Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)
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pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader
rating: E 18+MDNI
summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.
contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.
wc: 9k
a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.
Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young
You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you.
You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller.
Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely.
Her words still ring in your ears.
“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”
“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life.
“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said.
You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.
So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you.
But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart.
“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder.
“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says.
“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask.
She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room.
“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”
It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid.
You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you.
You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better.
It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now.
“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say.
That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture.
“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say.
Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”
“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”
You both laugh.
“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles.
You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades.
“I’m sorry,” you tell her.
“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”
Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.
You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there.
At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time.
Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face.
“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy.
She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen.
Dread settles in the pit of your stomach.
“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself.
A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze.
“Mercy?” Sarah asks.
You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass.
Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air.
“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.
“Where’s your dad?” you ask her.
You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around.
“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.”
Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night.
The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller.
Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away.
You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.
“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands.
What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor.
You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.
“Help me,” he rasps.
He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something.
But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies.
As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral.
Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break.
Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster.
When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk.
Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground.
With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence.
This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you.
“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged.
Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete.
For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her.
“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.
There’s a thud and then quiet.
You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill.
Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway.
Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers.
“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says.
“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her.
“But she’s hurt!”
She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle.
Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck.
“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”
You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away.
You wait for a long time.
As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now.
You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes.
Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine.
For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare.
No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you.
He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family.
But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope.
The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning.
You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday.
You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt.
They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you.
He left you to die but you just go on living.
It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night.
You’re on your own.
A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.
At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone.
On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her.
You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.
Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead.
When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head.
It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk.
You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north.
You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival.
By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you.
They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal.
It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.
Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven.
You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached.
Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall.
It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table.
You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home.
Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you.
He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright.
“Uncle Tommy?” you manage.
“That really you?” he asks.
Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.
You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope.
“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”
He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife?
“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner.
And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller.
He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.
It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up.
He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become.
“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up.
He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel.
You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival.
“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago.
You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath.
“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall.
There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened.
At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks.
You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out.
“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes.
“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says.
It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you.
But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious.
“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself.
“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder.
“You should’ve saved her,” you bark.
Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back.
“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say.
You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing.
You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall.
The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel.
Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today.
It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine.
“You okay?” Ellie asks.
She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much.
He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall.
“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers.
It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken.
“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says.
She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out.
Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache.
Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted.
He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you.
The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded.
So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves.
“Want some company?” you ask.
He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in.
Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him.
“Surprised you remember,” he says.
“My best friend’s birthday?”
He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”
“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.”
You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living.
You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything.
You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck.
“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down.
“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.”
“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him.
“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says.
He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”
Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.
“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.
Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.
“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”
“Shit,” Joel says.
“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”
“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”
You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear.
“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him.
A thick knot forms in his throat.
There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment.
He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch.
The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end.
“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”
You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out.
It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky.
The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen.
“How’d…”
“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”
You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well.
“You sure?” he asks.
You nod. “I know where to find it.”
He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect.
“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask.
“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains.
You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates.
You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since.
“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes.
He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile.
“How’s she look?” you ask.
He can’t help but chuckle. He nods.
You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair.
You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.
Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?
The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library.
Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor.
He’s still Mr. Miller, after all.
Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”.
He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved.
Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.
“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly.
You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.
You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”
“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink.
He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy.
“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze.
He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing.
You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.
You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet.
You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago.
It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek.
“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.
“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours.
It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it.
“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say.
He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went.
You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night.
That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.
He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.
He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning.
And then you kissed him.
Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing.
You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone.
The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you.
That’s when he heard it.
It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong.
She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you.
He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again.
If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself.
He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you.
Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you.
“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon.
Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth.
“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table.
“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.
“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”
“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs.
“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says.
“Dentment is not a word,” you reply.
“Neither is thoard,” Joel says.
“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.
This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life.
But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.
When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.
The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there.
Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips.
He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open.
“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers.
“Stay,” you murmur.
He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back.
But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?
He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress.
Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well.
When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further.
You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could.
It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.
After a while, though, it happens.
Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them.
He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light.
You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment.
The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him.
You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper.
You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up.
It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes.
You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever.
You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want.
You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul.
When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass.
You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him.
Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him.
Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.
Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply.
You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this.
You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories.
Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.
Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before.
But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.
You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back.
It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.
Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?”
You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft.
“Pretty,” he says almost to himself.
He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all.
Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart.
You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection.
Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years.
In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you.
Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.
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something will happen | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter one
summary: you and luca embark on another a big new adventure together: one of second dreams and second chances. the long-awaited sequel to 'burn your life down.' titled inspired by something will happen - berlioz.
warnings: fluff, light angst, grief, death, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, off-canon connection to the storyline of the bear.
word count: 1.9k
a/n: it's really happening! i can't promise i'll be updating frequently, but season 3 got me inspired and i've really missed this world. this feels more like an intro than a chapter but here we are anyway. all italicized scenes are a part of the same conversation. i just wanted to play with something new so i hope it makes sense. lmk if you'd like to be tagged.
masterlist | chapter two
Late Spring
“Well? What do you think?” Luca asks you, the anticipation in the silence between the two of you palpable.
“I don’t know!” you practically exclaim, all giddy at the mere idea of it. You chew on your lower lip as you wait for him to say something next.
“I’m just saying. It’s not a half-bad idea and ehm… well, I’ve been thinking about it. A lot, actually,” he reasons with a shrug. He sends a loving glance your way because you look so damn cute wrapped in your twin-sized duvet that makes up one half of the bed you share.
“For how long?” you ask, cautiously.
“Dunno,” Luca shrugs. “Ever since Marcus mentioned it, I suppose.”
He’s almost too casual about this—as if he hasn’t been stuck on the idea for the last month or so since his friend had returned to the States.
This is most certainly not a lazy Saturday morning with breakfast in bed kind of conversation.
This is a paperwork and really nice pens kind of conversation
A big step.
Huge, even.
You’ve already agreed to live with the man.
And now this?
“Luca…” you struggle to get out on an exhale. “I just. It’s not that I don’t want to. I just-.” You pause, collecting your thoughts as you shake off all your nerves before choosing to pivot.
“What if we just-.” you begin again, taking a breath as you brace yourself to jump over this specific cliff. “Total fantasy. No limitations, no logistics, then sure. Okay. We could talk about it.”
“Alright,” Luca accepts with a nod, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes like he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. He sits up straight, pushing himself off of where he leans against the headboard, shifting so that he’s closer to you. The smile that spreads across his lips begins to grow as repeats your words back to you. “Then, my love, total fantasy. No limitations. No logistics. What’s the dream?”
—---------------------------------------
Summer
The dream was only supposed to be this—one where you’d begin living with your very sexy and very sweet pastry chef of a boyfriend—and yet, months later, as you move your things into Luca’s Vesterbro flat, your thoughts are consumed by ‘what ifs.’
What if you did it?
What if you opened the restaurant of your shared dreams?
What if your dreams came true with the love of your life by your side?
Opening Kokuore had been different. It was your first step towards your next chapter, one where you had moved to Copenhagen in search of a new beginning. But this would be… a proclamation: that you were here to stay, that you and Luca could be something permanent, that you could be more than just romantic partners.
Proof of a life well-lived and a life well-loved.
Kokuore had been your dream, your first, your baby. Sure, there’d been talk of expansion—maybe a bigger space, or something along the lines of that—but you hadn’t thought too deeply about a second.
You hadn’t thought about what would come next.
And then he did.
Luca.
“Need any help, love?” Luca offers, watching you scoop two stacked boxes up into your arms, ready to be hauled into the bedroom.
“Nope!” you heave with a sigh. “Not with these. But if you could grab the other three I’ll meet you in the closet, babe.”
He smirks, calling after you with a:
“And what do you suppose we should do there?”
You chuckle in response, your voice sounding further away as you shout back, “Let’s just unpack a few of my clothes, love, before we start taking them off.”
—---------------------------------------
“Then, my love, total fantasy. No limitations. No logistics. What’s the dream?”
You sigh, like you too haven’t been thinking about it since Marcus brought it up in the first place.
“Okay, I’m not ready yet,” you preface, cautiously. “But. If we were, hypothetically speaking, talking about opening a restaurant together… I kinda love the idea of a brunch spot.” “Like Marcus said.” “Exactly.”
“Slash bakery.” “Right.”
“Hypothetically speaking.” “Of course.”
For a moment, your mind gets away from you, running wild with the fantasy that’s beginning to unfold before your eyes.
“I think I really like the idea of it being a bakery during the weekdays when we’re open,” you admit, an excitement beginning to bubble underneath the surface of all your reasons why you shouldn’t. “Maybe we do Wednesday, Thursday all grab-and-go sort of breakfast stuff in addition to the bakery.”
“Kind of like a NY-style bodega,” Luca adds, building on your idea. “You know. With a little extra finesse.”
“Yes! Then… Friday, maybe, we pivot to full breakfast/brunch till the end of Saturday,” you reply, building off what Luca’s just said.
“Think Wednesday – Saturday service would work?” he asks curiously, knowing that most places are closed on Sundays in Copenhagen.
“We could try it out. Extend our hours to Sunday down the line IF it feels right,” you reason with enough ease to worry you a little. You begin to back pedal, your mind flooded with doubt. “But-, I don’t know, honey. Don’t you think Copenhagen has enough bakeries?”
“Not ours! Copenhagen doesn’t have ours yet,” Luca protests, as soon he begins to recognize what’s going on in your head. His excitement and passion alone might convince you to do this as he sits up on his knees, his body language expressing just how fully IN he is on this idea.
His face changes—he’s only just a little more serious this time—his tone light and voice gentle as he warns you with a:
“And I’m not letting you talk to yourself out of this.” He crosses his arms over his chest almost as if it’s a challenge. “So tell me more about this bakery-slash-brunch spot you’ve got in mind.”
“Luca Davies! I don’t know where you get off thinking you can sweet talk me into this,” you scold him teasingly.
He’s even faster to reply.
“Oh I think I can.”
And this time, you know it’s a challenge.
“Fine,” you concede to him, meeting him right in the middle of his challenge. “But I don’t want this to be all about my ideas. Besides, aren’t you the one who’s been thinking about it for months now?”
—---------------------------------------
Fall
Over fresh ink that’s barely had a chance to dry, you and Mathilde clink glasses in celebration of the very big step you’ve just taken together. The contract had barely been drawn up before she charged into now-your Vesterbro home, opened a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, ready to sign on the dotted line.
A promotion, chef du cuisine, and a bigger percentage in ownership of Kokuore—a piece of your heart—now shared between the woman who helped you create your masterpiece.
“I can’t believe we’re really fucking doing this!” Mathilde practically squeals, bursting at the seams with excitement as she rests her arms against your kitchen island. The two of you sit side by side on twin bar stools, facing each other to the best of the chair’s swivel-ability.
“I know. It’s unreal and yet it feels like the right thing, yeah?” you agree, half in shock. Shifting gears, your back to business as you continue with an explanation of the ownership plan that you’ve thought long and hard about. “It’s important to me to stay involved, but most of my focus will go towards the new space for at least the next year. We’ll have weekly check-ins and Mathilde, I want you to at least consider some kind of ownership eventually in the hospitality group should we go in that direction.”
“I forgot you went to business school. It’s very sexy,” she teases, but the prospect of a hospitality group feels even more exciting.
There’s a feeling of familiarity between you and your friend as you begin to break down some of the nitty gritty details of the contract. With Luca out for a jog, it reminds you of the days when it was just you, her, and Jesper, exploring your shared wildest dreams. The nostalgia wells in your chest as you take another sip from your champagne flute.
You were really doing this and you’re so lucky you get to do it with your favorite people.
Well, with your favorite people again.
Who would’ve thought that moving to Copenhagen would bring you this grand of an adventure?
—---------------------------------------
“Fine,” Luca agrees, knowing that the way he looks at you only stokes the flames you feel for him. He’s got plenty of ideas, spent maybe too much time thinking about breakfast menus and laminated pastry doughs folded with all kinds of experimental ingredients. He hasn’t felt this creative in… well… since he met you.
“I love the idea of breakfast/brunch. And I’m already feeling really inspired by the prospect of getting to create a menu with you, darling,” Luca begins, ready to build off of your previous idea. “I guess my first question is… who will lead it?”
He’s not expecting the elated, “You, silly!” that escapes your lips without hesitation.
It’s not that he has doubts about himself, but you are the one with the business degree. You’re also the one that’s opened a restaurant before, so he'd be more than happy to let you take reins.
“Not that I’m going to totally love being on opposite schedules but…” you continue, this hypothetical conversation feeling less and less hypothetical. “...maybe I turn Kokuore over to Mathilde… spend a little more time developing this next concept with you. But. Without question, my love, I think you should lead it.”
It’s his turn to be surprised, your unwavering belief in him felt so deeply it practically takes his breath away. The only response he can get out is:
“I love you.”
“I love you,” you giggle in response.
“I guess my question for you,” you shift cautiously, as it begins to dawn on you that this is something you just might want as much as he does. “...is… is this something you want to do? I mean, I know it’s going to be a really big pivot from fine dining and-.”
“God yes!” Luca exclaims, relieved at the thought. “I’ve been dying to get away from the fine dining stuff. I-. It’ll be an adjustment, sure. But yes. Yes, it’s what I want.”
You nod as you process, listening to the conviction in your lover’s voice.
He wants this. He really wants this.
And he’s so sure.
You let out a sigh of relief as you realize you don’t have to have to suppress the feeling any longer.
“Fuck it!” you declare, as if you’re inhaling for the first time. “Fuck ‘hypothetical.’ We should totally do this, babe.”
“Yeah?” “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
A beat.
“So…” Luca trails off, the wave of excitement beginning to wash over him.
“What do we call it?”
The baritone in his voice catches your attention, and as you look at him, you can practically see it all. In Luca you’ve found your second chapter, your second great love, and now your second restaurant. The word falls out of your mouth as if it were destiny:
“Seconds. I think… we should call it Seconds.”
“I love it,” he grins back at you.
And now, you’re just as certain about a second restaurant, because you get to do it with him. Luca chuckles, catching your gaze once more, almost as if he’s about to say ‘I told you so,’ as he utters a cheeky:
“Well, love. Looks like we gotta call Marcus and let him know he’s about to own 10% of a restaurant.”
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I loved Lando x Actress reader. Can I have Lando x singer reader? Thank uuuuu 🫶🏻
Sing your heart out because he ripped your heart out! Lando Norris x Singer! Reader
Plot: You are a famous singer who was in a pretty toxic relationship and have been single and 'off the grid' for 2 years since your breakup. You come back online dropping a new album that gets people stirred from the tea but the tease at your new relationship.
"Today here on Off Camera with me Sam Jones we have Y/N Y/L/N here to talk about everything, from her new albums and songs, to her hiatus, to her sightings, to her relationships" he smiles looking over at you.
"Thank you for having me, it feels great being back and you know talking and meeting new people and I've always wanted to be on a podcast like this so I'm very excited!" you smile and get comfier into the nice seats you guys are in.
"So i think we've got to ask how are you feeling after your time away from the media?"
"So refreshed it was really healing to take myself away from everything. I think a lot of things were being said about me when I first deactivated everything. A lot of them being outright lies, and you know I didn't want to be aware of what people were saying... naturally" you starts and he nods for you to continue.
"But everyday I'd have my friends coming to me saying... have you seen what Taylor Swift has tweeted about you, have you seen what Beyonce and RiRi said. And I'd be like no and I don't even want to know. But when she showed me the love I was getting from all of these amazing people I've worked and collabed with over the years, movie stars who I've walked red carpets with and been in cameos of their movies, models who I've walked runways with all sticking up for me saying how they couldn't imagine anything said about my relationship to be true" you explain and he nods again.
"Yeah, it was actually really moving seeing all these people coming together for you in support! I think even after what certain people said about you the large majority had your back..." he admits to you.
"Yeah, I mean i have some great friends in the industry that you know would message me and always check up on me, so its nice to know that I have people in my corner, after everything that happened!"
"Yeah of course, and I think your new album really shows your raw emotions and I think a lot of people have easily related. So lets go through the album, we have Vicious, which talks about obviously Y/E/B and the emotional scars he's left on you. One of my personal faves is 'bet u wanna' where you talk about being mistreated in relationship and calling it off only for them to want you back. Nonsense which obviously has made your fans go stir crazy- wondering whose got you feeling this way. Bad for Business which obviously has a similar tune to Nonsense in whoever you are talking about, and may i just say people will listen to the happy songs because they are incredible! But talk us through the creative process and how your time away released all of these on the album and more!"
"I think, when you go through something like i did. Where you don't necessarily see and end you have these raw emotions that just tend to write themselves on the paper. I had many nights where I'd be sat in the studio hair pulled back, a massive slice of Pizza on my left and a bottle of water on the other and it would honestly just write itself. There were some nights where I'd just cry and sit there. I think things really sped up when I met my current partner" you blush, thinking how much that silly vroom vroom man had helped you.
"Who is he, and how did he help, how did you both meet if you can tell us!" he asks leaning back a little.
"Well, I'm currently dating F1 driver Lando Norris which when this podcast airs and sure will be a shock to everyone. We met when I was in a really weird patch. I think it had been about 8 months I want to say of being single and dealing through my grief and not really knowing what to do with myself. My ex of 5 years was now dating and having a child with the girl he cheated on me with, and honestly I was a mess. My dad decided to take me to a race, it was the one in Austin, we had paddock passes and that's where I met him" you grin thinking back to the day.
*Flashback*
You were at the Circuit of the Americas for race weekend, you were tucked behind your dad who had found some mechanics he was animatedly talking too. Your dad always had a real love for cars, and when you'd made it as a musician you brought him and your mother a larger house with a big garage for a car collection you'd help him grow.
"Damn you've got loads man. How's your girl affording all of this?" the mechanic asks not having seen you as you were wearing both sunglasses and a Ferrari cap.
"I have a ... lucrative job" you croak out a little, if you were being honest with yourself this was probably the first interaction you'd had with a stranger in months, even just any human at that as your contact had been very limited over the past 8 months even to friends and family.
"Ahhh, so what's your fav car in the collection Mr Y/L/N?" the mechanic asks, and some nods from his pals also tells you guys that their interested.
"Oo that's hard it's got to be a toss up between my Mclaren 650S, the Ferrari F8 Spider, or my Rolls Royce Ghost" your father admits trying to think to his collection.
"Not the Porsche?" knowing you'd got that for him for his 50th.
"Mmmmm I forgot about the Porsche" he admits with a chuckle. The mechanics just all looked very shocked at the sheer amount of cars your dad has in his collection.
"Give me a second, I want to see if I can get you guys a garage pass upgrade. I bet you'll want to check out the car's yeah?" he asks making your dad nod very quickly.
You pull your glasses off to give them a wipe as the heat was making them fog up a little and the mechanic gasps, you cock your head realizing he's recognized you.
He scurries of, running back to the Aston Martin garage, he tells all of his friends but says to keep it quiet as he could tell you'd been going through it. Aston Martin didn't have any passes left, so he went to the other garages begging to give you a pass.
"Who did you say was here?" Lando had asked from beside his team mate Daniel Ricciardo.
"Y/N Y/L/N but don't make it public knowledge she's clearly just here to watch the race with her car enthusiast dad. Who did you know owns over 10 super cars that Y/N has brought for him, he was telling me all about his Ferrari" the mechanic starts to ramble before Lando gets him to stop.
"Take me to her, and I'll give her the pass" Lando had offered, wanting to meet you, it wasn't uncommon knowledge that he liked both you and Taylor Swift and had even DJed some of your 'nightcore' remixes.
"Okay! Okay come with me" the young mechanic said, darting of making Lando run after him asking him to slow down a little.
"Hello, this is a Mclaren Driver he's ..." the mechanic starts before you offer him a small small.
"I know who he is Dean, thank you for introducing us" you smile, and he grins at you. You and your father get handed the passes and your walking back to Mclaren at Lando's side.
He was attractive and most certainly your type. He had that goofiness about him that had you laughing for what felt like the first time in 3 years. Yet a seriousness and passion for his sport when talking to you and your dad about the car he was more than happy to show off to you.
"So you'll only be cheering for me right?" Lando flirts as your dad introduced himself to Daniel Ricciardo and Zac Brown.
"I think that depends Mr Norris, are you going to give me a cheer worthy race?" you question looking up him. His face lights up and a big grin comes onto his face.
"Always, you'll see the Papaya on a podium today I'm sure of it!" he offers and you smirk.
"You get that podium and I'll take you out afterwards"
"On like a date?" he asks a little cautious with his tone.
"Yes a date" you nod and his face lights up.
"Yeah alright, your on" he smirks, he turns away to get ready for his race, but turns back placing a cheeky kiss on your cheek making it your turn to blush.
True to his word, Lando came second on Sunday. You took him out on your guy's first date and the rest is history.
*Back to the podcast*
"Wow, that really is such a beautiful story. And from how you talk about him we can tell that you are really happy" he smiles genuinely.
"I don't think I've ever felt so secure with a person. I think it's safe to say I've found my person. I went through a lot with Y/E/B and Lando has helped me overcome a lot of the trauma from that relationship, and I cannot thank him enough for how patient, caring and loving he has been for the past year" you smile, before turning your gaze to the side to look at a teary Lando who had come to the podcast with you, you were scared and didn't want to go alone.
"Well I think it's safe to say we are all so happy you are back, thriving making music and doing what you do best!" he smiles.
After that your asked a few more questions which you happily talk through and answer, before it's wrapped up and time to leave.
"How was that baby?" he asks knowing this was your first media thing to help ease you back into that 'lime-light' life.
"It felt good to just vent, and talk about everything" you smiled at him. It was truly healing for your soul.
"I love you so much, and I'm so proud of you for today!" he grins at you, pulling you in for a kiss. He holds you close, while another hand travels up to caress the side of your face.
"I love you most, which is why I need you to help me announce the 2023 tour... and my new album!" you grin, and he grins back.
"What are they called?" he mumbles into your neck that he'd found retirement in.
"The Grid!" you grin, Lando didn't know but you planned your next tour for 2023 around the 2023 races.
"Hmmm and what does that entail" he smirks.
"Well, I'll get to come to every race weekend with you this year, my tour is roughly going to follow the races. I'll venture out as well when you have breaks and stuff but I don't want to be away from you for too long, and I want to get back on the scene. I'm ready!" you admit and he smiles at you softly before lifting you up into a huge bear hug.
"Did i mention how much I love you?" he asks.
"Every day Lan, every day" you smile at him, pulling him in for another bruising kiss.
It was safe to say, that even though you'd been treated like shit in the past, Lando Norris was the love of your life. Your soulmate that held the other end of the invisible string that had kept tugging you both closer together.
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