could outsmart anyone," he said, a sad smile playing on his lips. "She was beautiful, inside and out, and she loved you more than anything."

Lenora's eyes glistened with unshed tears, the longing for a mother she never knew palpable. "What happened to her?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tony took a deep breath, the pain of his past resurfacing like an old wound. "She… she sacrificed herself to save you," he said, his voice cracking. "Her research had led her down a dangerous path, and when HYDRA came for her, she made sure you were safe."

Lenora's grip on his hand tightened, her eyes brimming with tears. "And you?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Tony looked at her, his own eyes shimmering with the weight of his decision. "I was afraid," he admitted. "Afraid of losing you, of putting you in danger. But most of all, I was afraid of being a bad father."

Lenora searched his eyes, the question of her paternity no longer a mystery but the reality of what that meant still sinking in. "You could never be a bad father," she said, her voice strong despite the pain. "You're Tony Stark."

Tony gave a wry smile. "It's not about being Tony Stark or Iron Man," he said, his voice earnest. "It's about being the man she deserves. The man who's there for her every step of the way."

Lenora leaned into him, her eyes searching his. "You are," she assured him. "I can see it in the way you look at me, the way you've protected me without even knowing it. You're the hero I've always believed in."

Tony felt a warmth spread through his chest, his heart swelling with a love he had never fully understood before. He wrapped an arm around her, his metal plates cold against her side. "Thank you," he murmured. "But we've got a lot of catching up to do, kiddo."

" but first, maybe you should change?"

Her words brought him back to the present. He looked down at his battle-worn armor, the dents and scratches a testament to the recent skirmish. With a nod, he retreated to his private quarters, the weight of his newfound fatherhood a strange, unfamiliar burden. The suit clanked as it opened, revealing his sweat-soaked body. The armor had seen better days, but so had he. He stepped out, feeling the coldness of the floor against his bare feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of his daughter's hand moments ago.

Peeling away the layers of metal, Tony felt a sense of vulnerability that was as surprising as it was refreshing. He showered, letting the hot water wash away the grime of the battle and the fear that had coated him since he saw her lying on the ground. He donned a fresh set suit , the stark change from his usual playboy attire a silent nod to the gravity of the situation.

When he returned to her room, Lenora was sitting up in bed, her eyes flickering with curiosity. He approached her side, his heart racing with nerves. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice softer than he had intended.

"Better," she said, her gaze never leaving his face. "But I have questions."

Tony nodded, steeling himself for the onslaught of curiosity that was sure to come. He sat down on the edge of her bed, his hand still wrapped in hers. "Ask away," he said, his voice steady.

Lenora took a deep breath, her eyes searching his. "Why did you become Iron Man?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Tony's gaze drifted to the window, the stars winking at them from the vast expanse of the night sky. "Because the world needed someone to stand up to the bullies," he said, his voice filled with a conviction that had fueled his alter ego for years. "When I saw that the weapons I had created were being used to hurt people, I knew I had to do something."

"And now?" she pressed, her eyes searching his for the answer she desperately needed.

Tony took a deep breath, the weight of his decision settling heavily in his chest. "Now," he said, his gaze returning to hers, "now, we figure out what being a father-daughter duo in the world of superheroes looks like."

Lenora's eyes searched his, a mix of excitement and trepidation swirling in their depths. "What if I don't want to be just a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent anymore?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tony felt his heart stutter in his chest. He had always feared this moment, the moment when his daughter might choose to walk in his footsteps, into the line of fire. "Then we'll figure that out too," he said, trying to keep his voice calm despite the turmoil of emotions within him. "But first, let's focus on getting you better. Your health is what matters most to me."

The days that followed were a delicate dance of shared meals, whispered conversations, and gentle touches. Tony showed her videos of her mother, told her stories of her childhood, and even revealed the secret lab where he had created the very first Iron Man suit. It was a bittersweet journey, filled with laughter and tears, as they both grappled with the reality of their newfound bond.

[formulas-bitch]

For you, Always ll

4.7k words

the long awaited part 2 is out

the next day Emma woke up early in the hotel room, her mind racing with the tasks ahead. The curtains were drawn open, revealing a breathtaking view of the New York City skyline, the early morning light casting a warm glow over the skyscrapers. She had barely slept, her excitement and nerves keeping her awake. The luxurious hotel suite was a stark contrast to her tiny apartment back home, but she had no time to enjoy it.

On the day of departure, Emma remained busy with final preparations, ensuring Mr. Sainz's briefcase contained all necessary items. Upon his curt command, they headed to the waiting car. Despite her nerves, the excitement of the New York trip dominated her thoughts.

After a quick shower and a cup of hotel coffee, she began organizing the documents and materials they would need for the conference. Mr. Sainz had been up late the night before, working on a last-minute proposal that could make or break the company's future. She had to be ready to support him at a moment's notice, ensuring that he had everything he needed to close the deal.

As they arrived at the conference center, Emma's stomach fluttered with excitement. The bustling lobby was filled with powerful figures from the corporate world, their names etched in the annals of business history. She had studied their faces and strategies in textbooks and articles, and now she was standing among them, a silent observer in the grand theater of commerce.

SUMMARY^1: On the first day in New York, Emma remained busy preparing for the conference in their luxurious hotel suite. Despite her excitement, she was anxious and determined to support Mr. Sainz, who had worked late on a crucial proposal. Once ready, they left for the conference center where she felt both intimidated and thrilled to be among renowned corporate figures.

Mr. Sainz's schedule was packed with back-to-back meetings and presentations, leaving no room for error. She followed him like a shadow, her eyes and ears open for any cue that might indicate his needs. His intensity was palpable, his focus unwavering, and Emma felt a strange kinship with him in their shared commitment to excellence.

As the day progressed, Emma found herself juggling more responsibilities than she had ever imagined. From ensuring Mr. Sainz had the right documents at the right times to navigating the unfamiliar conference layout, she was stretched to her limits. Yet she remained unflappable, a trait that she knew was essential in this high-stakes environment.

Upon arriving in New York, Emma started her day in the luxurious hotel suite, preparing for the conference with Mr. Sainz's last-minute proposal. At the bustling conference center, she supported him through a demanding schedule, handling any issues that arose with poise and efficiency.

The conference room was abuzz with chatter and the faint hum of technology as Mr. Sainz took the stage. She watched from the side, her eyes darting between him and the audience. His presentation was flawless, captivating the room with his charisma and knowledge. As he concluded, the room erupted into applause, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in her small part in his success.

During the breaks, Emma was bombarded with questions and requests from other attendees, all eager to get a moment with Mr. Sainz. She juggled them with ease, her voice calm and professional, despite the chaos around her. She could feel the weight of her responsibilities pressing down, but she didn't dare show it. This was her chance to shine, to prove that she belonged in this high-stakes world.

The final session of the day was the most critical. The proposal that Mr. Sainz had been working on was about to be presented to the board of a potential acquisition. The room was packed with investors and industry leaders, their eyes all on Mr. Sainz. Emma had spent hours memorizing the details, ready to jump in if needed.

As the presentation began, she could see the tension in Mr. Sainz's shoulders. This was the moment that could change everything for the company. For him. For her. Her palms grew slick with nerves as she clutched her notebook. She had never seen him this focused, this…human.

At the conference, Mr. Sainz delivered a flawless presentation, with Emma supporting him from the sidelines. She handled the chaotic breaks with poise, fielding questions and managing his schedule. The tension grew during the final session, where their potential acquisition's board would hear the critical proposal, leaving Emma feeling the gravity of the situation and Mr. Sainz's human side.

Throughout the conference, Emma capably managed Mr. Sainz's schedule and interactions with eager attendees. The pivotal final session saw her supporting him during a tense presentation to the board of a potential acquisition target. The pressure was intense, but Emma remained professional, witnessing Mr. Sainz's human side amidst the corporate stakes.

On their first day in New York, Emma prepared for the conference with a mix of excitement and anxiety, meticulously packing Mr. Sainz's briefcase and adhering to his instructions. She demonstrated her competence throughout the conference, efficiently supporting Mr. Sainz in various demanding scenarios, including his successful presentation to a board of potential acquisition targets. Her professionalism remained steadfast, even allowing her to see a glimpse of Mr. Sainz's humanity amidst the high-stakes corporate environment.

The Q&A session that followed was a minefield of probing questions and skeptical glances. Yet Mr. Sainz remained unflappable, his answers sharp and precise. Emma held her breath, watching as the tension in the room grew with each passing second. And then, it was her turn to shine. A board member had a question about a minor detail in the proposal that Mr. Sainz had overlooked. She stepped forward, her voice clear and confident.

"Mr. Sainz has covered all the major points, but for that particular detail, you're looking at the projected growth rates for the third quarter, which are outlined on page 17," she said, handing him the correct document. The room fell silent for a beat before erupting into nods of approval. Mr. Sainz shot her a quick, appreciative glance, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of handshakes and business cards. As they left the conference center, the cold New York air hit her like a wall, jolting her out of her professional haze. "Miss Hathaway," Mr. Sainz said, his tone softer than usual, "I need to prepare for our meeting tomorrow. Please make sure my schedule is clear this evening."

During the Q&A, Emma confidently corrected a detail Mr. Sainz overlooked, impressing the board and the audience. Her quick-thinking earned her an appreciative glance from Mr. Sainz. As the conference wrapped up, she faced the cold reality of New York and his request for a clear evening schedule to prepare for the next critical meeting.

During the intense Q&A session, Emma stepped up to save the day by providing a critical document and confidently answering a question Mr. Sainz had overlooked, impressing the audience. The successful presentation led to a flurry of networking, and Mr. Sainz, impressed, requested her assistance in preparing for the next day's meeting, emphasizing the importance of her role.

With excitement and pressure weighing on her, Emma met Mr. Sainz's expectations for their trip to New York, handling final preparations and supporting him at a high-stakes conference. Her poise and efficiency during the critical presentation and networking sessions earned Mr. Sainz's respect, highlighting the significance of her role and her potential for growth within the company.

"Of course, Mr. Sainz," she replied, her voice steady. She had done her homework on the potential acquisition's CEO, had all the relevant data at her fingertips. But as they entered the hotel suite, the weight of the evening ahead settled on her shoulders. The private dinner with the acquisition CEO, Mr. Charles Leclerc, and his team was crucial, and she knew she had to be on top of her game.

While Mr. Sainz showered and changed, Emma set the stage. The dining table was laid with the finest linens, silverware gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier. She had ordered a bouquet of flowers that matched the company's branding and had the caterers set up an elegant spread of New York's finest cuisine. The suite buzzed with the sound of final preparations as she checked the name tags and seating chart for the umpteenth time.

When Mr. Leclerc and his team arrived, Emma greeted them with a professional smile, her heart racing. She had studied their profiles, their company's history, and the potential points of contention in the acquisition. As they mingled over drinks, she made sure to circulate, offering insights and facilitating introductions. She was the invisible force keeping the evening running smoothly, her eyes and ears everywhere.

Ahead of the private dinner with the potential acquisition CEO, Charles Leclerc, and his team, Emma prepared meticulously, setting the stage with attention to detail to reflect their company's brand. Her thorough research and poised demeanor allowed her to play a crucial role in the evening's networking, ensuring a successful and smooth experience for all involved, showcasing her invaluable support to Mr. Sainz.

Dinner began with a tension that could have been sliced with a knife. The small talk was forced, the laughter a little too loud. But as the wine flowed and the food was served, the atmosphere began to ease. She watched Mr. Sainz, his charm and charisma on full display as he wove through the conversation with the grace of a seasoned diplomat. The room grew warmer, the smiles more genuine.

Emma hovered at the edges, refilling glasses and taking notes. She felt a strange kinship with Mr. Leclerc's personal assistant, a young man named Lando, who seemed as overwhelmed by the evening's formality as she was. They exchanged glances, and she found herself smiling at his jokes, feeling a spark of camaraderie amidst the corporate sharks.

As the main course was served, Mr. Leclerc leaned back in his chair and addressed the room. "Now that we've had a chance to relax, let's talk business," he said, his eyes sharp and focused. The conversation turned serious, and Emma could see the gears turning in Mr. Sainz's mind. He was laying out their strategy, laying the groundwork for the merger that could make or break the company.

Her heart raced as she listened, her hand poised over her notepad. She had never felt so involved in something so important. Every word, every gesture, every pause in the conversation felt significant. She took detailed notes, her mind racing with possible scenarios and contingencies.

The dinner with Mr. Leclerc's team started tense but gradually became more relaxed as the evening progressed. Emma bonded with Lando, Mr. Leclerc's assistant, sharing the pressures of their roles. When business discussions commenced, she remained observant and diligent, taking detailed notes to support Mr. Sainz in their critical strategizing for the potential merger, which carried significant stakes for the company's future. .

Mr. Leclerc nodded thoughtfully, his gaze flicking from Mr. Sainz to the platter of food in the center of the table. "Your proposal is intriguing," he said, his voice measured. "But we have concerns about the integration process."

Emma felt a rush of adrenaline. This was it, the moment she had been preparing for. She glanced at Mr. Sainz, who nodded almost imperceptibly. She cleared her throat. "If I may, I've compiled a detailed integration plan that addresses many of the concerns you may have," she said, sliding the document across the table. "It includes timelines, resource allocation, and potential synergies between our teams."

Mr. Leclerc raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He picked up the plan and began to read, the tension in the room palpable. The other dinner guests watched him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Emma's heart raced as she watched him turn the pages, her mind racing through the countless hours she had spent perfecting the strategy.

Finally, Mr. Leclerc looked up, his eyes meeting hers. "Miss Hathaway, this is quite comprehensive," he said, a hint of surprise in his tone. "Your insights are impressive."

Emma felt a warmth spread through her chest. "Thank you, Mr. Leclerc. I've done my best to anticipate any potential hurdles and provide viable solutions."

During dinner, Mr. Leclerc voiced concerns about the integration process. At Mr. Sainz's prompt, Emma presented a detailed plan she had prepared, which impressed Mr. Leclerc. Her comprehensive strategy, which included timelines and synergy possibilities, was met with a positive reception, acknowledging her significant contributions to the potential merger discussion and highlighting her growing professional acumen.

At the private dinner with potential acquisition CEO Charles Leclerc, Emma's meticulous preparation and poise helped facilitate a successful networking experience. Bonding with Lando, she gained an ally and shared insights on their roles. During business discussions, she addressed concerns with a well-crafted integration plan, impressing Mr. Leclerc and solidifying her importance in the company's future.

Mr. Sainz's eyes remained on her, his expression inscrutable. She knew he was watching her closely, gauging her performance. "Indeed, Miss Hathaway has been instrumental in our preparations for this potential merger," he said, his voice smooth. "Her dedication and attention to detail have been invaluable."

Emma's cheeks flushed with pride. It wasn't often that Mr. Sainz offered such public praise, and she felt it was a sign that she was truly part of the team. She took a sip of water, trying to keep her nerves at bay. The room was silent as Mr. Leclerc continued to read through the plan, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he looked up. "This is quite thorough," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "You've clearly put a lot of thought into this."

Emma nodded, her heart racing. "Thank you, Mr. Leclerc. I believe that a well-managed integration is crucial for the success of the merger."

Mr. Leclerc leaned back in his chair, his gaze still on her. "I agree," he said, his tone measured. "And your insights on potential synergies between our companies are quite insightful. It seems we have a sharp mind working behind the scenes."

Emma felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth, but she kept her expression neutral. "Thank you, Mr. Leclerc. I've learned a lot from Mr. Sainz."

Mr. Leclerc expressed his appreciation for the detailed integration plan, acknowledging Emma's insights and contributions to the potential merger. Mr. Sainz publicly recognized her efforts, which bolstered her confidence and reinforced her significance within the company. This positive reception from Mr. Leclerc indicated a possible shift in the dynamics of the negotiation.

The conversation flowed around her as the men discussed the finer points of the plan. She listened intently, noting any questions or concerns they had and making mental notes for potential areas of improvement. The tension in the room had dissipated, and the air was filled with a cautious optimism.

As the dinner drew to a close, Mr. Leclerc's team began to exchange business cards and pleasantries, their expressions a mix of professional courtesy and cautious excitement. Emma gathered the empty dishes, her mind racing with thoughts of the work that still needed to be done. There was no time to rest on her laurels; the real work was just beginning.

Mr. Sainz stood, signaling the end of the evening. "Thank you all for your time tonight," he said, his handshake firm and confident. "We look forward to a productive partnership in the future."

Emma collected the last of the dishes and hurried back to the kitchen to thank the staff. The chef, a burly man with a thick accent, nodded gruffly. "You did good," he said, a rare smile breaking through his stern demeanor. "Your boss, he's a tough cookie, but he's fair."

Emma nodded, feeling a mix of pride and anxiety. "Thank you," she said, her voice sincere. "I'm just trying to learn as much as I can."

"You're doing more than that," the chef said, his eyes twinkling. "You're making a difference."

The dinner concluded with a sense of optimism for the merger's future. As the guests departed, Mr. Leclerc's team showed excitement and Mr. Sainz expressed anticipation for a successful partnership. The chef's rare compliment reinforced Emma's impact, confirming that she was not only learning but making a significant difference in the company's high-stakes negotiations.

The words echoed in her mind as she made her way back to the hotel, the city lights casting a warm glow on the pavement. The weight of the evening's events settled heavily upon her shoulders, but she felt a sense of accomplishment that she had never experienced before. She had faced her fears and come out on top.

Once back in her room, Emma flopped onto the plush hotel bed, her mind racing with the day's events. She had seen a side of Mr. Sainz she had never expected, a side that was driven not just by power and ambition, but by a deep desire for success that was almost palpable. It was intoxicating, and she found herself eager to be a part of it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of her phone. It was an email from Mr. Sainz, his words succinct and to the point. "Good work tonight, Miss Hathaway. You've proven to be a valuable asset. Expect more responsibilities on this trip." The message was cold, but the underlying praise warmed her like a cup of hot tea on a winter's day.

The next few days were a blur of meetings and presentations. Emma barely had time to explore the city, her schedule packed to the brim with company engagements. Yet she thrived under the pressure, her organizational skills becoming sharper with each passing hour. She anticipated Mr. Sainz's needs before he even had to ask, ensuring that every meeting went without a hitch.

Returning to the hotel, Emma reflected on her growth and the unexpected side of Mr. Sainz she had witnessed. His curt email acknowledged her value to the company, hinting at increased responsibilities ahead. Despite the hectic schedule, she excelled in her role, handling all meetings and preparations flawlessly and growing more adept at anticipating his needs, which brought her a sense of achievement and belonging in the corporate world.

The dinner's success and Mr. Leclerc's appreciation highlighted Emma's growing significance in the merger negotiations. Mr. Sainz's public recognition boosted her confidence, and her private interactions with Mr. Leclerc's team revealed a newfound respect. Her performance during the dinner earned Mr. Sainz's private praise via email, suggesting a bright future with increased responsibilities within the company.

One evening, as they returned to the hotel, Mr. Sainz paused at the elevator bank. "Miss Hathaway," he said, his voice a low rumble, "I need you to join me for a meeting with Max Verstappen tomorrow morning. It's crucial for the merger's success."

Emma's heart skipped a beat. Max Verstappen was known throughout the industry as a shrewd businessman with a reputation for being tough to read. She knew that this was not a meeting to be taken lightly. "Of course, Mr. Sainz," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

The next morning, she was in the hotel lobby at 6 AM sharp, her briefcase packed with all the necessary documents. Mr. Sainz was already waiting for her, his eyes scanning the lobby with an intensity that made her feel like he could see through walls. "Good," he said, nodding at her. "Let's go."

The meeting with Max Verstappen took place in a high-rise office with a view of the city that made her dizzy. The room was sparse, with only a large mahogany desk and a few leather chairs. The air was thick with anticipation as they waited for Verstappen to arrive. When he did, his handshake was firm and his smile was cold. He was not a man to be underestimated.

The story progresses with Mr. Sainz assigning Emma a crucial meeting with industry heavyweight Max Verstappen. Despite the early hour and the gravity of the situation, she meets Mr. Sainz's expectations and maintains her composure. The meeting's setting is described as intimidating, setting the stage for the tough negotiations to come.

Emma sat quietly as Mr. Sainz began the negotiations, her eyes darting between the two CEOs. Verstappen's questions were sharp and precise, cutting through the air like a scalpel. Each time he spoke, Mr. Sainz would glance at her, and she would provide the necessary information without missing a beat. Despite the early hour, she felt alive, her mind sharp and her instincts honed.

As the meeting progressed, she noticed a subtle shift in Mr. Verstappen's demeanor. His initial skepticism began to give way to curiosity, and she could see the wheels turning in his mind. The tension in the room was palpable, but she remained calm, her voice steady as she presented their case. The stakes were high, and she knew that one misstep could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

Mr. Verstappen leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Your proposal is intriguing, Mr. Sainz," he said slowly. "But I need more than just numbers to make such a significant decision."

Emma's heart raced as Mr. Sainz turned to her. "Miss Hathaway, would you mind summarizing the strategic advantages of this partnership for us?"

Emma took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. She had studied the proposal inside out and knew every detail by heart. She spoke with confidence, her voice clear and measured. "Mr. Verstappen, the merger would not only combine the financial strengths of both companies but also create a dynamic synergy in terms of innovation and market reach. Our combined resources would allow us to penetrate new markets and develop cutting-edge technologies that could revolutionize the industry."

Mr. Verstappen's gaze remained on her, his expression unreadable. She could feel the weight of his scrutiny, but she didn't falter. She continued, highlighting the potential cost savings and the strategic alignment of their companies' visions. As she spoke, she watched the tension in the room begin to ease, replaced by a sense of possibility.

When she finished, Mr. Verstappen nodded thoughtfully. "You make a compelling argument, Miss Hathaway," he said. "Your insights are quite valuable."

Emma felt a rush of pride, but she knew better than to let it show. "Thank you, Mr. Verstappen," she said, her voice cool and professional. "I'm just trying to support Mr. Sainz in the best way I can."

Mr. Verstappen's eyes narrowed slightly. "Indeed," he said, his voice a low rumble. "And you're quite good at it."

The rest of the meeting was a blur of numbers and strategies, but Emma remained focused, her mind racing to keep up. When they finally left the office, she felt drained, but also exhilarated. They had made progress, significant progress, and she had played a key role in it.

Back in the hotel room, Mr. Sainz turned to her, his expression unreadable. "You did well today," he said, his voice gruff. "Your preparation and poise were crucial."

Emma's cheeks flushed with pride. It was the closest thing she had ever gotten to a compliment from him, and it meant the world to her. "Thank you, Mr. Sainz," she murmured.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he turned back to his laptop. "Get some rest," he said. "Tomorrow, we'll need to finalize the terms of the merger. It's going to be another long day."

Emma nodded, her mind still racing. As she lay in bed that night, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. Despite the challenges she faced, she was making an impact. She was not just an intern; she was a key player in a high-stakes game of corporate chess.

The next morning, the final day of the trip, she woke up with a newfound energy. She knew that today was the culmination of all their hard work. The tension in the air was thick as they all gathered in the hotel conference room, ready to hammer out the final details of the merger agreement.

Mr. Sainz began the meeting with a brief summary of the previous discussions. "We've made significant progress," he said, his voice calm and steady. "But there are still a few key points we need to address."

Emma took her seat, her eyes flicking over the documents spread out before her. She felt a knot of anxiety in her stomach but pushed it down. This was her moment to shine.

The negotiations with Max Verstappen were intense, a dance of words and numbers that required precision and finesse. Each time a question was posed, she had an answer at the ready, her preparation serving her well. The hours ticked by, the tension in the room growing with each passing minute.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mr. Verstappen leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Your proposal is interesting, Mr. Sainz," he said, his eyes flicking to Emma. "And your assistant here has certainly made a compelling case."

Mr. Sainz nodded, his expression unreadable. "Miss Hathaway is indeed an invaluable part of the team," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Emma felt a rush of adrenaline. This was it, the moment of truth. She could almost taste the victory, but she knew better than to let her guard down. The final details were discussed with a fervor that was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. Each point was dissected, analyzed, and debated with the finesse of seasoned diplomats.

The room was a symphony of shuffling papers and murmured agreements. The air was charged with anticipation as they approached the endgame. Mr. Verstappen's expression grew more thoughtful with each point addressed, and she could see the wheels turning in his head. The stakes were higher than ever, but she remained poised, her thoughts clear and focused.

"Very well," Mr. Verstappen said finally, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "I believe we have the framework of a deal."

Emma's heart skipped a beat. It was happening. The merger was on the cusp of becoming a reality.

"Thank you, Mr. Verstappen," Mr. Sainz said, extending his hand. "We look forward to a prosperous partnership."

Emma watched as the two CEOs shook hands, the air in the room charged with the promise of something monumental. The rest of the team erupted into applause, the tension dissipating like mist in the sun. She felt a rush of relief and excitement mingle within her, and she couldn't help but join in the celebration.

Mr. Sainz turned to her, his stern features softening slightly. "You've done well, Miss Hathaway," he said. "Your work here has been instrumental in sealing this deal."

Emma couldn't help but smile. It was the first time he had acknowledged her efforts so openly, and it felt like a victory in itself. "Thank you, Mr. Sainz," she replied, her voice a mix of excitement and relief.

The final paperwork was signed, and the handshakes exchanged. The merger was official. As the team began to disperse, Mr. Sainz turned to her. "Miss Hathaway, I need you to organize a gala to celebrate our new partnership. It must be nothing short of spectacular."

Emma's heart raced at the thought of planning such an extravagant event. "Of course, Mr. Sainz," she said, her voice a mix of excitement and trepidation.

The gala was to be held in the city's most prestigious venue, the Grand Hotel, a place of opulence and grandeur that was the epitome of corporate excess. She had a month to pull it off, a feat that seemed impossible given her limited experience and the high expectations of Mr. Sainz and the board members. But she was determined not to let anyone down.

Emma dove into the planning with a fervor that surprised even herself. She spent her days and nights scouring through event planning guides, making countless calls to vendors, and tasting a never-ending parade of hors d'oeuvres. Each detail was meticulously considered, from the lighting to the floral arrangements, the music to the seating chart. She knew that every element had to be perfect to reflect the gravity of the merger.

The days turned into a blur of appointments and decisions, but Emma felt alive. This was what she had dreamed of when she accepted the internship – being at the center of it all, her brain working at full capacity, her skills truly tested. The weight of her responsibilities was heavy, but she carried it with a newfound confidence that grew with each successful step she took.

TAGLIST: mangodreamsicle

x3zerochanx3

[formulas-bitch]

For you, Always / CEO/Carlos sainz x personal assistant reader

"You're late," the sharp voice of Mr. Carlos Sainz pierced through the quiet office hallway, causing the new intern, Emma, to jump. She looked up from her scuffed shoes to see the stern CEO standing before her, his eyes a piercing brown that seemed to see through her. "Again, Miss Hathaway."

Emma felt her heart sink as she clutched the forgotten coffee tray. She had been warned about Mr. Sainz's punctuality, but she hadn't realized it was this severe. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself, "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Sainz. The traffic was-"

He waved her off with a flick of his hand, clearly not interested in her excuses. "You're my personal assistant now, Miss Hathaway. I expect you to anticipate these issues and solve them accordingly. Being late is not acceptable." He turned on his heel and strode back to his office, the heavy door swinging shut behind him with a thud that echoed through the hallway.

Emma took a moment to collect her thoughts, feeling the weight of her new role settle heavily on her shoulders. She had only started two days ago, and she was already on thin ice. With trembling hands, she balanced the tray and followed him into the lion's den. The office was sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the bustling city. The scent of leather and polished wood filled the air, a stark contrast to the chaotic jumble of papers and files scattered across the desk.

SUMMARY^1: Mr. Carlos Sainz, the CEO, scolded the new intern, Emma Hathaway, for her lateness. Despite her apology, he expressed zero tolerance for the lack of punctuality, emphasizing the high expectations for his personal assistant. His office reflected his professionalism and power, yet it was also cluttered with work, highlighting the urgency of her role.

Mr. Sainz was already seated, his fingers tapping impatiently on the keyboard of his laptop. He didn't look up as she approached, but she could feel his gaze boring into her. She set the tray down and began organizing the documents he had left scattered. "Your schedule for the day, sir," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

"Good," he said, finally glancing up. "Now, let's get started. I have a meeting with the board in thirty minutes, and I need to review these financial reports before then." He handed her a thick stack of papers, his tone brisk and business-like.

Emma took the documents, her mind racing. She had studied hard for this internship, eager to prove herself in the corporate world, but she hadn't expected to be thrust into the deep end so quickly. She had heard whispers of Mr. Sainz's demanding nature, but experiencing it firsthand was a different beast entirely. She sat at the desk opposite his, her heart racing as she skimmed the figures and pie charts. The numbers swam before her eyes, and she struggled to focus.

As she worked, Mr. Sainz made a series of phone calls, his voice a low, authoritative murmur that filled the room. The sound of his leather chair squeaking as he leaned back was the only other noise in the otherwise silent office. She tried to ignore the pressure, but it was like a physical presence in the room, pushing down on her. Every few minutes, he would shoot her a look that seemed to ask why she wasn't done yet.

SUMMARY^1: Emma faced Mr. Sainz's impatience as she began her duties, starting with organizing his office and preparing for a board meeting. Despite her nervousness, she focused on the task at hand, dealing with the heavy workload and his demanding nature as best she could.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she finished reviewing the reports. She took a deep breath and slid them back across the desk to him. "All set, Mr. Sainz."

He took them without a word, his eyes scanning the pages with a rapidity that made her dizzy. She watched as he flipped through them, his expression unreadable. The silence grew heavier with each passing second, until he finally looked up. "Good," he said, his voice terse. "Now, I need you to draft an email to the board summarizing these findings. and make sure to include Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris and Max Verstappen "

Emma nodded, her hands flying over the keyboard as she typed up the email. Her mind raced as she tried to distill the complex information into concise bullet points. She had never felt so scrutinized. Mr. Sainz's eyes remained on her the entire time, as if daring her to make a mistake. But she was determined to prove herself. She had worked too hard to get here, to let one bad morning ruin her chances.

When she was done, she pushed the email across the desk for his approval. He read it over, his expression unchanged, before nodding curtly. "Send it," he said, his voice a command.

SUMMARY^1: After completing the report review, Emma faced Mr. Sainz's challenge to draft an email to the board with critical information, including the names of three important individuals. Despite the intense pressure, she worked efficiently under his watchful gaze, eager to prove her worth.

Emma exhaled, her shoulders dropping slightly with relief. She hit send and watched as the email disappeared into the digital void. Mr. Sainz stood up, his movements fluid and powerful. "Now, we have the meeting in fifteen minutes. Make sure the conference room is set up properly. and make a reservation at Riccardo's for dinner for 7 people"

Her stomach twisted into a knot. "But sir, it's already-"

"Now, Miss Hathaway," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're going to be busy until then. Make it happen."

Emma nodded, her thoughts racing as she rushed out of the office. She knew Riccardo's was notorious for its exclusive reservations and short notice was almost never an option. But she didn't dare question Mr. Sainz's instructions. She had to make it work. and its not like they wont give her the reservation as the owner Daniel was a friend of Mr.Sainz.

With trembling hands, she called the restaurant, her voice a mix of desperation and professionalism. After a tense negotiation, she managed to secure a table for seven at 7 PM. She jotted down the confirmation details and hurried back to the office. "I've got the reservation, Mr. Sainz," she called out as she passed his open door.

He looked up from his phone, his eyebrows raised slightly in acknowledgment. "Good," he said. "Send me the details. Now, about the conference room."

SUMMARY^1: Having sent the email, Emma faced the next task: setting up the conference room and securing a dinner reservation at the exclusive Riccardo's. Despite initial doubt, she successfully reserved a table for seven at 7 PM, thanks to Mr. Sainz's friendship with the owner, Daniel, and relayed the details to her boss.

Emma's heart sank a little further. The conference room was notorious for its temperamental technology, and she had never set it up on her own. But she nodded, her voice steady. "I'll take care of it, Mr. Sainz."

She hurried down the hall, her heels clicking against the marble floor. The conference room loomed before her, a gleaming monolith of corporate power. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, the cool air from the AC hitting her like a slap in the face. The long, polished table was already set with notepads and pens, but the screens and audio equipment looked daunting. She checked the clock on her phone; she had ten minutes to get everything ready. As she was setting everything up, she couldn't get the projector working.

Her heart raced as she fiddled with the cables. The clock ticked away, each second feeling like an eternity. She had read the manual three times, but the damn thing still wouldn't turn on. Panic began to set in. The board members would be here any minute, expecting a flawless presentation from their CEO. This couldn't be happening. just as she was about to panic there was a knock on the door.

"who's there?," she called out, trying to keep her voice calm.

The door swung open to reveal Pierre Gasly the it guy, with a friendly smile on his face. "Emma, right?" he said, stepping into the room. "

SUMMARY^1: Tasked with preparing the conference room, Emma faced technical issues with the projector. Despite her fear of failure and the looming presence of the board members' imminent arrival, she maintained composure and received help from the IT department, represented by Pierre Gasly.

Emma nodded, feeling a rush of relief. "omg thank god you here i need some hep with this , I'm having some trouble with the projector," she said, gesturing to the tangle of cords.

Pierre chuckled, crossing the room to inspect the setup. "Looks like you've got a case of the Mondays," he said, his French accent giving the words a comforting lilt. He quickly untangled the cables and powered on the device with a flourish. The projector hummed to life, casting a crisp image onto the screen.

"Merci beaucoup," Emma said, her voice a mix of relief and embarrassment.

"De rien," Pierre replied with a wink. "Now, let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

The board members began to trickle in, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. They greeted Mr. Sainz with nods and handshakes, their eyes sliding briefly over to Emma before moving on. She tried to shrink into the background, her nerves jangling with each new arrival. The room filled quickly, and soon the only empty seat was the one at the head of the table, reserved for Mr. Sainz.

"Everything set?" he asked, his voice low and expectant.

Emma nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. "Yes, Mr. Sainz."

"Good," he said, his expression unreadable. He took his seat at the head of the table, and Emma quickly distributed the packets she had prepared. The board members murmured to each other, their eyes flicking over the documents. She took her place at the side of the room, her palms damp against the cool glass of the water pitcher she held.

The meeting began with a tension that seemed to thicken the air. Mr. Sainz spoke with confidence and authority, his eyes darting from face to face as he presented the company's latest acquisitions. The room was so silent, she could hear the faint rustle of pages turning. As he talked, Emma found herself admiring his ability to command the attention of the room, despite the chaos of the morning. He was a force to be reckoned with, and she was in the eye of the storm.

As the meeting progressed, Mr. Sainz called on her to clarify a few points, and she found her voice growing stronger with each response. The board members listened intently, their expressions a mix of surprise and respect. She had studied hard for this moment, and it showed. Her mind was sharp, her answers concise and informed. Despite the pressure, she felt a spark of pride in her work.

The tension in the room gradually eased as the meeting moved forward. The board members began to nod in agreement, and a few even offered words of praise. Mr. Sainz shot her a rare smile, his eyes briefly softening before returning to their usual intense gaze. "Thank you, Miss Hathaway," he said, as the meeting drew to a close. "You've done well."

Emma felt a warm glow spread through her chest. Despite the rough start to the day, she had managed to pull it together. As the board members filed out, Mr. Sainz's secretary, Mrs. Rodriguez, slipped into the room. "Mr. Sainz, the car is waiting downstairs," she announced batting her eyelashes towards him and looks towards me with a scowl on her face.

He nodded, his attention still on Emma. "Thank you again, Miss Hathaway," he said. "I'll see you at the restaurant."

Emma blinked, surprised. "At Riccardo's?" she asked.

Mr. Sainz nodded. "Yes. I've invited the board members for dinner to discuss further. Make sure the reservation is for seven."

Emma felt a jolt of excitement. She had never been to Riccardo's, but she had heard the whispers of its legendary cuisine and exclusive clientele. It was a place where deals were made and reputations were forged. She knew this was a test, a chance to prove herself beyond the office walls. "Of course, Mr. Sainz," she said, her voice firm.

The rest of the day was a blur of preparations. She coordinated with the restaurant, confirming the reservation and special dietary requirements. She arranged for a car service to pick them up and even managed to find a last-minute replacement for one of the board members who had to cancel. The pressure was intense, but Emma felt alive with the rush of adrenaline. This was what she had signed up for: the challenge of working at the top tier of the corporate world.

When the clock finally struck 7 PM, she found herself in the back of a sleek black sedan, her stomach fluttering with nerves. The car pulled up to Riccardo's, the elegant exterior bathed in soft lights that cast a warm glow onto the sidewalk. The valet opened the door with a flourish, and she stepped out, her heels clicking against the cobblestones.

The restaurant's interior was a symphony of dark wood and soft lighting, the clink of silverware and the murmur of conversation creating a soothing ambiance. The host, a man with slicked-back hair and a charming smile, recognized Mr. Sainz immediately and led them to a private dining room. The board members were already seated and surprising with their significant others beside them, their faces a mix of anticipation and skepticism as they took in their surroundings.

Emma finally took her place by the wall with her notepad in her hands write everything she thought was important.

The dinner conversation was a dance of diplomacy and power, with Mr. Sainz at the center, guiding the discussion with a grace that belied his earlier irritation. He spoke of the company's triumphs and challenges, weaving a story that painted a picture of a bright future. The board members listened intently, their eyes on him, their expressions a mix of admiration and calculation. their partners sitting beside them eating quietly as glancing at Emma form time to time, wondering why she is not sitting down.

Emma hovered at the edge of the room, taking notes , her eyes and ears open to every word. She had to be ready to jump in at a moment's notice, to answer a question or fetch a forgotten document. The air was charged with ambition and the scent of expensive cologne mingled with the rich aromas of Riccardo's exquisite cuisine. she felt a pang of envy that she wasn't sitting at the table, partaking in the feast.

As the dinner progressed, the conversation grew more relaxed. The wine flowed freely, and laughter began to fill the air. Mr. Sainz told a story that had everyone at the table leaning in, their eyes glinting with amusement. Even Mrs. Rodriguez had a rare smile on her face. For the first time since she had started her internship, Emma felt like she was part of something important.

The food arrived in a procession of dishes that looked like works of art. She watched as the board members and their partners savored each bite, their faces reflecting the pleasure of the exquisite flavors. Mr. Sainz glanced at her from across the room, his expression unreadable. She knew she was being evaluated, but she didn't mind. This was the kind of pressure she thrived on.

The dinner was winding down, and the board members were starting to look at their watches. Mr. Sainz noticed her discreet glances and nodded towards the door. "Miss Hathaway, I believe you've done enough for today. You're dismissed."

Emma felt a mix of relief and disappointment. She had been so focused on the meeting and dinner, she had almost forgotten about the time. She gathered her things and gave a quick nod to the group. "Thank you for allowing me to assist tonight," she said, her voice a little too loud in the sudden silence.

wont you stay and eat something before you leave" asked one of the board members noticing that she hasn't once ate anything or even sat down .

" oh , um thank you very much, but i really have to run home and I'm afraid i don't have much time anyways. thank you all. bye now"

With a quick smile, Emma excused herself and practically sprinted to the elevator, her heels clacking against the floor like a metronome. As the doors closed, she leaned against the cool metal wall and took a deep breath, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of the evening. She had done it. She had survived her first real test as Mr. Carlos's personal assistant.

As Emma walked to the elevator, Carlos got various looks from everyone asking what is going on.

"What is wrong with her?" one of the board members whispered to Mrs.Rodriguez.

Mrs.Rodriguez smirked "She's just eager to please and a nobody who cant afford tp eat here," she said, her voice dripping with something that wasn't quite kindness.

Emma ignored the whispers and the stares as the elevator descended. The cool air from the AC washed over her, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment, relishing the feeling of solitude. When the doors opened, she stepped out into the bustling street, the sounds of the city a stark contrast to the hushed tones of the restaurant. She took a deep breath, the scent of car exhaust and garlic bread filling her nostrils.

As Emma was starting to head home, she hear someone shout her name.

"Emma, wait up!" It was Daniel Riccardo, the restaurant owner, jogging towards her with a smile on his face. " i noticed that you haven't has anything to eat and i cant let you leave without eating anything "He handed her a small takeout bag.

Emma looked at the bag with surprise and gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Riccardo. I'm okay, really."

He winked at her. "Please, call me Daniel. I know how Mr. Sainz can be. He doesn't let anyone, especially not his employees, enjoy a meal in peace here." His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Emma couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you, Daniel," she said, taking the bag with a genuine smile. "You're too kind."

He waved her off with a warm gesture. "It's the least I can do. Tell Mr. Sainz I said hello, and that I hope to see him back here soon, but maybe next time without the office drama." His words were playful, but they hit a nerve.

Emma nodded, clutching the bag to her chest. As she walked away from the restaurant, the smell of the food grew more tantalizing with each step. She was starving, but the thought of going home to a quiet meal alone was suddenly less appealing. She glanced back at the fancy cars lined up outside the restaurant, Mr. Sainz's sleek black sedan waiting patiently. On a whim, she decided to take a detour.

She found a quiet park nearby, the lights from the street lamps casting a soft glow on the empty benches. Sitting down, she pulled out the warm, fragrant dishes from the bag. The aroma was heavenly, a stark contrast to the bland office cafeteria food she had been subsisting on. As she took her first bite of the perfectly seasoned chicken piccata, she closed her eyes and savored the explosion of flavor. It was the best meal she had had in weeks.

Her thoughts drifted back to the dinner, to Mr. Sainz's words of praise and the board's nods of approval. It had been a grueling day, but she had proven herself. A sense of accomplishment washed over her, tempered only by the realization of how much more she had to learn. She had a feeling that this was just the first of many challenges to come, but she was ready to face them head-on.

The sound of a car door closing jolted her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Mr. Sainz striding towards her, his tie loosened and his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Miss Hathaway," he said, his voice echoing through the deserted park.

Emma's heart skipped a beat. "Mr. Sainz, I'm sorry," she stammered, quickly gathering her things.

"You don't have to go anywhere," he said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. He sat down on the bench beside her, his eyes on the takeout bag. "I see you've been enjoying the fruits of your labor."

Emma felt a blush creeping up her neck. "I hope it's not a problem, sir. I just didn't get the chance to eat earlier."

Mr. Sainz's expression didn't change, but there was something in his eyes that told her he understood. He nodded towards the bag. "Go ahead. You've earned it."

Emma took another bite, her eyes never leaving his. She felt a strange mix of comfort and apprehension sitting next to him in the quiet of the park. His presence was commanding, even outside the office. She chewed slowly, trying to make the moment last.

"Miss Hathaway," he began, his tone serious, "I noticed your dedication today. You faced the challenges with grace and efficiency. I'm impressed."

Emma's cheeks flushed with pride. "Thank you, Mr. Sainz."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "I expect this level of commitment from you every day. Understood?"

Emma swallowed the last of her food and set the bag aside. "Yes, Mr. Sainz. I'm ready for whatever comes next."

He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Good," he said finally, his voice a low rumble. "Because tomorrow we're flying to New York for a conference. You'll need to be at the office at 6 AM sharp to prepare the necessary documents and ensure that all travel arrangements are in order."

Emma's eyes widened. "New York? Tomorrow?" she repeated, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"Yes," Mr. Sainz said, standing up. "I'll email you the details tonight. Make sure you're packed and ready to leave at 8 AM."

Emma nodded, her mind racing with the implications of this sudden trip. She had never been to New York before, and the thought of navigating the bustling city filled her with both excitement and trepidation. "Of course, Mr. Sainz," she said, trying to keep the excitement from her voice.

"Good," he said, turning to leave. "Don't disappoint me."

Emma watched him go, his words echoing in her mind. She knew the stakes were high, but she was ready. She had worked too hard to get this opportunity, and she wasn't going to let it slip away. As she made her way home, she felt the weight of the day lift from her shoulders. Despite the exhaustion, she was exhilarated by the challenge.

When she arrived at her small apartment, she immediately began packing. She had to be organized and efficient, just like Mr. Sainz. Her mind raced with the to-do list for tomorrow: booking flights, confirming hotel reservations, and making sure she had everything they would need for the conference. She had never traveled with the CEO before, and she didn't want to leave anything to chance.

As she folded her clothes, her phone buzzed with an email from Mr. Sainz. The subject line read, "NYC Trip Itinerary." She clicked it open, her heart racing. The email contained a meticulously detailed schedule, from the flight times to the conference sessions and even a few networking events. There was no room for error, and she knew it.

Emma worked through the night, double-checking every detail. She sent off emails confirming their flights, booked a luxurious suite at the hotel that Mr. Sainz preferred, and even managed to secure a spot at an exclusive event that had been sold out for weeks. The thrill of the challenge fueled her, keeping sleep at bay.

The next morning, she arrived at the office with dark circles under her eyes but a fire in her belly. The email she had sent to Mr. Sainz with all the travel details had received a curt "Thank you" in reply, but she knew that was the closest thing to praise she would get from him. As the sun began to rise, the office slowly filled with employees, all of whom cast curious glances her way as they saw her luggage.

Mr. Sainz arrived precisely at 7 AM, his usual punctuality a stark contrast to her own sleepless night. He barely glanced at her as he strode into his office, his briefcase swinging at his side. "Miss Hathaway," he called out, his voice sharp and commanding. "Bring me the updated agenda for the conference."

Emma's heart jumped, and she hurried over with the neatly bound document. She had gone over it a hundred times, making sure everything was in order. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed, and she felt a spark of something she couldn't quite place. He took the agenda without a word, his eyes scanning the pages with a focus that was almost intimidating.

"Good," he said finally, not looking up. "Make sure we're ready to leave by 8 AM. I want everything to be perfect."

Emma nodded, her adrenaline spiking. "Yes, Mr. Sainz."

The rest of the morning was a blur of final preparations. She made sure Mr. Sainz's briefcase was stocked with everything he could possibly need, from his favorite pen to the latest company reports. She had even packed a spare phone charger, knowing his device was as much a lifeline as her own. As the clock ticked closer to 8 AM, she found herself pacing the floor outside his office, her eyes flicking to her watch every few seconds.

Finally, the door to his office opened, and he emerged, his suit impeccably tailored, his tie perfectly knotted. He barely spared her a glance as he strode towards the elevator. "Miss Hathaway," he said, his voice a whip crack. "The car is waiting."

Emma hurried to keep up with him, her mind racing with the last-minute details. As they descended to the lobby, she took one final deep breath, steeling herself for the whirlwind trip ahead with one thought in mind.

new york here we come

[formulas-bitch]

Requests are open

Hello to all

It’s been a while since I have last posted. I have been busy with my new job and tried to write but have major writers block so, without further ado I will be taking requests and will try to post them as soon as I can. Thanks y’all happy reading

[formulas-bitch]

Meant to be - mob boss Max x sainz/reader

The room was dimly lit, with the flickering light casting eerie shadows across the walls. The scent of burning candles and expensive cologne filled the air, mixing into a haunting aroma that seemed to hang like a veil between the mob boss and his guest. The two men sat across from each other at a massive, polished walnut table, their expressions carefully neutral as they waited for the other to make the first move. This was a meeting that could potentially change the course of both of their lives, and they knew it.

As the tension in the room grew, Max leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, and spoke in a low, steady voice. "So, Carlos, you understand why I've asked you here tonight." It wasn't a question, but he offered it up anyway, his piercing blue eyes boring into Carlos's brown ones. Carlos nodded slowly, trying to maintain his composure. "Yes, Max. I understand. You want to marry my sister."

"And you're not opposed to that?" Max pressed, his expression unreadable. Carlos took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "No, Max. I'm not opposed to it. But I want you to know that I will protect her with my life. If you hurt her in any way, if you make her unhappy, I will find you, and I will make you pay." His voice was low and steady, but there was an undercurrent of menace that could not be ignored.

The mob boss nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "I understand, Carlos. Your sister is very important to you. She's important to me too. I want to make her happy, to give her a life filled with love and luxury. A life she deserves." Max leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "But I also need to know that you trust me. That you believe I can provide that life for her. and it will bring our two families together"

Carlos studied the mob boss's face for a moment, searching for any hint of deceit. But there was none to be found. Max's expression was open, honest, and filled with a genuine desire to make his future wife happy. Slowly, Carlos nodded. "I do trust you, Max. And I believe that you can give her that life. A life filled with love and protection, just like our parents did." He paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And who knows? Maybe our two families will find a way to be together, not just through marriage, but as friends too."

There was a brief moment of silence as the two men contemplated the weight of their words. Then, Max reached out, clasping Carlos's hand in a firm grip. "Thank you, Carlos. I appreciate your trust, and I won't let you down. I promise to make your sister the happiest woman in the world."

The tension began to ease, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and understanding. They spoke for several more hours, discussing their families, their hopes for the future, and the challenges that lay ahead. The candlelight flickered softly, casting dancing shadows across their faces as they shared stories and laughter.

As the night wore on, Max excused himself to make a phone call. When he returned, he was carrying a small, velvet box. He placed it on the table in front of Carlos, and a look of pride and anticipation spread across his face. "Carlos, I wanted to give your sister something special. Something that symbolized not only our commitment to each other, but also to the future that we're building together."

Carlos opened the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring. It was exquisitely crafted, sparkling in the dim light, and Carlos couldn't help but gasp in awe. "It's beautiful, Max. She's going to love it." He held the ring up, admiring the craftsmanship before slipping it onto his own finger. The two men shared a brief moment of silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the significance of the ring and the promises it represented.

As the evening drew to a close, Max stood up, offering his hand to Carlos. "Thank you, my friend. I appreciate your understanding and support. Together, I truly believe we can build a future that our families will be proud of." Carlos took Max's hand, their grip firm and confident. "I'm honored to stand by your side, Max. And I promise to do everything in my power to make sure our families prosper and grow."

The two men exchanged a final, knowing glance before they parted ways. Max walked out into the cool night air, his shoulders back and his chest puffed out with pride. He knew that the meeting with Carlos had gone better than he could have hoped for. Now, all he had to do was wait for the right moment to propose to Gabriela .

In the meantime, he would continue to focus on his work, ensuring that the criminal empire he had built continued to thrive. He had a team of trusted advisors and lieutenants who helped him run things day-to-day, but he remained the undisputed leader, the one they all looked to for guidance and direction. His word was law, and he took his responsibilities seriously.

Max's thoughts often drifted to Gabriela, wondering what she was doing, if she was happy, and if she had given any more thought to their future together. He couldn't help but feel a sense of possessiveness whenever he thought about her, knowing that he wanted her all to himself. He knew that their marriage would be a complicated one, with their families' pasts hanging over them like a cloud, but he was determined to make it work. He wanted them to have the life that they deserved, filled with love and luxury, and he was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen.

In the midst of his planning and preparation, Max received word that one of their rival gangs was making a move on their territory. He knew he had to handle the situation delicately, as any misstep could lead to all-out war. He called a meeting with his most trusted lieutenants, a group of men who had been with him since the beginning. They discussed strategy and tactics, debating the best course of action. Max listened intently, taking each of their opinions into consideration before making his final decision.

As they planned their counterattack, Max couldn't help but think about Gabriela. He longed to share this news with her, to see the look of admiration in her eyes as he discussed his leadership and strategic thinking. He imagined her telling him how proud she was to stand by his side, how much she loved him and believed in him. The thought of marrying her and starting a family together filled him with a sense of purpose and joy that he had never experienced before.

The meeting concluded with a plan of action, and Max left feeling confident that they would emerge victorious. He couldn't wait to share the news with Gabriela and ask for her support and counsel. He knew that together, they would make a formidable team, able to navigate the treacherous waters of the criminal underworld and build a life of love, luxury, and security for themselves and their families.

As he drove home late at night, Max's thoughts once again drifted to the engagement ring and the moment he would propose to Gabriela. He knew that he wanted to do it in a way that was both romantic and memorable, something that would show her just how deeply he felt for her. He considered taking her on a private jet to a secluded island, where he would have a team of chefs prepare a gourmet meal and a string quartet play their favorite songs. But as he pulled into his driveway, he decided against it. He wanted something more intimate, something that felt special just for the two of them.

The next morning, Max woke up early, anxious to see Gabriela. He had arranged for a private chef to prepare breakfast in bed for the two of them, complete with freshly squeezed orange juice and his favorite croissants. As he waited for her to emerge from the bedroom, he couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline, his heart racing with anticipation. When she finally appeared, wearing one of his favorite dresses that showed off her curves, he knew that this was the moment.

With a deep breath, Max got down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring from his pocket. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with love and devotion, and asked her the question that had been burning in his heart for months. "Gabriela, from the moment I first saw you, I knew that you were someone special. You're beautiful, smart, and strong. You've been by my side through everything, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much I love and appreciate you. Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in Gabriela's eyes as she looked down at Max, her heart racing with emotion. She felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and love wash over her as she gazed into his sincere eyes. "Max," she whispered, "of course I'll marry you." She reached out and took his hand, gently sliding the ring onto her finger. The sparkle of the diamond in the morning light was a testament to the bright future that lay ahead of them.

They stayed like that for a moment, holding hands and soaking in the happiness that filled the room. Max couldn't help but feel grateful for this woman who had come into his life and given him a reason to believe in love again. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly, his heart swelling with love and devotion. As they continued to embrace, Max felt a pang of guilt as he thought about the rival gang and the challenges that lay ahead. But for now, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in Gabriela's arms and forget about everything else.

Gabriela smiled up at him, her green eyes sparkling with love. "I've been thinking," she said, her voice soft and sultry. "I've always dreamed of having a wedding that was as extravagant as your lifestyle. What do you say? We could have it at one of your private estates, with a guest list that rivals the Forbes list. We could hire the best chefs, designers, musicians… anything you desire. It would be our dream wedding, just like you deserve."

Max's heart skipped a beat at the thought of sharing such a moment with her. "That sounds perfect," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life making you happy, and showing you just how much you mean to me."

As they lay there together, lost in their own little world, Max couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him. He knew that with Gabriela by his side, they could overcome any obstacle, and that together, they would continue to build their empire and live a life of luxury and love.

[formulas-bitch]

Come back home 2 -

13K words

extra long one for you guys. let me know what you think, feedback or any suggestions are welcome

its been a few months since Emily left for her tour to Iraq, and the middle of the season of the formula 1 races for Charles.

As he was sitting in front of his computer, checking his emails, he found a familiar handwriting on the envelope. Excited, he opened the letter and began to read.

Emily's letter was full of news about her new life in Iraq. She described the desert landscape, the dusty roads, and the people she met. She told him about the challenges of her new job as first lieutenant, the long hours, and the intense training. But she also talked about the camaraderie she felt with her fellow soldiers, the sense of purpose and meaning she found in her work, and the incredible experiences she was having.

Charles was fascinated by her stories and couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and envy. He wished he could be there with her, sharing in her adventures, but he knew that he had his own path to follow. He was determined to make his sister and his family proud, even if it meant being far away from them.

As he read on, Emily mentioned that she had met some other soldiers who were also interested in motorsports. She wrote about how they would sometimes talk about the races together, swapping stories and sharing their enthusiasm. Even in the midst of a war zone, the love for speed and competition never died.

Charles was intrigued by this news. He wondered if perhaps he could somehow use his fame and connections in the racing world to support Emily and her fellow soldiers. He thought about sending care packages with racing gear or even arranging for a live feed of a race to be shown in their camp. But he also knew that he needed to tread carefully, as the last thing he wanted was to bring attention to her or her unit in a way that could potentially endanger them.

As he continued reading, Emily mentioned that she had heard about his recent successes on the track. She expressed admiration for his skill and dedication, and even joked about how she wished she could join him in the pits someday. This made Charles smile, knowing that even though they were separated by thousands of miles and a world of difference, they could still find common ground in their shared passion for motorsports.

Inspired by his sister's letter, Charles decided to take action. He reached out to his contacts in the racing community and arranged for a care package to be sent to Emily and her unit. The package was filled with official merchandise, autographed photos, and even a few pieces of racing gear. He included a personal note, expressing his love and support for her, and hoping that the package would bring a little bit of home to her while she was so far away.

A few weeks later, Charles received another letter from Emily. In it, she thanked him for the care package and told him how much it meant to her and her fellow soldiers. She described the joy they had shared when they opened it, imagining what it must have been like to be in the pits during a race or to meet their favorite drivers. She also mentioned that she had been thinking about his idea of finding a way to bring the races to them, and she was excited by the possibilities.

Charles was overjoyed to hear that his package had brought them so much happiness. He immediately began working on plans to make Emily's wish come true. He reached out to his contacts in the racing community again, explaining his sister's situation and the unique challenges they faced. To his surprise, several drivers and sponsors were eager to help, offering to donate their time and resources to make a live feed of a race possible.

After weeks of planning and coordination, they finally managed to set up a makeshift outdoor movie screen in Emily's camp. The soldiers gathered around, their faces lit up with excitement and anticipation. As the big day approached, Emily wrote to Charles, expressing her gratitude for his efforts and promising that they would make the most of the experience.

The day of the race finally arrived, and thanks to the generosity of the racing community, the soldiers were able to tune in to a live feed of the event. The sound of engines roaring filled the air as they watched their favorite drivers battle it out on the track. Despite the distance, Emily felt connected to the action, as if she were right there in the pit crew.

As the race progressed, the tension in the air was palpable. The soldiers cheered on their favorites, debated strategy, and shared stories of their own experiences in the racing world. Even the most seasoned soldiers seemed to be swept up in the excitement, forgetting, if only for a moment, the dangers that surrounded them.

Emily, unable to contain her enthusiasm, found herself constantly texting and calling her brother, sharing her thoughts and reactions to the race in real-time. Charles, equally enthused, responded with encouragement and shared anecdotes from his own racing career.

As the checkered flag waved, signaling the end of the race, the soldiers erupted in cheers. Even though they had been separated by thousands of miles, they had found a way to come together, if only for a brief moment, and share in the excitement of the sport they loved. Emily knew that the next day, they would be back to their duties, facing the dangers of their mission. But for now, they could forget about the world outside and simply enjoy the race.

She looked around at her fellow soldiers, their faces lit up with happiness, and felt a sense of pride and connection to them that she had never experienced before. She thought about her brother, Charles, and how his idea had brought them all together. Even though he was far away, she could feel his presence, his love and support for her and her fellow soldiers.

As they began to disperse, returning to their tents and duties, Emily couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. She knew that tomorrow they would be back to the grind of their mission, facing the dangers that came with it. But for now, she would cherish this brief moment of happiness, this reminder of the life they had left behind.

She made her way over to the makeshift movie screen, where the sound system was still blaring with commentary about the race. A few soldiers lingered, discussing their favorite drivers and strategies, their voices filled with excitement and enthusiasm. Emily leaned against the screen, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of this night.

It had been a long time since she had felt this alive, this connected to something beyond the confines of their camp. The sound of the engines, the thrill of the competition, it all reminded her of home, of the life she had left behind. And for just a moment, she could almost imagine herself back there, sitting in the stands, the warm sun on her face, her heart racing as the cars sped past.

A shadow fell across her, breaking her out of her reverie. She looked up to see one of the younger soldiers, his face flushed with excitement. "Hey, Emily, did you see that pass? That was insane!" He gestured animatedly, his words tumbling out in a rapid-fire mixture of awe and disbelief.

Emily nodded, her heart still racing from the race. "Yeah, that was something else. I can't believe he made that move." She paused, thinking about the drivers and their strategies, the way they battled for position around the track. "It's like they're a part of something bigger than themselves out there. They're pushing the limits of what's possible."

The young soldier, named Tom, smiled. "Yeah, you can feel it in the air, you know? It's like we're all a part of it too, just by being here, watching. Even though we're so far away, it's like we're still a part of the racing world."

Emily nodded in agreement, her gaze drifting back to the makeshift screen. "It's true. And I think that's what my brother was trying to do, you know? Create a connection, even if it was just for a little while."

The young soldier, Tom, looked thoughtful. "Yeah, I guess so. It's pretty cool that he thought of that. And even better that everyone else here seems to appreciate it." He gestured around at the camp, now beginning to quiet down as the soldiers returned to their duties.

Emily nodded, her gaze lingering on the makeshift screen. "It's just a shame we can't have more of this," she said wistfully. "I mean, it's nice that we can take a break and watch the races and all, but it's not the same as being there, you know? Being part of the action."

Tom shrugged. "I guess that's what we signed up for, right? Sacrifices and all that?" He paused, then added with a grin, "But hey, at least we get to watch the races!"

Emily laughed, feeling a little guilty for voicing her complaints. "Yeah, you're right. It's not all bad." She glanced back at the screen, the engines' roar still ringing in her ears. "Besides, it's not like we can just up and leave whenever we want. We've got a job to do."

The young soldier nodded solemnly. "That's for sure. But maybe one day, when this is all over, we'll get to go back and see the races in person. You know, like your brother always wanted."

Emily smiled at the thought, but it was tinged with sadness. She knew that for many of them, that day might never come. The war had already taken too much, and she feared it would continue to claim lives long after the final battle had been fought.

As they stood there, watching the race together, a part of her couldn't help but wonder if her brother's dream had been selfish. He had wanted so badly to bring a bit of joy and normalcy to their lives, but in doing so, had he failed to see the bigger picture? Had he underestimated the sacrifices that they, and countless others like them, would have to make?

Emily glanced over at Tom, his face lit up with excitement as a particularly daring move played out on the screen. She knew that he, like her, had left behind friends, family, and a life they could have only dreamed of. And for what? To fight a war that seemed to have no end in sight? To risk their lives for a cause that sometimes felt as distant and uncertain as the drivers on the screen?

But then again, maybe that was the point. Maybe it wasn't about the race or the glory or the cheering crowds. Maybe it was about finding something, anything, to hold onto when everything else felt so fleeting and fragile. It was about creating moments of normalcy and joy in the midst of the chaos, however brief they might be.

Emily looked at her friend, feeling a sudden surge of gratitude for his presence. They might not be at the track, but they were together, sharing this experience, however small it might seem. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The world around them seemed to fade away as the race continued, the sound of gunfire and explosions replaced by the roar of the engines. Soldiers ducked for cover, returning fire as they moved, their training taking over as they fought to protect one another. Emily's heart raced, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, but she forced herself to stay calm, to focus on the task at hand.

She glanced at her friend, Tom, crouched down beside her, his face etched with determination. She could see the fear in his eyes, but he refused to show it. They were a team, and they would fight together until the end. As they took cover behind a fallen tree, Emily caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. She signaled to Tom, and together they flanked their position, guns at the ready.

The enemy soldiers were advancing quickly, using the cover of smoke to their advantage. Emily felt her heart pounding in her chest as she took aim, steadying her breath. She knew that every shot had to count. Tom nodded at her, and they both opened fire. The sound of gunfire filled the air as the two sides battled for control of the territory.

Emily ducked down behind a rock, reloading her weapon as quickly as she could. She glanced over at Tom, who was crouched down beside her, his face etched with determination. They had to hold their ground; they couldn't afford to give an inch. As she reloaded, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and immediately knew that they were outnumbered.

"They're surrounding us!" she yelled to Tom. He nodded grimly, his eyes fixed on the advancing enemy soldiers. They couldn't stay here; they had to find a way to break through the encirclement. As they crawled away from their makeshift cover, bullets whizzed past them, throwing up clouds of dirt and debris.

Emily glanced around frantically, searching for any possible escape route. Ahead of them, she spotted a rusty old jeep parked beneath a cluster of trees. It was their only hope. "Tom, over there!" she shouted, pointing at the jeep. "We have to make a run for it!, tell the otto meet us there"

Tom nodded in agreement, his face etched with determination. They couldn't afford to waste any more time. With renewed strength, they sprinted toward the jeep, bullets whizzing past them. Emily felt the wind of a near-miss bullet on her cheek, but she didn't let it deter her. They had to make it.

As they neared the jeep, Emily glanced over her shoulder, hoping to see the enemy losing ground. But the soldiers were closing in fast, their numbers seemingly endless. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself harder, her lungs burning from the effort. Tom reached the jeep first, yanking open the door and gesturing for her to get in.

Emily climbed into the driver's seat just as Tom threw himself into the passenger seat beside her. She slammed the door shut and turned the key, the engine roaring to life. As she put the jeep in gear, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. It was the others. They were running toward the jeep, their own gunfire muffled by the sound of their own panicked breathing.

Emily gunned the engine, the jeep leaping forward with a jolt. As they raced toward their friend, bullets rained down on them from all sides. The jeep swerved violently, tires spinning in the dirt as they careened out of control. Emily fought to regain control, her knuckles white from the force she was exerting on the steering wheel.

"They're gaining on us!" Tom yelled, his voice tense and panicked. Emily felt her heart sink. They had to shake the enemy off somehow. She glanced in the rearview mirror, trying to find an escape route, but there was nothing but trees and more soldiers. They were trapped.

She slammed on the brakes, causing the jeep to fishtail. The enemy soldiers, caught off guard, scattered. Emily took the opportunity to do a U-turn, racing back toward the encampment they had left behind. Tom leaned out of the window, firing wildly at the soldiers in their way. "We have to reach the camp!" he shouted, his words whipping away in the wind. "We have to warn them!"

Emily nodded, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. The jeep swerved and careened through the trees, narrowly avoiding collisions with obstacles in their path. As they neared the camp, she could see the soldiers had already overrun it. Burning structures and the sounds of gunfire filled the air. "They're already here," she whispered, dread filling her voice.

The jeep came to a skidding halt near what was left of the camp entrance. Emily and Tom exchanged a grim look before they leapt out, weapons at the ready. Bullets whizzed past them as they sprinted toward the command center, their boots sinking into the soft earth with each step. "Where are they?" Emily shouted over the chaos, her eyes darting around wildly for any sign of their team.

"This way!" Tom shouted, pointing toward a nearby hut. They dashed toward it, weaving in and out of the hail of bullets As they approache the hut, they could hear muffled voices coming from within. Emily signaled for Tom to cover her as she threw herself against the door, bursting into the hut.

The small structure was cramped with soldiers, all of them scrambling for cover. Emily spotted her team huddled together in the corner, their weapons drawn. "Over here!" she shouted, waving them over. The soldiers turned their attention to her, opening fire. Emily felt the impact of several bullets against her body, sending her flying back into the dirt. She winced in pain, struggling to breathe.

"Emily!" Tom shouted, rushing toward her. He knelt beside her, his hands trembling as he tried to stanch the bleeding. "We have to get out of here," he whispered, his voice shaking. "We can't stay here."

Emily forced herself to take a deep breath, wincing as pain shot through her chest. "No," she wheezed. "We can't leave them." She glanced around at her team, their faces pale and streaked with dirt and tears. "We have to fight back."

"But they've already taken over the camp," Tom protested. "How are we supposed to do that?"

Emily closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers, his hands trembling as he tried to keep her alive. "We can't just give up," she whispered. "Not like this."

Tom didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the soldiers surrounding them. There had to be a way out. They just had to find it. As their breaths came in ragged gasps, they glanced around the hut, searching for any sign of an escape route.

Emily's eyes fell on a crate in the corner, piled high with ammunition and weapons. She motioned for her team to follow her as she crept over to it. Carefully, she began to distribute the weapons among them, making sure each person had at least one. As they armed themselves, they also took whatever extra ammunition they could find.

"Okay," Emily whispered, her voice barely audible above the gunfire. "We're going to make a run for it. We'll use the crate as cover, and try to reach that jeep." She gestured toward the vehicle, barely visible through the haze of smoke and dust. "Once we're in, we'll make a break for it."

The soldiers surrounding them paused for a moment, seemingly surprised by the team's unexpected plan. Tom took advantage of the distraction and threw a grenade at the soldiers, hoping to buy them some time. The explosion rocked the hut, sending debris and dirt flying everywhere. Screams filled the air as the soldiers scattered in panic.

"Now!" Emily shouted, grabbing one end of the crate. Her team members followed suit, each taking hold of an end as they began to drag it toward the jeep. Bullets whizzed past them, thudding into the wooden crate and sending splinters flying. They moved as quickly as they dared, ducking behind what cover they could find.

As they reached the jeep, Emily glanced back at the hut, her heart racing. The soldiers had already begun to regroup, their numbers swelling as more and more of them emerged from the smoke and dust. There was no time to lose. She turned to her team, her voice tight with urgency. "Get in the jeep! I'll cover you."

Tom and the others climbed into the vehicle, their hands shaking as they fumbled with the doors and the ignition. Emily took a deep breath, steadying herself before turning to face the approaching soldiers. She lifted her weapon, aiming at the center of the group as they charged toward her. Bullets whizzed past her ears, sending dirt and debris flying, but she remained steady, firing round after round at the oncoming threat.

As Emily continued to fight, she glanced over at the jeep, watching as it lurched forward, gaining speed. She knew that she couldn't hold off the soldiers for much longer. With a final burst of adrenaline, she sprinted toward the vehicle, leaping into the back seat just as another wave of bullets struck the ground where she had been standing only moments before.

The jeep sped away from the hut, leaving a trail of smoke and dust in its wake. Emily slumped forward in her seat, gripping the edge of the door frame as she tried to catch her breath. Tom, his face pale and streaked with dirt, reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. "We did it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We're getting out of here."

But even as they drove, they couldn't shake the feeling that they were being followed. Emily glanced in her rearview mirror, her heart racing as she saw a line of soldiers marching steadily behind them. "They're still after us," she said, her voice tense. "We need to lose them."

"I've got an idea," Tom replied, his hands tight on the dashboard. "Follow my lead." He reached for the jeep's radio and switched it on, then began to speak into the mic in their native language. "Hey, you! Yes, you, the soldiers back there. This is Alpha team, reporting in. We're fine, but we're being pursued by your boys. We could really use some backup."

Emily glanced at him, surprise etched on her face. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked. "We don't know who we can trust."

Tom shrugged, his expression grim. "We have to try something. If we can get them to think we're part of their team, maybe they'll back off."

Emily hesitated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. She keyed the mic herself. "Roger that, team. We need you to provide cover fire and extract us from the area. Over."

The jeep raced through the jungle, its engine growling as they wove in and out of the trees, trying to lose their pursuers. After several tense minutes, Emily glanced in her mirror and saw a group of soldiers break off from the main group, taking up positions behind rocks and trees. They began to fire on the soldiers chasing after them, creating a distraction that allowed Emily to veer sharply to the left and lose sight of them.

A moment later, the radio crackled to life. "Alpha team, this is command. We've heard your call for backup. Stand by for extraction. Repeat, stand by for extraction." Emily let out a sigh of relief, grateful that their ruse had worked. "Roger that, command. We're standing by," she replied, glancing at Tom and then back at the road.

The jeep continued to race through the jungle, the soldiers' shouts and gunfire growing fainter in the distance. As they drove, Emily couldn't shake the feeling that they were still being followed. She couldn't help but wonder who they could trust among their own team.

"Hey, Tom," she said, her voice tight with tension. "You really think we can trust them, after all that?"

He glanced over at her, his expression grim. "I don't know, Em. But we don't really have a choice, do we? They've got us in their sights, and they know where we're going."

Emily nodded, her grip tight on the steering wheel. She wished she could trust anyone in this mess. But with each passing moment, it seemed as if they were further from allies and closer to becoming enemy targets. "Maybe they'll back off once they think we're safe," she said, more to convince herself than anything else.

The jeep careened through the jungle, branches scratching at the sides of the vehicle like claws. They drove in silence for a while, the only sound the engine's roar and the rustle of leaves. Emily glanced at Tom, wondering if he was feeling as lost and uncertain as she was. His face was set in a grim expression, his eyes darting from side to side, scanning the jungle around them.

As they continued to drive, she could feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her. The blood loss from her injury was starting to take its toll, and she was having a hard time focusing on the road. She reached over to her belt and pulled out a small vial of painkillers, popping two of them into her mouth and chasing them down with a swig of water. The medicine kicked in almost instantly, bringing a welcome wave of relief.

Emily glanced at Tom, who was staring out the window, his expression unreadable. "You okay?" she asked, her voice hoarse from fatigue. He nodded, but she could tell he was lying. "We'll make it to the rendezvous point, Tom. We just need to keep going."

As they continued down the winding jungle road, Emily felt her grip on consciousness slipping. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept, or if she'd even eaten anything since this whole mess started. The pain in her side throbbed with each bump in the road, making it difficult to focus on driving. She wished she could just close her eyes for a moment, but she knew she couldn't risk it.

Tom glanced over at her, concern etched into his features. "You doing okay, Em?" he asked, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She flinched at his touch, the pain in her side intensifying. "I can take over if you need to rest," he offered.

Emily forced a smile, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. "I'm fine, really. Just a little tired. But we can't stop now, not with them still after us." She paused, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. "Besides, you're not much of a driver anyway," she added with a weak laugh.

Tom laughed softly in response, his expression easing slightly. "Well, I'm not about to argue with that," he said, settling back into his seat. "Just let me know if you need anything."

Emily nodded, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. As they continued to drive deeper into the jungle, the air grew thick with humidity, and sweat began to bead on her forehead. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, wishing she could roll down the window, but knowing they couldn't risk attracting attention.

Her eyelids felt heavy, and she fought against the urge to close them even for a moment. The pain in her side was becoming unbearable, and she could feel herself starting to drift off, her grip on consciousness slipping. She knew she needed to rest, but she couldn't risk it. Not yet.

Emily glanced at Tom, his expression mirroring her own exhaustion. "I'm really sorry, Tom. I don't know how much longer I can keep going like this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tom reached over and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, it's okay. We'll figure something out. We're in this together, remember?" His words were calm, but his grip was tight, as if he were trying to hold onto something fragile.

Emily forced a smile, squeezing his hand back. "Yeah, I remember. Thanks, Tom." She glanced in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see the headlights of their pursuers closing in. But the road behind them was empty. For now.

"Hey, Tom," she said, her voice quiet. "Do you ever think about what we'd be doing if all this hadn't happened? You know, if we were just regular kids, not part of this whole mess?"

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But I think we'd still be here, doing something important. Maybe not with the OASIS, but with something else. We're both good people, Em. We'd find a way to make a difference."

Emily looked over at him, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thanks, Tom. I hope you're right." She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Look, I know I'm not making this easy, but I need you to promise me something."

Tom's brow furrowed in concern. "What is it?"

Emily took a deep breath and forced a smile. "It's just… if something happens to me, if I don't make it out of here, I want you to make sure they know. My brothers, I mean. Tell them… tell them everything. About the OASIS, about Halliday, about what we found… and tell them that I love them, okay?" Her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Tell them that I'm so sorry for leaving them, and that I'll always be with them. And tell my mom… tell her thank you. Tell her that I appreciate everything she's ever done for me."

There was a long pause as the weight of her words hung heavily in the air. Finally, Tom reached over and squeezed her hand. "I promise, Em. I'll make sure they know. I'll make sure everyone knows." His voice was solemn, and Emily felt a surge of relief wash over her.

She took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Thanks, Tom. That means a lot to me." She glanced at Aech, who was still staring out the window, lost in thought. "Hey, Aech, how we doing so far?"

Aech turned back to her, his expression distant. "We're doing fine, Em. Just keep driving." He paused, then added with a small smile, "And try not to worry too much, okay?"

Emily nodded, her heart still racing. She focused on the road ahead, forcing herself to drive at a steady pace. The speedometer needle crept up as they raced past one exit sign after another. They were almost there.

"You guys okay back there?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder. Aech gave her a reassuring smile, while Tom continued to stare out the window, his jaw clenched tight. "Tom?" she prompted.

He took a deep breath and turned to face her. "Yeah, Em. I'm fine. Just thinking about what we're about to face." His voice was steady, but there was a hint of fear in his eyes. Emily felt a pang of guilt for involving him in all of this.

"Me too," she said, glancing back at Aech. "I know this is a lot to ask of you, Tom. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to turn back."

Tom's expression was grim, but he didn't hesitate. "Em, you know I'm not going to leave you. We're in this together, and I'm not about to abandon you now." There was a fierce determination in his voice, and Emily felt a surge of gratitude for his loyalty.

She nodded, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. "Thanks, Tom. I appreciate that. So… we just keep going?"

"Yeah," Aech said, finally breaking his silence. "Just a few more miles now." He glanced at Emily, then leaned forward in his seat, lowering his voice. "But be ready, Em. This isn't going to be easy."

Emily nodded, her knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel. "I know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been thinking about what to say… what to expect. But no matter what happens, I want you guys to know that I couldn't have done any of this without you."

A silence fell over the car as they continued to race down the empty highway. The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the road ahead. Emily's heart felt like it was in her throat, but she forced herself to stay focused on the task at hand.

Finally, she couldn't bear the tension any longer. "Guys," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "I just wanted to say… if something happens to me, if I don't make it out of here… please, please tell my brothers. Tell Enzo, Charles, and Aurthur that I love them more than anything, and that I'm sorry if I ever let them down. And tell my mom… tell her that I appreciate everything she's ever done for me. That I'm grateful for every moment we spent together, even when we fought. And tell her that I'm sorry for the arguments we had. That I was just trying to protect her."

Emily paused, wiping a tear from her cheek. "And if you could… could you give them all a big hug for me? Just tell them that I'll be thinking of them, and that I'll always be with them, no matter what."

Tom's voice was gruff as he spoke up. "Yeah, Em. We'll make sure they know, but your going to make it out of here yourself and can tell them yourself" He reached over and squeezed her shoulder, his grip reassuring.

Aech nodded in agreement, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Emily, we believe in you. We know you can do this." His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of fear and uncertainty beneath it.

The highway stretched out before them, seemingly endless in the fading light. Emily could feel the weight of Aech's words pressing down on her, the gravity of the situation bearing down on her shoulders. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and then began to slow the car down.

As they approached the tollbooth, she rolled down her window and handed the attendant a twenty-dollar bill. "It's for the road," she said with a weak smile, her voice barely audible over the rush of the wind. The attendant smiled back at her, nodding understandingly, and then waved them through.

Emily glanced in the rearview mirror as they drove past the booth, her reflection pale and haunted. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, before turning back to her friends. "Okay, so here we are," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I'm going to pull over up ahead and walk the rest of the way from here. You guys just stay in the car, okay?"

Aech nodded, his grip tightening on the wheel. "Yeah, we'll wait here. Just be careful, Em."

Emily pulled the car over to the side of the road and set the emergency brake. She took one last deep breath, then opened the door and stepped out onto the gravel shoulder. The air was cool against her face, and the sun had disappeared below the horizon, leaving the sky a deep shade of purple. She squinted at the horizon, searching for any signs of movement.

Turning back to the car, she waved at her friends through the open window. "I love you guys," she said, her voice barely audible above the sound of the wind. "Thank you for everything."

Aech leaned out of the window, his expression a mix of determination and fear. "You can do this, Em. We believe in you."

Emily nodded, trying to muster up some courage. "Thanks, Aech. I love you too." She turned back to Tom, her voice shaking. "And you, Tom. You've been such a great friend. Thank you for everything."

Tears were streaming down Emily's face as she spoke, but she forced herself to smile at them through her tears. "I'm going to do this," she said, more confidently than she felt. "I'm going to make it."

Aech nodded, his own eyes wet with tears. "You're right, Em. You can do this." He reached over and squeezed her shoulder, his grip reassuring. "And we'll be right here waiting for you. No matter what happens."

Emily took a deep breath, steeling herself against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. She turned back to the car and opened the door, stepping out onto the gravel shoulder. The wind whipped her hair across her face as she looked out at the highway, the cars speeding past in both directions.

She glanced over at Aech and Tom, their faces etched with concern, their eyes filled with love and support. "I love you both so much," she said, her voice trembling. "And I want you to know that no matter what happens, I want you to keep living your lives to the fullest. Don't let anything hold you back, okay?"

Emily took a deep breath and then turned her attention back to the highway. The cars were speeding past in a blur, the headlights like tiny pinpricks of light in the darkness. "I'm going to run across the highway now," she said, her voice steady despite the fear that threatened to consume her. "Just stay here and wait for me, okay?"

Aech nodded, his grip tight on the seat. "We won't go anywhere, Em. We'll just wait right here for you."

Emily took a deep breath, steeling herself against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. "Okay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love you both so much. And thank you… thank you for everything."

She turned her back to Aech and Tom, taking one final glance at their worried faces before facing the highway. The wind whipped her hair across her face as she looked out at the speeding cars, her heart pounding in her chest. In that moment, she knew that she was committing herself to the most terrifying and heroic act of her life.

Emily closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and then began to run. The hot asphalt scorched her feet as she sprinted across the highway, weaving in and out of the headlights. Her lungs burned and her legs felt like lead, but she forced herself to keep going. She couldn't let her brothers down, couldn't let her mom down. This was her last chance to make a difference.

Ahead of her, she could see the entrance to the interstate. It was so close, yet it seemed like an impossible distance away. She could hear Aech and Tom shouting her name, their voices distant and muffled by the rush of wind and the roar of the cars. She forced herself to ignore the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, focusing instead on the image of her brothers' faces, the way they'd smile when they thought no one was looking.

Emily's lungs burned, her legs ached, but she kept running, refusing to give up. With every step, she felt a new surge of determination, a new wave of courage. She wasn't going to let her brothers down. She wasn't going to let her mom down. She was going to make it across that highway, no matter what it took.

As she neared the entrance to the interstate, she could hear Aech and Tom shouting her name louder than ever before, their voices a beacon of hope in the darkness. They believed in her, and she was going to prove them right. She wasn't going to let anything stand in her way.

With one final burst of energy, Emily sprinted across the last few feet of the highway, the hot asphalt burning the soles of her feet. She leapt, pushing off with all her might, and landed safely on the shoulder of the interstate. Tears streamed down her face as she turned around to see Aech and Tom still standing at the other end of the highway, their hands raised in the air, their fists clenched in triumph.

"I made it!" she shouted, her voice barely audible over the roar of the cars. "I did it! I'm here!"

Aech and Tom exchanged glances, relief and pride washing over their faces. They knew that the next part of their plan was just as dangerous, if not more so. They had to find a way to get across the interstate and meet Emily at the other end.

"Alright, Em," Aech said, his voice steady despite the tremor of emotion. "We're gonna need you to keep an eye out for us. Look for the big red truck we've been using as our ride. When you see it, give us a wave, okay?"

Emily nodded, her eyes scanning the cars as they sped past her. She could see the interstate stretching out in front of her, a ribbon of light cutting through the darkness. "I see it!" she shouted, pointing to the right. "I see the truck!"

Aech and Tom exchanged glances, their faces tight with determination. They began to run, weaving their way through the cars, their eyes never leaving Emily as they made their way across the interstate. They knew that the distance between them was closing with each step, but the cars still seemed to move impossibly fast.

Emily kept her eyes fixed on them, her heart pounding in her chest. She waved frantically when she saw them begin to run, her relief and joy palpable. Despite the danger, she couldn't help but feel a surge of pride in her team. They were running toward her, putting their lives on the line to save her, just as she would do for them.

As they drew closer, Aech and Tom broke into a sprint, weaving their way through the cars with a newfound sense of determination. They were almost there, their arms pumping, their breath coming in ragged gasps. Emily could see the desperation in their eyes, the determination to reach her no matter what it took.

She wanted nothing more than to be with them, to escape this hell together. But as she stood there, watching them run toward her, she couldn't help but think about the last thing she had said to them. About her brothers, and her mom.

Emily closed her eyes, trying to block out the images that flashed through her mind. Enzo, Charles, and Arthur. They were only kids, just like her. They didn't deserve this life. They didn't deserve to grow up in a world where people like Sorrento could exist. And her mom… Emily couldn't even begin to fathom the pain she must be going through right now. loosing their dad was hard but loosing her only daughter would be even harder.

She opened her eyes and looked at Aech and Tom, their faces contorted with determination and fear. "If I don't make it," she said, her voice barely audible over the sound of the cars, "tell them… tell them I love them. Tell them I'm sorry. Tell them…" Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to find the words. "Tell them everything. Tell them I'll always be with them."

Aech and Tom exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of understanding and determination. "We will, Em," Aech said, his voice steady. "We'll make sure they know."

Emily nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "Thank you," she managed to choke out. "Just… just get me out of here, okay?"

Aech and Tom exchanged another glance, their expressions grim. They were almost within reaching distance now, their arms outstretched as they lunged forward, their feet barely touching the ground as they sprinted toward her. "We're almost there, Em," Aech panted. "Just hold on a little longer."

Emily nodded, trying to steel her resolve as she felt the weight of their words. She knew that her brothers and mother were depending on them, and she couldn't help but feel guilty for putting them in this position. But she also knew that she couldn't give up. She had to keep fighting, for their sake as much as her own.

As Aech and Tom neared, she could see the determination in their eyes, the fire in their hearts. They were going to get her out of this hell, no matter the cost. And when they did, they were going to make sure that those responsible paid dearly.

Emily's breath came in ragged gasps as she watched them approach, their feet barely touching the ground as they sprinted toward her. They were almost there, just a few more steps, and she would be free from this nightmare. She forced herself to stand tall, to be strong, for her brothers and her mother.

"You can do this, Em," Aech panted, his hand reaching out to grab hers. "We're not leaving you behind."

Emily gripped his hand tightly, her fingers digging into his skin as they sprinted toward her. She could feel the weight of their words, the determination in their voices. They were going to get her out of this hell, no matter what it took.

As they neared, Aech and Tom exchanged one last glance, their faces etched with resolve. They had been through so much together, and they weren't about to let anything stop them now. With a final burst of speed, they reached Emily's side, their arms wrapping around her as they pulled her away from the oncoming traffic.

The impact of the car almost knocked them off their feet, but they held onto Emily tightly, refusing to let go. They stumbled backwards, away from the danger, their hearts racing and their lungs burning from the exertion. As they finally managed to put some distance between them and the cars, they lowered Emily to the ground, her limp body trembling from the adrenaline and fear.

Aech and Tom exchanged worried glances as they crouched beside her. They knew they needed to get her to safety, but first they had to make sure she was okay. "Em," Aech said, his voice shaking, "are you hurt?"

Emily let out a shuddering breath, her eyes closed tightly as tears streamed down her face. "I… I don't know," she managed to choke out. "I think… I think I'm okay."

Aech and Tom exchanged glances once more, their brows furrowed with concern. They knew that they needed to get her to safety, but they also wanted to make sure that she was really okay before they left.

Emily let out another shuddering breath, her shoulders shaking as she wiped away the tears that streamed down her face. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before speaking. "I'm sorry," she managed to choke out. "I just need… I need a minute."

Aech and Tom exchanged worried glances again. They knew that Emily was in shock, and they needed to keep her talking, to keep her mind off of what had just happened. "Of course, Em," Aech said, his voice gentle. "Take all the time you need."

Emily took another deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I just need… I need to be with them. To tell them myself."

Aech nodded, understanding. "Of course, Em. We'll make sure that happens." He glanced over at Tom, who nodded back. They knew they couldn't bring her home just yet; they had to get her to safety first. But they also knew how important it was for Emily to be with her family.

They carefully helped Emily to her feet, supporting her weight between them. Her knees were shaking, and she leaned heavily into them as they began to walk again. They didn't know where they were going, but they knew they had to keep moving.

As they walked, Aech kept glancing over at Emily, worried about how she was holding up. Her face was pale, and she seemed to be in shock. "Are you sure you're okay, Em?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Emily nodded, but her voice was shaky when she spoke. "I… I think so. I just need to see them, you know? I need to tell them." Her eyes filled with tears again, and she wiped them away roughly with the back of her hand.

Aech and Tom exchanged worried glances once more. They knew that getting Emily to safety was their priority, but they also understood how important it was for her to be with her family. They continued to walk, searching for a safe place where they could call for help or find someone to help them. they need to contact base camp or the police, but they didn't know how to do that from here.

As they walked, Emily leaned heavily on their shoulders, her body trembling from the adrenaline and fear. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, and she couldn't seem to focus on anything but the urgent need to see her family. She knew that they would be waiting for her back home, worried sick about what had happened. The thought of facing them and telling them what she had just been through was almost unbearable.

Aech and Tom exchanged glances again, their expressions growing more concerned. They didn't know how much longer they could carry her weight, but they refused to leave her side. They needed to find a safe place where they could get help, and fast.

As they continued to walk, Emily's body grew heavier, her breathing more labored. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, her lips moving silently as if she were praying. Aech reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, debating whether they should call for help or try to find someone who could help them first., but it was broke and their radios weren't working either, so they were pretty much on their own.

"Em, I'm going to need you to hold on tight to me, okay?" he said, his voice gentle but firm. Emily nodded weakly, her fingers clutching at his jacket. They walked on, their footsteps echoing through the empty warehouse.

Aech glanced over at Tom, who shrugged. They both knew they couldn't carry Emily much farther. Her weight was becoming too much for them, and their own strength was starting to flag. They needed help, fast.

"Em, listen," Aech said, his voice firm but gentle. "We need to find someone to help us. Can you keep walking a little bit longer, okay?" Emily's eyes fluttered open, and she nodded weakly. A tear slipped down her cheek.

They continued to search through the empty warehouse, their footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. Every now and then, they would hear distant noises outside, but they couldn't tell if they were coming closer or moving farther away. The air was cold and damp, and Emily shivered violently as she tried to keep pace with Aech and Tom.

"Hang in there, Em," Aech said softly, his arm tight around her shoulders. "We'll find someone to help us soon." But even as he spoke, he knew that they were running out of time. Emily's weight was becoming more and more difficult to bear, and their own strength was beginning to wane. They had to find help quickly, before something worse happened.

They continued to wander through the endless corridors of the warehouse, their footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. The air was cold and damp, and Emily's body shivered violently as she tried to keep up with their pace. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her eyelids fluttered open and closed, as if she were struggling to stay conscious.

Aech and Tom exchanged worried glances, their faces pale in the dim light. They knew they couldn't carry Emily much farther, and they were running out of time. As they rounded a corner, they spotted a figure in the distance, huddled against the wall. It was a man, dressed in the uniform of a maintenance worker.

"Over here!" Aech called out, waving his arms frantically. The maintenance worker looked up, startled, and hurried over to them. "We need help," Aech said urgently. "Our lieutentent here has been hurt, and she's losing consciousness."

The maintenance worker's expression turned grave as he knelt beside Emily. "What happened?" he asked, feeling for a pulse at her neck. " shes been shot" said tom and aech together. The maintenance worker nodded, his face tight with concern. "Okay, let's get her to the infirmary as fast as we can."

He carefully scooped Emily up into his arms, cradling her gently against his chest. Aech and Tom followed close behind, their hearts pounding with worry. As they hurried through the maze of corridors, the maintenance worker gave them a quick update. "I'm sorry, but Emily has lost a lot of blood. We need to get her to the infirmary right away. If we don't, she could die."

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight as they continued their frantic race through the warehouse. They turned a corner and almost ran headlong into another group of of thier team, also searching for help. "Over here!" Aech called out, waving his arms to avoid a collision.

The group, consisting of four soldiers and their commanding officer, hurried over. "What's going on?" their CO demanded, his eyes darting between them. "Where's Emily?" Without a word, Aech and Tom pointed down the corridor they had just come from. The soldiers immediately took charge, two of them running ahead to scout the area while the others crouched down beside Emily and began administering first aid.

The maintenance worker, grateful for the extra help, stepped back to allow the soldiers to work their magic. He glanced at his watch, his brow furrowed. "We're not far from the infirmary," he said. "We can get her there quickly, but she's in bad shape."

Emily's breathing became shallower, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, her expression a mix of fear and confusion. "Wha-what happened?" she managed to croak. One of the soldiers, his voice steady and reassuring, replied, "Shhh, you're safe now. We're taking you to the infirmary where they'll fix you up."

The maintenance worker, who had been watching her closely, nodded in agreement. He glanced at his watch again, his brow furrowing as he realized they were taking longer than anticipated. "We shouldn't waste any more time," he muttered under his breath.

As they continued their frantic dash down the corridor, Emily's breath grew shallower and her skin paler. Her heart raced, and her head began to spin. "I-I'm n-not…," she stammered, her voice barely audible.

The maintenance worker, who was now carrying her, glanced back worriedly at the group following them. "We're almost there," he assured her, his voice shaking. "Just hold on a little longer."

Emily felt as if she were floating, her body growing heavier with each passing second. Her vision blurred, and she could no longer make out the faces of her teammates or the unfamiliar hallways they were hurrying through. She tried to focus on their voices, but they seemed to fade in and out like a distant radio signal.

As she drifted in and out of consciousness, she was vaguely aware of the maintenance worker carrying her, his strong arms supporting her weight as he raced through the warehouse. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear, and the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. She wanted to tell him that she was okay, that she would be fine, but her words wouldn't come out.

The corridor spun around her, a blur of white walls and red emergency lights. She caught glimpses of her teammates, their faces etched with worry and determination, their movements a blur as they hurried along beside them. The air around her felt thick and heavy, like she was swimming through water, and her limbs felt impossibly heavy.

Emily tried to focus on anything, but her vision was foggy and her thoughts were slow and sluggish. She wanted to tell them she was okay, that she would be fine, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead, she let herself be carried by the rhythm of their steps, her head lolling against the maintenance worker's shoulder as he hurried down the hallway.

The air around her felt thick and hot, like she was wrapped in a blanket made of heavy wool. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy, and every movement was a struggle. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt this tired, this weak.

The maintenance worker carrying her seemed to sense her distress, glancing over his shoulder at her with concern etched on his face. "Almost there," he assured her, his voice rough with emotion. "Just hold on a little longer."

Emily felt a pang of regret as she looked down at her jacket pocket, wondering what the small, glinting object was that had caused such a commotion. She knew it must be important, but her thoughts were growing fuzzy, and she couldn't seem to focus on anything but the exhaustion that was slowly creeping up on her.

The maintenance worker carrying her glanced back at her with concern, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before he turned his attention back to the group following them. "Almost there," he murmured reassuringly, his breath warm against her ear.

Emily tried to focus on his voice, on the words he was saying, but her eyelids grew heavy and her head spun. The air around her seemed to grow thicker, more oppressive with each passing second, making it difficult to breathe. She felt as if she were drowning, her limbs growing heavier and more leaden with every struggle.

The maintenance worker carrying her glanced back at her with concern, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before he turned his attention back to the group following them. "Almost there," he murmured reassuringly, his breath warm against her ear. "Just hold on a little longer."

Emily felt a surge of determination as she tried to focus on his voice, on the words he was saying. She wanted to tell him that she was okay, that she would be fine, but her words wouldn't come out. Instead, she tried to sit up straighter, to steel herself against the overwhelming fatigue that threatened to drag her down.

The maintenance worker, sensing her renewed strength, adjusted his grip on her, his arms supporting her weight more securely. He glanced over his shoulder at her with a reassuring smile, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before he turned back to the group following them. "this way there are some doctors waiting for us ," he assured her, his voice strong and steady.

Emily forced herself to focus on his words, to take in the details of the corridor around her. The air felt cleaner now, less oppressive, and the red emergency lights seemed to dim ever so slightly. The walls were still a sterile white, but she could see signs of life now: posters advertising safety procedures, reminders to wash hands, and even a few bright flowers in a vase near the end of the hall.

As they rounded a corner, she caught a glimpse of the doctors waiting for them. They looked serious, but their eyes were full of concern and compassion. The maintenance worker carrying her slowed his pace, careful not to jostle her too much, and finally came to a stop in front of a set of double doors. One of the doctors stepped forward, taking her weight from the maintenance worker's arms.

Emily felt a wave of relief wash over her as she was lowered gently onto a waiting gurney. The doctor who had taken her weight quickly checked her vitals, noting her heightened heart rate and rapid breathing. He glanced at the maintenance worker and the others who had accompanied her, their faces etched with worry.

"She's stable for now," the doctor murmured, his voice calm and reassuring. "We'll take her back to get her checked out and she may need surgery based on her injuries" He turned to the waiting nurses, issuing instructions as they wheeled her down the hall.

Emily lay on the gurney, her eyes fluttering open and closed as she tried to make sense of what was happening. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, the white walls and sterile floors bathed in the harsh red emergency lights. She could hear the distant beeping of machines and the muffled footsteps of medical staff as they hurried past.

The doctor who had taken her vital signs was now examining her closely, his face a mask of concern. "Emily," he began gently, "I'm afraid you've been shot multiple times. You're going to be okay, but we need to get you to surgery as soon as possible." He paused, meeting her eyes with a reassuring smile. "You're in good hands here. Just try to rest and focus on getting better."

Emily tried to nod, but the movement made her wince with pain. "Okay," she managed to croak out.

The doctor gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before stepping back. "We're almost there," he told her, his voice steady and calm. "The surgical team is waiting for you."

Emily closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as the gurney began to roll forward once more. The sterile air of the hallway gave way to the familiar smell of antiseptic and the beeping of machines as they entered the surgical ward. Doctors and nurses in sterile white coats bustled around them, their efficient movements a testament to their expertise and training.

As they approached a set of double doors, a woman in a pale blue scrub suit rushed over to them. "Dr. Webber," she said, her voice tinged with urgency, "we're ready for you in Room 3. The anesthesiologist and the surgical team are waiting."

Dr. Webber, a tall man with kind eyes and a reassuring smile, nodded gratefully at the nurse. "Thank you, grey . How's she doing?"

"Her vitals are stable for now," the intern replied, glancing briefly at Emily before turning back to Dr. Webber. "But we're keeping a close eye on her. The anesthesiologist is ready to put her under as soon a we're in the OR."

Dr. Webber nodded, his expression grave but determined. "Thank you, . Let's get her in there and take care of her." He turned to Emily's teams, who ere waiting anxiously nearby. "gentlemen" he said gently, "we're going to take excellent care of your lieutenant We'll keep you updated every step of the way."

The team of surgeons filed into the operating room, led by Dr. Webber and the anesthesiologist. Emily's eyes fluttered open, panic rising in her chest as she realized she was about to be put under. "Wait," she managed to croak out, her voice barely audible over the beeping of the machines, "tom and aech… they… they called my mom yet…?" Her heart felt like it was lodged in her throat, and she struggled to breathe.

Dr. Webber glanced over his shoulder at the nurse, who nodded understandingly. "Don't worry, Emily," he said gently, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "They're here with you. Your friends tom and aech called your mother earlier to let her know what was going on. They're both here in the waiting room, waiting for updates from us. We'll make sure she knows you're doing as well as you can be."

Emily's chest tightened, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. "Okay," she managed to whisper. "Okay."

Dr. Webber smiled gently at her and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "I know it's scary, Emily, but we're here with you every step of the way. Your mom is going to be in good hands with tom and aech. They're both incredibly strong and resilient people, and they'll make sure she knows everything that's going on. You just focus on getting better, okay?"

Emily nodded weakly, tears welling up in her eyes. "Okay," she whispered.

Dr. Webber glanced at the anesthesiologist, who gave him a nod. "All right," he said gently, "let's get you prepped for surgery, Emily." The anesthesiologist placed a mask over Emily's face, and she felt the anesthesia begin to take effect. Her body went numb, and her surroundings grew fuzzy. She could hear distant voices, but they sounded as if they were underwater.

As she drifted in and out of consciousness, Emily's thoughts kept returning to tom and aech, and her mother and her siblings She wished she could be with them, to reassure them and to feel their love and support. She hoped they were all right, and that they knew she was going to be okay.

Meanwhile, back in the waiting room, tom and aech sat next to Emily's mother who was flown into immediately as she was called , holding her hands and rubbing her back. They had both called their own parents earlier to tell them what was going on and ask for their support. Tom had always been the strong one, but even he felt a lump in his throat as he tried to comfort Emily's mother.

"They're doing everything they can for her, Mrs. Leclerc ," tom said softly. "Dr. Webber is one of the best surgeons around. Emily is in good hands."

Aech nodded in agreement. "We've been texting each other updates from the waiting room. They've been telling us about every step of the process, and they sound so hopeful. They believe in her, just like we do."

" do the boys know what happened Pascale?" asked aech , his voice quivering slightly. Emily's mother shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Dr. Webber explained that Emily's windpipe had become compressed, making it difficult for her to breathe. They're operating now to relieve the pressure and hopefully restore her breathing, and that a bullet ot two have entered her chest cavity " she managed to choke out.

Tom squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Dr. Webber and his team are some of the best in the business, and they're going to do everything they can for her. They've got all the latest technology at their fingertips, and they're not going to stop until she's better."

Aech nodded in agreement. "And Emily's a fighter, Mrs. Leclerc. She's been through a lot in her life, but she's always come out stronger on the other side. I know she's going to pull through this."

Pascale looked up at them, her red eyes filled with hope and gratitude. "Thank you both so much for being here for her," she said, her voice shaking. "I can't tell you how much it means to me, and to our entire family. Your support is going to help Emily more than you'll ever know."

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, an surgical intern cleared his throat. "So, uh, we talked to the doctors, and they're doing some tests to see how much damage was done to her windpipe, and how many ribs were broken. We'll let you know as soon as we hear anything."

Tom and Aech exchanged worried glances, then turned to Emily's mother who seemed in a dazed ans snapped her out of it. "They're running some tests, Pascale, but they're confident they can fix whatever's wrong. And, uh, they told us that Emily was very lucky. The bullet that hit her chest didn't damage any major organs, and it didn't even puncture her lung."

Pascale's eyes widened with hope. "Really?" she managed to choke out. "Then she has a good chance?"

Tom nodded solemnly. "That's right, Pascale. The doctors are very positive about her chances. They say that she's strong, and that she's fighting hard. We just have to keep the faith and be there for her."

' i should probably call Enzo and let him know what's happing and he can get here with Charles and Arthur as soon as they can' cried Pascale , already reaching for her purse. The two men exchanged a worried glance, but didn't say anything. They knew that Emily's family was close-knit, and that having her brothers there would mean the world to her.

"Here, let me do that," Aech said, gently taking her phone out of her hand. He dialed Emily's older brothers number and put it on speaker so Pascale could hear. There was a brief pause, and then a tired voice answered. "Hello?"

"Enzo, it's Aech. We're with Emily at the hospital. She was shot tonight, but the doctors are doing everything they can. They say she's strong and she's fighting hard," Aech said, his voice cracking slightly. "She's in good hands, but we could really use you and the rest of the family here with us."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Oh my God," Enzo finally whispered. "I'm on my way. Charles and Arthur too. We'll be there as soon as we can."

Pascale let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping in relief. "Thank you, Enzo. I can't tell you how much that means to us all. We love you and your brothers."

The room was filled with the sound of muffled sobs as the news began to sink in for Emily's family. Tom put his arm around Pascale, offering what little comfort he could. "We'll stay here with her, Pascale. You should go back to the hotel and get some rest. The doctors said there's nothing you can do right now, so try to get some sleep."

Pascale shook her head, wiping away tears. "I can't leave her," she whispered. "I can't, i can;t loose her too"

Tom squeezed her shoulder gently. "You need to take care of yourself, Pascale. Emily needs you to be strong for her. We'll stay right here with her, okay?"

Aech nodded in agreement. "And, listen, we'll keep you updated every step of the way. You're not going to hear anything through the news or social media that we don't tell you first, okay?"

Pascale nodded, sniffling. "Okay," she managed to say. "Thank you." She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands. "I just can't believe this is happening," she whispered. "Why would someone do this to her?"

Tom placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We don't know, Pascale. But we'll find out. The commanders are on it." He glanced over at Aech, who was pacing back and forth near the window. "In the meantime, let's make sure Emily knows that we're all here for her, okay?"

Pascale nodded, sniffling as she wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Okay," she managed to say. "Thank you." She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.

after a few hours later Enzo, Charles, Aurthur and their girlfriends arrive at the hospital.

they all walk in and see tom and aech sitting in the waiting chairs half asleep on each others shoulders while the rest of the team are spread around the waiting room.

As Enzo, Charles, Arthur, and their girlfriends approach, they exchange hugs and words of encouragement with Emily's team. They all take seats around the waiting room, trying to stay positive and supportive. The room is tense, but there's also an undercurrent of determination and strength that comes from being together in this difficult time

"wheres our mother?" asked charles "she should be here"

" we sent her back to the hotel a few hours ago to rest: said aech

"shes too worried about emily to get any sleep here." He looked over at enzo, charles and arthur. "i'm glad you all are here now. It helps."

"of course we're here for her. we'll get through this together." Enzo said, squeezing Tom's shoulder. "Any updates from the commanders?"

Aech shook his head. "Not yet, but they're working on it. They're going through all the footage from the arena, and they're trying to track down anyone who might have seen something." He glanced over at Emily, her condition seeming to grow more grave with each passing moment. "They'll find whoever did this, I promise."

"what happened exacly?" asked aurthur .

"well, according to the doctors, Emily was hit by a poisoned dart and shot multiply times while she was trying to save a teammate during the attack . They're still trying to stabilize her, but it's been a bit of a rollercoaster ride so far," explained Tom. "It's horrible, just horrible."

" we were ambushed from all sides, we had nowwhere to go" explained tom "i was shot, aech was shot, emily was shot. we tried to fight back but they were too many. we hid in the bushes and waited for backup but it never came"

" and then emily found a abandoned truck and carried everyone who was injured to the truck and drove like hell" aech said , starting to cry again "she saved all of us but they shot her again, they shot her in the chest" he paused, taking a deep breath before continuing "she's strong, she's going to be okay, we just have to believe that"

The waiting room remained tense as they continued to exchange stories and tried to comfort each other. Aurthur, Enzo, and Charles looked at each other, knowing that they had to be strong for Emily and the rest of the team. They each took turns pacing, trying to burn off some of the nervous energy that was coursing through their veins.

Charlette and Alex , enzo and charles girlfriends had went and gotten coffee for everyone and brought it back to the waiting room. They tried to make small talk with everyone but it seemed like no one wanted to talk. Everyone was too worried about Emily. Tom and Aech were constantly checking their phones, waiting for any news from the commanders.

"You know, Emily would want us to be strong right now. She'd want us to fight for her," Enzo said, trying to encourage the group. "We need to stay positive and believe that she's going to pull through this."

"I agree, Enzo. She's a fighter, and she's not going to give up without a fight," said Aurthur. "We just have to keep telling ourselves that."

The waiting room fell silent again as they all focused on Emily, willing her to pull through. The doctors and nurses came in and out, giving updates on her condition, but there was little change. They were still working to stabilize her.

Aech finally broke the silence. "Guys, I can't just sit here. I need to do something. We all need to do something." He stood up, looking determined. "We need to find out who did this. We need to make them pay."

" just as aech was complaining, dr.webber walked out and with him was two other doctors.

dr.webber looked at the group and said "i have some good news and some bad news. the good news is, we were able to stabilize her. the bad news is, we had to put her into a medically induced coma. the poison is too strong and we need to give her body time to fight it off"

"what's going to happen to her while she's in the coma?" asked Tom, his voice shaking.

"Well, she'll be hooked up to a ventilator to help her breathe, and we'll continue to monitor her vitals. We'll also administer antitoxins to help combat the poison. But it's still too early to tell how she's going to respond. We're going to keep her in intensive care for now, and we'll update you on her condition as we learn more," explained DR.Shepard the neuro-surgeon one of the other doctors .

" what about the her chest" asked aech "is she going to be okay?" "well, the bullet didn't hit any vital organs, so her heart should be fine. however, the poison has caused some damage to her lungs. we'll have to monitor that closely as well. there's a chance she may need a lung transplant down the road, but that's something we'll cross when we come to it," explained Dr.Burke the cardo- surgeon .

"thank god the bullet didn't hit anything else," Tom said, visibly relieved.

"Listen, we're going to do everything we can for Emily," Dr.Shepard assured the group. "She's in good hands here. But we're also going to need your help. You all need to stay positive and supportive. Keep the visitors to a minimum so she can rest. And most importantly, trust in the medical staff to do our jobs."

"I will," Tom said, nodding. "I'll be here for her, no matter what." He wiped a tear from his eye.

"So will I," Aech added. "And we'll find whoever did this, and we'll make them pay." He shot a determined look at the doctors.

Dizziness overcame Enzo as he realized the gravity of the situation. He sat down heavily in a chair, his head in his hands. "This is all my fault," he whispered. "I should've been there. I should've protected her. I should have told her not to join the army and instead i encourage her to join''. His voice broke, and tears welled up in his eyes.

Aech put a reassuring hand on Enzo's shoulder. "Hey, man, it's not your fault. You couldn't have known this would happen. We're all in this together now, and we're going to find out who did this and make them pay."

Dr.Webber nodded. "Yes, and in the meantime, I want you all to focus on Emily. Stay positive and supportive. Keep her in your thoughts and prayers. We'll do everything we can here."

The doctors left the room, giving the friends a moment to process the information. Enzo leaned back in his chair, still unable to meet Aech's eyes. "I don't know how I'm going to handle this," he whispered. "I feel so guilty."

"Hey, it's not your fault," Aech said, his voice soft. "We all make mistakes. We just have to focus on getting Emily through this and finding whoever did this to her."

" hey enzo, you are the person emily looks up to since dad passed away" charles said "if anyone can help her get through this, it's you. Just be there for her, okay?"

Enzo took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll do my best," he said, his voice still shaky. "I promise."

"Good, good," Charles said, his voice reassuring. "Now, let's go visit Emily. I'm sure she'd love to see some friendly faces."

" we should propnaly call mom first" said aurthur "she's gonna need to hear about this as well" . charles nodded and dialed the number.

their mother answered the phone with a shaky voice, her words choked with tears. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mom," Charles said gently. "It's me, Charles. Listen, emily is out of surgery and is in a medical coma"

Their mother let out a choked sob. "Oh, no," she whispered. "Is she going to be okay?"

Charles took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "I don't know, Mom. The doctors are doing everything they can. But we need to stay positive and supportive. Emily's going to need us now more than ever. do you want someone to come and get you?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Their mother was clearly struggling to keep it together. "Yes," she said finally. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"All right, Mom," Charles said. "Take your time. We'll keep you updated. And we'll need your support too. We're all in this together."

"Thank you, Charles," their mother said, sniffling. "I'll be there as soon as I can." She paused for a moment, then added, "I love you, sweetie."

"I love you too, Mom," Charles replied gently. "Now, why don't you take a deep breath and try to calm down before you get here. Emily can feel your emotions, and we need to stay strong for her."

As their mother finished the call, they all stood up and headed toward Emily's room. The hallway was crowded with worried family members, all exchanging hushed whispers and tearful glances. It was a somber procession as they made their way down the hall, their footsteps echoing against the sterile white walls.

Finally, they reached Emily's room. everyone paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before them. Emily lay motionless in the bed, her face pale and peaceful, surrounded by a tangle of wires and medical equipment. The beeping of the monitors filled the air, creating a rhythmic, yet unsettling background noise.

Enzo stepped forward, his heart racing. He took Emily's hand in his, feeling the coldness of her skin against his own. "Hey, Em," he whispered, trying to sound reassuring. "We're all here. We're not going anywhere. just know your big brother is here"

Aurthur sat down gently in a chair next to the bed, his eyes never leaving Emily's face. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his own racing thoughts. "Em, we love you so much," he said softly. "We're going to do everything we can to help you get through this. You're so strong, and we know you can fight this and i need my big sister to cover for me when i mess with enzo and charles"

Charles nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. He reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair from Emily's forehead. "You're not alone, Em. We're all here for you, okay? And when you wake up, we're all going to have an amazing adventure together. Just you wait and see and i want you to meet your nephew Leo, whos a dog by the way"

As they sat with Emily, the hours seemed to drag on. The doctors and nurses came and went, each one bringing news both hopeful and dire. They tried to maintain a sense of normalcy, talking about school and work and their favorite movies, but the weight of Emily's condition hung over them like a dark cloud.

The room was bustling with activity, but for the seven of them, it might as well have been a lonely island. They were all so focused on Emily, their world had narrowed down to this tiny space. They shared glances, held hands, and whispered words of encouragement.

Time seemed to slow down as they waited, the beeping of the monitors filling the air. Every time a doctor or nurse came in, their hearts would leap into their throats, only to sink again when they heard the news was good.

Aurthur was the first to speak up. "Hey Em, do you remember that time we snuck out of the house and went to that amusement park?" He asked, trying to elicit a smile. "We had so much fun, and we got in so much trouble!"

Enzo nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "Yeah, I remember. It was like we were invincible. We could do anything, be anyone." He wiped away a tear, trying to maintain his composure. "We should've known that day we could conquer anything, because we did. We conquered our fears and we lived life to the fullest."

Aurthur smiled at his friend, then turned to Emily. "You know, Em, I think about that day a lot. It's funny how sometimes the smallest things in life can change us. I mean, that amusement park trip was just supposed to be a day off from summer school, but it ended up being so much more."

[formulas-bitch]

Can you make a master list?

It’s coming pretty soon just got a new job so was going through training, but will be posting it sometime next week

[formulas-bitch]

Come Back Home - Charles leclerc X leclercsibling/reader

4.9k words

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the concrete floor of the garage. It was always like this, Charles thought, when his older sister, Emily, returned home from her latest tour in the army. There was a certain air of anticipation, of excitement, that seemed to fill the room, as if the very walls themselves were vibrating with the energy of her presence. Even the old, rusty tools hanging on the walls appeared to glisten under her watchful gaze, as if they too were proud to be a part of her story.

Charles could feel his heart race with a mixture of nerves and joy as he watched Emily walk towards him. Her uniform was spotless, her posture straight and tall, her hair tied back in a tight bun that emphasized her sharp features. Her eyes, a deep shade of blue that he had inherited, sparkled with an unmistakable twinkle of pride. She held out her hand to him, and without a second thought, Charles took it, feeling the warmth and strength of her grip.

"You look great, Emily!" he exclaimed, unable to hide his grin. "I can't believe you're finally home!"

Emily smiled warmly at her little brother. "I missed you too, Charles. I've been thinking about that race of yours. You know, if you want, I could give you a few pointers. I mean, I might be a bit out of practice, but I've got some experience under my belt."

Charles' eyes widened in excitement. "Really?" he asked, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. "That would be amazing! I've been practicing a lot, but it's always better when someone who's been there can help you."

Emily nodded, her expression softening. "Of course, little brother. I remember when you were just a kid, always tagging along with me to the track. I never imagined you'd grow up to be such a talented driver." She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "We'll make a great team, you and me."

As they walked out of the garage and into the warm evening air, Emily glanced over at the dusty old trophy case by the side of the house. There, amidst the faded ribbons and tarnished medals, were a few shining reminders of her own racing days. She'd never won anything quite as impressive as the prize Charles was vying for, but she knew that didn't matter. Her pride in her little brother's accomplishments far outweighed any lingering feelings of envy or regret.

They made their way to the track, the familiar smell of hot rubber and burning fuel filling their noses. Emily's eyes scanned the course, analyzing the turns and the jumps, the potential hazards and the ideal lines. She'd spent so much time here, honing her skills, pushing herself to the limit. Now, standing here beside her brother, she realized that it had all been worth it.

"So," Emily said, as they walked along the fence, "tell me about your competition. Anyone I should keep an eye out for?"

Charles nodded, his expression a mix of determination and nerves. "Well, there's this one kid, Max, who's been winning everything lately. He's really good, but I think I can beat him. I've been practicing really hard, and I've got you to help me now." He glanced sideways at Emily, a hopeful smile playing on his lips.

Emily placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I believe in you, Charles," she said, her voice steady and calm. "I know you can do this. And even if you don't win, remember that it's about having fun and challenging yourself. That's what matters most." She gave him a wink, trying to ease some of the pressure he was feeling.

As they continued to walk along the fence, they came across a familiar-looking car, its paintjob faded and its tires worn thin. Emily recognized it immediately as Max's car, the one that had given her brother so much trouble during practice. "Hmm," she mused, "it looks like your competition could use a little help too. Maybe I could take a look at his car before the race and see if there's anything we can do to give you an edge."

Charles' eyes widened in surprise. "Really?" he asked, unable to hide his excitement. "That would be amazing! I mean, I don't want to take advantage or anything…"

Emily smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry about it, Charles. It's not about taking advantage. We're here to help each other out, remember? Besides, if we can help Max improve his car, it'll only make the race that much more interesting." She glanced over at the car, her eyes assessing its condition. "Let's take a look at it, shall we?"

Together, they approached Max's car, and Emily began to inspect it carefully. She checked the tire pressure, the alignment, and even took a look under the hood. After a few minutes of examination, she pulled out a rag and began to wipe away some of the grime from the engine. "This car has a lot of potential," she said to Charles, "but it's not being used to its fullest. If I were you, I'd focus on these few areas." She pointed to a worn-out suspension and a faulty spark plug. "With some TLC and a few simple adjustments, this car could be unstoppable."

Charles nodded, his eyes shining with determination. "Thanks, Emily. You don't know what this means to me." He paused, his expression growing more serious. "Listen, I've been thinking… I know you're my big sister and all, but what if we were to team up? I mean, not just for this race, but for future ones too? We could be unbeatable together."

Emily considered his words carefully. She had always been close to her little brother, but the idea of actually racing alongside him had never crossed her mind. It was an intriguing prospect, but she wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do. "It's a nice idea, Charles," she said finally, "but you need to remember that we're still competing against each other today. I can't help you win the race if it means losing it myself. and also i never know when i will be called back to base and go on tour again."

Charles nodded, understanding her dilemma. "I get it," he said, his voice softening. "But maybe…maybe we could just see how today goes, and then talk about it afterwards? You know, if we both do well and have fun, who knows what could happen?" He flashed her a hopeful smile.

Emily smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "Okay," she agreed, surprised by how much she wanted to make this work. "We'll see how it goes. And even if we don't end up teaming up, I promise I'll always be your biggest fan, no matter what."

As they continued to walk around the car, Emily couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with her brother. They had always been close, but this newfound understanding and trust was something special. She could tell that Charles felt the same way, his movements more confident and his posture more erect.

The race finally began, and both Emily and Charles took their places at the starting line. Their engines revved in unison, and the air was filled with the smell of burning rubber and hot metal. As the flag dropped, they roared forward, their tires squealing against the pavement.

Emily and Charles stayed close together, watching each other's every move. They weaved in and out of traffic, avoiding potholes and other obstacles with ease. They could feel the tension between them, a mixture of determination and sibling rivalry. But they also felt a newfound respect for each other, a mutual understanding that they were in this together.

As they raced past the halfway mark, Emily began to pull ahead slightly. She glanced back at Charles, hoping he was doing alright, but didn't want to lose focus on the track. Suddenly, she heard a loud pop from his engine, and saw him slowing down. "Charles!" she shouted over the radio. "What's wrong?"

Charles gritted his teeth as he fought to keep the car under control. "I think I blew a tire," he replied, his voice strained. "I'm going to pull over and see if I can fix it."

Emily felt a pang of guilt as she watched her brother struggle. She knew how much this race meant to him, and she didn't want to be the reason he lost. She considered stopping as well, but she didn't want to give up her lead. Instead, she radioed back, "Don't worry about it, Charles. Just focus on getting the car fixed. I'll keep an eye on things until you're back."

As she continued to race, Emily couldn't help but keep glancing back over her shoulder. Each time she looked, she could see Charles frantically working on his car, trying to get it back up and running. The delay gave her a slight lead, but she knew it wouldn't last forever. She had to keep pushing if she wanted to win this race.

The track twisted and turned, winding its way through the lush greenery of the countryside. Emily expertly navigated the turns, her tires squealing against the pavement as she forced them to break traction. She could feel the engine beneath her, purring contentedly despite the recent setback. She knew that if she could just make it to the finish line, she had a good chance of winning.

In the distance, she could see Charles' car slowly making its way back onto the track. His progress was steady, but it was clear that he was struggling to keep up with her pace. Still, she couldn't help but feel a surge of pride watching him battle his way back into the race.

The finish line came into view, and Emily redoubled her efforts, pushing her car to its limits. She knew that she had to maintain her lead if she wanted to win. The stands were packed with spectators, their cheers echoing across the track as they urged her on. She could feel the heat of the sun beating down on her helmet, but she refused to let it distract her.

Behind her, Charles was gaining ground steadily, his car running more smoothly now that he had fixed the tire. The determination in his eyes was unmistakable as he closed in on her, inching closer with each passing second. Emily could feel her heart racing, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins.

As they neared the finish line, the cheers from the crowd grew louder, their voices a deafening roar that seemed to envelop the entire world. Emily glanced over at Charles, her heart in her throat as she wondered if she would manage to hold on. With a final burst of speed, she crossed the finish line, her tires squealing in protest as she slid sideways. She looked up to see Charles just inches behind her, his face contorted in a grimace of determination.

The race officials waved their checkered flags, signaling the end of the race. Emily slowly pulled her car to a stop, her heart still racing, her muscles aching from the effort. She climbed out of the car, her helmet in her hands, and took a deep breath. She glanced around, searching for her brother, and saw him emerge from his car a few feet away. His face was flushed with exertion and emotion, and there was a mixture of pride and disappointment in his eyes.

They met each other halfway, clasping hands in a gesture of camaraderie and understanding. "I'm sorry, Charles," Emily said, her voice hoarse from shouting over the engine. "I didn't mean to cause you to blow your tire."

Charles smiled, his expression softening. "It's alright, sis. You didn't do it on purpose. Besides, you helped me realize that I can still keep up with you." He glanced at the track, a distant look in his eyes. "I'm just sorry I couldn't pull ahead this time."

The two of them stood there for a moment, lost in their thoughts. The sound of the crowd slowly faded away, replaced by the gentle rustle of the leaves in the trees and the occasional hushed voice. Emily reached up and adjusted her helmet, feeling the sweat beading on her forehead. She knew that despite their sibling rivalry, she and Charles were a team. They always had been. all of a sudden Emily hears her phone ringing and sees it is her captain from the army calling.

"Sorry about that, Charles. I'd better take this. It's probably about my orders or something." Emily says, already walking a few steps away from her brother. She answers the call, pressing the phone against her ear. "Hello, Captain. What's up?"

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line before the captain replies, his voice grave. "I'm afraid I have some news, Emily. Your unit has received orders for a deployment. You're to report to base immediately for processing." Emily feels a chill run down her spine. "But, I thought… I mean, I was supposed to be here for the rest of the season. What about my brother's race?"

The captain hesitates for a moment. "I'm sorry, Emily, but these orders are top priority. You need to put your training first. We'll work something out with your brother's race, but for now, you need to focus on getting to base." He gives her the details of where to go and when, and then hangs up the phone.

Emily feels a mixture of shock, fear, and guilt wash over her. She glances over at Charles, who is watching her with a concerned expression. "I've got to go, Charles," she says, her voice barely audible. "The army's sending me into deployment." She takes a deep breath and tries to steady her racing heart.

Charles's face falls, and he steps forward to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "It's alright, Em. We'll get through this together. You're not going alone." He pauses, looking at her seriously. "I'll race for both of us now. I promise."

Emily looks up at him, tears welling in her eyes. She knows he's right; they've always been there for each other. "Thank you, Charles. I love you." She returns his hug, feeling the familiar weight of his arm across her shoulders.

Together, they walk back to their pit area, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the empty space. Emily can't help but feel a sense of loss, not just for herself, but for Charles as well. She knows that this will change everything for them.

As they approach their cars, they see their mom and siblings waiting for them, concern etched on their faces. Emily's older brother puts his arm around their mother's shoulders, offering what little comfort he can. Charles's mother reaches out to him, her hand trembling as she wipes away a tear.

The two of them get into their cars, Charles taking the lead as they pull out of the parking lot. Emily looks over at him, noticing the determination in his eyes as he focuses on the road ahead. She can tell that he's not just racing for himself anymore; he's racing for her too.

Their mother and siblings follow close behind, their mother's tears silent but steady as she watches her two children drive away. Emily's brother drives a bit more slowly, occasionally glancing into the rearview mirror to check on his sister.

The race track stretches out before them, the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the track. Charles takes a deep breath and focuses on the task at hand. He shifts gears, pressing his foot harder against the accelerator as he speeds up, his car whipping around the turns with precision. Emily watches him from the passenger seat, a mixture of awe and pride filling her heart.

In the car behind them, their siblings talk quietly among themselves, trying to distract their mother from the tension of the moment. They know that this race is more than just a race for Charles; it's a way for him to honor his sister's sacrifice and to show the world what they can achieve together.

Their mother, though quiet, is fiercely proud of both of her children. She wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. She remembers the day Emily left for basic training, how proud she was to see her daughter stand tall and strong. And now, she watches Charles race with the same mix of awe and pride.

and now she has to watch her only daughter be shipped out again and prays she make to back home safe.

Emily leans forward in her seat, her knuckles white as she grips the dashboard. She can feel the tension in her body, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She's not the one driving, but she feels like she is. Every move Charles makes, every decision he makes behind the wheel, feels personal to her. She can't help but wonder if this is how he feels when he's on the track with her.

Their mother glances up at the sky, watching the shadows grow longer. She wonders if Emily is thinking of her at this moment, if she can see the sky the same way. Perhaps they're both looking up at the same stars, hoping that one day they'll be able to watch Charles race together again.

Charles speeds past the finish line, his car screeching to a halt as he crosses it. He jumps out of the car, his heart racing and his lungs burning. His eyes dart around, searching for his family in the stands. their brothers are already there, clapping and cheering, their mother close behind. They spot Charles and their faces light up, relief and pride washing over them.

Emily watches from the pit area, her heart in her throat. She knows Charles did his best, and that's all she could have ever asked for. As he waves to them, she waves back, feeling a sense of accomplishment and love wash over her. Their mother stands up, wiping away a tear, and gestures for them to join her. They hurry over, their siblings forming a protective circle around them.

Their mother takes Emily's hand in hers, her grip firm and reassuring. "I'm so proud of both of you," she says, her voice cracking. "You did her proud, Charles. And you, Emily, you've been his strength when he needed it most. You've both shown such courage and resilience."

Charles squeezes his sister's shoulder, feeling the weight of their mother's words. "Thanks, Mom. And Em, you have no idea how much I appreciate everything you've done. You've been my rock, my inspiration. I couldn't have done it without you."

emily wipes her eyes as she pulls her mother and brothers in a hug.

" now lets get out of here and grab some dinner before i have to report back to base"

Their mother smiles through her tears, nodding in agreement. "Of course. We'll celebrate tonight, just like you wanted." She turns to her oldest son. "Arthur , why don't you and Emily go with Charles to pick up some food? We'll head straight home and get everything ready?."

Arthur nods, stepping forward. "Sounds good, Mom. We'll be back in a jiffy." He turns to Emily, offering her his arm. "Shall we?" They begin to walk towards Charles' car, a light breeze rustling through the trees behind them.

Charles pulls up to a local food truck park, parking his car between two brightly colored vehicles. The aroma of various cuisines fills the air, making their stomachs rumble in anticipation. "So, Em, what do you feel like getting?" he asks, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Emily shrugs, her mind already wandering to the dinner table at home with their family. "I'm not really sure. Whatever sounds good to you, I guess."

Charles nods, glancing at the menu board above the truck. "Hmm, I'm in the mood for some Mexican tonight. How does that sound? Chicken tacos, maybe some quesadillas?"

Emily smiles, feeling her stomach growl in agreement. "That sounds delicious. I'm sure Mom would love some help with the dinner too."

They step up to the window, watching as the friendly food truck owner takes their order. As they wait for the food, they lean against the car, enjoying the warm evening air. "Hey, Charles, I wanted to thank you again for letting me come with you today. I know it's not easy for you, being away from everything and everyone back home."

Charles shrugs, trying to downplay his emotions. "Hey, it's fine. I'm glad you're here. I'd rather have you by my side than anyone else. Besides, it helps me remember what I'm fighting for." He pauses, looking at Emily seriously.

Their food arrives, they grab it and start driving home.

"I'm sure you'll make a great soldier when you're back in the field," Enzo says, taking a bite of his quesadilla. "I mean, you're already so strong and brave. And I know Dad is so proud of you and remember he is always watching you em"

Emily feels a lump in her throat as she listens to Enzo. She knows he's right; their father is always watching over them, and she wants to make him proud. She takes a bite of her taco, savoring the flavors and the warmth it brings to her insides. As they continue to eat, she can't help but feel a sense of pride and love for her family. They've been through so much together, and she knows they'll always be there for each other.

as soon as they finish their dinner Emily stands up from the table

and hugs her mother and brothers tightly before leaving to go back to base. she kisses her mother on the cheek and tells her that she loves her. she walks with Charles to his car and they drive off in silence. as they pull up to the gate, Charles turns to Emily and says, "you know, em, you're not just my sister. you're my best friend. and i want you to know that I'm always here for you, no matter what. if you ever need someone to talk to, or just want to hang out, you know where to find me." Emily smiles at him through her tears and says, "thank you, Charles. i feel the same way about you. and I'm always here for you, too. little brother. take care of everyone for me ok, and make sure to take care of your self too alright?"

He nods, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. They get out of the car and hug tightly once more before Charles heads back to his car. Emily watches him go, wiping away the tears that fall silently down her cheeks. Even though they're apart now, she knows that they'll always be connected.

As she walks towards the base, she can't help but feel a sense of determination growing inside her. She's going to make it through this, for her family, for Charles, and for their father who is always watching over them. She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and marches forward with renewed purpose.

Emily arrives at her barracks, dropping her duffel bag onto her bunk with a sigh. The familiar sounds of soldiers going about their duties fill the air, but she hardly notices them as she lies down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. .

The days blur together in a haze of training exercises and long nights. Emily throws herself into her work, determined to prove herself as a soldier and make her father proud. But even as she pushes herself to the limit, she can't shake the feeling that she's missing something important. Something that was once a constant presence in her life.

She tries to stay in touch with Charles as much as possible, sending him letters and care packages whenever she can. In return, he sends her stories about their mother and brothers back home, about their father's garden and the new puppy they've adopted. Their conversations are brief but filled with love and support.

soon Emily is off to Iraq to start her tour.

The days in Iraq are long and brutal. The heat is relentless, and the dust seems to get into everything. Emily spends most of her time patrolling the streets, keeping an eye out for danger. At night, she huddles in her tent, trying to sleep amidst the constant hum of generators and the occasional gunfire.

She finds solace in the letters from Charles and her family back home. Their words are a lifeline, reminding her of the love and support that she has waiting for her when this is all over. In one particularly heartfelt letter, Charles tells her about a time when they were kids and they would go fishing with their father. They would spend hours by the riverbank, laughing and telling stories, and their father would always cook up their catch for dinner. Reading this, Emily feels a pang of longing for those simpler times.

As the weeks turn into months, Emily begins to see the impact of her service on those around her. She meets soldiers who have been through multiple tours, their eyes haunted by the memories of what they've seen and done. She tries to be strong for them, to be the steady presence that they can rely on, but sometimes she feels so young and inexperienced. She wishes she could talk to her father about it, but she knows he's not here anymore.

One day, as she's sitting in the makeshift chapel, writing a letter to Charles, she notices a familiar face in the corner. It's Sergeant Johnson, the veteran who has been giving her extra training. Something in his eyes tells her that he understands what she's going through, and without a word, he comes over and sits beside her. They sit in silence for a while, listening to the chaplain's voice as he reads from a worn book. Finally, Emily musters the courage to speak.

"Sergeant Johnson," she begins, "I don't know why you're even talking to me. I'm just a rookie, and I don't know half of what you've been through." He looks at her kindly, his eyes creased at the corners from a lifetime of smiling and frowning.

"Ah, Emily, you're not a rookie. You've been here, through this, just as much as anyone else. You're just new to it. And that's the important thing. You're here now, you're doing your job, and you're making a difference. You don't need to have been through ten tours to know that." He pauses, looking out the window at the dusty, barren landscape beyond. "Look, Emily, I've seen a lot of people come and go through here. Some of them…they just couldn't handle it. They couldn't find their footing. But you're different. You're strong. You've got a good head on your shoulders. and you have lead many tour to successes "

" So and with that me and the board have seen all the hard work and dedication you have put after each and every tour that we have decided to announce you as first lieutenant"

"Wait, what?!" Emily exclaims, her eyes widening in surprise. "But I'm not even halfway through my tour!"

Sergeant Johnson chuckles. "Ah, you're a quick learner, that's for sure. But you've earned it, Emily. You've earned it ten times over. And I can't think of anyone I'd rather have by my side as my second-in-command." He puts a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Now, let's go tell the others. They're going to be just as pleased as I am."

As they walk back to their base, Emily feels a strange mix of emotions coursing through her. Excitement, of course, but also a deep sense of responsibility. She knows that she still has a long way to go, and that there are countless challenges yet to face. But with Sergeant Johnson's guidance and the support of her new family here in the army, she knows that she can make it through.

The news of her promotion spreads like wildfire through the base, and the looks of surprise and admiration on her fellow soldiers' faces are enough to make her heart swell with pride. She spends the rest of the day sharing stories and laughter with them, feeling more a part of this unit than she ever thought possible.

Emily is quick to write a letter to her family telling them of her promotion and how she is doing.

As the days turn into weeks, Emily finds herself growing more comfortable in her new role as first lieutenant. She spends countless hours planning missions and training exercises, pouring her heart and soul into making sure that her soldiers are prepared for anything they might face. Her father's words echo in her mind: "A good leader isn't born, Emily. They're made." And so, she strives to be the best leader she can be, learning from her mistakes and always seeking the counsel of Sergeant Johnson when she needs it.

The landscape around them slowly begins to change as the seasons pass. The once barren earth turns green with life, and the skies grow heavy with the promise of rain. Even in the midst of war, there is beauty to be found, and Emily takes solace in the small moments of peace that these changes bring. She finds herself thinking more and more about her family back home, and the day when she'll finally be able to return to them.

anyone a part two maybe????

[formulas-bitch]

Family above all - Daniel Ricciardo x sister/reader

The sky was a deep, cerulean blue, unmarred by a single cloud. The air was warm and gentle, caressing Daniel Ricciardo's cheeks as he stood on the edge of the pier. His little sister, Mia, skipped along beside him, her long, chestnut hair bouncing with each joyful stride. The waves lapped rhythmically against the wooden boards beneath their feet, creating a soothing melody that seemed to echo throughout their souls. Daniel turned to face her, the sunlight reflecting off his piercing green eyes. He could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, the burden of responsibility that came with being the big brother. But in that moment, with her bright smile and infectious laughter, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace.

"I'm sorry, Daniel," Mia said softly, her voice barely audible above the sound of the waves. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

Daniel looked at her, surprised by the sincerity in her eyes. "It's okay, Mia. I know you didn't mean any harm. It's just… things have been tough lately, you know?"

Their parents had been going through a rough patch, arguing more often and retreating into themselves. It was like a dark cloud had settled over their happy home, making it hard for anyone to find any joy. But standing here with Mia, Daniel felt a sense of hope begin to stir inside him. She was his little sister, his best friend, and he knew that together they could weather any storm.

"You know, Dan," Mia said, her voice growing stronger, "sometimes when things get tough, we just need to find a way to make each other laugh." She giggled, the sound echoing across the water. "Like that time you tried to teach me how to ride a bike and I fell over and scraped my knee. That was so funny!"

Daniel couldn't help but smile at the memory. "Yeah, that was pretty funny," he admitted, feeling a small twinge of guilt. He wished he could take back some of the things he had said earlier, but it was hard not to feel protective of his sister. She was only 24 years old, after all.

Mia's face lit up at the mention of the memory, and she giggled again. "You should have seen your face when I fell over!" she exclaimed, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "It was priceless!"

Daniel couldn't help but laugh too, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. "Yeah, well, I guess I was just trying to be too protective," he admitted. "I didn't want you to get hurt or anything."

"I know, Dan," Mia replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "But I'm not a little kid anymore. I can handle myself." She paused, her expression growing more serious. "And even if I can't, I know you'll always be there for me."

The sincerity in her words made Daniel's heart swell with pride and affection. He looked into her eyes and saw not just his little sister, but a strong, independent woman who would one day make her own mark on the world. And as much as he wanted to protect her from everything, he knew that he had to let her spread her wings and fly.

"You're right, Mia," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're not a little kid anymore. You're growing up, and you're going to face your own challenges. And I'll be there for you, through everything. Just like I always have been, and always will be."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, they were lost in each other's gaze. The weight of the world seemed to lift from their shoulders, if only for a little while. They stood there, side by side, watching the waves crash against the pier, feeling the warmth of the sun on their skin.

"You know, Dan," Mia said thoughtfully, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've been thinking… about our parents. I know they're going through a rough patch, but I think we can help them. We can be there for them, you know? We can be their strength when they need it most."

Daniel nodded, considering her words. He knew that Mia was right; they could make a difference. They could be the ones to bring their parents back together, to help them remember why they had fallen in love in the first place.

"Yeah, you're right," he agreed. "We can do that. We can show them that we're here for them, that we'll always have their backs." He paused, looking at her with determination in his eyes. "And we can have some fun along the way, too. Just like we used to."

The two of them shared a knowing smile, remembering the countless happy memories they had made together. From building snowmen in the winter to camping trips in the summer, from watching movies under blankets on the couch to staying up late playing board games. Those were the times they cherished, the times that made them feel like they could take on anything.

And so, with renewed determination and a sense of purpose, they began to plan. They would start by spending more time with their parents, finding ways to include them in their daily lives. They would arrange family dinners, movie nights, even simple outings to the park. They would show their parents that they were still capable of enjoying each other's company, that there was still hope for their relationship.

The first step was to invite their parents over for a picnic at the beach. Daniel and Mia spent hours planning the perfect menu, making sure to include all of their favorite foods. They set up a beautiful spread on a blanket, complete with fresh-baked bread, cheese, fruit, and a selection of cold drinks. As the sun began to set over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the water, they eagerly awaited the arrival of their parents.

Their father was the first to arrive, looking slightly uncomfortable in his dress shirt and slacks. He took a seat next to Mia and offered her a small smile. "So, you two have something special planned?" he asked, his voice a bit strained.

"We sure do, Dad," Mia replied, returning his smile. "We just wanted to spend some quality time with you and Mom. You know, like the old days."

Their mother arrived a few minutes later, looking more apprehensive than their father. She glanced between them uncertainly before sitting down beside Daniel. He put an arm around her shoulders, offering her a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, Mom," he said, "we're just glad you could make it."

As they all sat there, the sun dipping lower in the sky, they talked about everything and nothing. They told stories about their childhood, laughed at old memories, and shared their hopes for the future. The food was delicious, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing background to their conversation.

Their father seemed to relax a bit as the evening wore on, even cracking a joke or two. Their mother smiled more often, and her eyes lit up whenever she looked at them. Daniel could see the love they still had for each other, even if it was buried beneath years of hurt and resentment.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they gathered their things and walked hand in hand along the beach, the warm glow of the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. They stopped at a small rock formation jutting out into the ocean, and their parents leaned against it, watching the waves crash against the shore.

"This is beautiful," their mother said, her voice soft with wonder. "It's been so long since we've just been able to enjoy each other's company like this." Daniel and Mia exchanged glances, pleased with the progress they had made.

"Yeah," their father added, his voice gruff with emotion. "You two are something else. You know that?" He turned to face them, his eyes shining in the fading light. "I don't know what it is about you two, but you have this way of bringing people together. I'm not just talking about us, either. We've seen it with our friends, our family… You're like a little ray of sunshine in everyone's life."

Mia blushed at the praise, looking away shyly. Daniel, on the other hand, was beaming with pride. He placed a hand on his father's shoulder, feeling a newfound sense of closeness and understanding. "Thanks, Dad. We're just glad we could help in some way."

Their mother smiled, her eyes filling with tears. "You don't know how much it means to us, Daniel and you, Mia. You've given us hope. Hope that maybe…" She trailed off, searching for the right words. "Maybe things can go back to the way they used to be."

Daniel and Mia exchanged glances, their hearts swelling with affection for their parents. They didn't know what the future held, but for now, they were content just being together like this. As the stars began to twinkle in the sky, they stood up, taking turns helping their parents to their feet.

Hand in hand, they made their way back to the blanket, gathering up the last of their things. The cool breeze off the ocean tickled their skin, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was a soothing lullaby. As they walked, Daniel and Mia couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over them.

Their parents, too, seemed to have relaxed, their steps more steady and their conversations more animated. They laughed at old stories and shared memories, and for a brief moment, it was as if the years had never passed. They reached the car, and as they loaded the blanket and chairs into the trunk, their father glanced at Daniel and Mia.

"You know, I've been thinking," he said. "Maybe it's time we started planning some family vacations again. Just the four of us." There was an unspoken promise in his words, a vow to work on repairing their relationship and rediscovering the love they once shared.

Mia's heart swelled with hope as she looked at her parents, seeing them as they used to be: a strong, loving couple who could face anything together. Daniel, too, seemed to sense the shift in the air, a newfound sense of optimism that they hadn't felt in years.

Their mother spoke up, her voice tinged with excitement. "That sounds wonderful, dear. I've always loved spending time with all of you. It would be wonderful to make more memories together." She smiled at Daniel and Mia, her eyes shining with gratitude.

Their father nodded in agreement. "We'll find a place where we can all unplug from our phones and laptops and just be together. Someplace quiet and peaceful where we can reconnect." He turned to face them, his expression serious. "And I want you two to know that we're here for you, no matter what. If you ever need to talk, or just need some space, we'll be there."

Their mother reached out and took their hands in hers, squeezing them gently. "We love you both so much, and we're so proud of the people you've become. No matter what happens in life, we'll always be on your side." She glanced up at the stars, her voice filled with emotion. "I think this night has taught us all an important lesson. About love, and family, and the power of forgiveness."

Daniel and Mia exchanged another glance, their hearts swelling with love for their parents. They knew that the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but they felt a renewed sense of hope and determination. As they climbed into the car, Daniel slid into the front seat beside their father, while Mia nestled in next to their mother. The scent of the ocean lingered in the air, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore faded into the distance.

Their parents continued to chat, sharing stories and laughter, the tension that had been so palpable in the past dissipating with each passing mile. Daniel and Mia listened, content to simply enjoy the company of their family. They couldn't help but feel that something had shifted, that a new chapter was beginning for all of them.

[formulas-bitch]

Mate- Max Verstappen/alpha x mate/reader

3.5k words

As the pale moon cast its silvery glow across the vast expanse of the Atlantic, a lone figure stood atop a cliff, their emerald eyes scanning the horizon. The wind tousled their unruly mane of raven hair, sending shivers down their muscular frame. They were Max Verstappen, the alpha of the Blackwood pack, and tonight, he felt restless. For as long as he could remember, there had been a void in his heart, a longing for something he could not quite put into words. Little did he know that the answer to his restlessness had been standing beside him since they were children, their bond stronger than any force in the world. Her name was Kelsey, and she was his mate. but they didn't know that because she still has to get her wolf which will be in a few weeks.

Max sighed, leaning against the weathered stone wall that had been there since before either of them had been born. His gaze drifted down to where the surf crashed against the jagged rocks below, the white foam glistening in the moonlight. "It's been so long, Kels," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "I don't know how much longer I can go on like this."

Kelsey, who had been quietly sitting next to him, glanced over at him. She could feel the tension radiating off of him, and it made her heart ache. She wished she could take away his pain, make everything better for him. "You know you can always talk to me, Max," she said softly, her voice barely above the sound of the waves. "You don't have to go through this alone."

Max turned his head to look at her, their emerald eyes meeting in the moonlight. He knew that she was his best friend, that there was no one else he trusted more, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth about how he felt. Not yet. Not until he was sure that she felt the same way. "I know," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I just… I don't want to lose you."

Kelsey felt her heart skip a beat at his words. She knew exactly what he meant, and it scared her. She couldn't imagine losing him, not now, not after everything they'd been through together. "You'll never lose me, Max," she said, reaching out to take his hand. "No matter what happens, I'll always be here for you."

Her touch seemed to calm him, and he squeezed her hand gratefully. "I know," he said, his voice still rough. "It's just… I've never felt this way about anyone before. It's like my whole world revolves around you, and I don't want anything to change that."

The admission hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Kelsey's heart skipped a beat as she realized what he was saying. She had always known that Max was special to her, but she never expected to feel the same way about him. She took a deep breath, trying to find the words to tell him how she felt.

"Max," she began, her voice barely more than a whisper, "I feel the same way. For as long as I can remember, you've been the only one who's ever truly understood me. And now… now I can't imagine my life without you." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she closed her eyes, unable to meet his gaze.

He looked at her, his emerald eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice little more than a hoarse croak. "Because if you're not… if this is just something that's born out of our friendship, I could never--" as max was about to say something, they both heard a twig snap near then.

They both turned their heads to look in the direction of the sound, their wolf instincts taking over. There, in the shadows, stood a lone figure with wild looking red eyes and foaming by the mouth.

"It's one of them," Kelsey whispered, her heart racing in fear. "We have to get back to the pack." She started to stand, but Max's grip on her hand tightened, keeping her in place.

"No," he said, his voice steady despite the terror that raced through his veins. "We can't go back there. We're too close to finding out what's going on." He glanced at Kelsey, his emerald eyes filled with determination. "We have to face this together." " i have to protect my pack and put an end to this rouge problem "

Max's words seemed to snap something inside Kelsey. She nodded, steeling herself against her fear. "Then let's do it," she said, her voice strong despite the tremor that ran through it. "Together."

" kels you have to go back to the pack house, i cant rick you getting hurt when you haven't gotten your wolf yet" max looked at Kelsey with sad and determined eyes.

Kelsey bit her lip, her heart aching at the thought of leaving Max alone to face whatever was out there. But she knew he was right. She nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "Okay," she whispered. "I'll go back, but I'll be right here, waiting for you. I'll make sure nothing happens to you."

He nodded, his expression softening. "Thank you," he said, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "I love you, Kels."

Kelsey felt a lump form in her throat as she returned his gesture, cupping his cheek in her hand. "I love you too, Max. Be careful." With one last look, she turned and darted back into the woods, her heart racing with fear and determination.

As she made her way back to the pack house, Kelsey could feel Max's presence fading with every step she took. The pain of being apart from him was almost unbearable, but she knew she had to focus on getting back safely. The woods seemed eerily silent, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She could sense that something was wrong, that the danger was still out there, waiting for her to make a mistake.

as she was almost to the pack house, she was knocked down all of a sudden , she landed hard on her back, coughing up blood, then she looked up and saw the rouge wolf who attacked her. She growled, then charged at him, but he was faster and slashed her across the face, opening a gash. She yelped in pain and fell back, blood running down her face. She couldn't see clearly, but she could still make out the rouge wolf standing over her. He seemed to be laughing manically, then he bent down, revealing his sharp, bloody teeth. Kelsey knew she had to fight back, she had to protect herself and her pack. With all her strength, she lunged at the rouge wolf, aiming for his throat. But he was too fast and agile, easily dodging her attack. They circled each other, both bloodied and breathing heavily. Kelsey knew it was a losing fight as she didn't have her wolf yet, but she must protect everyone she loved.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over them. Kelsey looked up to see Max, his emerald eyes blazing with anger and determination. He was growling, his wolf form visible even through his human skin. He leapt at the rouge wolf, claws extended. The two males fought fiercely, their bodies moving in a blur of motion. Kelsey could barely keep track of them as they tumbled through the underbrush. Max landed a powerful blow on the rouge wolf, sending him flying through the air. He landed with a thud, his limbs twitching. Max stood over him, breathing heavily, his chest heaving up and down.

Kelsey struggled to her feet, her vision still blurred from the blood loss. She limped over to where the rouge wolf lay, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Max looked at her, his expression apologetic as he recognized the danger she had put herself in. He knew she wasn't yet strong enough to face such a threat alone. With a sigh, he turned back to the rouge wolf, his eyes narrowed in determination. as doing so, what Max and Kelsey didn't notice was another rouge wolf sneaking up behind the. Sudmdenly, the wolf pounced on Kelsey, knocking her to the ground once again. The wolf had slashed Kelsey's side, opening a deep gash. Blood flowed freely from the wound as Kelsey cried out in pain.

Max whirled around, furious at the attack on his mate. He lunged at the second rouge wolf, but it was too fast, darting away through the trees. He growled in frustration, his emerald eyes searching for the intruder. Kelsey struggled to her feet, her vision starting to clear slightly. Max looked at her, concern etched on his features. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

She winced as she moved, blood dripping from the gash on her side. "I-I'm not sure," she managed to say between ragged breaths. "It hurts…" Her legs felt weak, and she feared she might pass out. Max pressed his nose to hers, his breath warm and steady. "I'll take care of you," he promised, his voice firm and reassuring. "We'll get you back to the pack house and tend to your wounds. but first i need to deal with this rouge"

He turned away from her, teeth bared in a snarl, and disappeared into the woods in pursuit of the second rouge wolf. Kelsey forced herself to stand, swaying unsteadily as she did so. She couldn't let herself collapse again. Not now, not when she was so close to safety. She stumbled through the woods, her vision blurring in and out as she fought to stay conscious.

all of a sudden she felt this sharp excreting pain and fell on her knees. she felt her bones snapping in half and realized that she was shifting into her wolf. she closed her eyes in pain and hunched over. she opened her eyes reveling gold eyes and a loud howl. which alerted max as he hurried to finish the rouge to get back to Kelsey quickly.

the pain was excruciating, but she managed to stand on her four legs, her body covered in fur and sharp claws. she looked around, her eyes wild and bloodshot. another rouge wolf appeared in front of her, its fangs bared and saliva dripping from its maw. she growled lowly, her hackles rising. the two wolves circled each other, sizing up the other's strengths and weaknesses.

Just then, she heard Max's voice calling out to her. She could sense his presence nearby, his emerald eyes piercing through the darkness. She wanted nothing more than to join him, to feel his protective embrace once again. But she knew she couldn't leave the second rouge wolf unchallenged. With a final, defiant growl, she charged at the intruder, claws extended and teeth bared. The two wolves met in a frenzied battle, their bodies slamming into each other with bone-shattering force. Sparks flew as their claws connected, leaving deep gashes in the other's flesh.

As the fight raged on, Max circled around them, unsure how to help without endangering Kelsey further. His heart raced as he watched the two wolves grapple, fearing for their safety. Finally, he spotted an opening and darted forward, tackling the second rouge wolf to the ground. The two wolves struggled against each other, but Max's superior strength soon became apparent. He pinned the intruder beneath him, his jaws closing around the other's throat. There was a sickening crunch, and then silence.

Kelsey staggered over to them, her vision still blurry from the pain. She nudged the limp body of the second rouge wolf with her nose, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Max turned his head to look at her, his emerald eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse through the mind link.

She tried to respond, but could only manage a weak whine. Max pressed his muzzle against her side, his warm breath soothing her injured flesh. "Let's get you back to the pack house," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "We need to tend to your wounds."

Kelsey nodded, leaning into his touch. Max placed a paw under her and lifted her up, cradling her in his arms like a pup. The movement caused fresh pain to shoot through her side, but she gritted her teeth and endured it. As they made their way through the woods, she could feel the weight of unconsciousness pressing down on her, threatening to drag her under once more. But she fought against it, refusing to succumb until they were safely back at the pack house.

The air grew cooler as they approached the familiar scent of their territory. Kelsey could hear the distant howls of her packmates, their calls echoing through the trees. Max quickened his pace, anxious to get her back to the safety of the pack house and to the infirmary . The scent of pine and earth filled her nostrils, and she tried to focus on the sensations around her, willing herself to stay awake.

Finally, they emerged from the woods and into the clearing surrounding the pack house. The moonlight cast long shadows across the grounds, illuminating the statuesque figures of the wolves who stood guard at the entrance. Max made his way to the front door, his strides purposeful and determined. As they approached, the guards recognized him and stepped aside, allowing them entry.

The scent of fresh herbs and earth filled Kelsey's nostrils as they were led through the hallways of the pack house. The walls were adorned with tapestries and weapons from centuries past, each one telling a tale of victory and survival. They passed through the great room, where several of Kelsey's packmates were gathered around a crackling fire, their conversations hushed in her presence.

The infirmary was located at the back of the house, its doors closed to all but those in need. Max gently set her down on a comfortable bed, his warm breath caressing her ear. "Rest now," he whispered. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

As her vision began to blur and her limbs grew heavy, Kelsey struggled to keep her eyes open. She felt a stinging sensation as something cold and metallic was pressed against her wound, and then a momentary burning pain as it was cleaned. She fought against the darkness, determined not to succumb until she knew she was safe. But exhaustion won out in the end, and she finally surrendered to the welcome oblivion.

In the morning, Kelsey awoke to the sound of voices outside her door. The sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the infirmary. Her wound had been tended to, and the pain had subsided to a dull ache. She sat up in bed, wincing as her movement sent fresh pains shooting through her side. Max poked his head around the door, his expression concerned.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Kelsey took a deep breath, willing herself to ignore the pain. "Better," she croaked. "Thanks to you." kels replied as she finally looked max in the eyes.

as their eyes connected all max heard in his head from when his dad told him when meeting his mate, " it was Imprinting on someone is like… Like when you see her… Everything changes. All of a sudden, its not gravity holding you to the planet. It's her… Nothing else matters. You would do anything… be anything for her." (thank you jacob black ) max felt the same way, he couldn't help but feel something deep down for her, he didn't know what it was but he knew it was real and it was there, he knew that he would do anything for her, he would be anything for her. soon realized that they were mate, soulmates.

He nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Good. I'm glad to hear that. You've been through a lot, and you've handled yourself admirably. The pack is proud of you." He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Kelsey, there's something I need to ask you. I need you to be honest with me."

Kelsey felt her heart beat a little faster as she met Max's steady gaze. "What is it?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Kelsey," Max began, clearing his throat, "I need to know if you feel the same way. If you… if you would consider being my mate."

Kelsey felt her cheeks flush with heat as she considered his words. She knew what it meant to be a wolf's mate; the bond was deep and unbreakable, a connection that went beyond anything she'd ever experienced before. And as much as she'd tried to deny it, she couldn't help but feel something for Max. Something more than friendship, more than gratitude.

Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes again and nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "I would love to being your mate."

Max's expression softened, and he reached out to take her hand. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I was afraid I'd lost you out there, but I never gave up hope." He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. "You are my mate, Kelsey.

My everything. And from now on, you're never going to have to face anything alone. I will always be here for you, to protect you and to love you. We will face whatever comes our way, together as mates and as alpha and luna"

As they spoke, Kelsey felt a warmth spread through her body, a connection that seemed to link them in a way she'd never experienced before. It was as if Max was a part of her, and she was a part of him, and together they could face anything. She knew that this bond was not something to be taken lightly, but she also knew that she would not trade it for anything in the world.

"I will always be there for you too," she said, squeezing his hand. "I promise to be the best mate, and luna that I can be. Together, we can lead this pack to greatness."

As they spoke, their bond grew stronger, and Kelsey felt as though she could sense Max's every thought, every emotion. It was both unnerving and incredibly intimate, and she knew that this was only the beginning of what their bond could be.

Outside the room, the rest of the pack was abuzz with news of their mating. They had expected an alpha-beta pairing, but the revelation that Kelsey was their luna sent shockwaves through the group. Many of the younger wolves looked to her with newfound respect, and the older members nodded knowingly, recognizing the strength and resilience it took to survive what she had.

Max and Kelsey's bond was unlike anything anyone had ever seen before. It was not just a mating bond, but a deep and profound connection that went beyond anything they could have imagined. They were inseparable, and it was clear that they would rule the pack together as one.

Their first order of business as mated pair was to strengthen the pack. They worked tirelessly to rebuild the den, repairing the damage done by the rogue attacks and restoring it to its former glory. They trained the younger wolves in the ways of the pack, instilling in them the values of loyalty, honor, and strength. They reestablished alliances with other packs, forging new friendships and ensuring the safety and prosperity of their people.

As their reign continued, Max and Kelsey became known as one of the greatest alpha and luna pairs in the history of the pack. They led the pack through times of peace and war, through feast and famine, always guiding them with wisdom and compassion. Their bond only grew stronger with each passing day, and it was said that the strength of their bond was what kept the pack together when times were toughest.

One of their greatest accomplishments was the founding of a new pack, populated by wolves who had been displaced by conflict or simply seeking a new home. Max and Kelsey welcomed them with open arms, offering their protection and guidance. The two packs became close allies, often working together to ensure the safety and wellbeing of all their people.

Their wisdom and leadership were not limited to the pack; they also served as mediators and advisors to other alphas and lunas who sought their counsel. It was said that their bond was so strong that it allowed them to see things others could not, to understand the complexities of pack dynamics in a way that few ever could.

As the years passed, Max and Kelsey became elder wolves, their bodies beginning to show signs of age, but their spirits remained as strong as ever. They continued to guide and protect their pack, ensuring that their legacy lived on through the generations. They watched with pride as their children and grandchildren took on leadership roles, continuing the work they had started so many years ago.

The world around them changed, but their love for one another remained constant. They faced new challenges, from environmental degradation to the encroachment of human settlements, but they met each obstacle together, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

[formulas-bitch]

unknown sister - lance stroll

4.2k words

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an ethereal glow over the city, Lance Stroll found himself wandering aimlessly through the bustling streets. His mind was elsewhere, lost in thought, as he weaved in and out of the throngs of people. He had no particular destination, no particular purpose - he was just there, existing. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her: a girl, no more than a few years older than he was, who bore a striking resemblance to someone he once knew. Intrigued, Lance followed her at a discreet distance, his heart racing with anticipation.

As she ducked into a quaint little café, Lance hesitated for a moment before mustering up the courage to enter after her. The moment he stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries enveloped him, sending a wave of nostalgia washing over him. His eyes searched the crowd until they alighted upon her: sitting alone at a table in the far corner, lost in thought, a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. His heart skipped a beat as he realized that this girl was his sister; the one he had never known existed.

Cautiously, Lance made his way over to her, his steps slow and deliberate. He cleared his throat, trying to gather the words that seemed to have deserted him. "Um… excuse me?" he finally managed to say. "I'm Lance Stroll. We… we might be related." There was a long pause as he waited for her reaction, his heart pounding in his chest.

The girl looked up from her coffee, her eyes widening in recognition. "Lance?" she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief. "It can't be…" She set her coffee down and pushed it aside, her gaze fixed on him. "You're Chloe's brother?" Nodding, Lance felt a lump forming in his throat. "I am. I found out about you a few days ago… I just… I had to see you for myself." He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. "I'm sorry if this is weird or confusing for you. I just… I wanted to meet you."

For a long moment, the sibling just stared at each other, the air thick with emotion. Then, slowly, the girl stood up and moved around the table, her arms opening wide. "I'm Layla," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "And yes… I am your sister." She pulled Lance into a tight hug, burying her face in his shoulder as they clung to each other.

Lance was at a loss for words, but he hugged her back just as tightly, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and connection. As they pulled apart, their faces wet with tears, Layla wiped at her eyes and forced a shaky smile. "I can't believe it," she whispered. "All this time… we had no idea."

The siblings took a moment to compose themselves, each ordering a cup of coffee before settling into a comfortable booth. As they sipped their drinks, Lance began to fill Layla in on the details of his life: about Chloe, their parents, and his time in formula 1. Layla listened intently, her eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. In turn, Layla shared stories of her own, about her life growing up in another part of the city and her dreams of becoming a professional dancer.

As they continued to talk, the café around them seemed to fade away, replaced by a world where the only thing that mattered was their connection to each other. They spoke of their shared memories, both real and imagined, and began to forge a bond that transcended time and circumstance. They laughed together, cried together, and found solace in each other's company.

Eventually, their conversation turned to the future. Layla confided in Lance that she had been struggling financially and was considering giving up on her dancing dreams. Upon hearing this, Lance was determined to help her. He offered her a place to stay in his apartment and promised to use his connections in the entertainment industry to help her get her foot in the door.

Layla was overwhelmed with gratitude, and they hugged tightly once more. As they pulled away, Lance could feel a new sense of purpose and direction in his life. He knew that finding Layla had been a blessing, and he would do everything in his power to make sure that their bond only grew stronger.

as they were catching up, lance had received a call from their dad.

"I hope you haven't forgotten about the race this weekend, son," he said, his voice booming through the phone. "You've got a lot of fans out here who are counting on you. Don't let them down."

Lance smiled at his sister as he listened to their father's words. "I won't, Dad," he assured him, before turning back to Layla. "So, how about we grab some lunch and talk more about your dancing? I have a few ideas on how we can make things happen for you."

As they left the café and ventured out into the bustling city, Layla linked her arm through Lance's, a gesture of sisterly affection that filled him with warmth. "I can't thank you enough for this, Lance," she said, looking up at him with shining eyes. "You have no idea what this means to me."

Lance shrugged off her gratitude, feeling it was an understatement. "It's the least I could do," he replied, his voice gruff with emotion. "You're my sister, after all. We're in this together."

Their walk took them past a park where a small festival was taking place. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the sizzle of food on grills. They stopped at a booth selling kebabs and shared a plate, chatting animatedly as they ate. Layla told Lance about a dancing competition she'd heard of, one that would offer a substantial prize and a chance to perform in front of a prominent choreographer.

"I think that's something we should definitely look into," Lance said, wiping his hands on a napkin. "I'll see what I can do to help you get sponsored. And if you need any contacts in the entertainment industry, just let me know."

As they continued to walk through the park, they stumbled upon a group of people practicing some intricate dance moves. Layla's eyes lit up and she immediately went over to join them. Lance watched her dance with a mix of awe and pride, marveling at how graceful and talented she was. He couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness as well, wanting to make sure that no one ever underestimated her or stood in her way.

After watching her for a while, Lance noticed a young man standing off to the side, obviously captivated by Layla's dancing. He walked over and introduced himself as Adam, a fellow dancer who had been struggling to find his place in the industry. The three of them exchanged numbers, and Layla and Adam quickly became friends, often practicing together and offering each other advice and support.

As the weeks passed, Layla's audition for the dancing competition grew closer. Lance had been working tirelessly behind the scenes, using his connections to secure her a spot in the competition and even managing to find her a talented choreographer to help her prepare. He couldn't have been more proud of his sister, and he knew that no matter what happened, she would make him and their father proud. even though their dad dint know that lance had found Layla and was in contact with her .

Adam, too, had become a close friend to Layla and Lance. He had been an invaluable source of support and encouragement, always offering a listening ear or a helpful hand when needed. The three of them had developed a special bond, and Lance couldn't help but feel grateful for the positive influence Adam had on his sister. He hoped that their friendship would only continue to grow stronger in the years to come.

As the big day of the competition approached, Lance found himself feeling both nervous and excited for Layla. He'd never been one to dance himself, but he'd seen her practice countless hours, pouring her heart and soul into each routine. He knew that she had what it took to win, and he was determined to make sure that she had everything she needed to succeed.

The day of the competition finally arrived, and Lance, Layla, and Adam made their way to the venue. The atmosphere was electric, with dancers from all over the city gathered to showcase their talents. Lance helped Layla with her hair and makeup, making sure she looked her best before she went onstage. As she waited in the wings, he could see the determination and focus in her eyes, and he knew that she was ready to give it her all.

The competition was fierce, with each dancer bringing their unique style and technique to the stage. As Layla's turn approached, Lance felt a lump in his throat and a knot in his stomach. He knew that no matter what happened, he would be proud of her. When she emerged onto the stage, the audience erupted into applause, and Lance couldn't help but feel a surge of pride.

She danced with a grace and power that Lance had never seen before, her movements fluid and effortless. The choreography was stunning, and Lance could tell that the judges were impressed. As she finished her final move, the crowd rose to their feet, showering her with cheers and applause. It was clear that she had won over everyone in the room.

Lance couldn't believe his eyes as Layla was named the winner of the competition. He felt a wave of emotion wash over him as he watched her accept her trophy and give her speech, thanking him and Adam for their support. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment, knowing that he had played a part in helping her achieve her dreams.

As they left the venue, Lance could feel the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. The constant worry and stress about their financial situation had been consuming him, but now, with Layla's victory, he felt a newfound sense of hope and optimism. He knew that things were going to be okay, and that Layla would have the opportunity to pursue her passion without having to worry about money.

as layla and lance made their way out of the competition, they were approached by Lawrence, their dad, well more like lance's dad as he didn't know it was Layla his eldest daughter standing in front of him, as he had left her mom when she had found out she was pregnant with her.

Lance was about to introduce them but then thought better of it, he would let them have their moment, so he stood back and just watched with a smile on his face as his sister and their dad reunited. It was a moment of pure joy and happiness that he would never forget. He could see the surprise, shock and then disbelief in his dad's eyes as he looked at Layla, taking in her beauty and grace, and then the realization hit him that this was his daughter, the one he had never met, the one he had missed out on all these years.

The emotion in the air was palpable, and Lance felt a lump form in his throat as he watched the two of them hug, tears streaming down their faces. It was a moment that he knew would change their lives forever, a moment that would bring them all closer together, a moment that would help them heal from the pain of the past.

As they pulled apart, Lance could see the love and pride in his father's eyes as he looked at Layla, and it filled him with a sense of hope and joy. He knew that their relationship would take time to build, but he believed that with patience and understanding, they could create a new family, one that was based on love and acceptance.

Layla seemed to feel the same way, as she introduced her father to Adam and Lance, her voice shaking slightly with emotion. Lawrence, taken aback by the depth of her feelings, could only nod in acknowledgment, unable to find the words to express his own emotions. The four of them stood there, bonding over their shared experience and the love they had for Layla, their amazing daughter.

As they continued to talk, Lance noticed a change in his father's demeanor. Where before there had been shock and disbelief, now there was a quiet determination to be a part of their lives. He wanted to make up for the time he had missed, to be the father Layla and Lance deserved. It was a moment of clarity for Lance, one that made him realize that perhaps their father's love was not as lost as he had once believed.

The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of introductions, hugs, and tears. Chloe and Lance's mother, who had never quite forgiven their father for abandoning them, seemed to soften as she watched the emotional reunion unfold between his other daughter he never got to see grow up. There was a new understanding in her eyes, a recognition that perhaps Lawrence had not been as heartless as she had once thought. It was a fragile peace, but it was a start. she soon introduced herself as Lawrence's wife and Chloe and Lance's mother.

As they all left the venue together, arms looped around each other's waists, they felt a sense of hope and unity that they had never experienced before. They knew that their lives were about to change drastically, but for once, it felt like it was for the better. They were going to be a family, a real family, with all its flaws and imperfections.

Lawrence, still struggling to process the events of the evening, couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in Layla's accomplishments. He knew that he had missed out on so much of her life, but he was determined to be there for her now. He promised himself that he would do whatever it took to make things right with her, Chloe and Lance, and to earn their trust and love.

As they walked to the car, Layla took her father aside and gave him a small, leather-bound book. "This is a journal I kept during my time competing," she explained. "It's full of my thoughts, feelings, and experiences. I wanted you to have it, so you could get to know me better." Lawrence, touched beyond words, promised to read it carefully and to treasure it always.

" Next week is your sister Chloe's wedding and we would love for you to come and celebrate with us"

Layla's face lit up with joy as she hugged her father tightly. "Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world." She glanced over at Lance, a small smile playing on her lips. "It's going to be a special day for all of us."

Lawrence returned her smile, feeling a sense of warmth spread through his chest. "It certainly is. And I want you both to know that I'm here for you, no matter what." He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, his gaze meeting theirs in a show of sincerity.

The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of celebration and joy as they all attended Chloe's wedding together. Layla and Lance glowed with happiness, clearly proud of their sister and excited to share this special day with their newfound family member. Lawrence found himself feeling more and more at ease with them, beginning to form real connections and bonds that he hadn't thought possible.

As they danced and laughed throughout the night, Lance couldn't help but notice the way his father looked at Layla. There was a sense of awe in his eyes, as if he couldn't believe the incredible woman she had become. Lawrence, for his part, seemed to be relishing every moment of spending time with her, treasuring each conversation and memory they made together.

Chloe and her new husband, meanwhile, were beaming with happiness as they shared their special day with their newly expanded family. They had been through so much, but seeing their father there, a part of their lives once more, made everything feel just a little bit brighter.

As the night wore on, Layla and Lance began to dance together, their movements fluid and effortless, mirroring the deep connection they shared. Lawrence watched them from afar, a small smile playing on his lips as he recalled his own wedding dance with their mother. He couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the journey that had brought them all here, to this moment, together as a family.

Chloe and her new husband, meanwhile, had taken the opportunity to steal Lance and Layla away for a slow dance, twirling them around the dance floor as they shared heartfelt words and hugs. It was a moving display of love and support, and it brought tears to Lawrence's eyes to see his children so happy and loved.

As the night wound down, the guests began to say their goodbyes, but not before Layla, Lance, and Chloe insisted on gathering everyone together for a group photo. They posed arm in arm, beaming with joy and pride, their newfound bond shining through in every image. Lawrence stood behind them, his hand resting on each of their shoulders, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over him.

As the last of the guests departed, Chloe pulled her father aside. "Thank you," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you for coming tonight, for being here for us. It means more than you'll ever know." Lawrence, unable to speak past the lump in his throat, simply squeezed her hand and nodded, his own eyes misting over.

Meanwhile, Lance approached Layla with a gentle smile. "You were amazing tonight," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I don't know how you did it, but you made everyone feel so welcome, so included. I'm so proud of you, sis." Layla blushed, her cheeks flushing, but she didn't miss the warmth that spread through her chest at his words.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice trembling just a little. "I'm glad I could help. And thank you for being there with me tonight. You were amazing too, you know." Lance chuckled softly, reaching out to take her hand. "We'll always have each other's backs, right?" Layla squeezed his hand in agreement, her gaze meeting his.

As they stood there, lost in their own thoughts and feelings, they were unaware of the approach of their father. Lawrence cleared his throat gently, drawing their attention back to him. "You two are an incredible team," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I couldn't be more proud of you both." His words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with meaning, before Lance and Layla stepped forward to embrace their father in a tight hug.

The night air was cool and crisp as they made their way back to the car. Layla and Lance had switched places, with Lance now driving his father's rental and Layla riding shotgun beside him. As they drove, the city lights reflecting off the buildings and streets, they found themselves lapsing into silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the day's events.

"Do you think he'll stay?" Layla finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lance glanced over at his sister, then back at the road ahead. "I don't know, sis. It's a big change for him, moving out here and all. I mean, he's got his job, and he seems to be enjoying it, but…" He trailed off, shrugging slightly. "Who knows? Maybe he'll find a way to make it work. We can only hope, right?"

As they pulled into the driveway of their parents' house, they both glanced at each other, a mix of emotions playing across their faces. They got out of the car and walked together up to the front door, taking a moment to gather their thoughts and compose themselves. The night had been full of highs and lows, but they both felt a newfound sense of connection, not only with each other, but with their father as well.

Inside, their mother was busy cleaning up the remnants of the party, her movements efficient and graceful as she worked. "How did it go?" she asked, looking up from her task with a tired smile. "Did everything go alright?"

"It went better than alright, Mom," Lance replied, taking her hand and leading her into the living room. "Layla and Chloe did an amazing job tonight, and everyone seemed to have a great time." He gestured towards the photo album they'd put together earlier, sitting prominently on the coffee table. "We even got a group photo."

Layla nodded in agreement, her eyes drifting towards the album. "It was hard work, but it was worth it. I think everyone who came felt welcome, and that's all we could've asked for." She glanced over at her father, who was sitting in the corner of the room, looking thoughtful. "And Dad seemed to really enjoy himself too."

Their mother smiled warmly and squeezed Lance's hand. "I'm so proud of both of you," she said. "You've grown into such amazing young adults." She paused for a moment, her expression turning pensive. "And I hope that tonight was a step in the right direction for all of us, finding our way back to each other."

as they talked in the kitchen , Lawrence made his way and joined them, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looked at his children with a mix of pride and sadness in his eyes. "You both did an amazing job tonight," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me to see all of you together, enjoying each other's company." " i was thinking Layla, why don't you join me and lance for his race next week?" asked Lawrence, trying to sound casual. "I'm sure it'll be fun, and it'll be great for all of us to spend some quality time together."

Layla looked at her father, then at Lance, her eyes filling with hope. "I'd love to, Dad," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "That sounds like a great idea." Lance nodded in agreement, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. They all knew that this wasn't just about a race; it was about trying to rebuild their family, one small step at a time.

As the weeks passed, they all threw themselves into preparations for the race. Lance trained harder than ever, determined to do his best for his father. Layla helped out with logistics and publicity, using her organizational skills to make sure everything ran smoothly. And Lawrence, well, he was there for moral support, offering advice when asked and lending an ear when needed.

The day of the race finally arrived, and the entire family made their way to the track. The air was filled with the roar of engines and the excited chatter of spectators. Lance's heart pounded in his chest as he strapped himself into the car, but he felt a calm confidence wash over him when he saw Layla and their father standing nearby. They were his biggest fans, and he couldn't have asked for anything more.

As the race began, Lance focused on the track, determined to navigate the twists and turns with precision. He could feel the adrenaline surging through his veins, pushing him to go faster, to outperform his competition. But even as he raced, his mind kept drifting back to the people he loved standing on the sidelines. He knew that this race wasn't just about winning or losing; it was about proving to himself and to them that he could be the man they needed him to be.

In the grandstands, Layla and their father cheered him on, their voices carrying across the track. They could feel the raw emotion in their words, the unspoken love and support that flowed between them. As Lance neared the finish line, they held their breath, willing him to cross it. And when he did, emerging victorious amidst a cloud of burning rubber and deafening cheers, they erupted in applause, their eyes shining with tears of pride.

Lance climbed out of the car, his chest heaving, and threw his arms around his father. They hugged tightly, sharing a moment of connection that felt like it had been eons in the making. Layla joined them, wrapping her arms around both of them, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything was going to be okay.

As they walked back to the pit, Lance couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. There was still so much work to do, so many bridges to mend. But for now, he was content to bask in the glow of victory and the love of his family. He knew that with their support, he could face any challenge that came their way. and he finally had another sister who he could share his dreams with.

[formulas-bitch]

Forbidden Love Pierre Gasly x Leclerc/reader

4.8k words

warnings: charles being a dick sort of

On the morning of June 17th, a day that would change his life forever, Pierre Gasly woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside his window. The sunlight streamed in, casting a warm glow across his bed, and he could smell the freshly baked bread from the bakery down the street. He stretched lazily, enjoying the feeling of being completely unencumbered by the weight of responsibility that had been pressing down on him for so long. Little did he know that this carefree morning was about to be interrupted by the arrival of a woman who would turn his world upside down.

As Pierre made his way to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast, he heard a knock at the door. He crossed the room, still in his bathrobe, and opened it to find a beautiful woman standing on his doorstep. She had long, flowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to capture his attention instantly. She introduced herself as Madeleine Leclerc, the older sister of his best friend, Charles. As they talked, Pierre couldn't help but feel a strange connection with her. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, and he found himself smiling and laughing at her jokes.

After a while, Pierre invited Madeleine inside to have some coffee. They sat in the living room, sipping their cups and continuing their chat. As they talked, Pierre noticed how intelligent and interesting Madeleine was. She had a way with words that made everything she said seem profound and meaningful. He also noticed her striking resemblance to her brother, which only made her more attractive to him.

As the morning wore on, Pierre began to realize that he had feelings for Madeleine that went beyond friendship. He found himself becoming more and more infatuated with her, and couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be with her. He knew that pursuing a relationship with her would be complicated, given their familial connection, but he couldn't shake the desire that burned within him.

Madeleine seemed to sense his feelings, and their conversation became more intimate as the day progressed. They discussed their shared passions, their dreams for the future, and the things that made them happy. Pierre felt a deep connection with her, and for the first time in a long time, he felt truly alive. but the only thing stopping him from persuading his feeling for Madeleine was Charles.

As the afternoon sun streamed through the window, Pierre found himself lost in thought about what he should do. He knew that pursuing a relationship with Madeleine would mean potentially hurting his best friend, and that weighed heavily on his heart. He didn't want to lose either of them, but he couldn't deny the intense desire he felt for her. He decided that he would wait, bide his time, and see how things unfolded.

The next few months passed by in a blur of work, social engagements, and quiet reflection. Pierre tried not to think about Madeleine too much, but her image seemed to seep into every corner of his life. He couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same way about him.

One day, out of the blue, Madeleine called him to ask if he would like to join her and a group of friends for a weekend getaway at her family's cabin in the woods. Pierre hesitated for a moment, torn between his feelings for her and his fear of hurting Charles. In the end, he decided that it might be best to confront his emotions head-on.

The weekend was filled with laughter, hiking, and late-night conversations around the fire. As they sat together under the stars, Pierre couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for Madeleine. He knew that she was now in a relationship with someone else, and that he had to respect her choice. But the feeling he had for her was too strong to ignore.

As the weekend came to an end, they all said their goodbyes and promised to keep in touch. Pierre found himself unable to concentrate on anything other than Madeleine for the next few weeks. He would daydream about their time together at the cabin, wishing things could be different. Finally, he decided that he needed to talk to her. He needed to know where she stood and if there was any hope for them.

He texted her, asking if they could meet for coffee, and she agreed. They arranged to meet at a cozy little café near her workplace. As Pierre waited for her, he felt a mixture of anticipation and dread in his stomach. When she finally arrived, he couldn't help but notice the way she walked, the way she smiled, the way she moved. It was then that he knew he had to say something.

They ordered their drinks and found a quiet corner to sit in. The air was thick with tension, and Pierre couldn't help but feel that their relationship had changed since the weekend at the cabin. "Madeleine," he began, "I wanted to talk to you about something."

She looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with curiosity. "Of course, Pierre. You know you can always talk to me."

Pierre took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "I just wanted to say that I've been thinking about our time together at the cabin, and…well, I can't help but feel that something has changed between us." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I care about you very much, Madeleine. More than I've ever cared about anyone else. And I want to be with you."

Madeleine listened carefully, her expression growing more serious with each word he spoke. Finally, she leaned in closer and placed her hand on his arm. "Pierre, I appreciate your honesty. You know how much I value our friendship, but I'm in a relationship now. With someone else. I can't just ignore that."

He nodded, understanding her words but unable to hide the disappointment in his eyes. "I know, I just…I didn't want to lose you. I couldn't help how I felt."

Madeleine leaned back in her chair, her expression softening. "I appreciate that, Pierre. It means a lot to me to know that you care so much. But I need you to understand that I can't be with you the way you want me to be. I love my boyfriend, and we're trying to work through this. I want to keep our friendship, though. I don't want to lose you, too."

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Pierre wasn't sure how to respond. He knew he should respect her decision, but the pain in his heart was almost unbearable. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Okay, Madeleine. I'll try to respect your wishes. But I just want you to know that I'll always be here for you, if you need me."

Their conversation drifted to safer topics after that, and Pierre did his best to act as if nothing had changed. But every time he looked at her, he could see the spark that had once been there, dimmed by the weight of their situation. They continued to meet for coffee, and sometimes they would even share a laugh or two, but the connection they'd shared at the cabin seemed to be gone forever.

As the weeks turned into months, Pierre tried to move on with his life. He threw himself into his work, spending long hours at the gym , hoping that the distraction would help ease the ache in his chest. He dated other women, but none of them compared to Madeleine. He knew that she was the one who had gotten away, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever find someone like her again.

One day, out of the blue, Madeleine invited him over for dinner. Her relationship with her boyfriend had ended, and she wanted to catch up with him. Pierre couldn't believe his luck. He accepted the invitation without hesitation, eager to see her again.

As they sat down to dinner, Pierre couldn't help but notice the way Madeleine seemed different. She was more confident, more sure of herself. He wondered if it was because she was no longer in that relationship, or if something else had changed.

The conversation flowed easily between them, and Pierre felt a sense of joy he hadn't experienced in months. It was as if they had never skipped a beat. As they ate and drank, their laughter filled the room, and Pierre found himself wishing that this moment could last forever.

Later in the evening, when the dishes had been cleared away, Madeleine leaned back in her chair, her eyes meeting Pierre's. "I just want to say thank you," she began. "For being there for me when I needed it most. You were always so understanding and supportive, and I appreciate that more than you know."

Pierre felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. "Of course, Madeleine. That's what friends are for. I'm just glad I could be there for you."

Their conversation continued into the night, touching on everything from their favorite movies to their childhood memories. As the hours passed, Pierre couldn't help but feel a sense of longing growing inside him. He wanted more than friendship with Madeleine. He wanted to be the one who made her laugh, who made her happy.

Finally, the moment he had been waiting for all night arrived. Madeleine let out a soft sigh and leaned back in her chair, her eyes locked on his. "Pierre," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've been meaning to talk to you about something." as she was about to speak, a ringing of a phone interrupts them . The ringtone is an old, familiar tune from their childhood. Pierre recognizes it instantly. It's her brother's phone call. He always calls her on this number. The excitement and anticipation in Madeleine's eyes vanish as quickly as they appeared, replaced by a look of apprehension and dread.

"I'm sorry," she says apologetically, "I should take this." She quickly excuses herself from the table and hurries into the other room, closing the door behind her.

Pierre listens to the muffled sound of her voice on the other end of the line, his heart sinking with each word. He can't help but feel a stab of jealousy as she speaks to her brother, Charles, their childhood friend who had always been there for her. They had always been close, and it was clear that their bond was as strong as ever.

He tries to focus on his own conversation with Madeleine, but her words with Charles keep creeping into his mind. "I should get back to him," she says at one point, her tone distant and apologetic. Pierre knows that there's no point in pressing her about it; whatever Charles has to say, it's clearly important.

As the night wears on, Pierre can't help but feel a growing sense of unease. He wants to believe that Madeleine will eventually come back to him, that she'll choose him over her brother. But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that their connection has been irreparably damaged. Their friendship, once so close and easy, now feels strained and fragile.

He decides to take a walk to clear his head, stepping out onto the quiet street. The cool night air does little to calm his nerves as he paces back and forth, lost in thought. He wonders if he should confront Madeleine about her conversation with Charles, or if it's better to give her space. The thought of losing her as a friend, or worse, as a potential romantic partner, is almost too much to bear.

As he stands there, uncertain of what to do, a car pulls up beside him. It's Madeleine, her eyes red from crying. She steps out of the backseat of the car and looks at him, her expression a mixture of sadness and guilt. "I'm sorry, Pierre," she says softly. "I need some time to myself right now. Can you just give me that?"

Pierre nods, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "Of course, Madeleine. I'm here if you need me." He tries to keep his voice steady, but he can't help the quiver that creeps in.

Madeleine takes a deep breath, wipes away a tear, and then says, "I just need some time to sort things out with him… with Charles." Her voice trails off, and she looks away, out the window. "I don't know what to do."

Pierre nods, understanding the weight of her words. He knows that Charles has always been there for her, and that their relationship runs deep. He doesn't want to interrupt her, but he also doesn't want to leave her alone. "I'm here if you want to talk about it," he offers gently. " and i know Charles is your brother and everything but …i want you to know that I care about you too. and if you need someone to lean on, I'm here. and i don't want you to be in a position where you would have to choose me or him. he's your brother and I'm just the brothers best friend."

Madeleine looks at him, her eyes full of emotion. "I know that, Pierre. And I appreciate it. More than you know." She takes a deep breath and composes herself before continuing. "Charles and I… we've been through a lot together. Our dad died when we were young, and he was always there for me. He took care of me, made sure I had a roof over my head and food on the table. I owe him everything."

She pauses, her voice wavering. "And now, with everything that's been going on… with you and me… it's just… I don't want to lose him. I don't want to lose either of you." Her voice cracks on the last word, and she fights back tears.

Pierre listens, nodding understandingly. He knows that their situation is complicated, and there aren't any easy answers. "I get that, Madeleine. I do. But I want you to know that I'm here for you too. No matter what happens with you and Charles, I'll always be your friend."

He reaches out, gently taking her hand in his. Her skin is cool and smooth against his, and for a moment they sit in silence, their hands intertwined. It's a small gesture, but it feels significant somehow. Madeleine looks up at him, her eyes searching his face for some sign of reassurance.

"I love you, you know that," Pierre says softly. "And I want what's best for you. Whatever you decide, I'll be here for you. You're not alone in this." He leans in, kissing her forehead before letting go of her hand.

Madeleine closes her eyes, taking in his words. A small, fragile smile appears on her lips. "Thank you, Pierre," she whispers. "That means more to me than you'll ever know." She looks at him for a moment longer, then takes a deep breath, composing herself. "I need to go home. I'll see you at the grand prix tomorrow, okay?"

Pierre nods, his heart heavy but determined. "Of course. I'll see you tomorrow. And remember, no matter what happens, I'm here for you." He offers her a reassuring smile, trying to hide the pain he feels inside.

Madeleine returns the smile, a little more convincingly this time, and then opens the car door. As she steps in , she turns back to face Pierre one last time. "Thank you, Pierre. For everything." With a deep breath, she closes the door and is driven away, disappearing into the night.

Pierre watches her go, his heart heavy with a mix of love and concern. He knows that things between her and Charles are complicated, but he can't help feeling a sense of loss as he imagines the two of them growing further apart. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, and then climbs back into his own car. As he pulls away from the curb, he can't help but wonder what the future holds for them all.

As Madeleine makes her was into her home, she finds the lights turn on and knows for sure that she turned them off before she left. as she makes her way deeper into the house she finds all three of brothers, Charles, Arthur and Lorenzo in her kitchen.

"Oh, hello Madeleine, we were just talking about you." Charles says as he looks at her. There's something in his voice that makes her uncomfortable.

Madeleine glances around the kitchen, noticing that Arthur and Lorenzo are there as well. They all exchange awkward looks before she finally decides to speak up. "What were you talking about?" she asks, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.

" oh just how you are going to be moving into my apartment since im not home most of the time and you did tell us you were looking for a new place to live. so i was thinking why not have my older sister move into my place since i have a spare bedroom and it will help you save money too" replied Charles happily.

Madeleine's heart sinks. She knew something was up when she saw them all here, but this… this feels like a betrayal. She takes a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. "Charles, that's not funny. You can't just assume that I'd want to live with you, or that I need your help financially."

Her words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations. Charles' expression sours, and he glares at her. "I wasn't being funny, Madeleine. I'm serious. I think it's the best solution for everyone involved." "everyone" being Pierre is what Charles meant Madeleine thought

Arthur clears his throat uncomfortably. "Look, Madeleine, we're not trying to push you into anything. It's just that…well, we're worried about you. You've been working so hard, and we want to make sure you're okay. If you need us, we're here for you."

Madeleine feels a lump form in her throat. She knows they're not being malicious, but the situation still hurts. "I appreciate that, Arthur," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I can take care of myself. I don't want to live with Charles, and I don't need you to pay my rent. I just need some space."

Charles scoffs. "Well, we can't exactly let you live in that dumpy little apartment forever, can we? It's not like you're some charity case. You need to start thinking about your future."

Madeleine feels her temper flare. "My future? You mean the one where I work my butt off to support your extravagant lifestyle? The one where I live in the shadow of your success, never getting to make my own choices?"

She glares at each of them in turn, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt. "You know what? Fine. If that's how you all feel, then maybe it's time for a change. Maybe I should move out, find somewhere else to live. Maybe I should start focusing on me for a change.maybe what i need is to get away from you."

Madeleine storms out of the kitchen, leaving the three brothers looking at each other uncomfortably. She heads upstairs, slamming doors and throwing things in her room until she's too exhausted to move. She collapses onto her bed, sobbing into her pillow, feeling more alone than she ever has before.

Later that night, Charles finally works up the courage to call her. He apologizes profusely, admitting that he didn't mean to push her away and that he was just worried about her. He offers her the option to stay in his apartment, but promises to give her space and not interfere with her life. Madeleine listens, feeling a mixture of anger and guilt. She knows Charles means well, but she can't help but feel betrayed by her entire family.

She decides to take some time to herself and think things over. She spends the next few days avoiding everyone, going for long walks and spending time alone in her favorite cafes. The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that she does need a change. Maybe it's time to move out of the city, find a new job, and start fresh somewhere new.

Madeleine finally returns Charles' call, thanking him for his apology but telling him that she needs some time apart from the family. She explains that she's considering making some major life changes and that she needs space to figure things out. Charles is understanding, but she can hear the disappointment in his voice. He promises to be there for her if she needs anything, and she knows that deep down, he means it.

As the days go by, Madeleine begins to feel a new sense of freedom. She starts packing up her things, slowly but surely preparing to leave the only home she's ever known. She thinks about the possibility of moving countrys , where she has family and friends who will support her. The idea of starting over is both terrifying and exhilarating, but she knows it's what she needs to do to find herself again.

One afternoon, as she's working on her laptop in a cozy corner of a local coffee shop, she feels a presence beside her. She looks up to see Charles, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Hey," he says tentatively. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

Madeleine is taken aback. She hadn't expected him to come looking for her. "I'm doing okay," she says, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about what comes next."

Charles nods, leaning in closer. "Look, I know I've been a bit overbearing lately. I just want what's best for you. But if you need any help, any advice…I'm here for you."

Madeleine feels a pang of guilt. She knows Charles means well, but she also needs her space. "Thanks, Charles. That means a lot. But I think I need to do this on my own for a while."

Charles nods, understanding. "Of course. I just want you to know that you're not alone. You can always come to me if you need anything." He hesitates for a moment, then says, "And if you ever change your mind, about staying in the city or needing some help…just let me know."

Madeleine appreciates his words, but she's determined to make this decision on her own. She's been so caught up in pleasing everyone else that she's lost sight of what she truly wants. As she sips her coffee, she can't help but feel a sense of freedom and possibility.

The weeks go by, and Madeleine continues to make progress in her new life. She finds a job in the countryside, working at a small bakery that specializes in artisanal breads and pastries. The owners are a warm and welcoming couple who treat her like family from the start. The work is hard, but Madeleine finds herself loving every minute of it. She's surrounded by nature, breathing in the fresh air, and making connections with the locals.

as the days pass by not a moment goes by where Madeleine thought about Pierre and how he is doing.

The bakery owners, a kind and loving couple named Thomas and Emily, noticed her preoccupation and asked her if everything was alright. Madeleine confided in them about her past, her family and her love for Pierre. They listened patiently and with understanding, telling her that they too had gone through similar experiences in their lives. Emily shared with her a saying from their village, "The heart knows what it wants, and sometimes it takes leaving home to find it."

Madeleine found solace in their words and began to focus on her new life. She threw herself into her work at the bakery, learning the art of bread-making and pastry-making from Thomas and Emily. The small town embraced her with open arms, and soon she had made many friends and felt at home.

One day, as she was taking a break from her shift, she received a letter in the mail. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized Pierre's familiar handwriting on the envelope. With trembling hands, she opened it and began to read. Pierre apologized for his behavior and told her that he loved her and wanted to make things right between them. He asked for her forgiveness and invited her to visit him in the city, where they could talk and work things out together.

Madeleine was stunned. She felt a mixture of emotions: happiness, confusion, and fear. She didn't know what to make of Pierre's sudden change of heart. But she couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. She decided to give him a chance, at least to talk. She wrote back, accepting his invitation and making plans to visit him in the city.

As the day of her trip approached, Madeleine felt a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. She had grown accustomed to her new life in the countryside and wasn't sure how she would adjust to being back in the city. But she also knew that she couldn't ignore the love she had for Pierre.

The train ride was long and lonely, and by the time she arrived at the station, Madeleine felt overwhelmed by the bustling crowds and the familiar sights and sounds of the city. She found Pierre waiting for her outside the station, looking nervous and eager. His smile was genuine and heartfelt, and it calmed her nerves a little.

They walked together through the city streets, making small talk as they caught up on each other's lives. Pierre seemed sincere in his efforts to explain his behavior and make amends. He took her to a cozy cafe where they could talk without interruption.

As they sipped their coffee, Madeleine found herself feeling a sense of peace and contentment. She couldn't help but wonder if this was the same feeling Pierre had felt when he left her all those months ago. She asked him about it, and he admitted that he had been struggling with his own feelings and the pressures of his family's expectations. He had thought that leaving her was the only way to find happiness.

Madeleine listened carefully, trying to understand his perspective. She told him about her own journey and how much she had grown to love her new life in the countryside. She explained that she couldn't just give up everything she had worked so hard for, but she also didn't want to lose him. They decided to take things slowly, to see where their feelings led them.

As they continued their conversation, they began to discover new things about each other. They shared stories and dreams, hopes and fears. The cafe around them faded into the background as they became lost in each other's words. It was clear that they still had a deep connection, despite all they had been through.

Madeleine found herself missing the simplicity of life in the countryside. The peacefulness, the fresh air, the close-knit community. She wondered if she could ever find that again, now that she had tasted it. Pierre seemed to understand her feelings and promised to visit her often, if she decided to return.

They continued their conversation for hours, lost in each other's company. As the sun began to set, they walked hand in hand through the bustling streets, admiring the city lights. They stopped at a small park where they sat on a bench, watching the people go by. Pierre took her hand in his and told her that he would do whatever it took to make her happy, even if it meant moving back to the countryside with her.

Madeleine was touched by his words and felt a renewed sense of hope. She knew that their relationship was far from perfect, but she also believed that they could make it work if they were both willing to put in the effort. She told him about her dream of opening her own bakery one day, and Pierre nodded, smiling. He promised to support her in any way he could.

As they continued to sit in the park, they talked about their future together. They discussed the possibility of finding a compromise, where they could live part-time in the city and part-time in the countryside. They imagined weekends spent in the country, enjoying the peace and quiet, and weekdays in the city, exploring the bustling streets and the endless opportunities.

as they sat there talking, Madeleine realized that didn't need Charles or anybody's opinion on who she loved or what she did, as long as she has Pierre by her side she is happy

[formulas-bitch]

streamer Lando Norris x artist/reader

In a world where streaming had become the new norm, Lando Norris found himself in an unlikely partnership with a female streamer. Their names were as different as their personalities; he, a young, charismatic racer with a penchant for speed and risk-taking; she, an enigmatic artist with a flair for storytelling and an uncanny ability to connect with her audience. Their partnership was not born out of convenience or necessity, but rather, a strange and inexplicable twist of fate.

As they streamed together, their chemistry was undeniable. Lando would bring the thrill of the race to the screen, his fingers dancing across the controller as he maneuvered his way through virtual tracks at breakneck speeds. His laughter and cheers echoed through the studio, filling the air with an infectious energy that seemed to lift the spirits of everyone around him. On the other hand, the female streamer would take the reins when it came to interacting with their audience, engaging in witty banter and sharing intimate details about her life as an artist.

Their fans, known as the "Lando's Angels" and the "Artiste's Aficionados," were equally devoted. They would tune in religiously to witness the dynamic duo's antics, often spending hours in their streams, cheering them on and leaving generous donations. The streamer pair's popularity only grew with time, transcending the boundaries of gaming and art. They became cultural icons, their influence spreading far and wide.

Lando and the female streamer continued to push each other to greater heights, experimenting with new games, art forms, and storytelling techniques. They embarked on charity streams, using their platform to raise awareness and funds for various causes close to their hearts. Their partnership was not without its share of challenges, of course. They had their fair share of arguments and disagreements, but they always managed to find common ground and work through their differences.

As their fame grew, so did the pressure. Lando found himself constantly in the spotlight, his every move scrutinized by fans and critics alike. He struggled with maintaining a private life and the constant need to be "on" for his audience. The female streamer, on the other hand, dealt with her own set of challenges as she navigated the often-misogynistic landscape of the streaming world. Despite these obstacles, they remained a beacon of positivity and resilience, inspiring countless others to chase their dreams and find their own unique voices in the world of streaming and art.

Their partnership eventually evolved into something more than just a professional arrangement. As they spent more time together, traveling the world for gaming and art conventions, attending exclusive events, and collaborating on creative projects, a deep bond began to form between them. Lando found himself falling for the enigmatic artist, her wit, charm, and unyielding strength winning him over. She, in turn, found herself drawn to his vulnerability, his willingness to open up and share his fears and insecurities with her. Their relationship was not without its fair share of challenges, but they faced them together, their love for each other serving as a guiding light.

As their personal lives intertwined, so did their professional lives. They launched their own production company, hiring a team of talented streamers and artists to join them in their quest to create something truly special. Together, they pushed the boundaries of what was possible in the world of streaming and art, exploring new genres, mediums, and storytelling techniques. Their streams became less about the games they played or the art they created and more about the stories they told, the lives they shared, and the connections they forged with their audience.