#all day while I was supposed to be doing school

[starmy-sky]

Paws and Promises

Pairing: CEO!Lee Know x Fem!Reader

Summary: You fiance has not once shown up to your wedding planning dates, in fact, he barely shows up at all. After ten months of being engaged and still no wedding or even solid plans for the ceremony, you seek comfort by adopting a cat that randomly showed up on your porch the same day Minho was supposed to go on a business trip.

Or... Minho gets karma for being a bad fiance by being turned into a cat.

Tags: Angst to Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Engaged!AU, Break Up, Negligence, Longing, Cat!Lee Know

Word Count: 4.1K (Masterlist)

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"How long is the trip again?"

"Two weeks, Y/N."

"So I should schedule our wedding planner interviews by the third week?" You try to catch his eyes, but they were everywhere but on you. It's been like that for a while.

Minho busies himself packing a suitcase, letting out a half-minded hum. "Why can't you schedule it any other day? You're available."

Because you want it to be with him. You wanted to think of the motif with him, the flowers, the decorations, the guests, the cake flavor, the venue, the rings. It should be about you and him, not just you.

But... perhaps you're being too sentimental. You look at Minho now as the successful CEO he became from all his hardwork, he's serious, strategic, stoic. Unlike the Minho you met in your senior year of high school, the one that was silly, loud, and cheeky, sneakily slipping into your heart by acting both nonchalant while seemingly never getting enough of your attention.

Almost like a cat.

Maybe the Minho now isn't the type to want to be involved in menial things like planning the wedding, in fact, it seems as if he has no plans to be wed anytime at all, he's much too busy now.

You look down at your ring, a glimmering diamond adorned it while the metal that wraps around your finger forms into swoops that border the diamond. It's very beautiful, though he never explained to you why he chose that design, you always find yourself admiring the ring, a symbol of a future with him.

You smiled, trying to ease your feelings as you always do. "I'll keep that in mind." You answered, leaving the conversation to die once again.

...

It rained the day he left for the business trip, the sky mirroring your feelings of sorrow as you're reminded that he'll probably be a ghost the whole two weeks.

He's already pretty elusive when he's there, staying at the office late and going in early in the morning. You've always been thankful for him, providing for you even before you got engaged and letting you quit your less than ideal office job when he did propose.

Your thoughts were cut off when rough scratching rings from the door, panicked mews accompanying them as you rush to open.

A tuxedo cat barges into the house as if it lived there, grumbling in annoyance as it pounces on the rug to dry itself from the rain.

As it does so, it starts to screech at you. "Y/N, Y/N, it's me! I'm Minho, I have no idea what happened, but you need to call an ambulance or a vet, or even a wizard!"

"Honey, honey, it's okay, you're safe here..."

"No the hell it's not okay! I got turned into a cat!"

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you." You gently shush the cat, stepping closer inch by inch.

"Can't you understand me?!"

"Aww, I wish I can understand what you're meowing about, honey."

"...I'm doomed."

It was supposed to be a normal day for Minho, an unluckly, but albeit normal day. As he's about to leave for the airport from the office, he realized he forgot some documents at home.

He decided to leave his luggage in his office and drive back home to get the documents. As luck would have it, his car breaks down in the middle of the rain. He curses the sky as he opens the door to check if there's any way to get home, only for lightning to strike accompanied by blinding light.

The next second he opens his eyes, he had paws and whiskers and he was only a few inches off the ground.

Scared, he runs home as fast as he could, clawing at your door and now he's here, utterly doomed.

...

It's been five days and Lino, the name you have the cat, had no intention of going back outside. In fact, he struts around the place like he knows it by heart.

His relentless meows have not gone away either, at least once an hour he sits by your side or jumps to stand face to face with you and frantically meow his heart out, almost like he's desperately trying to make you understand him.

You just sum it up that maybe he's just a really active and talkative cat, and you continue to indulge him by nodding and smiling and scratching behind his ears and chin.

Minho puffs up frustrated sighs everytime.

"Magic exists and I was cursed to turn into a cat, Y/N!"

"Lino, you're demanding more food? You just cleaned out your whole bowl 20 minutes ago." You giggled as the cat seemed to stomp at your reply.

"You didn't put enough and you know I have a big appetite. Oh, and you have to find out how turn me back into a human!"

"Aww, my little kitty is upset, you want some pets?" You scooped up the grumpy cat and placed him on your lap on the couch.

"No, I don't want pets, Y/N! Can't you see that this is your fiancé in front of you?"

He swears it was the cat side of him that immediately calmed down and leaned into you touch when you started to scratch his chin. And it was definitely that same side that pawed at your hand when you stopped.

As his eyes slowly closed in content, a picture frame on the side table caught his attention. It was a picture of you and him.

Minho sits up immediately and leaps to the picture. "Here, here!" He points at the picture of himself and then his cat body.

You stand in shock, looking at the picture of you and your fiance. "You're right, Lino..." Minho felt like he could leap in joy at your response.

"I should call him... it's been almost a week since we last spoke."

He meows in protest, but it was too late as you already went ahead and grabbed your phone.

Minho remembers that he left his luggage and phone in his office when he drove back home to get some of the documents he forgot. His office was completly inaccessible to anyone when he's away and his phone was in silent mode.

Of course no one was gonna answer you. But you didn't know that. Minho stares at you in frustration first, still not being able to effectively communicate with you.

But as he looks up at you again, the faint expression of excitement replaced with slow defeat as you call goes to voicemail, his eyes soften from that of annoyance to... he doesn't know.

But he doesn't like that look on your beautiful face.

"Hey, my love, just calling in to check on you. I'm sure you must be busy, but I want you to know that I really miss you, okay?" Despite your mood shifting when he didn't answer, you tried to keep your voice happy, unaware of the knowing look from the cat beside you.

He listens intently at your words. "Take care of yourself and don't skip on sleep or meals. Okay, I love you... c-call me when you can."

You end your message, looking back at the cat with a smile that held back the emotion in your eyes. "Well, that could've have gone better."

"He's busy, you know? And every second of his day is important." You sigh, leaning into the couch cushions and closing your eyes. "Can't expect him to be thinking of me too when he's already got so much on his mind."

Minho thinks he could spare a call and maybe a few texts, just so he doesn't ever get to see that solemn look on your face.

He gets back up on your lap, cuddling into your stomach, and for the first time since he came in, he stays quiet, purring softly as if to comfort you.

You look down at him and smile, "Thank you, honey, I needed that."

...

Your heart never rests, and everyday you did the same thing, calling him and never getting answered, leaving a voice message that never seems to be heard. Minho sticks by your side each time, and your glad that you have a companion that cuddles up to after each disappointing call.

His little cat heart begins to ache a bit. He shouldn't have gotten used to it, to shrugging off your missed calls, to replying late to your messages, to not being there. Not when your lips turn into a frown that he had the privilege of usually never seeing before because he actually made you happy back then.

He made you happy back then...

But now? He can't even see what he makes you feel because he's never there.

And when he's here... he's a stinking cat!

You wipe your tears before they make it past your cheeks, looking at the lack of any reply on your phone. The ring on your finger glimmers beside your phone, reminding you of the promise of marriage that never seems to come.

Minho's cat eyes find the same ring, and a guilty feeling consumes him. That ring, it looks out of place on you finger, and he knows why.

...

Two weeks.

He's supposed to be home today.

Yet still no reply.

Lino has calmed down now, no more meowing fit and screaming in your face or trying to make you understand, though he still does have some weird behavior like using the toilet instead of the cat litter you bought him, tucking himself next to you in bed like a human, going into Minho's office and just staring at the papers on his desk. And for a cat, he's awfully afraid of heights.

No matter how much of an odd cat he is, you have to admit that without him, you would have been in a depressive spiral trying to contact Minho. You've been left hanging for so long that you actually started to get worried that something may have happened to him.

"I should call his assistant, right? Something might have happened and he couldn't contact me." The cat bounced from his loaf position, walking eagerly to you.

"That's a great idea! Then they'll tell you that I didn't make it to my trip and I'm missing."

"Okay, here I go." The phone rings and soon his assitant picks up.

"Hello, you are calling Lee Corp. How may I help you?"

"Hi, I was just wondering if there's any news on Minho over there. If he's okay and whatnot."

"Oh." The voice at the other line seem to turn snarky as she realizes who you are. "Ms. Y/N, if Mr. Lee is not responding to you, then he must be very busy and has no time to check his phone."

Minho's head turns, he's never heard his assistant speak in such a condescending voice, especially not to his fiancé.

"There's no need to worry, Ms. Y/N, the team and I take good care of him, so your worry is not needed. I'm sure Mr. Lee is fine, and you should not bother contacting him because it might interfere with his important business."

Minho leaps to you lap, grumbling and hissing at your phone speaker. "What the hell are you saying?"

"Wait... can you call him for me? I just need to talk to him..." You pleaded, but you're met with a scoff.

"Ms. Y/N, there's no need for a call, Mr. Lee will be home soon and you can continue to cling to him as you please." The assistant hangs up at that, making you stare at your phone in disbelief.

Minho too was stunned by the sheer unprofessionalism of his assistant, he wishes he could have said something to defend you, to let you know that he won't let her speak to you like that.

Though for you, that call was a shot to your heart more than anything, inflating your insecurities as you stare at your reflection on the screen.

He doesn't need you, you are only a bother to him, you cling to him while he tries to move forward. Maybe that's why he's so miserable in your relationship.

Tears start to quietly fall from your eyes as you let your thoughts take over you. Minho immediately paws at your face, but you avoid it, hugging your legs and crying into your knees, keeping yourself hidden from his gaze.

You feel his paws at your side, his body trying to snuggle closer to you, but no matter how much you try to appreciate it, no amount of comfort can make you feel better right now.

...

It was another rainy night, still no sign of Minho despite him supposedly coming home today.

You prepared Lino's dinner, but he seemed far too anxious to eat.

He can't eat when he sees you constantly looking at your phone with a deep thought, typing up something only to delete it later.

He wonders what could be in your mind, you might be mad at him, he understands. He also wonders if he's ever gonna turn back to human, or is he just forced to watch as you begin to believe that he has left you with no explanation.

Your phone starts to ring, and he immediately bolts to your side on the kitchen counter.

You're calling him again, and he hates that he can't answer, that he can't make up some excuse so you don't have to believe that he's ignoring you on purpose.

Unsurprisingly, it goes to voicemail. You sigh heavily, as if bracing yourself to let it all out on a recording that you're not even sure he's gonna listen to. He does the same, his heart pounding at what you could possibly say to him.

"Hey, Minho, I don't know if you're getting my messages, if you are, I don't even know if you bother to listen to them."

"I wanted to talk to you about us, and what I've been feeling."

Minho's eyes never falter from your dishearted figure.

"I haven't heard from you this entire two weeks, and honestly, I haven't heard much this past few months."

"I know, I'm sorry, my love."

"And I know it's unfair to demand your attention when you're already so busy, but I... I-I just wanted to see you more, and for you to see me too." You try to contain your sobs, hoping to let out more words before your an incoherent mess.

"You deserve my attention, and so much more."

"I have loved you since we were in high school, and more and more every single day after that."

"I feel the same way..."

"But maybe your love isn't the same as mine anymore. Maybe you grew tired."

"Please don't say that..."

"A-And that's why I feel like I should let you go."

"Please don't let me go..."

"I want you to be happy, Minho, to find someone that you can love wholeheartedly. To love your past, present, and make your future beautiful."

"That's you, Y/N."

"Please know that I do still love you and-" *beep*

*Voicemail has exceeded the time limit.*

"God I hate you too..."

Minho looks up at you, his cat eyes glossy. He wishes for you to keep going, to let it out and let him hear all of his wrongdoings.

"I hate you for promising me that I'll be marrying the love of my life, I hate you for ignoring me when all I wanted was to love you, I hate you for taking away the Minho I fell in love with for a decade. I hate you for making me love you no matter how much it hurts me."

Your phone lays flat on the counter, catching your tears as you cry your message into the air.

"I just wish you're here right now... so you would know how much it hurts."

"I'm here..." He meows at your sorrow, head down in shame.

The sound of metal hitting marble catches his ear, and in the next second he sees your figure returning to your room, while beside him, your ring wobbles slightly before it lands flatly right in front of his face.

...

It took two hours before the sobs from your room has calmed down, two hours before the storm outside picked up to accompany thunder. Two hours and he stays planted in his place.

Minho silently stared at the ring on the counter, his eyes trained on it as if it was a threat. He lays on the counter semi-loaf, paws under his chin as he stares unblinking at the ring.

Stupid ring. Ugly, meaningless, basic. That's what he thinks of it.

You derserve better, not just the first thing he saw when he went into the jewelry store. He got a random ring, proposed to you on a random day, and treated it like it meant nothing.

He did it because he was scared, he saw the way you started looking so down months ago, he saw how you no longer lit up the way you did around him, he saw the space between you expanding and he couldn't have that.

He was scared to lose you, so he proposed. And the way you lit up again ten times brighter brought him a sense of security.

Candles eventually burn out and he saw that even after getting a ring, you never escaped the emptiness that haunted your relationship.

It's his fault, for working himself to death, for acting like his work was his life, for thinking that one gesture is all it takes to make you happy again when all you ever wanted was him.

You deserve better, a better ring, a better fiancé.

Minho whimpers slightly, tears clouding his dilated eyes. He doesn't blink them away, he just stares at the ring as if it led to all of his mishaps.

He designs a ring in his mind, one that isn't just a band with an expensive diamond stuck to it, one with meaning, with designs that capture you and him. He imagines giving it to you on the anniversary of when you agreed to be his girlfriend, under twinkling stars and surrounded by fireflies, on the hill he took you to have a chilly night picnic. You would scream yes and he would almost roll down the hill in full excitement.

Instead he proposed in your bedroom while you were getting ready for bed. You still cried, you still smiled so happily and kissed him in fervor. He knows that no matter what, you would be grateful, but he beats himself up for not even making an effort.

And now you're slipping away...

You emerge from the bedroom, still with bloodshot eyes, but no longer hiccuping sobs. "Lino, still didn't eat, honey?" You scratch under his ear, and only then did he close his eyes to lean in to your touch.

Minho looks up at you, "I love you, Y/N..." He mutters the most heartfelt meows you've ever heard from a cat. It's a shame you can't understand him.

You sigh, seeing from the still full cat bowl that the cat did not really feel like eating. You slowly lift him off the counter, craddling him in your arms. "How about we just go to bed now and then you can have a big breakfast?"

He hums as he snuggles into your embrace, and you smile at how he seems to really understand you. His heart aches at how beautiful your heart is, how it's always been, because he feels as if he doesn't deserve to be in your arms.

You lay in bed, placing him on top of your chest. He loafs on you, and you both quietly stare at each other.

"Tomorrow, we're gonna go to my mom's house. And we're gonna stay there for a while..." He sees a packed suitcase placed by the closet, the closet just open enough for him to see the lack of your clothes in there.

He also notices the missing items around the room that you would normally keep in there own places. Other than your presence, you completly wiped the room of you.

"Don't go..." He gently meows at you, eyes once again filling with tears.

"Are you crying, honey?" You asked worriedly, knowing you're not getting a response. "Why are your eyes so sad, my sweet kitty?" You pet him gently, heart aching at the sight of the glossy eyed cat.

"Don't leave me..."

You think that maybe he's attched to your home and he doesn't want to leave. "It's okay, honey, you'll always be with me."

"I should've been... I should always be with you..."

His meows sounded like painful whispers, eluding to a feeling you can't quite understand from him. You press a kiss on his nose, comforting the seemingly distressed cat.

Thundet roars outside, and a flash of light appears to blind the entire room.

"Don't leave me..."

You breathe heavily, your eyes wide.

"Minho?"

Lino the cat was gone and suddenly it was Minho on top of you, legs in between yours while his face hides in the crook of your neck. You feel his tears warm on your skin as he exhales sobs against you.

He expects you to push him off, to berate him and leave right now, he clings on tightly just in case.

But instead, he feels one hand brushing through his hair and another soothing his back. "There there, my love, it's okay..."

And because it's you saying it, he believes it.

...

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"The lightning turned me into a cat and I was trying to tell you for two weeks but you couldn't understand me." Minho was tucked under the blanket after changing from his suit to his nightwear, looking at you with boba eyes as you sit on the edge of the bed.

"So you're Lino?" He nods at your question.

Your heart drops, he has seen you moping and hurting and even breaking down. "That's why you weren't answering my calls?" He nods again.

"I'm sorry, Y/N..." He lifts his hand from beneath the blanket to hold your hand. "Not just about these two weeks, but every single day I made you feel neglected. We promised each other that we'd always be there, and I got so used to you always being here when I come home, I forgot to be here for you when I am home. I was consumed by work, by always trying to be on top, but I forgot that all of this... was for us, for my dream future with you."

Tears stain both of your cheeks, and though Minho was never fond of talking about feelings or getting too serious, he finds that talking to you and you finally understanding him was a huge privilege.

"Minho... I dreamed everyday of our future, and I can't imagine myself still being here while you work yourself to death and-"

"I know, and I won't do that, not anymore. Not when my favorite person is always home waiting for me. I can't imagine a future without you, Y/N, you're all I've ever loved about life..." He sits up, caressing your hand with both of his, feeling your fingers.

"I-I'm sorry I took off the ring, Minho..."

"No... I should be sorry, for giving you a crappy ring in a crappy proposal..." He sighs, remembering the lack of thought in a supposedly meaningful event.

"I was crying happy tears that night..."

"But you deserve better, and I need to deserve you again, if you would have me."

You smile slightly. "I want to have you... but maybe not with a ring right now..."

He nods frantically. "I'll take that, besides, I need more months to plan my next proposal." You giggled as he wipes away the last of your tears. "For now... let me focus on spending more time with you, like we used to.

"I'd like that..." You reply, right as he stomach grumbles, signaling his hunger. "I told you to eat, Lino."

Minho chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Can we eat now?"

You hum, leading him out of the bed and into the kitchen.

What you didn't expect was a tuxedo cat on your kitchen counter, the engagement ring in its mouth as it looks surprised at you two.

It hurried to escape through the slightly ajar back door. "What was that?" You stood in shock, looking at the window to see that the cat has jumped the fence.

"Maybe it was for the best. I already have a ring idea in my mind, anyway."

Seven months later, he brought you to the hill, just as he imagined, got down on one knee and proposed to you with a ring with diamonds placed in the shape of a cat's paw.

And it took another five months to plan the wedding because it turns out he was a lot more particular than you were gonna be.

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Taglists (SFW): @bleuuujpg @seungpuppymongmong @princesskrystix @aquariusscollection @chims-dimple @norabugz @diekleinesuesse @like-diamondsinthesky @isadd666 @btch8008s @geni-627 @purplelady85 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @chanchansgirly @emilyywhyy @veronica123

[brawberryz]

⎯⎯ㅤ lollipop chainsaw

Jason Todd × Fem! Reader

Note | English is not my first language | M.list

A | N / I love Lollipop Chainsaw so much, it's a shame there isn't a remake of the game yet, Juliet I love you

TW | Blood, violence, slight mention of mutilation, sexual themes (nothing graphic), Spoilers for the game (mild), Jason is a suck loser because i said so

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Everything had happened so fast; it was a normal morning in high school.

Jason had finally worked up the courage to confess his love for you after school was over.

You met him because he was your tutor once for a literature exam. You were told that if you didn't pass it, you would be stripped of your position as leader of the cheerleaders.

From that moment on, Jason felt that crush in his heart.

Every time he saw you, he felt his cheeks heat up and his heart beat faster than normal, as if he were running a marathon.

Love was strange and unusual for him. He knew there was a good chance you would reject him, and that would make him the laughingstock of the whole school for believing a nerd like him would have a chance with the most popular and beautiful girl in school.

But dreaming wasn't out of the question. He had prepared everything for this special day.

He had written a romantic note; it was a beautiful poem that he would leave in your locker during first period. Putting at the end of the note that you see him after school.

Nothing could go wrong. He'd been planning for months how he would propose and the things he would say if you rejected him, since he didn't want to look like an idiot after your rejection.

But something went wrong, so wrong.

As he walked through the lonely school field, he heard screams coming from the other side.

Out of nowhere, he saw people starting to run desperately, crying for help.

Was this some kind of joke?

"What the-" Before you could complete your sentence, you heard your voice screaming from afar while you were carrying...

A chainsaw!?

"Jason, watch out!!" You screamed with all your might while running as fast as your legs could carry you.

"Uh? What do you mean...?" He turned his head only to find himself staring at what was supposed to be a zombie, A FUCKING ZOMBIE.

"What the hell!?" He could barely react when he felt the zombie lunge at his arm and then bite him.

He felt his flesh tearing apart; even though he had a jacket on, that didn't mean it fully protected him.

He fell to the ground as a scream of pain came out of his mouth. You quickly approached him and cut the zombie in half.

"Oh my god! Jason, are you okay?!" You knelt next to his injured body; you felt his arm begin to spasm.

It was clear he was infected.

"I... oh shit, this hurts-" He gestured in pain as you held him in your arms. Would he sound like a complete virgin if he said out loud that there was something sexy about you holding him like this?

"God, this feels so bad. Everything's ruined now..."

He felt his body go into small spasms, and his mind began to cloud with pain.

"(Name)...there's someone I need to tell you before I become...well, you know, one of them..." You nodded, distressed. He reached for your hand, and you quickly took it, as if you were afraid that everything you had left of him would disappear.

"I know it's stupid to do this when...when I'm about to die, but..." His voice grew fainter and more tired, and with his last breath, he would say how much he felt about you.

"I...I love you (Name)...I love you so much, and you're the best thing that's ever happened to me..."

Jason felt like a complete loser now. He felt like he wanted to cry.

He didn't know if he wanted to cry because of the pain in his arm or because he knew he would die and never have the chance to see you or hear your beautiful voice again. The smile was too loud for his taste, but he still liked it.

"Oh, Jason... I love you to.."

You gave him one of those smiles you always gave everyone, but this time it was special because it was genuine and meant for him.

"Well... that was quite unexpected... I didn't think you'd accept my feelings." He let out a small laugh before feeling his vision blur and his eyes begin to blur.

"Jason, no!"

You could feel his heart begin to slow down and his skin begin to take on a strange color.

The only thing you could hear in that empty space were your sobs as you hugged Jason's body.

"No! I won't let you die!"

You said, quickly getting up from the ground and starting your chainsaw.

"Uh...? What do you mean by that?"

Jason asked, confused. You two were supposed to be having a sad, yet romantic moment.

"Sorry for what I'm about to do, babe!"

You raised your chainsaw and pointed it right at his neck. Jason felt like his soul had just left his body.

"Wait, what? No! (Name), wait a second, you shouldn't-"

His sentence was cut off by the sound of the chainsaw approaching his neck. All he could hear before closing his eyes was a small "I love you!" Which was almost drowned out by his scream of fear as he felt your chainsaw cut into his neck.

And that's how Jason ended up with a head attached to your hip by a chain.

Jason waited for many fates before becoming a zombie, but he never thought you'd perform a ritual to bring him back to life as a disembodied head.

Jason was starting to believe that becoming a zombie wasn't such a bad option after all.

Although he wouldn't lie, there was something about him that he liked being able to feel your ass on the back of his neck.

God, if he still had his cock, it would most likely be hard...

But leaving those virgin thoughts aside, the view from your waist wasn't so bad.

At least he wasn't a mindless zombie walking around the school looking for fresh meat.

Plus, he was a great help when it came to preventing attacks from behind.

He was like a guide since he knew the high school best; they needed to get out of there as quickly as possible.

The school wasn't a safe place and it was too big, and you could easily get lost if you didn't have a map, but you could be sure that Jason would guide you around the place.

"Honey, a zombie on your right!"

Jason warned, while you were too busy slicing into a zombie that crossed your path.

"Thanks, babe!"

You giggled as you cut the zombie in half with your chainsaw.

Jason sometimes wondered where you got so much strength from. He knew that chainsaw was heavy, but you carried it like a bag.

In addition to your amazing acrobatics and jumps, which would easily humiliate any gymnast.

"You've been very quiet this time. Is something wrong, Jay?"

You called him by his usual affectionate nickname. Jason had been much quieter than usual.

Most of the time, he spent talking about some book he'd read or telling jokes that weren't funny but still made you laugh.

"Oh...nothing, it's just..." He hesitated. These last few days had seemed too strange. He'd never thought about being trapped in a school full of zombies with only his head. "I just haven't gotten used to not having...you know...my body."

You nodded, understanding what he was saying. You knew it was a selfish decision to leave him with only his head, but Jason's body was almost completely infected, and his head was the only thing that wasn't infected yet.

"Relax! When we get out of here, I'll get you a new body. There's nothing magic can't fix!"

Jason just laughed at your comment, sometimes wondering how you were still so optimistic after everything you'd been through.

Something in Jason always wondered if you and he were the only survivors.

You tried using an old radio you found, but it wouldn't connect to any network or signal.

"Whatever you say, princess."

A small blush formed on your cheeks at the nickname Jason gave you. He seemed very resistant to the nicknames you gave him, as if he thought he didn't deserve all your affection.

You walked through the abandoned, blood-soaked halls of the school, humming a little song you'd heard on the radio once with your older sister.

"Uh... did you hear that, Jay?"

You said, sharply turning your head toward the sound. A voice crackled as if trying to speak from a broken radio.

"What do you mean-?"

Jason could barely finish his sentence when you ran down the hallway looking for the source of the noise.

Jason felt like his head was jerking from the way you ran and jumped, dodging the zombie bodies and other things lying on the floor.

He could swear he was about to throw up, even though it was biologically impossible since he didn't have a stomach or organs.

"Ugh, we're here," you said tiredly, stopping at the teachers' lounge. The noise was coming from that place, and you were beginning to clearly understand the words of that mysterious person.

But you saw that the room was full of zombies, some of them seemed to have evolved and become more grotesque than they were.

Disgusting.

That's all you could think about when you smelled that unpleasant odor. You braced yourself and started your chainsaw, holding it as if it weighed absolutely nothing to you.

"Jay, get ready, this is going to get A little shaky!"

You didn't let Jason answer and kicked the door open, sending him flying and crashing into a zombie. Great, you already had one eliminated.

"Pretty legs..."

Was all Jason could whisper when he saw you do. My God, what did the high school feed its cheerleaders to make them so strong?

At that moment, Jason felt like a princess in distress, and you were her prince, coming to save her from those horrible zombies.

Although he wouldn't complain either; the last time he was in your arms felt so good.

Jason was too busy fantasizing about being saved by someone as fucking sexy as you that he didn't notice you just killed all the zombies in minutes.

You hated that zombies were so weak. There were very few zombies in the school worth fighting, and you'd already defeated most of them.

You approached the small radio on the table and looked curious, waiting for the person to speak again.

"Is anyone there?"

The voice sounded like a boy's. He seemed worried but curious at the same time.

That voice was enough to snap Jason out of his thoughts. Had he heard correctly?

That voice was all too familiar.

"Oh! Yeah, I'm (name) from Gotham High School. Who are you?"

Your voice remained as happy as ever. At least you knew you and Jason weren't the only survivors.

"Thank God... I thought no one would answer." The boy let out a nervous laugh. You moved the radio so you could hear better since the signal wasn't the best.

While Jason felt like his soul had left his body again, it couldn't be him...

He couldn't. He would feel too humiliated if the person he thought he was turned out to be who he thought.

There was no way this was happening to him. Was this really supposed to happen to him when he was in such a humiliating and pathetic situation?

There was a moment of silence on the radio until that voice spoke again.

"I'm Dick Grayson. It's nice to know there are still survivors."

You just nodded before speaking.

"Well, the truth is, I'm not the only survivor. I'm with my boyfriend, Jason Todd!"

You were too naive to realize the bombshell you dropped when you blurted out those words.

"Jason... Jason Todd!? Wow, I didn't think he'd still be alive. Can you put me through to him?"

Dick seemed cheerful and eager to talk to Jason. It seemed like he was too important to Dick, since the moment you mentioned Jason's name, Dick's tone abruptly changed.

"Well... there's a slight problem with that..."

Shit

This is so corny omg....

While I was writing this I remembered that I had the game installed so I started playing it while I wrote, I know this has nothing to do with it but Juliet was my lesbian hear me out btw🗣🗣🗣

[rcvcgers]

City of Stars, 1

Chapter One: We Meet Again

account masterlist , series masterlist , ao3

you're here! | next chapter coming soon!

pairing ; zayne x stuntwoman!reader

synopsis ; zayne hasn't seen you in five years, not after you ended your relationship with a simple note before disappearing. when he learns that akso hospital has assigned him to be the medic on a film set, your paths collide once again as you relive the stages of your failed relationship.

word count ; 9.6k words

author's note ; omg a new series? who would've guessed! i wanna dedicate this to my girl miffy !! <3 love ya pooks !!

content warning ; light bodily harm! mentions of blood

my stunt performers ੈ✩‧₊˚ @miffysoo , @loversobession , @blessdunrest , @traumaramacenter , @lighting-and-shadow , @starshinedusk , @nm4565natty , @juniper-flour , @snowcandyapple , @rchltruly , @makingfanfictionstosleep , @animegamerfox , @vynn30 , @eolivy , @syluslittlecrows , @bidisasterforevermore , @sylusqt , @zainaaryam

want to be on the taglist? click here!

Doctor Zayne Li has never had a break in his life. Well, that’s not entirely true, but he usually uses his mandatory time off to do research and work on reports that he has brought home from Akso Hospital. He has been like this since childhood, never really taking the time to go outside and play as soon as he realized just how complex the human heart is. While his close childhood friends, Caleb and MC, were outside trying to catch butterflies and pretending to be a prince and princess, Zayne remained on a nearby bench with a book about human anatomy, reading away while the other two chased each other around.

It’s not like he doesn’t like taking the time to relax, he just feels stuck in place and unproductive when he sits and does nothing for hours on end. He has tried many times to get out of this habit, especially during his final year of medical school where he was swamped with exams and clinical rotations at Akso Hospital, but was not able to make it a permanent feature in his life.

So now here he is, a workaholic at the age of twenty seven, just five years into his career as a doctor. He has received many awards and accolades, alongside the title of Chief of Surgery at Akso Hospital, and has made a name for himself among the new residents. They flock to him for guidance because they know that Zayne is the one person who will guide them with no judgment whatsoever. Zayne supposes that because of this, being a workaholic has its perks.

Besides, work helps keep him off of a sore point in his life that he just can’t seen to get over and for that he is grateful.

“Dr. Li!”

Zayne turns around, his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, one eyebrow perking up as he watches Dr. Greyson and Yvonne walking towards him with some pep in their step. He sucks in a breath, already knowing that the two of them are about to bug him about unnecessary things such as what he ate for lunch in his office or if he had found a new tie for Akso Hospital’s annual fundraising gala, one that they always try to get him to be the host of just so they can hear what jokes he has kept hidden from them. All of these topics of conversation are a waste of time, especially in a hospital where lives are on the line every second of the day.

“Dr. Li,” Greyson smiles up at the dark haired man.

“Dr. Greyson,” Zayne hums back, removing his glasses from his face. He hangs them from his lanyard where his Akso I.D. hangs, a small snowflake pin from a young girl he performed surgery on fastened to the lanyard’s material. He straightens his posture and looks down at them, metal clipboard in hand. “Is there something that I can help you two with?”

“We were wondering,” Yvonne cuts off Greyson before he can even begin, stepping in front of him, her nurse’s hat pinned into place on her head, “if you would like to take a break. You know…a vacation to reset your mind and body. You performed twenty three surgeries in the past three weeks. You deserve to treat yourself and relax!”

Zayne’s lips flatten into a thin line. He begins to shake his head, Yvonne and Greyson’s once hopeful expressions falling as soon as they see it.

“I do not need a vacation,” Zayne destroys their hopes of taking a break in a matter of seconds. “Akso requires me here, so I am here. Perhaps one of you can take a break instead.”

Zayne nods his head at his two closest friends at Akso, a silent goodbye or see you later that he does not have to verbalize. It is just one of his many quirks he picked up on while working at Akso Hospital. He plucks his glasses from the lanyard and places them back onto his face, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. He turns on his heel and takes a look down at the clipboard in his hand, reading a patient’s file. He begins to walk down the long hallway, nurses and patients passing him by, the occasional ‘Get Well Soon!’ balloon floating right by his head, just narrowly dodging it.

Yvonne and Greyson don’t give up, though. They quickly follow after him, feet scrambling along the freshly waxed vinyl flooring. They immediately take their place at his sides, keeping him trapped between them. Zayne lets out an annoyed huff of air and closes the clipboard, the patient’s name and room number now displayed on the front page.

“What if instead of an official break or a vacation,” Yvonne begins, quickly stepping in front of Zayne, cutting him off of his path. Zayne stops walking and drops his arms to his side, tucking the clipboard between his arm and side. He raises an eyebrow, slightly intrigued about what it is that she has to say. “What if you do something more…casual?”

“More casual?” Zayne repeats her words.

“Yes,” she nods with a bright smile. Greyson opens his mouth to say something but she elbows him in the side, quickly shutting him up as she works her magic. “A job like being a doctor at a carnival or volunteering at an animal shelter. Maybe you can find a volunteer job at a plant nursery! You love plants, right?”

Yvonne can see that Zayne has yet to take a bite the bait she is laying down for him. She lets out a soft sigh when Greyson gently taps her shoulder, moving in front of her so Zayne can now pay attention to him. He clears his throat and places his hands on his hips.

“Did you hear about the film set that is coming to Linkon? They just asked Akso for a doctor to be on set to look out for their stunt performers. Supposedly their doctor had to scheduling conflicts and they wanted to let one of our doctors see what it is like on a film set!” Greyson informs him, knowing that his idea will win against Yvonne’s.

Zayne’s body tenses at the mention of a film set. His grip on the clipboard tightens and the air slowly slips from his lungs. He can feel his Evol creep up his arms, his emotions beginning to overwhelm him. The air around the trio turns cold. He takes a deep breath, though, and calms his nerves, regaining his composure as soon as he lost it.

His mind wanders to a figure from his past, an ending to a story that he did not wish to see. He pushes the phantom out of his mind, the skeleton in his closet that threatens to pop out, telling himself to not think about the way he let the love of his life slip through his fingers over a silly, stupid, maybe not to stupid, big argument.

“I will have to pass on that,” Zayne’s voice is somehow even more neutral than before, void of all emotion. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a patient to meet with.”

And with that, Zayne slips away from the two of his coworkers, shaking his head as he heads in the direction of the patient’s room. He remembers as much information as he can from his glance at the paperwork when he pushes open the door, greeting the elderly man who sits inside with a cold expression on his face, unable to get rid of the chill that runs down his spine as his mind floats back to the memory of you.

It has been a relatively calm day for Doctor Zayne Li. It has gone by at an agonizingly slow pace, but he is grateful that his patients actually listened to him and asked helpful questions instead of the classic and cliche scenarios that he always finds himself in.

There is always that one person who asks dumb questions. Now, Zayne has heard some dumb questions in his life, especially from the resident students who follow him for rounds around the cardiac ward where the majority of his patients are. His students, the ones whom he has accepted under his wings after light questioning about what they want their careers as doctors to look like, always ask him to make for sure that the choice the made was the correct one. They knew it was correct depending on his reaction. But the people that truly get under his skin are the patients, mainly the older ones, who always bring up the pharmaceutical ads and commercials that they see.

They always ask if they are allergic to the medicine that he prescribes to them. It dumbfounds him every single time. They should know what they are allergic to — hell, even he knows what they’re allergic to — and they should also know that he will never prescribe them something that will put them in the hospital or kill them. He wonders if the film crew is the same exact way with stupid questions that they could have very easily searched up on the internet.

Maybe Zayne isn’t the biggest people person. That is the exact reasoning he will share with Greyson and Yvonne on why he can’t be the medial doctor on the film set they told him about. He is cold and slightly off-putting. He always says what is on his mind and never spares people’s feelings. He is sure to make enemies on set and nobody will want to come to the medical tent, even if all they needed was a simple band aid.

The truth is, Zayne has been thinking about it all day. He has been more distracted than usual with the prospect of working on something that is close to the world you live in. He knows that he couldn’t possibly accept the role, that it should go to someone who actually wishes to see what it is like behind the shining lights and cameras that they see on the silver screen. Zayne knows that his place is here at Akso Hospital, nowhere else.

So imagine his surprise when his superior, Dr. Jiang Yan, comes marching in through his office door with their hands on their hips and a slightly annoyed look on their face. Zayne’s posture straightens in his chair, his shoulders slightly tensing when his door bounces off of the wall. Zayne’s gaze meets Dr. Yan’s and he moves to stand up from his seat but is immediately waved back down, the doctor taking the seat in front of Zayne’s desk. They place a single file on the desk in front of him. Zayne gulps.

It is silent for a moment. Dr. Yan simply stares at Zayne, slightly narrowing their gaze for a few moments before reaching out towards the file, flipping open to the first page. They sit up in their seat and lean forward, eyes now focused on the contents of the page instead of Zayne.

“It says here that you haven’t had a vacation for the past three years,” Dr. Yan begins, eyes flickering to look up at the stoic man before them. “Why is that?”

“The hospital always needed an extra pair of hands,” Zayne reasons. Dr. Yan shakes their head. Try again. Zayne shifts in his seat and diverts his gaze for a brief moment before looking back at his superior. “I was paged.”

“You were paged?”

“Yes,” Zayne nods.

“You mean,” they clear their throat and flip to the next page, “Dr. Greyson found you sleeping in the on-call room when you were supposed to be gone for a holiday break. One that you requested, by the way.”

“As I said,” Zayne muses with a small hum, “I was paged.”

“You’re a workaholic,” Dr. Yan says with a sweet smile, “and I am ordering you to leave the hospital for a little while.” Zayne opens his mouth to respond, to argue that it will not be necessary, that he does not have a problem nor does he think he will ever reach a point of so called ‘burn out’, but Dr. Yan raises their hand to silence him. “You’re going to leave and work somewhere else for a bit.”

Oh. Oh. Zayne knows where this is going. He begins to shake his head, ready to argue all over again that the film set in Linkon is the last place he needs to be, but Dr. Yan refuses to hear any of his words.

“You will be the official doctor on the set of Death By Bullets!” Dr. Yan announces with a clap of their hands.

“Death By Bullets?” Zayne asks with a perked up eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Dr. Yan shrugs and waves their hands at Zayne, trying to help him pass the fact that the movie’s name is fucking ridiculous, “but! It sounds like a fun time! And you are highly qualified for the position. Well, you may be one of the only people here who is qualified on what they need—”

“On what they need?” Zayne interrupts. Dr. Yan nods. “There are plenty of other doctors here. Why don’t you ask Doctor—”

“No, Zayne, you’re going to do this and you are going to accept it, okay? You’ll still be paid for your time away from the hospital, so think of this as charity work. Get yourself a hot chocolate on the late nights they’ll need you for. Just…get out of the hospital for a bit, okay?” Dr. Yan stands from their seat and Zayne follows suit, watching as the doctor exits his office. They stop by the door and take one last look at Zayne, flashing a smile. “I emailed you the address where their stunt rehearsals will be taking place at. They need you bright and early!"

The door closes and Zayne collapses into his seat, a sigh escaping his lips.

The morning is bright and fresh, a slight chill taking over the air as the fall season comes into fruition, the summer heat finally disappearing in the morning just to return hours later when the sun is high up in the sky. The breeze feels nice against your skin as you jog alongside Peter, one of the stuntmen you will be working alongside for the movie. The sound of your footsteps collide with the asphalt below your feet as you round the large warehouse where rehearsals are taking place.

The side door is open, allowing light into the warehouse where a plethora of cardboard boxes, mats, wires, and fake weapons sit. In one corner sits a boxing area with hanging sandbags and a plethora of exercise equipment ready for your disposal.

The two of you had just met a few days prior, the man always having been paired with one of the hottest actors in the industry, while you mainly worked on much smaller films. He got to hang off of the side of airplanes while you mainly got hit by cars…and minivans…and did the occasional fall from a tall ledge. Oh! One time you were set on fire but ended up losing the bottom half of your hair.

You are excited, though, to finally get the chance to show off your skill in front of some of the most powerful and influential producers in the industry, feeling the excitement settle into your bones as the director and stunt coordinator explained to you some of the stunts that you and Peter will be doing before you signed your name on the dotted line.

Now here you are, running alongside one of the best stuntmen in the world, ready to have your safety meeting so you can finally get started on learning the fight sequences.

Peter jogs up ahead, doing one last final sprint, as the two of you approach the director, stunt coordinator, and one of the producers. They all smile at the sight of you two. You place your hands on the back of your head, slowly breathing in and out to regulate your breathing. Your heart pound on the inside of your chest, following in after the trio, taking your seat while other stuntmen and women enter into the warehouse. Peter takes the empty chair next to you, passing off an ice cold water bottle, and you take it with a big smile on your face, quietly thanking him. The stunt coordinator stands in front of a large television screen — well, it’s four televisions merged into one — and it lights up the room as soon as it is turned on.

“Where’s the doctor?” the producer, Emilia, asks her assistant. The assistant immediately begins clicking away on their tablet, immediately freaking out over the small request.

“Shouldn’t he be here by now?” the director, whose name is Tally, asks.

“We’re ten minutes ahead of schedule,” the producer’s assistant speaks up.

“Well, you know what they say,” Emilia says with a smile, “you’re early, you’re on time. You’re on time, you’re late. And if you’re late?”

“You’re fired,” the assistant’s face falls.

You raise an eyebrow at the scene, turning towards Peter who shrugs in response. He looks down at his phone, texting someone. You look away, cheeks still flushed from your chilly morning run, your heart now settled and lungs no longer burning. Your legs bounce up and down. Excitement courses throughout your body as the seconds tick away, growing closer and closer to being able to get started.

The room begins to slowly fill up. The main two actors, whom you and Peter will be doing the stunts for, enter in while ignoring each other, sitting on opposite sides of the room. Emilia and Tally talk while Doug, the stunt coordinator, checks in with a few people around the room, the safety meeting ready to begin at any moment.

That’s when it happens. That is when the last person you thought would walk through the door enters into your field of vision, taking the breath out of your lungs in an instant. Your cheeks burn when his hazel eyes meet yours. The man hesitates, his body malfunctioning for just a brief moment, before he continues on his path inside of the warehouse, shrugging off his jacket and placing it over his shoulder. Time moves slow as he silently walks up to the group, taking his spot at the front table.

“Ah!” Emilia claps her hands together, “Dr. Li! You’re here! Everyone, meet Doctor Zayne Li! He will be our medical doctor on set since Bob couldn’t show up.”

The room perks up at the mention of Zayne’s name. You remain frozen in your seat, unable to look away from him as the wounds you thought were healed rip open all over again. He greets the room with a nod, his eyes landing back onto you. He lingers on your face for a moment, taking in the way you have lost all of the baby fat in your cheeks, looking much more mature now than when the two of you were in your early twenties. When he turns his face away, you are able to breathe again, feeling like you were just underwater for an extended period of time.

“Alright! Let’s start the meeting!”

Doug slowly walks through his elaborate powerpoint but you can’t bring yourself to focus. You stare at the back of Zayne’s head, his dark hair perfectly cut and away from his ears, just as he likes it to be. His posture is perfect, which kills you on the inside, and he even asks the appropriate questions when Doug opens it up to the room. You swallow the lump in your throat and slowly sink into your seat, tearing your gaze away from Zayne and onto the screen. Doug goes over set etiquette, how you stuntmen need to be aware of your surroundings at all times and listen for directions either from him, Tally, or the first assistant director.

“When we do a stunt, we are going to call action five times. The fifth one will be the stunt’s signal to begin,” Doug says, clicking to the next part of his powerpoint. “Everyone here knows the basic terminology of the set. But let’s go over it one last time.” The room groans. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don’t feel like being sued again.”

Your eyes flicker back to Zayne. He turns his head to the side. You catch a glimpse of his eyes, the way they scan the front of the room where the biggest groans come from. He continues to move his head, looking back at you. You sharply inhale, unable to break you gaze away from Zayne’s. He lingers for a moment. Finally, he turns back around, raising his hand.

“Yes, Dr. Li,” Doug calls out and points to Zayne.

“Yes,” Zayne clears his throat, “what do the terms ‘hot’ and ‘cold’ mean when it comes to weapons and props?”

The room groans again. You stifle a chuckle, covering your mouth. Zayne turns around, his eyes landing on you once again. The corners of his lips very subtly perk up before he turns back around, listening intently to Doug’s answer. Once he is done, Doug steps to the side for Emilia, who gestures to Zayne.

“Alright everyone,” she begins, her tone cheery yet stressed at the same time, “it is time for the doctor’s introduction!”

There are a few scattered claps across the room, including yourself, as Zayne stands up, moving to the front of the room. The tips of his ears are a light pink color, the man shaking his head and the color away. He turns to face the room. You fix your posture, wanting at least one person in the room to be interested in what it is that he has to say.

“Hello,” Zayne clears his throat. The room responds with a low greeting back. “My name is Doctor Zayne Li but you can just call me Zayne. I will be your main doctor on set. I apologize if my part of the presentation feels bare. I was made aware of this job yesterday and have not had the time to prepare a formal introduction.”

You watch as Zayne pulls out a few papers from his briefcase, placing them on the table in front of him. He stares at them for a brief moment before turning his attention back to the group that sits before him. Zayne allows his gaze to float back to you, the way you offer him a kind smile and small nod to encourage him. It almost makes his heart skip a beat.

“I will be requiring informal physical examinations of the stunt doubles to ensure that they are in proper health to do the stunts. I do not know what it is that you will be performing, but a basic physical will suffice for now. I was told that there is a room for me to use with everything I need so…I will see you all soon.” Zayne turns to Emilia and nods, moving back to his seat.

“Perfect! Well,” Emilia looks to Tally, who stands up and takes the front of the room with a bright and eager smile on her face, “Tally is our director and she will be walking you through the story and action scenes!”

About an hour passes and, honestly, god bless Tally’s heart. Her excitement is infectious and has you anticipating getting started. You want to desperately hang from the wires, to use the fake guns and swords that lay on the tables, and to get to know the actress you will be doubling for. You cannot wait to be fitted for a costume and be thrown from buildings. This is exactly what you have been working towards for your entire career.

You smile and talk with the other stunt doubles. You make friends with a few of them, even finding out that you’re roomed next to one of them in the hotel in the heart of the city. Every so often, when Zayne calls over the next person, your gazes involuntarily meet for the briefest of seconds before Zayne looked away, greeting the next person before closing the door.

As people come in and out of Zayne’s impromptu office, you find yourself being the last one he needs to check. It has you feeling nervous, unsure if he is going to be warm and kind or cold and off-putting when it is finally your turn to see him.

The group laughs at Doug, who somehow managed to mess up doing a somersault while teaching the lead actress. Peter makes a joke about how Doug must have missed the safety meeting. You chuckle and catch yourself looking around the room to see what Zayne thought of the joke when you stop yourself. Just as you are about to walk over and help Doug out, you hear Zayne call out your name.

Your skin goes cold. You bite your lip and turn on your heel, looking at the tall and brooding man who stands off to the side, the blinds to the makeshift doctor’s office closed shut. He stands in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Your heart tightens at the sight. Step by step, you slowly walk towards him, your mind slipping into the trance that you were once under all of those years ago. You slip your jacket off of your shoulders, tossing it onto the table where your belongings are, and move back in his direction. As soon as you are close to him, Zayne takes a step to the side, allowing you to slip into the private room.

“Good morning,” you hum.

“Good morning,” Zayne breathes out, closing the door behind you, “please take a seat.”

The room is close to empty. There are two motivational posters on the wall, one with a monkey and the other with a penguin. There’s a table with paper wrapped around it, crumbled pieces stuffed into the metal trashcan. You take a seat onto the table and Zayne makes himself at home on the chair, wheeling himself close to you.

The closer he gets, the more and more your heart races inside of your chest. It feels like it’s the first time the two of you were alone with each other, cramped in your shitty dorm room that you shared with a girl named Gloria. His eyes are even more saturated than before, the hazel hues piercing into your own. You bite the inside of your cheek and watch as he pulls out a piece of paper and pen, passing it off to you after he clips it to a clipboard.

“Please fill this out,” Zayne instructs in his usual neutral tone.

You follow as ordered, your hands growing sweaty from nervousness. You can feel his eyes on your body, the way he watches as you fill out the blanks of the page. The pen swipes across the paper. You fill in your age, weight, height, social security number, allergies, you know, the usual. A quiet sigh slip from your mouth and his body tenses. He diverts his gaze for a brief moment.

Has he made you uncomfortable? Is the situation too awkward to handle? He certainly feels the slightest bit of uneasiness in his body but he pretends to not feel it. He refuses to let show on his face. At least, he tries not to.

Once you’re done, you pass the clipboard back to him, watching as he stands up, quietly taking in the information.

“You grew an inch?” Zayne says with a quiet murmur, his eyes flickering to you. He stares at you from over the thin silver frames of his glasses. You nod and smile, awkwardly chuckling. “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” you ask, trying your best to contain the smile that grows on your face. “How so?”

“People rarely grow an inch after they reach a certain age,” he continues without missing a beat, “in some cases, they regress.”

“Oh, well,” you shrug your shoulders and look at the penguin on the poster, “the more you know.”

“Have you had any previous surgeries that will prohibit you from performing these stunts to the best of your abilities?” Zayne’s question makes you look at him.

Without even answering his question, you notice that he is already writing information down on the paper in front of him. His handwriting is still lopsided, slanted as hell, as any doctor’s handwriting is like. A soft chuckle vibrates from the back of your throat. Zayne looks up with a raised eyebrow.

“May I ask what is so funny?”

“Are you—” you bite the inside of your cheek and lean forward, hands resting on the sides of your knees, keeping you attached to the table, “—writing down the shoulder surgery I had six years ago?”

Zayne looks away for a split second before his gaze connects with yours once again. His cheeks heat up. Would it be weird for him to write such things down? He already knows this information up to a point. He knows all about your injuries before you two…parted ways.

“Was that inappropriate of me to do?” he asks with the most genuine tone ever because, well, the last thing Zayne would ever want to do to you is make you feel uncomfortable.

“Not at all,” you shake your head, “I’m just surprised that you remembered.”

“Of course I remember,” Zayne’s voice drops, suddenly earnest and tender.

You go quiet, unable to respond. How could you? What is there to possibly say to the man who sits in front of you, the man you used to run to whenever you needed a shoulder to lay on, the man who you thought you would spend the rest of your—

No…you can’t think about that. The past is in the past. What you need to do now is focus on the present and future.

“Are there…any other surgeries you may have had in the past?” Zayne’s eyes soften. He slowly moves the chair close to you, the wheels scraping against the carpet flooring.

“My, uh, knee,” you slowly nod your head at the joint, trying to get rid of the feeing of your heart and lungs squeezing in on themselves.

Every inch that Zayne moves closer to you, the more and more you want to jump out of your body, to run away from him and his intense gaze that you know you’re going to succumb to. Zayne’s fingers are deft when they connect with your right knee, the one you have always had a problem with. He narrows his gaze and looks up at you, his fingers snaking beneath the loose hole of your sweatpants.

“May I?” he asks. You nod and let out a shaky breath.

Zayne slowly moves the pants leg up, revealing the scar on your knee. It is a single line down the front of your knee, something that has not quite faded away with time like the doctor’s said. Your eyes move to Zayne. His lips flatten into a thin line, the tips of his index and middle fingers gently grazing over the incision line. He hums something to himself — almost as if he is contemplating what he would have done differently if he were in charge of the surgery — then pulls his fingers away, lowering your knee back down.

“Where did you get the surgery?” Zayne quietly asks, grabbing a new piece of paper from his briefcase, attaching it to the clipboard from before.

“Skyhaven University Medical Center,” you nod, knowing that is the place where Zayne did his clinical rounds when he was still in medical school.

Zayne’s breath hitches. He unconsciously places his hand back onto your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. The funny thing is…you already know exactly what it is that he’s thinking. He’s thinking that you should have gone to Linkon instead and had him handle everything like the knight in shining armor he is.

You lean forward and gently place a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, his jaw unclenching and his brow softening. You let out a quiet sigh.

“Would you be disappointed if I told you that I let a first year surgical student do the operation on me?”

“Why would you do that?” Zayne looks horrified, just taken aback by the balls that you have on you. “You should have come to Akso Hospital. You should have told me.”

“What would I have said, Zayne?” your voice goes quiet, tired. “Would you have even given me the time of day? Especially after how things en—”

“You know I would have,” he interrupts you, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s because I…” he pauses. You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, the wheels in the back of his head turning, trying to solve the puzzle that lays in front of him. “The oath I took would have had me help you.”

Zayne abruptly stands up, turning his back to you. You let out a sigh and look away, making eye contact with the monkey. You glare at it, unsure what is so motivational about “hanging in there” but you digress. Zayne turns back around, stethoscope in hand. He takes his place behind you standing beside the table. He flattens his palm against your back, feeling for the best spots available to listen to your lungs through the fabric of your shirt.

“Breathe in,” Zayne murmurs.

You follow his words, taking in as much air as possible before exhaling when he tells you do to so. You repeat this process a few times, allowing Zayne’s hands to travel across your body. It’s only when he moves the stethoscope to your chest to listen to your heartbeat when you tense up.

“What’s wrong?” Zayne quietly asks, “your heartbeat is erratic.”

“I’m nervous,” you softly admit, staring straight ahead at literally anything else that isn’t related to Zayne just to get your mind off of the fact that he is back in your life and has somehow ended up as the medic on set.

“Why is that?” he continues. Zayne holds his hand to your chest and the other makes itself at home on the table behind you. You can feel his body heat mix with yours, sending chills down your spine, making your heart skip a beat. “Are you nervous about the stunts?”

You shake your head, unable to breathe properly. Zayne leans in. You can smell his cologne, the scent of jasmine mixed in with cedar making you close your eyes, wishing to desperately go back in time and reverse every choice you made in your previous relationship with Zayne.

“Then what is it?” Zayne whispers.

“You,” you immediately respond, opening your eyes just to meet his.

“Me?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, nodding. The stethoscope is removed from your chest, the burning sensation from the metal now leaving your body. “You make me more nervous than any stunt has,” you continue, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

Zayne slowly pulls away from you wrapping the medical instrument around the back of his neck, allowing it to hang from his shoulders. He looks down at you. A hint of confusion flashes across his face before it mixes in with the taste of bitter disappointment.

You are clearly telling him the truth. Zayne knows all of your tics and tells, the way you instinctively reach for the hem of your clothing or the way you begin to fidget with the ends of your hair. He knows when you’re telling the truth versus when you lie, the way your eyes light up when you see something you love and the way your posture slouches when something doesn’t go your way. He knows everything.

It doesn’t matter that five years has passed between the two of you. Zayne will always be there for you no matter what.

How can he respond to your words, though? The way you’ve become so quiet around him. What happened to the confident woman he has grown so fond of? What happened to the loud and proud woman who would always speak up for him when he didn’t want to cause any trouble?

Do you not want to see him? Are you wanting for him to leave? For you, he will. He only wants to do what makes you happy and comfortable, not the other way around. All Zayne has ever done in the past five years was what you wanted him to do. Will you deny him the pleasure and pain of seeing your face again after all of this time?

“If you want me to leave, I’ll leave,” he lets out a quiet sigh, having to tear his eyes off of you. He looks down at your papers, noticing new developments in your health and what it is you are allergic to.

“No,” you shake your head, the words falling out of your mouth before you can stop them, “I want you to stay. It’s…nice seeing you again.”

“It is?” Zayne turns back around. You nod as soon as his hazel eyes meet yours. “It’s nice to see you as well.”

Zayne’s gaze drops back down to your knee. His mind begins to wander, wondering what daredevil trick you attempted that earned you a torn ACL. Were you with your friends that enjoyed jumping from building to building? Was it for work? Did you injure yourself doing a dangerous stunt for someone else? All the man can do is stand there and hope that you took every necessary precaution before jumping directly into danger…but you never were one to do things the safe and easy way, right?

Beside the ACL scar sits a darker mark, one that Zayne remembers all too well. A faint smile ghosts his lips at the sight of the imperfect circle, the way it has remained for seven years now.

The sound of skateboards skating around the small cement area is loud and wild with a whole group of rowdy college kids gathered around the impromptu skating area. It sat beside an on-campus convenience store, one that was cramped and small with no space between the aisles, and you always found yourself towards the back where the ice cold drinks were, the door hanging open as you stick your head inside of the refrigerator, cooling down under the heat.

“Damn, girl,” some guy named Tony comments, leaning his forearm against the cold fridge door, “are you hot or somethin’?”. He looks down at you with a smug smile, his canine tooth bedazzled with a single jewel.

Ugh, what a douche…and what the fuck was that line?

You raise an eyebrow at him and reach inside of the fridge, plucking out a sports drink from the rows. Pushing past him, you pick up your backpack from the ground, slinging it over your shoulder. You press your foot down onto the edge of the board, popping it up into your hand. Tony follows you towards the counter where you scan your student I.D. where the student employee lazily points. As soon as you turn around, Tony corners you once again.

“Leaving me hangin’, girl,” Tony licks his lips when he looks down at you. It makes your skin crawl from just how gross freshmen college boys are.

Well, you’re also a college freshman, but that’s a secret you’re keeping to yourself.

“Oh am I?” you ask, making puppy dog eyes at him. He nods and leans in. “Yeah, I don’t really care.”

You push past him, roughly bumping your shoulder into his, an irritable groan escaping your lips. How can men be so dense? The audacity of this bitch to corner you twice in the tiny convenience store. How could he not get the hint just once?

You exit the store and look around, using the bottle to shield your eyes from the sun. The blue from the drink reflects on your face as you look around. The crowd is slowly growing by the second with students leaving classes from nearby buildings. You met a girl by the name of Alivia in one of your classes, just one of the non-special general ed ones that everybody has to get out of the way. She mentioned liking hanging out with a group of skaters she met in her dorm room and offered for you to come since you had your board with you in class. Now here you are, looking like a weirdo standing in front of the convenience store where a ‘no solicitors’ sign hangs.

The skateboard drops to the ground and you step on top of it, pushing away from the store. You twist open the sports drink, taking a few sips before lowering to your side. You skate through the gaps, apologizing to people when you come a little too close for comfort, swerving out of the way at the last second. With one last push, you think you’re in the clear and heading away from the growing crowd, ready to take a nap in your shitty dorm b—

Something hard collides into your side. The skateboard is launched into the air, slicing through the air. You gasp, a pair of hands trying to attach themselves to yours as you fall to the ground in slow motion. A pair of hazel eyes meet yours, his shaggy black hair blocking the sun out of his face. Your butt connects with the ground, the sudden connection causing you to turn in a circle, your knees scraping against the floor as you brace for impact. The fabric of your thin shirt is immediately destroyed as your body skids across the asphalt. You come to the stop in front of a tree, the shade helping the searing heat from your injuries feel just slightly cooler.

The man immediately runs up to you, dropping his bag before he drops to your side. You wheeze, whiplash taking over your body as you struggle with getting air back into your lungs. His navy blue scrubs come into view as you roll onto your back. You lift a hand up, covering the sun that slips through the green lanes. That’s when his face comes into view.

His handsome, pretty, and oh so blurry face blocks out the sun. He leans into focus, the slight curve of his nose catching your attention. You tilt your head to the side, the pain in your body slowly slipping free from your body, a sense of weightlessness overtaking your senses. Perhaps this is the concussion talking or the intense aching in your knees and elbows, but this stranger looks like an angel with his dark hair and sharp eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Oh yeah,” your voice is breathy, raspy, “you’re an angel alright.”

“Excuse me?” his eyes widen, tips of his ears turning red. He presses two fingers against your neck. Your pulse thumps against his fingers. “You’re not dead. Your pule is elevated, though.”

“Oh yeah?” you let out a breathy chuckle, leaning your head back against the grass. You close your eyes. The air slowly begins to return to your chest, slowly breathing in. He gently taps your face and you open your eyes, your eyelids feeling extremely heavy. “I wonder why.”

He chuckles, a faint smile cracking his stoic expression before it falls back again. He reaches for the back of your neck, leaning in, making sure he meets your eyes. You goofy grin spreads across your face. 

“Can you sit up?” You nod in response. “Good. Now, let’s move slowly. Tell me if it hurts.”

He slowly sits you up. Over his shoulder, you watch as the skateboarding crowd watches you, making ‘ooh’ sounds when they look at your disheveled appearance. Embarrassment floods your body and your cheeks grow hot. The man reaches out and tilts his head in your line of sight. 

“You may have a concussion. You should try your best to stay awake,” he quietly informs you.

“What about the symptom of ‘dying of embarrassment’? What would you prescribe for that, doctor?”

“I would suggest hiding under the covers,” he says in his neutral voice. His eyes flicker to you, though, and the corner of his lips barely perk up as he les out a breath of air.

Did he just make a joke?

A small laugh leaves your lips. Okay, maybe you snorted since your lungs still haven’t opened up all the way. He found it wildly adorable, though.

“Can you tell me your name?” You do so with a loopy smile on your face. “I’m Zayne.”

“Hi, Zayne. It’s nice to meet you. Do you know where my skateboard is?” you ask, leaning you body into his touch at your waist. His fingers are so slender yet strong, holding your firm, spread out along your sides, basically swallowing you whole. It sends chills down your spine but you attribute it to the near death experience you had.

He looks away. You follow his gaze to where the colorful skateboard sits. Its wheels are up in the middle of the road with a bus coming directly at it. His face falls and he turns to you to try and distract you from your skateboard’s imminent death but is met with the horrified expression on your face. The bus runs it over, a loud crack echoing across the quad.

“I’m afraid to call the time of death,” he comments. Your gaze turns into a glare at him. He shakes his head, eyes widening. “Bad joke. I apologize.”

“It’s okay,” you sigh, “I think you owe me a new one now.”

Zayne slowly helps you to your feet. You wobble around a bit but he catches you. He plants his hands on your hips while you inspect your torn up elbows despite your knees looking far worse.

The skating crowd has evaporated now, the campus quad now empty. You raise an eyebrow, unsure as to how much time has passed. You spin around in his grip, his hands hovering over your sides. You stop and look up at him, brushing your hair out of your face. Zayne matches your head tilt and your gaze drops to his scrubs. There’s a pen tucked into the chest pocket of his shirt and just to the side you can see his now destroyed lunch scattered across the concrete sidewalk.

“I…I think I owe you lunch,” you glance back up at him, suddenly feeling another wave of embarrassment crossing your face. “Call it even?”

“Sure,” he nods, “but I must take you to the hospital. You clearly have a concussion and need to seek medical attention.”

You don’t respond. His fingers are cold. You like the way they cool your burning skin. You bite your bloodied lip. Did you bite it during the fall? You can’t really remember.

“Can you get my…” you point to the road where wooden splinters lie, two halves of a board that you don’t think superglue or hot glue will help keep together. Not even duct tape could bring it back to life.

Zayne nods and slowly removes his hands from your waist. You watch as he walks to the empty road, looking both ways before leaning down topic up some of the pieces. He quickly makes his way back over to you. Zayne steps behind and opens up your backpack, gently placing the pieces inside. You stare at his discarded lunch and frown.

“What’s wrong? Does something else hurt?” he asks, urgency filling his voice.

“No,” you shake your head, “maybe a little dizzy but I feel bad about your lunch.”

“We should clean those off,” he murmurs, changing the conversation.

His breathing is short. Choppy. His eyes are attached to where your skin on your elbows has been rubbed off. The two lopsided circles alarm him with the vibrancy of the red color, the top layers of your skin peeled off, leaving behind two big red spots that drip with a slow trail of blood. It is nothing compared to your knee, though, where Zayne swears he can see the asphalt buried into your flesh. “We may need to use a metal brush for that.”

“What?!” your eyes shoot up to him, your hands shooting to his arms, your grip on his bare forearms tightening. “Metal brush?”

“Yes,” Zayne nods, voice completely neutral, “the dirt can cause an infection. We need other get as much as it can out and only metal can do so.”

You shake your head no, horrified of that idea.

“It’ll be okay. Follow me, let me take you to the hospital. I’ll make sure we won’t use it. I promise.”

Zayne helps you to the nearby medical center that is connected to Skyhaven Medical School. Many students like him live in this hospital, their residencies having taken over their lives. Zayne found himself the most here, always learning from the Attending Doctor that was on that shift. He has already performed plenty of surgeries in his specialized field of study in the cardiology department, even a few of which were through the emergency room after devastating tragedies.

He carries you through the sliding doors. You hang from his back, arms lazily draped over his shoulders, your head hung low because the light has become just a bit too much. You also told him that your legs felt like jelly and he insisted that he carry you, claiming that there could be an injury to your spinal cord or perhaps there is something wrong with you nerves.

Zayne effortlessly crosses through the emergency room like it’s no big deal. The layout is like second nature to him. He could walk through it with his eyes closed. His nostrils are numb to the smell of bleach and cleaning supplies. The dark haired man nods his head at a nurse in scrubs as they pass in the wall, your head trying to keep up with the quick pace he walks. Soon enough, you’re sitting inside an empty patient’s room in the cardiology department, one that is away from bright lights and is close to a vending machine.

He gently sits you down onto the bed, swinging your legs over the edge and slipping your backpack from your shoulders before laying you down. He places it into the single chair and reaches for the curtain, drawing it closed to keep the harsh fluorescent lights out of your eyes. He leans over you, his voice deep and quiet. It stirs something inside of you.

“I’ll get you acetaminophen for the pain. Would you like something to eat?” Zayne memorizes your face, the way your eyelashes flutter as you fight off sleep. “Try your best to stay awake. I will stay with you until a doctor from neurology can come see you.”

“What would you suggest?” you ask. Zayne raises his eyebrow. “You should know the vending machines pretty well by now, right? I have a sweet tooth.”

Zayne swears that for a spit second, he thought that his life wasn’t so bad. The way you awkwardly smile at him, squinting through your lashes. A pair of nurses approaches with a cart of tools and the twitch in his face dies. He nods to the nurses, who have brought supplies to clean your rashes alongside gauze and bandages to cover them up. He straightens his posture and turns back to you.

“You have a concussion—”

“I do, yes,” your smile grows.

“—it would be best to eat something healthy,” Zayne doesn’t even feel annoyed that you’re so vocal, that you always have a comment to make when he tries to be serious. It is just the slightest bit irritating but at the end of the day, he can’t even find it in himself to get mad at you for it.

“A little sweet treat never hurt nobody, Doctor Zayne,” you comment with a tired breath of air, sitting up in the bed as the nurses begin to sterilize your elbows. “I would love some powdered donuts. This is my treat, after all. I owe you lunch.”

“No,” Zayne shakes his head, matching your light-hearted banter with you, “you owe me a meal from the cafeteria.”

“It’s a date,” you say, feeling quite bold in the moment. The pain feels like nothing despite the tears that sting your eyes when the nurse begin to flush them out.

Zayne diverts his gaze for a brief moment, his breath hitching in his throat. You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, his hands instinctively fixing his disheveled scrubs in front of you. He nods in confirmation. If he is to be truthful, he is unsure of when he will actually be free to go on this said ‘date’ that has just been made, but he is still just a bit unsure if you will actually remember making this date with him.

He doesn’t let the thought nibble at the back of his mind. He nods and with a turn of his heel, he disappears around the corner, quickly finding himself in front of the vending machine. The man feels light on his feet, as if he can work another twelve hour shift, completely energized after talking with you. He loved the way you furrowed your brow when he said something that clearly annoyed you. The way there’s a slight wrinkle next to your eyes when you smile.

It’s something that he’s like to see a lot more of in his future.

Your eyes are locked on Zayne’s face he fondly stares at your knee, his face unable to hide the care that he holds for you. It always manages to break free whenever he’s around you, his heart pounding on the inside of his ribcage, clattering against the bones. You swear you can heart it, always have just to mess with him. He turns his chin to you and you break your gaze away, sharply inhaling a deep breath, trying to act as if you weren’t memorizing the way he has aged over the last five years. He used to have a baby face, slightly chubby cheeks whenever he chuckled.

“Let’s keep a close eye on it,” Zayne mutters just loud enough for you to hear. You nod, swallowing the lump that forms in your throat. “If it bothers you, even if it feels the slightest bit off, you will tell me, okay?”

His face is as serious as his voice is. You let out a small breath of air, suddenly aware of his eyes on the side of your face. You nod once again, swiping your tongue over your teeth, trying not to react as he gently moves the fabric of your sweatpants back into place. The fabric feels hot as he pulls away. The last touch of his warmth lingers on your skin. It burns for just a moment’s notice, a small reminder of what you once had, bother it withers away, smothered beneath the weight of your conscience.

“You’re cleared. We’ll have weekly check-ins to make for sure your body remains in good shape,” Zayne pulls away.

It’s like you can breathe again. His back remains turned to you. Zayne’s shoulders are wider than they were before. You tilt your head to the side, taking in the muscles that shoe beneath the fabric of his dress shirt. You look away, having to push the blush off of your face before he can notice it. He turns around, passing you the clipboard with a new piece of paper on it.

“Sign here and you’re good to go,” his tone has lost the passion to it, the bittersweet taste being forced out of his mouth. He refuses to focus on it, the way it makes his brain want to think about the days you have shared together. It’s a constant reminder of what he lost. The day he realized that it was too late when he walked through the door of his apartment. You help him out by ignoring it too.

You sign slowly. Your signature comes to life on the page. Even it is different than it once was, just another thing in your life that evolved without him there to witness it. You place the pen on the clipboard and he takes it back, placing it on the table beside him. You step towards the door but it is Zayne’s voice that keeps you from leaving.

“I’m glad to see you again,” Zayne’s words send chills down your spine. The same exact tingle that always happened when he whispered into your ear late into the night. The same one that soothed your aching muscles after a long day.

“Yeah,” you nod, holding back all of the things that you left unsaid, all of the things that made you fall in love with him instead of leaving him, “it’s good to see you too, Zayne. I’m glad you’re going to be the one saving me again.”

You don’t wish to hear his response. You push through the office door and jog to the center of the room where the small group cheers as their final member joins its ranks. Zayne watches you from the doorway, leaning against the wood. He fixes his tie, straightening and tightening it from when it got loose. His hazel eyes stare at you from behind his glasses, tilting his head ever so slightly to look at you from over the metal rims instead, already wondering if you still refused to believe in fate, preferring the comfort of coincidences over what is meant to be.

as always: likes, comments, & reblogs are greatly appreciated! support your favorite writers! <3

[joesheadband]

STAY SALTY! j.hughes

jack hughes x reader - silly little beach day date with jack hughes! warnings - fluffy, takes place at clear water beach in florida, established relationship, and little use of y/n. (not proofread). masterlist.

It was a silly idea. First it started off with Jack visiting you in Florida as you were finishing up your last year in college. It was supposed to be a short weekend of you two trying to make up all the time you’ve missed throughout the previous year. But two days turned into a week, then a week turned into two weeks.

You and him both knew you had to do something new each day. So, you as a Floridian knew exactly what to do. Go to the beach! It was a simple idea that would take up half the day if not the whole day.

So now you stood already sweating as you and Jack walked around to find the perfect seating spot.

“Y/N..” Jack groaned, shaking his head as he lazily following behind you as he dragged his feet in the sand.

You scoff, not bothering to respond. After a couple minutes you guys finally found the perfect spot. Two lounge chairs and an umbrella perfectly in between the two chairs as it’s facing towards the crystal water.

“See Jack! This is what we walked around for, this spot!” You beamed, throwing your beach bag under your chair.

Jack nodded agreeably, sighing a little. “Yupp, this is what took us like ten minutes.” He mumbles, placing each of the bags that was on his arms onto the floor.

A silence falls between you two as you unpacked, bringing your speaker and both of yours and Jacks phone out of your purse. While you were unpacking Jack was setting down each of your beach towels on the lounge chairs, which only took him about thirty seconds.

You hummed as you connected your phone to the speaker, deciding on playing ‘I’m Not In Love’ by 10cc. “Jacky, did I choose a good song?” You took off your baggy shirt which was covering your bathing suit.

Jack nods, humming along with you. “Yes, it’s a good choice.” He smirked, nudging you as you took off your shirt.

You rolled your eyes, rummaging through your bag to find your face sunscreen and your tanning oil. “Jacky where’s the tanning oil?”

Jack shrugged, taking off his shirt as he continued humming to the intro of the song. “I don’t know, you packed the bags.” He mumbled, throwing his shirt at the end of the chair.

“Oh-nevermind! I found it.”

You stretched your legs out on the chair, slowly applying the oil all over your legs. Then you continue with your arms, then your chest.

“—You need help?” Jack grinned, his hand out for you to hand him the oil.

You scoff and roll your eyes, placing the bottle in his hand. “Yes, please.” You mumbled, your gaze facing towards the water.

It surprisingly didn’t take Jack long at all. As soon as he finished you threw the tanning oil back into the messy bag while you jogged over to the water, anticipating this moment the whole car ride. Jack lazily followed behind slowly getting into the water.

“Jack! Get in, the waters warm.” You giggle, splashing him slightly with the water.

Jack kept his grin, tilting his head. “Really..?” He trailed off. Before you could blink he ran in the water, basically causing you to get soaked before you could do it yourself.

You scoff, splashing him back. “Jack!” You giggle still, your feet barely reaching the bottom as for Jack he was barely struggling.

You swam around as Jack followed behind you, occasionally splashing you or dunking you under the water.

After a couple minutes you and Jack finally felt relaxed in the water. Jack kept his arms wrapped around your waist as you talked to him about your school and professors. Jack though? He was listening yeah, but his gaze frequently on your lips rather than your eyes.

“Jacky, it’s like he doesn’t even care. My professor literally assigned us an excessive amount of work to do, like we don’t even have lives!” Jack nicely let you finished your rant before he kissed you, quickly bringing his lips to yours.

The kiss was soft, everything else blurred out. The sound of other people’s music, other people’s voices were gone.

After a couple of more seconds you break the kiss, your cheeks a light pink as your eyes are wide. “Why’d you do that?” You giggle quietly, titling your head as you stayed in Jacks arms.

Jack shrugged nonchalantly, bitting at his lip as he tried to hide his smirk. “Because I love you.” He simply said, his gaze flickering over your face, taking in every feature.

You feel a wave of nervousness wash over you, your cheeks warming up once again. You pause for a couple seconds as you kept your head tilted. “I love you too.” You hum, your eyes on his.

“I’m not in love, no, no.” Jack grinned, bringing his hand to move your baby hairs out of your face.

After a couple seconds Jack brings you under the water, which you quickly swam up from. “Jack! I’m done with the water, I have to tan.” You huffed, quickly getting out of the water to your chair.

Jack quietly laughed as he followed behind you, his head tilted. “Huh, I’m going to get a soda from my car. You want one?” He hums, bringing his towel around his neck.

You quickly nodded, sitting down on your lounge chair as you stretched out your legs. “Yes, could you get me a Sprite please?” You pout, putting your sunglasses back on.

It takes Jack a couple of minutes but by the time he comes back he sees you laying down under the sun with a towel in the sand, laying on your stomach with your phone out.

Jack cracks open the Sprite and hands it to you carefully, which you quickly take sips from. “Thanks Jacky.” You smiled as you looked up at him.

Jack nodded, humming to the beat of the new song that started playing. He lays his towel out next to you, bringing his phone with him also as he does so.

“You havin’ a nice time?” Jack sat down on his towel, lazily reapplying sunscreen on his face.

You kept your smile as you nodded, turning around on your back as you tilted your head over to Jack. “Mhm, I’m so glad you were able to make it.” You giggled.

Jack bit his lip as he looked over to you, his gaze flickering over your face. “And we still have a couple more days to spare.” He smiled, stretching his arms out before lying down on his back.

“I love you, Jacky.”

“I love you too, Y/N”

holy guys thank you so much for the support on my first jack fic!!! my inbox has never been that full before!!!

[lenaswritingandstuff]

You're my home • Harry Potter x fem!reader

Requested: Yes ("Hii! I was wondering if you could do a fic where reader is dating Harry and she is introducing him to her parents, who she didn’t know were best friends with Lilly and James and they are so happy that she has brought Harry back into their lives and show him a bunch of their memories with his parents and he feels very welcome in her home and stays there every summer from there on" - Anon)

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!reader

Summary: After a horrible detention with Umbridge, y/n invites Harry to meet her parents, and he realized y/n is his home.

Word count: 2.2K

Warnings: parents (cause I know how traumatic they can be), fluff (cause I can't write anything else), English is not my first language

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! I'm so, so sorry it took so long for me to write it, but Uni (aka my personal hell on Earth) basically destroyed my mental health, and I lost all motivation to write lol. I hope you like it! ^^

[y/f/n= your father's name]

Today had already not been a particularly good one - and it was only the second day of the school year. The classes had seemed to take forever, the teachers had all decided to not be interesting, you couldn’t seem to focus on anything they said and the rain had decided to be there, too. As you walked towards the Gryffindor common room, the only thing that you wanted was to cuddle with your boyfriend. When you came in, you immediately saw Harry and his best friends sitting on one of the sofas. 

“Hey,” you walked closer in their direction.

“Hi, y/n.”

Harry gestured for you to sit beside him, and once you did, he gave you a quick kiss. And just like every time he kissed you, you felt butterflies in your stomach - which you used to think people lied about until he kissed you the year before at the Yule ball. 

“Had a good day?” Hermione asked. 

“Boring, and very long,” you sighed. “You guys?”

“Average,” Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Harry got detention.” 

“What?” you turned to Harry. “Why?”

“Well,” Ron said, “we had class with Umbridge, and she said that Harry lied about you-know-him’s return.”

I see.

You nodded, immediately understanding what followed. 

“And I imagine you said she was wrong, then she insisted that you were lying, and so on and so forth until she gave you detention,” you told Harry. 

“I had to defend myself,” Harry answered. “And she said Cedric’s death was an ‘accident’”. 

You let out a silent sigh, and took Harry’s hand in yours. You couldn’t really blame him, and understood that he had to defend himself when people - and there were a lot of them - accused him of lying, but you still didn’t want him to be in trouble. 

“Can’t Dumbledore do something?” you asked. “He knows you’re telling the truth.” 

“I’d rather not ask,” Harry said. 

His tone signified he wouldn’t change his mind, so you didn’t insist. You put your head on his shoulder, and he kissed your forehead. Still holding his hand, you felt his body relax a little.

“When is your detention supposed to be?” you asked him. 

“Every night of the week starting tomorrow.”

“Merlin’s beard.”

*-*-*-*

After that conversation, you wanted to help Harry relax, so you two went to the lake and cuddled there until dinner. He asked about your day - you were one year below him - and he told you about how McGonagall actually took his side when he was sent to her office, and even offered him biscuits. When you guys, Harry felt better, and you hoped it was the only time he would get in trouble this year. 

The next day, you went to Honeydukes to get Harry’s favorite sweets, and then waited for him to come out of Umbridge’s office. Ginny, one of your best friends, sat with you for a while. At some point, Hermione and Ron came to give you some food from the kitchen - as you had skipped dinner so that you could wait for Harry. After a few hours, he finally came out. He seemed a little bit pale, but still offered a small smile when he saw you. You kissed him and, as you often did, admired how handsome he was. 

“How was it?” you asked. 

“Not bad. I had to write…lines.”

“Oh, thank Merlin. I was worried she’d make you do something horrible. Here, Ron and Hermione brought you this from the kitchen” you said, handing him the sweets. “And I brought this from Honeydukes. To lift up your spirits.”

“Thanks, love.”

He reached out a hand to take them, and all of a sudden, you saw something red on his hand. 

“What’s this?” you frowned.

“What?”

He immediately put the sweets in the pockets of his robe, and kept his hand there.

“Your hand. It seemed red.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Harry, please. Let me see.”

As you had seen it, there was a red area, like a scar, on his hand. 

“How did that happen?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I probably bumped into something.”

You nodded. “It’ll probably heal up quickly.’ 

“You’re right. Say, love, can we just go to the common room to eat all of this?” he said quickly. “I’m starving.”

“Of course, darling.”

“Are you alright?” you asked, now worried.

But you couldn’t have been more wrong. The next day - where you had class with Umbridge for the first time and she kept looking at you weirdly - and those that followed, you waited for Harry to come out of her office. After the third day, you had tried to take his hand, but he immediately pulled away, as if he had been stung.

“Yes.”

“Is it your hand? Did the redness get worse?”

“No, it’s…” 

He sighed, and showed you his hand. You gently took it to take a better look, and gasped.

I must not tell lies.

“Oh my God, Harry! How is…What happened?!”

“It’s nothing,” he said. 

“Yes, it is!” you frantically exclaimed, both furious and confused on why Harry wasn’t furious as well. “Harry, she can’t do that! We must not let her get away with it! We need to tell McGonagall and Dumbledore immediately.” 

“No,” he retorted. “That’s exactly what Umbridge wants. I won’t give her the satisfaction.”

“But, Harry-”

“y/n, please. I just want to go to dinner.” 

“Very well,” you said. 

Before entering the Great Hall, Harry made you promise to not tell Ron or Hermione, and you half-heartedly did. 

The next weeks that followed, things didn’t get any better. People constantly whispered mean things about Harry, and Umbridge basically gave him detention every time he was in class with her - and she also gave you one for a week after, sick of her lies and her false nice manners, you spoke up to defend him. 

“y/n, you can’t get in trouble because of me,” he had said when you told him. “Whatever she says, whatever she does, do not talk back. I can’t…I can’t have her hurt you, okay?”

You agreed, and he held you tightly. 

During your detention, you had to write “I must not listen to lies”, and the scar on your hand that it provoked got worse at every detention, just like Harry’s. He waited for you every night, just like you had waited for him, and each time he was more horrified, and held you tight for hours after. 

However, school break was coming soon, and you had an idea. Though your parents knew about you and Harry dating - and approved -, they had never met him, and you thought it would do him some good to leave Hogwarts for a while. You wrote to your parents to ask if Harry could come with you to your childhood house, and they said yes. The day after you got their answer, you found Harry waiting for you in the common room.

“Hi, darling.” 

“Hi, love.” You gave him a kiss. “I have something to tell you about.”

“What’s that?”

“My parents wrote to me, and said you’d be more than welcome to spend the holidays at my house. If you’d like. You don’t have to, of course,” you quickly added, “I’d understand if you’d prefer going to the Burrow-”

“Pretty girl, I’d love to meet your parents. Tell them I’m looking forward to it.”

“I will.”

And, so when school break started, you both used a chimney to go to your house. Your parents held you warmly, and it felt good to be home. They greeted Harry just as warmly, and even though he was a bit shy, it was obvious he was happy to be here. 

“Merlin, you really do look very much like James,” your father told Harry as he stared at him.

“Dad!” you protested. “Harry is tired of hearing this.”

“You knew my father?” Harry frowned.

“Yes,” your father nodded. “James and I both were in the same year, in Gryffindor. And, I have to say, we were close friends.” 

“And Lily was my best friend,” your mother added. “She was like a sister to me. y/f/n and I went to their wedding, and often visited him in Godric’s Hollow before the war. And we saw you several times as a baby, Harry.” 

“We were devastated when we learned of their deaths,” your father continued. “And we always hoped you were alright, wherever you were.”

“And we’re so happy to see you again, and that you’re dating our y/n.”  

You knew your parents were in the same year as Harry’s parents but you had no idea they were that close.

“I have a few photos from that time,” your father told Harry, “Would you like to see them, my boy?”

Harry nodded, “Yes, sir, I’d like to.”

Your father fetched the photo album while your mother made tea for everyone. You all sat on the sofa, and looked at the pictures as your parents shared some memories and the context of each of the pictures. You took several glances at Harry, and you knew how much it meant to him to see those pictures and to know more about his parents - and especially their years at Hogwarts. After the last picture was shown, Harry thanked your parents, and your father gave him some of the pictures. 

The rest of the day was spent playing Quidditch with Harry in the garden, and he smiled for the first time since the beginning of school year. You then showed him your bedroom and had dinner with your parents, who asked about how you and Harry did at Hogwarts. 

“Umbridge isn’t a good teacher,” you said. “But it’s fine otherwise.” 

You turned to Harry, who remained silent. You had agreed to not tell your parents what that woman did to you in order to not worry them. 

The rest of the school break was nothing but perfect. You absolutely loved being with Harry everyday - sometimes alone with him as your parents both worked -, being able to cuddle whenever you wanted, and to make things even more perfect, Harry got along really well with your parents, and seemed to really enjoy his stay. You were now cuddling in your bedroom, your head on his chest, both his arms wrapped around you and your injured hand on the side of his neck, its thumb stroking it tenderly. You turned your face to look at him, and caught him looking at the scar on your hand. After your detention with Umbridge, Harry had insisted on Hermione making a potion that would heal the wound faster and make the pain disappear every day until it was fully healed, and you knew that, even over a month later, he still felt guilty. 

 “I’m okay, Harry. I promise. Please, don’t feel guilty.”

There was a moment of silence before Harry spoke.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you,” he said softly. “Not only for believing in me but also for never giving up on me.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll always be by your side, Harry. No matter what happens, no matter who we’re facing. Because I don’t want to be anywhere else, and because I love you. Not because you’re the ‘Boy who Lived’, but because you’re kind, brave, loyal, loving, and funny.”

He had a soft laugh before looking at you in a way he had never done before. 

“I love you too, y/n,” he whispered. “More than anything.”

He brought you closer, put one of his hands on your cheek, and lowered his head to kiss you.

*-*-*-*

Ten months later

“Harry, dear, what kind of cake would you like for your birthday?” your mother asked.

Both you and Harry were in the garden, with you sitting on the grass and his head on your lap. After the school year’s end, Harry had asked to come to your house instead of going back to the Dursleys. Dumbledore said Harry still needed to go there for a bit, as he was protected there, and then he could come to your parents’ house and spend the whole summer there - though both you and him visited the Burrow and stayed there several days. Harry’s birthday was tomorrow, and you couldn’t wait for him to see all the gifts you had for him.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. y/l/n,” Harry answered. “You don’t have to do anything, really.”

“It’s no trouble, dear”, your mother reassured, “y/n told me you liked chocolate, I could make a chocolate cake, if you want?”

“That would be perfect, thank you.”

“Of course, dear.” 

“Excited for tomorrow?” you asked him while gently stroking his jet black hair. 

“Not that I know there might be a chocolate cake, yes,” Harry answered.

You laughed and he had a smile.

“I’m very happy you’re here, Harry,” you said in a confessing tone. 

He raised his head from your lap but kept his head close to yours.

“I’m happy to be there, too. And I’m very thankful to your parents for making me feel at home, and to you, for simply being you. You’re my home, y/n. I love you, and I always will.”

You lowered your head to kiss him, and wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“I love you, too.”

And you knew you would love him until the end.  

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Masterlist

[lpmurphy]

I don’t know if you do like one shots but I have this little head cannon of what if Beth went for Robby instead of Jack for whatever reason Abby would be so mad lol but at the same time I think she would recognize he is a good guy who would care for her and her mom hehehe but then she could get a cat

This has been living in my head rent free for DAYS, and I finally got a chance to sit down and get it out today. A few of you have asked to see what Beth and Robby would have looked like, so here you are. Thanks for such a fun prompt! Enjoy! 🫶💕

warnings: MDNI, 18+, light smut, oral giving/receiving, underage drinking

word count: 11,087

Saying Yes

Saying yes was the easy part.

It always had been. Yes didn’t ask for anything. It didn’t come with promises or meaning or any of the heavy things that showed up in the morning. It was light. Effortless. Just a whisper against someone’s mouth, the soft slip into hours where she didn’t have to think; only feel. Where instinct could take over and carry her through, endorphins chasing exhaustion, loneliness, the dull ache of being too much and not enough all at once.

Yes let her disappear for a while.

So, she said it.

Yes to Haggerty’s with a bunch of kids born the year she started high school. Yes to waiting by the bar long after she should’ve left, scanning the crowd for a face she knew wouldn’t be there. Yes to the text that finally came: I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I hope you can understand.

She understood. She learned long ago to stop expecting anything from him.

So she said yes again.

To another shot to burn a little warmth into her chest. Another drink, just for the weight of it in her hand, and the spin in her head that made his absence easier to forgive the second time around. Yes to the bet over the pool table with a guy who laughed like he was also trying to forget someone. They were both chasing ghosts. But he’d pressed in close when she let him adjust her grip, smelled good, and had big, rough hands that wrapped around hers like they had every right to. So she let him.

“Feel what you’re supposed to be doing with your hands?” he murmured against her ear.

She pressed her hips back into him and felt his whole body stutter. “Think I’m getting the idea,” she said sweetly.

He made a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and she liked that a little too much. Which was why, when he said, “Last shot. If I make it, you owe me dinner,” she didn’t blink.

“And if I make it?”

“Whatever you want.”

She tilted her head, smiled up at him, and tugged playfully at his shirt. “Then you have to take me home, big guy.”

His eyebrows shot up. “And do what?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Ladies first.”

The eight ball dropped with a crack, and her hand was down his pants in the backseat of a dark taxi eight minutes later, laughing breathlessly as he tried and failed to keep a straight face. His head tipped back against the seat, knuckles white on her thigh, jaw clenched around the sounds she kept teasing out of him, desperate to keep it quiet, but she was not trying to make it easy for him. He looked at her like she was a fever he didn’t want to break.

They barely made it through her front door before she dropped to her knees in the dark entryway, his belt already undone, her fingers hungry and impatient. His back hit the door with a thud and his breath stuttered when her lips wrapped around him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hips jerking forward, his voice gone gravel rough. His head fell back against the wood, threading his fingers through her hair. “Oh, I knew I was gonna like you, Baker.”

They didn’t talk much. Didn’t need to. The night unraveled in a blur of yeses and skin and heat. Her nails dragging down his back. His mouth on her collarbone, her stomach, her thighs. Yes to the hallway. Yes to the wall. Yes to the floor when they didn’t make it to the bed the first time when they were too drunk and too wrung out to care about anything else but the shape of each other. Or the second time, for that matter.

Just yes after yes. Both of them chasing the same high and pretending it meant less than it did. There were no promises. No questions. No thinking. Just movement. Just heat. Just yes. Yes. Yes.

At some point in all that yes, he stopped. She looked down at him, a moan caught in her throat and chest heaving, and found him looking up at her, something soft about the way he watched her between her thighs. She liked the way he looked at her; like he hadn’t expected to enjoy this as much as he did. Like she was a surprise. And she liked surprising people. It gave her something to hold onto, something that almost felt like control. That bit of control slipped away when he smirked up at her in a way that didn’t feel teasing and pressed his lips to the knee thrown over his shoulder, relinquishing it from her with another pass of his tongue.

That night? That night was easy.

It always stopped being easy in the morning when the bed was empty, and she woke up alone.

Her eyes opened to cool sheets and silence, and something in her chest cinched tight; because that was the part that never stopped hurting, even when she pretended it didn’t. The emptiness. The absence. The reminder that people always left.

And truthfully? That yes never felt as good crawling out of bed as it did when she was already in it, when someone was above her, breathless and warm, saying her name like it was something worth staying for.

She shoved herself upright with a sigh, hair a mess, makeup smudged, mouth dry and tasting like regret and cheap liquor. Last time, she told herself, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. This was the last goddamn time.

She froze mid-step when her foot caught on something soft on her bedroom floor. She kicked it in front of her and looked down at the dark mess of fabric tangled around her foot. A tee shirt. Too big to be hers. Still smelling like last night and cologne and him.

Then came the sound of voices from downstairs, too low to be Abby’s, the cadence too bright. The TV, maybe? A podcast through the kitchen Alexa? The news, or maybe some sort of talk show.

She blinked, heart stumbling over itself, and crouched down to scoop up the shirt. She pulled it over her head, pushed her hair out of her face, and padded downstairs barefoot. When she turned into the kitchen, that stumble turned into a stutter that would have made her order an EKG for anyone else.

He was in her kitchen. Standing at the open fridge in nothing but boxers and his glasses, sipping from her favorite chipped mug like he’d been there a hundred times. The morning light caught in his hair, tossing shadows across the tile floor, some Conan O’Brien podcast oozing from the kitchen speaker. He was humming — humming — like this was just a thing they did now. Like this was something he wanted to do.

She was used to exits. To fumbling with clothes in the dark, to doors that shut quietly before the sun came up, to never having to make awkward small talk about coffee or snoring or the fact that she hadn’t meant for any of this to feel like more.

Michael Robinavich wasn’t supposed to stay.

But he did.

He looked over his shoulder and smiled at her, like she was something he’d been waiting all morning to see.

“Morning,” he said, casual and warm. “Hope you don’t mind. You were out cold and your coffee’s actually decent, so.”

She leaned on the doorframe, crossing her arms. “You raid everyone’s kitchen, or am I just special?”

He turned, grin already creeping in. “Well, you did win the game of pool.”

“I thought you already paid up.”

“Who said I was done?” he said, shutting the fridge with his hip, smirking at her over the rim of his glasses.

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Dangerously close to smiling. “You always this charming, or is it just the caffeine?”

“It’s the company.” He took another sip, then stepped in close and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her to his chest, and kissed her; warm, unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. Her hands found his waist before she realized they’d moved.

“You hungry?” he murmured against her lips.

“Starving.”

He winked, then turned back toward the cabinets. She hopped up onto the counter, watched him rummage through her cabinets for a pan, crack eggs one-handed like it was nothing.

And that’s when it hit her.

This wasn’t easy anymore.

But maybe… Maybe it still could be.

He stayed through breakfast.

Stayed when the eggs were too salty and the toast burned after they stopped paying attention to the cooking and paid more attention to each other. Stayed when she sat on the counter in his shirt, legs bare and tangled around his waist as he kissed her between sips of coffee and ran his fingers through sleep mussed hair. Stayed when breakfast led back to bed.

The plates never made it to the sink. Her shirt never came off, not at first; just got pushed up around her ribs, bunched in his fists as he kissed her like he hadn’t spent the whole night already learning every sound she made. There was less urgency this time. No rush. No trying to outrun anything. Just his mouth on her skin, her fingers in his hair, a slow, heady rhythm that made the rest of the world feel far, far away.

They dozed off that way, legs tangled under bed sheets that now smelled like his cologne and felt warmer than they had the morning before, fingers tracing lazily along her spine. Afternoon bled in through the blinds before they finally decided to shower. And still, he stayed wrapped up beside her just a little longer. Until she stood in the doorway wrapped in her robe, his fingers brushing damp hair from her cheek.

“I’m gonna go home,” he said, voice low, thumb brushing her cheekbone, “put on clothes that don’t smell like sex and booze, and then I’m coming back.”

She cocked her head. “You’re coming back?”

He grinned. “Unless you’re planning on locking the door behind me?”

She almost laughed. Almost asked what the hell he was doing. Almost stopped him. But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more. She tried not to stiffen. Tried not to brace for the backpedaling. Tried not to show that her skin had already started stitching itself around him in places she hadn’t meant it to, despite the way she told herself never to allow it to.

She nodded, managed a small, neutral smile. “Sure.”

He kissed her again, slow and deliberate. Like punctuation. He didn’t press. Didn’t make a scene. Just smiled back and disappeared down the walk, whistling to himself like he wasn’t knocking the rhythm of her entire emotional life off-kilter.

For the next forty-seven minutes, she convinced herself it didn’t matter if he came back or not. She’d showered again, telling herself that she was shaving her legs out of necessity and using Abby’s perfumed body wash only because it was in her shower. Cleaned. Changed the sheets. Told herself she was tired, and fine, and definitely not staring at the clock.

Then there was a knock. She opened the door, and there he was. In a clean shirt and sweats, hair still a little damp. Bottle of wine in one hand, takeout bag in the other.

Exactly like he said he would.

This time she didn’t hesitate. She stepped aside. Let him walk in. Let him take off his shoes and kiss her hello and set the food down, fill her home with the soft sound of someone settling in. She let herself want. Just a little. And fuck, if that didn’t scare her shitless.

For a while that evening, yes had stopped meaning what it used to. It wasn’t a breathless agreement between kisses. Wasn’t her back arching into someone’s hands. Wasn’t fingers tugging at clothes or bodies pressed together in the dark.

It just meant talking. Conversation, slow and easy. Laughter spilling over half-eaten takeout on her coffee table, unraveling hours without either of them noticing. Yes became a shared language between them for another night with her legs draped across his lap and his voice echoing down the halls.

Yes to a movie they found out they both loved while scrolling through the channels. “You didn’t strike me as an alien movie guy.” “You kidding? Who doesn’t love Close Encounters?”

Yes to pausing it halfway through because a line reminded him of a book he’d read, and she lit up because she’d read it too. “Our English teacher made us read War of the Worlds sophomore year. I’ve read it every fall since.” “Me too!”

Yes to the way he flipped through her vinyl collection and nodded approvingly, running his fingers along worn edges and cracking spines of old jazz and classic rock albums.

“Okay, that’s cool,” he said, lifting a Deep Purple album. “This is a little less cool,” he added, plucking one of her daughter’s Taylor Swift records from the crate.

“She’s seventeen,” she shot back. “And the heart shaped one was very difficult to find, I’ll have you know. I was mom of the year when I finally got my hands on one.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? And what’s your excuse?”

She tried not to smile. Failed miserably, which only pulled one from him. He was handsome when he smiled. “I’m an emotionally complex woman.”

“Obviously.”

They ate. They laughed. They kissed. And then they kept talking.

The afternoon light stretched golden across the floor and melted into dusk, but neither of them moved to turn on a lamp. They just talked; about the years before PTMC, what COVID had taken from them. Not just the jobs, the holidays, the funerals; but the quieter things, too. The versions of themselves that got buried under KN95s and fear and loneliness.

“I stopped writing,” she admitted softly, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “I used to all the time; just for a few minutes every day before bed, sometimes more. Really just to get it all out so I could sleep. It made me feel… more like myself. Then suddenly it didn’t matter. Or maybe I didn’t.”

He didn’t try to fix it. Just nodded and pressed his thumb into the sole of her foot, like he understood. Like he’d felt that too.

“I used to be really good at making plans,” he said after a quiet moment. “For my life. For my future. Now I mostly make grocery lists and hope I remember to eat.”

They talked about the parts of themselves they missed. The rituals they abandoned and slowly tried to reinstate. The people they used to be and saw only in the mirror. They talked about fear, and laughter, and the weird comfort of grocery store rotisserie chickens. They talked like there wasn’t a clock ticking, like neither of them were planning what happened next.

When midnight came, she kissed him slow, hands sliding beneath his shirt. Not desperate. Not chasing anything. Just asking.

Stay.

That’s all she said, right there against his lips. Just that, the rise and fall of his chest solid under her hands. He pressed his palm to her back, fingers splayed across her skin as he brought his lips to hers again, his answer soft and immediate.

Yes.

Like it had never been a question.

He continued to stay. And she continued to say yes.

Yes when he’d lean across the nurses’ station mid-shift, smirking like he had a secret, asking, “Drinks after?” like it wasn’t the third time that week. Yes when they’d meet for coffee on their day off and found him at the same table tucked in the back with her cup waiting for her, already knowing how she took it; cream, no sugar, extra hot because she liked how it made her hands feel in the morning. The city was still quiet and they had nowhere to be but across from each other, sipping slowly and trading stories like neither one wanted to blink and miss it. When their fingers bumped across the table, and he curled his around hers, she let him. He didn’t let go.

Yes to meeting him at that little record shop in Greenfield while Abby was off at a sleepover, both of them pretending it wasn’t a date and failing spectacularly when he found her by the grunge crates. Rain clung to his clothes, but heat radiated from him when he murmured, “Hey baby,” and brushed her hair gently out of her eyes before he kissed her right there between Nirvana and Soundgarden.

Yes to falling into his bed, or hers, whenever they ended up standing too close on the wrong side of each other’s front doors, neither quite willing to leave, both silently daring the other to be the one who stayed. Yes to movie nights that turned into mornings. To too many shared blankets and takeout containers. To half-buttoned shirts and sleepy Sunday kisses and a toothbrush he kept in his vanity drawer just for her.

Then there was the evening he walked her to her car after a long shift, the parking lot nearly empty, golden hour clinging to the tops of the cars. His scrubs wrinkled. Her ponytail half undone. He stuffed his hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure he should ask; like it might shift something they’d been carefully pretending not to name.

“Let me take you out,” he said, quietly but clearly.

She tilted her head and leaned against her car door, looking up at him. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”

“Actually take you out. Somewhere nice. Real tablecloths. Bottle of wine. Wear something other than sweats or scrubs. The whole thing. What do you say?”

She looked at him for a second too long. Could already feel the smile pulling at her mouth. And then, like always, like instinct, like hope; she said yes.

But her yes wasn’t the only one that mattered.

It had never been that simple.

Because she wasn’t just saying yes for herself; she hadn’t been for the last seventeen years. There was someone else who would have to say it too. Someone whose voice had the power to end all of this before it really began.

Abby.

If Abby said no, then it stopped.

Full stop. No slow fade, no lingering maybe, no let’s just see where it goes.

If her daughter gave her even the smallest sign that she wasn’t ready, that she didn’t want this, then Beth would walk. She’d done it before. She would do it again. He knew that.

He’d known it before he ever kissed her. She’d made it exceptionally clear when he stayed the second night in a row. My daughter and I are a package deal. He knew it when he brushed her hair out of her face in that record store and watched her glance over her shoulder like there was a part of her always checking for someone else. Knew it when she hesitated at his door, when she fumbled with her keys outside her own and looked over her shoulder before letting him in.

He’d been here before. With Janie. With Jake. He remembered what it felt like to lose something not because the feelings weren’t real, but because the stakes were higher than anyone else could understand. Because it wasn’t just about chemistry or connection or compatibility. It was about trust. About showing up for someone’s whole life, not just the part that wanted to be held at night.

So he hadn’t rushed. Hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t asked for anything she couldn’t give.

But now… things were changing. Shifting. Getting closer to real, and she wanted it to. For the first time in god knows how long, she wanted it more than she could put to words. She was so tired of nights that felt too quiet once Abby went up to bed and the house fell still. Of a bed that felt too cold, of days that felt too lonely when the quiet felt too sharp. It hadn’t felt like that since he came around. It was quiet still, but in a way that felt kinder when night came and she spent it wrapped in arms that didn’t slip away when she opened her eyes and the dreaming stopped. He’d still be there, breathing evenly on the pillow beside her, sighing gently in his sleep when she traced her fingers along a bearded jaw before he’d make a soft sound and pull her closer. It was warmer, softer. In a way that just felt like him.

But that want was held in place by one quiet condition:

If Abby says yes.

If Abby sees him; sees the way he holds space for her mother like it wasn’t a burden, the way he watches her laugh like it’s something intoxicating, the way he doesn’t flinch at the hard stuff, doesn’t tiptoe around the name of her father, doesn’t treat her like an accessory to show off to his friends until he no longer found her shiny and new and moved onto something younger and newer and brighter. That he says yes when others said no.

Beth hoped she would. Hoped Abby could see what she saw. That it wasn’t about replacing anyone. That he didn’t want to step in and throw things off balance, but instead even the scales for the both of them. That maybe, finally, this wasn’t a risk, but a choice. Somewhere soft for them both to land with a man who was kind and becoming the reason why she didn’t skip every love song before they could even begin anymore.

She tried not to let it show. Tried not to hold her breath every time his name came up in the house, or read too much into the way Abby asked about him, the way she didn’t protest when Beth mentioned maybe seeing him again this weekend. The way she hadn’t yet said no.

Still, she knew.

If Abby said no, that would be it. And she’d let it be. But still, that hope remained, twisting in her gut like a tangle she couldn’t undo herself for fear of only making it tighter.

God, she hoped she said yes.

But yes was never an easy thing to get from her daughter.

Abby wasn’t stubborn, not exactly. Just careful. Guarded in a way most seventeen-year-olds weren’t supposed to have to be. She’d seen too much too young; enough to know what it looked like when people came and went. Enough to know her mother’s smile wasn’t always a guarantee that things were okay.

Fuck, who was she kidding? That child was the most stubborn person alive.

So Beth didn’t expect a yes outright. She just hoped.

Hoped for it that night as she dug through the closet for heels she hadn’t worn in months. Hoped for it as she poked at her reflection, frowning at the dress she’d pulled from the back of her closet that she hadn’t worn since Becca’s divorce party. Which one, she couldn’t remember. It was a simple thing; black and sleeveless, tight at the waist and far more low cut than anything she wore any other day. Maybe it was too much, she thought. Too tight. Too hopeful. She adjusted the neckline and smoothed the fabric over her hips, then reached into the neckline and adjusted that as well.

“You look pretty.”

She turned, surprised, and found Abby sitting on the edge of her bed with her good foot tucked under her, the other stretched out in front of her, brace half hidden by a purple fuzzy sock. It had felt like mercy last week when the ortho cleared her to remove the boot a week before Homecoming. She hadn’t even heard her come in.

Beth smiled softly, a little cautious almost. “Yeah?”

“You don’t look like a sleep-deprived raccoon that snuck into a hospital, so yeah. I guess,” Abby just shrugged.

Ouch. What a way with words, kid.

She tapped at something on her phone and didn’t look up. “When are you coming home?”

Beth crossed to the bed and sat down beside her. She tucked a piece of Abby’s hair behind her ear.

“I should be home by eleven,” she said.

“Wow, the nursing home lets him stay out that late? That’s generous.”

“He’s only two years older than me, Abby.”

“Whatever. Still old.”

Beth sighed. “Is that okay?”

Abby tapped something on her phone and bit her bottom lip before she shrugged again. “I guess.”

Not yes. Not no. Just that heavy, hesitant middle ground that Beth had learned to live in for years. She nodded.

“If you need me to come home sooner, just text me, and Michael and I will come back.”

Abby stiffened at that, like the sound of their names together was something offensive. “I’ll be fine,” she said quickly.

Beth watched her daughter, heels forgotten for the moment, the low stretch of tension pulling her toward her daughter like gravity. Abby had gone quiet, thumbs moving across her phone screen like lightning in what Beth was sure was a far more honest text to her best friend than what she was getting in the silence her daughter gave her. Not sulking. Not pouting. Just… clammed up. Guard up, chin down, picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve like it could unravel everything she didn’t want to say.

Beth knew that look. She’d seen it in her child’s face before, saw exactly where she learned it from every time she looked in the mirror. She reached out and took Abby’s fidgeting hand between her own.

“You okay, boo?” she asked softly.

Abby shrugged, shoulders small beneath her faded hoodie. “I just… I don’t get it.”

“Get what, baby?”

“Why you chose him.”

Beth let the question sit for a beat. Didn’t rush to fill the silence. Just reached out, thumb tracing an old snag in the comforter.

“You don’t have to get it yet,” she said. “I just… think you might like him. If you gave him a chance.”

“He wears cargo pants.”

“He’s a man in his fifties, Abs. They all do. I can’t limit my dating pool because of poor fashion choices. I will run out of options.”

Abby didn’t meet her eyes. Just kept picking. Kept tugging.

Beth waited. “Is that all it is?”

And then, in the smallest voice:

“I don’t know. What if…” she took a heavy breath and exhaled. “What if it’s like Ed?”

Beth froze and felt something twist just under her breastbone; not pain exactly, but recognition. The knowing of the shape of the question formed in her daughter’s silence. Ed had been gone over two years; plenty of time for her to pack up those years they shared before she sent that up in flames and walked away without looking back. Abby had never been his biggest cheerleader, but Beth knew that this had little to do with the police captain who once hung his jacket and service weapon by their door, despite how many times Beth got after him about it. No, there was a heaviness in that question left by an absence that stretched over the years when that jacket stopped sitting on the hook, and a new one didn’t come to replace it until a navy blue hoodie filled that space.

What if he doesn’t get me?

What if he tries and still gets it wrong?

What if we’re too much for him? What if he wants me to be less?

Beth took a breath. Let it out slow.

There hadn’t been anything wrong with Ed. He’d been kind. Soft-spoken. Thoughtful in the way someone tries to be when they know they’re out of their depth. But he’d never seen Abby; not the real Abby, anyway. Not the kind, sweet, brilliant girl hidden behind sharp edges and whip-quick sarcasm, the brittle wit she used like armor. Not the way her mind raced ahead of her words, or how she tested people with jokes that stung just enough to see if they could hold her weight.

Ed had tried.

God, had he tried.

But Abby made people work for it. Made them earn it.

And Ed… Ed just hadn’t known what to do with the pieces she gave him.

But, Robby? Robby was trying. He showed up. He took every bit of snark on the chin. He said yes. It had been a long time for them both since anyone tried.

Beth let her hand rest lightly on Abby’s knee.

“You know… I can stay home if you want me to,” she said softly.

Abby looked up, wary. “Like… you and Robby?”

“Just me,” Beth said, her voice gentle. “I can change into sweats, put on Gilmore Girls. We can eat ice cream straight out of the carton and order whatever you want for dinner. Just us girls.”

Abby chewed her lip, fingers stilling on her screen. She looked at her mom, considering the way kids do when they’re not sure whether to believe you or protect you.

Then she shook her head.

“It’s fine,” she said. Too quick. Too practiced. The kind of fine that always meant not really. “Go do… whatever it is old people do together.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Mom. I’m sure,” Abby gave the smallest smile. “Can I fix your makeup before you leave?”

That made Beth smile for real. “That bad?”

“Don’t you think your eyeshadow is a little too smokey for a Thursday?”

“You think so? I think Myrna would approve.”

“That’s the standard now, Mom? Myrna? Tragic.”

Beth huffed out a laugh that felt a little more honest and nodded. They sat cross-legged on the bed, Abby squinting up at her like an artist with a canvas. She was careful, quiet, dabbing concealer and adjusting eyeliner like she’d been doing it for years. Beth stayed still. Let her do it. Let her care that way, because she knew Abby wasn’t always good with words, but she was good with precision. With making things feel right. And when she was done, she leaned back and gave a satisfied nod.

“Better,” she declared. “Less… whatever that was.”

Beth laughed. “Wow. Compliment and insult in one.”

“I have layers,” Abby said, dry as ever.

They both smiled. And it felt like maybe this was a little bit of a yes.

But when he showed up later, knocking lightly on the door with that lopsided smile and a bouquet of peonies that felt charmingly old fashioned, Abby didn’t come downstairs. Didn’t peek around the corner when Beth kissed him on the cheek and invited him inside while she found a vase. Didn’t hover or ask when Beth would be home or say have a good time.

Just stayed upstairs, silent and invisible.

And maybe that wasn’t a no. But it didn’t feel like a yes either.

Beth smiled anyway. Nodded and said yes when he asked if she was ready to go after she pulled him down by his tie for a kiss. Stepped outside, heels clicking on the porch, the soft thud of the door behind her feeling heavier than it should.

She didn’t say anything about it. But the whole drive to the restaurant, she felt it sitting with her in the passenger seat, as real as the weight of his hand resting on her thigh.

The almost. The maybe.

The ache of a yes she hadn’t quite gotten yet.

But Beth kept asking.

And Robby kept saying yes.

Every time she turned to him with that quiet, hopeful look — the one that said I know this isn’t easy. Please, keep trying, even if she didn’t have the words — he nodded. Came back. Showed up.

And he tried.

He remembered things; details Abby didn’t think he’d caught. Asked about the English assignment she mentioned in passing, listening to her reluctantly explain the character analysis that was due next week and asking questions about it that made Abby pause for a second before answering. Made sure there was always a pint of Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer after the fallout with her best friend she didn’t want to talk about, but hadn’t exactly kept private either, not with how loudly she’d vented to Beth one night at dinner.

When she came home from Homecoming two hours after she was supposed to and found him still awake in the living room, he didn’t say a word about how she was supposed to be home at midnight, or the way she reeked of wine coolers and was a little unsteady on her feet. Just made it sound like that night’s episode of Stephen Colbert was worth watching twice before he turned the lamp off and followed her up the stairs slowly, then made sure there was water and ibuprofen on her bathroom counter. He even asked about college stuff; letters of recommendation, essay deadlines, what she wanted to study. If there was anything he could do to help even when she told him no.

Not in a pushy way. Never like he was trying to impress her.

Just… curious. Present.

And even when she shrugged him off, rolled her eyes, or gave him that dead-eyed teenager glare that could drop a lesser man in his tracks, he still stayed. Still said yes. Said yes when Beth asked him to come for dinner again, even when Abby barely looked up from her plate. Said yes to movie nights where Abby chose the film and gave him shit for not having seen it already. Said yes to ordering pizza when her friends came over and teased him like they didn’t hate him but weren’t quite sure if they were allowed to like him either.

And when it came to staying the night, he never assumed. Not once. Beth didn’t have to remind him, he knew how those nights went. He waited until Abby gave the okay. It would come in the shape of a casual mention of a friend’s sleepover the same night he was supposed to come over, always just a little too convenient in the way it had her out of the driveway before he ever pulled in.

But still, he never pushed. Never commented. He’d come in and kiss her the same, ask whose house she was at and if one of them needed to pick her up in the morning, and if she had texted Beth that she had made it safely yet.

He kept trying.

Then one night, it landed. Just a little.

He was talking about work over dinner, something stupid one of the new med students had done in the ER that day. Beth was laughing, fork halfway to her mouth, and Abby was mostly picking at her pasta. Quiet, withdrawn in that familiar way that made Beth’s heart ache with how much of herself her daughter still kept locked up.

Abby glanced up and muttered, “They should’ve done a subclavian instead. Would have been a lot more stable. Obviously.”

Beth froze, fork suspended, and held her breath. She did this—this I know more than you routine like she was proving she was smart enough to be a part of the conversation. Abby knew that. Beth knew that. But Robby—

Well, Robby paused. He smiled. He nodded.

“Hell yeah they should have. That’s what I said, too. You wanna come teach the next round? I could use the day off.”

It wasn’t much. Just a twitch. The smallest pull at the corner of Abby’s mouth before she ducked her head and went back to her plate like nothing had happened.

Not a full smile. Not a yes. But something.

Abby still retreated to her room that night, but when she came downstairs after Robby went back to his apartment, she looked around like she was confused before she turned to Beth and said, “He left?” Beth nodded, and swore for a moment Abby looked disappointed.

“Oh,” Abby said simply. “I thought he was staying over. I wanted to make him watch Hamilton. He hasn’t seen it. It’s un-American. Is he coming over tomorrow?”

Beth sputtered over her words before she cleared her throat and said, “I think so.”

Abby nodded and turned to go back upstairs. “Cool.”

Cool.

It continued like that for a while. The slow thaw. No major declarations, no sudden shifts — just quiet changes in temperature. Abby wasn’t warm, exactly. But she wasn’t cold either. She stopped glaring quite so hard. Started lingering longer before retreating upstairs. Let herself laugh at a joke he made once, even if she immediately tried to smother it with a cough and rolled her eyes.

Beth knew better than to push. But still, she noticed the small things. Catalogued them carefully. Let herself hope, just a little.

Then, she almost ruined all of it.

Not on purpose. Not really.

Abby wasn’t home for the night — off to Mia’s for a sleepover after making up over a text that Robby helped her draft while they drove back from PT the other night. Something about compromise, or humility, or whatever flavor of empathy teenage girls tolerated when it came from someone who wasn’t their mom.

The house was quiet.

Dinner had been something simple. Fast. Something they threw together after a shift that had left both of them wrung out. A toddler with broken ribs and a mandatory CPS report. A father who’d spit in Beth’s face and threatened her with just about everything he could before Victoria shouted down the hall for help and Robby came charging in with Ahmad right behind him. A couple not much older than them, the wife crying in a corner chair while her husband coded, only to start wailing when Robby turned to her and gently told her that there was nothing else they could do. A GSW that had them all pacing and snapping at each other until the OR doors closed behind a gurney and the trauma bay was washed clean of blood but not tension.

Which, of course, was when he brought it up.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said casually, standing beside her at the sink, sleeves pushed up and a tea towel slung over his shoulder. That soft, even tone he used when he’d been sitting with something for a while. “We should probably tell Gloria. File the paperwork with HR.”

Beth stilled, a plate halfway between the rinse water and his waiting hands. “You want to tell Gloria?”

He dried the plate slowly, like he hadn’t expected the question to land like that. His brows pulled together like he didn’t quite understand why she was asking. “I mean… yeah. We’re not exactly subtle, Liz. Especially not after today.” He glanced at her, gave a small, rueful smile. “And I’d like us both to keep our jobs.”

Beth didn’t smile back.

He meant it as a joke. She could tell. Like it was no big deal; just the next natural step for two people doing what they were doing. It was sweet. The responsible thing for someone in his position to suggest. The kind of thing that should have made her feel steady.

Instead, her stomach twisted.

Because she knew what came next; the formality, the visibility, the acknowledgment of a we that reached past the walls of her house and into the part of her life she hadn’t let anyone else touch in years. And instead of reaching for his hand or kissing his shoulder or saying something normal like you’re right, she felt herself bristle.

She did what she always did when things got too real too fast: she picked a fight.

She didn’t even know why, exactly. Maybe it was the way he said we. Maybe it was the fact that it suddenly felt so official—like this fragile, undefined thing between them was becoming something permanent, and real, and visible to everyone else.

So she said something flippant. Something defensive. Something about HR not needing to know about every guy she lets into her bed. And the second it left her mouth, she hated it. Hated herself for saying it. For watching his smile falter and the crease between his brows deepen—not with confusion, but disappointment.

He set the plate down carefully on the drying rack. Took the towel off his shoulder. And in a voice much quieter than before, he asked, “Is that really what you think this is?”

“I just don’t see why we need to announce it,” she said, quieter now. “Why we need to make it a thing.”

“It is a thing,” Robby snapped, something tightening in his voice. “Liz, I’m not asking you to shout it from the roof. I’m saying I’d rather not get fired because someone sees me go ballistic again when someone puts their hands on you and puts two and two together.”

She crossed her arms. “So that’s what this is about? Your job?”

“No,” he said, sharper now. “It’s about the fact that this is real. That you and I are real. And I’m tired of acting like we’re not just because you get twitchy any time someone puts it into words.”

Her breath hitched. “I’m not twitchy, Michael.”

He scoffed and gave her a look. Dry. Disbelieving. “You’re twitchy as hell.”

She hated that he wasn’t yelling. Hated that he was right. That he was staying so damn calm while her chest burned with a panic she couldn’t name.

“I didn’t ask you to do any of this,” she snapped. “To stay. To help. To deal with her—”

“I want to deal with her,” he said, stepping forward, his voice low. “I want to deal with you. All of it. I’m here, Beth. I’m part of this because I want to be. I’m just tired of having to pretend like I’m not in love with you every time we walk into that fucking hospital.”

Her breath caught.

It was a chance to walk it back.

To soften. To say she didn’t mean it. To reach for him and apologize and pretend like the words hadn’t already sunk in too deep.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she doubled down. Got sharper. Meaner than she meant to be. Defensive in the way that made her feel like she had control even when she didn’t. She accused him of pushing. Of wanting too much. Of turning something simple into something complicated.

He didn’t shout. Didn’t match her tone. Didn’t stoop to her level when she turned bitter and lashed like a cornered cat. But she saw it; the flicker of tension in his jaw, the way he closed his eyes like he was counting backwards from ten, like if he didn’t anchor himself, something in him might break.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered.

And just like that, her stomach dropped.

She’d seen this film before. Knew the cues. The rhythm. That line was always the turning point. The beginning of the end. She waited for it. Braced for the rest of the quote she’d memorized.

I’m done.

This isn’t working.

I should go.

But instead, he just sighed. Rubbed at his jaw like it ached. Then gestured toward the stairs, voice low and fraying at the edges.

“This is going nowhere. I’m going to bed.”

Beth’s breath caught. “You’re what?”

“I’m exhausted. We’re talking in circles,” he said, already backing away. “I’m taking a goddamn shower and going to bed. You can yell at me again in the morning if you still want to.”

She stood there, rooted to the tile, mouth parted like maybe she had more to say, like maybe she would finally say it, but nothing came.

Just the burn in her throat. The sting behind her eyes. Something hot and rising that wasn’t anger at all.

“Michael—.”

“I’m not doing this with you tonight, Lizzie,” he said, already heading for the stairs, the name only he called her sharper on his tongue. “Not when I know you don’t even mean half the shit you’re saying.”

And then he was gone, but not really. Just… annoyed. Hurt. But still here. No slammed doors. No parting shot. Just quiet footsteps on the stairs and the sound of the bathroom door clicking closed behind him.

She stood there for a long time. Her hands still trembling. Her eyes wet. She moved slowly, each step soft and unsure, half-expecting to hear the zip of his bag and the slam of the front door behind him. Half-expecting him to decide he’d had enough. But when she reached the bedroom, the lamp on the bedside table was still on.

He was still awake, shirtless and sitting up in bed, his hair still shower damp and glasses slipping low on his nose as he scrolled through something on his phone. He looked up when she entered, not surprised, not exactly inviting. Just… tired. His gaze met hers for a second, unreadable, then dropped again without a word.

She hesitated at the threshold, hands tight in the hem of her shirt, heart in her throat. He looked up at her again, noticing the uncertain way she hovered. He kept her gaze, reached down, pulled the covers back on her side of the bed, and patted the space beside him.

“C’mere,” he murmured.

Her throat burned. She crossed to him slowly, like if she moved too fast he’d vanish. Like she wasn’t sure she deserved the welcome. He shifted as she neared, reaching for her waist with one broad hand, guiding her gently into his lap. She folded into him automatically, legs draping over his waist, and let her head tuck under his jaw. He sighed against her temple, chest rising beneath her with something almost like relief.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” she whispered.

His fingers brushed along her spine. “I know.”

“I just… panicked.”

“I know.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into him, forehead to his shoulder. His skin was still warm from the shower, chest rising slow and even under her cheek. He smelled like her shampoo.

“I’m not good at this part. I usually… I don’t usually get this far. I don’t want to ruin this,” she said so quietly it barely registered. “I want you to stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”

They sat in the hush for a long time. Her head tucked beneath his chin, one of his hands resting warm and open on her back, the other idly tracing circles at the base of her spine.

Then he spoke; quiet and steady.

“You know what this is to me, Beth?”

She didn’t answer. Just looked at him, her breath caught somewhere in her ribs.

“This is the first real plan I’ve made for myself in a long time.”

Her throat tightened. Shame bloomed heavy and slow in her chest, crawling through her like rot. She blinked fast, but it didn’t help much. It was still there, thick behind her eyes, her chest. He reached up; that same, steady hand that had cupped her hip in his sleep, guided a syringe in a trauma bay, reached for her without hesitation when things got loud, and brushed his thumb across her cheek. Gentle. Sure. Forgiving, somehow.

She watched his face. All of it. The kindness he never weaponized. The exhaustion he never used as an excuse. The patience he kept choosing over pride. Over ego. Over the easy out. Saw the lines around his eyes that deepened when he smiled at her or laughed at something Abby said. The way he never flinched from her sharp edges. The way he kept showing up anyway. Even when she gave him reasons not to. Especially then.

The word she’d been running from for years sat squarely in the center of her chest; familiar and frightening and foreign all at once.

“I love you,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

His expression shifted. Softened like sunlight through gauze. His hand slid from her cheek to her back, pulling her in close.

“I love you too,” he murmured, low and certain. “Even when you’re being a giant pain in the ass.”

She let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Then she buried her face in his chest and let herself believe, for once, that someone might actually stay. Because they chose to.

They disclosed to HR the next morning. Walked into the hospital hand in hand, signed the forms without fanfare. Nodded through the conversation about ethics policies and conflict-of-interest protocols. Listened when they were told schedules would need adjusting. Promised not to share cases. Promised to be smart.

They were out of the office in less than an hour. He reached for her hand again in the elevator. She didn’t let go when the doors opened and walked through the Pitt on their way to his car. She smiled when Dana rolled her eyes with a smirk and muttered, “Fuckin’ finally.”

He had a key to the house by the end of the week, hooked to his key fob like it had always hung there. And when he mentioned needing to reup his lease in the spring—just in passing, over breakfast and bills—Beth reached across the table and took his hand. Told him maybe he shouldn’t. You know, if Abby said yes.

Abby said maybe.

Maybe stretched into a full thirty days of careful observation; of raised eyebrows and quiet calculations, of not-quite-smiles and definitely-not-approvals. A long, slow, quiet month where she didn’t roll her eyes every time she found Robby in the kitchen. Where she lingered on the stairs just a beat longer when they laughed about something she didn’t ask about. Where she let her gaze flick toward the front door when he didn’t come over, like she wasn’t keeping track.

But then one morning, Abby wandered into the bedroom while Robby was already gone, curled her legs under her on Beth’s side of the bed, and asked if he’d be back in time for dinner. Beth blinked. Abby shrugged. “You can tell him he can move his crap in, if he wants. Just don’t let him touch my shelf in the fridge.”

It wasn’t a yes with fanfare. But it was something similar.

After that, things didn’t change overnight. His apartment collapsed into cardboard boxes that filled the garage. His clothes sat with theirs in the laundry hamper. Yours and mine because ours. “See you at your place,” became, “Ready to go home?”

There were still quiet dinners where Abby kept her headphones in. Still movie nights where she watched from the armchair instead of the couch. Still long, uneasy pauses and half-smiles and unspoken doubts. No declarations. No grand gestures. No real affection. Not yet.

But the silence felt less sharp.

It wasn’t peace exactly. But it was a truce. And that was something.

And then one afternoon, the wedding invite came.

Becca and the nearly seventy-year-old boyfriend who filled her wrists with enough Cartier that Robby had once, on the drive home after meeting Becca for the first time at some wine bar downtown, jokingly warned Beth not to get any ideas. Beth couldn’t remember the man’s name until she saw it printed in gold script on thick, overpriced cardstock: Charles Something IV. Cabo, of course. Third time’s the charm.

She opened the envelope at the kitchen table, phone on speaker, Becca already mid-monologue about travel dates and dress fittings and how the welcome brunch was going to have a make-your-own chilaquiles bar because she was doing this right this time, Beth. Beth rolled her eyes and said that she couldn’t wait to see what she did right for the fourth one, snickering when Becca called her a catty bitch with a snort.

Abby sat across from her, legs tucked up under her, scrolling on her phone with the kind of studied indifference only a teenage girl could pull off. She didn’t flinch at the words “maid of honor for the third time,” though her eyes narrowed just a little when Beth repeated Becca’s breezy reminder that she’d be in the bridal party too; junior bridesmaid turned full-fledged bridesmaid by virtue of not being in a training bra anymore.

“Wow, thanks Aunt Becs.”

“Anything for my favorite neicey-poo.”

“I’m your only neicey-poo.”

There was a plus-one card tucked in with the RSVP. Beth didn’t say anything. Just turned it over once, twice, fingers curling around it absently. Becca kept talking. Abby kept scrolling. Beth barely noticed when Abby reached over and plucked it from her hand, holding it up like it was just another homework assignment before she grabbed a pen.

“Wait, should I put Robby? Or Michael?”

Beth looked up, caught off guard, and froze just long enough to give herself away. Abby looked up, eyebrows raised like it was a perfectly normal logistical question—no deeper meaning, no emotional weight—and when Beth didn’t answer right away, she shrugged and looked back down at the card like it didn’t really matter either way.

Beth cleared her throat. “Michael.”

“Weird. Why do you get to call him Michael? Nobody else does.”

“Because I’m his girlfriend,” Beth said, lips twitching like maybe if she smiled a little it would feel less terrifying to say out loud.

“Gross,” Abby muttered. She scrawled his name, pushed the card aside, and picked her phone back up. “Don’t say girlfriend. You’re old. It’s cringey.”

Beth bit back a laugh, shaking her head as she reached for her coffee, the sound of Becca’s voice still droning in the background about facials and pedicures. Across the table, Abby kept scrolling, expression neutral again, eyes back on whatever video or thread had her attention. But there was a softness to her posture now; not much, just a little. Her legs still curled under her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands like always.

She hadn’t rolled her eyes. Hadn’t scoffed. Hadn’t said no. It wasn’t an open invitation, not exactly. It wasn’t an I like him. It wasn’t I’m glad he’s around.

But it wasn’t a door slammed shut either.

And for Beth, for now, that was enough.

Cabo started in airport security.

Which, of course, was a nightmare.

Beth was already sweating under her zip-up, her license between her teeth, trying to fish her liquids bag out of her overpacked carry-on with one hand. Robby leaned over and plucked her license out of her mouth, tucking it into his pocket while heaving his carry-on onto the belt, when Abby—barefoot on the cold tile and exuding teenage apathy like it was a perfume—leaned over and muttered, low enough for only Beth and God to hear, “So, pipe bombs are still a hard no, right? I might have to rearrange some things.”

Beth froze. “Abigail.”

But before she could level her with a mom-glare or hiss out the you-do-NOT-joke-about-weapons-at-TSA-be-normal speech she’d given exactly once before at LAX, Robby barked out a laugh. Not a chuckle. Not a quiet snort.

A full, startled, head-thrown-back, holy-shit-she-did-not-just-say-that laugh, loud enough to turn heads in line.

And when he caught his breath, still grinning, he said, “Jesus. Remind me not to fly international with you again.”

Abby blinked. Then, betrayed by her own damn reflexes, she laughed too.

Just a quick burst, small and sharp and real. Then she caught herself, looked away fast, and deadpanned, “You weren’t invited the first time.”

Robby saluted her with his empty sneaker. “Understood.”

Beth didn’t say anything, but she caught her daughter’s faint smirk as she tugged her hoodie back on. It wasn’t just tolerance anymore.

They got through security without being flagged for terrorism—a minor miracle, all things considered—and grabbed overpriced airport lattes before settling at their gate. Abby took the window seat when they boarded, earbuds in, hood up, legs folded beneath her like she was gearing up for war. Robby sat in the middle, all elbows and long legs and none of the spatial awareness he thought he had, nudging her every few minutes until she finally rolled her eyes, took one earbud out, and said, “Seriously? You’re man-spreading, Michael.”

“I’m not man-spreading, Abigail. I’m just taller than you.”

“Oh, okay. Whatever, Gumby.”

“You good over there, Thumbelina?”

Abby didn’t hide her laugh that time.

By the time they were taxing out of the gate, Abby was side-eyeing his neck pillow like she might steal it in his sleep, and Robby was muttering something about how if she tried, he was putting gum in her hair. Beth shook her head and told them to knock it off but smiled anyway. Something about the rhythm of it felt easy. Familiar. Like they’d done this before, or could again.

Once they were in the air, Abby let Robby plug in her charger without a single snarky comment. He passed her his unopened Diet Coke when the drinks came around and she didn’t roll her eyes. She didn’t give him shit for his movie choice when she leaned over to watch with him. Beth pretended not to notice, staring down at the copy of the Brandon Sanderson book she bought in the airport (that they both immediately gave her shit for) while a warmth bloomed in her chest; slow and quiet and stubborn.

It wasn’t perfect. It probably never would be.

But somewhere between the TSA jokes and that damn smirk Abby didn’t quite hide, it was something.

Cabo glowed golden and too bright to be real. Abby joked that it felt like it had been built for a postcard—white linens drying in a salt-laced breeze, seafoam-tinted light bouncing off infinity pools, the distant sound of tequila-fueled karaoke from someone’s rehearsal dinner that definitely wasn’t the one they attended. The wedding was still two days away, but the whole resort seemed to buzz around them; every sunburned couple and overdressed influencer acting like they were starring in a destination rom-com.

And in the middle of it, something started to shift.

Not fast. Not all at once. But slowly, the edges between them softened. Robby fell into step with them like he belonged there—quietly, without pushing. He got up early and walked the beach paths with Beth while Abby slept in, always coming back with coffee for her. He knew by now that Abby wouldn’t touch the scrambled eggs from the buffet, so he ordered the fruit platter without her needing to ask. Every time she offhandedly mentioned something like paddleboarding or ziplining, he had them signed up by lunch. Beth watched him stare down a middle-aged man in board shorts whose eyes lingered too long on Abby at the pool, holding his gaze until the man blinked and looked away before he sat down, still watching as the guy walked away.

They shared jokes now. Nothing huge. Nothing forced. Just the occasional smirk passed across a table, a quiet one-liner when someone said something ridiculous. Abby didn’t offer up compliments, but she didn’t ice him out either. She asked if he’d remembered to book the snorkel trip, and when he said, “Of course, Abigail, I live to serve,” she rolled her eyes and said, “H’okay, guy,” but didn’t argue.

Beth watched it unfold from the edge of her lounge chair, book open in her lap but mostly forgotten. It wasn’t a miracle. It wasn’t some grand, sweeping change. But it was real. Tentative, sometimes clumsy, still marked by careful distance—but growing, anyway. Like something tender beginning to bloom between long stretches of silence.

One night at dinner, under string lights and stars and the kind of humid breeze that only ever felt good on vacation, the waiter handed Robby a rum and coke when he came with their drinks. Without even glancing at it, he slid it across the table to Abby. She took it, eyebrows raised like she was waiting for a catch, and took a sip without her usual dramatic commentary.

Almost.

She coughed once, wrinkling her nose, and handed it back. “That’s disgusting. Tastes like nail polish remover and cough syrup.”

Robby just shrugged. “Yeah? Wanna try something else?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not? What do you want?”

“Michael Shai!”

“Oh, c’mon, hon.” He laughed, already flagging down a waiter. “She’s eighteen. It’s legal down here. Relax, Liz.”

“Yeah, Liz,” Abby echoed, barely holding back a smirk. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

Robby leaned back in his chair, smirking. “You sure sound relaxed, telling me how relaxed you are.”

That finally cracked Abby, who laughed, real and unguarded, and leaned her elbow on the table like she was settling in. Robby winked at her and leaned over to kiss Beth’s cheek.

“Just one,” he murmured, low enough that only Beth could hear. “Enough to hate it.”

The tequila shots came a few minutes later, lined up like trouble. A good choice, she hated to admit. Nothing like straight tequila to turn someone off to alcohol forever. Beth shook her head, already explaining the order as she reached for a slice of lime, but Abby reached for hers with absolutely no hesitation. She downed it in one clean motion and set the glass down like it was nothing.

Both Robby and Beth stared. Abby cleared her throat, expression tight, and said, flat as possible, “Oh no. Gross. I hate it.”

Beth gave her a look.

Robby burst out laughing, dragging both hands down his face. “Oh, we are so fucked when she goes to college.”

Abby just beamed. Grinning wide, golden in the candlelight, and for the first time in a long time, she looked happy.

“Can we do another one?”

“No.”

Then came the cat.

Scrappy. Half-feral. An orange tabby with one good eye and a limp, like it had brawled its way through every alley in Cabo and came out the other side with nothing but attitude and a taste for bacon. It haunted the back steps of the resort’s open-air restaurant, scaring off the seagulls and meowing like it owned the place. Abby spotted him first, crouched low and offering up half her breakfast like a peace treaty.

Beth saw the look on her daughter’s face before she even opened her mouth.

Oh no.

“Can we keep him?”

“Abby…” Beth warned, already exhausted by the argument that hadn’t happened yet.

“Please, Mom! Please, please, please. He followed us to the cabana this morning! He likes Robby. We gave him shrimp. His name is Mango.”

“Mango?”

“Yeah, Mom. He’s orange. Duh.”

“Yeah, Beth,” Robby parroted from the chair next to hers, not even looking up from his phone. “Duh.”

Beth opened her mouth. Closed it again. “Sweetheart, he has fleas.”

Abby raised an eyebrow. “So does Robby, and you still let him in the house.”

Robby choked on a laugh. Beth turned to glare at him, but he just held up a finger like give me a second, still typing. “Not anymore. I had that checked out.”

“Oh, thank God. Finally.”

“I’m not sure we even can,” Beth said, trying for practical. “The airline probably won’t allow—”

“He meets the import guidelines for emotional support animals,” Robby interrupted casually, still scrolling.

Abby gasped. “Shut up, you’re joking. Be so for real right now.”

“I’m nearly done with the paperwork,” he added, completely deadpan.

Beth stared at him. “You’re not helping.”

He shrugged. “He’s a cute cat.”

That was apparently all Abby needed. She launched at him in a tangle of sunburned limbs and gratitude, hugging him hard before bolting down the beach after Mango with a triumphant, “You’re the best!”

Robby was still grinning when he looked over his sunglasses at Beth.

“Hear that?” he said. “I’m the best.”

Beth was already shaking her head, but she couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at her mouth. “Don’t let it go to your head, big guy.”

“Too late.”

By the time they boarded the flight home, Mango Robinavitch-Baker had a collar, a flea bath, and a $78 soft-sided carrier Abby refused to let out of her lap. She cooed at him like a newborn, slipped scraps of turkey into the mesh sides, and called Mango her “son” so many times that Beth stopped trying to correct her. Abby had clearly won. Or Robby. Or maybe it was Mango. At that point, Beth was too sunburned and travel-worn and deliriously happy to care.

She was on her way back from the bathroom somewhere over the Gulf when she spotted them two rows ahead and stopped.

They were asleep.

Abby in the window seat, curled into Robby’s side like she’d done it a thousand times. Her head tucked against his shoulder, one earbud in, hoodie strings wrapped around her fingers. Robby was leaned slightly toward her, chin resting gently on the top of her head. His arm rested beside hers, just barely touching, like the contact wasn’t even something to think about anymore. Like it was natural. Expected. Wanted.

Beth stood there for a long moment, just watching.

Six months ago, Abby wouldn’t have sat at the same dinner table as Robby without a fight. Wouldn’t have let him pour her coffee or help with her homework or offer an opinion on anything without rolling her eyes so hard Beth worried about long-term damage.

Now?

Now she was asleep on his shoulder, a shared bag of half-eaten gummy worms between them and the second act of Hamilton still playing to an audience of none on Abby’s laptop. The mangy little cat she swore was fate was snoozing happily at her feet like he’d always been part of the family.

Beth slipped back into her seat without saying a word. No photo. No comment. Just that quiet warmth spreading through her ribs like the sun had followed them onto the plane. And a whisper of a thought she’d been too afraid to voice before now:

This is what yes looks like.

A cat. A shoulder. A breath of sleep shared at 30,000 feet.

A few minutes later, Robby stirred. Turned his head groggily, cracked one eye open, and reached across the space between them to brush a kiss to Beth’s temple when she leaned her head on his other shoulder.

No big declarations. No orchestras or spotlights. Just a nap in row 18 and a girl who’d finally let go of the fight and a man who cared enough to stay.

Beth smiled to herself and closed her eyes.

Yes, she thought. Quiet and certain. Yes.

[sydwritess]

I loved how you wrote my Lewis request, thank you so much :)

I have another idea, so the reader is 28 again and they met through Max and even those two have a history Max ships them and plays matchmaker :)

Have a nice day :)

Friend of a Friend

Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader

Summary: You and Lewis have met once before, due to you being a big fan of F1, but what happens when your best friend Max wants you and Lewis to be more than friends.

Second Person POV

Notes: requests are open!

You and Max have been friends for a while. You recently got a job ad an photographer at F1. You have gotten a chance to meet all of the drivers, mostly through Max. But one had caught your eye in particular.

Lewis Hamilton.

You will admit, to yourself and yourself only, that you had a minor crush on him. That was until you found you this age. You were twenty-eight while he had turned forty a couple of months ago.

It was a twelve year age difference, and you knew Max was sure to say something about it. He was practically your younger-older brother. But what was wrong? Him and Kelly are nine years apart.

You were zoned in on your thoughts, snapping picture after picture as a couple of demo-cars went around the track. It was Monday, the Silverstone race was over but there were sill people racing, or doing drag races.

"How's the hard work going." A light voice says behind you. You turn slightly to see Lewis walking up behind you, leaning on the balcony railing just as you are.

"Good. Great. My just consider not quitting." You say.

"Why's that?" He asks, looking out at the track.

"This fucking camera. Just... isn't working." You say.

"How old is it?"

"A year. And I don't really have it to get a new one." You say quietly, looking out at the cars going by you.

"Have you asked Christian for reimbursement?"

"I'm waiting. It's kind of all... messed up now that he's leaving so..." You trail off.

He puts a hand through his hair slowly. "That's right. I forgot about that."

"Men will be men." You say. He looks towards you fully. You catch his gaze. "Not like that." You say.

"No I know what you meant. I just didn't expect someone to say it out loud." He says, smirking.

"Yeah, you know." You say. There was a silence between you. The gentle Silverstone breeze blowing by your.

"Honestly I don't even know if I'll have a job in a few months." You say aloud.

"Really?" He asks.

"The women on our team are taking a lot of shit for what happened. Especially online. It's like... one girl and her boss can't keep their hands off each other or... whatever, so now all of us are taking shit. Saying that we didn't actually get here by hard work." You say slowly.

"But you did. People didn't even know you and Max were close until after you got the job." He says.

"Yeah. But that's not what they want to hear. Especially-"

"The guys." He finishes for you.

"I had this like seventeen year old come up to me one day, give me a dirty look and say 'I bet you slept your way through here. Didn't you?' Like, aren't you supposed to be in school?" You say. Lewis laughs.

"The amount of times I have to hold myself back from punching people in the face... I'm surprised I haven't fucking exploded yet." You say.

"That's how I feel every day." He says.

"I know, I bet Ferrari's kicking your ass right now." You joke.

"Well, according to Alex, it's good for my bank account." He chuckles.

"Oh, I'm sure. But hey, if you ever need a place to store your money, come talk to me." You say. He gives you a small smile before you walk away.

You walk downstairs from the podium stage and out to the paddock.

You walk back towards the Red Bull garage when you see Max walking towards you.

"Hey Y/n." He smiles.

"Hey Max." You say. You stop in front of him, looking intot he garage.

"Howa he doing?" You ask looking at the new Red Bull leader.

"He's actually quite good. Knows his stuff." He says.

"Can he buy me a new camera?" You ask, holding yours up?

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Just... it's being slow."

"Buy another one."

"Yeah... if I had the money."

"Reimbursement?"

"What do you think? I've tried everything Max. I'm just to... poor." You day.

"I can give you the money."

"I'm not taking money from you."

"I- alright." He says, giving up on ideas. "Oh! I want you to meet someone." He says, putting a hand on your back to turn you around.

You see Lewis walking straight towards you.

"Lewis, this is my close friend Y/n. Y/n this is Lewis. A driver."

"No shit Sherlock. He wouldn't have that pads around his neck saying drivers pass if he wandt a driver." You say.

"Alright." Max says awkwardly.

"Good to meet you y/n." Lewis says politely, reaching his hand out to shake yours.

"It's so good to meet you to lewis." You say, shaking his hand. Max stands to the side of you, giving you a wierd look.

"Your never this polite." He says.

"Just... love meeting new people."

"Since when?" He asks quickly.

"Since now." You say, letting go of Lewis' hand.

"I- anyway, so since your both here... I've been figuring for a while now, that you two should hang out." He says.

"Hang out?" You say.

"What?" Lewis asks.

"Why... why is this getting weird." Max states.

"We already know each other." You say.

"For a couple of years now actually." Lewis says.

"Oh." Max says, looking down.

"Oh! He lost again! Prepared to have your day ruined." You say loudly.

"Oh, shut up." Max mutters, rolling his eyes. Lewis bites back a laugh.

"Okay but, you could still hang out." Max says.

"Like... a date?"

"Exaclty, but a friendly date." Max backs.

"No, sorry. " You say.

"Yeah, we're to good of friends to be going out."

"Oh come on! Please!" Max begs.

"No, I'm sorry."

"Please I swear it will change your life!" Max says.

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "I will go on a friendly date if you can buy me a new camera." You say.

"Deal, deal, deal." He says.

"Tnat means spending thousands of dollars-"

"I already spend it on Kelly so please." He begs.

"You spend thousands of dollars on Kelly?" You ask.

"Yeah." He says slowly.

"How- what the fuck does she buy?"

"Jewelry. And shoes. And clothes. And baby clothes." He says, his eyes widened at you.

"Doesn't she have a fucking job?" You ask. He stays silent, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"Yes."

"Right. And-"

"Not the point. Anyway, we need date ideas."

"Woah woah woah. No explanation, no date." You say.

"Fine. I'm just making her feel like the princess that she is."

"Bitch this isn't Sofia the fucking first, is it? Once you go in debt I'm not getting you out." You say, pointing at him.

"Yeah, yeah, debt whatever. So... that date."

"That date." Lewis said.

Max hummed to himself. "How about La Table d'Elise."

"Sounds fancy." You say.

"Oh it is, top tier dinning experience." Max says.

"Is that the 'top tier dinning experience' as in spending five hundred dollars there?"

"What- how do you know?"

"That day you told me to get your I.D I saw it."

"What- okay... it was for a group dinner."

"A group as in two?"

"I-"

"It says it on the receipt."

"Okay... maybe it is expensive but." He walks over to Lewis. "He ahs money."

"Wow, that didn't just make me out to sound like a gold digger."

"No no, not like that."

"I'm up for it, if you are." Lewis says. You look him in the eyes.

"Sure, I'll go."

"Perfect!" Max jumps.

You are at home getting ready for tonight. You were finishing straightening your hair when there was a knock at the door.

You get up quickly to go answer it, you see Lewis standing there.

You step to the side of the door, letting him in. "How are you?" You ask, walking back over to the kitchen table.

"Good, how are you?" He asks, standing somewhat near you.

"Good, they didn't give you any trouble in the lobby right?" You ask.

"No, they just let me walk right up."

"Okay. They're all like... protective and shit so, you know."

"I do. Have people like that at my place."

You nod your head and unplug your straightener, putting it away before grabbing your purse and keys.

You both walk out of your apartment and down to the lobby. When you get out to his car, he opens the door for you, shutting it before getting in the driver's side himself.

He starts to drive off down the road. "I figure it would be best to tell you know that we are not going to the restaurant Max told us to go to."

"To expensive?"

"Exactly, so that receipt you found was probably discounted." he said.

"I kind of figured." You say. He starts going on his phone, pulling up the restaurants menu.

He hands his phone over to you. "Look at the first thing on there."

Your eyes widen. "Holy shit."

"Yeah." He says, smirking. "But don't worry, we're going to a better place than that."

You arrive to the restaurant in no time, getting out and walking in. You both get led to a quiet spot in the restaurant, barely anyone around you.

You look at the menu while drinking you water. "This is my type of stuff right here." You point to the menu. Lewis slightly laughs.

"These prices won't give you a heart attack?" He asks.

"No." You giggle. "Honestly I'd be happy if you took me to fucking McDonalds." You joke.

"I had that feeling." He smiled. "But tonight is supposed to be special."

"With the one and only." You smile, holding up your glass. He clink's his with yours.

Your date goes by slowly, but nice. You finished your meal and sat at the table talking for a while.

"Excuse me Ms.?" The waitress says, grabbing your attention. "I was told to give this to you, no name to it." She smiled slightly and walked away.

You look at the bag that was place in front of you with a confused look. "Is this from you?" You ask Lewis.

"No." He says.

You open it slowly, and inside was a brand new camera with a bow on it. There was a note in it to:

'From Max, have fun. P.S: look inside.'

You slowly laugh. "What a fucking bitch." You pull out the box and set it on the table. Lewis starts laughing with you.

"Look inside." You repeat from the letter. You look across the table at Lewis. "Do you mind if I open it?"

"Not at all." He smiles.

You open the box up slowly and pull the camera out. You power it on, going to the gallery. As you flip through the pictures, you smile more and more. Pictures of you and Lewis of the restaurant you were now sat in.

"What's on there?" Lewis asks curiously. You hand the camera to him and he smiles shyly.

"Oh my God. Where did he have the time to take these?" He asks.

"I have no idea." You say. He hands it back over to you, and you put it back in the bag.

You both spend a couple of more minutes in the restaurant before paid and left.

"I can't believe him." Lewis laughed, driving off from the restaurant.

"He's awful." You joke. He drives back to your apartment building. The ride was quiet, your mind focused at that moment at the restaurant. You hadn't even realized you were at your building until the car came to a sharp stop.

You and Lewis get out of the car, meeting around the front. "Thanks for tonight." You say.

"It was fun." He smiled, reaching into his back pocket. "I also have this for you."

He hands you a receipt for Monaco Print, a printing company. You look at it, something was already fully paid for.

"What is this?" You ask.

"I expect you to print some pictures out by this week." He says, pointing to the paper in your hands. "Some for me to."

"Thank you." You say, hugging him.

"Your welcome." He pulls away from you, looking at you. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I'll be sure to have your pictures in hand." You smirk.

He laughs slightly. "Take care."

"You to." You say, looking back at him once before walking inside.

©sydwritess

Hey loves! Hope you like this one! Comment to be added to the F1 tag list! Requests are open!

[wosomikaela]

THE PASTRY OF LOVE PART 2

TRIGGER WARNING: bad writing, sexual themes

(Also sorry for the waiting I was finishing up my school so I didn't had much time to finish up.)

I quickly went to grab my charger and plug it in patiently waiting for my phone to wake up again. I was so eager to text Steph back even if it meant to admit that I did stalk her a little bit.

STEPH POV:

“I am telling you Beth I just freaked out.” I kept telling Beth for the fifth time as she asked me while I canceled the plans I had made with the hot café owner.

“But you should have seen her face, she got so sad after I told her. She looked like she was really looking forward to it. You should text her.” I rolled my eyes at her: “And how am I supposed to text her I don’t even know-” I was cut off by my phone lighting up with a notification from instagram. I usually turned it down but for some reason I opened this one. I was a new follower alert, nothing extraordinary but I stopped when my eyes landed on the name: “Holy shit!” I said as my phone nearly slipped from my hand.

Beth looked at me like I was crazy: “What is it?” I turned my phone screen her way and let her read the nickname: “Well, I guess she found you before you got the chance to complain one more time.” Beth laughed as she walked away with Mile following closely behind.

I quickly followed her back and texted her.

stephcatley: stalker much?

I waited for a few minutes for a reply but I was only left on read. Great, now I can’t show my face at the new favourite café ever again. I started to come up with some excuses I could use in front of the girls who actually want to go to the café after tomorrow's game.

y/nTorres: Hey, sorry my phone died. I am not stalking just….admiring.

I read the message and I could feel myself blush. I never got this feeling with a girl before, yet alone flirting with one. I took a deep breath in and decided to answer.

stephcatley: well, I am glad. I was just thinking about you. Sorry that I had to cancel our plans but Calvin needed me.

Y/N POV:

There it was. Calvin again. I didn’t know if it was her boyfriend, kid or some sort of animal. I was intrigued to find out but I stopped myself, what would she think of me if I just thought that she was single and her partner was an animal.

y/nTorres: I hope he is okay. We can always reschedule our plans

stephcatley: Yeah he is fine, we just went for a quick check up. And as for the plans I would like to try again.

Okay so check up, great that did not help me at all. I ran a hand through my hair and

sighed.

ˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇ

The next day when I woke up I had my phone still in my hand. I must have fallen asleep while talking to Steph. She was very funny and we talked for hours about my pastry and about her football career. From her messages I could feel her love for the sport and her club. I always liked people who had a specific passion for the job they do.

I did not tell her about me having tickets to her dame today and maybe I should not even go, it could seem that I am too eager to see her, which of course was true. I talked to Vanesa over the phone on my way to the stadium telling her all about Stephs and Is conversation.

“I am telling you Calvin is either her child or her dog.” Vanesa tried to ease my nerves about Steph having a boyfriend.

I sighed: “I will talk to her about it, maybe if I get a chance to see her, where are the seats you said again?”

“Right next to the entrance onto the pitch, people call it a tunnel I think. Anyways I have to go have a nice game experience.” She replied and hung up on me. God this girl had even less idea about football then I did.

I put my phone into my pocket and started walking towards the stadium, it was bigger than what I expected and also more crowded then I imagined. I took a deep breath in, scanned my ticket and went to find my seat.

ˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇ

The team Arsenal played against was quick but I could see the arsenal girls being quicker, sharper and overall more prepared than the other team. I couldn’t believe how much fun I was having, between cheering and clapping when Beth scored to just being mesmerized by Steph herself. She looked anything but nervous, she was focused on the game, on the players in front of her. She looked great. Her sharp features were clearly visible as the sun shines onto her.

“First time here?” A woman next to me asked. I looked at her and frowned about how she found out: “You have the glow about you. You know the one where you see the game live for the first time.” she chuckled as I did the same.

“Yeah, first time at any football game actually.” I confessed.

“Yeah, now it makes even more sense, you are not even wearing any merch. Are you here just for fun or to see someone specific?”

“Oh, um…” I didn’t know what to say. Truthfully I was there to see Steph but we don’t know each other well enough for me to say that: “I am just here to…admire the view. I am new to London, so I am here to experience it all.” The woman didn’t look convinced enough but let it go as the final whistle was blown. All the fans started to hurry towards the barriers so they could probably get to meet their favorite players or maybe just to get a photo.

As I looked at the crowd I decided not to wait for Steph to walk towards the stands and maybe got the opportunity to talk to her due to the mass of kids in front of me. I quickly snapped a few photos and one of Steph sent it to her with praise of a great play.

ˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇ

Steph Pov:

We were celebrating in the locker room when I finally sat down after our game against Aston Villa. I had a few messages from y/n that I decided to look at. To my surprise it was a photo of me from this match which was weird. We talked almost the whole night last night and she never mentioned going to our match.

stephcatley: You definitely are a stalker now. Why didn’t you tell me you are coming? I would've found you in the stands.

y/nTorres: It was a surprise for me too, like I said, I never saw a football match. And to your other question…there were so many younger fans who wanted to meet you, I got scared I would get lost.

I chuckled at her response, she was probably around 175 cm tall she definitely wouldn't get lost. We exchanged a few more texts before I got pulled towards the middle of the locker room for the after match analysis, but not before agreeing to our baking session later tonight.

ˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇ

I was never this nervous going to a café, maybe it had to do something with a certain owner of this particular one. I didn’t know if this was a date or just her way of making friends. But I tried to calm myself down by saying that she definitely flirted with me.

I took a deep breath in and knocked on the door. Beth helped me pick up my outfit which was just classic blue washed jeans with a white short tee. I stood there for a few seconds before she opened the door greeting me with her warm smile.

“Hey come on in.” She said moving from the way opening the door more. The café looked even more cozy at night. The lights were dim and yellow was shining from them but it was still dark in there.

“I love the lights.” I said pointing towards them, she looked at me and nodded: “Yeah, it was my best friend's idea to put them like this. The shop shines even at night, she said it’s like my soul…still shining. I don’t know about that but, it was cute of her to say that.”

I smiled at the comment, her best friend was definitely a great person: “Well from what I've seen so far, she is right. So what are we baking?”

“Follow me, I will show you.” She took my hand and like last time she led me towards the back of her kitchen.

After she closed the door I was immediately met with a bunch of ingredients. Such as fresh raspberries, big blocks of butter and one big bowl of dough.

“Hope you don’t mind, I already made the standard dough but we are going to make one more for this don’t worry.”

I smiled putting my hair up into a messy bun: “All good, I can’t say I know much about baking so it is probably better than you did it before.”

ˇˇˇˇˇˇˇ

Y/N POV:

Her saying that she was not a great baker made me frown: “Well, you are here to learn so come on.”

I walked towards the stove where I placed a big pot: “First we are going to make as I call it hot raspberries.”

She looked unsure about what I was talking about so I walked towards her taking her hand: “Here take this apron, we don’t want that white shirt to get red. That is the first step.” She nodded and quickly put it over her head and made a nice bow at the back.

I took her hand again and led her towards the pot: “It is simple, we just pour the raspberries into the pot and let them cook.”

“That simple?”

I chuckled: “Well we have to stir it so it does not burn.” She laughed and carefully started putting the raspberries into the pot. It was so cute to watch her being so careful about not hurting the berries even though it wouldn't do anything if she just threw them in.

“Now we just stir?” She asked, pulling me away from my thoughts. I nodded, handing her the ladle.

I was standing close to her now as we both watched the raspberries turn into thick liquid. We were occasionally talking but for the most part she was focused on her job.

“Now that it's done we turn off the stove and let it cool down for a bit.” She looked at me: “And until then we are going to do what?”

I sighed: “We are going to collect the flour from the back.”

ˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇ

We successfully made the raspberry dough without making much of a mess, and now she was just watching me roll it out.

“Now it’s your turn with your red one to come here.” I motioned for her to get in front of me.

“How do I do that?” She turned her head my way as I took her hands into mine slowly placing them onto the roller. My hands were covering hers as was also my body.

I gripped her hands and slowly started to move them, rolling out the dough: “You have to do it carefully but also you can’t be too gentle.” I tried to explain to her but I could feel her focus more on my face than the activity in front of us.

“What?” I asked, looking into her eyes as her head was turned my way. Our faces were a few centimeters away.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” She breathed out. It took me by surprise but I didn’t pull away from her. Instead I closed the small gap between us slowly kissing her lips.

They were soft and she tasted the leftover raspberries she ate while we were baking.

The dough was quickly abandoned as she turned in my arms placing them around my neck pulling me close to her as mine slipped around her waist.

I turned us around and pulled her up onto the other side of the kitchen placing her against the cupboard earning a small moan from her.

She deepened the kiss, slipping her tongue into my mouth as we fought for dominance which I quickly won. The only sound in the room was our heavy breathing, I didn’t know what had gotten into her but I knew I had to stop it before it turned into something more.

When I pulled away we were both trying to catch our breath, I looked at her softly but I could see some conflict in her eyes. As I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable I slowly put her down onto her feet.

“I…um. I am so sorry. I don’t know what got into me.” Steph started apologizing and putting the apron I gave her down. I frowned: “Hey, it’s okay I didn’t stop you either.”

She shook her head: “No, I can’t do this,you know I….I have to go.”

And before I could stop her she practically flew out of the kitchen and the café all at once. I was frozen in my spot looking at the kitchen door before looking at the unfinished croissants dough.

Maybe the pastry was my only love.

[bigmacari]

may I please get a Betty x reader cuddle session.. stares and begs (I love Betty she’s so augh..)

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Betty x Reader

☆ Cuddle Session with Betty late at night.

☆Warning(s) none

☆Author Note(s) Had this in my drafts for a bit. I think I forgot to post it? Idk, but it's so cute. I hope you enjoy <3

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☆ It wasn't often you felt truly and utterly relaxed. It was rare to take a breath and not have to think about the things around you. Work, school, people, money... and now, due to these glasses, objects. Your day to day life changed completely, and of course, it can be overwhelming.

Dealing with people wasn't your thing in the first place. A surge of anxiety hit you every time you tried talking to somebody. Your hands get shaky, and so does your voice. Breathing gets just that much harder.

You've gotten better though. Well, you think at least... Sure! There would be some stress here and there having to worry about a hundred- something different people - (uh, objects that is.) But the all the stress was worth it.

You've made close friends and lovers. You've gone on adventures. You've learned about the things around you.

You've helped and taken care of the things around you.

"So it was worth it." You decided out loud while laying in your bed one night. A lamp was on, a warm glow cradling the left side of your face. The sound of droplets hitting the window above you filled your ears.

"Worth what lover?" A soft voice asks from next to you. Your body flinches involuntary, not really expecting the voice. Did you really forget to take off the dateavadoirs? That's weird. Guess you were just used to them being on your face all day.

When you turn your head towards the direction of the voice, you immediately see a head of pink curly hair. It seems as though your body relaxes instantly when Betty's face comes into view. She did tend to have that effect on people. Then you feel a small warmth spread across your face. Whether it was from her or the fact you just got caught talking to yourself, you weren't sure.

Betty was lying down in the bed a couple of inches away from you. A hand supported her head while she laid on her side. A fond smile could be seen on her face. For a moment, you play around with the thought that she was smiling because of you.

"Lover?" Betty repeats once again, forcing you out of your thoughts.

"Ah- sorry, nothing. I was just thinking, I suppose..." You pause for a second, trying to look for a reason to switch the subject. Your eyes drift to the cat clock placed on the dresser. In bold red numbers, it read 12:43. Wow. That is later than you thought it was gonna be.

"Is it pretty late, isn't it? What are you still doing up?" You question in a lowered voice, realizing that most of the others were asleep by now.

Betty hums and pouts a bit while twirling one of her locks around her finger. "The same as you, though that's pretty normal for me. What's got you thinking so much that you're up so late at night?"

Betty stops twirling her hair to place a hand on yours. She runs a thumb up and down the back of it, warming it up in the process. You make a small note in the back of your mind about how smooth and soft her hand is. Almost as though it was made for this specific task.

"Feeling alright?" She asks in a concerned tone.

A small grimace spread across your face. How could you even answer that? 'Oh, you know, my entire change within a few minutes because a hacker sent glasses through my door, and now I have to make sure every object in my house is good. But I'm okay!' Jesus. That all seems too heavy, no?

Her eyes avert yours after a moment. "You know, this may not come as a shocker or anything, but as your bed, I feel some kind of responsibility to keep you comfortable."

She giggles a bit, "I know it must sound odd hearing that. But I assure you I do enjoy it. So, talk to me... or don't. We can always watch a movie or read together -"

Betty looks back up to you when she suddenly feels your hand lace with hers. You let out a deep sigh, leaning your head back a bit more on the pillow below your head.

"I think..." You start in a small voice. "I think I need a break. From talking and doing things, I mean." Holding Betty's hand a little tighter, you prepare for what you're gonna ask next.

"Can we just cuddle?" You feel blood rush to your cheeks for a second time tonight. For some reason, that was the hardest to get out. You felt silly almost, asking this beautiful lady laying in your bed to hold you.

Betty lets out a small laugh, smiling big. "If just laying here, with me, makes you feel better, then I'm glad to do it anytime time hun. Come here."

Betty lays on her back, pulling you closer to lay on her chest. She places one hand on your back and another in your hair, running through it. You wrap an arm around her, feeling the soft curve of her body. She was soft and gentle, but stable at the same time.

Taking a deep breath, you inhale her scent. She smelled like fresh sheets out of the dryer, wood, and a bit like your perfume. Which made sense. You do lay in her every night.

It takes a minute, but you let your breathing slow. You try to focus on the way she massages and scratches your scalp while brushing the knots out of your hair with her fingers. You focus on the up and down of her chest, gently rocking you asleep. You focus on the rain hitting the window above you two.

For the first time in a long time, you let everything in your head slip. It didn't matter, not here and now. All that mattered was the way Betty held you tight.

Eventually, your eyes became heavy and warmth overcame you, successfully pulling you into a gentle slumber that you could only describe as peaceful.

Betty smiles when she hears your soft snores. She looks at your sleeping form with nothing short of love and admiration. She sighs, planting a chaste on the top of your head. "Goodnight, love."

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[ccarisi]

enough for you

summary: You get jealous when your stepdad Sonny starts spending less and less time with you.

warnings: stepcest/fauxcest, age gap, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, oral (reader receiving), size kink, praise kink, breeding kink kinda, anti-rollisi, cheating, daddy kink, kid/kiddo, you call him dad the whole time and sonny is icky so DDNE if that’s not for you. mdni, gender neutral afab reader 5.2k words

a/n: thank you as always to @johnnydubcek for working on this with me and letting me use your brain xoxo. this was supposed to be a small little thing but then i meshed two requests for this one oops!

Even though his detective days are long behind him Sonny’s never quite been able to turn it off. Especially when it comes to you.

It was one thing when you were younger, it was almost expected. Everyone knew your stepdad was a cop and not to mess with you and he liked it that way. Nothing to worry about when no guy was brave enough to come home to meet Dad.

It didn’t get any better when he came an ADA. Lawyer, cop, what’s the difference? It felt virtually impossible at times for you to keep relationships, Sonny was always there to threaten background checks and let your prospective date know he has a whole lotta friends in the NYPD. Maybe there was the part of him happy to keep you all to himself.

You two were as thick as thieves because of it. “It’s you n’ me always, kiddo.” He’d pinky promise before bed each night as he pressed a chaste kid to your forehead while you looked up at the glow in the dark stars on your ceiling, a small smile plastered to your face.

Your mom skipped town early into her relationship with Sonny, effectively dumping you on him. He took being your dad seriously anyways, there wasn’t a greater joy to him. He kept every Father’s Day drawing you made in school, every birthday card filled out in crayon. You were his mini-me, he used to joke that you were his shadow for the amount you aimlessly followed him around just cause you could. Always wanting to do whatever he was doing.

Your stepdad’s basically the only man in your life, and sometimes that’s… confusing.

Your friends didn’t help that confusion, much. There’s been a handful of times where he comes up in conversations, someone telling you that if he wasn’t your stepdad they would totally hit it. You’d roll your eyes and pretend to be disgusted but there was that part of you that was jealous, almost.

It was hard to tell if you’re just possessive, or if you’re jealous at the thought of someone else finding him attractive the same way you secretly do. That secret crush that’s been brewing for God knows how long now.

You know it’s not the most healthy of attachments. After your mom left it was just you and Sonny and you crave his attention like no other, especially back then. You were notorious for throwing a fit whenever he unexpectedly got called into work and sometimes you even wouldn’t talk to him for a whole day in retaliation.

It was the worst when he would go on dates, though. There was one main reason why Sonny Carisi couldn’t manage to lock down a long term relationship, and that reason was you. You pulled out all the stops when you found out he had a date coming up.

Heating up the thermometer to prove you have a ‘fever’? Check. ‘Accidentally’ spilling something on any date he dared bring home to meet you? Check. You did everything you could to be a terror to get in the way of his dating life.

You didn’t know why, especially not back then. You were just a kid with glaringly obvious abandonment issues who thought their stepdad put the very stars up in the sky. You didn’t want anyone to come in between you.

Adulthood mellowed you out, to an extent. That and the fact that Sonny hadn’t been on a date in what felt like forever.

Until Amanda, that is.

Suddenly, he was never home. Constantly blowing off your plans because ‘something came up with Amanda’ or ‘Amanda needed a last minute babysitter’. You knew you were too old to try the thermometer trick, but boy did you want to try it.

He didn’t feel like your Sonny anymore, not by a longshot. It felt like he was spending more time taking care of her kids than his own. Sure he’s just your stepdad, but he was always insistent that it didn’t make him any less of a father to you, and that he loved you just as much.

You know that as an adult he technically has no obligation to you anymore. That you’re lucky he cared enough about you to even keep you in the first place. None of that changes how much you still crave the attention and fatherly love, though.

And then some.

You sigh as you sit across from Sonny’s empty seat, his serving of dinner now gone cold. Dinner is the one thing you always do together. You do what you can to make sure he has a warm meal to come home to, practicing all of Nonna’s recipes that he taught you how to make special.

No text, no call, no nothing. You slam your phone down as you stand up and push your chair away from the table. It’s not like he hasn’t missed dinner before, but at least he usually gives you a warning. In those instances you’re more than happy to wrap his plate up for him in the fridge, leaving a note on top incase you’re already fast asleep by the time he gets home.

You leave the plate sitting there in the hopes that it grows cold and bad by the time he gets home. That oughta send a message. Then he can see what happens when he starts to put you second, when he puts some woman and her kids above his own. You know that’s where he is, there’s no doubt in your mind.

Your thoughts start to race with all the other ways you can get back at him until your eyes land on his expensive liquor cabinet. That’s one thing that even as an adult you aren’t allowed to touch. He’s gone on and on about all his expensive aged liquor, gifts from friends, family, colleagues. All of which you’re not allowed to touch.

Well, that works. You confidently make your way to the cabinet and pick a bottle of whatever looks the most appealing, albeit Sonny’s taste in liquor is a lot more mature than yours, and head back to your room to pass the time until he’s back home.

Sonny clicks the front door shut as softly as he can, he knows he’s late. He knows he’s late and he knows you’re probably pissed at him. He was on his way home when Amanda brought up how overwhelmed she was with the girls and wouldn’t it be nice if he came over and made dinner for them all, and before he knew it, it was nearing midnight.

He puts his briefcase down with a sigh when he spots the cold plate sitting on the table, an obvious message. He thought those days were long past you, the time you shoved play-do in his briefcase in retaliation for him missing one of your recitals as a kid still sends a shiver down his spine.

He hates how you doubt his love for you, don’t you know you’re the single focus in his life? His phone is filled with nothing but photo albums of you, not to mention the countless physical albums tucked away in the closet. His love for you ran a whole lot deeper than it should, actually.

There’s that one photo of the two of you, his favorite. He keeps it tucked away in his wallet to glance at whenever the harsh realities of his job become too much to bear, a reminder of who he’s doing it all for. It’s a picture of you two from last year's Fathers Day. You saved up everything you had to take him out to dinner at his favorite restaurant, the sense of accomplishment you had was obvious.

Of course when the bill came it was a different story, even with every penny you had scraped and saved it wasn’t nearly enough. He knew that going in and paid for the bill himself despite your protests, he couldn’t stand the way your shoulders sagged as you read the glaringly large total on the piece of paper in front of you. “Hey, it’s the thought that counts, kiddo.” He told you.

Sonny had a passerby take a picture of you both out on the sidewalk after, his arm tightly wrapped around you as he leaned his cheek on the top of your head while you smiled big enough that it reached your eyes.

He loves that picture, that little smile of yours. Maybe he likes it a little too much. So much so that when those late nights in his office became too much he’d find himself with his wallet open, picture right in front of him as he furiously stroked his cock, tie shoved in his mouth with the hope that no one else was around at that hour.

Already racking his brain for ways to make it up to you Sonny heads down the hallway to your room and much to his surprise your light’s still on and he can hear the faint sound of music muffled through your door.

He lets himself into your room after a few warning knocks, already mid apology. “I know, I know, I’m late. N’ I know I missed dinner, I promise I’ll make it up to ya this weekend, kiddo–”

The sight before him stops him dead in his tracks. There on your bed is one of his more expensive bottles of aged whiskey now half empty, full glass of liquor in your hand as you shoot daggers in his direction. He never thought he’d miss the days of your childhood revenge plots compared to this.

“Nice of you to show up.” You murmur over the glass before taking another large sip out of spite. You don’t care for the taste at all to be honest, but the look on his face is worth every sip you forced yourself to take.

“Fuckin– give me that, would ya?” Sonny exclaims as he rushes over to your side to forcefully take the glass out of your hand. He can smell the alcohol on you and he can only guess how drunk you must be by now.

“You know you’re not supposed to touch my good stuff.” His brows furrow as he snatches the bottle off your bed and examines it. “Y’know how expensive that stuff is? That was a gift from ya nonno that ya jus’ wasted. All to get back at me, huh?”

You let out a scoff as Sonny takes the bottle away from you. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you decided to go play house with your new family.” Jealousy floods your veins as you squint your eyes at him.

It didn’t take a genius to guess that that’s what this whole thing is about, this is what it’s always about with you. “Oh c’mon, don’t you start that with me. ‘Manda needed an extra pair of hands around the house, y’know how hard it is to raise two little girls on ya own?”

You can feel your patience running thin the more he defends himself, you have your daddy’s temper after all. “Oh blah, blah, blah. Amanda this, Amanda that, tell it to someone who cares.” You huff as you sit up to face him head on. You don’t care how childish you’re acting, you have to get this out of your system before it manages to get even worse.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, huh? Y’know ya don’t talk to ya father that way, thought I raised ya better than that.” Sonny hates to raise his voice with you, maybe that’s why you have no problem with pulling these stunts. It would be a different story if he ever had tried this with his own father, but he was determined to end the cycle when you fell into his life. Too bad it’s currently biting him in the ass.

“Now you wanna pull the dad card? After abandoning me to go pretend to be a dad to her kids instead?” You can feel your emotions taking hold of you before you can stop it, that uncontrollable feeling rising in your throat.

Sonny always thought how emotional you are is both a blessing and a curse. You were such an affectionate and loving kid, always wanting to see the best in everyone you came across. The other side to that is that you’re a hell of a bitch when you’re upset.

“You were my dad first. Not theirs.” If looks could kill he’d be dead, he figures.

Running a hand over his face Sonny sighs, this argument certainly got away from him. “Is this about me takin’ care of the girls or is it about me bein’ with Amanda?”

Embolden by the alcohol working its way through your system you sit up as straight as you can, that same little recognizable scowl of yours painted on your face. “You know what? Yeah, fine. It’s about Amanda.” You admit with your jaw clenched.

“She doesn’t deserve you. She makes you do stuff for her all the time– does she ever do anything for you? And to make you take care of her kids on top of it all? She can get their dads to do that, if she even knows them.”

Sonny lets that comment slide.

“It’s all about what you can do for her and not just about being with you, I would never treat you like that–”

“You? Jus’ how drunk are you right now?” Sonny pretends to be disgusted with your confession, as if he hasn't been thinking it himself. Almost as if he’s testing to see how far you’ll go with this.

His reaction throws you off a bit, you know this could ruin your relationship with him forever but at this point you don’t care. You either get to be with him how you want or he abandons you for Amanda and her family.

“I don’t know, okay? It’s just, I know she’s not good for you. You deserve someone who actually cares about you, someone who loves you. Not uses you. And I know you’re not my real dad and you don’t owe me anything anymore but…”

Sonny’s attention is piqued as he moves to sit down on the edge of your bed before looking you over. He only wishes you admitted it sooner. Maybe then he wouldn’t have had to waste so much time keeping himself occupied with Amanda to keep his mind off of you.

“You said it would be you and me, always.” The words come out barely audible, your lips pouting outwards. “It hasn’t felt like that in a long time…” You look up to see the unmistaken look of guilt splashed across his face.

Reaching out to cup your cheek in his hand, he caresses your soft cheek with his thumb. “Hey, hey.” Sonny soothes you softly as your cheeks burn from all of your pent up emotions. “This is more than you’re lettin’ on isn’t it, sweetheart?”

You focus on the crease between his eyebrows and then down to the crinkles of his eyes, anywhere but actually looking him straight in the eyes. “I… I dunno,” you mumble as you fidget with your hands in your lap, not willing to admit the real motivation behind your jealousy.

His hands cover yours to stop you from your fidgeting. His poor, sweet baby all worked up. “Y’know you’ll always be ya daddy’s number one, sweetie. How ‘bout I prove it to ya, huh? Make it up to ya for blowin’ off dinner?” It’s almost pathetic how easy he gives into you.

Your voice is caught in your throat as you watch Sonny lean in closer and closer, your eyes fluttering shut when his lips finally press against yours. They’re softer than you imagined, warmer too. You timidly mirror his movements as his hand snakes up to the back of your head, holding you firm in place against him.

“You jus’ wanted Daddy all to yourself, huh?” He pets your hair as he pulls away, smiling at the dazed expression on your face. Any words that you can think of to reply with are replaced by thoughts of him and him alone.

Sonny lays you down on your back as he moves to lean over you, big hands resting on your hips. “Have you thought about doin’ this before? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, sweetheart, I’ve spent a long time wonderin’ how cute you’d look underneath me like this.” He murmurs before brushing some hair out of your face to peer down at you staring up at him with your big wide eyes.

Your breath hitches as he bunches your shirt up over your chest, moving down to leave slow warm kisses down your torso towards your tummy. Each wet kiss leaves you breathless and with that ache between your thighs that you’ve never been able to solve yourself. Your mind can’t comprehend that this is the same Sonny that chastised you for thinking about him like this earlier.

Lowering himself between your thighs he presses a soft kiss to the inside of each one, right below the bottom of your shorts. Why he even bothered with Amanda in the first place is a mystery now that you’re sprawled out before him.

He slowly drags your shorts down as he peers up at you with a devilish grin that makes your heart stop. You shouldn’t be doing this with him, your stepdad of all people. But who will ever possibly love you more than him? He’s taken care of you for the majority of your life, isn’t this just another way that Dad takes care of you?

Sonny leans in, inhaling deeply against your underwear and the groan that escapes him is downright sinful. He looks up at you before pressing a kiss against your clothed clit, chuckling at the way your hips jerk from underneath him.

He hums with satisfaction as he watches the way you wiggle and writhe, all from him just playing with you over your underwear. “Y’want these off?” he says lowly as his fingers hook under the waistband.

You sigh with a nod as he finally pulls them down, ending his torturous teasing. Resting his hands on the inside of your thighs, he spreads your legs open and the sight that greets him pulls a low groan from his chest. “Oh, look at that pretty little pussy huh? Gotcha all wound up don’t I, honey?” Sonny coos as he looks you over, your eyes shut and clit throbbing with need.

“That’s alright, Daddy’ll take care’a things.” He wets his lips before leaning in and licking a broad stripe from the bottom to the top of your slit, moaning from the sweet taste. There’s no doubt in his mind he’ll be addicted to this after.

Sonny buries his face in your pussy, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue delves into your wetness. His fingers lightly massage your thighs as you soak his face, a puddle of arousal forming on the sheets beneath you. Your sweet little whimpers are music to his ears, you’re nothing short of an angel in his eyes.

Sonny eats your pussy like a man starved, sucking and lapping at you like there’s no tomorrow. His hands move up your sides to interlock your fingers with his as he devours you, tongue darting out to expertly play with your clit.

Savoring the way your body reacts to him, his finger moves to tease your little hole and he doesn’t miss the way your hips grind against his face in reaction. The sounds that come with him eating you border on obscene as he slurps and sucks at you like his last meal on earth. He knows there’s nothing sweeter than your pussy.

He slowly slides a thick finger inside your heat, smiling against you as he hears your high pitched whine. He only has to thrust a few times before he’s finding that special spot inside you with ease, Daddy knows you inside and out.

“O—Oh—“ you sigh as his fingers curl and rub against you as you grip his other hand tight. “God, Dad it’s—“ you choke out as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

His lips wrap around your clit and it only takes a few more curls of his finger before you’re gushing all over Sonny’s face, and he’s loving every minute. Your legs shake around his head as your hips buck up against his face, simultaneously wanting more and feeling like it’s just too much.

After letting you ride it out he reluctantly pulls away from your dripping pussy, clit swollen and puffy. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he smiles down at you, chuckling at the way your eyes glaze over.

“That good, sweetheart? Y’like it when Daddy plays with ya pretty little pussy?” Sonny asks before teasingly giving your clit a few light slaps.

“U—uh huh…” you breathe as you try to come back down to earth, but he’s not done with you yet. You barely recognize the sound of his belt hitting the floor as he shimmies out of his slacks and shirt, hard on strained against the confines of his boxers.

You sit up a bit to gawk at the outline of his cock, Sonny was nothing to laugh at. You feel that same jealousy creeping up on you at the thought of someone else ever having him like this. He should be yours and only yours, always.

“Y’starin’, sweetie.” Sonny takes that as his cue to push his boxers off, hard cock springing up against his plump stomach. Your mouth goes dry at the sight before you and you instinctively move closer to your stepdad’s cock like a moth drawn to a flame as he joins you back on the bed.

“U—uh, I, um…” you stammer as your eyes stay glued to his cock. You’ve imagined it so many times before, late at night when it was easier to forget that thinking about your stepdad like that was wrong. Looking at it now you admire how thick and veiny it is, and how his pink tip reminds you of his lips.

“What, cat got ya tongue?” He teases and you frown up at him, his throbbing cock just mere inches away from your face. “You never did let me have a cat, you know.” You complain before tentatively reaching out to wrap your hand around his shaft.

You shouldn’t be doing this. But the soft groan that leaves his lips when your warm hand wraps around his length throws all caution to the wind, your sole focus on him feeling as good as possible all because of you. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, really.

“Enough of that, kiddo. Got me plenty hard from tastin’ that sweet pussy of yours, don’t need much else.” Sonny jokes after you give him a few pumps. “Alright, lie back sweetie. Get ya self comfortable.”

You bite your lip in trepidation he lightly taps his cock against your clit, your hips jumping in response. Sensing your anxiety he pauses for a moment, concern etched across his features. “Hey, we don’t have to do this, y’know. We can stop here.” More than anything, he only ever wants what’s best for you like any good dad should.

“N—No! I wanna—“ you blurt out quickly in the fear that he’ll back out. “Please, Dad. I want this.” You beg him and as if further proof you move your hand to wrap around his cock to try and guide him inside you.

Sonny thinks you’re too cute, that look of determination on your face that he’s seen so many times before as you try to maneuver your hips to have him slide right inside. He could let you, but he won’t. Daddy knows best.

“Aht, easy there.” He swats away your hand, “Let Daddy do it, don’t wanna hurt ya sweet pea.” You roll your eyes at the nickname before gasping from the head of his cock notching inside your slick hole.

“Deep breath,” Sonny prompts you before gently pushing inside of you. You’re met with a tight pinch and a more than slight pain as he stretches you out, cock pushing into you slowly inch by inch.

“Oh, fuck—“ his voice is strained as he feels your wet heat engulf him as he sinks inside you. “I know baby, I know.” He coos as he sees you wince from the intrusion but he makes no effort to stop, you felt too good. “Jus’ like rippin’ a bandaid off, right?” You were never good at doing that, either.

You look down and peer through your half lidded eyes to watch his cock sink deeper and deeper inside of you, and the pain hasn’t let up. “Dad, Dad—fuck— it hurts…” you curse.

“Shh, shh,” Sonny soothes you before pressing his lips against yours to distract you from the pain. He licks into your mouth as he fully sheaths himself inside you, swallowing your sounds of discomfort. “Hey, hard part’s done. Not so bad, was it?”

You let out a shaky breath as he slowly pulls out just a smidge before easing himself back in, letting yourself get used to the feeling that comes with him being buried inside of you. Eventually it starts to feel good. The pain dulls into nothing, and what you’re left with instead is nothing short of euphoric.

He’s all yours, finally. You know deep down he fits just right as his hips fall into a comfortable rhythm, his soft tummy pressing down against yours as he pushes you down into the twin sized mattress like a warm weighted blanket. You don’t have to think about anything when you’re with him.

Sonny thinks he must have died and went to heaven for how good it feels to be buried inside your pussy. The way you grip him so tight as if you never want him to pull out, and those sweet, sweet noises you make with each thrust. One thing he knows is he’s never letting you go.

“Doin’ so fuckin’ good takin’ Daddy’s cock,” he groans as he buries his face into your neck. The wet sounds of his hips meeting yours mixed with the cream of your old worn bed frame fill the room as you hold onto his broad shoulders, only one thought left in your head.

“Am I better than her?” You breathe and the question should take him out of it, really. Remind him of what exactly he’s doing right now. Going behind his unofficial-official girlfriend’s back to fuck his stepkid right into the mattress. That should definitely turn him off.

But it doesn’t. With a low growl Sonny’s thrusts turn quicker and harder and you feel the wind get knocked out of you with every slap of his hips. “So much better, baby. Fuck, ya makin’ ya old man feel so fuckin’ good, kiddo. Y’got no idea.” He hisses in your ear.

That’s all it takes to send you hurtling off the edge. That’s all you’ve wanted to hear these last few months, that it’s you he wants more than anyone. That you were all he needed. Just you and him.

Your release crashes over you before you even realize, eyes rolling back as shockwaves grip your body. You pulse and flutter around his cock and Sonny knows he won’t last long with the way you’re gushing around him. “Fuck, that’s it. Oh, you’re so good for Daddy, sweetheart.” He praises you.

The pressure builds in his gut as he chases his own release, not far behind you. It’s hard not to cum when you grip him like that. “Oh god, ‘m right there, sweetheart. Jus’ a lil more…” he sighs as his hips rut into you, solely focused on reaching that high.

You wonder if he’ll cum inside you or not, there’s the not so secret part of you that really hopes he does. Being claimed by him in such a primal way, a part of him inside you — it’s exhilarating.

Sonny grips your jaw so he can look you in your glazed over eyes as he cums. You let out a sharp gasp in ecstasy as you feel it happen, a final hard and deep thrust and you’re filled with an indescribable warmth and comfort as his cum spurts against your walls. “Oh fuck, fuck—“ a deep groan rumbles from his chest as he milks every drop inside of you. He heaves as he collapses on top of you and you let out a little ‘oof’ as his body crushes yours.

Languidly, he fucks his cum inside you, muttering something about ‘not wasting a drop’ but you’re too fucked out to reply. With a sigh he brushes some damp hair out of your forehead as you smile up at him like a kid on Christmas morning. “That’s what you’ve been wantin’, huh? ‘Coulda just asked for it, woulda been a whole lot easier than goin’ through all that trouble to mess with me, sweetheart.”

You tiredly hum in reply as he slowly starts to pull out of you, only to be stopped by our legs hooking around him. “Oh no ya don’t, whaddya think you’re doin’, huh kid?” If he could go another round, he really would. Damn stamina’s not what it used to be.

“I don’t want you to go…” you murmur and Sonny shakes his head with a smile before prying you off of him. “I know, I know. Y’know I’m gonna fuck ya whenever ya want now, ya damn monster. You’re trouble.” He teases as he finally pulls out of you as you leak out onto your bedsheets.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” You wince as you look down at the meee between your thighs and he laughs, you poor thing. “‘Course ya can, c’mon. Up ya go,” Sonny grunts as he scoops you up in your arms and carries you to his master bedroom.

The two of you lay twisted up under the sheets after you clean up, a small satisfied smile on your face as you play with his fingers while he watches TV. You trace the lines on his hands and pretend to read his fortune, most of which involve getting you something or doing something for you.

You go silent after a while, slowly fidgeting with his fingers. Sonny knows all your tells, and the silence can only mean you have something gnawing at you. “Alright, out with it.” He tells you with his eyebrow raised.

You make a face before putting his hands down with a sigh. It’s so easy to retaliate against him, but so impossible to be honest with your feelings. “Uh… are you gonna keep seeing… her?”

That isn’t something Sonny’s thought about, honestly. He’s more concerned with taking care of you the way you deserve more than anything else. He thinks about it for a second before trailing his hand up and down your arm soothingly. “Don’t worry ya pretty little head about it sweetheart, it’s jus’ you n’ me ain’t it?”

That satisfies you for now, but you both know that whatever this is between you has to get dealt with sooner rather than later. There’s one thing left on your mind, though.

“Do you think we can revisit the me getting a cat conversation?”

[lillaydee]

I'm Right Here Part 18

BFF!Joel Miller / F Reader

Sometimes the person we've been looking for has been right there all along.

@copperhalfcent, @demonsasss, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @peelieblue @liciafonseca @ultra-nina-bella @joelmillerpascal @kirsteng42 @heartpatch @capnjaket @formulafun, @avidreadee123 @missladym1981 @titlee78 @joelalorian @sunndroppp @vickie5446

Let me know if you want to be tagged or removed from the tag list

WARNINGS: BFF Joel Miller, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Angst, Love Triangles, Miscommunication, Past Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel is a Clueless Idiot, Jealousy, Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced/Supposed Sexual Assault, SEXUAL ASSAULT, SELF HARM, Joel has PTSD, Murder, Child Murder.

Divider by the awesome @saradika

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 17

Okay, the story kinda got away from me and I didn't want to rush the ending, so we're adding 2 more chapters instead of going straight to the epilogue okay? Sorry!

Edward Stevens had to grow up way before every other boys his age had to. The dark realities of life hit him early, while his friends went along in their life not really facing such reality at all. He learnt at the very early age of six that he had to be the strong one to protect his sister. He may have never believed anything his poor excuse of a pair of parents said much – he knew he wasn’t a waste of space. He knew that you, his sister Daisy wasn’t useless. He knew the two of you were not a burden. He knew it wasn’t your faults you were born onto this world. He knew the two of you did nothing wrong, that neither of you chose to be born.

But he believed his poor excuse of a father when the drunkard told him he was a man, and men were supposed to be strong. Men don’t cry. Men take the pain and brush it off. The plastered man had said this to him as he sobbed on the floor from being kicked into the ground for trying to defend you, screaming that he was a poor excuse of a man for crying from a little beating.

He was six.

But he knew there and then he needed to step up. Be strong. For you.

He knew then that he wanted you to have everything you ever wanted, needed. That he would do anything to make you happy. Even if it killed him.

Ever the wise young man he was, he also knew that his best friend Joel Miller cared about you more than he should the moment the little boy from the house next door kissed your cheeks after saying ‘I do’ in the dilapidated garage.

He noticed.

He noticed for the first time that one day about a week or two after the ‘wedding’. You were rooting around for berries in the bushes behind the school because your sperm and egg donors were passed out from spending their entire weekly pay buying everyone at the bar drinks – fuck groceries, not like they had kids to feed – Joel shared his sandwich with you. Divided his sandwich into three, giving you one third of it, before dividing his third further when he saw Eddie gave you half of his. He came to school the next day with three full sandwiches.

Joel watched as Eddie divided his sandwich again, giving half to you when you eyed it, knowing that you would never ask for it. He asked his Mom to put more snacks in his lunch bag the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that.

Joel didn’t know that more often than not, those sandwiches were the only food the two of you got to eat for the whole day. But he was always more than prepared to give you his food rather than see you go hungry, just like Eddie would.

Even when things got better by your standards, when you moved in with Esther and had some semblance of a routine, meals included, Joel made sure to have extra food around every single time the three of you were together. Every single time. All the way up to the day you left for college.

He would wait for you when you finish class, walked you to the next ones. Always carried your books for you.

Eddie always thought that he just cared, like he did for you, as a brother would his little sister.

But then Eddie noticed when Joel got all quiet the first time you received a Valentine’s Day card. You were eight. It was one of those cards that everyone received. The ones where you drew a name from a hat in art class and spent the next 45 minutes making a card for that person. Joel didn’t talk to the boy, poor Jimmy Allen for the rest of the school year, only resuming their friendship when Jimmy went steady with Deborah Johnston.

That was when he realized – his best friend was in love with you.

The book-carrying? Went on even when he started having girlfriends. Broke up with them the moment they complained that he didn’t carry their books instead of yours. Joel would volunteer to chaperone every time you had a date. Told Eddie not to worry about it, he’ll make sure you were alright. Go on to your job, Ed. I’ll take whatshername to the dates, make sure I can see Daze at all time, he had said.

Every single time he reported to Eddie that the boys tried to kiss you, Joel didn’t seem to have a negative reaction. But the day he told his best friend that Eric had kissed you, Eddie noticed that Joel Miller, the chatty class clown didn’t really speak for days. Didn’t really speak to you either, the whole time you were dating Eric. When Eric broke up with you, Joel was so angry, almost beat the guy, only refraining from doing so when you pleaded for him not to.

He helped Eddie vet any boys interested in you ever since – despite telling Eddie to not hover, let you live your life when you’d first gotten attention from boys. And yet, there he was, hovering right next to him. He began asking the ex-girlfriends of the boys asking you out to see if they were trouble, reporting back to Eddie every single time.

When Joel discovered the severity of the abuse the two of you had been going through, he stayed with you at all times when Eddie was in the hospital, riding his bike to Esther’s every morning to pick you up, going to school with you, and riding back with you, staying outside the gate until you closed the door to make sure you were safe. He would volunteer for anything you were volunteering for, telling Eddie it was to make sure no one was bothering you. Even asked him Mom to teach him how to sew to help you with your Home Economics project.

When you went off to college, with the exception of the two durations you were dating someone, Joel practically talked to you every night. He would hop in on the nightly calls you had with your brother, and at one point even got a second job to help pay his phone bill so he could talk to you as well without feeling guilty. He got a third job when your birthday or Christmas was coming just so that he could buy you a nice gift. Eddie was certain he would have gotten a fourth job if Eddie had invited him to fly across the country to visit you. Maybe it was selfish of him, but Eddie wanted to spend those few weeks with you alone.

But yes, Eddie knew Joel would have done anything to go see you himself given the opportunity, even if it meant he had to work job after job to do so.

He knew that his best friend Joel Miller would do anything for you. Except ask you out himself.

Joel gobbled the sandwich he had bought in seconds, eyes looking at the clock in the terminal, worried that he might miss the connecting flight. In his eagerness to get a ticket that would get him to you the fastest, he had to make a choice – get the flight to LA the next day, which would then take him directly to Bangkok the day after, making it a 52 hour trip, or get one that very night, have two layovers where he had to run to make the connections and get to you in 32 hours. He chose the latter. He couldn’t wait. Not anymore. He had wasted enough time when it came to you.

He sat next to a couple heading for their honeymoon. They were high school sweethearts, got married as soon as they graduated college. He’d always wondered if that could have been you and him, had he found the balls to tell Eddie he was desperately in love with his twin sister. But to this day, he doubted Eddie would have been okay with it back then.

He remembered that day, the day you received a Valentine’s card from Jimmy Allen. He felt something he had never felt before in his life. He wanted to punch Jimmy, even though the boy had only given you the card as part of the art class project. He himself had to give one to Mindy Lee, but at the sight of how happy you were to get a handmade Valentine’s from Jimmy, one with a pop-up heart and glitters, he just felt like Jimmy had taken something from him. He wanted to make you that happy.

Eddie, of course, didn’t mind that Valentine’s card, seeing as it was a class project. But he was definitely protective of you, making it clear that Jimmy was never going to ‘get with you’ like that – you were too good for any boys in the whole school. Any time you had a date, Eddie found fault with the boys – he’s too soft, he’s too much of a playboy, he’s too much of a mommy’s boy, the likes. Joel began to identify with everything wrong with the boys that Eddie had listed. He was too soft. He had many girlfriends, he must have been a playboy. He was close to him Mom, he must have been a mommy’s boy.

Eric was the only boy Eddie did approve of. He was smart. His dad was an engineer, his mom a doctor, he grew up wanting for nothing. He had a bright future. The school was abuzz with rumours that he was going to MIT or Caltech, and judging from the way he was acing every single school subjects and the many, many AP courses he was taking, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he would get in.

When Eric broke up with you, Eddie did not keep his disappointment to himself. You deserved someone like Eric, he told Joel. Someone who could give you everything you wanted, everything you needed. A smart man, an educated man, one who would have a stable job, one who could provide for you and give you the life you deserve.

It made Joel realize that Eddie would never want someone like him, an uneducated labourer, albeit for the family business that he might run one day, as a brother in law.

So he didn’t ask you out.

But he was not going to let all that insecurity stand in his way now. He had held back long enough. He had a stable job now. A house of his own. He could provide for you and provide well. He was a good man. His late wife and his daughter told him so. He would no longer let anyone stand in the way between the two of you. He was jetlagged, tired as fuck, and smelled like an airplane, but he was going to you. And unless you told him to, he was never letting go.

God, please don’t tell him to let go.

You walked into the lobby of your apartment building feeling like you had worked for a week straight. And honestly, you might as well have. The pitch for this new account was taking up all your time, and then some. The deal was for you to get this account and then pass it on. The company was trying hard to get you to sign a new contract, basically guaranteeing your stay in Bangkok for ten more years.

You were going to sign it. You really were. But you never seemed to have the time to go in and sign the damned documents.

When you got back to Bangkok, you dove straight into work. You needed to. Those few weeks in Austin were a disaster. You couldn’t even try to romanticize it into something positive.

You got injured. Your last living relative dumped a dump of a house on you. The house that ended up being a crime scene. Met a handsome man, someone you could actually like who turned out to be an undercover FBI agent – the man lied to you, held your hand and planned a future with you, all the while knowing the name you were calling him to his face was not even his.

Not to mention the man who played the major role in your moving across the world was married. Moved on. Months after you left, apparently. Sure, the circumstances that incited the marriage was one that left him no choice, but… sigh…

And the fact that you couldn’t fault him for moving on as he did made it worse.

You came back to Bangkok extremely aware how lonely your life was. And you couldn’t seem to shake the reality that despite all these wonderful people who would drop everything for you in your life, you were actually alone. You lived across the world from the people you grew up with. You were literally alone. You were the only living person in your family tree that you were aware of. You had friends, colleagues, obviously, but they all had their own lives to go home to while you went home to an empty condo. Heck, your most stable relationship for the past 16 years was with your doorman. You couldn’t even keep a pet with the amount of time you spent at work. You spent so many nights sleeping at the office you actually bought a sofa bed to put in your office so your nights were slightly more comfortable.

The one plus side to this lonely life you’d been living? Financially, you were doing great. You could actually retire early. But to what? With whom? If Eddie were around, you could spoil him, pay him back for his sacrifices. Make sure he had a good life, never worrying about money ever again. Get him treated with the best doctors money could afford. But he wasn’t. You were too late. You couldn’t save him.

Going on holidays? You literally live in a tourist attraction. But going on holiday alone was no fun. It just made your loneliness more evident. You look forward to invites from Olivia or Eric to meet them somewhere around the world, for them to come visit. And now Sarah had joined the group, the teenager making the trips a lot more fun with her excited wonderment in everything new she experienced and saw. You spent your weekends talking to them on your phone, seeing as your local friends nearly always had plans with their families or significant others.

Other than that, you were either working, or you were just passing time. Alone.

So, no, you hadn’t signed the documents. The idea of spending the next ten years leading this solitary life again just made you feel…

There’s also that job offer.

Thanks to a collaborative project you participated in throughout the years, the business school at UT Austin had reached out and offered you a job. It was extremely enticing. Same pay, a more expensive city, but you would get to work like a normal human being with normal office hours. And you get to spend more time with the people you love without costing anyone an arm and a leg. You also didn’t have to stay up to watch Sarah’s soccer games or pretend to be on an important call in your locked office to watch her recitals. And you get to eat Anita and Aunt Tina’s fabulous cooking every weekend.

But then… Joel would be there.

How long can you pretend? How much thicker of a skin set do you have to put on? It was much easier to pretend to not be hurt by his lack of effort to contact you from two oceans away. It was easier to pretend when you were on a computer screen on zoom with Sarah, or even better, the smaller screen that is FaceTime. It was much easier to pretend you were not hoping to see a glimpse of him when all you could see was whatever area the camera was pointed at rather than being in the same room as him.

Those soccer match and recital FaceTime sessions, you had to remind yourself you were in them to see Sarah, not to hear him whoop and cheer her on. But of course, that was much easier said than done. Your heart skipped a beat every single time you caught a glimpse of him, every time you heard his voice, every time you heard his cheers. And every single time you talked to him, during whatever few seconds he gave you during your talks with Sarah, you felt as if your heart was so full, yet so empty at the same time after.

He never tried to contact you himself.

You understood during those few weeks you were still around after Annie passed. He just lost the woman he had shared the past 15 years with. The mother of his child. His wife. His companion. You expected him to be subdued. Sad. He was in mourning, after all. Heck, even you, who spent the few weeks you knew Annie feeling conflicted, not really sure what to make of her, even got annoyed by her a few times, were grieving for her. She was a wonderful woman. And knowing what you knew about her history, you felt sad for her, sad for Joel and Sarah. What it must have been like for them to lose such a wonderful wife, a wonderful mother. You could only imagine it was the way you felt when you lost Eddie. The only consolation you could think of was to imagine that she was now with her husband and son, the two people she truly loved and tragically lost all those years ago.

So you gave him the space he gave you all those years ago when you lost Eddie.

But he wasn’t willing to give you the chance to be there for him the way he was for you.

If it were not for Sarah, you wouldn’t have heard from him at all.

You knew how stupid you sounded. How self-involved. How could you be thinking about how he was treating you when he had just gone through the unimaginable? But even with that realisation, you couldn’t help but feel slightly offended that he completely ignored you, even during those two weeks you were still around. You were more than aware of the effort he put into avoiding you.

You tried to coax your heart. He was mourning. His life did not revolve around you. He was a father first, a husband. He was burying his wife. He had a grieving daughter to look after. And obviously, whatever romantic feelings he may have had for you shouldn’t even be a blip on his radar at that point. You were not expecting anything from him. It wasn’t as if you were expecting him to come knocking and taking the breaths out of your lungs with a passionate kiss or anything.

But zero acknowledgement?

That day you went to say goodbye to Sarah, you left his house feeling stupid. You should have just left and not said anything. He didn’t even bother to hug you goodbye. Just wished you a safe flight and locked his door. You left thinking that Annie had exaggerated his affections for you. That you had imagined the teary moment of surrender he had allowed you to see in your living room the day before she passed. That you had misconstrued his declaration that whatever he may or may not have felt for you didn’t matter – he was a married man, he couldn’t break his vows. That maybe he didn’t feel anything for you after all. That you were alone in feeling things for him.

And yet, stupidly, you couldn’t let go. And it hurt. You were, above all, ashamed of yourself, holding a candle for a man who obviously did not care.

And somehow, this past year had been even lonelier than ever. You never thought that was a possibility.

So, no. You hadn’t signed the document. You couldn’t go back to living in Austin for him to ignore you to your face. You had a smidgen of pride left in your person, and you needed to hang on to it.

“Good evening Miss Daisy,” Chai greeted, the older man taking your bag of groceries from you as he held the door open for you. “You came home early,” he quipped, looking at his watch, an exaggerated expression of disbelief on his gentle face.

“I’m just tired, Lung Chai,” you answered, rubbing your neck.

“You should go rest. Order food. Watch TV. No more work,” he said, pressing the elevator button for you. “Especially when it’s your special day,” he smiled, going to his desk to get a huge bouquet of daisies and cookies. “These arrived for you,” he took your laptop bag from you, handing you the bouquet instead. He stepped into the elevator with you, smiling all the way, extremely happy to see you receiving a gift on your birthday.

“Sùk-sǎn wan-gèrt lûuk-sǎao (happy birthday, daughter),” he said, handing you a small package from himself. You had never told him when your birthday was, but seeing as he was the person to receive your packages for you, he remembered. And he had never forgotten to get you a small gift, usually keychains and bookmarks.  

“Khàawp khun Lung Chai (thank you, Uncle Chai),” you said, touching your forehead to his shoulder.

He carried your stuff for you all the way to your unit, cheekily reminding you that ramen is not a birthday dinner, closing the door behind him, making you laugh as you opened the card that came with the flowers and cookies.

It was from Sarah. It wasn’t enough that the sweet teenager had sent you a hilarious birthday video of her trying to coax Ellie into singing happy birthday to you, she had taken the trouble of ordering you flowers to be delivered via the local delivery app she for some reason still kept on her phone from her visit. ‘Happy Birthday Auntie Daze,’ the card said, ‘Your real present is on the way. In the meantime, enjoy the flowers and cookies!’

You smiled, finding a vase for the flowers, taking a picture of you hugging the vase, your mouth stuffed with cookies to send to her.

Eric and Benny sent you a video too. So did Will and Olivia. Tommy called you at what he called dawn (it was well past 9 am in Austin) telling you that he would only wake up at such ridiculous time for you. Anita, Jake and Aunt Tina called you together, telling you that they were saving your birthday gift at home, and you could get them when you come back for Christmas, whenever that may be. But worry not, they said, your birthday present was coming soon.

In fact, all of them said that.

But you didn’t have time to wonder what they meant.

Joel didn’t call or wish you a happy birthday.

So that was that, you guessed. After all, this was nothing new. You lived for 15 years without him wishing you a happy birthday. What’s another year? All in a day.

You took Eddie’s urn with you into the kitchen and boiled some water. You talked to him while making your birthday dinner, sitting with him in front of you at the table as you ate your birthday ramen. You were still hungry after, but didn’t have the will to make another bowl, opting instead to lie in front of the TV and watched The Fellowship of the Ring with Eddie, wishing him a happy birthday just before midnight approached, falling asleep with the TV on.

You spent that Saturday doing nothing. Literally nothing. Just… laid on your back in front of the TV sulking at the fact that your life had come to this. Just a woman nearing her forties living alone in a country so far away from home, home being a place you no longer had any connection to, even reluctant to return to, still unable to get over a man who clearly had given up any thoughts of you long ago.

And then you felt bad about thinking of him in that light. The man had gone through so much, and all you could think of was how sad your pathetic life, which you had a direct hand in leading, was. This was your own doing. You chose to be dramatic and left the man at his lowest. Chose to ignore his existence, not wanting to know anything about it. Grow up and face the consequences, Miss Daisy.

You woke up the next morning still in front of the TV, three empty cup of noodles surrounding you, so many mugs and empty soda cans on your coffee table, and crumbs of crackers and empty chocolate wrappers all over you and the carpet. You stood up looking around at the disaster that was your living room thinking maybe it was a good thing you were alone. At least no one would know how much of a mess your life really was. Heck, at this point you were convinced that even Eddie’s urn was looking down on you with judgement from its place on the shelf. All this over the lack of a birthday wish from Joel? Sheesh. Pathetic.

You changed into your running gear and went out running, waving hi to Krit, the younger doorman who worked the morning shift that day. It was still extremely early. 530 in the morning. But you didn’t care. The streets of Bangkok was already beginning to rise, city dwellers heading to the parks for an early morning run or to the wet market to get cheap, fresh produce for the week. The running helped, as you knew it would. By the time you were running back to your condo you were already planning to deep clean your place before the cleaners come in the next day. You would never live it down if they saw your place like that.

Enough with the self-pitying depression. So the man you’re in love with didn’t wish you a happy birthday. You’re alive. Live. Move on. And if you don’t succeed, you try and try again. You have people in your life, so what if he never contacted you again. So long as you don’t end up dying alone in your apartment, only to be found from the foul smell of decomposition, you should be okay. Surely Lung Chai or Krit would notice if you didn’t show your face for a few days, right? At least you didn’t have a cat who could eat your dead body.

So that’s it. No more yearning for Joel Miller. You need to be strong. Focus on other things in your life, whatever that may be.

You stopped at your favourite hawker to get yourself breakfast, getting everything he had on the menu, several servings of each to freeze for the week. Your fingers were strained with plastic bags when you got back, Krit running to open the door for you when you struggled to pull it open yourself.

“Miss Daisy, you have a visitor,” he said in his soft Thai lilt, taking a trolley for you, taking the many, many, many bags of take away from your hands and gently placing them in the trolley, careful not to let any of the contents spill.

Huh? Who? It’s 730 am on a Sunday. Who would come visit you on a Sunday morning?

And then you saw him.

Joel Miller. Asleep on the couch in the lobby, the biggest suitcase you had ever seen next to him.

What the fuck? Was this real? Were you dreaming? Did you make this up in your head? Was your self-pitying mind-rant so loud he heard you all the way from Austin?

“Miss? Should I wake him up?” Krit whispered, looking a bit too excited for your liking. “He arrived about five minutes after you left. He said you didn’t know he was coming. I asked him to wait, but he fell asleep very quickly. He said he had been travelling for more than 30 hours.”

Shit. Poor man was deep in sleep mode. His eyebrows furrowed, his arms across his chest, his mouth open, his clothes wrinkled, his hair all over the place, his scruff messy as fuck. He didn’t even snore, and you know for a fact that he did sometimes. He must’ve been exhausted.

Fuck. You were getting soft on him again. As you always did. You must be a special kind of stupid or something for feeling like this. Why the fuck was he here? You literally just resolved to move on from him. The Gods must hate you. What had you ever done to be punished so quickly?

You cannot be soft with him. He would hurt you again. He had done so many times. He will again. No questions asked.

But he was here. What were you supposed to do? Go up and pretend he wasn’t?

Sigh…

You walked towards him, your footsteps cautious.

“Joel?” you whispered, shaking his shoulder lightly.

He hummed, his mouth closing for a few seconds, lips smacking a couple of times, his body repositioning to the left, taking a few deep breaths before settling again.

“Joel!” you whispered again, a bit more urgently this time, shaking him a bit harder.

“Hmm,” he subconsciously answered, taking your hand in his, placing it under his cheek and nuzzling on it, falling back asleep, a small snore escaping him.

Your eyes began to close from the sensation, the intimacy, even if in his grogginess. No. Open your eyes. No. Be strong. Resolve.

You could hear some snickers in the background, several residents looking on, laughing and shaking their heads at the scene. God this was embarrassing.

“Joel!” you barked, and his eyes flew open. He jumped up, shocking the crap out of you. You stumbled backwards a little, raising your hand in front of you. “It’s just me. Calm down. You fell asleep.”

He straightened up, vigorously rubbing his face, now swollen from his unintended sleep, the one that was meant to ‘rest his eyes for a few seconds’ but turned into two hours of full on sleep, a bit disorientated from the sudden jolt. His eyes were bloodshot, eyebags prominent. He groggily straightened his shirt and pants, ran his fingers through his birds nest of hair attempting to tame it, failing miserably. When he realised he was getting nowhere, he stood there in front of you with his head down, hands clasped against his front, his feet shuffling left and right, not really knowing what to say.

“What are you doing here, Joel?”

“Uhm… I was going to surprise you for your birthday. Uh… happy birthday,” he said, suddenly looking around as if looking for something, closing his eyes in disappointment.

“What are you looking for?”

“I uh… I’ve just realized that I didn’t get you a gift. The shops were closed. I got in at like 4 am.”

Silence.

You didn’t mean to keep quiet, but honestly? You didn’t know what to say. What do you say?

“Uh, okay,” he suddenly blurted out, taking his suitcase. “I should go to a hotel. Happy birthday again, I’ll… I’ll see you around?” he began pulling the suitcase around you to get to the door.

“Where are you staying?” you asked.

“Uh… at the… uhm…”

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you book a hotel?”

He huffed, rubbing his face for the God knows how many-th time, shaking his head. “No. I didn’t really plan this. I just… booked a ticket and flew over. But… it’s not a problem, I’m sure there are hotels around I can check into. I’ll just… go…” he mumbled, turning around once more.

“Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“Come on, I have a guest bedroom,” you said, turning around and headed for the elevators, the trolley filled with take out in front of you. Fuck. You should have a red hot poker inserted up your nose into your brain and swirled around. What the fuck was wrong with you?

“Okay.”

Joel felt like an idiot. In his excitement to get to you he didn’t even think about booking a hotel. Or getting you a present. He just packed a suitcase and left. All he could think of was to get to you, all the while thanking Annie, who kept pestering him to renew his passport despite him never using them ever in the 15 years they were married.

He landed in Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport at 4 am, blearily walking around following the crowd until he got into a cab, hardly noticing the time of day, or even what day it was. Never had he been this tired in his life, nor travelled so much to get to one place. None of the shops were open, save for a few small ones that sold snacks and drinks and local sim cards for weary travellers, not that he stopped at any of them. He just wanted to get to you. He arrived at your building not really knowing what he was going to do. Should he just knock and disrupt your life like that? He didn’t even give you notice. Maybe someone already told you he was coming?

Oh shit, what if you refused to see him? What would he do then? Turn around and go home? Check into a hotel and wait?

And what if you had company? He didn’t even know if you had someone in your life. What if you had a boyfriend? Sarah or his family never said anything, but what if they were keeping it quiet from him, a punishment for his attitude towards you? They made zero attempts to hide their disdain when it came to his treatment of you since Annie passed. He wouldn’t put it past them to keep this information from him, if you indeed, had a man in your life. And if that was the case he couldn’t imagine the man being pleased to have him knocking on your door at 5 am.

God, please don’t have someone in your life.

Not that he could blame you if you did. He practically ghosted you, whatever his intentions may have been. Stopped talking to you and let you leave without so much as a hug goodbye. Who was he to stop you from moving on? He did. And as happy as he was that he did, knowing what came out of that marriage, he spent the 15 years he didn’t see you dreading the day you’d find out that he didn’t wait for you.

Oh God, what if you hated him now?

He spent the cab ride with his heart in his mouth, praying hard that you wouldn’t just send him away. But if you did, if you were angry and decided you no longer wanted you in his life, if you had found someone to move on with, he at least wanted to say a proper goodbye. Beg your forgiveness for everything. Begin again with a clear conscience. He needed you to still be okay to be in his life. Sarah loved you. He couldn’t risk you cutting off contact with Sarah, not when the teenager spent her weekends waiting for the perfect hour to call you. Not when his cousins in law were your best friends.

He got out of the cab and stood in front of your building, his heart threatening to jump out of his mouth as he did. A lanky young man was standing just inside the door, eyeing him cautiously. He walked up to the door, the man opening it, greeting him in Thai. The man told him that he had just missed you, you had gone out for a run. “Alone?” he couldn’t help asking, worry flooding his features, relaxing only when the man nodded with a smile. He ushered him to the sitting area in the lobby, telling him to wait. You should be back in an hour or two.

He sat down with his heart heavier than an anvil, his tongue feeling way too heavy in his mouth. He had to wait to see your reaction. To find out if you were even available. If you were happy to see him. If you were angry.

It was two extra hours he hadn’t planned for, and it was torture. Like waiting in line for the gallows. Or that thumb thing those Roman emperors did for gladiators.

He wanted to ask the man if you were still living alone but stopped himself just in time. Wouldn’t that be creepy? The last thing he needed was for this man to call security and kick him out for asking creepy questions about you. Would he even answer? He decided he would just suck it up and wait for you to come back.

The next thing he knew, you woke him up, your expression unreadable.

The ride up to your unit was a quiet one. You stood way near the door, while he stayed as far from it as he could, worried you might bark at him for some reason. His head felt fuzzy, he felt out of his depth, new country, new time zone, was he really here? Was he still asleep on that couch? Or was he actually in bed at home?

You led him to your door, opening it, taking the food inside with you, mumbling something about the mess, pointing at your guest bedroom, telling him to shower and rest while you straighten up, hastily placing the food on your kitchen counter, coming back into the living room. You began picking up some wrappers and empty cups and mugs, running back into the kitchen with them, coming back and collecting the blankets and pillows off the floor before running into your bedroom, tossing them onto your bed. You opened the guest bedroom, beckoning for him to follow, and he did, leaving his shoes by the door. He got to the guest bedroom door, his suitcase behind him, watching you put bedsheets on the bed, followed by a blanket. He reached for a pillowcase to help you, but you grabbed it before he could, muttering that he was your guest, you would do it for him. You worked quickly, got the bed ready, pointed to the bathroom door, giving him a towel, telling him there were some toiletries in the cabinetry. You switched the AC on for him and shut the door behind you, leaving him in the room alone, feeling worse than he had ever felt before.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach that maybe you weren’t too pleased to see him here. He felt as if he was imposing, but he had no idea where to go. Heck, he didn’t even know if he could use his phone here.

He could hear you root around in the kitchen, the sounds of dishes clanging, plastic wrappers being opened. He desperately wanted to go out and talk to you, but that heaviness in his mouth was still there, and somehow, had gotten heavier. Plus, it had been more that 36 hours since he had a shower, and Thailand was humid, even in the few minutes he was outside in the early hours of the morning. He opened his suitcase and took what he needed, going into the bathroom for a shower.

When he got out, there was a delicious waft of something in the air making his stomach grumble. He had never travelled like this before, so he was asleep during most of the meals served on board. The unit was filled with the sounds of a hoover working, followed by a sudden silence, and your footsteps going past the guest bedroom into your own, the door shutting behind you. He quickly got dressed and stepped out into the living room, the cool air of the split unit in the living room making it very comfortable indeed.

It was clear you had cleaned up, something was heating in the microwave, and the small table for four you had was set up with plates and bowls and some cutleries.

He looked around the small space, noticing how empty it was. There was not much personal decor, the shelf that was the TV cabinet had a plastic plant and a jar that he recognized as Eddie’s urn on it. A vase filled with fresh daisies was atop the coffee table, a note telling him it was from Sarah. The whole place didn’t feel like you at all. The furnishings were what he saw the landlords of the cheap apartments used back in Austin when he went in to fix the place up in between leases. Basic Ikea furniture, not even the quality ones. Come to think of it, the bed and closet in the guest bedroom were Ikea too. The curtains and blinds, yep. Even the dishes were Ikea, he recognized them from the many, many, many trips to that store where Annie spent hours cooing at the cheap glassware but never buying them. Those cutleries were the cheapest set, if he was not mistaken, Annie’s exclaim at him, ‘Joel! It’s only 9.99 for a set of 20!’ while brandishing the box the set came in at him fresh in his head.

He searched his memory box for any mention of you moving since you moved to Thailand. None came to mind. Had you been living like this for the past 16 years? He pictured you going about your days, living your life and coming home to this basic… box.

It made his heart sink.

Somehow, he had deluded himself into thinking that you were living in style here in Bangkok. A well earning expat working as a Forensic CPA in a major city like Bangkok, surely you were living well. In luxury, even, Eric telling the family how the cost of living in countries like Thailand, even in a city like Bangkok not a match for what someone as established as you would be earning. He comforted himself imagining you living the glamourous expat life in an exotic country, not wanting for anything, that it was a good thing you left. That everything worked out for you here. That perhaps, he did you a favour chasing you away.

But to see this…

He remembered Sarah mentioning to Olivia that she had to beg you to give her your address to send you a birthday gift. Anytime someone visited you, even Sarah, you had always booked a nice hotel for everyone to stay at, yourself included. You told them your place was too small to accommodate everyone. While true, Joel had an inkling that wasn’t the only reason you didn’t invite anyone over.

Sure, you were definitely not living in destitution, the unit a nice one, the building too, a doorman, security, a tennis court, a rooftop pool, a gym, laundry, smack in the middle of the city, close to everything, the whole shebang.

But he had a hard time leaving out the word ‘lonely’ from a life he imagined he would have if he was the one living here.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your bedroom door opening. You came out, freshly showered, walked past him timidly and went straight into the basic kitchen, taking a bowl of something soupy from the microwave, placing it on the table.

“I only have local food in the house at the moment. It’s filling, it’s rice soup. It’s delicious, I promise, but if you prefer something more routine I could toast some bread for you and maybe make some eggs. I don’t have sour cream though…” you said, your eyes studying the contents of your small fridge.

“No,” Joel quickly said. “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he pulled a chair out for you, quietly asking you to sit. He somehow managed to fold himself into the small chair that backed into the wall behind the table and watched as you ladled some of the delicious smelling rice with soup into his bowl, pouring some coffee into his mug.

“Sorry, I don’t have a coffee machine. This is instant, I could order out for a good cup if you want a stronger one, or I could go get you one – there’s a Starbucks around the corner, I usually have my coffee on my way to work,” you quietly offered, not looking at him, starting to stand up to go.

“It’s okay, this is enough,” Joel answered, equally as quiet, taking a sip, placing his hand on yours to stop you. You pulled your hand out from under his as you sat back down, Joel quickly apologizing for his brazenness, not wanting to cross the line.  

The breakfast that followed was a quiet affair. Joel devoured the rice soup, hungry as he was. The fact that it was delicious was not exactly helping his case either. Plus, you didn’t say anything throughout the meal, and he felt as if eating non stop was the only way he could get through that breakfast without bursting into tears. The two of you cleaned that dish, Joel having trouble refraining from sighing contentedly after, feeling so full and warm and heavy. He took a towel hanging from the hook next to the sink to help you with the dishes, but you quietly told him to go get some sleep. He should rest, catch up on Bangkok time. He wanted to argue, but realized that was probably not a good idea, seeing as he had rudely intruded into the life you were obviously keen on hiding from everyone all these years.

“I’ll look for a hotel today,” he said. “Get out of your hair. Let you have your space back. Do you have Wi-Fi? If I could have the password?”

“Uh, no, that’s okay, I’ll book it for you. Rest for now. I’ll take care of it. Wi-Fi’s a little spotty. I’ll get you a sim card later.”

“Daze, I’m sorry for intrud…”

“It’s okay, Joel. Go get some sleep. I’ll see you later.”

Joel found himself at a loss. You were clearly not enthusiastic to talk to him, you definitely did not seem too happy he was there. His worry had come true. He had gone too far, took it one step further than he needed to, stayed away from you for too long, and now you wanted nothing to do with him.

He went into the guest bedroom after apologizing one more time for your troubles, sat on the bed and covered his face with his hands. He had really done it now.

Fuck.

Part 19

(I know! I know! I'm sorry! The story got away from me!)

[heytheresugardelight]

Hands are hurting, can't draw much. But that doesn't mean I'll deprive you all of crk x reader/yn content :3

Dark Cacao Cookie x Fem reader: Faithful Fight

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆⁺₊❅.

"Son? Is everything—Alright?" You don't know what you wished to accomplish by asking Dark Choco Cookie this. But as a mother, you cannot help but simply drown in worry. Perhaps your son just needed someone to lend an ear. It has been a while since he confided in you about something. An oddity in itself, but you're one to hope that your son managed to find the solution to his problems. And he's taking those solutions with so much stride that he felt no need to turn to you as much.

If that is the case, then you'd be brimming with pride for your son. Yet something feels amiss, you guess you could chalk it up to your motherly instincts, and that instinct is screaming at you to say something. Hence why when you saw your son roaming the gardens, you didn't waste another moment in asking, even if it means cutting off your son in the middle of him greeting you a good day.

The reaction is almost instant. Dark Choco Cookie looked surprised to hear you say that. But you didn't stop there, you at least have to give him a reason why you think something is going on.

"It's just, you always look like you're miles away. Even when we're always so close."

Another look of surprise from your son, but he's also quick to school his expression this time. He says nothing, and neither did you. You hoped that in doing so, you're giving your son space to consider your silent offer. That's what filled the air of this garden for a good moment. Dark Choco seems to be considering your words, while he might not show it, his crimson eyes speak enough for you. He's hesitating.

He hasn't done that whenever you offered to listen.

"I'm fine, mother. You do not need to worry." The sudden voice of your son had you nearly flinching, that's how long you two were at a stand still. Nevertheless you composed yourself and you wish your son can forgive you for not believing his words. You didn't say that part out loud though, instead you took a breath and sighed out.

"I see, well if you need any help with something. I'm sure I can lend a hand." You ended with a gentle smile, you wonder if it's the same smile you always gave him since he was but a baby dough. You like to think it is, your son could use the support.

You also caught your son's eye twitch a little, you don't think you were meant to see that.

"Yes, thank you mother. I must go now." Your son then left in a hurry, leaving you to watch his white cape flow with the winter winds. Now it's just you and the snowdrops, left to wait and wonder if you did a good job at conveying your worry. Still, it's nothing compared to the heaviness in your dough. Hopefully, your son can resolve this soon and if not, at least you'll be there to catch him.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆⁺₊❅.

"Do you think something is bothering our son?"

The worry follows you until the end of the day, president as ever even when you got ready for bed. That's when you felt the need to tell your husband about this, if you don't you might just explode from it all.

"When isn't he bothered by something?"

You turned to your husband, lightly taken aback by his words. He doesn't even seem to be paying his full attention to what you had just said, he's rather much more occupied with the scroll that he was reading. Even when you're supposed to wind down together for the night, he still takes his work with him. Well, no point in telling him to take a break now, not when you almost did the same thing with your own work. However, this discussion cannot wait and you continue letting out your woes.

"It's just—he always looks so distant. Like his eyes have been searching for something but he cannot find it. It's worrying."

You didn't see it, you were too busy looking down on your lap and wrinkling the soft blankets in your hands, but Dark Cacao looked up from the scroll to look at you. The first thing he saw was the concern, it weighs heavy on your eyes and shoulders. Just how long have you thought about this? Between the two of you, you were the one who always does the worrying. Dark Cacao Cookie would rather follow the winds and train his son to be the strongest warrior he can be. But something about this worry weighs you down like an anchor under the licorice sea.

You heard your husband sigh out "I have training with our son tomorrow."

That had you turning to stare at him. He's still reading his scroll but his eyes are softer and his shoulders less tense. And that's not even mentioning the implications of his words.

"I'll see if I can go talk to him."

Suddenly, it felt like you could take a breath again. And you're reminded as to why you agreed to marry this cookie in the first place. Without hesitating, you leaned in and gave your husband a little kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you dear."

And when you pulled away, you held in a little laugh when you saw his dough darken a little shade of red. It didn't even fade when Dark Cacao cleared his throat "It's really no problem, love. Now sleep, you need your rest."

At this you rolled your eyes, you gently took the scroll from his hands and set it aside. You didn't even let him get in a word of protest before you started speaking up "Hush, I'm not the only one who needs rest here."

Dark Cacao Cookie huffs, but his smile betrays him "I can work just fine, my queen."

"Right, and as queen it's also my job that you get plenty of rest for your duties tomorrow. If you don't rest now, then I guess I'll also have to stay up until my job is done. So, what's it going to be, my king?"

There was a brief stare down. The stern stare of the king versus the encouraging stare from the queen. This battle could go on for a while, but Dark Cacao already acknowledges that it's a waste of time and if there's one thing he knows about you, it's that your stubbornness rivals his own. Dark Cacao Cookie lets out an exhausted sigh, but you know it's his way to hide a tired yawn.

"Very well, you win this round." Dark Cacao Cookie then reached out to turn down the candle lights, leaving you two at the mercy of the winter moon.

"I'm glad to hear that—Woah!"

As payback though your husband grabbed you into a huge bear hug, dragging you down until you were both lying down to bed. Now it was you that felt like relenting, you didn't even have any words to say anymore, not when the warmth your husband provides is enough to lull you into a deep sleep.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆⁺₊❅.

It has been a while since you made some jelly dumplings, but you hoped that they're still up to your standards, it seems like it too, since the chefs were delighted with the taste when you asked them to taste test. They also offered to help you make the wrappers but you decided against it, not when they have a lot of watchers to feed themselves and you didn't want to be a bother.

When you finally finished two dozen of them, you went ahead and wrapped them up in two nice little lunch boxes. Perfect to feed two warriors in training. You even brought in two bottles of warm milk. By the time you also make it to the training halls, they should be ready to take a rest.

There's a bounce to your step as you open the doors to the training halls, the sound of swords clanging is lacking. Looks like your son had taken to practicing his form first while your husband watches over and gives pointers. Lessons on not letting your guard down around enemies were shared by Dark Cacao Cookies before he noticed your presence.

"Love? What are you doing here?" Your husband started walking towards you, setting his sword down so it wouldn't hurt you.

"I came to give two your lunch. Hope you're in the mood for jelly dumplings!" You then offered the two lunch boxes, not missing the smile when you wrapped the box in his favorite shade of purple while Dark Choco Cookie's is wrapped in a red cloth.

Another surprise hit him when he took a small sniff of the dumplings, and there's a small smile on his face now "This scent, did you make these yourselves?"

You gave a little laugh "I did, I hope I haven't gotten rusty."

"Hm, judging from the scent I'm inclined to believe that you haven't."

Darn this man, he knows just what to say that had your dough turning a little red, and that adorable smile. Who wouldn't get a little flustered? Although, you did note that someone is missing. You turned to look behind your husband

"Dark Choco Cookie! You should—" You felt your words and soul froze into ice.

There, your very own son, raising his blade behind his father's back. Without a second thought you got in between your husband and son, ignoring the confused sound from Dark Cacao Cookie. The last thing you saw was the blade coming down your sight before things got dark, and the last thing you heard were the anguish cries of your husband before all you heard was a ringing silence.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆⁺₊❅.

"YOU TREACHEROUS WHELP! How could you?!" Dark Cacao Cookie has no words, no breath, no rationale as to why his son would do this. To his own mother. But he has strength you hold onto your unconscious dough, and he has never ending tears to weep for you. By the witches, just the sight of your chipped dough is making him sick to his stomach.

His son—No. Dark Choco Cookie, looks down on them with shame and horror. If he could make a face like that then how could he raise his sword like that to his own parents?!

Dark Choco spoke, trembling. "Father–I—!"

"DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME THAT! After everything we've done for you! After what you've done! You don't have the right to–! I swear I'll—!" Dark Cacao Cookie lost his breath. He doesn't really know. . . What to feel. Even with his words, this is still his son. And knowing you—

You would still think of him as a son. Even after scarring your dough. Dark Cacao Cookie knows he can do more. But with the heart of a father, and the heart of a mother. He makes a heavy choice that he hopes won't lead to regret. . .

"Leave." Dark Cacao Cookie whispers and Dark Choco Cookie had the audacity to look hurt. Even still, Dark Cacao Cookie remained stoic, even if it can't hide the pain in his heart.

"Leave these lands, and never come back. Leave knowing that this merciful punishment is because of your mother's heart."

It was painful to watch as Dark Choco Cookie hesitates to leave, and it's even more so when he finally does leave. Somewhere among the commotion, the king's cries alerted some of the guards and watchers. They too were struck with terror when they saw their queen, unmoving with little chips of her dough scattered across the floor.

Dark Cacao Cookie then hurries you to the nearest healer.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆⁺₊❅.

You were not gone.

The healer said your soul hasn't left, but due to the damage on your dough, it would take a long time before you could open your eyes again. To Dark Cacao the difference is almost invisible. He still wouldn't be able to hear your voice, see your bright eyes, see your smile that fills him with warmth. He. . .

He no longer sleeps in the chambers you once shared with him. No, you need all the peace and quiet you can get. Instead he sleeps in his chancellery now. Carrying the sorrow of losing the memories of a once happy family.

[ayyy-pee]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 3 - 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter

Pairing: Hotel Heir Satoru Gojo x Club Heiress Female Reader

Genre: Fake Dating/Arranged Marriage AU/Rivals to Lovers

WC: 5.2k

Summary: You meet Satoru for dinner to hear what he has to say. Will you strike a deal with the man you hate the most?

Story Warning: Forced Proximity, Fake Dating, Arranged Marriage, Profantity DUH, Gojo and Reader being fucking bratty and annoying, Slow Burn, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Smut Maybe?, No Y/N usage here

Art by: nameissiyo on X

Never in a million years would you have expected you’d be sitting across the dinner table from Satoru Gojo, of all people, but here you are. 

Satoru’s lips are curled in the same cocky smile he’s always had since he was a teenager wreaking havoc at whatever event was thrown and it irritates you the same way it always has. The only difference now is that he’s not wearing it while avoiding business talk, he’s the one initiating it. You’re curious about what exactly he could want to speak to you about. You’re fairly certain it’s about this stupid marriage the two of you are meant to be entering.

You shiver at the unpleasant thought.

“Well?” You question, voice sharper than you meant it to be, but you’re pissed again! You don’t want to marry him. You really can’t stress that enough, but your father isn’t giving you a say in the matter. And the thought that you’ll probably end up sitting across the table from him every night for the rest of your life is so…

There really are no words.

Satoru leans back in his seat and you hate that you can see even more of his perfectly white teeth as his smile widens. “Put the claws away, Princess. I come in peace this time.”

This time…

Because every other time, he’s only ever been a pain in your ass. But if he’s willing to play nice right now, you suppose you can, too.

“I’m sure you’ve spoken with your father.” He begins, shaking his head with annoyance. “I know I’ve spoken to mine.”

“I have…”

“Good…good. Let's talk about this marriage, then.” He lifts two fingers, gesturing air quotes around the word marriage.

Still, your body responds with an eye twitch whenever that word leaves his lips. You wish it didn’t, but it’s almost like an automatic response at this point. You don’t think you could help it even if you tried. But you school your features anyway - like you’ve been trained to do - and nod in agreement.

Satoru laughs, loud and obnoxious, because he absolutely sees through you. You’re just grateful to be alone on the rooftop at this moment so that you can avoid grabbing any unnecessary attention from prying eyes. 

As far as the press knows, you have no public interactions and no relationship with Satoru Gojo. And as much as you’d like to keep it that way, you know it’s only a matter of time before you’re plastered across the front page of every gossip blog. So you’re grateful for the little bit of time alone until the two of you, and your families are able to figure out the next steps in this awkward and uncomfortable situation.

It’s a depressing thought, the union that’s awaiting you. You can’t picture a life tied to Satoru. You don’t want to picture a life by his side. The image of looping your arm with your father’s while Satoru is waiting at the end of a rose petal covered aisle as a harpist plucks the strings of their instrument beautifully gives you a throbbing migraine and makes you nauseous.

To spend the rest of your life tethered to this man means you’ll be stuck in a loveless marriage for the rest of your days.

You’re going to throw up.

The waiter returns - just in time - and sets down an expensive glass of wine which you quickly grab and take a large gulp of. Your finger taps rapidly against the glass, nodding as you set your drink down on the table. “Mmm, this is great. Can I actually get a bottle of this? Please?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The smug look on Satoru’s face makes your stomach churn again, and you down another mouthful.

“Should I be concerned about all the drinking?” He asks teasingly, head tilting to the side. “Dad didn’t mention you being an alcoholic.”

You sputter into your glass, coughing on the liquid, and you set down your wine with more force than necessary. “E-excuse me? I’m not!”

The nerve of this guy!

Satoru’s eyes narrow, as if he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t tease you any further. He simply huffs a tiny laugh before he leans over to the side of his chair. He reaches down, ruffling through what you presume is a bag beside his seat, then slams a stack of papers down on the table.

You feel the crease settle between your brows as you eye at the mountain in front of him. “What’s all this?”

“Ah, we’ll get to that in a second.” He waves his hand in the air, leaning forward to set his elbows on the table, and it takes more effort than you’d like to admit to keep yourself from making a snide comment at the complete lack of table manners.

“Let me ask you something,” Satoru begins. “I’m sure by now you’ve spoken with your dad and know what our families are expecting from us.”

You nod.

“And I’m assuming you feel the exact same way I do about the entire thing?”

“Hmm…Not interested?”

“Exactly.”

This may be the only thing the two of you agree on. For some reason, that gives you just a bit of relief. Very little, but it’s something. 

“Look, I’m not any happier about this arrangement than you are.” There’s no joking tone behind Satoru’s words now. No teasing lilt. No pun to follow. This is the most serious you’ve ever seen him. “I don’t wanna be married to you any more than I’m sure you wanna be married to me…” He trails off for a second, pausing to assess your reaction. And he’s met with a deadpan look, the confirmation he needed to be sure that you are truly not interested loud and clear in your eyes. He proceeds. “I really couldn’t give a shit about the whole merger if I’m being honest. But dad will kill me if I fuck this up for him, and this time I believe he’ll actually kill me. I think this whole thing will be beneficial to us both in the long run, though. So, I think I have a proposition that may work here. ”

So this is business. You get it. Satoru is meant to take over his family’s entire company one day. You imagine he’s under immense pressure every day of his life because of this. Which is all the more reason why you find Satoru so insufferable. His father is practically handing him the role of owner and CEO of a company started by and kept within his family for over a century. And yet, he has gone out of his way time and time again to try and ruin that.

You? Up until now, your dad had never tried to pressure you too much to do anything for the company aside from show up to events and be the pretty face to represent him in his absence. There are no decisions coming from you, no input taken from you. You’re simply a warm body that may as well have Club Echo stamped on the center of your forehead. 

The moment you’re spotted at an event in place of your dad, you’re immediately swarmed by smarmy businessmen who only see you as some sort of gateway to your father. 

It never works out for them because you were raised for this, and despite the short skirts and high heels that make those sexist old pigs think you’re some sort of easy bimbo, you’re a lot smarter than you look. You can’t really blame them, you suppose. The tabloids don’t help with the way they make you out to be some party girl with no goals or actual aspirations in life, and maybe that’s what your father believes to an extent as well. You don’t put your brains to work, opting for partying rather than board meetings. But why would you subject yourself to that when you have the freedom of seeing things firsthand? 

Besides, a little more digging, and maybe a little more interest in you in general, and your father would know that you’re far more interested in the business side of things than you let on.

Your father hasn’t stepped foot in a Club Echo location since you were a child. You, however…You’re in these clubs almost nightly seeing what works and what doesn’t. 

The promotional bottle not selling the night you’re there? Of course you’d advise to swap it out for something much better, and maybe even go take a round of shots with whoever orders one. Tables not booked for the night? It’s no problem for you to invite one of your celebrity friends out - with the promise of free drinks - and have the official social media account for the location post photos of them showing up. The place is packed, and the problem is solved.

You actually do plenty behind the scenes, and you enjoy it. But, your father doesn’t know any of this. And it’s likely he wouldn’t believe you if you told him.

If things were up to you, your father would have given you the opportunity to show that you could do more, bring more to the table, show him what you’re made of many years ago. He would have trusted you to be more than his substitute secretary. All those years of sitting in on company meetings, being brought up and trained to eat, sleep and breathe corporate talk only for your father to never ask you to do anything that mattered. Only for him to shut you down when you asked to do more.

Maybe it’s your own fault, actually. You didn’t exactly leave a good impression with those in the upper class after your mishap with Satoru all those years ago. That definitely contributed to your father’s lack of trust in you. Not to mention, you’ve done and still do a lot of stupid things, make a lot of impulsive and dumb decisions. 

And perhaps all of those decisions were your own way of punishing your father. And now he’s turning the tables and punishing you, making you actually prove yourself to show him that you deserve a seat at the table.

You should be ecstatic. Isn’t this what you wanted? The chance to prove yourself, to be trusted enough to do more?

Well, not in this way, but it may be the only chance you’re given. So you decide to hear Satoru out.

“Okay?” Your voice comes out quietly, hesitantly. And Satoru pushes the pile of pages over to you. Your eyes scan the top of the paper, brows rising in surprise.

Marriage Contract

The fat letters stand out, and you glance back up at Satoru to find the corners of his lips curled upwards. His stupid grin sends shivers down your spine, so you avert your gaze back to the paper, reading the first sentence aloud.

“This Marriage Contract is made this (month) day of (day), (year), between Gojo Satoru ("First Party") and ____ ("Second Party").”

Your eyes find Satoru’s again when you meet his steady gaze.

“A marriage contract?” You muse. “Like…a prenup?” You thumb through the pages, skimming.

Satoru shakes his head. “Nope, not at all. That’ll be a separate thing between us and our lawyers.” He grimaces when he adds on with a dramatic eye roll, “And probably our fathers.”

You mirror the gesture, because you already know that conversation will be as annoying as your current one. “A contract between just us.” The words feel heavy on your tongue. You’re striking a business deal here, all on your own. It’s an intimidating feeling.

“Right. Listen,” Satoru leans back in his seat, running his fingers through his hair. “No offense, but I have no interest in you being my wife. Not seriously, at least.”

You scoff. “Likewise.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t want to be your wife either,” Satoru jokes, but again, he’s met with a deadpan stare from you when it lands flat. “Anywayyyy”, he sings. “I like my freedom. I don’t really love the idea of someone tying me down so I can’t enjoy the fruits of my family's labor.”

“Agreed.”

“Great. Then, I think this contract will be a good way to set some ground rules, make our parents happy and still allow us to actually enjoy married life.”

Your whole face contorts in a way that Satoru’s eyes widen. “Wait, I mean – not enjoying married life together! Just in general!” He stammers, lifting his hands and waving them a little frantically in front of him. “Basically, we’ll be married only for show. We show up to the big parties together as a united front, hold hands and smile, flash our wedding rings and go. The moment we’re behind closed doors, you’re free to do your own thing and I’m free to do mine.”

It’s hard to keep your lips from twisting into a frown as understanding settles in. A lifetime of maintaining a facade essentially. That’s what he’s proposing to you, all that he can offer that will make this arrangement somewhat enjoyable. Not that you’re particularly interested in loving Satoru, but the notion of spending your life pretending to love the person you’re married to is so depressing.

Your fingers dig into your temples, rubbing tight circles. “This is annoying. I can’t believe this is going to be the rest of my life.”

Satoru chuckles. “If all goes according to plan, it’ll just be for a year. Two max.”

You pause your motions, glancing across the table where the corners of your new potential business partner’s mouth quirks up. “Huh?”

“It’s simple,” Satoru claims. “We play along with our father’s plan and go through with all this. The first year will probably be wedding planning or whatever. I’ll leave that to you.” He points in your direction lazily, because he couldn’t give a shit about any of that. “We’ll have the big lavish wedding, the white gown and honeymoon. We’ll let them invite every media outlet too…really play up the happy husband and wife schtick until the merger goes through.”

You’re following him so far.

“That’s probably year one,” Satoru continues. “Year two, we’ll start dropping little hints that we’re not happy. Maybe make a couple of appearances solo, then announce that it just…didn’t work out between us.” He shrugs as though it really is that simple. 

You guess if you had to admire one thing - and you truly mean one thing - about Satoru, it was how little he cared about things. You wish you didn’t care so much about what others thought about you. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this predicament. Maybe it really would be as simple as Satoru makes it seem.

“You and I both get off without a scratch on us. Everything works out for us both in the end. My parents are off my back. Your dad is off yours, and they both get what they want. It’s a win-win to me! What do you think?” Satoru completes his proposal, leaning back in his seat, confident as ever as he picks at his fingernails.

Disgusting. 

Your head throbs again. You can’t trust this guy as far as you can throw him, and you know that’s not far. The man’s like ten feet taller than you even with your highest heels on! But what choice do you have in the matter? You have to do this. 

“Okay? So the contract –”

“More like a set of rules between us,” Satoru elaborates. “Just to make sure we don’t step on each other’s toes.”

A dry chuckle pushes past your lips. “Yeah because you’re so good at not stepping on my toes,” you grumble under your breath. 

Across the table, Satoru bursts into a fit of giggles. “Are we still on this? You know…my hair still doesn’t grow back right in that spot.” He pouts, fluttering his snowy white lashes in your direction like that has any effect on you.

“Good.” 

Your eyes travel back down to the stack of papers, fingers grazing over the ink. You don’t know what’s in here, but it may be what makes this arrangement just a bit more bearable for you. Might as well look it over.

“Feel free to go through it. Make amendments. Whatever you want,” Satoru offers.

It’s perfect timing that the waiter returns with your bottle of wine. They pop it open, filling your glass again before setting the bottle down. You both thank them, letting them know that no food would be ordered, and that you’d like to be left alone for the next hour.

“No funny business,” you demand, eyes narrowed at Satoru when the waiter takes their leave again. You mean it to come out more as a question, but the rise of your partner’s brows lets you know he’s aware you’re not fucking around with this. 

And then his head falls back, a loud laugh bursting from his chest. He’s enjoying this far too much for someone who has everything on the line here, just like you.

“None at all, Princess.” You ignore the pet name he’s used to address you since you were teens, rolling your eyes. It’s a promise that you’re not sure he’ll be able to keep. But again, you just have to trust him.

“You have a deal,” you finally agree. 

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, and you can’t help but to sneer in disgust at his clear lack of manners. How could someone raised in high society, the same as you, act in such a way? You wish you could wipe that cheshire cat-like smirk off of his face, but you keep it cordial. You can’t enter into this with bad blood already on your hands. This arrangement will benefit you both at the end of the day. You just have to remember that.

‘One year,’ you tell yourself. ‘Two tops, and you never have to see this man again. This will be easy.’

He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out an obnoxiously expensive pen, the signature Gojo Hospitality name written in a fancy gold font along the body. He sets it down in front of you, on top of the stack of papers you’ve spent the last two hours tearing apart meticulously, marking out anything you don’t agree with. He’d nagged endlessly about how long this was taking, like he had anywhere more important to get to. 

You’re sure he took you for some bimbo ready to jump at the chance to marry the only son and heir to the Gojo fortune. But you’re not an idiot. You’re an heiress yourself, so he doesn’t impress you. And your father raised you to know that when entering a contract, it’s important to read the fine print. It’s important to find any loopholes, anything that can screw you in the end, anything that can make your life hell on the off chance things don’t work out. Make sure you’ve crossed all your t’s and dotted all your i’s.

But you don’t see any here, you don’t think. So you reach forward, taking his pen in hand.

“On the dotted line, then,” he instructs. “Sign away…future Mrs. Gojo.”

“...Let's go through the contract first.” You take Satoru’s pen, flipping the page. 

- - - - - - - - -

Recitals:

The Parties, intending to enter into a lawful union under no choice of their own, wish to define and govern their rights and duties both during and potentially after their marriage. Neither party intends to define this marriage as true. This contract is made to ensure clarity, fairness, and mutual respect across all aspects of their shared life.

Agreement:

1. Introduction and Purpose

This document sets forth an agreement that reflects our commitment, understanding, and intentions towards our faux marriage and each other, laying the groundwork for our shared life and how we choose to manage it, both publicly and privately.

Okay. Simple enough.

2. Mutual Respect 

Both Parties agree that in order to maintain the image of a peaceful and happy union to the outside world, they will treat each other with mutual respect and support throughout the course of this faux marriage. This includes the following:

Prioritizing family and business events over personal activities.

Providing emotional support for one another.

Maintaining complete and total honesty with each other.

Respecting the other party’s need for time either alone, with partner(s) or time spent pursuing personal interests and hobbies.

This section ensures that both parties are committed to maintaining a positive and supportive relationship based on mutual respect.Your gaze hovers on that last line.

“Hold on. With partners? Plural?” You question, dragging your pen along the second point and scratching it out dramatically. There’s no need for either you or Satoru to be providing emotional support to one another. That’s what friends – and your therapists – are for, and you are neither. Satoru hums, leaning forward to see where you’ve paused. “Hmm? Oh. Well, I mean. Like I said…you’ll have your own life and I’ll have mine. If you want to see someone, or you’re already seeing someone–” he trails off, eyes assessing you, and you raise a questioning brow. If he’s waiting for you to confirm whether or not you have someone else you may be romantically involved with, he’s out of luck. That’s none of his business.

He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut before he presses his thumb hard to the crease forming between his eyebrows and massaging. “Listen. It’s what? Point three?” He opens one eye and peeks down at the paper, bringing a finger down to the line he’s referring to. 

Maintaining complete and total honesty with each other.

“If you’re seeing someone else, I’ll need to know. It doesn’t have to be today, but definitely before we proceed with anything. Not because I’m the jealous type or whatever, but because we’ll need to make this marriage work around all that.”

“And you?”

“Same for me. If I’m seeing someone, you’ll know. Just make sure not to get pissed about it.” Satoru winks, and you try not to gag.

But, this makes sense to you. The two of you won’t actually be romantically or physically involved, which means you’ll be free to do whatever with whoever.

So you nod, understanding.

3. Relocation Agreement

Both parties agree to cohabitate in the same home until the completion of the merger between Gojo Hospitality and Club Echo and all marital obligations are fulfilled.

This one makes your head hurt, but you unfortunately can’t do anything about it.

“I have a high rise apartment in the city with plenty of space,” Satoru boasts, as if you don’t have one yourself. “It’s huge. We’ll probably never even see each other.”

It does little to quell the pain, but it’s something. You move forward.

4. Management of Financial ResourcesBoth Parties agree to share financial responsibilities in a manner that reflects their mutual understanding and financial stability. This includes:

Joint Expenses: Both parties will contribute to household expenses such as rent/mortgage, utilities, groceries, and other shared financial obligations.

You eye Satoru at this point. “Joint expenses?” He waves his hand, like it doesn’t matter. “Our lawyers will set that up, but it’s for show. You know…united front and all that shit. I don’t need your money, but I do need your bank on that account as Mrs. Gojo.” That makes sense to you, you suppose. As fucked up as it is, your fathers are businessmen. They want to see where their money is going and likely keep track of both of your finances. It would be a little suspicious to both of your fathers if you paid separate bills in a home you share.

5. Fidelity and Trust (Not Finance Related)

‘Seriously?’ He’s really talking about fidelity right after saying you both were free to see other people? The Parties commit to understanding that both parties are free to maintain extramarital relationships with others throughout the duration of their faux marriage. They understand that trust is the foundation of their relationship and agree to maintain honesty and transparency in all aspects of their lives.

The Parties agree to be honest and transparent of their whereabouts and who they are with at all times. 

Extramarital partners are not to attend events where The Parties are expected to attend as a union.

Extramarital partners are not under any circumstances allowed to sleep over in the unit shared by the married party.

The Parties agree to not let personal feelings interfere with this agreement (i.e. jealousy)

6. Physical Intimacy

You might throw up.

The Parties agree that any and all physical intimacy will be restricted to public appearances. No physical intimacy may take place outside of this.

Physical intimacy includes the following:

Hand holding

Kisses to the cheeks, hands (knuckles), lips (only when required)

A hand to the waist, small of back, arms

The thought of Satoru’s hands on you makes you recoil. You hear him snickering loudly when you set your pen down and reach for your drink. You swallow a large swig of your wine, then scribble in an addition to the list.

Hugging

His laughs stop just then. He squints, reading your chicken scratch that you’d hurriedly written in. “Hugs?”

His eyes are practically glowing with amusement, and you hide your burning cheeks behind another rather large sip of your beverage.

“Didn’t take you for the loving embrace type.” He’s beaming like he’s excited because just discovered something completely new about you. And you suppose that to him, it is new.

You set your glass down, ignoring the way Satoru is watching you a little more intently now and opting to resume your review of the rules. “I only hug people I like.” It’s supposed to come out pointed, but there’s an embarrassing tremble to your voice now. You feel like an idiot telling Satoru this. “And my dad would be suspicious if I didn’t hug you. I’m…” you swallow the bitter taste forming on your tongue. “I’m pretty affectionate when I’m in a relationship.”

His slender fingers skim along his jawline, eyes watching you as though you’ve grown an extra head.

“Noted,” is thankfully all he says.

7. Public Appearances

The Parties agree to attend any and all necessary events that could contribute to maintain the appearance of a happy marriage.

8. Employment and Career Support

Each party commits to supporting the other's employment and career aspirations, understanding that sacrifices and compromises may be necessary for mutual growth and long-term future.

9. Child Rearing

‘Child what?!’ Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. You read on.

The Party agrees to avoid becoming impregnated by their extramarital partner for the duration of the faux marriage.

He can’t be referring to you. 

You tap your pen on the first point, a rhythmic drumming of annoyance filling the space between you and Satoru. Your nose crinkles when you speak, “Why exactly am I the only one referenced here?”

Satoru eyes where your pen points. Then he shrugs after reading. “I’m always careful. I don’t know about you, though.”

Your mouth falls open with a scandalized squeak. “Excuse you! I’m not just going around spreading my legs without protection. If anything, with the way you get around, this should be directed towards you and you alone!”

This amuses Satoru, his already brightly bright eyes filling to the brim with mirth. “Aww, Princess. You’re already keeping tabs on me? And acting like a jealous wife?” He smacks his lips disapprovingly. “Already breaking rule number 5.”

“As if I’d ever be jealous of anyone who hates themself enough to sleep with you.” You quickly cross out the old point, replacing it with a revised version.

The Party agrees to avoid becoming impregnated by their extramarital partner for the duration of the faux marriage.

The Party agrees to avoid conceiving children with their extramarital partner(s) for the duration of this faux marriage.

In the event that a pregnancy occurs through either party, this contract is null and void.

“Feel better now?” Satoru breathes. His arm is propped on the table again, chin resting in his palm as he studies you.

You ignore him, moving on to the rest of the contract.

10. Conflict Resolution

The Parties commit to resolving disagreements through constructive communication, counseling, or other resolutions.

The Parties will not resort to hair-pulling to get their point across.

This makes you giggle. That bald spot must haunt Satoru in his sleep. That brings you so much joy.

11. Amendment Process

This contract can be amended only if there is mutual agreement from both parties. 

12. Provisions for Marriage Dissolution

If any of these rules are broken or violated by either party, the non-offending party has the right to end this contract at any point in time.

This contract ends once the post-marriage merger and any business pertaining to the merger has been completed.

This Contract represents a full and complete understanding between the Parties regarding their faux marriage.

First Party Signature: Gojo Satoru

Second Party Signature: _____________________________

Satoru’s name is already scribbled on the dotted line in the messiest form of cursive you’ve ever seen. Maybe it should worry you that he’s fully committed to whatever was in this contract both before and after your review and amendments, but you’re not. He seems open to working with you on this, because this contract benefits him as well.

In the end, outside of legally being a Gojo and maybe becoming more involved with the business, nothing will change for you. And that is what is most important.

It’s just an outline. A little set of rules meant for you both to follow so you don’t piss each other off. You think with this in place, things will go a lot more smoothly for you.

Your future has already been decided, but it doesn’t mean that it has to be the future you choose to stick with. This marriage…it’s just a means to an end for the two of you. In a year or two, you’ll be sitting across from Satoru very similarly to how you are now. Except you’ll be going over the divorce papers that you two had always planned on signing.

This contract Satoru has thrown together reads as honest and open. There are no ulterior motives, no outlandish requests. It’s truly just Satoru being honest about what this marriage will mean to him. Open about what he’s needing from you, what he’s willing to give you and where this is going. And when you find Satoru’s gaze already fixed on you, a carefree grin sitting on his lips, you think he looks like he will be very much the same in this marriage. 

You don’t know what your future will hold once you and Satoru are wed. Hell, you don’t know what your future holds tomorrow once word gets back to your families that you’ve both agreed on the union.

And despite the rapid hammering of your heart behind your ribcage, the clamminess forming in your palms that makes your grip on the pen slip, the way your brain is screaming for you not to do this…

You sign on the dotted line.

[slushycoookie]

Between Two Worlds ~ Loser! Miguel O'Hara x Stripper! Reader (Pt.10)

★ Word Count: 4.3k

★ Content: Big reveal alert. Miguel meets Reader's entire family (finally). Mentions of bullying. Miguel will worry a LOT. A bit of making out is mentioned. Dana shows up again btw.

★ A/N: Had to let this sit in the oven a bit longer so sorry for the late post. I hope you all enjoy!

⁺˚⋆｡°✩Prev | Next ✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩Masterlist

The car ride back to New York is silent.

Monday came around, and Miguel and you packed up. He gave generous tips to the staff and thanked them for their hospitality. Then, after another delicious breakfast, you two were on the road.

Nothing was said because Miguel was waiting. You promised to tell him what was going on after the trip. He didn’t want to go all out and jump to conclusions about what’s wrong with you. Maybe you meant when he dropped you off, not right after leaving the hotel.

Now he's seeing why Gabriel said he can be literal.

He tries to take his mind off it by listening to pop music and mentally rehearsing his order at the gas station. He should get another milkshake. Strawberry caramel with whipped cream on top. That can be his treat for the day.

“So…” You start, holding your hands, “Kron is my regular.”

Miguel swerves, accidentally switching lanes on the highway. You shriek while gripping the door handle to keep steady. His heart pounds against his chest for a brief moment when he easily returns to the lane he’s supposed to be in.

“Miguel, what the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He quickly apologizes, wiping the sweat from his palms on his pants. “That surprised me.”

“That surprised you? Note to self, I’m not telling you anymore serious stuff when you’re driving.”

“Sorry…” He shifts in his seat. Your words replaying in his mind.

Kron Stone, Tyler’s son, Miguel’s half-brother, is your regular.

What are the odds that your other regular, who’s been tormenting you, is a man Miguel despises? He was never on good terms with Kron; they never saw eye to eye, even in school. Kron displayed all the traits of a typical bully: rough, strong, and mean. And he never lost any of those traits when he got older.

This must be his punishment for handling the news that Dana is dating his biological father. Tyler’s son had to come in and ruin the good thing Miguel had with you.

“Say something.” You say while looking at him.

Miguel didn’t know what to say. Should he tell you that he’s related to your other regular? Would that make the entire situation weirder than it is?

“How long has he been your regular?”

“Since I started at The Weave. He was my first.”

His face twists at that, “Does that mean…did you…?”

“If you’re asking if I fucked him, no, I didn’t. But…” You hum, biting your lip. “Actually, maybe I shouldn’t tell you all the details.”

“No, no, I can take it.”

“I don’t want you to crash the car if I tell you.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Miguel holds out his pinky, smiling at your snort. You wrap your own around his to solidify the promise.

“Okay, well… I did give him a few handy’s.”

He promised you he wouldn’t crash the car. His hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles getting lighter. He doesn’t want to think about the idea of Kron enjoying a hand job from you. His girlfriend.

“Are you…planning to give him more when he comes back?”

“No!” You gag, “I have a man now. That means no hand jobs or kissing. Unless its you.”

Miguel beams, “Good. I mean…if you did have to do that for him, I understand.”

“Don’t say that. I like you, I don’t like that asshole.” Out of the corner of his eye, you fold your arms, an annoyed look on your face. “He just shows up out of the blue. I’d be okay with not seeing him for six months, but he suddenly arrives! Always at the worst times too.”

“I’m sorry.” He reaches for your hand to hold. “Do you have to see him? You can always decline, right?”

“Yeah, but he’s one of my biggest moneymakers at the club. The man practically gave me ten grand one night. And that’s with Jess taking her portion.”

Miguel frowns at that. Even Kron can supply you with more than he could. The man is related to one of the richest CEOs in the world, so of course, he could help contribute to your goal of buying a house.

“I see…”

You sigh, intertwining your fingers with his. “The good news is that Kron visits the club for about two weeks before he goes to do rich guy stuff. We can handle that.”

“Yes, yes we can.”

Two weeks is doable. Obviously, Miguel would have to deal with Kron being around during that time, but if that means you get more money for your house, that’s fine with him.

“So, are you good now?”

“Hm? Why are you asking that?”

“Do I need to remind you of how you were acting the other night?”

He thumbs the steering wheel while focusing on the road. Miguel knows that he didn’t act his best that night, despite it being out of concern. But it showed how much he didn’t trust you.

“I didn’t mean to be like that I…” He bites his bottom lip. “I don’t like being lied to.”

“Oh…I didn’t know that.”

Miguel shrugs, trying to play it off as not a big deal. “It’s okay. It’s what I noticed recently. That’s no excuse for how I was acting though…”

“It’s not.” He grimaces at your side eye, “But now I know why. I won’t lie to you, Mig. You know that, right?”

He wants to say he does, but a small part of him can’t fully agree. He knew Dana for years, and she lied to him and broke his heart. Who’s to say the same won’t happen to you? It’s a horrible way to think.

Miguel ends up nodding, and that’s enough to make you relax. Besides that, the rest of the journey goes well.

He gets his shake, you get yours, and some more snacks. It's not until he’s five minutes away from your house that he notices how much you need to carry inside. Your luggage, shake, bags from the gas station, your purse. He couldn't bear to see you struggle like that.

You're going to say something about how you're fine and that there's not much to carry. You're still not big on him, seeing your entire family. Miguel understands your qualms, but he's a gentleman first.

That's why he's not looking at you when he stands at the door; every bag you own is in his possession. Your mother opens it and immediately sees your annoyed face and Miguel’s gentle smile.

“Hello.”

“Hi Miguel!”

Miguel wishes he could hug your mom, but quickly comes in, not walking too far into the house to your discomfort. The front of the house puts him directly in the kitchen. Fruity scents hit his nostrils as he’s graced with an elderly woman sitting on the counter, brushing her hair by a younger woman with features similar to yours.

Everything feels lived in, as if a family has been here for generations. The low R&B music playing on the TV in the background, the cluttered but still neat space in the kitchen and living room—it was comforting.

“Oooh, someone’s back from their getaway.”

You led Miguel to put your bags beside the entrance. He wants to put your things in your room, but stays quiet.

“Trust me, if I could stay even longer, then I would’ve.” You say, “Alicia, Grandma, you’ve seen Miguel before, right?”

He gives a shy wave due to their attention, “Nice to meet you.”

“I need to put on my glasses.” Your grandma stops your sister from playing hairdresser for a moment. Her eyes under the lenses get bigger at the sight of Miguel standing awkwardly by the doorway, “Oh, you’re handsome up close.”

“T-Thank you.”

“You did not need to put your glasses on for that.” You shake your head, offering a silent apology, which Miguel doesn’t mind.

“How was the banquet?” Your mom asks.

“It was nice.” Miguel starts, “The hotel was accommodating and the event was well coordinated.”

“The food was amazing too.” You add when your sister snorts.

“Of course you would say that.”

“Shut up, before I hit you with this shake.”

Alicia gets indifferent to the threat, “So you’re giving me a free drink?”

“Girl, please.” You roll your eyes. We saw so many people there. I swear I never thought I would see them past our TV.”

“Did you take pictures?” Your grandma asks.

“Yeah, I'll show them later.”

“Good, I wanna see that dress you wore. And I bet Miguel looked fine in that suit.”

Miguel bashfully smiles at the oohs from your family. “My appearance was okay.”

“Okay, my ass-sorry. You're just saying that. And don’t you need to go? You did a long drive.”

He wasn’t tired. Actually, he wanted to spend a bit more time with your family. You hardly talk about them, besides the general stuff. He knows how many people you live with, but he doesn’t know much about what they do. Who they are to you. How you view them.

Miguel doesn’t want to think that maybe it’s on purpose that you don't go into detail about your family, but that inkling in the back of his mind makes him think otherwise.

“Wait,” Your mom interrupts, “Miguel didn’t see the twins yet.”

“He doesn’t need to meet those idiots.”

“Be nice.”

You open the front door, ready to see Miguel out, when two sets of feet rumble down the stairs. The sound of an avalanche in the form of two young men.

“Is that my big sis’ boyfriend?”

Miguel could barely get a hi out when they hugged him on both sides. They are very strong boys, and their combined strength almost enabled them to pick him up if they could. It was easy to tell them apart, though.

“Whoa, he’s tall!”

“Looks like we got some competition.”

“You treating our sister well? We don’t want to beat you up.”

“You’re not beating anyone up.” You step in front of Miguel, pushing your twin brothers away. “You two couldn't even kill the spider in my room last week.”

One of the boys suck his teeth, “Now why did you have to go there?”

Miguel snickers when you stick your tongue out at them.

“Baby, this is Chris and Michael. Idiot 1 and 2. They’re finishing up high school right now.”

“Oh? This will be a busy year for you two, then.”

“Yeah, but we got this.” The boys fist-bump each other, making you shake your head.

“College is very stressful, I can always help out if you want me to.”

Chris wraps an arm over Miguel, leaning forward, “How good are you at writing essays?”

“I'm…pretty decent.”

“Nice. We'll keep in touch.”

He's not sure if he wants to know what your brother meant by that.

“Okay,” You push your brother away once more, “Everyone say goodbye to Miguel. He has to go.”

A collective groan from your family soothes Miguel’s heart. Maybe he can spend time with them again, if you allow it.

The goodbyes didn’t stop until you closed the door behind you. Your goodbye was a sweet kiss that made him want more once you parted.

“Get home safe.”

“I will.”

Before Miguel could relax in the sanctuary of his apartment, he went to his mother’s house. He needed to take care of something. At the stoplight, the message from Dana was pulled up. And he stared at it.

‘Hope your weekend went well!’

It was simple. She sent that last night while you were in his arms. He didn’t see it until the morning while you were getting ready, which left him wondering on what to say. Maybe Dana is trying to reconcile. Sure, the relationship didn’t end on good terms, but this message attempted to fix that. At least that’s what he’s thinking.

What’s the harm of sending a friendly text back?

‘It did. Hope yours did too.’

He left it at that.

Walking inside his mother’s house, he notices the mess. Multiple dining room chairs almost block the front door. Tarp and plastic were laid out from the entranceway all the way to the living and dining rooms. Blue strips of painter’s tape covered various outlets and parts of the ceiling. Half of the dining room was painted blue, while the other half remained white.

Conchata came around the corner, her reading glasses on her head while she sported her floral apron, “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I forgot to send a text, sorry.” He kisses his mother’s cheek in greeting. “I got you those macarons you wanted.”

His mother’s eyes light up at the pink colored box. To his relief, they divert to the kitchen, which looks the same. He smells a pot roast in the oven and comments on the scent.

“It’s for the painter when he comes in tomorrow. Did you see the living room? What do you think?”

“Isn’t it not done yet?”

“It's not, but do you see what I’m going for? I sent you and Gabri my vision board.”

Miguel remembered the sophisticated images your mother sent of what she wanted the dining room to look like: cool colors, combined with all white furniture and a mini golden chandelier. He’s having a hard time seeing that with the half-painted walls.

“Yeah, yeah I can see it.”

With a nod of approval from Conchata, she starts nibbling on one of the macarons. There, Miguel asks how long the house renovations will take. His mother spewed about her plans of getting a new sofa, a larger TV for the family, and even painting the walls blue to fit the dining room. All Miguel heard was that he might need to get more paint for her.

She aimed to get everything completed by Thanksgiving so she could host dinner as she usually does.

“I think it’ll be extra good with all that’s happened so far this year. You know…with your father and Dana.”

Miguel didn’t express how much he didn’t care about his father’s death. Not when it happened a week after New Year's. All he could remember was the lack of tears coming from his mother as the casket was lowered with George in it.

“We’ll be okay.”

He knew she didn’t believe him, but didn’t press it further. “How was your trip? I know this was your first time being alone this year.”

“It was fine. I still had a good time.”

“Good.” She squeezes his hand in support. “Was Dana there?”

The ends of Miguel’s lips curl down, “I don’t want to talk about her anymore right now.”

“That was a yes.”

“It doesn’t matter if she was there or not. I still stand by what I said.”

“I know, but I want to know. I’m sure she was on Tyler’s arm like a leech. A gold-digging leech.”

He stays silent while he straightens his posture. “I’m leaving, Mami.”

“But you just got here!”

“I wanted to drop off the macaroons. That’s all.”

Miguel felt her footsteps nearby when he made his way to the door. Now he was tired. He should've known his mother would ask about her. He just wanted to go home and relax for tomorrow.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

After a small wave and his mother watching him from the entrance, he finally went home.

“Wait a minute, hold on…Kron is your girlfriend’s other regular?” Gabriel asks, jaw still on the floor at the reveal.

“Yes.” Miguel exhales, putting the phone on speaker as he’s making dinner. “I almost crashed the car when I found out.”

“I would too. I thought that asshole was in jail by now.”

“No, Tyler just keeps him hidden. It’s why he’s always taking trips.”

The son of Alchamex’s CEO is hardly in New York unless it’s for a special occasion. In that case, it’s the yearly holidays, and to see you apparently. Kron’s appearance is sporadic that even tabloids stop taking note of his whereabouts. The last time Kron was really seen in the spotlight was rumors of a bad mental breakdown, where his mother, Nancy, went with him to get help. That was four years ago.

Miguel didn’t care for him, and he never will. Not after the time in middle school when Kron fought him in the hallways after cutting Xina’s hair as a “prank.” The black eye he got that day never left his mind.

He wasn’t going to let him do anything to you.

“How long does Kron stay when he comes back from trips?”

“I was told at most two weeks.”

“Plenty of time to…you know…”

Miguel rolled his eyes at his brother's screeching sound. “You know the government listens to our calls?”

“Yeah, but what will they do? Jack shit.”

“Anyway…” He starts while straining spaghetti, “I can hold out for two weeks. Nothing is going to change much at The Weave. Kron will be there, that’s it.”

That’s what he wants to believe.

What Miguel says and does when he hears of Kron’s arrival are opposites of the same coin. He says everything will be fine when Kron shows up, but when he comes back to work the next day, he’s in Tyler’s office, trying to gather information on when his son will show up.

But Tyler doesn’t give him any hints. He’s too focused on Project Rapture, not bothered by his son possibly showing up at any minute. If he is worried, he’s hiding it well.

Dana was better with this kind of information.

The smile on her face is apparent when she sits across from him in the break room, clutching her coffee mug. Miguel hopes the slight grin on his face shows that he’s remaining cordial.

“Kron’s currently with Nancy.” Dana whispers. “The mama’s boy in him can’t resist spending time with her. I don’t know how he can be around her. That woman is insufferable.”

“You’ve met her before?”

She nods, “When I spent dinner at her house with Tyler, you know as a mutual affair. She couldn’t stop talking about how I’m not capable of being with him. That Tyler is a picky man and such. Ugh.”

Miguel’s lips form a straight line, “What does this have to do with Kron?”

“I’m applying context! You know I do that sometimes.”

He held his tongue on how he thought that was irrelevant.

“All I’m saying is that he won’t be with her long. I’ll give it two more days before he starts going out.”

Miguel ignores his stomach twisting. He has two days before Kron comes. Well, the sooner he comes, the faster he can leave. And then you’re all his once again.

“You know, this is nice.” Dana says, stirring her coffee.

“What?”

“You know…us talking again. Like old times.”

“Oh,” Miguel shifts in his seat. “It is…nice.” When she smiles, he gets up, hitting his knee on the table. The loud bang is heard throughout the room, making his exit faster. His face gets warm out of embarrassment.

Back at The Weave, Miguel is on high alert.

While you’re getting ready to do your dance, he’s constantly looking over from the bar whenever anyone walks in, waiting for the devil himself. Whenever he doesn’t see Kron walking in, his shoulders relax despite his heartbeat rising. The music doesn’t reach his ears, or when Ben is asking him a question.

It took him three tries to snap Miguel out of watch dog mode.

“Whoa, man, you alright?”

“Yes.” Miguel sits up straighter and fixes his glasses, “My apologies, what were you saying?”

“Pick your poison.” Ben shows him the various non-alcoholic drinks he has to offer on the menu. “I got this new pear apple cocktail that you might like. Of course, there’s a no booze version.”

Miguel takes it before his eyes fall right back to the front door.

He doesn’t have a clue what he’s going to say when Kron walks through that door. If he should be polite or punch him out right. For what he did to Xina, for the whispers he’s heard from your colleagues about what happens when he is here. Sure, Kaine and Noir are there to protect you when things goes awry, but Kron is a rich man. What are the things he can get away with when you’re in that room with him? That will even make Jess turn a blind eye?

His worry increases when you walk up to him. His eyes lock onto your open torso, the way your purple one-piece outfit holds up your breasts while most of your stomach is bare. Your back and legs match, and he can’t stop staring at those small shorts. Miguel wants to ask you to turn around so he can see how your shorts hold your ass that well.

You kiss him in greeting, and he shyly catches it with his hand before stuffing it in his pocket.

“How long have you been watching that door?”

Miguel perks up, frantically grabbing his drink for security. “I-I haven’t been looking at it…”

“Uh-huh. You can’t fool me.” He jumps at the light scratch on his back. Tempest walks by with a wink as she takes her customer to one of the private rooms. “It’s okay, you know? This isn’t my first run-in with Kron.”

“I know.” But it is his. “I’m…worried for you.”

“You’re gonna worry yourself to death.”

Miguel prepares to rebut when the front door opens. Your head immediately turns to see who it is, only for another dancer to walk in. So he’s not the only one worrying.

You play it off by forcing a laugh, running a hand through your wavy hair. “Guess I can’t talk.”

He reaches for your hand to hold. It’s the most he can do right now to reassure you that he’ll protect you. That Kron won’t bother you while he’s there. The circles you rub on his hand soothe his nerves in return, hoping that’s enough.

“Don’t take your eyes off me, okay?”

“Okay.”

His heart flutters at your air kiss when you leave to go on stage. Any semblance of being worried is gone when you touch the pole. Your eyes are looking at no one except Miguel. Your lack of eye contact adds to the allure, while money repaints the floor green.

Miguel knows worrying about Kron will get him nowhere. He doesn’t want his worries to add to yours, and he wants to keep you happy.

Neither of you notices the time flying by. After two days, Kron never showed up, so you decided to wait it out and try to act normal.

Miguel enjoys his time with you in the private room on his days at the club. He never tires of your hips swaying to the slow beat, your hair following your every move. He doesn’t hide when you sit on his lap and make out with him for 45 minutes. Your tongue teasing his mouth to leave him begging for more. A tent constantly forming in his pants that invites you to keep going.

If only he could make love to you in the club.

The car isn’t comfortable, so you don't accept his offer anyway. It’s almost as if you want to torture him. You weren’t scared of his forward actions back at the hotel, and he didn’t want to rush you into having sex with him again. He didn’t want to admit how he thinks about getting back into your warm, soaked cunt. Staying inside until he couldn’t anymore.

So he swallows his whimpers when you grind against his pants, sucking his bottom lip like a lifeline.

He’s struggling to fix himself when his time is up. You giggle at the 5th time rearranging his pants when you place your hand on his.

“Actually…is that quickie in the car still available?”

“Yes.” Miguel doesn’t try to hide the stars in his eyes. You’re laughing, pulling him out of the room, and speed walking past club goers. He succeeds in keeping up with your fast pace. He won’t waste any time with you, or Jess would try to look for you in a heartbeat.

You stop in your tracks. Miguel stumbles into you, spewing a million apologies for his lack of awareness. Then he sees why you halt.

A tall, broad man enters the front of the club. The scent of smoke attacks Miguel’s nostrils, almost giving him the urge to cough. The man’s eyes immediately lock onto you. His gaze is hungry, fueling Miguel with an emotion he hasn’t felt since discovering why Dana broke off the engagement.

Anger.

“Hey, baby.” Kron slicks back his stark, white hair. “You miss me?”

Tags: @miguelzslvtz @kitcatcrunch @nina-from-317

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[beritybaker]

Water and Poetry

For @steddiebingo summer prompt "secret admirer," and main prompt "partner"

Rating: G | CW: Minor Injury, Lab Accident | Word Count: 3,664 | Tags: Post S1, Canon Divergence, Lab Partners, Artist & Writer Eddie, Lifeguard Steve, Pre-Relationship, Fluff | ao3

The knightly King keeping watch over the aquatic realm—

Does he know how lovely he is, high atop his tower?

Should he be more lovely, it would be a burden to look on him,

A greater danger than the waters he guards.

Eddie knows he’s not really a poet. He’s a dork who’s read too many medieval fantasy novels, and it shows. But that hasn’t stopped him from spending his summer slipping his mediocre verses about Steve Harrington’s beauty into the locker with his name on it at Hawkins Pool.

It’s harmless, right? It’s not like Harrington even knows he exists, and maybe it’ll do something for his self-esteem. Not that the King really needs it, Eddie supposes. But somewhere, deep down—in a part of him that is definitely not secretly hoping Harrington will find out and be so flattered he begs Eddie to go to homecoming with him in the fall—he feels like it’s the right thing to do.

So all summer long, he writes sweeping odes to The Hair’s hair, sonnets romanticizing his suntan, and even a silly limerick about how heroic he looked telling off a kid for trying to dunk his brother. It’s a win-win: he gets to practice his writing and admire a good-looking guy from afar, while Harrington gets a little ego boost in his locker every few days. So what if Steve probably assumes there’s some nerdy girl who’s into him? And so what if Eddie has to make excuses to sneak off and break into the employee locker room so Jeff doesn’t get suspicious? No harm, no foul.

But then Eddie’s second senior year begins, and he has to end up in third-period chemistry.

His first morning back at school has been typical. He’s already done the first day at this school four times before; he has the hang of it. Eddie expects the rest of the day to follow with a similar level of normalcy, but that notion flies out the window when a certain King of Hawkins High wanders into his class ten minutes after it started, looking like he just ran across campus.

Eddie, who’d been doodling a warrior elf at the edge of his syllabus, fumbles with his pencil so wildly that it slips from his hand and rolls across the table. He leans over to reach for it, but knocks over his nearly-empty Mountain Dew bottle in the process. Both the pencil and the bottle hit the the scuffed linoleum, with a clatter. The girl across the aisle gives him a dirty look for causing a ruckus—or maybe for having a soda in the chemistry lab at all—but Ms. Denham ignores it in favor of berating the newcomer.

“Mr. Harrington. How kind of you to make an appearance,” she remarks, arching an eyebrow.

Eddie rises from the floor in time to see Steve’s sheepish grimace. “Sorry. I read my schedule wrong. Thought I was in gym third period. Got all the way out of my street clothes and on the track before I…” He must catch her unimpressed look, because he trails off, then swallows. “Well. Never mind. Sorry I’m late. You can dock my grade or something.”

The teacher’s eyes soften, but her voice is still stern when she warns, “Don’t let it happen again.”

Steve nods and heads for the only open stool left—which happens to be next to Eddie. As Ms. Denham continues explaining her plans for the semester, Steve draws nearer, and Eddie loses track of what she’s saying. He can’t hear her over the Greek chorus he imagines in the corner by the emergency shower station, screaming OH NO OH NO OH NO OH NO—

“Hey, do you have a pencil I can borrow?”

That voice, though. He’s used to hearing it after the blast of a whistle, shouting a warning at someone roughhousing in the pool. Even at a whisper, it cuts right through and silences the chanting, blank-faced ghouls Eddie invented.

Eddie realizes he must be taking too long to answer when Steve’s pretty brows knit together, and his pretty lips form more words in his pretty tenor. “Are you okay, man?”

“What? Yeah!” Eddie squeaks. This time, Ms. Denham does shoot him a look. He lowers his voice and says, “Sorry. You asked for, um…?”

“A pencil,” Steve says. “If you’ve got a spare.”

“Oh. Y-Yeah. I mean…sure.” He pats the front of his vest and feels for something pencil-shaped, then mutters, “Hold on,” and rolls his eyes toward the ceiling as he digs through the inside pocket. Eventually, he produces one, though it’s got so many teeth marks it looks like a wild animal got ahold of it.

Steve doesn’t complain. His eyebrows shoot upward a little, but he doesn’t comment out loud. Instead he takes it and says, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” Eddie swallows the knowledge that it’s so chewed up because of him, anyway. The number of goddamn poems I drafted with that thing…

Eddie doesn’t take in much over the course of the next forty minutes. Trying to focus on anything but the fact that the Knightly King of the Aquatic Realm is two feet away from him is a fruitless effort. Ms. Denham is wholly unable to keep Eddie’s attention for more than a moment at a time.

That is, until right before the bell, when she drops a fucking bombshell.

“You’re all seniors in here, so you know the drill when it comes to labs. Write your own reports, but you’ll do all your work with a partner. To make it fair and easy for me, you chose your fate when you sat down today.” There’s a murmur through the room—some celebratory giggles, some groans of despair—and she continues, “That’s right. Get comfortable where you are, because you’re sitting next to your lab partner for the rest of the year. Barring a restraining order, I don’t want to hear any whining about it, either.”

Eddie feels frozen to his stool. He risks a glance at Steve and finds his face totally unreadable.

Maybe he can get a restraining order. On what grounds? “Steve Harrington, being far too attractive, is hereby no longer allowed within fifty yards of Edward Munson, and is therefore unable to partner with him in chem lab.” Sure, it’s ridiculous. But the universe had the audacity to be ridiculous first, when it gave Harrington a face like that, and then again when it made him late enough to have to sit next to Eddie.

Before his sanity can spiral down the drain completely, the bell rings. It makes Eddie jump out of his goddamn skin. Stools scrape against the floor as his classmates leave, and he hasn’t quite been able to recover before Steve says, “That’s really cool.”

Eddie turns, almost gets lost in his eyes, but forces himself to follow the line of Steve’s arm (God, those biceps…) to where he’s pointing at Eddie’s half-finished elf doodle.

It is at that moment, with the tip of Steve’s finger resting on the page, that he realizes he should’ve disposed of this sheet of paper as soon as Steve walked into the room, by any means necessary. He should’ve wadded it up and shoved it in his mouth, or taken his lighter to it and risked setting off the sprinklers. He hadn’t been drawing the elf that way on purpose, but if he were to erase its pointed ears and long tresses, or give it a little color, it would be the spitting image of Steve himself.

“Did you draw it?” Steve asks.

“No, it’s on all the photocopies. Somebody must’ve drawn on Denham’s master,” Eddie replies, unable to hold back his sarcasm. He’s got a lot to deal with at the moment, and he doesn’t have enough mental capacity to curb his natural way of speaking.

To his surprise, Steve chuckles. “Yeah, okay. That was a dumb question,” he allows.

Eddie’s heart starts hammering, like having Steve admit it is a turn-on or something. Is a humility kink a thing?

“What is it? Some kind of elf knight?” Steve goes on, oblivious to his impending anxiety attack.

“A paladin,” Eddie corrects.

“A pala-what?”

“It basically is a knight, yeah. In fantasy stuff.”

“Huh. Okay. You know, I’m friends with some guys who are into that stuff,” Steve says.

Eddie narrows his eyes, disbelieving. He knows all the other nerds at Hawkins High, and as far as he’s aware, none of them are all buddy-buddy with King Steve. “You are?”

He nods, but frustratingly doesn’t elaborate. Instead he looks at the drawing again and tilts his head. “You know, he’s kinda familiar. Like I’ve met him before.”

Check the mirror. “Not sure why. I was just doodling.”

Eddie holds his breath while Steve stares at the elven version of himself. He studies it for entirely too long—so long that Eddie starts to feel light-headed. When he finally speaks again, it’s in a soft, curious tone. “Hm. Maybe he’s just got one of those faces.” He smiles and looks back up at Eddie. “Well, Munson, I better get to gym, since I’m sure that’s where I’m supposed to be in a couple minutes. See you around, partner.” He claps him on the shoulder and winks.

The Greek chorus has returned, now murmuring variations of, Munson, Munson, he knows your name…

Steve is long gone by the time the bell rings again, but that’s what shocks Eddie back to his senses. He shoves his things into his messenger bag and hurries to his next class, feeling lucky that Mr. Jameson won’t mind if he’s a bit late to auto shop. Even if that was something for him to worry about, it would be playing second fiddle to the knowledge that his lab partner is the guy he had a secret crush on all summer.

It’s gonna be a long year.

“So we’re just supposed to keep adding more of this stuff until it turns clear?”

Eddie glances around at the tables nearby, then back at the flask of pink liquid in front of them. “Apparently.”

“Well, that’s thrilling,” Steve mutters. He leans his elbow on the edge of their lab table, cradling his chin in his hand, and lets out a long sigh. “I thought chemical reactions were supposed to be exciting.”

“Maybe we’ll get to set something on fire in the next one.” Ms. Denham’s description of this so-called experiment was dull enough that Eddie, even in Steve’s presence, is more bored than he is nervous. That’s not to say the nerves aren’t still there, but after a few days of sitting next to him for an hour, he’s at least able to put them on the back burner.

Steve snorts a laugh. “I really shouldn’t be surprised you’d be into that.”

“What, setting things on fire?”

“Yeah. You’ve got ‘pyromaniac’ written all over you.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.”

“That’s exactly what a pyromaniac would say about being called a pyromaniac.”

“Fair enough.” Eddie smiles. “But can we stop saying that word? It’s starting to lose all meaning.”

“It’s kind of a funny word, isn’t it? Pyromaniac. Pyromaniac.”

“Stop it,” he giggles.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t? Set me on fire?” Steve shoots back, grinning.

“Maybe,” Eddie counters. “And you’ll never see it coming.”

Steve’s laugh really is a beautiful thing. Almost as beautiful as his face. It’s a delightful little melody, but with a dorky guffaw underneath. When Eddie’s ears are blessed with it now, a new flurry of butterflies is unleashed in his gut.

“Are you boys planning on getting started anytime soon?” Ms. Denham calls out. When Eddie looks at her, he finds her glaring at them over the rims of her glasses. “You only have thirty minutes. If you don’t finish in class, you’ll have to come back at the end of the day, and I won’t be here to answer your questions.”

“Right. Sorry,” Steve says, though he looks like he’s trying to hold in more laughter. He turns to Eddie. “You wanna help me fill up the burr-ette thingy?”

“Sure.”

They set the thing up the way Ms. Denham demonstrated, shamelessly glancing at the surrounding tables again to make sure they’re doing it right. Then Eddie reaches for the funnel and the bottle that were on their table when they walked into class. The bottle is labeled with a sticker that reads HCl, in the same looping script that Eddie is used to seeing on the blackboard at the front of the room.

“I’ll do the honors. I’m used to handling dangerous substances,” he jokes. “Watch the tube and tell me when to stop.”

“Got it,” Steve says, and he hunches a bit to get eye-level with the equipment.

Glass clinks as Eddie places the funnel at the top of the tube, then he uncaps the bottle. As he starts to pour, he thinks, This is going shockingly well. However, this is precisely when he makes his first mistake.

He looks at Steve, and he’s struck by what he sees. Something’s different from other times Eddie’s been unable to take his eyes off him—at the pool, running into him in the hallway, seeing him around town. This time, it’s not because he’s hot; it’s because he’s adorable.

He’s wearing the same dumb goggles as everyone else, with the edges digging into his cheeks and the elastic around the back of his head making his hair stick up on the sides. He’s watching the burette intently, so focused that his nose wrinkles and his tongue sticks out between his teeth. It has to be the single cutest thing Eddie has ever seen in his life.

His second mistake comes a moment later, when watching Steve makes him forget what he’s doing. The reminder is the sudden feeling that his left wrist is on fire.

“Shit-fuck!” he cries out, and he watches as his skin starts to turn red.

Before he knows it, there’s a hand on his other wrist. The bottle is swiftly pried from his fingers, and he’s being dragged over to the nearest sink. He complies easily, though it’s not because he knows he needs to rinse off right away.

Steve’s got his fingers wrapped firmly around Eddie’s unmarred forearm, and he walks with purpose. He turns on the tap and shoves Eddie’s left arm under it at the same time, so that cool water washes away the chemical and soothes the burn a bit. It barely registers, and though he desperately wants to chalk that up to shock, Eddie knows it has a lot more to do with the firm-but-gentle grasp on his elbow. That grasp keeps his arm under the running water as Ms. Denham comes rushing over.

“Eddie, dear, are you alright?”

He can’t answer her. Not while Steve is standing right next to him, touching him, his body so close that Eddie can feel his every breath.

“Eddie,” Ms. Denham repeats.

“Eddie?” Steve tries, and Eddie meets his concerned gaze.

Slowly, he nods. “I’m, uh. Yeah. I’m okay. S-Stings a little.”

“Of course it does,” the girl who sits across the aisle from them snarks. “You poured hydrochloric acid on yourself, you klutz.”

Before Eddie can think of a good comeback, Steve shoots the girl a look. “Mind your own business, Becks. It was an accident.”

“The kind of accident that happens when you’re goofing off.”

For half a second, Steve looks like he’s about to murder her with words, but Ms. Denham jumps in before their argument gets out of hand. “That’s enough, Miss Garrison. Get back to work.”

“Yeah, you should focus. We don’t want any more accidents,” Steve mutters, though he somehow makes it loud enough for the whole class to hear, and a couple girls on the other side of the room snicker behind their hands at Becky Garrison’s annoyed expression. Eddie would, too, but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s afraid of facing Ms. Denham’s wrath. She seems sympathetic, but he knows how quickly that can turn on a dime.

“Let’s turn the water off. Get a good look at the damage,” she suggests.

Steve dutifully turns off the tap, and though Eddie’s clearly burned, it’s not all that bad. The spot where the stuff first touched him shines with the beginnings of a tiny blister, but the area around it is just bright red.

“Hm. Small, but nothing to shake a stick at. You really did well bringing him over here straight away, Mr. Harrington.”

He nods in acknowledgement, but his eyes never leave Eddie’s face. It’s like he’s trying to figure out how much it hurts, just from the downturn of his lips.

“Still, you really should go to the nurse, dear,” Ms. Denham adds.

“I can take him,” Steve offers. He says it so quickly, head whipping around to address her as he does, that Eddie has to shake his head a little to clear it.

“How kind of you, Mr. Harrington. I’ll write you both a hall pass. Don’t worry about your station. I’ll clean it up.”

Soon, the two of them are making their way to the front offices, with Eddie holding his arm above his chest like Steve suggested, and Steve eyeing him anxiously in his periphery.

“Are you really okay? You seemed weird at the sink,” he says after a while.

Eddie exhales a humorless laugh. “I’m fine. And I’m a weirdo; it’s weird for me not to seem weird.”

“Fair. But can we stop saying that word?” Steve fully looks over at him, smirking gently. “It’s starting to lose all its meaning.”

With a small smile, Eddie replies, “You started it.”

“You’re right. I guess I did.”

They fall silent again, though it’s a little less tense.

Only a short distance from the nurse’s office, Eddie speaks up again. “Thanks for, you know…jumping in there. You’re like a knight in shining armor.” Shit, don’t say that. That’s pushing your luck, dude.

“Like your paladin?” Steve says, his voice soft.

“Sure. I guess.” Eddie swallows. “So, um…why’d you volunteer to walk me to the nurse? Was it to get out of gym or something? Which is totally fine, by the way—I commend the ingenuity.”

“No, man, I’m just…worried? Like, I want to make sure you’re alright. I got burned by the same stuff over the summer. They use it for the pool, and I got a little splash of it on me. That wasn’t very fun, so I can only imagine what it’s like to have some dumped on your arm.”

Eddie shrugs. “It’s not that bad.”

“Bullshit,” Steve laughs.

“Really! Like I said, it stings a little, but I’ve had sunburns worse than this.”

“If you say so.” He shakes his head. “I do have another question, though.”

Something in his tone makes Eddie’s guts shift. “Hm?”

“What happened, exactly? Did you get distracted, or…?”

“Yes.”

“By what?”

Eddie huffs. “As much as I appreciate the concern, I think it’s best if I keep that information to myself, Harrington.”

There’s a long pause before Steve pointedly asks, “Were you writing another poem in your head or something?”

Eddie stops in his tracks. He can’t take another step. It’s so sudden that Steve is a couple paces ahead before he notices and turns around. “I—you—what—?”

“Look, Eddie,” Steve sighs, “I know it was you putting those notes in my locker this summer. I mean, I didn’t know it until I was in class with you, but your handwriting is really distinctive, and with all the fantasy stuff…”

Staring with wide eyes, Eddie knows he must look like a scared animal. He is a scared animal, with no thoughts other than holy shit and run. But his sneakers are rooted to the spot, and he couldn’t escape if he tried.

“All week I’ve been trying to think of a way to bring it up without scaring you off or sounding like an idiot,” Steve goes on. “’Cause the truth is, man…I liked it. I really liked seeing those notes every couple days. The saddest part of the pool closing for the summer was knowing I’d have to wait ’til next year for another one, if they even started up again. It was nice knowing somebody out there was writing that stuff about me, even if they didn’t feel like they could just come up and talk to me.” He purses his lips and stares at the floor, and his voice is faint when he adds, “Even though they totally could’ve.”

He meets Eddie’s eye, and Eddie can’t believe what he sees staring back at him. It’s bashfulness and hope—the King himself, looking at Eddie like he holds the key to his happiness, like he’s waiting for an indication of how he’ll use it. The problem is, Eddie doesn’t know how; he’s spent the better part of two decades thinking he wouldn’t ever have someone look at him like that, so he never bothered to figure out how to respond.

The best he can come up with is, “Well. Um. That would’ve been good to know a couple months ago.”

It’s probably the wrong thing to say, but if it is, Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He snorts a laugh and replies, “If I knew it was you this summer, I would’ve asked you out back then.”

Eddie’s heart stutters. “And…now?”

“I still will,” Steve says, smiling brightly. “Are you free tonight?”

Without actually thinking about it, Eddie says, “Holy shit. Yes.” Even if he does have plans, a date with Steve fucking Harrington takes precedence.

Steve rewards him with one of his signature chortles. “Good. I’ll find something fun for us to do.”

“Deal.” Whatever it is, Eddie doesn’t think it’ll matter all that much. He’ll be doing it with his muse.

[givehimthemedicine]

what happened to El and Max's friendship between 3 and 4?

st3 is an elmax extravaganza and then suddenly in st4, there's no mention of whether they're even in contact. what are we supposed to think was going on with them?

the obvious is that Max has withdrawn from everybody in her depression, and that she and El aren't talking much anymore. but there's a LOT more to it!

let's break down the breakdown of elmax.

it's not just Max. I'm sensing misunderstandings resulting in withdrawal from both sides.

if you just clutched your elmaxer pearls and said no, El would never leave Max hanging, she loves her so much! she's the most important thing to her!, you gotta return to the source material. you can maybe claim that at the very end of 4, but not between seasons.

remember: the only elmax bonding screentime we've ever logged is during times El is broken up with Mike.

remember how El treated Max before, and why

in the only direct El/Max st2 interactions, not only did El treat Max like shit, but it was specifically because of El's misunderstanding (jealousy) about Mike.

Mike is El's only goal in ever approaching Max at all - not to apologize, or because she wants to get to know Max. it's only a happy surprise (thanks to lots of grace on Max's part) that this becomes the most edifying friendship of El's life.

I'm not suggesting El goes back to being an asshole to Max when she gets back with Mike, but you can see the romantic tunnel vision already setting in before st3 is over. it's unrealistic to think she stays MallRats-tight with Max while mileven is back on. of course, they are still friends. of course they're gonna stay in touch.

1: El and Max part on great terms, and are probably in regular contact at first. they're truthful with each other - but not fully.

st3 wraps with a huge mileven goodbye scene including a kiss, declaration of love, plans to visit, vows to stay in frequent contact... while El and Max are only part of a montage of quick hugs with no dialogue.

El and Max must also exchange goodbyes, but what happens onscreen vs. off is a Choice. and this pushes the idea of mileven communication very hard and El-Max not much.

I think El is always in more contact with Mike than Max, but that's unlikely to bother Max, since she has her own relationship to attend to.

they leave out the parts that are hardest to talk about.

we know El hid the bullying from Mike the whole time, but her letter speaks of change, making clear that she hasn't been claiming to be doing great in Lenora since day 1: "You were right. It just takes time. I think I have finally adapted. At first, I missed all the spring flowers, but now I find it pretty here too. I even like school now."

so at the beginning, evidently she was open about struggles like hating school and being homesick for Hawkins - definitely omitting things, but not actively lying.

I expect this is the way she communicated with Max as well. no lies, but no soul-baring either.

Max is known to be telling incomplete truths as well this season.

she reads things in her letter to Billy that she hasn't told anyone else, and Vecna-Billy says that her letter wasn't the full truth. nothing she said was a lie, but she left out parts that cast her in a bad light. Max later verifies that he was "just telling the truth."

there's definitely no point when El and Max are telling each other everything.

2: as her depression deepens, Max gives up on faking happiness, and starts isolating. she reaches out to El less often.

at some point Max breaks up with Lucas and withdraws socially. it's possible El remains the friend Max is best able to communicate with, since she doesn't have to do it face-to-face, but she probably initiates less.

3: El mistakes Max's depression for disinterest, and doesn't reach out more to bridge the gap.

Max has clearly not confided in El about the Billy stuff or her depression. so when her communication starts to grow less enthusiastic, less frequent... what is El to think except that Max is getting less interested in staying friends?

El is always the receiver

look, here's the thing... she's virtually always shown to be the receiver of contact from her loved ones. and it's always been VERY important to her, to the point where she gets upset if they forget / can't. the 1-2 gap is Mike calling El hundreds of times. at the st3 goodbye, it's Mike vowing to call El so much she'll have to turn her walkie off. etc.

while historically, she's been a very uncommunicative person herself. she's not one to volunteer anything, or carry or initiate a conversation. the only time I remember her reaching out to Mike first is to demand why he's slightly late in contacting her.

thus, I see the majority of El's contact with both Mike and Max as her waiting to be contacted by them. this isn't self-centeredness; it's just kinda the only way everyone's always treated El, so.. that's how it works.

so when Max's communication starts dropping off, of course El is sad, but she just doesn't know how to pick up the slack (or doesn't even really think of that as an option).

4: Max mistakes El not bridging the gap as disinterest as well.

haven't we all been there? if you and your friend never talk unless you're the one to reach out, don't you eventually feel like "okay, I see how it is"? especially if you're depressed?

5: El starts faking happiness, writing letters, and actively lying to Mike.

struggling in Lenora with waning support from her best friend, El starts faking happiness. ALL focus is redirected to her boyfriend to provide all sense of happiness and purpose. without superpowers (the reason he likes her, she thinks), she feels she needs to make herself be the perfect girlfriend. she starts lying to him, claiming she's excelling academically and socially.

El even adopts letter writing (which doesn't come naturally to her) as a new mode of communication with Mike The Writer to try to appeal to him more.

6: Max finds out El and Mike are exchanging letters.

we know Mike brings El up a lot, and we know Max still sits with her friends at least sometimes. so it's reasonable to think Mike has mentioned tidbits to Max about El. maybe it starts to hurt that El appears to be able to contact him, but not her. even though Max probably has little energy for social contact, she must still wish El would reach out.

like. for Max, El apparently can't even pick up the phone. meanwhile her willingness to contact Mike appears to be flourishing. he now has letters from her. that's the one mode of communication that proves El is actively communicating, not just passively receiving and "mhm"ing through phonecalls.

byler communication problems parallel elmax communication problems

El and Mike are both prioritizing this misconception of a relationship even though it's not really making them happy. and front row center in the text, is the fact that that's causing a disconnect between Mike and his best friend. might not a similar thing be happening between El and her best friend?

take the byler "what about us" fight and swap Mike for El and Max for Will. it hits some notes irt the communication dynamic, doesn't it?

Max: You're mad that I didn't talk to you? You made it super clear that you're not interested in anything I have to say. El: That's just not true. M: You've called maybe a couple times. It's been a year, El. Meanwhile, Mike has a book of letters from you. El: That's because he's my boyfriend, Max. M: And us? E: We're friends. We're friends. M: We used to be best friends. E: Then maybe you should've reached out more?

7: Max believes the lies in El's letters to Mike. Max thinks El has moved on, and gives up.

since El isn't confiding in her, Max has no idea that all the positive claims in El's letter to Mike are lies.

Max doesn't doubt El's ability to succeed socially; she's always thought El is really cool and capable! it sounds like El has blossomed from her mentorship the past summer and doesn't need Max herself anymore.

as much as this parallels byler, I don't sense bitterness. if she wasn't bitter about how El treated her in st2, she wouldn't be now. I sense a quiet sucks for me but I'm happy for you type disappointment that blends into the numbness.

now with "proof" that she isn't missed, Max probably doesn't contact El at all anymore, and that's pretty much the end of it.

I actually have quite a bit of support for this:

🚩 the girls in the hallway

yeah, duh, this was about El, but I wanna talk about the decision to make this shot be of three girls.

seems like if this was meant to represent Max simply missing El, it would've been two girls, one to represent each of them.

which is exactly what El's corresponding scene does: one girl - a redhead, not-Max - seemingly waves at her, which makes her so happy, until not-Max passes her and connects with another girl, a brunette not-El.

it's over this clip that El reads the lie in her letter to Mike, "I have made lots of friends."

another lie reads, "I am twice as happy now."

Max looking at three brunette not-Els feels like a specific reference to these lies - a belief that El has made new besties (two being twice as many) and is doing fine, better in fact, and not missing or even thinking about Max.

🚩 the letter

Max hands Lucas letters for the others, including El, "if you can ever get ahold of them again". this is referring to the way nobody can get through to the Cali crew, but it hurts me to hear Max use the same language about El as she does her Dad, by whom it's safe to say she feels abandoned.

🚩 the phone

there's this whole 4v2 thing about the inability to reach the Byers. Hawkins gang is literally convinced the world may be ending. they should all be trying to contact the Byers any which way (and I believe they are, but again, what's onscreen is a Choice), but unless I'm forgetting a scene?, we're only ever shown/told about Max trying to make contact.

why always Max, and why always by phone? Mike and El have been keeping in touch via Cerebro. remind me why it isn't an option for Dustin to try to contact Will or El that way?

ST seems to want to take this opportunity to push really hard on the repetition of Max calling but getting a busy signal.

kinda like... reaching out to El, and getting the impression that El is too busy for her.

and hey look, "I am so busy" is something El told Mike in the letter.

is El literally not returning Max's phonecalls?? highly doubtful. you gotta remember it doesn't work like today, where you can call your friend, get no answer, and decline to leave a voicemail, figuring "eh, they'll see that I called." on '86 landline, if you call and nobody picks up, and they don't own an answering machine (or you choose not to leave a message), they don't even know that you called. so it wouldn't be that El is ignoring Max's calls; it'd be that El has no idea Max called.

I don't think this is exclusively about literal telephone calls though. just the general analogy of Max always being the one to reach out and El not even always realizing it.

Max knows the phone number by heart. she isn't holding a piece of paper to refer to. Steve questioning whether Max typed it in right, and Max sounding annoyed, serves to underline her familiarity with the number. it's highly unlikely she ever called it to chat with Joyce, Will, or Jonathan. she also seems familiar with what amounts of time are and aren't typical for Joyce to keep the line tied up.

this is the best canon evidence that Max and El spoke at some point and that Max was the caller.

again, I understand Max is only textually referring to the current phone issue (during which time El isn't even at the Byers house), and not to all past attempts at friendly chats with El.

but, idk, isn't there this repeated sense of Max reaching out, and it looking to her like El is too busy for her? something about the way she keeps saying the busy signal is "the same" sounds like she's been feeling this way for awhile?

this is the moment we're shown El walking into this scene via the void. illustrating the way El is there for her, emotionally, but that Max doesn't know because she's getting the wrong signals from her.

of course, the Byers' line isn't really busy - government agents are controlling the phone because any contact might cost El her life.

the phone isn't disconnected (the agent orders the pizza with it). and the agents can't be keeping the phone off the hook, otherwise Max would be getting an off-the-hook signal, not a busy signal. (busy sounds like doooot-doooot and off the hook sounds like eh-eh-eh-eh).

point being, the busy signal is a false impression. the agents are jamming the phone. it's not really busy, nor has El really been too busy loving Lenora to miss Max.

of course El, during this actual timeframe, HAS been pretty busy: she's locked in a missile silo learning superpowers, due to to the way her, oh - oh hahah stop - her signals have been scrambled.

are you all seeing this.

blank makes you crazy

the "scrambled signals" stroke analogy about El losing her powers serves just as well as analogy for mileven. after all - both have been in effect since the end of st3.

El's misconceived relationship with Mike has been clouding her judgment/priorities all through the 3-4 gap. her belief that romance is the most important type of love is adversely affecting her relationships with others, giving the impression she doesn't care about them.

Brenner and Mike can be found likening both love, and power loss, to neurological problems.

Mike and El both have this st4 arc where they have to realize that obsessing/forcing their relationship isn't healthy, and instead give their best friendships the attention they deserve.

whereas Mike does it via self reflection and healthy conversation with Will, it takes much more dramatic events to lead El to the equivalent realization about her best friendship with Max. that's not because El is dumber - it's because she doesn't find out there's been a misunderstanding until 4v2.

the minute she gets her powers back, the first person she goes to check on is Max, and that's when she learns how things are really going with her.

it's not til El eavesdrops the phone scene that she realizes how it must feel on Max's end, always being the one reaching out.

it's not until she eavesdrops the attic monologue that she understands Max's silence has been due to suicidal depression, not disinterest. that they have both been struggling but keeping it to themselves.

the prior themes of Max always being the initiator makes it so much more powerful that El shows up for her at the end!

Max isn't just confused because "hey how'd you get in my head" or "hey why are you bald", but because she didn't realize El cared about her anymore.

it means so much that El is 100% the one reaching out to her in this moment. like, it's not just cool that El wants to save Max's life from This Season's Thing. but this shows that El first checked on Max, found out something was wrong, and embarked on a mission to help, all of her own initiative - because Max hadn't told her about any of this. this proves to her that El never forgot her or stopped caring.

ST5 ELMAX HEART TO HEART PLEASE I BEG YOU. THE STAGE IS SOOOO SET