#crossover is going to hit so hard

[sailingfireshipz]

I'm afraid of the person I may become Jan. 29th at 7pm.... like do i warn my neighbors now or later? Because there will be screaming... I'm sure of it.

[bluerosefox]

Waiting... Waiting...

So... This was inspired by listening to EPIC (FREAKING LOVE ALL THE ALBUMS, SO GOOD) and by @noxcheshire post of Tim being Odysseus reincarnated and Danny (maybe also reincarnated) being his Penelope (Here) so I had to turn it into a Dead Tired idea.

The song The Challenge is the main one here. (Cause I LOVE that song... along with Would You Fall In Love With Me Again)

So WHAT IF Danny IS the reincarnated Penelope, after becoming the Ghost King Danny's memories of his past life as Penelope returns and remembers how before dying/ or being reincarnated both Penelope and Odysseus promised to find each other in their new lives, no matter who they are, what new form they take, they will find each other.

So Danny/Penelope, just like before waits for their Odysseus to return to them, but also tries to find him in their new life (CW is laughing whenever Danny asks for hints and gets a 'In due time, just wait' answer, ugh Danny wants to smack CW for that)

However just like in his previous life with being in a high position of power, Danny is being pressured to marry/take a spouse (now its not just men/males though so its a huge headache, I head canon Ghosts don't care much for gender preference) mostly by the dang eyeballs that Danny is still trying to find a way to get rid of without upsetting the Infinite Realms delicate (but slowly healing) balance even if Danny wanted nothing more than to punch all of the suitors out.

So Danny decides to play the long game again.

And waits for their Odysseus return.

Danny's wait is over when they suddenly feel the Realms shift one day, as if welcoming someone familiar home, and the same feeling Danny had when he had been Penelope and saw the storm that was sign of Odysseus coming home, Danny decides its time to bring out The Challenge once again. (CW gifted Danny a few things from his past as Penelope as a coronation gift, like Odysseus's bow (now enchanted to be unbreakable), a painting of when he was Penelope, with Telemchus, and Odysseus, and the Marriage Bed/Olive Tree, AND the Palace Odysseus made that Danny takes to being in over being at Pariah's Keep)

-x-x-

Meanwhile

Tim Drake, aka Red Robin, always had strange dreams as a child.

War, Death, Monsters, Gods, Goddesses.

His dreams were more like nightmares, haunting him and he sometimes woke up in cold sweat.

He hated storms. Hated being in the water for to long. Hated how he felt both tense but also at home when around Greek heroes, as if he was afraid to 'disrespect' them (Cassie was the only one he didn't feel that way around, mostly cause they had been somewhat friends before their heroing since their parents knew each other) but also knew how to appease them should he insult them. He also had a strange hatred for the CoO with a burning passion because he felt like they were mocking real Owls.

The worst part of nightmares that always pop up are of what feels like should be his home is being invaded by unwanted guests (they aren't guests), how they are angry over trying to string a bow and shot an arrow through axes, of the terrible terrible things he hear them saying they were going to do to his loved ones (two names that keep getting muted out).

How it ends in bloodshed with echoing of begging, pleading, mercy, and screams.

However in those nightmares at the end. He also finds himself looking for something in them.

Or rather he always found someone waiting for him at the end of the nightmares. Calling him by the wrong name but it sounds just right coming from them.

The dream always ends with the person asking 'How long has it been?' and before he can answer he wakes up.

So yeah Tim has horrifying nightmares/dreams he could never explain.

And the urge to find someone. To go home to them.

It isn't until he and his friends from Young Justice are hit by a spell from Klarion (who may or may not had a visit from a certain chaos encouraging Time Keeper) and sent to a place called the Infinite Realms in the middle of their fight, that Tim is hit hard with déjà vu when he spots a certain Palace in the distance and overhears some of the 'people?' (they glow and float and some don't even look human?! where are they?) talk about how the 'King' has issued a new 'Challenge' for his 'suitors'.

A Challenge involving a bow, and axes.

And Tim, feels like he knows this all too well and needs to do it.

[savanir]

This Song and Dance once again

Ember has returned to the alive side of the portal for another attempt at ultimate stardom, this time she’s really going to do a world tour babey!

She's learned some lessons from her last attempts. She's taking it outside of hinky dinky Amity Park and she'll start with getting some prime quality fans first, some real all stars themselves so to speak, after all, Phantom surely can’t be the only teen out there with aspirations for heroism right? 

Danny realises something is very wrong when a new hit single which has Ember’s brand slapped all over it, is spreading all over the world at an alarming rate. He already had the feeling that things were (literally) being too quiet lately 

He's forced to leave Amity to hunt her down and eventually finds himself in the presence of two Teen Titans, namely Robin (who figured out it was sound based mind control on time and put his protective batplugs in). And Aqua Lad, whose Atlantean biology means that his ear membranes are adapted for high pressure and that has the side effect of protecting him from the mind control. 

Technically they also have Speedy with them who was tinkering with new arrow ideas when shit hit the fan and was already wearing ear protection at the time (though to be fair, he also figured it out. You can only fight count Vertigo so many times and not learn the signs of this particular brand of fuckery) but he got caught by Wonder Girl's lasso and he's now sitting tied up at the sidelines, giving commentary.

And if you were to ask Robin right now, being generally unhelpful. 

It's mostly just him bickering with Dick and Garth awkwardly trying to get them to stop but he's not good at it cause usually it's Donna or Wally who break these things up and speaking off…   Dealing with a mind controlled speedster and amazon combo really sucks actually. 

Danny has never fought alongside other heroes before and it probably shows but besides Garth’s hydrokinesis and magic, Danny’s attacks are the most effective against Ember and neither Wally nor Donna can catch him much to Ember's frustration. 

But he's very good at drawing all of her attacks to him. Which is really great cause none of the Titans have experience dealing with a realms being. 

So, both sides have two titans and a ghost… At least the fight is fair?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

ISAT & Dungeon Meshi swap!

[queenlucythevaliant]

Okay gang, here's a silly little game. I've assembled six teams of blended Narnia and Tolkien/LotR characters. Here they are:

For bonus points, tell me in the tags where you're going on your road trip, who has what role (driving, snacks, aux) on the road, and what you'll stop off and see along the way

[waywardsunlight]

The grieving process is wild because something will happen months or years ago and then slam into you like an off-tracks train on a random Saturday in October and you just have to live with it.

[aparticularbandit]

but also for someone who has definitely played around with amnesia and rebuilding and reliving and such stuff in fic before (just because i never posted it doesn't mean i didn't play around with it), i. now kind of want to figure out how to play around with that with junko. the scenario would need to be different. but.

[heart-bones]

tell me how instead of drawing or writing or reading or doing anything at all on my day off, I laid in bed and scrolled on my phone

[theonewiththefanfics]

Sweet Heart (one-shot)

Synopsis:

The Pitt x The Bear (I've been thinking about this crossover for so long). I might make this a sort of interconnected standalone series :)

There is someone new living in the apartment across the hall from him. 14B. And 14B makes the best desserts ever, Jack Abbot being the lucky bastard that he is, gets to test them out first. However, he has never met 14B. Not until an accident brings her into his ED.

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!chef!Reader (age-gap - reader is stated to be 27 for the purposes of the story, Jack is mid to late 40ies);

Platonic! Carmy x fem!chef!Reader

Genre: pretty much pure fluff

Warnings: injuries (a cut ligament to be specific), talks of depression and suicide by our two favorite older men, mentions of a lost spouse, Pittfest, medical inaccuracies, though I did my best with the palm anatomy research (based on something that actually happend to my colleague) but I don't think anything else really

Word count: 11,206

The day had been absolute shit.

            Not that Jack really had any other kind, it was just shit and shittier, but that one had been one of the shittiest ones yet.

            For one, his shift ended with the death of a vet, and those always hit too close to home, poking holes into the walls he’d built around himself. But he didn’t even get a full day’s rest, a proper amount of time to process it, as the Pittfest shooting happened, and he had to rush back to the ED hours before his next one started, which was not how he’d planned on spending the time off he had.

            It was a routine – get home, maybe catch a couple of hours of shut-eye (at best, though he did attempt to give his body a proper rest), then heat up some of the leftover pasta he had in the fridge, and then, as a cherry on top before going back to the Pitt, delight himself into some dessert left on his doorstep by his neighbor from 14B.

            Instead, he’d had to leave the pasta bowl in the microwave, and he didn’t even have time to put on the prosthesis sock. He just had to raw-dog it out of the house, when the police scanner informed him of the mass shooting. He didn’t even get a chance to look towards the greeting mat in front of his door for a Tupperware; that was how quickly he rushed back to PTMC.

            112 people lived. 6 died. It could have been worse, he tried to compartmentalize. They were in the trade of balancing the scales of life and death, so anytime the life one tipped lower, Jack could breathe a sigh of relief.

            However, injuries and death, he knew how to deal with, despite the impact it always had. Having to talk your best friend off the ledge though, was a different beast. Because this time it was different. This time, as Jack watched Robby stand on the wrong side of the railing, he thought he might actually take that final step.

            So he talked, he was the voice of reason, like Robby had been to him on the mornings when the weight of the world just pressed down a bit too hard on his shoulders. The first proper breath Jack got to take was when Robby stepped back onto the safe side of the roof, walking with him back down to the chaos that was their workplace, where finally, a few hours later, they could emerge into the night, surrounded by their residents and students and interns, all sharing a drink of victory.

            And where most of their days would end, they’d go back home, get a full night’s rest, hopefully, one not filled with nightmares, Jack’s had only begun. He still had a night shift to manage.

            So, with a clap on Robby’s back, and a promise from Shen they'd hold down the fort, he drove back home for a couple of hours, if only to regroup and clean his scrubs before returning to the maw of the beast.

            This time though, he did glance down beside his door, only to be met with disappointment, when nothing awaited him. On the one day he so desperately wished for a sweet thing, there was nothing.

            Jack’s brows furrowed as he glanced across the hall towards the door of 14B.

            He’d never met the inhabitant of the flat. He’d never once seen anyone enter or exit, and would only sometimes hear quiet shuffling or soft humming.

            For a while, after Mr Redford who’d lived there for the past twenty years, only to move away to Sicily as some sort of a midlife crisis thing, the apartment had stood empty. And then one morning, about four months ago, as Jack had dragged his tired and sore body home, he noticed a new greeting mat by the door.

            His head slowly moved in a nod of approval. His only hope was that whoever now lived there, was a quiet and respectful person, but his brows rose in surprise when he went to unlock his own door, only for his foot to meet a Tupperware container, a neatly folded piece of paper on top.

            With a grunt he leaned down and took the glass square, opening the note.

Hi! This is from 14B across the hall. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Miss June from 2nd floor said you’re a doctor, so I dunno when or if we’ll have a chance to see one another, but I just wanted to do the neighborly thing and say hello. :) Inside are some Millionaire-shortbread-brownies. I swear they are not poisoned, but I am trying to perfect the recipe, so any and all feedback is appreciated, as long as it’s constructive. (If you actually throw them out, it’s fine, but please don’t tell me that). Besides, I need a new taste-tester, living in a new place and all that. P.S. ingredient list is attached to the bottom, just in case you have any allergies or food restrictions. Hope you enjoy! :)

            Jack stared at the container, finger slipping over the other paper attached to the back with tape, and turned to look at 14B as if he had some sort of laser vision, and could see through into the apartment.

            He waited for a minute, two, three, but still the door remained closed. He could just go there and knock, do the neighborly thing like 14B had tried and introduce himself to the new occupant, but then he heard the entrance door on the first floor click open, and took it as his cue to enter his own flat, Tupperware in hand though. He didn’t wanna get caught looking at the apartment like some sort of a creep.

            Slipping his bag down his shoulder, he left it by the couch, before plopping onto it. For a second, the dessert and 14B were forgotten, as Jack rolled up his scrub pants and removed his prosthetic.

            The leg had been killing him the entire shift, as the heel of his prosthetic had been worn down really bad on one side, and the new one was still in transit, so his weight distribution was completely off. The thought of having to walk up those five flights of stairs had made him want to go back to PTMC and finally fling himself off the edge.

            Jack allowed himself a couple of moments of pleasure, of simply existing in silence, before he stood up, grabbed the crutch he’d left resting against the couch, and ventured to the bathroom.

            He stripped off, throwing the scrubs in the washing machine, and allowed the hot water of the shower to wash away the thoughts of the day. After he’d run the water cold, with just a towel around his hips, he went back to the living room, but not before putting his scrubs into the drier, and finally took a real look at the Tupperware and its contents.

            Even without fully lifting the lid off, Jack was immediately enveloped by the sweet scent of chocolate, caramel and butter.

            He’d never been a desserts kind of a man, but he swore after taking the smallest bite of the brownie, quite literally popping a piece of crumb into his mouth, he would marry whoever had made it.

            It was decadent in all the ways that mattered, but not so dense you would be filled up by just one bite. The shortbread bottom had a nice, salty flavor to it, and how 14B had managed to keep the caramel the stretchy kind, was beyond Jack’s understanding. But he didn’t really bake either, so there was also that.

            There was no police scanner on, there was no TV or radio, just the sounds of Pittsburg in the morning, as Jack, for the first time in ages, enjoyed something sweet.

            The beeping of the drier was his cue to get up and get to bed, needing to grab at least a couple of hours of sleep before going back to PTMC, but before he did that, he took out the rest of the brownie and put it in his own container, washing 14B’s. As he exited and ventured over to the apartment, clad in some plaid pyjamas, he placed a note inside with a small comment,

“hope you’re settling in well, 14B. maybe some flaky salt on top, and it’d be a 10/10. current rating – 9.85/10. have a good day. 13A”

Once more, Jack debated whether or not he should try and knock, but it was already close to ten in the morning, and most normal people would be at their jobs, so he just placed the container down by the door, but not directly in front of it. Their doors swung out.

He lingered for a second, as if maybe whoever was on the other side would feel his presence. Why in the world was he so intrigued by 14B’s new inhabitant? Better yet – why did he suddenly feel so drawn towards someone he’d never met?

With one final glance, it was time for Jack to go, and dive into his bed. This time, he actually slept quite well and felt fairly rested for the night ahead. When he got to the Pitt, Robby passed the baton onto him without the need to venture up to the roof.

By the time he got home, leaving Robby in charge again, and was walking up to the fifth floor of his home, he was greeted by another Tupperware.

            Jack lifted it and took off the Post-It on top.

“Thank you!” it read in neat handwriting. “Will add it to the next batch! In the meantime, try this instead!  From 14B”

            And that is how this weird exchange began as an anonymous stranger managed to make Jack find a silver lining even on his bad days.

            Jack would return home to find some sort of a dessert in a glass container waiting for him, a piece of paper explaining the ingredients and allergens attached to it. He had given back a note once saying he didn’t have any restrictions, but still, it showed up, though it seemed like his words had unlocked some closed creativity and flavor vault, as 14B started to experiment with taste profiles.

            Sometimes it was as basic as a butter croissant, the flakiest one he'd ever eaten, pastry dough no doubt hand-laminated, and then sometimes it was as extravagant as a panna cotta with passion fruit jam and candied orange zest on top.

            More often than not, as Jack would dig into the sweet treat of the day, his eyes would roll to the back of his head in pleasure. After thoroughly enjoying it, he’d take a piece of paper and write down his thoughts, though he didn’t actually think he had much insight to give. Then he’d clean out the container and leave it by 14B’s doorstep.

            It was shift after shift, and they continued on with this dance. Sometimes he got a repeat dessert, but with whatever improvements Jack had told it needed, however, the one thing he looked forward to most was the notes, as he tried to figure out who 14B might actually be.

            Jack had a few theories and he wrote down the small deductions in a little notebook he’d started to keep.

            He was fairly certain it was a woman. Call him stereotypical, as much as he wouldn’t like to hear it, but he just couldn’t imagine a man doing such a thing, especially for so long.

            The handwriting was also too neat. Too clean and precise. But then again, maybe normal men who didn’t work in the medical field and didn’t have illegible cursive also had normal-looking handwriting.

            Jack had debated whether or not this person could be in the same profession as him, or maybe the same field due to the way 14B always gave him a full-on ingredient and allergen list, but he’d struck that out. The timing and consistency of the desserts appearing by his doorstep, were way too precise because even techs and sanitary workers couldn’t predict their hours so well. A hospital was one big hamster wheel that was spinning non-stop, and people just had to try and find when to jump if they wanted to get home.

            Finally, after dessert number 44 (thought he’d come to that conclusion by dessert 5 really), Jack had settled on the fact that 14B had to be a chef or a chef in training because when he’d gotten home, a still-hot dark chocolate lava cake had waited for him, a yuzu and raspberry sauce in a smaller container to the side. It was still something he dreamt about on the darker days.

            So now, returning home on one of the worst days he’d had at the Pitt, after one of the worst mass-casualty events they’d had to deal with, without a container and note waiting for him, was anxiety-inducing.

            A horrendous thought entered his mind – could 14B have been there at Pittfest? Could she have been one of the people he treated? Or had she been one of the unlucky ones who got a ride directly to the morgue?

            His feet carried him to the door in an instant, heart pounding in his chest. He was just about ready to knock when something crashed behind there.

            “Fucking hell,” Jack heard muffled swearing. “That’s batch number fucking three for the trash.”

            She was there.

            14B was right there, and seemingly warring with her food.

            Jack’s heart rate returned to normal and as it did so, he took a step back. Then another. And another until he was back at his own door.

            14B was alive, which meant Jack could get some rest.

            By the time he was back on his feet ready to finish off the shift, this time a proper prosthetic sock on, if only to help out a bit with the pain, it was dark outside, but Pittsburg seemed quieter. Like it was still reeling from what happened during the day.

            He could make his way to the Pitt blindfolded, as he’d taken the route so many times in his life by then, however, what was unusual was finding Robby there by the lockers. Jack was sure he had left to go home.

            “Brother, and I mean this with love, what the fuck are you still doing here?” he pulled him in for a hug. They both needed it.

            Robby ran a hand over his face, leaning to rest against the metal doors. “I know we took an oath to help and save people, but God, do I think we all should be afforded one murder per year. And I know how that sounds after today.”

            Jack snorted, putting in his combination and unlocking it. “Tell me about it.”

            “I get dibs on Gloria.”

            “What’d she harass you about now? I mean seriously, tonight after everything?”

            “Got on my ass about Santos.”

            The vet raised a brow. The intern was reckless, that was for sure, but her instincts were in the right place, as Jack had found out about her having done a REBOA unsupervised. She just had to hone them and start to listen to authority, otherwise, it could end badly for someone, and most likely, she wouldn’t be the victim.

            “Some reporter wants to sue. Says she chucked his phone into a mop bucket. Damage of personal property or some sort of bullshit.” Robby slammed his head back against the doors. “He literally took an actual victim’s hoodie just to get inside the hospital, and now he wants to sue?”

            “Jesus, and Gloria’s on his side? It hasn’t even been 24 hours!”

            “Gloria’s on the side that costs the least amount of money for PTMC.” Robby let out a scoff. “And a lawsuit is definitely on the expensive list.”

            “Yeah, well sucks to be her. She should start properly staffing us with nurses and security, and this kind of shit wouldn’t happen then.”

            Robby gave his friend a tired smile. It was a soul-tired kind of smile, something Jack understood intimately. “And yet despite all that, we always come back.”

            “Someone has to.”

            For a moment they basked in the silence between them, but it was never fully quiet. Not at the Pitt. Sirens could still be heard somewhere in the distance, probably coming towards them. For others, they had white noise in the background, or maybe a thunderstorm app on. They? They had ambulance wails and heart rate monitors.

            Robby clapped him on the shoulder. “Ready to take on the night, brother?”

            “As I’ll ever be,” Jack responded with the same gesture. “Someone has to keep Shen from saying certain stupid words.”

            “Heard this full moon’s gonna be one of those super moons or something too.” Robby slung his backpack on his shoulders, chuckling at Jack’s groan.

            “Then god help us all, and someone better find some tape for John’s mouth.”

            “You know what does help?” Robby took a glance from the side. “Those cookies from 14B. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything that tasted that good. Maybe you could ask for the recipe?”

            It had been day 84 when 14B had given him a larger container filled with browned butter, and dark chocolate chip cookies, dusted with freeze-dried raspberry powder. Robby had come over for a drink, as he had a day off, and when he’d found them on a plate, after taking just one bite, had pretty much melted into the cushions.

            “There is no fucking way you made these,” he practically moaned at the taste. Not that Jack could say he was any better when he’d tasted them. “And these are way too good to be store-bought.”

            “What? You don’t think I can bake?”

            “Not like this. Your speciality is Kraft. This is fucking artisanal.”

            That was when Jack had come clean about the situation with the apartment across the hall.

             Ever since that day, his brother-in-arms had been on his ass about getting the actual recipes with step-by-step instructions on how to make these wonderful desserts, because when Jack had given Robby the ingredient list for one of them, it hadn’t come out nearly as well, as when 14B had done it.

            One time, during day 99, Jack had brought in a piece of rum-soaked chocolate sponge cake, filled with blackberry jam in between the layers and coated in a chicory Mascarpone and Philadelphia cream cheese frosting, only to have Robby basically attack him like a vulture about how he still hadn’t made any contact with 14B apart from the notes they exchanged.

            “Don’t you wanna know who it is?”

            “Sure,” Jack shrugged. “But this way works too. Besides, I don’t think our schedules really align.”

            Robby just raised a brow at the dry rebuttal, stealing a bite from the cake, which Jack could only accept with a sigh. “Well, if you don’t I just might, and I just might and go on marry them. This is fucking nuts!”

            Jack couldn’t fault him for the sentiment, because it wasn’t the food he had slowly started to fall for either, it was the person on the other end making it.

            He still didn’t know how old she was (if 14B even was a she, but he was 99% sure he was right about that), or how she looked, but he knew her favorite book. Her favorite song and color. He knew she loved thunderstorms and lightning, that it was how she slept the best. He knew she loved indie rock, but pop-punk was her favorite music genre. He knew that and so many other little things that’d allowed him to form a version of the person behind 14B. Someone with a heart as sweet, as the desserts she made.

            But in the present, Jack just shook his head, giving Robby one last goodbye for the night. He hoped he would take the next day off, maybe a week or so. However, who was he to talk about a work-life balance when his whole life practically was his work. And, well, being a dessert taste-tester, but that was more a side gig.

            The night was surprisingly calm, a word he didn’t dare say out loud, and anytime anyone thought Shen just might, someone physically clapped a hand over the man’s mouth. A patient even shushed him as she was being prepped for an appendectomy, eyes wide as she looked at Jack and Mateo.

            “Isn’t that like totally illegal to say here?”

            “It is if he wants to remain an attending.” Jack gave Shen a look, a good-natured one, but that still said – do not say the ‘q’ word or the ‘c’ word or the ‘p’ word. Not after the day they’d had.

            John just rolled his eyes but did lift his hands in surrender, as he left the room to deal with other patients.

            And so, the night rolled on without too many intense traumas, as if even the supermoon hanging over the world, had decided to give them a break because they needed it. Jack needed it. Methodical, almost tear-jerkingly borking kind of work, where he didn’t need to call a time of death or watch someone code or try and get a life-saving surgery scheduled with all ORs already full.

            By the time it was 3:26 in the morning, Jack was on his third cup of coffee, when a soft voice invaded the ED.

            “Carmy, seriously, I’m fine,” a young woman, mid-to-late twenties by the looks of it, was trying to calm down the clearly anxious man next to her, as they walked to Lupe sitting behind the clerk’s desk. “They’re just gonna stitch me up, and I’ll be back on track.”

            “I mean that seemed way deeper than the usual cuts.” The blond man was chewing on the bottom of his lip.

            “Yeah, well, it’s why we’re here,” she rolled her Y/E/C eyes, thanking Lupe for the forms and venturing to sit down in one of the open chairs. “Per your insistence, might I add?”

            He ran a hand through his curly hair. “Oh, sorry for caring about how you were bleeding all over the counter.”

            “It’s just a cut! Honestly, I would’ve been fine with the first aid kit at home.”

            The man, Carmy as she’d called him, gave her a look. “We’ll see what the doctor has to say.”

            With that, Jack glanced up at the monitor as a new name appeared, one of the only three there at the moment. He nodded to Princess who was sitting behind the HUB. “I’ll take care of this.”

            This he could do. This was not a critical, high-stakes thing. This was hooking someone up to fluids, cleaning and assessing a wound, and giving some nice stitches, telling them to take it easy, and schedule a follow-up with their PM to get the threads out.

            As Perlah instructed the woman to follow her, Carmy going with like a puppy, Jack trailed on behind, eyes scanning the print-out Princess had given him.

            Name: Y/N Y/L/N

            Gender: Female

            Age: 27

            Type of injury: cut on the hand; the bleeding hasn’t stopped after thirty minutes of continuously applied pressure.

            “My name is Jack Abbot,” he introduced himself, entering the room Perlah had settled Y/N in. “And I will be your doctor today. What seems to be the issue?”

            She lifted her towel-covered hand, the material soaked through with blood. “Hi! I’m uh, Y/N and, I just gave myself a bit of a cut.”

            “A bit?” Jack snorted, eyeing the cloth that was still getting visibly soaked through.

            “Look, I was just a bit distracted while cutting some lemons, and the knife slipped. Sliced through the skin by my thumb. Honestly, the juice in the wound hurt more than the cut itself,” she let out a weak chuckle while Jack put on some gloves and sat down on the rolling chair, sliding in between her legs.

            “It’s not just a ‘flesh wound’,” Carmy pinched the bridge of his nose, and Jack threw him an appraising look, mouth pursed while he untied the injured hand.

            “Are you her partner?”

            But before he could reply, Y/N butted in with a warm smile. “If this is some way to try and figure out if he was the one that cut me, then no. He didn’t. But I’m grateful you’re looking out for me like that.”

            “Just doing my job.” Jack shook his head. “Seen such things one too many times, and it’s hospital policy only family or legal guardians are allowed into the room, unless otherwise stated.”

            Y/N snorted. “Carmen’s more than okay to stay, but I mean on the other hand…” she wiggled her brows at her friend, who just stared back as deadpan as Jack was. “Geez, tough crowd.”

            “We’re co-workers,” Carmen offered as he sat down on another chair that was in the corner, crossing his arms over his chest. “And we’re both chefs, so I know it’s more than just a surface cut. I think she might’ve severed a tendon.”

            “Now why would you say that!?” Y/N snapped her head to him. “I say this is just a couple of stitches, and I’m on my way. Right, doc?”

            Carmen sighed. “All I’m saying is, we kept steady pressure on the wound, wrapped it for fifteen minutes straight, and fifteen more minutes later, she is still bleeding. Went through two towels already. Look, Y/N has a really high pain tolerance, but I’m worried about this.”

            “Oh, please!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You men just like to exaggerate everything.”

            “You literally told Syd one of those what was it, ovarian cysts? Yeah, it burst, and you thought it was cramps when you should’ve been at the hospital.”

            “PCOS is a bitch, what can I say,” she shrugged like it was a self-explanatory thing, and Perlah who was helping Jack place a sanitary pad underneath her hand, disposing of the dishtowel in the trash, muttered a small ‘word’ underneath her breath, eliciting a smile from Y/N.

            Jack, the good doctor he was, had been listening the whole time, making mental notes and asking Perlah to jot down some physical ones as well, but where he’d had to take in a breath and clear his throat had been when Carmen had told him their profession.

            Chefs.

            No, he reasoned. It couldn’t be, could it? Probably not. Pittsburg was a huge city and populated by many people with many different professions, and there had to be thousands if not tens of thousands of chefs even in the area they were in.

            Just in case he leaned over her chart and checked the address, but a Chicago zip code stared back at him, sending a pang of disappointment through his chest, because ever since Y/N’s eyes had met his, Jack swore she was his mysterious pastry fairy.

            There was this unexplainable warmth that’d seeped through his veins as if they already knew one another. As if he could ask what was the latest book she was reading, and Y/N would give him the answer from the post it from two days ago. But she wasn’t 14B. However, she was still a woman in need of medical attention.

            “Alright,” Jack finally positioned her hand in a way where he could see the issue better. “I will have Nurse Perlah hook you up to some fluids to counter the blood loss, in a bit too. Are you allergic to any medicine?”

            “Nope,” Y/N shook her head. “At least none I’ve been given before.”

             As gently as possible, Jack took hold of her wrist and helped her expand her fingers as far as they would go without causing much pain.

            It wasn’t a horrible bleed, but still a steady one, no doubt the worst of it having happened right after the cut. Even through the gloves he had on, Jack could feel the calluses marring her palm, signs of a skilled laborer. He trailed over where blisters and nicks had left small scars, and fuck… did her hand feel perfect in his.

            Well, apart from the massive cut sitting right at the base of her thumb. Clearly, the knife had gone through the commissural ligament. As he pressed against the wounded area, testing the nerves and reflexes, Perlah was already prepping gauze and oral painkillers, as both without a word understood there would be no simple stitching for them that night.

            “Okay, Y/N,” he murmured, taking hold of her wrist and twisting it as carefully as he could, and still, something in his heart tugged at the sharp intake of air, and the swearing she did under her breath. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts of 14B swearing just the same way a few hours prior. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

            “Uh, good?” She raised a brow, as Perlah handed her a small cup of pills and water, explaining it was for the pain. Y/N took them down in one gulp.

            “We’ll need some x-rays to confirm, but once they’re back, we can get you scheduled for surgery in a few hours.”

            “You said you had good news!” she scoffed.

            “Well, the bad news, at least for you, is that your friend’s right. This is more than a surface cut. It looks like you’ve managed to potentially sever one of the ligaments that's attached to your thumb.”

            She threw both men a scathing look, before settling on Carmen. “Not. A. Word.”

            “I didn’t even say anything!”

            “Then keep doing that.” She looked back at Jack. “But like how serious are you about that surgery? Because honestly, it doesn’t hurt that bad. Can’t you just pop in a couple of threads and send me on my way?”

            A smile he had no control over, bloomed on Jack’s lips at Y/N’s words, while Perlah helped her lay down onto the bed, going to the other side of the woman and asking for her hand to prep an IV line. “I promise you, you want this surgery, and you want this done by a professional. You have a cut, potentially severed, ligament, and it needs proper stitching. The hand is incredibly complex, and this unfortunately isn’t the kinda thing you want me to have a go at.”

            Y/N eyed him up and down. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professional?”

            “Well, unless you never want to use your thumb again, I can always give it a go.” He pulled off his gloves, trashing them.

            “Well, not with that attitude,” she grumbled.

            “It’s quick,” Jack could feel the way he wanted to give a full smile, but if he started grinning like a madman, Perlah would make sure he got put in a padded cell at the sight. “You won’t even be fully under, and I will make sure you have the best on it.”

            She huffed, head lulling to the side and giving Carmen a dirty look. “You know this is all your fault, right?”

            “Wh – what? How?” He looked affronted, face completely red.

            “Well, you made me come here, didn’t you?”

            If Carmen pinched the bridge of his nose any harder, Jack might need to get him in for a rhinoplasty. “And if I hadn’t, you maybe would’ve lost all hope at ever moving your thumb! Did you not listen to a thing the doctor said?”

            She tried to cross her arms, but when she realized she couldn’t – one bandaged by her side the other being examined by Perlah as she tried to find a good vein on the top of her hand, Y/N glared at Carmen and then Jack. “I hope neither of you expect me to say you’re right.”

            “Please,” Carmen sighed running a hand through his hair. “I think Syd would have an aneurysm if she found out. Bet she could feel it all the way from Chicago; such a drastic shift in the cosmos.”

            Good, Jack thought as they talked, let him distract her from it all, as Y/N clearly had understood the severity of the situation while he went to call up ortho and ask for the hand surgeon, as he had a possible severed ligament on the way.

            “Thank you for putting up with me,” Y/N no doubt muttered to Carmen, as Jack tried to focus on the person at the other end of the line, confirming her slot for the OR.

            “Hey, I need my best pastry chef to be right as rain.”

            “Now I think Marcus might have a stroke,” she laughed, and Jack’s head almost snapped around at her words.

Chef was one thing, but a pastry chef? A chef specialising in desserts?

            Too many coincidences had happened that night.

            Way too many to be just coincidences.

            And he’d always been a man who followed his gut, despite it being no-man’s-land.

            Jack was positive he’d never seen her face before; he was sure of it. There would be no way in hell, he’d ever be able to forget it, but her whole being… her smile, the kindness in her eyes, the intensity of her words… it was like coming home and having the nightlight left on for you.

            Maybe the previous day’s mass-casualty event had impacted him a lot more than he thought. Maybe he was trying and hoping to find 14B safe and sound, all because a single dessert hadn’t been left out for him.

            But it was the way all the small details 14B had revealed about herself, that fit Y/N to a T, that made him truly wonder.

            14B who always managed to make him smile.

            14B who always took into account his suggestions, and gave him an improved recipe to try.

            14B who made sure to give him just enough of the sweet treat, that he had leftovers for the next day.

            “Oh,” it was Y/N speaking up that brought Jack out of his thoughts about the pastry ghost down the hall. “And also, can you tell Luca to give me a call when he can? I’d like his opinion on the blueberry and lemon pie. I think I might change up the ratio of the lemon, but I dunno if it’d be good overall unless I also increase the amount of basil in the peppermint drizzle.”

            The penny finally dropped.

            Blueberry-lemon pie with a basil and peppermint drizzle.

            No doubt with a saltine and Grahm cracker-mix crust.

            No. There was no such thing as coincidences, at least Jack didn’t believe in them anymore, not when it was way too specific of a recipe. One that he’d been a test subject to four days prior. One where he’d commented on how, maybe it was just what his taste buds liked, but he thought it’d be a bit more balanced if it was tarter.

            It took everything in him to wait until she’d given Carmen the rundown of the things she wanted from her apartment, Jack almost blurting out how he could get it, because they lived across from one another until he remembered he was her doctor, and he had to stay to make sure she was alright.

            He took one breath, another, and cleared his throat, drawing her attention away from where Carmen had left to go grab her some clean clothes, her wallet and a phone charger.

            Fuck it.

            “Alright, 14B, let’s get you prepped for the stay.”

            Y/N’s eyes were wide as saucers, head snapping up at him so fast, Jack almost thought he’d have to schedule a CT for whiplash. “What did you just call me?”

            “14B?” He raised his brows as if in nonchalance, even though his heart was beating out of his chest. He could actually be so far off with this hunch and just turned himself into a massive weirdo in his patient’s eyes, but he was curious to see if he was right, because hope was a bitch if nothing else.

            “Are…” She squinted at him, eyeing him up and down again as if seeing Jack in a new light. “Are you my taste-tester? Are you my salt-bae?”

            “Salt-bae?” Jack choked out through a laugh. God, he was glad Perlah had gone off to find a saline bag.

            “Yeah.” A warm smile blossomed across her lips. “That’s what you always write in your feedback if you think something is missing. ‘Needs a bit more salt’. It’s your most often-used suggestion.”

            And as Jack thought back to it, to all the little comments he left, he mainly did say he would prefer the dessert, if there was some flaky salt on top, or maybe in the crust or base, or mixed with the caramel. “Hey, you were asking for honest feedback. But in truth, I’ll uh, I’ll eat just about anything, so rest assured, nothing of yours has ever gone to waste. When you’ve lived off of army rations, you learn what cardboard tastes like. And then you try to make it edible, more often than not with salt, so you learn what... saltier cardboard tastes like. And that is at least digestible.”

            She chuckled. “Contrary to normal indigestible cardboard?”

            “Contrary to normal indigestible cardboard, yes,” he confirmed, soaking up the sound of Y/N’s laugh like a sunflower soaked up the rays of the sun.

            “Guess now I understand why you didn’t answer the door that first day.” She tilted her head to the side. “Or why our paths haven’t crossed. You work just as shit hours as I do. Worse, actually.”

            “What time do you get home?”

            “Midnight usually,” she said, as Perlah returned and finally put on a tourniquet around her bicep. Jack frowned at the words, not liking the idea of Y/N walking across town during the dark hours of the night. Too many times, he’d seen people in the ED because they were just trying to get home, and someone decided to interfere with that. Violently. “Then I knock out for a few hours before I have to get back up and be ready to go to the restaurant for morning prep at around six-ish. You?”

            “Nightshift. Twelve hours on a good day, usually 7 to 7,” he explained, very much so avoiding Perlah’s raised brows at how ‘intimate’ the conversation was.

            “Alright,” the nurse said. “It’ll be just a little poke, but try and relax.”

            Y/N hummed a nod but turned her head away. Jack’s eyes trailed to how her wounded hand twitched at her side as if she wanted to grab onto something, to hold herself through it. On almost instinct, he placed a palm on her knee, squeezing it. He could feel the tension melt away, and fuck, if that didn’t make his heart stutter in his chest.

            “Good job,” Perlah gave Y/N a smile, as she taped down the IV line. “I’ll get you a gown before we hook you up, so you can change out of those bloody clothes.”

            “Oh, right.” Y/N took a glance down as if only now remembering she looked like a walking-talking murder scene.

            Perlah gave a warm laugh, patting her bicep. “And a bag too.”

            “Yeah, that’d be nice, thank you.”

            Jack helped pull the curtain closed and put up the standing partition, so Y/N could have as much privacy as possible while changing. Just as he informed her, he was gonna step out for a moment, she asked if he could stay.

            Jack froze on the spot. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with Perlah here?”

            “ ‘S fine, I don’t mind,” she looked at him from around the partition. “I trust you not to peek. Also, I just think you’ve probably seen one too many butts in your day-to-day life for mine to be anything special. But uh,” she stammered as if suddenly realizing something and hiding behind the curtain again. “But if you are uncomfortable, you can go. I mean, fuck you probably have other patients to see, and I’m wasting your time with this.”

            “Nope, I’m uh, right where I need to be.”

            He wasn’t uncomfortable, he was, however, worried he might say something beyond stupid. How he’d pretty much fallen in love with a person he didn’t know a thing about, but being able to put a face to the ghost across the hall, had only intensified the crush growing in his chest.

            Jack hadn’t had any romantic feelings in ages. Not since his wife had died. He still wore the ring she’d slipped on his finger, a steady comfort during the darker moments, like he could feel her hand holding his, guiding him towards the light when he couldn't find it himself.

            He wondered what she’d think about this whole situation, about the mystery desserts and him catching feelings for a neighbor he’d never met. Of course, he wouldn’t make any sort of move on Y/N, not while at work. She was his patient, almost half his age, and despite his ‘cowboyish’ nature, he’d never try and hit on her while she was in such a vulnerable position. But he would like to think, his late love would nudge his shoulder in the right direction… tell him it was okay for him to want to be happy again.

            “So,” Jack cleared his throat and busied himself with Y/N’s chart. “What brought you to Pittsburg? You put down a Chicago address by the way.”

            “Shit, yeah. I sometimes still do that… But uh, Carmen, the guy who brought me in, he’s opening up a restaurant not too far from here actually, and he wants me to be the pastry chef for it. It’s why I didn’t have a dessert for you today. We were at the restaurant testing things out, trying to get a feel for how we worked as staff.” Y/N bit down on her lip as she emerged from behind the screen, giving him an apologetic smile. “Wanted to leave a note too, but time just slipped by, and when I did try to make one at home, the food started fighting me.”

            Jack laughed, shaking his head. “I mean, you don’t have to feed me you know. But I… I can’t say I wasn’t worried about you. With everything that happened today… I just… I was scared you might’ve already been here and I hadn’t known. Had missed my opportunity to find you… but uh, then I heard you break something at the apartment, so we’re all good.”

            He tried to act as if the thought of her, of 14B, his one constant of the past four months, having possibly died, hadn’t gauged a hole in his chest.

She raised a brow, clearing her throat. “Why didn’t you knock? If you uh, if you were worried…”

            “Honestly?” Jack put his hands on his hips, as he looked at the floor, unable to keep his eyes on hers, but it was like Y/N understood him, so she turned her back. He stepped closer, tying the strings into knots, not once peeking below her waistline. “I was scared you might not answer. That there might be nobody there left to answer.”

            “I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, turning around as Jack helped her settle in the bed and under the covers. “For what you had to go through today.”

            And when she didn’t try to pry, didn’t try to get anything else from him, simply offered her support, all Jack could do was say, “Thank you,” as emotions started to gather in his throat, forming a ball. “Where you uh, where you at the festival?”

            He just had to know Y/N had been hopefully as far away from it all as possible.

            “Uh, no,” she shook her head to his relief. “I was at The Bear with Carmy at that time, when we heard about it. We did have plans on going for the evening concert, but obviously... yeah...”

            “The Bear?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, like something he might’ve skimmed over in some article, but wouldn’t deem interesting enough to read the full thing. And Jack had to focus on that information, rather on how closely she and her friend had avoided a mass shooting.

            “It’s named after the OG one in Chicago. I told him, he should call it The Cub,” Y/N snorted. “You know, like the first one, the mother, if you will, is in Chicago, and the second, the child of The Bear, is here. Carmy and Syd thought Pittsburg people wouldn’t get it, though, and not come."

            “I think the Pittsburg people would come even if it was called The Trashcan, as long as you served your desserts there.”

            Jack couldn’t help the glee he felt, couldn’t stop the pride from rising as Y/N had to avert her gaze from him when her heart rate spiked, the monitor Perlah had hooked her up to, beeping in a quicker rhythm.

            He also made a mental note to find out where in Pittsburg exactly the new restaurant would be opened, so he could go and check it out sometime. And if he gathered enough courage, maybe give compliments to the chef there as well.

            They filled the time in between awaiting the x-ray results and getting sent up to the OR, by small talk. Jack asked about her background, how she got into cooking and how she’d met Carmy and their team back in Chicago. And miraculously, Jack shared too. Even some of the truly deep stuff - how he'd had a wife, how he’d been an army medic, how he liked to listen to the police scanner as he tried to catch some sleep, because the way Y/N looked at him, so disarmingly, did something to Jack. It made him want to share, it made him want to show his heart to her.

            Soon enough, he got a call the x-rays confirmed his suspicions and they were ready for her to be operated on.

            “So, how long until I can hold a knife?” Y/N asked as she was wheeled out of the room to the elevators. It was only at that moment, that Jack realized nobody had come in to ask him for a consult or even a second opinion. He was just about to thank the lucky stars of the night when a glance over at the HUB - Shen, Ellis and Princess all huddled together with sly grins on their faces - made him sigh.

            “Well, given how it isn’t your dominant hand, you can hold a knife with no problems.” He pressed the elevator button. “It’s the other one holding the ingredients, you’ll need to be careful with. And if you want the best outcome, you'll have to go to physical therapy at least two-three times a week, with at-home exercises.”

            “Physical therapy?” Her brows rose to almost her hairline. “And I get assigned homework? This sucks.”

            “I told you,” Jack shrugged but smiled down at her from where he stood at the side of her bed. “The hand is very complex. It’s why surgeons specialize in specific fields. Trust me, you wouldn’t want internal medicine operating on your money-makers.” He did a little jazz hands for emphasis. “And given how you almost perfectly severed the ligament in half, you’ll have to put in some work to get the full range of motion back, but I uh, I can refer you to some pretty good physios if you need some recommendations.”

            Y/N threw her head back against the pillow with a huff, earning a chuckle from Mateo who was wheeling her bed. “Yeah, I guess I’ll need some. Thank you.”

            “You’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Jack looked at her pouting face, and his stomach did a somersault. “Besides, I am very personally invested in the health of your hands. You’ve turned me into a dessert addict when I used to hate sweets.”

            “Well, we can’t have you munching on salted cardboard, can we?” she threw him one last laugh.

            And then the elevator arrived, taking her up and away from Jack. But he didn’t remain on his own for long. There was nowhere he could hide in the ED, not from the gossip vultures that were Shen and the rest of his posse.

            “So,” he dragged the word out. “Is this the mystery dessert ghost?”

            Jack schooled his face into one of his straight masks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            “Robby does. And Robby has been talking Dana’s ears off about these specific cookies made by your neighbor for months, at this point. And Dana talks to Princess and Perlah, who talk to me.” Shen shrugged, rolling back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels, hands in his scrub pant pockets. “I’m just saying,” he shrugged, “From what I’ve heard down the grapevine, they’re divine. And also – The Bear?”

            Jack raised a brow as John said the name with such reverence like it was something monumental.

            “You get food made by one of the best chefs in the world. The least you could do is share.”

            Jack clapped a hand on John’s shoulder, trying to hide a smile that wanted to tug at his lips and this time he succeeded. “For one, she baked them for me. And two, don’t you have patients to check on?”

            With a gentle shove, he sent Shen on his way, needing to return to his own attending duties, but not before hearing, “I see who your favorite is. Just tell Robby I can fight, especially when cookies are on the line.”

            As much as he’d thought about finding some cosmic way of speeding up time, it still ticked by in its usual tempo. At one point, though, Carmen returned, with everything Y/N had asked neatly placed in a bag.

            “I need to get back to the restaurant, so I can't really stay,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair while Jack put the bag on the chair in her assigned room. “How is she doing?”

            “Still up in surgery, but she’s in great hands.”

            “Good,” Carmen nodded. “ ‘Cause I need her great hands too.”

            “We’ll do our best,” Jack affirmed and agreed to give a call if anything was needed. He was Y/N’s emergency contact after all, but Jack guaranteed him, she’d be fine. He himself would make sure of it.

            Soon enough, the sky started to lighten, and people from the day shift trickled in, the first one being Dana, much to Jack's surprise. The shiner was badly concealed by some make-up, but honestly, Jack thought she should leave it as is. Maybe if Gloria had to look into the consequences of her own incompetence in the face, she’d hire the staff they so desperately needed.

            “How did everything go?” Dana asked, settling in behind the HUB.

            “Better than we could’ve hoped for. Everyone’s stable, no codes. It was like… like someone was watching over us, if only for a few hours, and you know I don't much believe in such a thing.” But just as Jack was about to start explaining about the patients they had, who was priority and whatnot, the elevator dinged, and he watched Mateo wheel Y/N back out into the ED, and into her room. “Give me a sec.”

            If Dana said anything, he didn’t hear it, not as he made for Y/N, and a boulder rolled off his lungs allowing him to breathe once more, when she turned to look at him in the doorway, eyelids half-closed and body, no doubt exhausted. Just because she wasn’t fully under, didn’t mean it wasn’t a strain on her.

            “Hey, how’re you feeling?” he lowered his voice to just barely above a whisper.

            “Tired,” Y/N mumbled, drowsy from the medication if he could gather anything from the slight slurring of her words. “But honestly, I don’t give a shit if I need even a microscopic surgery in the future. I am now and forever more, requesting to be put to sleep. Period.”

            The right side of his lips quirked up. “That bad?”

            “It was more so the sounds, and god when they first strapped me down, I thought I was gonna have a panic attack.” Y/N winced as she adjusted on the bed, Jack by her side like a lightning strike, a steady hand on her hip to help out. “I just… yeah… it’s one thing to watch a horror movie and it’s something else to hear it and feel it happen to yourself.” She let out a heavy exhausted sigh, as she sank against the thin pillow.

            “Carmen stopped by earlier. Brought you the stuff you asked,” Jack informed her and got a soft hum in response. “He had to go back to the restaurant though. Anyone you can call to take you home?”

            She shook her head, eyes closed. “I’ll just Uber.”

            Jack frowned at that. He didn’t like the thought of Y/N needing to figure out how to get back to their apartment complex on her own, especially when in such a state, so the offer slipped past his mouth before he had time to think. “I can take you home.”

            “Isn’t your shift just about over?” her brows furrowed, and his fingers itched to smooth the grooves out with just his touch. He also wondered if a kiss would help him achieve the goal, but that was better left to his imagination.

            “I can wait.”

            Y/N hummed again, snuggling deeper into the duvet, that he gently tucked under her neck. “No need to waste your time on me like that. Go home. Get some rest.”

            But Jack’s words fell on deaf ears, as he watched her breathing even out, and soft snores permeate the air, and yet, he still murmured, “wouldn’t be a waste at all.”

            Again, his hand twitched at his side, wanting to brush his thumb along her cheekbone.

            Nope.

            Jack was not gonna do that. She was still his patient, and he was still at work. Besides, just because he’d gotten to know her cooking talents for the past four months, didn’t mean he truly knew Y/N. Not yet at least, he hoped.

            He didn’t manage to even go to the other side of her bed to check the drip of the IV, when Robby poked his head inside, an almost insidious smile on his face. Well, Jack thought it was insidious, especially with the way his brown eyes darted over to Y/N’s sleeping form.

            “What in the world are you doing here, brother?” Jack let out a grunt. “Thought I’d told you to take some time off.”

            Robby crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “I will when you do the same.”

            “Fat chance of that happening,” Jack snorted, shaking his head.

            “Exactly, so the pot better stop calling the kettle black, and rather start explaining who this lovely person in here is.”

            “My patient.” Jack turned his head to scan Y/N’s vitals if only to make it seem like that was the true reason. He should’ve known it wouldn’t work, not on Robby, seeing as he was probably one of the few people who could glimpse past the mask he wore.

            A knowing smile pulled on the day-shift attending’s face. “I mean, I have heard some rumors that this might be the famous 14B. Did the mystery-baker’s identity finally get revealed?”

            Fucking Shen and fucking Dana and fucking Princess and fucking Perlah and fucking gossip, travelling all over their ED at the speed of light. God, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes since Y/N had been wheeled down from the OR, and they were already on his ass.

            Jack just lifted his shoulders, acting like this revelation didn’t mean anything. “She’s a chef, just like I thought.”

            “A pretty chef, no less.”

            “Yeah, and she’s like half my age,” Jack scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

            Robby stepped inside the room, hands in his pockets as he took a glance at Y/N. “First of all, that's an exaggeration, and second of all, she’s an adult woman capable of making her own decisions.”

            “She’s my patient,” Jack emphasized the last word, turning on his heel and exiting the room, but not without a final glance over his shoulder. Just to make sure everything was good. That she was good.

            “Oh, give me a fucking break. It’s day-shift hours now, so technically, she’s, my patient. So come on, spill…” Robby wiggled his brows a bit, but Jack wouldn’t break as easily, not even with his best friend.

            “There is nothing to say. Yeah, she's 14B. Yeah, she's a chef. And she got a really bad cut, almost severing the commissural ligament completely. Sue me for caring about a neighbor.”

            “Right,” Robby nodded as they walked to the lockers together. “And it has nothing to do with the fact you’ve been keeping 14B like some sort of a secret lover, and now that you finally know it’s a gorgeous young woman, you might be crushing just a bit harder.”

            Jack ran a hand down his face. “Look, I – I had my hopes, okay? But she’s a kid! Besides, I’ve only known her for a couple of hours, all of them as my patient.”

            Robby gave him a deadpan look. “She’s been giving you dessert to eat almost every day without a fault for the past four months.”

            “She’s a chef trying out recipes. She needed a taste-tester.” Jack shrugged. “That’s like a huge part of her job, man. Getting people’s opinions on food and stuff.”

            “Just explain this to me – why on Earth would she go out of her way to feed a neighbor she’s never met, to get an opinion of someone she’s never met, when she literally has chefs around her? You know, her fellow professionals that have taste buds made by the fucking food gods or something?” Robby raised his brows. “But no. She asks you – salted cardboard man.”

            God, Perlah could run her mouth faster than Usain Bolt could run 100 meters.

            “Research?”

     ��      Robby looked at him and sighed, shaking his head. “Look, just because you didn’t know who she was, doesn’t mean she didn’t know who you were.”

            “We’ve never seen one another before,” but even as Jack said those words aloud, he thought back to how intuitive 14B had always been about when to give him the newest dessert.

            He took a glance towards Y/N’s room. How had the lava cake still been hot? It would’ve been amazing cold too, and yet… Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been the only one paying attention to the apartment across the hall from theirs…

            But all Jack said was, “You’re a hopeless fucking romantic, brother,” while moving back out towards the HUB to hand Dana off his final charts.

            And yet, the thought of leaving Y/N on her own, or her having to Uber home, just didn’t sit right with him.

            “I’m uh,” he cleared his throat, watching Robby’s brows raise. “I’m just gonna wait until she wakes. Take her home.”

            “And you’re not gonna help out, man?” the words were teasing, but given Jack’s workaholic tendencies, probably shocking as he shook his head this time.

            “The daytime is your kingdom, brother. But, do call if you need me.”

            With that, Jack slung his backpack over his shoulder, venturing back over to Y/N’s room and he just sat there. Sometimes he just looked at her, tracing her profile with his eyes, memorizing the features, putting them onto the vague shape of 14B he'd developed in his mind's eye. Sometimes he scrolled through his phone, pulling up some articles about The Bear and their team.

            Jack almost choked reading about Carmen, how the timid man was a Michelin-starred chef, a James Beard award recipient and so much more. Not to say the whole team behind the original restaurant wasn’t just as talented.

            And then there was a section on Y/N herself. A culinary prodigy, having staged in Paris, Amsterdam, Vienna, New York, Zurich and so many other cities Jack didn’t even know existed. There was even a huge New York Times article about her and the food scene in the bustling city, and how at just 23 years of age she was dealing with helping run one of the most famous patisseries in the state.

            “Holy fucking shit,” Jack murmured in awe, and when he looked up, he was met with Y/N’s open eyes, a pout on her face.

            “I thought I told you to go home and catch some Zs.”

            Jack locked his phone, standing up and leaning over her. “How are you feeling?”

            “Sore. Hand hurts like a bitch. But I just wanna get back to my own place, and rest there. Not to sound ungrateful, but I really don’t wanna stay at your workplace longer than I have to.”

            His lips quirked up at that, and when she responded with a smile of her own, Jack’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Then let’s get you checked out, and out of here.”

            Dipping out of the room, he asked for Robby, as he was the one person he truly trusted to handle this, no interns or students allowed, to start the discharge process.

            “Hey,” Y/N’s face lit up at the sight of Jack’s friend, which made him frown. “I know you.”

            “Good to see you again. I’m Dr Michael Robinavitch, but you can just call me Robby.”

            Jack cleared his throat. “How exactly do you two know one another?”

            “We met down at the lobby one time. My mailbox was being a little shit and wouldn’t open, and he helped out,” Y/N said while Robby took her hand and unwrapped the bindings, checking over the incision place and how the stitches were looking. Spraying on some antibacterial solvent, he had Princess help him rebind the wound and prescribed some oral antibiotics for the next week as a precautionary measure.

            Robby chuckled, signing the end of Y/N’s chart and giving it to Princess so she could finalize the discharge with Dana. “Had I known the woman by the mailbox was also the author of the best cookies I’ve ever eaten, I might’ve just had you struggle with it a bit more. Could've picked your brain a bit for the recipe.”

            She tilted her head to the side. “Which ones?”

            Robby raised a brow. “What do you mean which ones?”

            “I mean, I’ve made a lot of cookies for Jack to test out, I-,” she scoffed in the middle of her sentence, throwing the man in question a look. “Jack, you don’t share?”

            “No,” he said with a straight face. “And the only reason Robby got a piece was because he’s a damned thief. Now, can you please discharge her, so I can take her home?”

            Y/N tilted her head down a bit, a small shy smile blooming on her face. “You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.”

            Jack wanted to say he knew that, that he was just being a friendly neighbor and it was the least of how he could repay her for all the desserts, but he just shrugged, a sudden bashfulness taking over his own body. “Honestly, it was more for my peace of mind.”

            “Well, thank you anyway… You didn’t have to stay, especially after a twelve-hour shift, and everything before that... but I appreciate it.”

            And he just nodded, nudging his chin in the direction of her bag, as Perlah came in to assist, Robby moving away with a small 'Hope you feel better soon,' while Jack nodded in thanks, turning his attention back on Y/N. “There are some clean clothes for you there, and when you’re done, we can get going. Let me know if you need any help.”

            With that, he left Y/N behind the partition, and closed the curtain and then the door. He was met with Dana’s smirking and Robby’s obnoxiously smug faces as they converged by the nurse's station. “Not a word.”

            “Oh, Jack,” the charge nurse shook her head, laughing at him. “You have no idea about the storm that’s coming your way.”

            Maybe he could move, Jack thought. He’d gather up his stuff and go somewhere deep into the Appalachian Mountains, where nobody would ever find him. The problem with that plan though, was when he started to wonder if Y/N would be willing to at least make a trip out there, if not move with him completely.

            “Ready to go?” She opened the door he’d been guarding like a knight, her bag over her shoulder, while handing him his own.

            Immediately, Jack took the strap of hers too, sliding it down her shoulder, despite her protests, and ignored her insistence on carrying her own stuff. “Got everything?”

            “Uh, yeah, I think so. But I mean, if I have forgotten anything, I know who to ask.”

            Jack’s lips pulled up in a smirk as they walked side by side, one of his hands hovering over the small of Y/N’s back as he guided her out of the ED and to the parking lot. “And you think he’d just jump at your every whim and request?”

            “I dunno. I’d like to think I might’ve sweetened him up a bit with all the desserts. After all, he did stay and wait for me.”

             “Maybe just a bit,” he let out a low laugh, heat crawling up his neck. “Can’t tell that to anyone though. Might ruin my street cred.”

            And with just a single smile, Y/N sent him spiralling.

            He helped her up into the passenger seat, putting their bags in the back and, reversed out of the parking lot in record time. They rode in silence, as she unrolled the window a bit, allowing the morning breeze to wash over her face.

            The ride home was too short for his liking, as any minute spent in her company, was a minute Jack cherished, but soon enough he was helping her out of the car, and holding their complex doors open. Step by step they moved up to the fifth floor.

            Jack waited as Y/N rummaged through the bag until she found her keys and unlocked her door.

            “Thank you, again.” She turned to face him. “For taking care of me.”

             “Just… doing my job.”

            “I mean yeah, but…. Giving me a ride home? Staying after hours?”

            “We live in the same house. On the same floor. It was no big deal.”

            Y/N cocked a hip. “You’d already worked your night shift.”

            And Jack had nothing to rebut. He just awkwardly cleared his throat and hoped she didn’t see the blushing staining his cheeks.

            “Do you uh,” she started, “Do you maybe wanna come inside for a bite and some coffee? I’m not much of a barista, so you’d have to take my shitty pour-over as is, but I still have some leftover millionaire-shortbread brownies I made two days ago.”

            Jack gave a small smile. He’d smiled more throughout that one night than in the past few years combined. “Flaky salt on top?”

            “Haven’t made it any other way since.”

            And when he followed her, closing the door behind them with a soft click, his eyes ventured over to a coffee table beside the couch.

            She’d left a night light on.

Tags: are open :) A/N: I need that old man so hard, I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

[endzithefangirl]

"I'm gong to put 'being a WAG' on my CV"

Authors note: Here's a little Max Verstappen x TechCEO!Reader. Bet you didn't see that comng. Anyway, got the idea for this a few days ago, and I guess my love of Italian food made me finish this

Summary: Max's new relatioship causes a social media stir, but the new couple couldn't care less whilst in Italy.

Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, female reader, famous reader

Word count: 2k

You understood it, to a degree. Max had just broken off a three-year-long relationship right before summer break, and now suddenly he was spending the summer with you. Now you’re at the paddock... No wonder people thought there was some crossover.

The truth? You two met last New Year's at a party for some sporting event. You, being one of the sponsors for your country's national sports committee, were invited, and Max... well, Max was Max Verstappen. You hit it off, exchanged numbers, showed him around your company a few times, and took him to all of your favorite restaurants in NYC. But you knew he had a girlfriend; everyone knew. And he was taking care of her kid too.

That breakup was hard on him. He had stopped loving her, but he couldn't just kick a woman and her kid out of his house. Max waited for them to have a huge fight, and then they just... broke up. And to your surprise, he was in New York the next day, saying that he needed someone to talk to. Bullshit. You knew he liked you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come all the way here 'just to talk.'

But here you were, in Italy, spending time with him before Monza. You were currently typing away on your phone, trying to make peace in the finance department. Max glanced up from his phone every so often, stealing peeks at you while grinning.

He had never quite been so into someone like you. You were smart, funny, talented, pretty, and on top of all that - you were also rich. But you were also the most challenging girl to flirt with Max had ever met.

"You look like you could use a break," he said, after watching you tap away at your work laptop for a few minutes.

"Probably. What's the point of having interns if they don't do anything?"

"Then you should consider hiring me; I'm pretty good at helping out," Max teased, looking up from his phone and sending you a cheeky smile. He loved a woman who was in power, who knew what she was doing, and he could tell you were used to being the boss. "Come on, take a break. You know you deserve it," Max encouraged, resting his hand on top of yours to stop you from working some more.

"I guess I could eat…" You say, closing your laptop. "I saw on Google Maps that there’s a nice pizza place down the road. We can go if you’re hungry.”

Max smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m starving; let’s go,” he said, reaching for the car keys.

“No, it’s okay, let’s walk,” you stop him. He turned towards you, slightly confused. Usually, women would give anything to drive around with Max Verstappen. Maybe that’s just what makes you special.

The two of you walked out of the hotel, your bodyguard Lenny standing outside the door. The tall, muscular man just nodded as the two of you entered the elevator. Max found it funny that you preferred Lenny guard your stuff more than you. Especially the laptop. He sometimes wondered what you kept in there...

“Is Pierre gonna be at the race?” you asked as you exited the building, breaking the silence.

Max’s head snapped towards you, and he raised his brow. “Uh, yes, of course he is… Why?”

“Because I want to see Kika.”

“Oh, so she’s your secret F1 crush, eh?” Max said, relaxing.

You laughed. “Pierre is a solid seven with a better haircut. Kika is a twelve on a bad day.”

As you got to the bigger streets, you started to understand why Max drove everywhere. Unlike you, who were a chiller and niche celebrity, despite being incredibly rich, Max was a real superstar. Your short walk to the pizza shop became a fan meet and greet, with people coming up to you every three seconds and asking for photos.

“Is this your girlfriend?” one of the people asking for a picture asked. As you finished taking the photo, you noticed Max’s slightly flustered face as he heard the question. He stumbled, but you answered with a simple “Yeah.”

As you arrived at the restaurant, you noticed that Max was staring at you. He seemed… surprised. You laughed at his facial expression. The sound of your laugh calmed him instantly, his heartbeat beginning to return to normal. Max cursed himself in his head; he was better than this. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is it something I said?"

Max ran a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks heating up slightly. "No, no... Not really," he reassured you, trying to sound casual. "I was just... thinking."

"Okay, well I'm thinking about the food. I think a Vesuvius sounds great right now."

Max chuckled and quickly glanced down at the menu to hide his embarrassment. "Vesuvius? What the hell is a Vesuvius?" he asked, though his eyes scanned down the menu, searching for it.

"It's a type of pizza," you teased. "It's been like three minutes; have you not even skimmed the menu?"

Max fidgeted under your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again. "What?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You tell me. Why are you staring?" Max shook his head, glancing up at you questioningly. He had no idea what you were thinking about. "No... What are you thinking about?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"There are pots from 4000 years ago found in ancient Egypt that are made out of an incredibly difficult to manage material and are cut to such perfection that they balance on their round bottom."

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was expecting something totally different. Something that had at least a little bit to do with him. He chuckled, still somewhat surprised as he studied your face. "Where did that come from?" he asked incredulously.

"The Egyptians. They were like, cooking pots and stuff. Royal cooking pots probably, but still," you teased.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're thinking about cooking pots, and here I am, just trying to figure out what I did to make you say that we're together so casually."

"What do you mean? Are we not together?"

"Well, of course we're together," Max said, his voice taking on a more serious tone now. He glanced around the restaurant briefly, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "I just... I didn't expect you to say it so casually," he said, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know we were keeping it a secret. I mean, I was at the paddock and all last time, and I took days off work to come to this race—"

Max shook his head, realizing you completely misunderstood what he was saying. "No, no, it's not that... I just..." he began, struggling to find the right words. He took a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "It's just... you're so casual about it... and I'm... a bit too flustered for my own good," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.

You softened up a bit. "Oh, okay, I get it. It was just a bit too shocking for you... Yeah, sorry."

Max felt his heartbeat a little faster when you softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, it was a bit... unexpected for me," he chuckled, feeling somewhat silly for being so flustered. "But it's fine, honestly."

"Do you think my stomach is gonna have space for gelato later? There's a really good gelateria; I can see it from the window... They make the ones with the macarons..."

Max chuckled, loving how you were so excited about the gelato. "Well, based on the amount of pizza you usually eat," he teased, a smirk on his face. "I'd say you're probably fine."

"No, they put the macarons on the gelato."

"On the gelato?" Max repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"I've never heard of such a thing," he said, leaning forward to get a better look out the window at the gelateria you were talking about. "Well, in that case," he said with a grin, "we're definitely going there for dessert."

After eating so much that your belts barely held, you came back to the hotel, Lenny greeting you at the door as usual. Max's stomach was stuffed to the brim, but he was in such a good mood from the good food and even better company, he didn't even care. He walked back into the hotel together with you, his hand still holding yours. Lenny greeted the two of you as usual, but Max couldn't help but notice the way Lenny looked at you, like he was analyzing you.

"All good, Len. You go to your room for the night," you said to Lenny. He nodded, smiled at the both of you, and then went off. Max watched as Lenny walked off, then turned to you, a small frown on his face.

"He was looking at you funny," he said, a protective edge to his voice.

"He thinks it's funny. That I'm dating a Formula 1 driver."

"What's so funny about that?" he protested, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "He just... I don't know, he's a big fan of yours I don't think he's processed it yet". Max's frown relaxed as you explained it, his ego immediately soothed a bit. Of course he was a big fan of his, who wasn't?

"Oh, so he's a big fan?" he teased, a hint of pride and cockiness in his voice.

You take your shoes off and lay on the bed, your stomach bloated from all the good food "Yeah. Talk to him a bit, I think it'll make him happy" You let out groan as you move "I hate you Italy. You has so much good food... I love it though"

Max chuckled, watching as you dramatically threw yourself onto the bed, your stomach protesting the amount of food you just had. "You're such a drama queen sometimes," he teased, grinning as he took off his shoes as well and joined you on the bed. He lays down beside you, running a hand over your bloated stomach. "You'll be fine," he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, you know what I saw on TikTok?"

Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his hand now resting on your stomach. He didn't typically pay too much attention to TikTok, but he was more than happy to listen to you.

"What did you see?" he asked, turning his head to look at you.

"Well first of all, I'm a WAG now. Thank you for that, I will be putting that on my CV. But second, they liked that I was wearing Red Bull merch. I thought they wouldn't like it, but they did"

Max chuckled as you spoke, amused by how casually you mentioned being a WAG, and how seriously you were taking the fact that you were wearing Red Bull merchandise. "Well, of course they liked it," he said with a smirk. "You were wearing the merch of the best team out there."

He gave you a smug look, his hand moving up and tracing a lazy pattern on your stomach. "Not to mention the merch of the best driver out there."

[katemoneymartinsgf]

May I suggest a one shot where p and a are on different wnba teams. P is talking her shit (nothing crazy 😭) being confident as usual and some of azzis teammate don’t take to kindly so yk there is a scuffle or a hard foul that leads to a scuffle or something, and Instead of azzi backing her team she is backing Paige

You could 100% do it the other way around but just a they don’t play about each other type vibe

L ines you don’t cross[Pazzi]

A/N: I can write the other way if you like as well just lmk. Sky was the first team that popped into my head so here we go. also this is my first time writing in a bit so let me cook. sky was the first team that popped into my head so here we go.

(Wings vs Sky)

It started, like most things with Paige did, with a grin.

She hit Chenedy Carter with a quick crossover, pulled up from midrange, and drilled the shot like it was nothing.
Didn't even celebrate — just jogged backward past the Sky bench, flashing a crooked little smirk.

"You’re gonna have to try harder than that," Paige said over her shoulder, light, easy, like it was a private joke.

Azzi, hovering near the top of the key, caught the edge of it and rolled her eyes.
Classic.
And maybe kind of hot.

Chennedy didn’t take it lightly.

Next dead ball, she brushed past Paige harder than necessary , a little elbow to the ribs.
No whistle. No foul.
Just a message.

Paige stumbled but caught herself. Turned with that same cocky look and clapped her hands once.

"That it?" she tossed out, loud enough for half the gym to hear.

Chennedy barked back immediately.
"Keep talking. It’s all you’re good at."

Azzi didn't move.
Not yet.

Trash talk was part of it.
And Paige loved it — ate it up like it was air.

Paige laughed,
"You’re gonna need more than cheap shots if you wanna slow me down, maybe some defense?"

The ref waved a warning, half-distracted.

Azzi moved in then — not panicked, just steady — nudging herself between them, palm resting lightly on Chennedy’s arm.

"Just let it go," she said, voice even.

She was willing to let it go.
Until Chennedy leaned in closer and muttered

"Didn’t think the Wings needed to sign influencers too."

It wasn’t loud.
Wasn’t for the crowd.
It was for them.
And it hit different.

Azzi’s jaw tightened.
Her hand dropped.

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t cause a scene.

She just looked Chennedy dead in the eye and said, low:

"Watch your mouth."

Short. Quiet. Final.

Chennedy held her stare for a second, but it was over.
She turned away first.

Azzi didn’t linger.
Just brushed her hand lightly against Paige’s back as she walked past — a small, unspoken you good?
Paige didn’t say anything.
Didn’t have to.

The look she gave Azzi — that tiny, grateful flash — said it all.

————

Paige caught up to her just before she got onto the bus 
still half in uniform, towel slung around her neck, that bruise already blooming under her ribs.

She bumped Azzi’s hip with hers, lighter than usual.

"Didn’t know you were out here defending my honor," Paige said, aiming for teasing — but the words stuck a little in her throat with insecurity

Azzi set a hand on her stomach brushing over the bruise

"You were running your mouth," she said. "Someone had to keep you alive."

Paige grinned,

"You always do," she said, so quiet Azzi almost missed it.

Before she could answer, Paige leaned in —
quick, almost shy about it — and brushed a kiss across Azzi’s mouth.

It was barely there.
Not cocky. Not playful.
Like she was pulling back before she could get caught needing it too much.

“Thank you” she whispered before she started to turn, ready to leave it at that 
but Azzi caught her wrist.
Pulled her back in, this time kissing her fully -
steady, sure, anchoring her. 
Paige leaned into it without thinking, letting herself be held for one breath, two.

When they broke apart, Paige ducked her head, cheeks flushed.

"You’re obsessed with me," she mumbled, trying — and failing — to sound smug.

Azzi rolled her eyes, smirking.

"Yeah," she said dryly. "Tragically."

Paige laughed, shoved her towel weakly against Azzi’s stomach, and spun on her heel, jogging away down the tunnel with a little slip

Azzi watched her go with a smile before calling out , voice warm, no hesitation:

"I love you!"

Paige didn’t even slow down —
just flung a hand up over her shoulder and yelled back:

"I love you more!"

Azzi smiled to herself
and pulled her hoodie lower over her face like it could hide the way her whole heart felt bigger somehow.

Some battles weren’t about the game.

Some things were just worth protecting —
no questions asked.

[demie90s]

I would love a Kate Martin X hoe!reader where Kate is a WNBA star but is a very simple and low profile person who finds herself feeling excited every time she meets the famous influencer/model who has no filter and a strong personality, who is also a huge basketball fan and is very excited to meet the players of the new team in her hometown

Kate Martin x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Quiet Meets Chaos

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:Kate Martin is the WNBA’s soft-spoken sweetheart—talented, calm, and loyal to her routines. You’re the city’s most unfiltered “It Girl”.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:Opposites attract, slow burn, sports x celebrity crossover, chaotic romance

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:Strong language, you are hot and shameless, suggestive teasing, public flirting, Kate blushing nonstop, tension tension tension

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~0.8k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: Kate: soft, low-key, humble, Midwest sweetheart Glossed up, legs out, center of attention, not afraid to say “you’re fine as hell” on live TV

I wasn’t planning to stay long. It was just another promo event. Cameras, cocktails, people trying too hard in pantsuits. I was supposed to show face, take a few pictures, and disappear before someone tried to “collab.” I had a real tight window between being charming and being over it.

And then I saw her.

Kate Martin.

In black jeans, simple sneakers, plain ass white tee. No lashes. No gloss. Hair pulled back like she wasn’t the finest woman in the room. And somehow, somehow, that made it worse. I spotted her and immediately forgot what my job was.

“You good?” my manager whispered.

“No,” I whispered back, already walking.

She was tucked off in the corner with a couple teammates, sipping water like it was wine and minding her business. She looked peaceful. I was about to ruin all that.

I didn’t introduce myself. I just leaned on her table, gave her a slow once-over, and said, “You ever been in a scandal before?”

She choked on her sip. “Excuse me?”

“You look like you need one.” I smiled, full lips, no filter. “I volunteer.”

Her ears turned pink instantly. She blinked—once, twice—trying to place me. I could tell she was the type that didn’t follow influencers. Too grounded. But she knew I wasn’t normal. You could see it in her posture. The shift. The slight inhale.

“I—uh… you’re—”

“Exactly,” I said. “And you’re Kate Martin. I’ve seen the way you post. Two basketball pics, one dog, no thirst traps. Criminal behavior.”

She laughed. Nervous. But her eyes stayed locked on me.

“I didn’t think you’d be a basketball fan,” she said softly.

“Oh, I’m not a fan of the game,” I grinned, tilting my head. “I’m a fan of thighs, sneakers, and women who dribble. And baby—you do all three.”

Her jaw dropped. Just slightly.

“You’re really…” she started, gesturing vaguely at me. “You’re just gonna say stuff like that?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. Just leaned in until she could smell my perfume.

“I don’t do slow,” I murmured. “If I want something, I go for it. And right now, I want you flustered enough to mess up your media answers.”

She laughed, biting her lip. “It’s working.”

“Good.” I touched her wrist. “Now give me your number before I climb in your lap and make it a problem.”

Kate stared at me—wide-eyed, blushing, stunned. Then reached for her phone.

She was fumbling. Fumbling.

And I was living.

———-

I don’t play games.

I watch them—when the view is fine enough.

So when Kate texted me her game schedule, I didn’t wait. I picked the one with the most cameras. The most fans. The most chaos potential.

She texted me that morning:

“If you’re coming today… don’t be a distraction.”

I left her on read.

Because baby, I am the distraction.

⸻

I walked into that arena in thigh-high boots, a cropped designer jersey with her number, and shorts so tiny they should’ve come with a warning label. Hair slick. Gloss heavy. Every step was a statement.

The minute I entered, I felt it. Eyes. Whispers. Phones out. I was used to it, but today it hit different. Because Kate was on that court. And she didn’t see me yet.

Until she did.

Warmups. She was mid-convo with a teammate when she turned and froze. Just froze. Basketball in hand. Hands on her hips. Eyes scanning me like I had no business existing.

I gave her a wave. Slow. Sultry.

Then I put the cherry on top:

Blew her a kiss and mouthed, “Play for me.”

She missed her next pass.

Literally turned the ball over in warmups.

I smiled and took my seat.

Front row. Behind the bench. Of course.

⸻

I spent the whole game on demon time.

Every time she came to sit, I leaned forward a little more. Legs crossed slow. Chin in my hand. I clapped for her rebounds. I winked during her free throws. One time she looked back at the bench and caught me licking whipped cream off my finger from my overpriced courtside sundae.

She shook her head.

Still smiling.

⸻

Fourth quarter. She’s killing it. Locked in. But I knew she was holding on by a thread.

So I waited. Waited ‘til she hit a three.

Then I stood up—stood—clapped slow, and yelled out, “THAT’S MY GIRL.”

The whole arena turned.

Kate stared. Like her soul left her body for a second. Her teammates were grinning. The coach side-eyed the bench. One player whispered, “Oh that’s the one?” and everyone started laughing.

She looked at me. Bit her lip. Then nodded once.

⸻

After the game, she texted me:

“You’re terrible.”

I replied:

“Good to know. Let me in the locker room and I’ll prove it.”

————/

They won.

Of course they did. My girl dropped 19 and looked like a problem doing it.

So when she texted me “Come celebrate,” I was already halfway into the tightest dress I owned. Gold. Backless. Thigh-split. Just enough fabric to call it clothing and just enough leg to ruin someone’s night. Hair slicked. Earrings heavy. Lip gloss disrespectful.

I pulled up to the club like I was the trophy.

⸻

The place was packed—players, press, hometown hype. I walked in like I’d done it a hundred times, waving to fans, posing for a few photos. People shouted my name before I even got to the VIP section. All that attention?

Not my focus.

Because I saw her near the bar.

Kate. Hoodie half-zipped. Big smile. Still glowing from the win.

She was talking to some teammate when she looked up and froze again.

Just like warmups.

That moment her eyes dragged down my body?

I knew I’d won, too.

⸻

I made my way over, hips swaying, eyes locked on her.

“You didn’t tell me it was a family-friendly event,” I said, leaning into her ear. “You should’ve warned me so I could wear something less slutty.”

She coughed. Laughed. “You’re not real.”

“You’re not complaining.”

“No,” she murmured. “I’m not.”

She reached out, fingers grazing the small of my back. Just once. Just enough.

⸻

Players kept coming up to say hi—shouting my @ like we’d been mutuals for years.

“I follow you!”

“Wait, YOU’RE the girl from warmups??”

“Oh my God, can I get a pic—Kate, how did you pull her?”

Kate just smiled. Shrugged. Eyes on me like I was gravity. And I? I was soaking it up.

⸻

Later, after two drinks and three dances, I sat on Kate’s lap right in the booth. No warning.

“You okay?” I whispered, arm around her neck.

“Define okay,” she said, palm flat against my bare thigh. “Because you’ve had me flustered for forty-eight straight hours and now you’re on my lap in gold like you’re trying to make ESPN for a different reason.”

I laughed, lips brushing her cheek. “Is that a complaint, Martin?”

“No,” she breathed. “That’s a problem.”

[asapeveryday]

noctuary #5 - p.b x tlou

noc·​tu·​ary ˈnäkchəˌwerē

: a collection of a single night's events, thoughts or dreams

--read pt.4 here. read next chap here

pairing: Paige Bueckers x reader

AU: The Last of Us 2 x Wbb crossover

warnings: canon typical violence, drinking.

synopsis: you meet her on the brink of giving up. she’s suspicious, too nice, too charismatic. you know you should be on guard, but you’ve got nowhere to go, and she’s eager to have nobody to be.

notes: sorry for the long waits between chapters...i forget sometimes that ppl on tumblr aren't used to waiting long periods like ppl on ao3/wattpad are :') honestly really struggled with this chap

YOU CAN HEAR IT, the way it clicks and crackles, mouth open wide, teeth rotting, skin moulding.

It's dark in the warehouse, tables are overturned, spores fly through the air above the light of your lantern. You're waiting behind a knocked over cabinet, knees on the ground, breathing steady.

Your heart hammers like a drum, and you can feel a drop of sweat roll down your forehead. You're used to the fear, used to the feeling of being paralyzed. Despite it, you never are. Not since you almost died a month ago. Now the fear tastes sweeter, it's addictive. Just like it used to be.

You hear it click, low and guttural. It's closer than you thought it'd be, closer than you're prepared for.

Your gun has two bullets left, max. You'll have to make this hasty.

It clicks again, shuffles, croaks and huffs as it inches closer. You can't see it yet, not without getting too close to the edge of the cabinet that shields you.

Water drips from the ceiling somewhere near you. Early morning light starts to peek through the cracked windows.

Another shuffle, another crackle. You see the edge of its head, then its innumerable fungi growths. It scuffles past the cabinet, unable to sense your presence. Its jaw is cracked open, hanging loose. It's smeared with blood.

The blood of those familiar to you. Your teammates had failed to adhere to your warnings again, and this time they'd paid the price. You didn't know whether you should burst into tears or jump for joy.

Neither would work now. Right now, you can hardly even breathe.

It keeps walking. Then stops.

You hold your breath, trying your hardest to stay completely still, trying to will the hands wrapped around your gun to stop shaking.

Its head turns towards you, slow, unconsciously. Without even thinking, you lean back ever so slightly. Dirt from the floor crackles under your boots.

It jerks in your direction.

Shit.

It launches towards you, sprawling with no hesitation. You raise your gun and shoot faster than you can exhale any air, but your aim swerves as you stagger backwards and you miss.

One bullet now. This is do or die.

You scramble to get up but it's too fast, pummeling into you with arms outstretched and ready to tear you to pieces. You let out a broken scream as you hit the ground, frantically hitting it over the head with your gun, cringing as fluid splatters across your face.

You attempt to wrestle with it as its hands claw at your skin, kicking and punching wherever you can. Its head jerks forward to bite and rip with speed you struggle to dodge. Its breath is warm and soured with infection against you, saliva flies from its rotted teeth.

It launches again, you move your head at the right time. You hit it again with the barrel of your gun--hard--and its already slack jaw cracks right off. It's stunned, screaming in pain, and you slip on the damp floor in an attempt to get up on your feet.

You're too slow again, letting out a little squeal as it pulls you back down by your ankles, dragging you beneath it. Its face is even more gruesome now, fungus flowering like poisonous bouquet, jaw attached to its head by a thread. Saliva drips in strings from it's mouth to your body. You try to hit it again with the gun, but it whips your hand away.

Your gun goes flying. You hear it when it hits the ground somewhere behind you. No bullets, no backup, no chance. You brace for the bite, the rip, the tear. You finally breathe out as it lowers over your face like an animal swooping in to maul its prey.

You wait for the agony, the searing fire of pain to cut through your freezing terror, but it doesn't come. In the split second you give yourself to mourn your loss, a loud bang cuts through the air.

You flinch, ears ringing and clouded. Something warm splatters all over you, and a body falls limp atop yours. Your hands fly to your ears on impact, fingers tangled in your hair, eyes screwed shut, heart still hammering. Your breathing quickens, your mind races and stills all at once.

You wait for the ringing to subside. The limp body is lifted, then tossed somewhere beside you.

When you open your eyes your stomach drops.

"You're always in trouble when I find you." Paige grins, face smeared with blood and sweat, hair thrown back in a wild bun. One hand is stretched out to you, the other holds the gun you lost in the tustle.

"You." You mumble, words still numbed by the ringing in your ears. The clicker's body lies beside you, a gaping hole in its head.

"Yeah, me." She scoffs. "Don't sound too excited."

You roll your eyes, slapping her hand away and shakily getting up on your own. She watches you every step of the way, the way she always does.

"Where's my thank you?" Paige cocks her head, taking a daring step towards you.

You take a step back. "I'd rather be put out of my misery than thank you." You chuckle. It’s light hearted, you know she can feel it.

"Bratty as always." She shoots back unphased. You hate how she enjoys this, how she's always there in a moment of desperation, how she never fails to let you forget it. She steps again.

"What do I need to do to get away from you?" You frown. “Always gotta be the saviour, huh?" You step back.

"No hello?" Paige sighs with another step. "No good to see you?"

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You grin, stepping back.

She puts her free hand over heart as she steps forward again. "Awe, I'm so hurt." She pouts.

"I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be in a situation like this again. I hate owing you shit." You step back, letting out a slight gasp as your back hits the wall. She takes one more step towards you, grinning without embarrassment at the look of your face as you realize she's cornered you.

"You had a lot of fun the last time you owed me something." She frowns. "I did too, in case you were wondering."

"Back up." You mutter.

"You don't want that." Paige muffs, her head cocking to the side, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

She gets closer and closer. Her eyes, those icy blue fuckers that always make you squirm, they dart between your eyes and lips in a way too familiar to be real.

Somewhere along the way, you get closer too. And your eyes flutter closed despite the rush of blood keeping you awake. And your stomach flips in pleasure despite the nerves of a near-death experience.

And when you wake in your bed, sheet strewn into a mess, pyjama shorts halfway across the room, you're disgusted, confused and utterly flustered.

It doesn't help that your heart still thumps like it did in your sleep, or that your stomach is still flipping like when that clicker was on you.

Or when she was.

MORNING IS KINDER than night, or perhaps safer. Easier to stomach, harder to be content with. It doesn't hold the uncertainty of darkness, elevated breathing and hightened senses.

You'd think that sunlight would bring hidden feelings to light, but you often found most private thoughts escaped closed mouths under darker skies.

Today, the sun shines through the holes and cracks of the old wooden barn, rays reflecting onto the dirty, hay-covered floor. The yellow material crunches under your feet as you push past the creaky doors. A few of the horses stir. Crickets still chirp from the fields nearby.

You wake up earlier than usual, unable to close your eyes again thanks to your dream. Dreams happened often, so you found yourself coming early to the barn most days. The quiet is nice, nothing but nature and wind and your own thoughts, which prove to be louder than even Kk's heckling or Nika's incessant complaining.

You take your time as the sun grows stronger, smiling when the barn cat purrs against your legs. You dump out old buckets of water, replenish food, and greet each horse with a nod or a gentle hand. It’s only till you reach the last stall that you stop, holding an arm out to the head of Sue, your personal favourite, who willingly nuzzles into your palm.

You open the stall and gently lead her out by the rein, enjoying the clip of her hooves against the old barn floors. She walks with you through the barn and out the creaky doors, pausing by the little cabinet near the exit that holds all of your supplies: brushes, gloves, hoof picks, combs.

In the morning, despite the empty feeling left by the push and shove of a fight, you take pleasure in brushing her hair, her tail and mane. You let yourself breath without urgency as your fingers sew between the strands and weave braids.

And then you see someone in the distance, walking uphill through the green grass by the stables. A small figure at first, that grows familiar with every step. Taller than Kk. Blonder than Nika.

You glance away, focusing on the strands of yellow-white hair between your fingertips. You create a focus too trained to be real, even when the footsteps louden and stop a few feet behind you. You try not to remember what you dreamed the night before.

“Hate to interrupt.” Her voice says lightly. “But I’m gonna need her.”

You don’t break much from that focus, half-heartedly turning your attention towards her. Forced. Intentional.

“Thought you were done with patrol.”

“Where’d you hear that?” She smiles, white teeth bared. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, parted down the middle. Her eyes are bright, she’s in a good mood, grinning the way she always does.

“That’s why we went to smoke yesterday,” you raise a brow, “to celebrate a break.”

She shifts on her feet a bit, eyes glancing down, then back towards you.

“They won’t mind the extra help.”

You nod, letting the air get quiet. She stays still, watches, breathes. You shake away the feeling of that same breath on your neck. Inhale. Exhale. You will yourself back into real life.

“Won’t they be annoyed? Someone’ll be there to replace you.”

“Well, I told you I go off on my own a lot, didn’t I?” Paige hums, head cocked, forcing you to remember those three days you spent in the wild with her, recalling those conversations.

“Yeah,” you mumble. She’d found you alone, and been alone herself despite the decent patrol groups Jackson required. Funnily enough, she was even alone in your dreams.

“Yeah, you did.”

You turn back, finishing the braid you started not long before. Sue leans into your touch, but her eyes are on Paige. She doesn’t stall, doesn’t whinny like horses do when someone they dislike is near.

Paige is quiet, quiet and watching. You feel her blues on your back.

“S’ she your favourite?”

You turn again, fully this time. Your hands graze Sue’s soft coat.

You nod.

She nods in return. “Yeah, mine too.”

Another little grin breaks on her lips, closed mouth, restrained. Less bright, more like a shield for thought. She’s uncomfortable, you see it now despite the glow of the sun on her pale skin, and her talkative chatter. She holds herself too strongly, she questions more than she lets on.

You can see it on her. She has a tendency to run off, and she wants Sue for a reason.

“People here…” you begin, words caught in your throat. You don’t know how to talk to her, how to be her friend yet still be far away.

You shrug it off, swallow, and continue. “People here rely on you a lot, don’t they?”

Her eyes shift this time instead of her feet. Another tell. “I guess they do?” She mumbles, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck.

“I figured.” You shrug. “They all talk about you like you’re a godsend.”

“They?”

“Your friends, the townspeople, even Geno and Dawn.” You snort.

“Oh.” Paige rubs her mouth, considering your words. That glint in her eye returns, grin turned smirk. “You sound tired of it.”

“I’m not.” You say, too fast. “I’m just saying. It’s a lot of praise, and praise comes with pressure.”

“Pressure is a privilege.” Paige says back, fast as a dart. She says the words like they’ve been uttered a thousand times, not quite rehearsed, but something like muscle memory.

“Privilege can weigh heavy.” You shrug, meeting her eye. “Nika told me something the other day, about how everything we have here is thanks to bloodshed. We can enjoy what we have here without feeling burdened or something. Isn’t it the same?”

Paige nods half heartedly. “Glad to see you’re getting close with her, by the way.”

“We’re not close.” You say, far too quickly once again. “She’s nice. Very…unafraid. It’s new.”

“Are you not friends with her?” Paige raises a brow.

You pause, briefly thinking back to your interactions with her. The sharp glares, the comments dusted with distaste, and the olive branch of weed and companionship in an abandoned theatre.

“I am.” You settle. “Like I said. It’s new.”

“You’ve only been here a month,” Paige chuckles, “of course it’s new.”

You shrug again, turning your attention away, maintaining that distance. Conversation flows with her like fresh water from a waterfall, hard and natural, refreshing with the tendency to throw you under. Part of you sours at her presence. You wonder if her care is a coverup for her pity. The thought makes you sick.

“I haven’t seen you much since we came back.” Paige frowns.

“You patrol a lot. I’m here for most of the day.”

“I looked for you a few times.” She adds, a little edge in her voice. “You run a lot of errands in a lot of places.”

“Why were you looking?” You raise a sharp brow.

“To check up on you? To see how you were holding up?” She snorts.

There it is again, the painful kindness that you can't bring yourself to believe. "Well, why do you feel the need to?" You push.

"Shit, you ask too many questions." Paige groans. "I don't know?"

"This is what I mean by pressure." You scoff. "You don't owe me anything. You saved me, you brought me here, you've helped out. You don't have to feel like you need to make sure I'm okay."

"Do you think I feel obligated?” She huffs, blue eyes going wide. That mischievous glint turns sharper, and her brows furrow. Her mood has sullied, you can see it in the way her body goes rigid.

“I’m not obligated to do shit.” Paige bites, “I’m not going out of my way just to fulfil some fuckin’ checklist, or because I feel like I have to. I know it’s not easy coming here, I know that—that everything you’ve been through can’t make it easier. I just thought…you know, I’m a familiar face, and maybe I could make it a little less hard than it needs to be.”

You watch her, the way her hands stop grazing along Sue’s coat, the way they part and find their place at her sides, fingers clenched. It’s easier to watch her hands than her eyes. You can feel them burn through you, you can feel the slip of vulnerability that she’s unafraid to let escape.

“But whatever. Obviously I overthought it, you’ve got friends and a billion things to do, right?”

"Don't." You frown.

"Don't what?" She cocks a brow, attitude seeping from her words.

"Don't be that way..." you mutter, biting your lip as you try to maneuver through this, "it's not like that."

"Who said it was like anything?" Paige huffs.

The conversation turns redundant. She stands and watches as you braid Sue's mane. You keep your eyes on your fingers, ignoring the burn of her stare.

You want to keep talking, to allow yourself a relationship with her. But last nights dream, the sight of her in that light, changes everything, complicates things even more. That fact alone scares you, makes you cut your words short.

Paige obviously seems bothered, but doesn't allow herself to pry too deep. You realize despite it all, your rude and sudden distance from her despite all she's done for you, she's still being careful, considering your every state.

She only beats around the bush in case her next words could push you away--further than you already are.

"I care about how you're doing, that's it. There's no ulterior motive, no obligation. I'm sorry if it puts you off--it's just how I am." Paige finally says.

“Well, you know I’m okay now.” You conclude. She chews her lip, you watch as the pink flesh writhes between her teeth.

“Did I do something?” Paige sighs, palms facing out, proof of her confusion. “Did I like, offend you in some way? Because if I did, I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t do anything.” You shake your head. “It’s my fault, I should’ve been more grateful. I’m happy you helped me, I’m happy I’m here. I’m just…adjusting.”

She nods, swallowing. “My bad.” she mutters, leaning towards Sue, raising a hand to ghost along the horses lean body. “Dunno why, but it felt like you were avoiding me or sumn.”

“Wasn’t.” You lie curtly, and though she notes your tone she doesn’t push further. You just watch as her eyes take in the beauty of Sue’s braided mane, as they follow the line of your fingers in motion.

"Are you happy?" She asks, shifting on her feet again. Her voice is low, like her words are only meant for you and her.

This question makes you pause.

"I..." you trail off, "I don't know. Things are better here, much better, but different."

Paige nods, encouraging you to keep going. With a swallow, you do.

"I'm not used to, uhm. Spending my time like this, you know?" You ask, and you know for a fact she does. Otherwise she wouldn't be here, ready to patrol despite being told not to.

"Life back home was a constant rush." You continue, eyes still on your fingers. "I was out all the time, fighting all the time. Every day was a fight in one way or another. Now I wake up, I spend the day here in the stables. If I'm lucky I get another job, like helping with trades at the grocery store or running errands for Dawn and Geno. It's not bad, but..."

"Theres no rush." Paige finishes for you. "No adrenaline."

"Yeah." You mumble. "And you might think it's stupid...you'd think I'd be done with all of it. I thought I'd never wanna go out again, too."

"It's not stupid." Paige says quickly. "Hey, look at me."

You do, against your better judgment. Your eyes part from the braids and meet her own. She looks at you seriously.

"It's not stupid." She repeats. "It always feels scary when you're out there, but when you're safe it feels too uniform. It leaves a gap. Makes you feel like somethin's missing."

The look in her eyes, the tone of her words, it all makes it clear that she gets it, that once again she gets you.

"Yeah." You mutter.

"If you're okay with that feeling, then thats fine." Paige shrugs. "But if not then you should patrol with me."

"Today?" Your eyes widen.

"I'm going alone today." She shakes her head. "But take a few days to think about it. Talk to Geno and Dawn. If you make up your mind, come find me when I come back."

You nod, considering her words. The braids are finished now, and you turn to find Sue's saddle. Paige grins a little when she sees you reach for it.

"How long'll you be gone?" You ask, fixing the horse up with the saddle and reins.

"I dunno." She shrugs. "If Geno catches me? A few hours."

You let out a light chuckle, pulling Sue's muzzle tight before handing the reins to Paige. Your fingers brush hers as you pass the rope over.

"You're good at this." She nods, eyeing your work. The braids, the careful manicuring, the quick preparation.

"Thanks." You hum, slightly bashful. "It's all I've been doing this month."

She tightens the reins around her hand, the other grazing over Sue's head in a soft pet. It's quiet when she starts to walk, the horse following behind her. Your head buzzes with thoughts.

"Does the feeling go away?" You call out, the words rushed as Paige turns her head. "The feeling, like something is missing."

Paige's lips purse in thought, then smile a little sadly. "It gets quieter as time goes on." She says, "But I don't think anything can replace the rush of being out there."

You nod. She holds your eye a moment longer. Then she turns, and walks away from the barn. Sue follows behind her, hooves clopping against the grass. You watch Paige's silhouette grow smaller and smaller before turning back into the barn.

The barn cat mews, pushing against your legs in greeting. You bend over to pet it, letting your mind go blank as your fingers caress its short fur. You barely even notice the barn door opening wider behind you.

"Yo." Nika's voice calls out, Kamorea close behind her. "Was that Sue that Paige was taking?"

"Yup." You nod.

"She ain't even s'possed to be patrolling." Kk sighs with exasperation.

Nika comes beside you, smiling when the cat cuddles up to her too.

"What'd she say?" Nika asks you quietly.

"Not much." You shrug, and though Nika gives you her signature piercing stare, you manage not to break.

THE NEXT DAY you wake early again.

You relish the dreamless night. The sunlit barn. The calm, the quiet. You ignore the boredom, the empty feeling left by the rush of fighting for your life.

You don't see Sue back in her stable. You don't hear footsteps approaching the barn.

The next morning is the same, and the next.

Paige is gone for four whole days. And in her absence you live unchanged, waking by the same hour, working through your patend routine, laughing at the right times, keeping quiet when you can.

Nobody asks where she's gone, nobody worries. So you don't either. You swallow back any questions by the first and second day. On the third, you try to forget about her offer altogether.

On the night of the fourth, Nika knocks on your door unannounced again.

"Hi again." She grins, long hair slicked back, teeth bared in a charming grin. "Long time no see."

"Seeing you at the stables is enough Muhl for me." You open your door wider, and she laughs.

"You gonna let me in? Or what?" Nika snorts, stepping inside before you can respond. She walks herself to your room, her combat boots thumping on the wooden floor. You follow her without question, accepting her confidence. It bothers you less these days.

"What now?" You tut, hands on your hips. "You gonna move in? Or are you and your friends getting stoned again."

"If I moved in this shack would be a whole lot cuter." Nika snorts, allowing herself to slump over on your bed. "Get changed."

"I don't feel like smoking." You say.

"We're not. Tonight is bonfire night."

"Uh," You raise a brow. "You say that like I should know what it is."

"Some of the others built a firepit out of some old garbage can a few days back." Nika chirps, blowing a stray strand of her from her face. "We lit it up today, n' everyone's bringing drinks."

“And you decided to drag me along?”

“Precisely.”

You chuckle, turning to your closet to scavenge for something to wear. Summer nights can get chilly, but bonfires made you sweat.

“Shorts?” You ask.

“I think so.” Nika hums from your bed, slapping her bare thighs.

You pick out the rest with no problem, running into your bathroom to change before coming out to Nika standing up, waiting.

“Sexy.” She nods towards you. “Let’s go.”

You follow her up the stairs, stopping by your kitchen to grab a lighter and a pocket knife before leaving the house. The night sky, once dim in evening, has turned a deep blue. Stars twinkle from above. You can faintly smell smoke from afar.

You walk through the neighbourhood with her, eyes on your boots while hers stare straight ahead.

“Y’know, I was thinking.” She says.

“Don’t do that.”

“Shut up for one second.” Nika rolls her eyes, though her lips quirk upward. “Not even like, a week ago, if I’d told you to pick out something cute I think you would’ve kicked my ass.”

“Yeah?” You ask, but you think about it and realize she’s right. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have come out with you. Or I would’ve fought it a little more.”

“That too.” Nika nods. “What changed?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. You feel her stare turn to you as you do so, and her eyes narrow.

“I was surprised as shit to find out you weren’t boring.” She says slyly.

“What does that mean?” You shoot, meeting her stare.

“Like, you were a fuckin’ nobody when we met. Never talked, all that. It wasn’t a big deal, a lot of people come to Jackson that way. S’not like it bothered me that bad. I wanted to push you around, see if it was true. Then you came out and smoked with us, and we realized you weren’t too bad at all.” Nika hums.

“And?” You raise a brow. “I know this already.”

“Well, after that you went right back to being a nobody.” She says, no nonsense-like.

You just narrow your eyes. She sighs.

“You respond like a robot when me n’ Kk talk to you. You spend all your time alone. S’like nothing changed. Then I stop by today n’ you’re cool again.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” You scoff, closing up and honestly feeling a little attacked by her confrontation.

“Sorry if you feel uncomfortable.”Nika shrugs. “But you’re in your head all the time, I never know what to think.”

You don’t respond, and she doesn’t push further. Aside from the occasional sharp glance in your direction, you just keep walking beside her through the night.

“I’m still getting used to all this.” You mutter after a while. “You act like I’m supposed to know what to do all the time.”

“You’re not supposed to know what to do.” Nika frowns. “But I really don’t know how you act. Sometimes you’re cool, sometimes you’re like a robot.”

“We’ll, sorry I’m not cool enough for you and your friends.” You bite.

“Bitch, that’s not what I meant!” She groans, rubbing her face. “Look, I can see that you’re not a fucking robot, okay? You got attitude, and you’ve been through shit. Congrats, join the club. Can you just see how it gives me whiplash when I talk to you the next morning and it’s like you’re on autopilot?”

“Yeah.” You pause. “Yeah. I get it.”

Nika nods, satisfied but waiting.

“I don’t even know.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I feel more myself at night, I guess. Aside from that, I’m not used to interacting with so many people like we’re all friends, like, everyday.” You continue.

“I get that.” She nods, and you can tell she’s serious. “And?”

“And,” you inhale, “I can’t fucking stand how many times Kamorea complains about cleaning the stalls. Okay, we get it. You’re tired of cleaning horse shit. Obviously you did something bad for Geno to put you on stall duty, so suck it up and stop making it my problem.”

“Pfft.” Nika snorts, eyes wide with amusement. “What else?”

“I need you to stop whining everyday about how much you hate working at the barn. Same logic. You did some shit, now you can’t patrol. Maybe work on your raking skills before begging for patrol duty, you clean the place like you should be bedridden.”

“Okay, not sure why I’m apart of this.” Nika laughs. “You done?”

“No, I’m not done.” You shoot back. “You’re not the only person who hates the barn. I’m sick of the barn. You think all I wanna do in life is braid horses and clean saddles? Are you serious?” You laugh, and she genuinely starts to heave with laughter herself. “I used to outrun clickers with cocaine in my backpack in a normal days work, alright? This easy shit where I work like a traumatized child isn’t doing it for me.”

“You miss it?” Nika smiles. “I’m honestly surprised.”

“Yeah, I miss it.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t miss almost dying like, everyday. But I miss actually doing something with my life. I just don’t make it your problem, or Kamorea’s, or Paige’s. I keep it to myself, and then I get your nosy ass begging to get inside my head.”

“You’re lucky you’re funny.” She huffs. “N’ look at that, they started without us.”

Up ahead, surrounded by the businesses and buildings that have grown familiar, glows the bright light of burning fire. Large groups of young faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, huddle close, drinks in hand, laughter echoing through he night.

“Speaking of Paige.” Nika grins, shuddering as you both approach the heat from the fire. “What’d she tell you before she left? You’re the last person she spoke to.”

“Wow, finally someone acknowledges she’s gone.” You raise a brow.

“She dips a lot.” Nika shrugs. “The last couple times she left, we thought she was dead. At this point there’s no reason to worry. Anyways, what’d she say?”

Nika snatches two beers from someone nearby, handing one to you. You pop the lids with her in sync, taking a swig and washing down the fizzy, malted taste without a thought. You internalize the information, Paige’s aptitude for absence, and move on.

“She figured I wasn’t where I wanted to before I had to say it.” You shrug. “Told me to think about asking for patrol.”

“Shit.” Nika raises her brows. “What, did you guys get some mental link while ya’ll were out in the wild? I would’ve kept thinking you were a bot if you hadn’t told me.”

“I don’t even know.” You groan, taking another swing. “She’s too much for me.”

“Why.” Nika snorts. “Cus, she knows you?”

“She thinks she does.” You grunt. “And she’s damn lucky her guesses are right half the time.”

“You like it.” Nika smirks, nudging you.

“Definitely don’t.” You frown.

“You’re just not used to it.” Nika nods. “But I feel like if you hated it, it would be more obvious.”

You just shrug, taking another sip of your beer as you enjoy the warmth of fire on your back. People around you stare, most of them nodding or grinning. You try to reciprocate.

“Plus, I bet you know her too.”

“Barely.” You hum.

“Liar.” Nika shakes her head. “You never ask any questions bout her. Either you don’t care, or you figure it out on your own.”

“First one.” You smile, turning to her.

“Girl,” she snorts, hitting your shoulder lightly, “you always in your head about something. No shame if you figuring her out too.”

“She’s got more problems than I do.” You roll your eyes. “Forgive me if I think about it once in a while.”

“See?” She grins triumphantly. “So, you gonna take her offer?”

“I don’t know.”

“Seriously?” Nika guffaws. “You just shat all over working at the barn on the way here, fuck you mean you don’t know?”

You just drink, finishing the bottle and grabbing another.

“Is it cus’ she’s the one who offered?”

“I guess.” You admit, feeling a little warm inside. A faint buzz starts to settle in your skin. It’s comforting, loosening your tongue in the process.

“You’re so adamant about this distance from her.” Nika huffs. “Just so you know, it isn’t gonna work. I don’t know why, but she’s fuckin’ drawn to you. Not much you can do to shoo her off now.”

“You’re full of shit.” You hum, sipping again. She scoffs, sipping with you.

You and her walk around then, working your way through the groups surrounding the fire. Someone finds a stereo, sliding an old r&b cd in so the music floods the street over the crackling flame.

You stop to talk to the familiar faces: Jana, Ice, Aubrey, Kk, a few of the others. Nika stays by your side, cheeks pinkening with every drink she downs.

The night is still young as she drags you from person to person. Further away, another familiar face returns after four days of silence. Jackson’s gates open wide for her, and she smells the smoke in the air, hears the laughter, and follows.

tagsˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@juumecca @cowboybueckers @sweetbcgs @rishofkf @yailtsv @bueckers2fudd @syraxsbigfanfr @azziswrld @hellokittyfeenie @lively-blues

[melobballin]

no pain no game. juju watkins

✶ warnings ✶ 2.8k words count. black!fem reader. juju is being difficult and got a smart mouth. reader being worse. pt!reader. injured!juju. flirty!juju. agnst!juju. wlw. fluffy fluffy stuff.

"WE WANT YOU ON JUJU." Excuse you ? That's all your supervisor said to you before turning her heels and walking out of the classroom. No context. No time for you to blink or ask questions, let alone process what the fuck just happened.

Perfect timing. It was mid semester, you were already knee-deep in the trenches, buried under textbooks, assignments, and finals prep, trying really hard to keep your GPA from tanking.

But yeah, sure, babysitting juju sounded good, real good. Love that for you.

you’d handled injured athletes before—campus regulars, nothing wild. You could do this. No sweat.

But watkins ? That was a whole other story. juju meant headlines, pressure.

You were actually there when it happened. Your best friend, Nia, had basically dragged you to the court that night, guilt-tripping you with the "we never go out anymore !". And you remember it very vividly — her on the court, clutching her knee like it just stabbed her in the back mid-drive. Ever since, the whole department’s been walking on eggshells like somebody died or something.

You weren’t alarmed though. at all.

Yeah, it hurt to see her in pain like that, acl is no joke. But you somehow had no doubt that she was going to get through it in no time.

Still, as sure as you were, you had now a job to do. And baby, you damn good at your job. Top-of-the-class, resident miracle worker type good. Torn ACL ? Please. Move aside. You’ve handled worse.

Star player or not, bones heal the same.

“So… you said yes?” Nia called from the kitchen, halfway through some late-night snack that smelled like burnt remnants.

You rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. “I didn’t even get the chance to say no. She hit me with the ‘you’re doing it’ and dipped.”

Nia strolled over, plate in hand, and dropped down next to you, pretending to be an emotional support. “And you mad ‘cause… what? You scared you’re actually gonna do a good job and fix her knee and end up in her bed or sum ?"

You side-eyed her. "Be serious please."

“I am,” she mumbled through a bite. “That girl is fine and you got godly hands. It’s like destiny.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. Juju was fine as hell. And intense. And slightly terrifying.

“I don’t care how good her crossover is,” you said, scrolling on your phone. “If she comes in with a bad attitude and try to run me over, I swear—”

“Girl,” Nia cut you off, grinning. “quit playing. You love a little spice. And you do be killin’ it out here. Stop worrying so much.”

You sighed, flipping onto your back. She smirked. “Anyway, make this entertaining for me. I’m bored or whatever.”

You grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. “I should jump you.”

Safe to say you kept scrolling through your phone that night, looking for her ig.

JUJU WAS LATE. Not the 2 minutes kinda late, the kinda late that made you be on ten. The rehab gym was hot and humid which was disgusting. your baby hairs were already fluffing out. Great start.

When Juju finally strolled in—hoodie pulled tight over her head, brace strapped on like armor, headphones jammed deep in her ears, and a blank face, you were already in position — file in hand, game face locked.

She didn't even glance your way. Just walked right past like you were invisible.

Okay. Cute.

You tapped her AirPods case on the table, trying to stay cool and calm. Click. Click. "You can take those out, missy." you said, finally putting her AirPods case on the table softly. "You won’t need them to hoop."

Nothing. Just a pair of eyes blinking at you like you were crazy.

She sat down, barely even breathed. Instead she stared at you, trying to figure out what the fuck you were talking about.

"You must be an intern or something," she finally said. "Ain’t no way you just asked me to hoop when i still got screws in my knee."

"I’m not. I’m the reason your ass gon’ be back on court. Now take the ball."

She stared. You stared back. If she wanted to waste her time staring into your soul, you weren’t going to waste yours.

“Just take the damn ball,” you said again, softer now. “I wanna see how you move. That’s it.”

Her eyes flicker around the room like she’s trying to will herself into confidence before snatching the ball from your hands. She barely bounces the ball before halting, the brace making her movement stiff and unfamiliar.

“Take your time.” you say, voice gentle but steady. “There’s no rush.”

She didn’t answer, just took another stiff step, the brace groaning under pressure. Her jaw clenched, her shoulders stiff. Then—

“Fuck,” she hissed, almost too quiet. You stepped closer. “That your leg talking or your pride?”

She side-eyed you. “Don’t start with me.”

“Already did. You showed up to my session late, full of attitude, and acting like I begged you to be here but can’t handle a little hooping.”

That got her attention. She turned to face you fully now. “Nobody begged. You lucky they trust you with me.”

You raised a brow. “No. You’re lucky. I’m the best.”

She let out a short laugh. “cocky on the first day ? Crazy.”

You smiled sweetly. “I’m not cocky. I’m confident. Unlike you right now. I don’t crumble when the pressure’s on.”

She licked her lips, slowly. “Yeah, we’ll see how long you keep talkin’ that shit when I’m back on the court… or in your face.”

You swallowed hard. One thing about you—if somebody came at you with flames, you were matching it with a wildfire. And Juju wouldn’t be no exception.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “Alright, hoop barbie. Let’s get to work.”

But she didn’t move. Just looked you over once—slow—and smirked.

“Bet.”

to : judea (watkins)

ur gonna get through this.

imma make sure you do.

YOU DON’T KNOW WHEN IT HAPPENED EXACTLY. Maybe it was after the fourth session when she finally showed up on time, hair slicked into a ponytail this time, knee brace strapped tighter and eyes just a little less dead. Or maybe it was the seventh, when she made that sarcastic comment about your outfit and you caught her smirking behind her water bottle.

Either way, it was clear that something in the air had shifted.

The routine was… comfortable. Begrudgingly so. She’d come in with that same grimace, all hoodie and bad attitude, and you’d hit her with your most professional voice, clipboard in hand, instructions clear. She’d push back every time—“Why we doing this again?” or “You tryna kill me today ?”but her body never lied. She followed through. She moved. She tried.

You’d both pretend it wasn’t a big deal.

Even when she made little comments like, “You always wear those leggings?” with a cocked brow and a glance that lasted too long.

"You’re always up in peoples business?” You didn’t entertain her. Much. Just smiled to yourself, flipped the page on your clipboard, and gave her an extra set just for being smart and annoying.

Tonight, though, it was different.

The gym was quiet, just you two again. Everyone else had cleared out early, and she was doing balance drills on the BOSU ball, arms stretched out like wings, focused as hell.

“Don’t lock your knee,” you warned, hovering nearby. “You’ll regret it in the morning.”

“I regret a lot of things already,” she muttered, wobbling slightly but catching herself. “One more won’t kill me.”

You gave her a look. She met it, sharp and tired.

“Alright,” you sighed, grabbing her towel. “That’s enough for today.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I can do one more set.”

“You’ve done five, juju. I’m not playing with you.”

She stepped down, chest rising and falling like she’d just run laps instead of standing still. Her eyes were darting around again, like she couldn’t sit still in her own skin. You saw it coming before she even opened her mouth.

“I don’t know who I am without ball.”

You blinked.

She wasn’t looking at you. Just standing there, towel hanging from her fingers, lips parted like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Like…” she exhaled, sharp. “Everybody keeps acting like I’m gonna bounce right back, like it’s just a matter of time. Rehab. Surgery. Boom, I’m back on the court. But what if I don’t bounce back ? What if I’m… not that juju anymore?”

Her voice cracked on “juju.”

Your chest tightened. You stepped closer, gentle but sure. “Ju.”

She flinched a little at the sound of that nickname.

“You are still her. You’re just injured. Not erased.”

She laughed bitterly, wiping her face with her hoodie sleeve. “Yeah, easy for you to say. You ain’t the one waking up every day wondering if people only see you for how fast you run a play.”

You crossed your arms, firm. “No. But I see people fall apart in here every week. And guess what ? I’ve watched ‘em get back up. You’re not special.”

That made her look at you.

“I mean—no offense,” you added quickly, biting back a smirk. “You’re talented. Ridiculous, even. But you’re not the only person who’s ever had to fight for their comeback. And you sure as hell won’t be the last.”

Her eyes were glossy now, and her jaw flexed like she was trying to bite down her emotions.

“I hate this shit,” she muttered. “I hate needing help.”

“I know,” you said, softer now. “But you don’t have to like it. You just gotta let it work.”

She stared at you a little too long.

And then, like instinct, she leaned into you—shoulder brushing yours as she sank onto the bench nearby. She wasn’t crying. Not exactly. But her silence said more than enough.

You sat beside her, gently passing her the water bottle she’d ignored earlier. For the first time, she took it without a snide remark. “…Thanks,” she murmured.

You nodded, tapping your nails against your clipboard. “So, next session, we start resistance band training.”

She groaned, head tilting back dramatically. “Do you actually hate me ? You love torturing me.”

You smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’d torture anyone for their own good.” Juju glanced sideways at you, smile faint but real. “You really believe I’ll make it back?”

“I told you I was gonna make sure you do. I don’t play about my job. Plus, I wouldn’t be wasting my time if I didn’t.”

Her gaze lingered. And for once, she didn’t say anything back.

Didn’t need to. The look on her face said everything : thank you, even if I don’t want to say it out loud.

YOU SWEAR JUJU HAS BEEN ON SOMETHING DIFFERENT LATELY. Not much had changed in the routine itself. Rehab drills. Knee work. Progress checks. But the energy though ? Completely different. She shows up with snacks now—sometimes two, casually tossing you one with a lazy, “figured you’d forget to eat.”

She still had that same tough, deadpan delivery, but it didn’t hit the same no more. Not when she lingers a second too long near your desk. Not when she catches your eye in the mirror while she’s stretching and smirks like she knew exactly what she was doing.

One afternoon, she flopped down on the mat, arms stretched over her head, all sweaty and grinning. You raised a brow. “You okay or just being dramatic?”

“Both,” she wheezed. “But if I die, I want you to know… I was right. That playlist does suck.”

You chucked your pen at her. “I should let your knee lock up for that.”

“Oh ? So violence is your love language?”

You froze for a beat.

She then laughed—really laughed—before sitting up slowly, stretching out her arms again. “You should see your face,” she teased, biting down a grin.

“Okay now you’re pissing me off,” you said, clearing your throat, flipping a page on your clipboard for no reason other than to stop yourself from blushing. “Go back to work.”

She was still grinning, smug and pleased with herself.

But then there were softer moments, too.

Like the time her brace pinched her skin mid-session and you immediately knelt to adjust it, fingers brushing against her calf. She sucked in a breath—not from pain, but from the way your hands moved.

You glanced up. “Too tight?” You softly asked.

Her eyes were already on you. “Nah. Just not used to people touchin’ me like that.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything. Just fixed the strap gently and stood back up.

Or the time she stayed after a session, claiming she needed to ice longer. You both ended up sitting on the floor by the wall, sharing a bottle of Gatorade and talking about nothing—her love-hate relationship with her coach, your childhood memories.

She bumped your knee with hers. “You real easy to talk to, you know that?”

“Keep gassing me up and I’m gonna start charging you per session.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is. Trappin’ me with kindness so you can run up my insurance bill.”

You snorted. “Exactly. Imma finesse your ass.”

You both laughed. And it lingered. Longer than it should’ve.

Then came the night it rained. Hard. She was the last person of your schedule again, and you were packing up when she peeked around the door, hoodie soaked, sneakers squeaking on the floor.

You raised a brow. “You walked in this?”

“Had no umbrella,” she shrugged. “Didn’t know if I’d make it on time. Didn’t wanna miss you.”

Your breath caught. Real subtle.

“Come here,” you said, grabbing a towel and tossing it at her. “You look like a wet cat.”

She took it and laughed, wiping her face. “You like cats?”

“No, but I’m starting to tolerate you, so maybe.”

“Oh wow,” she grinned. “I’m honored.”

She stayed longer that night. Sat with you while you finished your notes. She told you about her siblings. About her mom. How people all expected her to “tough it out,” and get back better even when she was hurting.

You just listened, letting her talk.

And at one point, she leaned against your shoulder—barely there, just enough to feel her warmth.

Neither of you said anything.

But she whispered, after a minute, “You kinda make it feel okay to be weak for a second.”

You turned your head toward her, heart thudding. “You’re not weak, Juju.”

She met your eyes. “Yeah… but you make it feel valid, ★. Even when it’s not true, ” That was the first time she called you by your name, too. Soft. Like it meant something.

And you swore, right then and there, something had shifted for good.

From : ju 🤍

u coming tonight right ?

I’m so ready !!!

To : ju 🤍

staff needs me at the center sorry

ik you’ll be killing it. proud of u <3

YOU DIDN’T GO TO THE GAME. You sat in your room, lights low, music on but not loud, your phone flipped upside down on the bed beside you. Every so often, you glanced at it. Waiting. Not for the score—you already knew she’d kill it—but maybe some word from her. A sign. Something small and stupid, like a “we won” or a selfie from the locker room.

Nothing came.

And you hated how disappointed you felt. Because it was your choice, right ? You’d made the call. You pulled back. Slowed the texts, the lingering touches. Didn’t show up to her last rehab session. Pretended like you were just busy.

It wasn’t a punishment.

You just… didn’t know how to let yourself want her. Not without getting burned.

The thing was—when she was hurt, she needed you. But now ? She was Juju again. Star of the team. Walking headline. Game day was hers. The roar of the crowd, the bright lights, the whole she’s back narrative. And you? You were just someone who helped her get there.

So you kept your distance. Told yourself it was safer that way.

Until your phone buzzed at 11:42 p.m.

From : juju 🤍

open the door.

I’m outside.

You stared at the message. Didn’t move at first. Then—three knocks.

You opened the door slowly, and there she was.

Still in sweats, hair tied up, slides on, backpack slung over one shoulder. Her eyes met yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

“I waited for you,” she said, voice low.

You blinked. “I know.”

She stepped inside without asking. Dropped her bag by the wall. Didn’t sit. Just turned to face you.

“You really weren’t gonna come?”

You crossed your arms. “Didn’t think it would matter.”

She laughed, short and sharp. “Right. ’Cause I just spent all these months blowing up your phone for fun.”

You stayed quiet.

“I looked for you,” she said, voice tighter now. “I kept checking the stands like an fucking idiot.”

You let out a breath. “Juju, what do you want from me?”

She stared at you. “I want to know why the hell you started acting like none of it meant anything.”

You swallowed. Looked down. “Because I didn’t want to make it harder when it ended.”

“When what ended?”

“This,” you said, motioning vaguely. “You. Me. Whatever… this was. It was never gonna last, and I’d rather stop now than wait for you to ghost me when everything goes back to normal.”

She flinched. “You think I’m just gonna dip on you because I got back on my feet ?”

“I think you don’t know what you want,” you said, softer. “And I think when you do figure it out, it won’t be me.”

Silence stretched out between you. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

“You really think I’m that shallow?” she asked, voice lower now, almost hurt.

“I think you’re used to people wanting you for what you do. Not who you are. And I think that makes it easy to walk away when shit gets real.”

She didn’t say anything for a long second. Then she finally moved—slow, like she was figuring it out in real time. Walked closer until there was barely a foot between you.

“I’m not good at this,” she said, honest and quiet. “Not with feelings. I don’t talk. I just… I play. I move. I keep it moving. But this?” She gestured between you. “I wasn’t trying to just pass time. I needed you. And not just for the knee.”

You looked at her. Really looked at her. She looked tired. Still sweaty around the hairline. Eyes puffy like she might’ve cried on the way here. And you softened, just a little.

“I was scared,” she admitted. “I still am. You saw me at my lowest. And instead of clowning me, you stayed. That shit… messed me up a little. Made me wanna be soft, even when I didn’t know how.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t trust it. But damn, it felt true.

“I like you,” she said, no frills. “And I don’t wanna go back to my life like none of this happened. Not without you in it.”

You didn’t respond right away. You were still processing the fact that she was standing in your room, post-win, looking at you like you were the prize.

Then you stepped forward. Just enough to close the space.

“So… what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She shrugged, hand grazing yours. “We figure it out. Slowly. If you want.”

You hesitated, then laced your fingers with hers. Felt her thumb move softly over the back of your hand.

“I want,” you said. “But I need you to mean it.”

“I do,” she murmured.

And then you kissed her.

Not rushed. Not needy. Just real. Gentle, warm, slow like exhale after a long-ass day. Her hands found your waist, yours found her hoodie. She leaned into you like she’d been holding that tension for too long. And you let yourself fall for a second. Let it feel good.

She tightened her arm around your waist. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

You didn’t answer. Just held her a little tighter.

Because you were starting to believe it.

And for once, that was enough.

© written by melobballin | please be gentle with me that’s my first writing for ju 🤍 hope you’ll like it !

[erinwantstowrite]

when people send me asks or comment on my videos about how they hate spider-man and batman crossovers im like

"hey babe... now I want you to listen with your big kid ears okay? I know that's really hard for you, but we're going to make it through this... you can just... not see those things. I know, I know! super scary new concept that you've never thought of before! don't panic! but there's this thing called filtering a tag on ao3... stay with me, stay with me! and it gives you the ability to... not see those things you don't like. I know that's amazing isn't it!!!! now let's try doing that... and while we do that I'm going to teach you what a block button is so that I don't have to hit you with a cartoon hammer for going on my page to specifically tell me how much you don't like the thing i enjoy and put my time and effort into"

[teenidlegirl]

꣖　 BEAUTY OF THIS MESS 　꣓　 ᤢ♥︎　 CHAPTER　.　O5 　!

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

ᤢ　.　summary　♥︎　੭　the bond between you and miguel grows a little more as you two continue hanging out together. however, things from the past come back unexpectedly.

ᤢ　.　content　♥︎　੭　fluff, angst, pet names, swearing, backstories (since it’s an AU, george o'hara is a good step-dad), brief mention of divorce, mentions of cheating, hint of a crossover

꣖　　previous　　⋅ ꪆৎ ⋅　　masterlist　　⋅ ꪆৎ ⋅　　next　　꣓

getting off work early today was a surprise.

it was a quiet day at the office, not much interesting stories to cover which was very rare in new york. but what surprise you the most is jameson telling you can go home early today. probably the most generous thing he has ever done.

you didn’t question why or hesitate to leave, it was basically a blessing in disguise.

pulling up in the parking garage and parking in your designated spot, your eyes detect a familiar broad figure across the lot. they light up ever so slightly, a your lips subconsciously raised up in a tiny smile.

why not say hi to him? just super quick.

grabbing your purse and exiting your car, you make your way over to him. miguel is kneeling beside his bike, cleaning it with a black rag.

sensing someone approaching, miguel ups look and immediately smiles when he sees you. he worried it would’ve been that annoying neighbor jason from the 6th floor bugging about buying his bike. miguel would never, it’s his precious baby. a huge wave of relief hits him when he realizes it’s you.

he’s glad that it’s you.

miguel quickly takes out his earphones, the wires dangling over the collar of his shirt since he tucked them inside his shirt, and stands up, towering you.

“hey. how was work?” he asks while cleaning his hands with a different, clean rag.

“for once, great. i got off early.”

“that’s good.”

“yeah, it’s just strange because my boss never lets anyone off early but i’ll take it.” you chuckle softly.

“where do you work at again?” miguel recalls you’re a journalist back at the bar with your friends but can’t remember which company you work for.

“the daily bugle.”

“oh, now i see why it’s strange.” miguel chuckles, aware of the company’s, and jameson’s, reputation. “how long have you been writing for him?”

“three years and hopefully more to come.”

miguel smiles softly at your enthusiasm, how hopeful you seem for your future. the sight makes his heart warm. he hopes for more years to come as well.

“so, how long have you had this pretty thing?” you nod your head at his bike.

“7 years, it was birthday present to myself.”

you hum. “my dad used to own a red one.”

“really?” his brows raised up amusingly.

“yeah, it was his first baby but unfortunately had to sell it since he became a dad.”

“must’ve been hard but had to make the sacrifice.”

“he still misses it to this day. he still loves it more than his own damn kids.” you joke.

miguel chuckles at that. “it was a tough sacrifice.” he indulges in your joke. arms crossed over his chest, biceps bulging through his shirt.

“it was.” you laugh. “he’s a big motorcycle fanatic, i think you two would get along well.” a tiny smirk plastered on your lips, arms crossed as well.

for some reason, the idea of meeting your dad seems amusing to him. miguel is curious to know your dad’s preferences and opinions. it would be nice to talk to someone with a similar interest. his buddies in the military aren’t the biggest fanatics nor owned bikes themselves but still managed to talk about them.

“i think so too, looking forward to it.” he mirrors your smirk, mimicking each other’s stance.

the amount of times this man has been able to make your heart flutter is insane yet you adore it.

“is your dad a motorcycle fanatic too?”

you watch his smirk falter a little. the amused expression turns into a solemn one. you recognize it from your last encounter. you notice that whenever you ask or mention his family.

“no, he isn’t.” miguel said solemnly. “he’s more into money and control.” he watches your brows furrowed, a sign for him to elaborate. “he’s a ceo.”

you hum lightly, acknowledging the given information. “which company?”

“the most famous company, alchemax.”

your brows raise in astonishment. “wow. well, he definitely is into money and control.”

you’re aware of alchemax’s reputation, one of the most successful companies in the country. the fact your neighbor is the son of the ceo amazes you. it was something you weren’t expecting.

miguel briefly smiles at your amusement before turning away, tossing the used rag in a small container then grabs the other he was using previously. “we were never close.” he crouches next to his bike and begins cleaning. “my step-dad is more of a fanatic.”

now it makes sense, his parents are divorced. you can’t help but feel sympathy for miguel.

“he owned a harley. i never liked harleys, i was more into yamaha and ducati.” miguel elaborates while cleaning his bike with the rug. “he taught me how to ride, how to clean, gave some tips and tricks.”

flashbacks of those days, george teaching a young miguel about motorcycles in the garage. iron maiden blasting through the stereo george had in the garage as he and miguel endorsed in father-son bonding. sometimes gabriel would join them, learning some information about motorcycles but never grew interested in them like his older brother.

those memories makes miguel smile, ever so slightly.

you remain silent, attentive to every word he says. you yourself imagine a little miguel learning about motorcycles with his step-dad. the domestic thought makes you smile as well.

“he taught me how to do my first wheelie, right in our neighborhood. my mom saw it and she was furious.” he softly chuckles at the silly memory.

you laugh as well. “did you get your ass whooped?”

“no, thankfully.” miguel chuckles. “she said i couldn’t do it again and gave my step-dad shit for teaching me. she was more worried than angry.”

“i don’t blame her.” you snort. “wheelies aren’t safe, especially doing it as a kid.”

he chuckles at your retorting words. “it isn’t a good childhood without busting your ass.”

“alright, fair point.”

you and miguel continue chitchatting when he cleans his bike. you’re in a middle of a sentence when your phone suddenly rings. grabbing it from inside your purse, your face drops at the number on the screen.

you recognize that number immediately.

the one phone number you deleted two years ago.

never thought you’d ever see it again.

your blood sudden goes cold as you stare at the number. phone vibrating in your hand as the ringtone echos through out the parking garage.

it can’t be… there’s no fucking way.

he swore to leave you alone…

he swore to never call you again. well… you demanded him to never call you again, delete your number just like you did with his. you were there when he deleted it, to make he did.

but… he kept it?… these two past years?

that lying, selfish son of a bitch.

the other option would be him redialing by memory.

miguel noticed the sudden silence from you, turning around to see your mortified expression staring at your phone. his brows furrowed. “everything okay?”

his voice makes you snap out of it, quickly blinking away the nasty feeling in your chest. “yeah, it’s fine.” quickly tapping the decline button, you shove your phone back in your purse as if nothing happened.

miguel’s brows furrowed more, confused by your sudden change in behavior. you seemed so mortified, it worried him. whoever that called you, you definitely did not want to answer. as if you were getting a phone call from a serial killer.

miguel did not like seeing you so terrified.

he wants to know who was calling you. should’ve taken a glance at the number so he could dial them himself. if it got you scared like that, miguel wouldn’t hesitate to track the caller ID. being part of the military includes hacking skills.

“are you sure? you seemed scared.” hint of concern laced in his tone.

“no, i’m fine.” you lie, shaking your head. “it was just a scam call, that’s all.” a fake smile painted on your face, concealing your freaking out state.

even if you sound genuine, miguel knows you’re lying. you didn’t stare mortified at your phone for a scam call. his concern level rises even more.

he’s about to ask again but you start walking away.

“luna’s waiting for me, see ya.” you flash him a half-hearted smile before rushing away, entering the apartment building, ignoring miguel calling after you but you keep going, never looking back.

a confused, worried miguel left in the parking garage. he wants to chase after you. he was literally packing away his stuff until he noticed you were long gone, completely out of his sight. vanished into the air like a ghost. his brows only furrowed more.

who the hell called you?

why did you seemed so terrified to answer?

it bothers miguel so much. an uncomfortable feeling settled in his chest. unable to feel relief until those questions are answered.

miguel desperately wants to head over to your apartment. but he figures you wish to be alone, left unbothered. the last thing he wants is to pry. it seems personal and miguel wants to respect that.

but that doesn’t stop the unease sensation bubbling inside him, consuming his body.

with a sad sigh, he finishes packing up and leaves.

it’s been four days since that asshole called you.

you were scared he would call back but thankfully he didn’t. that fucker hurt you, why the fuck would he try to reconnect with you?

two years later? no mames güey.

work has been a distraction but also busy. jameson on everyone’s ass like always. one day you had to pick up eddie after his car broke down. he spilled the beans about him and anne have been talking. two old friends reconnecting in a slow process. it’s a great start for them, you wish them well.

after working endlessly, it’s your day off which means relaxing time. you take luna out on a walk around your block. it’s perfect weather for a nice walk out. rays of sunshine casting down on you from the vibrant sun, relishing the warmth. the sky cleared from clouds, only the gorgeous blue atmosphere.

the sunlight makes luna’s fur glow. a white fluff ball wandering around. her adorable little pink bows and matching leash. yes, you’re that type of pet owner who dresses up and stylize their pets. she’s your baby, you dress her up however you like.

as you’re heading back to your apartment building, a figure slowly approaches you.

you smell it… you smell him.

you know his signature scent from miles and miles away. that fucking cologne you adored. the intoxicating scent consuming your senses.

looking forward, your heart fucking drops.

no no no… it can’t be.

he can’t be here.

that son of a bitch who broke your heart. betrayed you with his disgusting behavior and lies. who pathetically begged you to not leave, said he needed you and couldn’t live without you.

why did he need you when he was fucking another woman? in your shared bed, not to mention.

you never forgot that night.

two years later, it still haunts you sometimes.

your blood suddenly goes cold, just like when you got that phone call the other day. his phone call.

clad in a basic black shirt and jeans. an outfit you loved seeing him wear. the asshole knew what he was doing. dressed up like that running back to you.

the asshole who hurt you.

joel fucking miller.

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