#Considering Max's home life I can't imagine he had all that many people genuinely (or fake) interested in his shenanigans

[sysig]

Giving nicknames, testing boundaries (Patreon)

[theghostbunnie]

do u have any headcannons on max's mom

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR QUESTIONS LIKE THESE OMGLMGOMGOMGSCHJHHHHHHHH OK SO

She practically ran away from home and came to the US at 17, Started going by the name Lacy. What her own parents/home life were like, what her name originally was, she was reluctant to speak of and by the time Max was born she just refuses to his face to tell him and gets defensive when asked.

She had a highschool romance but he(Devon) was socially a loser. Lacy so to speak kept it under wraps because of that, to not be seen with him. She genuinely loved him but he didn't work for how she wanted to be perceived. She got pregnant accidentally basically right out of HS and it wasn't what she wanted, atleast not now, but they talked it out and decided they could make it work, and it did for awhile, until it didn't. Where she lived, worked, and was with, was nothing like how she imagined she wanted it to be like.

She left them both and a few years later met a different man, (Arjun) they started dating. (This isn't all going to be about her love life I swear she's got more to her then that I'm just getting backstory out of the way)

Lacy has this problem where she HAS to be needed. Important to people. Revered by a community and a home that's dependent on her to function. Arjun subtly starts picking up she might not be?? A good person?? but HE has this problem where he hates himself, but doesn't want to be ALONE with himself. He has a history of dragging other people down, but this time, he's actually considering just leaving.

Lacy is smart enough to figure that out and [TW, breach of intimate consent] messes with protection to intentionally baby trap him.

After Max is born she wants to name him Maxwell but Arjun wants to name him Makali. Alot of conflict between them is Lacy's internalized racism and she just lets him put that name on the birth certificate to shut him up, and keeps calling him Maxwell.

After Max starts going to camp he decides he's not going to use either and just go by Max.

Lacy works an office job she pours alot of her effort into and has worked herself up to a sales manager position or something similar. Affording them a middle class home rental near/practically In the city era. (Decent size, neighbor's place built in joint. V Small backyard.) She's constantly aiming higher and loves to enjoy upper class luxuries wherever she can. In home decor, fashions, ect. Climbing both the social and finical ladder with almost this desperation but only slow progress.

She's this perfectionist, their small yard has a tiny Rose bush she trims every single thorn off of herself because she loves the look of them but hates getting pricked even if the gloves don't make it hurt. (Probably a metaphor in there somewhere. You decide)

She's incredibly talented in origami and piano, but dropped origami entirely after too many crumbled up or ripped papers.

She put Max through tapdancing, violin, and taught him piano herself. He's not the best in any group and never gets spotlight during any recitals.

Her abuse towards Max- it's /rarely/ ever physical. It's way more mental, and verbal. She convinced him from a very early age he needs her to live. She can leave him but he can't leave her he should be thankful she hasn't. He needs to work harder to not waste how far she's gotten already. He needs to outwardly show people the best version of himself he can even if it's a lie. Ect ect ect. I'll go more in depth on all that if asked.

His father is more complicit in just letting this all happen, it's less than what he went through as a kid and believes sometimes you just get stuck with the short end of the stick. They're still in this codependent relationship. She needs someone reliant on her, despite resenting him for how much so he is. He somewhat hates her as a person now sometimes, but can't stand the thought of not having her company to keep him from being lonely. Arjun neglects Max and enables his mother's abuse by not doing anything, he himself is not a victim of it so he's fully well in a position to help, he just doesn't to not rock the boat. They fight mutually. They're both bad to and for each other.

When Max was younger she gave him Mr HoneyNuts. Despite wanting a girl originally, it didn't matter after he was born, she was incredibly affectionate towards Max a few times he can recall while being that young.

He holds onto Mr.HoneyNuts with the belief subconsciously she still holds that affection towards him. She's just too busy or too stressed to show it as often now.

Lacy with her perfectionist nature and intense goals always in mind, she's this master schemer, always knowing the exact words to say What to do. Yet this explosive anger she actually manages to hide around others. It's where Max gets it from, but Max's version is rough around the edges.

In some AUs she's prepared to mold him for as many years as it takes, in others, she's ready to give up. He's been making scenes, uncooperative, failing academically, not trying at anything.

When her life is heading isn't where she imagined it to be.

She'll leave both of them.

She's smart, can't leave any loose ends to ruin any reputation she tries to build somewhere else, so if it need be she could get rid of Max with no way of him ever finding her.

[mandoalorian]

Don’t Let Me Go  [Maxwell Lord x Reader] SMUT

Summary: Spiralling in a circle of guilt and blame, Maxwell Lord reflects on the night he let you slip through his fingers. He just wishes he had seen the warning signs sooner. Then maybe he wouldn't have lost you.

Word count: 8k 

Author's note: This is my longest one shot so far oh my gosh. Please note that everything that is in bold italics are flashbacks. I hope you enjoy! Xx

MASTERLIST 

 ~ gif by: pajamasecrets

••••••••

There was simply no way to put into words how Maxwell Lord was feeling. Without you, his suburban-manor home was empty. Completely empty. Nothing but the drip of a leaky faucet echoing through the oversized kitchen, and the padding of his shuffled footsteps as he made his way to the bar to pour himself a drink. He didn't cook anymore, but he wasn't feeling the pain of going hungry. His bed wasn't made, but it didn't matter because he couldn't sleep in it anymore knowing that your scent still haunted the blankets. He would slumber around his house in a shirt that had been unevenly buttoned up and probably hadn't been washed in a week. His eyes were tired, cheeks were tear stained and he hadn't taken absence from work this long in his whole life. His job was what lost you. How could he ever want to go back?

 Maxwell was unravelling back into the mean spirited man he was before he met you— but somehow, worse. He didn't have friends, he had business associates. And he had chosen to cut himself off from his mother due the awful way she had treated him his whole life. If his own mother could see the broken shell of a man that Maxwell had become, she would laugh in his face. She would reprimand him, and tell him how she had warned him not to fall in love. Business first, always. But it was that same advice that she had ingrained into him from such a young age, which would inevitably be his downfall.  All he ever had, was you. And that was enough. That was all he needed.

 Maxwell hardly remembered life before you but he was certain it didn't hurt this bad. He had experienced loss before; with his father when he was only sixteen— but this was a different kind of loss. You were still out there. You were living your life, and you had chosen to do it without him. How could you? How could Maxwell possibly survive without you? He opened up to you like he had with no other. He softened around you and the level headed businessman had become completely dependent on you.

 When you were with him, you changed him into a better man. You encouraged him to tidy for himself, taught him how to cook meals and insisted that he even did his own dishes afterwards. You would scold him gently for not making his side of the bed until eventually, he was making both sides of the bed, and even doing laundry.

 You both shared a schedule— waking up at the same time every dawn. Sharing cuddles and kisses and intimate touches in bed under the morning sunlight. Eventually getting up and taking your turns to cook breakfast. Whether it be blueberry pancakes or eggs, or sometimes Maxwell would surprise you with an array of exciting different foods from all around the world. Then, you would head back to your bedroom and dance in your shared walk-in closet, laughing together as you picked out your outfit of the day. You’d tie his tie and straighten his suspenders before helping him into his suit jacket. He loved the way you'd style his hair on a morning. Maxwell was a perfectionist but you knew just the way he liked things and he really admired that about you. You'd brush your teeth together and he'd paint your face with your favourite face cream. When you applied your lipstick, you'd always give him a surprise kiss and make your mark on him. He'd reluctantly scrub the lipstick stain off his cheek, or jaw, or chin, or wherever you had planted it that day, but now he wished he still had every mark you had ever made on him.

 You were so understanding too. This was the longest relationship either of you had ever committed to before. You fell in love with each other hard and fast— but the honeymoon phase seemingly never ended. Everyday was a new and exciting ride with Maxwell. He knew how much you wanted children, and a family. You'd bring it up now and again. One day, Maxwell felt as though he should open up to you.

 He explained how he had never considered having children because of his own personal relationship with his family. He informed you about how absent his parents were, and he imagined himself to be like his late father; too consumed in his own work and business to give any attention to his son. Max knew that pain all too well due to experiencing it firsthand. He would never want that for his children. It was nothing to do with you— he has no doubt in his mind how excellent of a mother you would be. But to Max, being a CEO and father just didn't go hand in hand. Of course, this shattered you, but it wasn't a deal breaker because Maxwell was the complete love of your life. With kids or without kids, as long as you had Max, you believed you would live a lifetime of satisfaction and genuine happiness.

 Maxwell Lord hadn't known love until he met you, and the truth is, from the moment he laid his eyes on you, he was infatuated. He knew he just had to have you. And so he spent weeks trying to woo you and win you over. He started with all he ever known, buying you jewellery from Tiffany’s, Louis Vuitton heels and the most gorgeous crimson red shade of Dior lipstick that he dreamed of you wearing on multiple occasions. But it didn't faze you.

 "I don't need all of this," you sighed, placing the large white box on the table and re-wrapping it with the silver silk ribbon. Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "There are people out there who walk around the streets of DC in winter with holes in their shoes, mothers who can't afford ChapStick nevermind Dior Lipstick."

 Maxwell hesitated. No woman had ever rejected the material items he had purchased for them. They'd always sweep them away with a familiar glint in their eye and, to show their appreciation, would go down on him later that night. He lulled his head to the side. "Not even the necklace?" Maxwell questioned, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip.

 You breathed an elongated sigh, taking the Tiffany’s box and opening it once more with a small click. You adored the necklace. A small silver chain with a crystal heart in the centre. You could only guess that it was Swarovski. In the sunlight, the crystal gleamed a prism of rainbow colours— like a kaleidoscope. It was simply magnificent and unlike any other necklace you had seen before.

 “It is beautiful.” you hummed, admiring the way it sparkled before your eyes. Maxwell took the box from your hands and removed the necklace. He stood up and gently moved your hair to one side, his soft fingers brushing against your skin making your heart flutter. He clipped the necklace in place and adjusted it so the small crystal heart fell over your chest.

 "It brings out your eyes." Maxwell smiled and you felt your cheeks heat up at his comment. "Please, keep the necklace. I see how much you like it. And it suits you so well."

 You looked at yourself in the mirror. Still standing behind you, Maxwell swung his arms around your hips and pulled you into his chest. He gently pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. "Thank you Max," your voice was barely above a whisper. "But please, no more gifts. All I need is you."

 Your words took Maxwell by surprise because he had never heard no such thing from any of his partners before. It was true, you meant your sentiment completely, all you needed was his attention, his care, his love, and most importantly him. That is where he went wrong and what would ultimately be the downfall to your relationship.

 "I will wear this everyday!" you beamed proudly with a grin so wide. Maxwell felt chuffed with your love for the necklace. "I won't ever take it off." You promised him. "Let it be a symbol of our first date."

 "The start of our relationship?" Maxwell proposed and you let out a small squeal as your arms tightened around him and you buried your head into the softness of his chest. The buttons of his shirt poked into your cheek but you didn't care, and you felt your eyes close as he brushed his fingers softly through your hair.

 "The start of our relationship." you confirmed with a smile.

 Maxwell threw the crystalled whiskey glass to the wall at the memory, his already broken heart shattering into even smaller pieces. He didn't think it was possible, and yet. The amber liquid dripped against the white walls and the glass deflected back at him, cutting his hand. A thin stripe of blood leaked down his arm and he done nothing but simply swallow a curse. It didn't even hurt. He was completely numb.

 He hated what he had become, and there was no one to blame other than himself. Sometimes he would try to hate you. He would take a look at himself in the mirror and feel nauseated at the sight of him. He was a mess, and he couldn't stand to feel any more self hatred. He couldn't take it. He couldn't live like this. He remembered when his schedule at work became a lot more hectic and he was away on business trips a lot. He'd call you, every night without fail from his hotel room. You'd be spread out on his bed, sporting his favourite button down work shirt and pair of shorts. The sight alone would be enough to make Maxwell hurry home quicker than The Flash. But he had work commitments that he simply could not leave behind.

 "How many more business trips?" You tried to keep composed for him, but just hearing his voice and knowing he was hundreds of miles away from you felt like a knife in your heart.

 "It could be like this up until the end of the year. Canada isn't easy to do dealings with. Not even my charm can succumb the president." Maxwell chuckled lightheartedly, and you allowed a small yet pained smile to creep upon your lips. He truly had no idea how much you were hurting without him, but, it sounded like he was doing just fine without you.

 "Max, time for dinner!" You heard an unfamiliar feminine voice call in the background. You froze up, a shiver racing down your spin and goosebumps rising on your arms. 

 Silence.

 "Who was that?" you asked your boyfriend cautiously, your fingers anxiously twiddling on the crystal necklace he had gifted you months prior.

 "Oh, that was my assistant, Barbara," Maxwell explained non-chalantely. "You remember? I had to get a new assistant. Veronica couldn't come to Canada so…"

 "Oh." you replied, voice cold. "She called you Max." you stated matter of factly. You couldn't just let that slide.

 "Well yeah," he chuckled. "That's my name."

 "Everyone at work calls you Mr Lord." you deadpanned. "Or sir."

 "I mean, yeah, that's true I suppose. But Barbara's new and I never specified otherwise. Besides, I'm growing to like the informality. No doubt that's your doing." He laughed. But you weren't sharing the same energy.

 "You're having dinner with her?" You hoped you weren't sounding pushy, or clingy, but you had to know.

 "Yeah, she got us reservations at this fantastic Italian restaurant. We went last night too." Maxwell was smiling on the other end of the line but you felt like screaming at this revelation. "Actually, I think you'd love it there. I hear Canada is beautiful at Christmas time. Maybe I can clear some time off in December and I'll take you?" he suggested. Usually you'd be so excited at this proposal of his, telling him you'd be packing your bags immediately. But not this time.

 You trusted your boyfriend. You really did. But you couldn't stand the fact that he was in a different country with another woman who you'd never even met before. Jealousy riled in your stomach and you wondered what she was like. Not only that, but Maxwell had a long winded history of sleeping with his assistants and you were completely aware of how desperate his sex drive could be. The more you thought about it, the more your stomach churned. But you just couldn't escape the thoughts.

 You wondered what Barbara was like. Maxwell's assistants were always young and beautiful. They wore the nicest clothes to impress him and made such an effort every single day. Of course, this was before you. He'd select his assistants based on looks rather than qualifications. If they couldn't pour him a good cup of coffee, that was okay because they'd be gone after a week anyway. You wondered if he had employed Barbara based on her looks.

 He called your name. "Are you there?" He asked.

 "Uhm, yeah, I should go." You told him hastily, suddenly feeling the urge to hurry to run to the bathroom. You felt like you had to throw up.

 "Oh, okay," Maxwell replied. He often struggled picking up on the little prompts you would make that illustrated you weren't okay. It was no fault of his own, but unless you explicitly stated that something was wrong, the chances were, he would just assume that everything is okay. "Well, can I call you the same time tomorrow?"

 "Okay." you shakily exhaled, praying he didn't notice your growing anxiety. If he noticed, he would confront you about it. That was just his nature.

 "Okay. I love you sweetheart." You could practically hear his grin. A single tear slipped down your cheek.

 "I love you too." You told him before slamming the phone down on the hook.

 Maxwell was taken aback by your abrupt end to the phone call. He sat on the edge of his bed, processing your words. He went to dial your number again because he felt in his heart that there was a chance that something could be wrong.

 "Maaaaaax," Barbara called again, snapping the businessman out of his thoughts. "We're going to be late." Barbara sauntered over to Maxwell, his tie in her hand and placed it around his neck. She went to cross it over when he gently put his hand out to stop her.

 "That's okay," he said. "I can tie it myself."

 Barbara stiffened at his rejection but after a few seconds of awkward silence, she shuffled away.

 That was the very first time Max being away had bothered you to unmeasurable amounts. You struggled to sleep without him anyway, but that night, you were completely restless. Tossing and turning— imagining him with his assistant doing unspeakable things together. You couldn't count the amount of journeys you made to your en-suite bathroom. Not only that, but you were ridden with guilt. If Maxwell found out you were doubting his faithfulness, he would be devastated.

 And it only got worse.

 He spent more time away. Longer business trips. He had to cancel the December trip to Canada that he promised. It felt like he was slipping through your fingers.

 Maxwell fell to his knees when the memory of your break-up hit him like a ton of bricks.

 Maxwell put the phone down with a smile. “Albert has invited Edward and I over for drinks tonight." he announced. You adjusted the red roses he had brought home for you and put the glass vase in different locations around the dining room, trying to gauge where they would look nicest.

 "You said no, right?" You asked, manouvering a rose to one side, being careful not to prick your finger on the stem.

 "Why would I say no?" Maxwell asked.

 You pricked your finger.

 "Shit." you hissed, your blood dripping down your hand. Maxwell grabbed a flannel and wet it under the kitchen tap. He walked over to you and carefully wrapped it around the cut. You winced at his contact.

 "Does it hurt?" Maxwell asked, dabbing at the cut being as careful as he could.

 "That you forgot we had plans tonight and agreed to see Albert and Edward?" you asked, bitterness dripping from your tongue. Maxwell pulled away, knotting his eyebrows together in confusion. "Yeah Max, it hurts."

 "We didn't have plans." Maxwell said, folding his arms over his chest.

 "This is your only night home!" You cried out. All your emotions while he had been gone were pent up inside of you and this was the final straw. "I rented a movie, I got the popcorn maker out!" 

 Maxwell took a peek at his gold wrist watch. "We could watch half the movie and you know, I don't really like popcorn that much anyway." He was actually serious about ditching you on his only night home. You were so angry. "Listen baby, I won't be gone all night. And when I get home, we can have a little fun ourselves. I won't be too late, I promise. Besides, I've missed you-" He suggested, voice low. You let Maxwell's fingers trace your skin, and he meant it in nothing but a comforting way, and yet you had the urge to smack his hand away from you.

 "No!" You folded your arms across your chest and shook your head.

 "No?" Maxwell quizzed, confused. "But baby-"

 "Max how can you be so… so…." you struggled to even find words but you hoped he had picked up on the frustration in your tone of voice.

 "What?" He beckoned you but all you could do was hide your face in your hands. You were so close to tears. You wanted to beg him to stay with you, but the point is, you knew that you shouldn't have to beg. Maxwell awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "You know I was suggesting sex, right?"

 You narrowed your eyes in his direction. "Oblivious." you said. "You're so oblivious." 

 "You're keeping something from me." Maxwell deadpanned.

 "You're keeping something from me." You repeated.

 "No I'm not."

 "Yes you are."

 "No I'm not."

 "And so what if I ask Barbara?" you asked, but regretting the words instantly as they left your mouth.

 Maxwell blinked, completely dumbfounded. "Ask Barbara what?"

 "Ohhh what went on in Canada? What you both get up to on these business trips. You're with her more than you're with me." You accused. But it was the truth.

 "I'm not following." Maxwell said. "Are you trying to accuse me of something?" You couldn't even look at him. Then it dawned on him. "You think I'm cheating on you." His blood ran cold.

 You didn't know what to say. It was true. You had suspected. But gauging by his reaction, and the way his voice cracked, you knew right then and there you had been wrong. And that you had hurt him. Maxwell loosened his tie and leaned against the kitchen counter.

 "Tell me." He urged.

 "Yes," you whispered, looking at your feet in shame. "I thought that… I thought…"

 "Tell me," he repeated. "I want to hear you say it."

 "I thought you were cheating on me with Barbara." you admitted with a sigh, and looked up at your boyfriend with hazy, tear filled eyes. "Max…" you let your voice trail off and put your hand against your raising heart.

 "How could you?" he asked in disbelief.

 "You always slept with your assistants… before me. And you were so secretive about Barbara. You went out to Italian restaurants together. And I just thought-"

 "That I was sleeping with her?!" He raised his voice at you and oh boy, you hated when he shouted at people. He never shouted at you, that's one thing for sure, but when you had first met, he shouted a lot. He shouted at the people he worked with, he shouted at his colleagues, his secretary, his assistants. He definitely had grown out of the habit since he entered his relationship with you but Maxwell was so angry right now...

 "Well can you blame me?!" You yelled at him back feeling defensive.

 "I can't believe you don't trust me." Maxwell shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know Barbara did make advances on me." You felt your fingers curl into a fist. "But I rejected her, obviously. I warned her if she keeps at it she'll have to find another job."

 You laughed and rolled your eyes. "Because you can't resist the temptation of her."

 "What the fuck, no?!" Maxwell bellowed and his voice was so loud your heart dropped. You completely froze up. "Because I didn't want to disrespect you. I'm not going to stand for other women trying to make their move on me when I'm faithful to you!" 

 "Can you please stop yelling." Your voice was quiet— begging, almost.

 But he didn't stop. "I have never ever given you a reason not to trust me." Maxwell felt so hurt. He felt heartbroken. He would've never have second guessed you like this.

 "Will you stop fucking yelling at me?!" You shouted, tears streaming down your face in anger.

 Maxwell stood there in silence, watching you bubble up and cry. Truthfully, he was finding it difficult to keep it together himself. He'd normally come to you, pull you in a hug and wipe your tears away, nursing you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But he just stood there, frozen and staring. You wiped your tears away yourself and took a deep breath before grabbing your jacket and purse from the coat rack.

 "Where are you going?" Maxwell sighed.

 "I'm leaving." you stated. You knew this was it. And you couldn't even bring yourself to look back at him. If you looked at him one more time, it might be enough to stay. And you couldn't stay. Nothing had ever hurt this much.

 "What? Well when will you be back?" Maxwell questioned.

 "I'm not coming back." You swung your purse over your shoulder and Maxwell followed you to the front door.

 "What the hell do you mean?" he called after you.

 "I'm leaving you." your own words felt like daggers in your heart.

 "What?" Maxwell asked.

 "Please don't come find me." You told him, your fingers tracing the door handle. You opened the door and set foot on the patio, looking up at the setting sun. It reminded you of all the moments you spent with Maxwell, lounging outside waiting for the stars to come out, or the evenings where you'd be tidying up the garden after a barbecue. "You know, I really did love you Max." You whispered, a tear slipping from your eye.

 "Just. Come back inside and we can talk about this. I'm, I'm sorry for yelling. Please." Maxwell begged, his voice cracking. He held his arm out for you and wished so desperately that you would turn around and take his hand. But you didn't.

 "It's not just the yelling Max, you're prioritising your work over our relationship."

 "Baby, you knew it would be this way when you got with me. I told you."

 "I just don't think I can handle it." You sniffed.

 "Come back inside and we can talk about it." Maxwell said but you shook your head.

 "Goodbye Maxwell." 

 Maxwell's grip on the bathroom sink was so tight, his knuckles went white. His own reflection made him sick. This wasn't him. This wasn't Maxwell Lord.

 Maxwell Lord didn't lose. He didn't lose anything. He didn't lose business negotiations, he didn't lose business deals and he certainly wouldn't lose the love of his life. He had to stop moping, he had to make this right.

 He ran to the dining room and swung the phone of the hook, dialing the home number of his driver, Jeeves. "Come on, come onnnn." he mumbled to himself, tapping his foot impatiently. It was the dead of night and Maxwell was aware that Jeeves would be at home with his family, asleep. But this was important and Maxwell paid Jeeves enough to be able to answer the phone at 1:30am, that's for sure.

 "Hello?" A tired Jeeves greeted Maxwell.

 "Where is Y/N staying?" Maxwell asked abruptly. Straight to the point.

 "Mr Lord… with all due respect…"

 "Jeeves I need to know and I need to know now," Maxwell cut him off. "Don't make me come down there."

 "Sir, you should be asleep."

 "Jeeves." Maxwell raised his voice sternly. "I don't have time for games. Where is she?"

 Jeeves sighed. "Last I heard, she was at the Waterfront Hotel." Maxwell scribbled the name down on a torn piece of paper and hurriedly crumpled it into the pocket of his light grey sweatpants.

 "Thank you Jeeves."

 "Will you be needing me to take you there?" Jeeves yawned.

 "No," Maxwell said. "Go back to sleep. I'll take the Porsche. Drive myself."

 "Ah, excellent choice. Okay, goodnight Mr Lord." Jeeves yawned again.

 "Send Elizabeth and the children my love. I'm sorry for bothering you." Maxwell apologised and slammed the phone down on the hook.

 Jeeves’ wife, Elizabeth, rubbed her eyes and shuffled upwards. "Who was calling at this ungodly hour?"

 Her husband hesitated, confusion evident in his face. "It was Maxwell Lord. I think he's going after Y/N."

 Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Oh thank goodness for that."

 "I know… he's really lost it without her," Jeeves admitted, shaking his head. "He told me that he sends you and the kids his love." 

 Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Maxwell Lord said that?" she asked in disbelief and Jeeves shrugged his shoulders.

 "It’s Y/N," He replied. "She just has that effect on him."

 You'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't miss him. You thought about him every second of every day— and you weren't doing too well yourself. You hadn't left the hotel room once. You couldn't bring yourself to eat. You found it difficult to sleep. Your final words to him haunted you.

 "I really did love you."

 Why did you say that? Why would you make him believe that you no longer loved him? You wondered if he had moved on yet, perhaps initiated a relationship with Barbara. You wondered if he had resorted to his old ways and had been fucking and dumping his assistants. You wondered if he still thought about you.

 You were so worried about him because you knew how self destructive Maxwell could become. You knew about his dependency on alcohol and his tendency to lash out and yell at people when you weren't there to call him down. If he was suffering at least half as much as you were, you felt extreme guilt. You hoped he hadn't gotten himself hurt. You weren't happy, but if you had some kind of closure— if you just knew that he was doing okay without you, then maybe you would feel better.

 And yet you couldn't bring yourself to go back home. You had Maxwell's driver bring over your toiletries and clothes and tipped him enough to not tell Maxwell which hotel you were staying at. You didn't know if it was really worth it. He was Maxwell's driver, and if Maxwell asked, you figured the driver would reveal your location anyway. Your mind was racing. What if he did ask? What if Maxwell knew where you were but didn't care enough to come see you. You didn't tell him to not come and find you…

 A sudden loud knock on your hotel room door interrupted your thoughts. You sat frozen in your bed and checked the wall clock. It was almost two in the morning. The knock came again, even harder this time and you clutched your bed sheets tight around you. You took a deep breath and shuffled out of bed, padding to the door. You scoped your hotel room for something blunt that could be used as a weapon if this post-midnight mystery stranger happened to be an intruder. Slowly, you opened the door.

 Your heart sunk when you saw him.

 Dark circles under his eyes, his dark blonde hair messy and sticking up in places. He was literally wearing one of his button down work shirts (the one you used to sleep in), and light grey sweatpants. He looked helpless, and it was like time had frozen. You felt your eyes begin to sting from the brimming tears and you could only bring yourself to whisper his name. "Max…"

 Maxwell took a step forward and pressed a heated kiss into your lips. It took you by surprise, but you soon sank into his chest. This was it. This was everything you had missed. His lips tasted like a mix of whiskey and spirits. His large, ring clad hands gripped your back and pressed you tight into his broad chest. He was finally holding you again, and kissing you— and you were letting him. He couldn't believe it. He pulled away for breath but didn't let go of you for one second. He nudged his nose against yours. "I am so sorry…" Maxwell whispered, a tear falling down his cheek. You cupped your hand around his face and wiped his tear away with your thumb before pressing your forehead against his. "I was so stupid, for everything. I shouldn't have let you go." His voice was sore and it broke your heart. He was taking full accountability and blaming himself.

 "No Max," you sniffed and shook your head. "No. I wasn't thinking straight. I was so mad." 

 "I gave you a reason to be mad." Maxwell soothed you, rubbing circles into your back.

 "No no no," You curled up into his chest again, holding him tight. "I acted irrationally. Please don't blame yourself." You begged him. "This was on me. You were right. You never gave me a reason not to trust you."

 "I was so foolish, planning to go and see Albert and Edward on our only night together." His words brought back a familiar pain and you broke down into a sobbing mess in Maxwell's arms. He continued to rub your back, feeling your tears dampen in his lazily buttoned shirt. He kissed your head gently, the familiar scent of your hair making his knees weak. "I'm really struggling," Maxwell gulped. "I don't think I can live without you. I need you. I need you and your good heart helping me decide between what's right and what's wrong. I need you scolding me for my bad manners and confronting me when I'm in the wrong…" you let out a small chuckle and his heart bloomed. "It's true!" he smiled for the first time into your hair. "You're the only one who can get away with telling me what to do. I miss the way you play with my hair," you dragged your hands up to his hair and Maxwell let out a muffled groan. "Missed your touch," he said, stiffening up as you let your hands roam down his body, touching every bit of skin he had visible. "Missed your kisses," you pressed another kiss against his lips and let your arms rest comfortably around his waist. "Missed you so fucking much."

 "Maaaax," you whimpered out his name as he placed sloppy kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

 "I don't think I can be alone anymore," he said in between kisses. "You don't have to forgive me. I wouldn't forgive me. But please come home with me. And I will spend every day for the rest of my life proving to you how much I love you. You first. You before Edward and Albert and Barbara, you before all work commitments." he promised and you hummed in contentment.

 "I would want nothing more." You told him and he smiled. "No more fights. I'm going to communicate better, I can do better. And Maxwell?"

 "Hm?" Maxwell's voice was soft like velvet.

 "I forgive you. And I never stopped loving you."

 Maxwell sighed and squeezed you tight. "I never want to let go of you." he admitted. "I never want to leave you ever again. Wherever I go, you're coming with me. This has been the worst couple of weeks."

 "You have looked better." you joked with a small smile. You grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him into your hotel room, before locking the door behind you.

 "You…" he smiled, his eyes sparkling. "You always look so beautiful." 

 "You're lying," you shook your head feeling your cheeks heat up at his smooth choice of words. "I haven't slept in days."

 Maxwell cupped your cheeks with both hands, taking in the features he had missed so dearly. "Me neither, but I'll sleep well tonight, I'm sure of it." He said and you grinned, playfully pushing him into the plush hotel bed. He yelped as you clambered on top of him and straddled him.

 "Fuck Max," you whimpered, softly rubbing your hips over his crotch.

 "Shit baby," he mewled, his hands dropping to your hips and grabbing your ass. His eyes were locked on to your body as you lounged on top of him. "Missed this." he admitted with a sheepish smile.

 "It's been so long," you said quietly, popping open the buttons on his shirt and helping him shuffle out of it. There was a real temptation to just curl into his warm naked chest and fall asleep in his arms but you needed more. It had been months without any kind of sexual gratification and now you finally had him. You had been yearning for so long. "Couldn't stop thinking about you," you admitted and Maxwell's heart fluttered in his chest. "Every night I… I could never sleep. So I'd lay here in this bed and just think about you. Think about you holding me… kissing me… touching me…"

 "Where?" He quizzed you, his voice low at the thought of you laying exactly where he was now lying, restless because you were imagining his touch.

 "Everywhere," you breathed shakily.

 "Show me."

 He steadied you as you removed your hands from his chest and pulled off your shirt. Maxwell gasped slightly when he saw you weren't wearing a bra and you began to touch yourself in front of him. You let your fingers grace over your arms, your stomach, and then brought them up to your breasts. You let your thumb graze over your nipples and cupped them, squeezing a few times as you closed your eyes at the blissful sensation. Maxwell watched you touch yourself intently and you began to feel him harden beneath you. Unable to hide the smirk playing on your lips, you continued to softly grind over his length, gaining a gentle moan from him. "Touch me." you begged him. He ran his big hand up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and to your chest, twirling the crystal necklace he had gotten for you way back when you had your first date.

 "You never took the necklace off?" he asked, his chocolate brown eyes looking deep into yours.

 "Never," you told him and he returned your smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

 "Lean into me," his voice was rough but gentle. You obeyed him, slowly sinking forward into his body and he took one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking on your nipple and eliciting a moan from you. With his free hand, he opted to mirror your previous actions and squeezed your other breast. Your knees weakened everytime his teeth grazed your skin and you missed the way he would gently bite at you. All your senses were completely heightened and he felt amazing. You hummed in delight before leaning back, your breast leaving Maxwell's mouth with a pop.

 You climbed off him and took to your knees by his side when you began to palm his length through his grey sweatpants. "You're so cute," you giggled as you stroked him through the soft material.

 Maxwell turned his head slightly and furrowed his eyebrows together. "Cute?" he asked.

 "Mhm," you replied, dipping your hand into his sweats and pulling out his throbbing hard cock. You smiled to yourself— he wasn't wearing underwear either. You slowly began to pump at it and a delicious moan fell from his lips. "You come here in a work shirt and sweatpants," you conceded. "Not your best fashion decision. But I do love these sweats. I love to see you get hard in them, it's so hot. I can really see how big you are," you admired him and let your thumb sweep across the tip of his cock, collecting the precum that had beaded there. You brought your thumb to your mouth and began sucking on it, letting his warm, salty seed settle on your tongue.

 "F-fuck," Maxwell drawled out. "Keep talking like that. You're so- you're so fucking pretty, sucking on your thumb like that. Wish- wish you were suck-"

 "Be patient my love," you whispered, pressing a kiss into his v line and wrapping your hand around his cock once more, repeating the movements. You knew what he wanted, and you wanted it too. "We have all the time in the world."

 "Keep talking like that." he reminded you, watching as your hands graced his length. 

 "I'd lay here," your voice was barely above a whisper. "Just like you are. And I'd imagine you fucking me. Been too long. Missed- missed you so much. I missed your big hands and the way you'd caress me. I missed how good you were at going down on me… best- best I've ever had," you hummed in delight, feeling your cunt begin dampen your shorts. "Most of all, I missed this. I missed your big cock, and the way it fills me perfectly. Feels so amazing. While you were away on those fucking business trips… I’d…I’d..." you took a deep breath.

 "What?" Maxwell prompted you to continue. 

 You took one hand and began to cradle his balls as you kept rubbing up and down the length. "I'd finger myself, rub myself, do everything I could just thinking about you. Usually I-," you exhaled shakily before shooting him an innocent smile. "I'd have to use a dildo because my fingers can't ever compare to your cock. Nothing can, Max." You promised him and he emitted an earthy groan. "Your turn." you smiled at him before licking his tip.

 "Fuuuck. That- that feels so good," Maxwell gritted out, throwing his head back into the pillow. You opened your mouth slightly and started by taking the tip in your mouth, sucking softly. "More, please,"

 "Keep talking." You quoted him cheekily before reattaching your mouth to his hard cock.

 "I took those Polaroids with me," Maxwell admitted bashfully. "The- the ones you took for me on Valentine's day. You wore that lacy red lingerie set I got you and fuck, you looked so stunning that night. Found it so hard to sleep without you by my side so I'd get out the photos and jerk off to them. I- I could never really last long looking at you, you're just so fucking pretty," Maxwell praised and you hollowed your cheeks, sinking your mouth further down on him. "I'd dream about this. Baby, you know how much I love getting blown," You felt his cock twitch in your mouth just as he said that and you tried to suppress a giggle. "Dreamt about this. Your mouth on me. I- I'd cum in your mouth."

 You lifted off him with a pop. "Cum in my mouth then," you urged with a sheepish grin and continued sucking on him, bobbing your head up and down.

 "N-no." Maxwell said, lowering his hands to tug off your head. "Fuck, no. Baby. I have to fuck you." You almost came from his words alone and you could feel the electricity spark in your stomach as excitement filled your core. "I have to feel you. Feel you around me. You always- you always feel like home."

 Your heart blossomed at his words. "Can I ride you?" you asked him, popping off him again. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look into his eyes. They were so dark with lust, you could've mistaked the usual honeyed shade for black.

 "No. I want to fuck you." he growled in your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

 He kicked off his sweats that were pooled around his ankles and you pulled down your silk shorts, discarding them on the floor with the rest of his and your clothes. "Please please please can I ride you." you whimpered, letting your hand fall down to your cunt and you started rubbing your clit as you drunk in the image of Maxwell spread out on the hotel bed, his cock hard and pressed against his stomach.

 "No." he reprimanded you as he got to his knees. He pushed you down onto the bed and you lay there on your tummy, your butt perked in the air.

 "Maaaax," you drew out his name, waiting for him to do something. Max was stroking his length and this time it was his turn to get a good look of your naked body that he had missed so much.

 "Patience." he scolded, giving your ass a spank. You let out a yelp as the coolness of his rings slapped against your warm skin. That was sure to leave a bruise.

 "Fuckkk Max, I need you inside me now," You begged and started to rub yourself against the blankets on the bed, desperate for some kind of friction to ease the overwhelming sensation you were feeling.

 He spanked you again and you let out another yelp. "You will be patient," he warned again. "Are you a good girl?"

 "Yes Max," you sung, sweetness dripping from your tongue.

 "Good girls don't talk back. Now get on all fours." You listened to his instruction, scrambling to your knees and resting on your elbows. "Spread your legs. I want to look at you." You obeyed him, knowing that if you dared to speak up again he'd issue another spanking.

 Maxwell stroked himself while drinking in the sight of you. Your folds glistened under the light and Maxwell couldn't rid himself of the pride he was feeling. "All for me?" He mumbled, and aligned his cock against your entrance. You tossed your head back at the feeling of his tip nudging against you.

 "All for you." you confirmed in a whisper. Maxwell wrapped his arms underneath you and started fondling with your breasts before suddenly, and in one swift movement, thrusting inside of you.

 Your breathing hitched at the sensation of his long thick cock stretching your walls. "Oh shit Max," you moaned in pleasure. "Shit shit shit," you panted as he kept thrusting deep inside you with consistent movements. Tears pricked your eyes as he hit your g-spot with every thrust, not hilting once. He knew exactly how to make you feel good. You begged for him to go harder and he brought his hands up to your head, grabbing your hair and roughly pulling your back into his chest. You let your head fall into his shoulder as he continued fucking you, his arms holding you tight around your stomach.

 You loved hearing the noises Max made. There was something so satisfying about listening to the CEO of one of the biggest and reputable companies in the whole world, fall apart because of you. Because of your body. "Are you- fuck, you're close aren't you? I can feel it." Maxwell groaned and you whimpered back in agreement, letting your head lilt into the crook of his neck. "Baby girl, fuck you feel so good. So tight around me. Fuck."

 "G-gonna cum," you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

 "Me- me too," Maxwell replied through gritted teeth. "Can I, can I cum inside of you?"

 "Fuck Max, you don't need to ask. Please. Please fill me up." You begged.

 With only a few more thrusts, Maxwell came inside you, filling you with warmth and leaving you shuddering as you came down from your own climax. He stayed there for a moment, holding still inside you, wanting to make sure every last drop resided deep within you before he softened and slipped out of you. You moaned at the loss of his length. He turned you over on the bed and positioned his face in between your legs.

 "What are you- what are you doing?" you asked him. Before you could say anything else, you felt him bury his thick index finger inside of you. "Fuck," you gasped. "Maaaaaax."

 Max was watching your pussy intently, and as his cum began to drip out of you, he pushed it back in. "You're so perfect," Max said in admiration, still staring at your glistening wet folds. "You know that?"

 "I can't wait to go home with you." you sighed as relief and contentment washed over you for the first time in forever.

 "Can't wait to start a new life with you," Maxwell smiled and your mind buzzed with confusion. "You're all I need. This. This right here is what I need. My- my job has given me enough wealth to live more than comfortably for the rest of my life. I know that, no matter what, I will be able to provide for you. And for our children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren…" Maxwell trailed off and you couldn't wipe the elated smile from your face.

 "Children?" you asked him, eyes lighting up.

 "Look at you," he grinned, a dimple appearing in his cheek. He pressed a soft, sweet kiss to the inside of your thigh. "I think you'd be the greatest mother in the world. You take care of me well enough, that's for sure. So kind. So gentle. Such a good heart. You make me into a better person. Our kids would be so lucky to have a mother like you. I want a family."

 You sniffed, sitting up and shuffling toward him. "Oh Max, I love you so much." you gave him a teary smile before falling into his chest and curling up on top of him.

 "I love you too, darling."

[spaceskam]

What If I Can't Forget You?

for day 4 of @isobelevansappreciation : AU

Summary: After being kicked out a decade prior, Isobel comes home to find her brother has married her ex-girlfriend.

Warning: homophobia, mild sexual content

ao3

The last time Isobel Evans had been in Roswell, she’d been told not to ever come back.

When her mother had adopted her and promised to love her no matter what, it was apparently written in the fine print to be meaningless if she turned out queer. No matter how hard Isobel tried to keep her desires to herself, it became impossible when Liz Ortecho had smiled her way. Anne Evans had managed to blind herself from her daughter’s tastes up until she caught them in a compromising position. Isobel did what she was told and fled. The only people from home that she kept in touch with were Michael and his boyfriend who had both left town for the same reason.

That is until she got a call telling her that her mother had died.

Maybe it was foolish of her to show up, but her mind didn’t even consider that as she bought a plane ticket and boarded in the same couple hours. Then she found herself in front of her childhood home. After a few breaths to subside her fear, she knocked on the door.

“Isobel,” Max, her brother, said, shock on his face. She took a shaky breath and smiled. She’d missed him more than anything even if he had willingly gone along with their mother’s choice to disown her.

“Did you miss me? She asked, opening her arms. He instantly went into them. He lifted her off her feet and made her feel young, like they hadn’t been barely 18 when they last spoke. It was the first time she’d felt welcome when she thought of this place in a long time.

It didn’t last, though, and the moment they walked inside and waded through the large group of judgey women mourning her mother, she felt like she was right back to being a spectacle. Right back to wondering if this was a bad idea.

Max pulled her through everyone, though, and into the kitchen. It was relatively empty outside of the counters full casseroles and other dishes that they’d made to keep him fed while he mourned his mother. She smiled. At least they still liked him.

“So, how have you been?” Isobel asked, watching as he went to wash his hands in the sink.

“Uh,” he breathed, “Fine, I guess? I’m a cop now.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah,” Max said, huffing a little laugh, “That’s what my wife said.”

That caught Isobel’s attention and she perked up, stepping closer. She hadn’t been told Max was getting married. Sure, she tried to Facebook stalk him, but his profile was private and the only thing on display was his profile picture that was the New Mexico Lobos’ logo. It was impossible.

“Wife?” she echoed, tilting her head in intrigue, “You got married? To who? Do I know her?”

Max didn’t answer right away, drying his hands on his slacks before turning to the sea of dishes and picking one to heat up in the oven at random. He seemed a little frazzled and Isobel cursed herself for a moment for forgetting that he was probably upset about their mother. She, on the other hand, had mourned her mother years before. First a decade ago when she kicked her out, and second five years ago when she realized she really never wanted to see her again. When she found out she’d died, that she’d been sick and didn’t call to make amends, Isobel could only be a little sad.

Anne Evans had made her bed. Now she got to lie in it.

“Is she that bad?” Isobel said, deciding to lighten the mood by making it sound less like she was prodding, “What, did you marry Maria DeLuca and ruin my chances of winning that bet I made with Michael that he would marry her?”

“No,” Max said curtly. She watched him, tall and broad and saw that he was a grown man now. A grown man who was sad and overwhelmed because his mother died. Genuinely sad. 

As if on a cue Isobel didn’t realize, Liz Ortecho walked into the kitchen.

Isobel made eye contact with her and tried to ignore the way she still took her breath away. Her hair was long and braided down her back, falling over her long sleeved black shirt and dark wash jeans and scuffed up black boots. She looked the same and so different and Isobel smiled. Liz didn’t hold eye contact for long.

“Liz,” Isobel said, watching as she brought the empty pitcher of tea towards the stove and quickly turned the burner on to make more. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, it has been a long time,” Liz agreed, barely sparing her a look. It burned, but what could she expect? It’d been so long. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect to be here,” Isobel admitted with a soft laugh, “I guess I couldn’t keep away.” Neither Liz nor Max said a word as they shared a look with each other. The look held a conversation between them and Isobel felt left out. “So, I was just bothering him about who he married. Do you know who it is? Do we approve of what girl stole my brother’s innocence?”

“I think we approve, yes,” Liz said softly, heading to the proper cabinet to pull out tea bags. She seemed too familiar with the kitchen. Isobel watched her.

“Well, what have you been up to?” Isobel prodded. There was such a distinct feeling in the air and she was about five seconds from fleeing again. Michael and Alex had promised they’d be staying close by if she needed a getaway car. Maybe she would take them up on that. “Did you ever get out of Roswell? I know you had big dreams and a ton of potential. Did you ever go to California or New York or wherever that fancy school was? Have you, uh, made any big scientific discoveries yet?”

“I haven’t,” Liz answered flatly.

Isobel just looked around the room, at her brother and at the woman she’d once imagined she would be spending her life with. Things were tense and awkward and Isobel felt like she really wasn’t wanted. Perhaps a decade of space wasn’t long enough. Maybe they were simply upholding her mother’s wishes, that she would leave and stay gone. Isobel shifted uncomfortably.

“Okay,” Isobel said, trying to find words to continue the conversation, but failing, “Um…”

“Where are you staying tonight?” Max asked her. Isobel could’ve kissed him for saving the conversation. She had so much to say to him, so much to hear, and yet it seemed impossible.

“Probably that motel in town,” Isobel answered.

“She could stay here with us,” Liz offered. And Isobel froze.

“That’s what I was thinking. Do you think your dad would be okay with us borrowing that air mattress?” Max asked, speaking much more comfortably than he had been before.

“Of course he would be,” Liz said, smiling softly at him before she went back to the tea.

“You’re married?” Isobel asked, feeling a little more than incredulous. In fact, she felt like she was suffocating. “To each other? And you live here?”

“Yes,” Max answered like it was a weight off his shoulder, “Yes, we are. We do.”

Isobel looked at Liz and then at her brother and then images in her mind of what Liz looked like when they were celebrating her 18th birthday flooded her mind. Too many images of her smile and her skin and the way she tasted when she was covered in stolen champagne and the way she sounded when Isobel touched her just where she wanted. And then those memories were replaced with the same thing, only Max was there instead and Isobel felt sick.

What was even more sick was that Max knew who Liz was to her. Everyone did. Rumors spread fast when Anne Evans’ beloved princess gets disowned.

“Wow,” Isobel said, taking a deep breath and swallowing down the bile that burned in her throat, “Wow.”

“I thought about inviting you to the wedding,” Liz offered, avoiding eye contact because she knew how much this information stung, “I couldn’t find out where you were living. That nomadic lifestyle of yours, you know.”

“I’d hardly call fending for myself when I was a kid after my mother kicked me out for no reason being nomadic,” Isobel said, tone icier than she anticipated.

“Isobel,” Max said, glaring at her. Isobel was trapped by his stare, trapping by this information, the walls closing around her. She wasn’t sure what she expected when she came home, but this was certainly not it.

“Right, right, can’t speak ill of the dead,” she laughed dryly, looking around and avoiding their eyes, “Right. I’m happy for you. I’m going to go find my room.”

Neither of them stopped her as she headed for the stairs and quickly scaled them. It was a relatively big house. Their parent’s room was downstairs while Max, Isobel, and the guest room were all upstairs. The hall looked the same except all the pictures that were once of her had been replaced with more of Max as she made her way towards her bedroom and gently grabbed the doorknob before twisting.

Her bedroom had been her one safe haven. Every time she got scared or upset, she’d go there and her mother respected that space as hers. It was the room she had multiple panic attacks inside as she slowly discovered she liked women, completely unaware Michael was having the same bi-panic not far away at the same time. It was the room she cried in when she got stood up on her first date. It was the room she’d lined with stuffed animals that she’d hid her weed inside. It was the room where she discovered what Liz Ortecho tasted like.

Isobel didn’t know what to expect to find when she entered it again after a decade of being gone, but when she faced a completely empty room, she knew it wasn’t that. Maybe part of her had wished her mother kept it just in case she came home. Maybe if she had, Isobel would remember what it felt like, for a moment, what it was to have her mother’s unconditional love. Because that’s what unconditional love was, right? Always giving them a place to go? Her mother had taken that too.

The walls were bare, the closet was empty, any trace of her pink-painted walls or her collage of pictures with Max and Michael was gone entirely. The only tell that someone had ever lived in that room was the scuff mark on the floor from when she rearranged her room in the middle of the night to cope with her panicking.

Isobel slowly sat on the floor, trying to keep herself composed as it really set in how much she shouldn’t have come here. It was like being 18 again, like being kicked out again, like being angry and hurt and unlovable and unwanted and hated all over again. She shouldn’t have come here.

Just as she was fiddling with her pockets to find her phone so she could call Michael to come get her before she broke entirely, someone knocked on the door.

Isobel sniffled and wiped over her face to try and act like she hadn’t been about to cry as it creaked open and Liz poked her head inside. This time, Isobel noticed how pale she looked and how her typical bold personality seemed overly dulled. This wasn’t the Liz she had spent hours planning a future with.

But then again, she never imagined Liz would marry Max either.

“Are you alright?” Liz asked, coming in and pausing before she slowly closed the door behind her.

“I guess so,” Isobel said, forcing a laugh. Liz nodded and still stayed firmly with her back against the door. Isobel remembered a night where they’d laid in bed, whispering quietly about everything they’d felt. How Isobel had liked boys and girls and it didn’t make sense, how Liz had tried to like boys and only found she wasn’t interested. Liz was a lesbian. Or, she was. People changed, she presumed.

“I’m sorry about your room,” she said and Isobel rolled her eyes, “When your mother went to burn everything, I suggested that maybe she should keep it for when you came home, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“She burned it?” Isobel asked, a laugh escaping her despite it not at all being funny. She really just burned Isobel’s memory away. Or she tried. “God, she was such a bitch.” Liz didn’t answer right away. “Sorry, shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

“No, you’re right, she was a bitch,” Liz agreed. Isobel offered a tired smile. “I managed to steal a couple things before she noticed, though. They’re back at the Crashdown if you wanted to come by.” 

A few seconds of silence passed as she listened to Liz’s invitation. Her invitations had always been something Isobel looked forward to. Now, she wasn’t allowed to.

“I can’t believe you married my brother,” Isobel scoffed, picking at the carpet. Liz huffed a small laugh.

“Yes, well, me neither.”

A few hours passed before the house eventually cleared and Isobel found herself walking the streets of Roswell beside Liz Ortecho so they could get to her father’s restaurant. It was weird as hell, but Isobel had had hours to readjust. And to vent to Michael and Alex via their group chat, but no one needed to know about that.

The sun was setting and Liz kept space between them like she was scared to accidentally bump shoulders with her like they had when they were young and walked places together. They couldn’t hold hands, but they could accidentally run into each other every few steps. They’d been so childish, so young. She missed that.

“So, aside from my brother, what have you been up to?” Isobel asked, “You had such big dreams. I can’t imagine you staying here in Roswell or, honestly, marrying a man.”

“I didn’t expect to be still here either,” Liz admitted, ignoring the second statement, “But things just got away from me. My dad needed me to stay to help with Rosa and then, by the time she was clean, I was already engaged to Max. Then I couldn’t leave.”

“You’re so smart, though,” Isobel scoffed, “You should go back to school now.”

“I don’t know if that’s an option.”

“It’s always an option,” Isobel insisted, “You were brilliant, Liz. You could do so much. Seriously, think about it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

They walked into the Crashdown as it came into sight and Arturo, Liz’s dad, was the first person all night to be excited to see Isobel. He’d smiled and said something about how he couldn’t believe his eyes in Spanish, hugging her tight. Isobel hugged him back and tears sprung to her eyes. She was more than thankful for him.

“I’ve been keeping up with you, you know,” Arturo said, nodding, “All that designing stuff you do. I don’t really understand all of it, but I’ve seen all those fancy celebrities you’ve dressed. You really made something of yourself, Isobel. I’m so proud of you.”

“Alright, Papi, we’re gonna go get that air mattress, okay?” Liz said, brushing it off with a laugh. Isobel almost told her she would just stay with Arturo all night. But that wasn’t an option as they climbed the narrow stairs.

And then they were in Liz’s room.

“Wow,” Isobel said, “Yours looks exactly the same.”

“Yeah, well,” Liz breathed, watching her closely as she closed the door behind them. And then it was just them again. Isobel smiled softly before dropping onto the bed, giving Liz a playful come hither look. Liz just shook her head. “I never thought I was going to see you again.”

“I had no plans to come back,” Isobel admitted, “Things happen. Like my mother dying and you marrying my brother.”     

"You don't understand."

"Then can you explain it to me? Because I cannot understand how you married a man," Isobel said, looking up at her. Liz had been so headstrong, had been there to say it doesn't matter, that it's not a bad thing. And Liz was the one to go back on that.

"I haven't come out to my dad," she said softly, "And I was scared."

"Don't you think he knows? News travels fast," Isobel pointed out.

"He doesn't listen to gossip. If he knew, he wouldn't have let me marry Max," she said simply. Isobel huffed a laugh and shook her head. "I was hanging out with him a little more after you left. We both missed you."

"I didn't leave, I was thrown out," Isobel reminded her. Liz took a deep breath and pushed off the door to take a step closer.

"Your mom pulled me aside one day and told me I should marry him. That he liked me, that it was a good idea," Liz explained. Isobel got that sick feeling again.

"Oh my God." 

"And when I talked to Father Santiago, he told me I should too," Liz added, "So I did."

"Oh my God," Isobel said, more disgust than the first time, "So, what, you just played it straight? This whole time?"

"Yeah," Liz sighed, slowly sitting beside her. Closer than they had been outside. "I didn't have a choice."

"So you were never with another woman?" Isobel prodded. Liz gave a sad little smile and looked up at the ceiling.

"No."

"Jesus, Liz," Isobel said, shaking her head, "How are you even okay?" 

"It's not so bad," Liz said softly, "Max is nice. Respectful. Doesn't force me into anything I don't want." 

"Oh my God."

"You're overreacting," Liz sighed, "We're fine."

"How are you fine? You're in a marriage with someone you aren't attracted to and he loves you in a way you can never love him. I mean, I want to feel bad for him, but he swooped in and married you all while knowing what you were to me," Isobel scoffed, shaking her head, "So unhealthy."

"What was I to you, exactly?" Liz asked softly. Isobel looked over at her and blew air out of her nose, unable to ignore how gorgeous she was up close. She was always so pretty.

Instead of answering, Isobel reached for her braid, pulling it over her shoulder and rolling the elastic off before unraveling it. Her hair hung to her waist in loose waves, falling into her face and reminding Isobel of some of the many times they found themselves alone in this room. Fifteen and stupid and "practicing" kissing so they'd know what to do. Sixteen and drunk on wine coolers they stole from Isobel's mom and kissing each other with full intent and making it known that it wasn't just practice for the first time. Seventeen and reckless and so desperate to get their hands on each other that they fell off the bed. Eighteen and cuddling and whispering about what the future held. How the hell had it turned into this?

"I missed you so goddamn much," Isobel admitted, tucking a strand of Liz's hair behind her ear, "I kept googling your name and waiting for some scientific article you wrote to pop up. It never happened."

"I want to."

"Do it," Isobel said, cupping her chin gently, "You are brilliant. Do it."

Liz stared at her, eyes filling with tears and Isobel wondered how long it'd been since someone told her that. Or, maybe, when was the last time her father told her that before he realized it did more harm than good to make her feel bad about her choices? 

It happened quickly after that, Liz leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips. It was hesitant and hardly a kiss at all, just lips touching as if she wasn't sure she was allowed to or if she didn't remember how. Isobel hesitated too, trying to weigh the pros and cons of missing his brother's wife. But, then again, he'd known she and Isobel had been together before he decided to marry her. So, truly, it was his fault for being stupid. 

Isobel parted her lips and slid her hand to the back of Liz's neck, holding her in place as she pushed her tongue into her mouth. Liz reacted like she hadn't been touched in a decade, whining softly as she came in close. Isobel's heart was beating in her ears as she relearned the taste of her lips, her other hand resting on Liz's knee before slowly, slowly sliding her fingers between them.

Liz took a shaky breath as Isobel's hand gradually moved up between her thighs, slow and careful as she edged closer and closer. It wasn't until her fingers traced down the zipper of her jeans that Liz grabbed her wrist.

"Sorry," Isobel said, reluctantly pulling away, "I'm sorry."

Liz stared at her for a moment, debating and unmoving. Isobel waited for her cue, waited to follow her lead. She always had.

"I called Michael to get him to tell you about your," Liz admitted, voice soft and hesitant, "I wanted you to come home. I needed you to come home."

Isobel looked at her, at the dark need in her eyes and how that need was for much more than Isobel's touch. She just needed Isobel. In her entirety. And suddenly she remembered what it was like to feel loved again.

"I'm home," Isobel stated simply. Liz took a breath and relaxed, guiding Isobel's hand to press against the seam of her jeans that was the barrier between them as if all she needed was that little phrase to get her to open up.

So Isobel laid her back on the bed and slipped her fingers past the waistband of her jeans, easily reminding them both how good it was to be with each other and no one else.

And Isobel fully intended to make sure Liz got all the good things she should've gotten a decade prior.