#so maybe i just need to just sit down and just. mourn it. and be sad that it's over. and that's okay

[wbne]

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[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life. 

Neither of you speak. 

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything. 

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue. 

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again. 

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on. 

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away. 

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted. 

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart. 

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands. 

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. 

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces. 

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied. 

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears. 

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed. 

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding. 

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for. 

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath. 

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond. 

“Love you back?”

You blink. 

Your stomach drops. 

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself. 

What a way to make an exit from your relationship. 

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something. 

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp. 

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions. 

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable. 

He swallows. 

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice. 

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her. 

“Wait.”

He says your name.  

And of course you pause. 

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle. 

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?” 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again. 

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring. 

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about. 

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break. 

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink. 

And for some reason, begin sobbing. 

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in. 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath. 

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper. 

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty. 

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly. 

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel.  Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes.  “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft. 

“How could I not be so in love with you?” 

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold. 

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw. 

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat. 

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog. 

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone. 

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder. 

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up. 

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning. 

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him. 

Spencer kisses you on the cheek. 

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is. 

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on. 

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand. 

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other. 

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy. 

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this. 

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets. 

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC. 

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly. 

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes. 

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck. 

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs. 

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon. 

And he’s laughing. 

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall. 

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige. 

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all. 

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip. 

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face. 

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same. 

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own. 

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips. 

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first. 

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology. 

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly. 

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth. 

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you. 

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth. 

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak. 

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him. 

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back. 

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly. 

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too. 

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight. 

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would. 

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly. 

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours. 

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel. 

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks. 

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee. 

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now. 

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy. 

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming. 

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him. 

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his. 

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart. 

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall. 

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet. 

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours. 

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod. 

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly. 

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would. 

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised. 

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case. 

But at the same time—everything’s different. 

And you won’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face. 

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled. 

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage. 

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you. 

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement. 

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself. 

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest. 

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs. 

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

-

part seven

[livwritesstuff]

Steve wants it on record that there isn’t much he wouldn’t do if it meant spending time with his kids.

The one exception to this is shopping. Generally speaking, Steve can’t really handle shopping anymore (migraines – or, rather, the way shopping is a pretty consistent trigger for migraines).

Eddie handles most of the shopping – he does the groceries every week, he runs most of the errands the pop up, he gets dragged to the mall with their daughters on the weekends.

 There’s one exception to that exception though, and it’s back-to-school shopping.

Steve makes an exception for back-to-school shopping for a couple reasons.

For one – memories. The passing of time is a cruel thing, as Eddie loves to remind him, and they only get so many years to set their kids loose in Walmart, to watch them pick out a new lunchbox and water bottle, to see which novelty folders Robbie and Moe will fight over this year, and what color notebooks they’ll claim. This year in particular, Moe is starting fifth grade, her last year before she heads off to middle school, and Hazel is starting kindergarten. Obviously, Steve will risk a migraine if it means getting to watch his daughters back-to-school shop for the one year ever all three of them will be at the same school together. 

The second reason Steve makes an exception for back-to-school shopping – Eddie. Steve loves Eddie. So much. That being said, his judgment can be a little questionable, which is fine most of the time because Steve is used to it. His kids’ teachers though…not so much, and they’ve also got sixteen to twenty other hellions to manage, so for their sake someone’s gotta be there on these shopping trips to lay down the law when Walmart decides slap-bracelet rulers are a totally fine thing to equip elementary-schoolers with.

“No,” Steve told Robbie simply, his arms crossed as he leaned against a shelf filled with notebooks.

“Why?” she countered, still holding up the purple “ruler”.

Moe helpfully decided to smack Robbie’s bare arm with her own pink bracelet-ruler. Robbie yelped as Moe gave a maniacal laugh and yanked the ruler back.

“That’s why,” Steve replied, “Neither of you need rulers this year, and even if you did, I’m not doing that to your teachers. Let’s move on please.”

Obviously, neither Moe nor Robbie gave any indication that they’d be moving on, which is fine. He’d rather they get over the novelty of the damn things here, so he turns his attention to where Eddie was sitting cross-legged on the linoleum floor trying to convince Hazel, their rising kindergartener, that she doesn’t need a locker shelf.

“There’s no lockers in kindergarten, my girl,” he was telling her, “No lockers at all until middle school.”

“But what if I just get it and then we see if maybe there’s lockers?” Hazel asked, her lower lip starting to tremble.

“I promise we’ll get you a locker shelf when you start middle school,” Eddie replied, easing the pink metal locker shelf out of her hands, “But that’s six years away. Think of all the ways locker technology will improve in six years.”

Hazel nodded.

“We could be looking at a whole new world, Hazy-Jay.”

Again, Hazel nods, though she does give the shelf one last mournful look as Eddie gets to his feet and leads her over to the wall of Crayola paraphernalia.

Steve turns back to the older two in time to hear Moe say, “Do you think it’d wrap around your head if I hit you hard enough?”

“Okay, that’s a no.”

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one my, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 4,782

Warning: cursing, asshole Toji, mentions of blood, physical altercations—👀

A/N:The long-awaited part five! This was so satisfying to write. I hope you all enjoy it!! I think we have maybe one part left, maybe two. Omg! 🥹💚, If you want to be in the tag list YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Red. Red was the only color Satoru saw as he dragged his suitcase. He'd never felt so angry! Hurt! Betrayed! The emotions swirled and festered like an infected wound.

He'd let his walls down with you. A mistake he would never make in his life ever fucking again. It didn't matter how desperate a voice would sound on the phone. And it wouldn't matter if he genuinely enjoyed talking to the client or if they gave him the butterflies.

Gojo Satoru would never allow himself to be put into a situation like this again. One where he got hurt. Where he mourned the loss of a girl he barely even knew. A girl that left a scar on him no one would ever see.

The thoughts continued to swell and build up in his mind as he bought himself a hotel room next to the train station. They built up like a typhoon, threatening to destroy everything in its wake, all the way to his room, where he collapsed on the bed. Satoru didn't like feeling this suffocating pain. He needed to distract himself, to talk to one of the only people he trusted in this world.

He needed Suguru.

With a few taps of his finger over his phone screen, Satoru stared at himself, praying his best friend was still up. Which he was. Satoru sighed in relief as Suguru’s face took up the screen. His best friend was propped up in bed, his face dimly illuminated by the lamp on his nightstand. He took one look at Satoru’s face and cocked an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

Satoru chuckled, covering his eyes with his elbow. “Is it that obvious?”

“You just called me three hours ago. You said, and I quote, ‘You’re going to love her. She's got the prettiest eyes. Her skin is fucking flawless. I wanna put her mouth on my mouth.’ end quote.”

“I didn't say that last part!”

“You didn't have to say it, Satoru.” Satoru didn't argue with that. “So, are you going to tell me what happened??”

“I—” he groaned, sitting up, “we, well, ya’ know—”

“Fucked?”

Satoru glared at his only best friend. “No!” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Well, we didn't go all the way.” God, he wished it had, but he was glad it hadn't.

“Okay? So, did she give you major blue balls? This isn't helping me decipher what happened.”

Although the pain was fresh and stung, Satoru rehashed the night's events. The kiss at the bar, you calling him after Toji showed up, and everything after. From your sudden confidence to the gentle caresses to the intense intimacy between you both. It had been so fierce, raw, and real. Satoru had never experienced kisses and caresses like yours; hell, your touch still lingered as he lay in bed ranting.

All of the chemistry he felt didn’t change the fact that he’d been hurt. He thought you were genuine, that you didn’t want to sleep with him just because of his good looks. Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to sleep with him because you felt the same spark that he did. A spark that would lead to sex, but from there, it might grow into something more! A relationship, the possibility of a future together.

But those stacks of cash changed it all.

The possibilities Satoru had been fantasizing about, wanting, came crashing around him when he counted the bills. You had been so unfazed by it. All you did was check your wallet before pulling out the bag with condoms in it. Your pitiful face when he asked about the money flashed in his mind. You had been incapable of telling him why you had all that money; you just stared blankly at it like you were trying to put two and two together.

Playing around like you didn’t know what was happening had set him off. Why would you have that much money in your purse? Conveniently, it was also the exact amount that he charged for sexual services. Services that Satoru didn’t typically provide. He had been honest with you. He didn’t like having sex with people that he didn’t know, so for him to find all that money, it set him off.

Satoru finished up his story, rubbing his hands through white hair. “So I left, and I missed the last train out. Could you pick me up in the morning? I want to get home as fast as I can.” His blue eyes darted towards his phone screen, where Geto was staring at him like he was an idiot. “What?” Satoru asked, looking at himself on the smaller screen. “Do I have something on my face?” His best friend let out the most extended, most profound sigh in the entire world.

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

“Huh?!”

“I said, are you a fucking idiot?”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows pinching together. “Why the fuck are you asking if I’m an idiot? Are your gauges too big? Did everything I say go through them and not into your ears?” He watched as Suguru rolled his eyes. “I just told you I found all that money in their bag! Right before we did the nasty! I confronted her, she couldn’t explain. That, to me, screams that she’s guilty, Suguru.” He gestured with his hand in front of him as if motioning toward the evidence before his face.

“Did you ever stop and think maybe she couldn’t answer because she was just as confused as you?”

“What?”

Suguru shifted, dark hair falling over his shoulders as he sat up. “Satoru,” he purred, “think about it. She left her bag where anyone could touch it while you two were—preoccupied.” Well, when he put it like that. “And how would you react if you found that much money in your wallet that wasn’t there before?” Satoru remained silent, not saying a word. “You claim she looked guilty because she couldn’t explain it. But what if she truly couldn’t? And you left before even giving her a chance to explain herself.” Yeah, he did; he left you crying at the inn.

Thinking back to how you ran after him, grabbing his arm, stumbling over your feet, would someone guilty do that? Try to explain themselves, beg for him to stop and listen.

“I-I don’t know how it got there, Satoru! Please! Please believe me!”

Your tear-filled eyes, the shuddering tremble in your voice, and the blatant way he’d coldly dismissed your attempts to clear things up had his stomach twisting. The fury that had been fuming deep at his core had blinded him. He didn’t even give you a chance to talk, to explain what had happened.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” He mumbled out, putting his phone down to scrub at his face. “Why didn’t I stop and listen?!”

“Because you like her.” There was something in the tone of Suguru’s voice that had Satoru glancing at his phone. “You genuinely like her Satoru, so when you assumed she just wanted to fuck you just as an escort and not as a potential lover, that broke your heart.” Satoru opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t try to deny it; you just bitched at me for like an hour like some school girl who just got dumped.”

”Fuck you,” Suguru chuckled, knowing Satoru’s words held no heat in them. “So what do I do now? Run back over there, tell her how sorry I am?”

”Well, honestly, if I were in her position, I would slam the door in your face. The whole ‘consider the orgasm, payment for the cancellation of my services’ was fucking harsh.”

”Yeah, not my finest moment.”

“Well, use that Gojo Sator charm and make it up to her.”

After hanging up the phone with Suguru, Satoru plopped down on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. That red-hot rage had faded into regret. He should have listened to you; he should have stopped the second you grabbed his arm. Instead, he pulled away, refusing to listen to what you had to say.

He made you cry like you did when you told him about Toji.

Seeing you that upset had made him sick to his stomach. He thought, what kind of dick makes a girl cry like this? He hated people like that, people that were so cruel. Now the tables had turned, and he was the dick.

God, what are you doing right now? Were you still crying? Maybe you were pacing the room, thinking about what you would do since your wedding date just up and left you. How were you going to explain this to your friends and family? Or were you dreading the pathetic, woeful faces that would be on the faces of your friends and family when you told them he left? You had hired him to make this wedding easier to attend, but he had turned it into an even worse experience for you.

Gojo had been right about you crying. You were curled into a ball on the futon that still smelt like him. Your chest heaved as you screamed into his pillow, gripping it as you let the waves of anguish wash over you, pulling you deeper and deeper into the suffocating waters of despair.

You cried yourself to sleep, waking up with a numbness in your chest as the flashbacks from the night before plagued you. It had been perfect, too perfect. The butterflies, Satoru’s kisses, the pleasure. You felt so good about him, about the two of you, about yourself, to have it come crashing down around you in seconds.

It hurt being yelled at and screamed at and blamed for something you hadn’t done. The rage and betrayal in Satoru’s eyes burned into your mind, and his words sliced so deep into your skin that they touched your soul. You hadn’t been hurt like that since Toji broke up with you, and that had nearly destroyed you. You ran away from the pain, refused to talk to anyone, and stayed in bed for days. Your heart had been broken into a million different pieces, and it took you so long to put it back together. To allow yourself to live your life.

Luckily, your heart was stronger now, scarred and rough. The pain that it had undergone a year before had made it more durable and harder to break. This heartache was not going to destroy you this time around.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you exhaled heavily through your nose before pushing your hair out of your face. You could do this. You didn't need a wedding date to survive the next two days. You were fully capable of getting through this by yourself.

You put on a smile and got ready for your day. Everything hurt, but you would be able to get through it like you had done before. This heartache would not hold you down. You headed into the kitchen, greeting your family as they cleaned dishes from the morning breakfasts that had already been delivered to guests and discussed preparations for the next two nights.

Their voices were white noise as you pulled a bowl of peaches from the fridge. They asked if you were okay if Satoru felt okay since he wasn’t with you. Hearing them say his name stung, but it didn’t stop you from moving, washing peaches, and peeling them as you preheated the oven.

”He left.” You told the truth, not the whole truth, but you weren’t ashamed to tell them he left you. Their reactions varied from confusion and anger to stunned silence and disbelief. “I’ll be okay.” You assured all of them, urging them to go about preparations for the wedding. Right now, all you wanted to do was be alone, to bake the anger and sorrow out of your system.

They granted your wish, leaving you alone in the kitchen. The atmosphere was drastically different from the night before. You giggled and smiled as Satoru stood by your side; those beautiful, captivating blue eyes wandered, watching your hands move. The heat from his gaze alone had the kitchen so hot you thought every oven had been on when they hadn’t. Now, the only warmth that flooded the space was from the oven and stove as you cooked down the peaches in syrup.

You moved unthinkingly, cooking butter into three trays, before setting the stew pot of peaches off to the side. Mind and body numb as you focused on mixing your flour, sugar, and milk in a bowl, you never heard the footsteps behind you. It wasn’t until the timer on your phone went off that you turned, running into a firm chest. You knew the smell of fresh linen masked with musk, and it made you want to throw up.

Satoru rubbed at his neck, glancing down at you. Dark circles were under his eyes as he placed his sunglasses on his head. Even when he looked exhausted, he was still handsome, which irked you.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, like his voice alone would shatter you as if you were a porcelain doll. You said nothing, stepping to the side to turn your timer off. “Can we talk?”

You ignored him, taking out the trays of melted butter from the oven. You put cinnamon, baking powder, and salt into your batter before whisking it bitterly. Satoru moved, gently grabbing your elbow and stopping you from running further away.

“Please.”

“No.” You snapped, pulling away so you could continue to construct the dessert for the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Sweetie, please.”

“Oh my god!” You slammed the bowl down, turning to shove at Satoru's chest. “You fucking left! You left when I wanted to talk last night!”

“I know I did.”

His eyes never left your face, and his undivided attention only pissed you off more. “Well, guess what? I don’t want to fucking talk now.” Despite your dismissal, Satoru didn’t move. He stayed near your side, watching as your hands moved, putting the peaches on top of the batter. “Don’t you have a train to catch?”

“No, I have a wedding to attend—“

“The fuck you do.”

“You paid for me—“

“And you canceled your services!” Satoru grimaced as you all but threw the trays into the oven. “You paid me with an orgasm, remember?! Because I remember!”

He followed you as you headed to the sink with your dirty dishes. His hand gently grabs your elbow. “Look! Please listen to me.” He took the dishes from your hands, placing them in the sink. “I was an asshole last night, whatever this,” his finger gestures between your bodies, “it’s new and raw and real.” You barked out a laugh. “Stop, please. I messed up; I know I did. And I’m sorry for flipping out on you. But this is worth fighting over; I want to be with you.” His words were regretful; his face matched the panicked pain behind his voice.

That didn’t change the fact he’d hurt you. “Gojo.” The use of his last name had his heart crushed. “You did mess up, you hurt me.” You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Let’s be honest, this.” You mimicked his finger, gesturing between you. “This is never going to work, not after last night. I had my heart broken once after I was intimate with someone, and you knew that. You knew I didn’t want to have sex. I specified that several times. I put myself out there, out of my comfort zone, because I genuinely liked you. Now, well, let’s be honest: my heart has been broken twice now. So I’m going to ask you to leave.” Satoru swallowed hard, removing his glasses and putting them on the counter.

“Please don’t say that, please.”

“Go.” You pointed to the door, fighting back tears. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

He grips the counter before lifting his head to meet your teary eyes. “Okay,” he reached out, gently brushing away a stray tear, “I’m sorry for breaking your heart.” His gesture had your breath hitching as he turned, heading out of the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

The moment you were sure he was far enough that he couldn’t hear you, a shaky cry left your lips. You stumbled, your legs no longer wanting to hold you up. How dare he come back and apologize after breaking your heart the night before. If he didn’t apologize, things would have been so much easier for you. You could have grown to hate him, but seeing how upset he looked hearing the pleading tone in his voice, made you want to throw your resolve away to chase after him.

But would a relationship with him work?

He was an escort. People paid him to go out with him. Could you date him, knowing that’s what he did for a living? To be the woman waiting at home for him to come back?

He said he wanted to fight for this, for you and whatever this strange relationship was turning into. He wanted to be with you. So, did that mean he would give up on being an escort? Would he be okay with that? The questions flowed like a steady river through your mind as you sat on the kitchen floor. These were questions you would never get the answers to, all because you sent him away.

Footsteps entered the kitchen as you stared at the floor. You perked up, clenching your fists tight, digging your nails into the palms of your hands. Did Satoru come back? You tilted your head up, tears streaming down your cheeks, to find Toji smirking down at you. The last person on the planet you wanted to see.

”Why are you on the floor?”

”Why won’t you leave me alone?” You snapped as you pushed yourself off the floor.

Toji hummed, leaning over the counter as you went to the sink to clean your dishes. “Because I want to talk to you. But you keep avoiding me.” You threw the whisk into the sink, whirling around.

“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s fucking talk, Toji!” You shrugged a shoulder. “Not that there’s much to talk about, seeing that you’re the one that broke up with me. And last night, you made it painfully obvious that you didn’t want to be with me. So please tell me! What. The. Fuck. Is. There. To. Discuss?!” You screamed, putting both hands on your hips, glaring daggers at the first man who broke your heart.

“Fuck.” He laughed, his eyes trailing up and down your body. “You got feisty in the year that you’ve been away.” When he saw how you glared at him, he held up a hand. “Right, right, fine, I’ll talk.” He straightened his back. “But first, did you enjoy yourself last night?”

His words had your heart dropping into your stomach. “I-I’m sorry?” You asked, hoping that you heard him wrong.

”I asked how your night was. Finally, get dicked down?”

”What?”

”Oh, right, you didn’t know.” He strode forward, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefingers, forcing you to look into his dark eyes. “After you left, I got a job. I’m a PI, the best in the business.” You felt goosebumps rise against your skin as he leaned beside your ear. “I did a little research into this Gojo Satoru, heir to the Gojo business. It took a little digging, but I eventually found his profile in Escorts4you.com.”

You were frozen in shock and fear. “You knew?” Of course, he knew; he knew something was up the first night.

“To think my ex-fiancée hired a fucking escort to be her date to a wedding. I had a good laugh over it. But when I saw the prices, oof, I know you,” toji squeezed your cheeks, “a pathetic baker from a cafe could never, ever afford to get fucked by a pretty boy like him.”

“W-Wait—“your head spun, “wait, it was you; you put the money in my bag?”

“Ding-ding-ding,” He reached into his pocket, holding another wad of cash towards you. “¥480,000, the money you used to cover rent when I was out of a job.” He put the money on the counter behind you. “I’ve been wanting to pay you back. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You put—you put the money—“

“But seeing that you were able to buy a high-end escort for an entire week, I figured that maybe you wanted more. So I figured I’d give you half to get the full escort experience.”

“It was you—-“

Toji smirked, gently patting your cheek. “Yep, I found your bag in the kitchen last night. Put half the money in there.” Your ears started ringing as he pulled back. “So tell me, did he fuck you as good as I did? Did he make you scream and cry like me~?” He pulled back, smirking down at you. “Or have I ruined all other men for you?”

Ruined? The only thing he ruined was what you and Satoru had. He fucked this up! It was all because of him!

“You son of a bitch!” You screamed, slapping him across the face. Toji stumbled back, grunting as he cupped his cheek in shock. “Do you know what you did!?” You slapped him again, harder.

“Ow, what?!”

“You ruined everything!” He took several steps back as you grabbed the plastic flour container, throwing it at him, which he dodged. “Yes! I hired Satoru! But I wasn't going to sleep with him!” You tossed a spatula at him, trying to close the distance so you could hit him some more. “But what was supposed to be a job turned into something more! I liked him! I liked him, you asshole!”

Toji dodged a cookie tray, “Well, tell him that!” You rushed forward, slamming your fists against his chest.

“He found the money! And he assumed I was going to pay him to sleep with me!”

“Stop it!” He snarled, grabbing your wrists, forcing you to cease your assault. “Look, I didn’t know you legitimately liked the guy!”

You snapped, yanking your wrists free before kneeing him in the crotch. Toji gasped out, hands reaching down, cupping himself as he stumbled. Vision blurring with tears, you weakly slapped at his shoulders.

“You’re always ruining everything! You broke my heart! I didn’t get to pastry school, and I lost a nice guy because of you!” A gut-wrenching sob made its way through you. “Did you stop to think that maybe I was happy?!”

Your heart was pounding, thundering in your ears as you cried, and cried, and you kept crying as Toji straightened. “Look, I didn’t know it was serious. But if you keep hitting me, we’re going to have a major fuckin’ problem.”

He hissed his vague threat through his teeth. Hearing that only pissed you off more. So you did what anyone else would to the man who broke your heart and kept butting in your life. You pulled your hand back and slapped him as hard as you could. He winced, bangs shielding his eyes as he growled.

When he snapped in your direction, he received another slap. It was when you went in for a third slap that Toji’s hand flew up, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. He crowded you against the wall, scowling down at your smaller form.

“I told you to stop fucking hitting me!”

“I hate you! Let me go!”

“Are ya’ going to stop hitting me?!”

“No!”

“Then tough shit!”

You kicked at his shins, but he easily avoided you. You were going to kick his ass, beat him into a bloody pulp—once you freed yourself. But all the fight vanished as you saw two ivory fingers tap Toji on the shoulder. He turned around, only to be knocked back by a powerful punch. You stared at Toji, who spit out blood, his gaze locked on the man standing at six-three. Satoru shook his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles as he glared.

His lip twitched, revealing sharp canines as he stepped forward. “Oh, you think that hurt? Wait until I get a good hit in.” He clenched his fists into tight balls, continuing to close the distance between them.

“Oh, you don’t wanna fuck with me. I’ll fuck up your face so bad you’ll never get a ‘client’ again.”

“Why you—”

“Wait!” You yelled out, jumping between the two men and holding your arms out. “Stop! Stop it!”

Satoru looked down at you as if you’d lost your mind, his momentum stopping. Toji kept moving until your fingers grazed his chest. With a deep sigh, you looked up at Satoru, giving him a gentle smile, one that had his cheeks flushing.

“I got this.” the softness of your voice was the only convincing he needed. With a curt nod, he crossed his arms over his chest as you turned to look into Toji’s eyes. “You have fucked with my life for the last time.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep!” You grinned wide and warmly before punching him directly in the nose. “Try that shit again! I dare you! I fuckin’ dare you!!”

“Oooh!” Just as you went in for another punch, you were picked up, and Satoru carried you out of the kitchen. “Easy there, I don’t want you getting arrested.”

You flailed in his arms, “I’m serious, Fushiguro!” Your ex groaned, cupping his hands over his bleeding nose as you jammed your finger at him. “That was the last time you’ll ever interfere with my life!” You glanced over your shoulder, watching Satoru grab his forgotten sunglasses off the counter before heading down the hall.

“Oh!” You heard your mother squeak out as Satoru passed them. “What’s going on? I thought you said Satoru left!”

Satoru grinned, turning to face her as he passed. “Me leave her?” He shifts, throwing you over his shoulder. “I’m not making that mistake again.” You squeak as he bounds down the hall.

“W-Wait, the cobblers! Mom, take them out of the oven!”

The halls were a blur as Satoru carried you to the room you both had shared. Only once inside, he gently places you down, taking several steps back, giving you space. You remained silent, nursing the hand you had punched Toji with.

“Do you want some ice?” Satoru said softly, eyes following you as you sat down on the futon, thumb rubbing over your red knuckles.

“No.”

You could hear him wince at your stiff tone. “Are you sure?” He slowly approached you, not moving too fast, as if you would bolt if he did. “It could make baking hard if you don’t take care of it.” Your heart slowly crawled up your throat as he sat before you, crossing his legs.

“You know what I want?” Satoru inhaled slowly, holding it for the briefest of moments before exhaling.

“No, what is it you want?”

You slowly lifted your head, eyes locked on his. He was stiff, pulse visible in his throat as he waited for you. Seeing him like this, like a child waiting to be reprimanded, had you swallowing hard as you opened your mouth, the words leaving Satoru’s eyes wide as he rocked back at your request.

“You want what?”

Tag List/ (AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

@arminloverlol @jamzywiththejam28 @gojoful @maskedpacific @ahseyy @kash77 @sadmonke @ari-maccha @sugurubabe @hyori2 @bluechocolatemint @itsinherited @dellappatca @therealestpussyeater @dead-at-tokyo @nvrgojover @drakenswifeyy @nealeart @yunho-leeknow @fire-child-kira @faeryminnyx @tqd4455 @harmonyflora @volkins181-blog @noukstmblr @lovley212 @stinkinstuffie @desihopelessromantic @witchbybirth @sonicsolos @lilbiguy @supsiii @rentheannihilator @bloopsstuff @pepepepepopopopo @pandoness @sw33cadav3r @rixo-19 19 @meguvmii @sxnkuna @mmeerraa @lemonintrovert01 1 @bunny-lily @kibananya @kamastar39 @rjreins @lzaj19 @tiredflame132 @manyno @oliiper @rengokushair @simp-plague @matchalatte06 @haesify y @majanggeum

[gguk-n]

Replaced (Charles Leclerc x Ferrari Driver!Reader)

Part 1 of Transition

Summary- Being the first and only female driver in Formula One was a huge deal; to be signed by Ferrari was even bigger. Imagine being blind sided by a replacement by Lewis Hamilton in 2025. Even worse; your boyfriend doesn't get it.

Warning- a little angst, established relationship

{Reader's POV}

My world came crashing down when I saw the post on the official Formula One social media. 'Lewis Hamilton to join Ferrari from 2025' How could Fred do this to me? After everything. I've been performing consistently, getting podiums, race wins against a RedBull. What more was I supposed to do? Why wasn't I informed before? My heart was beating against my chest, my eyes burned, my stomach was turning in on it's self. I couldn't help but pace around our house in Monaco. Charles had gone grocery shopping. Did Charles know? Why wouldn't he tell me if he did? How could they announce this when the season hasn't even started? Was I that easily disposable? My phone was blowing up from texts and calls from friends and family. I wanted to cry. Where was Charles when you needed him?

Speak of the devil; he opened the door with a pip in his step and a big smile on his face; he came and hugged me. "I missed you" he mumbled against my neck. My hands hung by my side. I didn't have any feeling left in my limbs. "Did you know?" I stammered, trying to stop the tears. Charles pulled back with confusion on his face. "Know what?" he asked. "That Lewis was replacing me next year" I stated. He was quite; worst of my fears were coming true all together today. "You knew" I breathed out. My voice breaking as I laughed. "My boyfriend knew I was being fired. Can't believe this" I said running a hand through my hair. "How could you do this to me?" I screamed. "Mon bebe, I didn't know for sure. I had heard rumours" He trailed off. "Yet you said nothing, you could've warned me. Maybe...maybe I could've convinced Fred to keep me" I cried. "You don't know what it's like being a woman in Formula One" I shouted with tears running down my face. "Mon Amor" he whispered trying to hug me. I pushed him away; "Don't...Don't you dare touch me. I don't need your fucking sympathy" I stated turning around to start pacing the room. "Everyone's calling and texting me Charles, what am I supposed to tell them? What am I supposed to tell my parents who put everything on the line to make sure I ended up in Formula One" I rambled. "We'll get through this. I'm sure" he began. "You have nothing to get through Charles, while you can still race in red for Ferrari, I've just lost my seat in Formula One. It was difficult getting here as is; now I need to find a way to stay on the track." I exclaimed. "Mon Coeur, we'll find a way. I'm sure other teams are lining up to sign you" he suggested. I laughed dryly, "I almost lost my chance in Formula One until Ferrari signed me a few years ago. I was on my way out; no race wins, no podiums just sheer determination to stick around. And then like the angels sent from above Ferrari signed me. I was over the moon. I won races, I was able to stand on the podium in Ferrari after 4 years in this sport. You know what it meant to me. I've told you everything, I've been the most vulnerable version of myself with you. Yet, you never told me there were talks to replace me" I mourned.

"World's best boyfriend everyone" I taunted while clapping my hands. "Y/N, this is hard for me too" he said trying to come closer. "No Charles, it's hard for me since I've been fired. You are not the one getting axed." I said finally sitting down. Charles walked towards me crouching down to sit on the floor while holding my hands, "We'll find a way. You're so talented anyone would want you. I'm sure" he proposed. I shook my head while I let the tears fall for the first time. I moved my hands up to wipe my tears, "I don't know what more I could've done to make sure that Fred kept me. I don't know what I could've done to stay" I lamented while rubbing my eyes. Charles moved my hands to cup my cheeks; "You can do it" he said while kissing my lips. "I need to regroup." I thought out loud. The cogwheels in my head started to turn. I wasn't letting them kick me out of the sport I gave my whole live to. I was gonna show them who Y/N Y/L/N was. They were gonna miss the day they messed with me. I picked up my phone and called my team to call for a meeting. My manager and mentor was already on it talking to other teams when I told we need to regroup. I could see a couple texts from Fred which I decided to ignore till I was calmer otherwise I would probably commit murder. While on call with my team, I started packing up my stuff. "Where are you going?" Charles asked while following me. "My teams in Maranello, I'm flying today so that we could start planning." I stated. "You can do that on call" he suggested. "No, I can't. I think I'll go mad if I see you right now" I dejectedly stated. "What why?" he questioned. "Charles, you have everything I've always wanted and everything I just lost in a split second. It'll make me hate you and I don't want that. I love you too much to hurt the either of us." I said while zipping up my bag.

"I'll see you when I'm ready, when I know what I'm gonna do" I said while looking at him. I saw tears pool up in his eyes, "Why are you punishing me?" he asked. "I'm not. It's for the best that I get away from here." I commented. "Je t'aime beaucoup" I whispered in Charles's ear while giving him a hug. "Je t'aime aussi" he whispered back pecking my lips. "I'll miss you. Come back soon. You know, I'll always be here." he said with a another peck on the cheek. "I'm yours forever and always" he said while holding my hands. "I know. I just....... need to get over these shitty thoughts." I said while carrying my bag to the door. "I'll drop you to the airport" he suggested. "No Charles, I need to figure this out on my own. Take care" I said. "Why does this feel like you're breaking up with me?" he cried out. "I'm not. I'm always yours but I need to do this. I need to figure some stuff out and I don't want to hurt you along the way." I said while smiling through the tears. "See you on the track, mon tout" I said while walking out of our shared apartment.

[propheticbride]

Lamb to Slaughter II

𐙚 Aemond comes to terms with the feelings he possesses for you, just in time for a tragedy to strike in your halls.

𐙚 Aemond x Reader/Aegon x Reader (tw: manipulation, incest, mention of child's death)

(AN: I was not going to rewrite the b&c scene, sorry. the scene was hard to watch as it is)

You moan, arching your back in full pleasure. Aemond's never made you feel this way, stars dancing in your vision. Your hair wet with sweat, your face flushed, your fingers pulling at Aemond's locks.

"Please." you cry out. It's desperate. It's filthy.

"Please what?" Aemond comes up from your cunt, mouth wet with you. "Tell me and I will give it to you. I'd give you anything."

He meant it. And deep down, you knew it. But you never truly tested it before, never having the need to.

Aemond pulls himself from you, crawling up your body and resting his hips between your legs.

"I love you. Only you." he whispers, and not in a brotherly way.

You're too breathless to reply, not that he was expecting one.

It was no surprise the entire family was traumatized, the words 'I love you' never uttered between two or more members. You cannot remember a time you even spoke the words to someone, if you have ever. Not even to your dying father on his deathbed, not your mother as her fingers laced your hair in your baths, or your grandsire when he gifted you presents on your namedays. It was just three words, never to be said.

So that Aemond had said it so plainly had you surprised, maybe completely unsure on how to reply. If you should at all.

Aemond's breathing got heavier, "Tell me you love me."

Lining his cock to your cunt, he didn't give you much time to adjust before he shoved himself inside you. You mewl and clutch him closely to your body.

"Tell me-" he begins thrusting hard, causing you to rock against him. Whimpers and cries erupt from you. "-you fucking love me. Now!"

"I love you. I love you." it's like a mantra, like you're praying. Like he's your god. You're not sure if you mean it, completely aware of Aemond's feelings now. “I love you, I love you.”

With Aegon it was easier, his touches came without any awkward admission. But Aemond is a different man. You weren't sure if that upset you or not.

You aren't sure how to respond, small feelings always lingered towards him from you, but you were sure it was never once to be received back. With it

"Aemond I love you." you say softly.

"More than you love him?"

✮⋆˙

"I do not understand why I must don black, he is not my child to mourn." you play with your fingers, keeping your gaze strickly down.

"You'd have the court confused." Alicent snarks, "The way you can be found in Aegon's chambers have us all convinced it is your child to mourn."

"Does Helaena know?" your sister's feelings at the forefront of your mind.

"No. She is in mourning. I would not burden her with such news." your mother states.

She sits across from you, a black gown lined with red rubies lay across the chair beside you. For the past set minutes, she is determined for you to fit into it. But your point remained, if he was not your son, why mourn him? The whole city did and they did not know him. It seemed selfish and callous to you.

Pretenders , Aegon would seethe.

Your mother insisted you be part of the carriage for Jaehaerys’s memorial. But you refused. Rather be in Aegon's chambers comforting him. Even if it were in a way not befitting your station. You did feel bad for Helaena though. He was not your husband nor the mother to his children. But he was your king, so perhaps you were doing your duty nonetheless.

"Have you nothing to say?" your mother's voice brings you back.

"What?" you blurt out. "I do not wish to be a part of this...public display of grieving, I do not wish to be put next to her. Please mother, I do not want to."

"And what would you prefer? To crawl back into bed with Aegon and shut out the world while war eats around us?" your mother sighs, disappointed.

"I wanted to comfort him..."

"I will hear no more of it." Alicent insists, "You will wear the gown, and the smallfolk will see that the grief has reached even you, and then they will see her for what she is. A monster."

"But do we know she sent the rat catchers, can we be sure-"

"I am disappointed. To defend a traitor to the crown and the realm, the very person who has hurt your brother so purposely. Rhaenyra ordered it, that is the most known fact present in front of us."

"Why does my grief matter? He was not my son mother, and I had only held him as a babe." your voice is beginning to crack, you're desperate.

"You are disobedient as of late!" Alicent shoots up, her voice echoing through the room, "You do not do what is asked of you unless forced, your mind elsewhere. Tell me plainly and truthfully, is your brother's cock more important than your duty you are sworn to?"

Tears swelled in your eyes, "Aemond wouldn't let you do this."

"If he were here perhaps not. But he does not grace his own bed as of late, therefore he cannot put an end to this. Much to your misfortune." Alicent can only look down at you with such displeasure. The look haunts you.

"I wish we were here." you admit.

"As do I." she agrees.

✮⋆˙

When Aemond had turned a fresh one and three of age, Aegon had taken him to the brothels, to 'make a man of himself' and ever since, Aemond had found comfort in the walls, and in its people. He had wanted to find comfort in you, the very person...the only person to have treated him with such care and respect.

But you had turned to Aegon following your nephew's gruesome death, him selfishly pining after your sympathy. Aegon only did it to spite Aemond, he knew this. You did not. It was a game when they were much smaller, Aemond loved you, and Aegon had caught on. So there began a sick game; Aegon would touch and kiss you, giving you your first kiss and your first orgasm. When Aemond had found out, he had destroyed his entire chambers from anger.

You had always chosen Aegon, and despite the anger it brought, Aemond could never hate you, he had only loved you. Igniting a fire in him to win you over more. Sometimes entertaining the idea of Aegon dying, so all of your affection would be forced to be towards him.

When the news that you had taken to Aegon's chambers, and bed, in his time of grief broke to him, it drove Aemond to the brink of almost insanity. That night, he had left the castle and headed to the only person that brought him any comfort of late. Sylvi was a madam, one that Aemond had first lost his virginity to, and now was attached to her. Giving him the comfort he wished he got from you.

"He has taken her to bed." he says, laying his head on her lap, hair pooling around him. "I lost my nephew, but it is Aegon who needs the doting. I have lost her. I spent my life loving her, and he gets her most intimate parts."

"She does not see your devotion to her. She is...blinded by the King." Sylvi tells him.

"I sometimes wish that Aegon would lie dead, not to take the throne..."

"But to take her." she finishes for him.

"Daemon sent them to kill me." he says, quickly changing subjects. His heart hurt, "I was out."

"You were with me."

"In truth, I am proud…that he considers me such a foe, and that he seeks to murder me in my bed. He’s afraid of me." Aemond smiles to himself, happy that his uncle feared him.

"Where was she that night?" Sylvi asks, curious about the girl who has driven a wedge between the close boys she was once fond of.

"In his chambers, with him. While his little son was being slaughtered, he was fucking his little sister." Aemond says, tone dripping with anger. "Helaena had a blade put to her neck, and he-It is not right of him, he should do right by our sister, not bury himself in the other."

"The boy has grown into a man." the madam smirks.

"Not here." he pulls from her. Aemond sighs, "I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day, I am sorry for it."

"I am glad to hear it." Sylvi reassures him.

"We are to go to war." Aemond cuts her off, and looks back to the woman. "I worry about her place in it."

"Who? Your sister?"

"Yes." he nods.

"Which one my prince?" she goes to reach for him.

Aemond slivers out of her reach, "My lamb. They would put her in harm's way if it served them. I fear for her."

"Would your brother allow that? He must have some feelings towards his new toy."

Sylvi's words allowed anger to rise inside him, his lamb was not Aegon's toy. "Do not speak of her that way." he hisses.

"My prince?-"

"I said-" Aemond grabs her violently, her eyes shining in fear. "Do not call her a toy. She is a princess of the seven kingdoms, a station that you shall never even dream of seeing. I am fond of you but do remember your place."

[lighteyed]

you and i (back at it again) / steve harrington

summary: steve's left standing alone after starcourt, until you show up for him.

word count: 2.2k

author's note: inspired by this tik tok because i nearly shed a tear also this is my first time posting in awhile be nice pls

He watches his friends reunite with their families, mournful. He stands alone and contemplative by a cop car, the various spots of bruising and swelling on his face beginning to pulse with pain the more his adrenaline began to fade out of his bloodstream. The cops at the station said they'd called his parents house, his house, but no one had picked up. He knew they were home. He kicks a rock near his his foot, shoving his hands in the pockets of the bloody uniform he was still wearing. He wants a shower. He wants to go to bed. He wants to go to bed with the serenity of someone who knew they were loved. He wouldn't be able to do that if he went home. The word home a loose term.

"We can take you home if you need a ride, son," one of the cops says to him. Steve kicks at another rock. Home.

"That's alright," Steve says dismissively, ignoring the tight twist in his chest. "Someone will have gotten in touch with my parents by now. I'm sure they're on their way." The cop looks doubtful. Steve hates that he looks doubtful. Steve hates that he's also doubtful. "Couple more minutes," he swears. He knows he might as well walk his ass home, though.

He leans against the hood of the car, rubbing at his jaw. His hand comes away bloody. He's about to accept the cop's offer for a ride, maybe, he figures, he'll just go to Robin's and sit there for as long as her parents will have him, when a car comes careening into the lot like there's not fifty officers of the law standing around, the tires screeching loudly across the gravel. It's barely at a stop, practically still moving, when you throw the door open and throw your body out of it.

"Steve Harrington, what the fuck?" You leave your car door open, leave it in the middle of the road, still running, to get to him in time. He gazes at you, and it's a stupid look in all honesty, mouth agape, his brown eyes big and tragic looking, his face torn up and swollen. He wasn't expecting you. Why would he have been? You'd been broken up for a few months now and he was still nursing his wounds from it, knowing it was supposed to be for the best; you felt like he was hiding things from you and he knew that he was, hiding all the stuff about the Upside Down, not wanting you involved, wanting you safe. And in a way he was glad for it. He'd gotten through this with you unscathed, and who knows what would have happened if you guys had still been together. When he looks at you, though, when he allows himself to be pulled in closer, your hand coming up to graze his cheek, examining every scrape on his face with softness and worry, he allows himself to want. To miss you.

You tilt his face back, scrutinizing his features. He keeps his eyes on you. You showed up for him. No one else but you. You were here. "The fire is all over the fucking news and I didn't know if you were working tonight so I was sitting by the phone waiting to hear from someone and then your friend Robin called and said you were waiting here for someone to come get you so I just came in case and- and what happened to your face? And where are your parents?"

He shakes himself out of his stupor. "They didn't answer the phone." But you did. You answered and you were here. A wave of pure love rushes through him. He knew a thing or two about being alone, had felt that way for as long as he could remember, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with or how many parties he threw, but you were here, and he wasn't alone. Steve wraps his arms around you in one sudden movement, an outpouring of affection he hadn't realized he'd been reserving for you. Always you.

You stand there for a moment, processing, before you respond, leaning into his touch. The sirens wail around you. Neither of you move. He's safe. You breathe relief into the embrace, holding him tighter to you. He's hardly talking, and usually he's the one talking the absolute most, but he's stunned, both with what's just happened, what he's borne witness to, and with the way you care about him despite everything, more than anyone he's ever met, and the way he cares about you and how could he ever, ever let himself let you go? How could that ever happen? It's all he thinks about as he holds you, feeling safer than he's felt in awhile, the smell of your hair and your skin filling his brain with serotonin.

"Am I taking you home?" You pull away, staring up at him, his ruined face that is still so painfully gorgeous, still so hard to look at. Your hand is remains poised on his cheek. It's warm and welcome.

"No, no, your house, please," he brings his hand up to meet yours.

"I got you, c'mon, honey." He turns and thanks the officers who'd been waiting with him before letting you lead him to your car. He keeps his hand on yours. It tethers him to reality. He's here and he's okay. Or he will be, soon. He's here and he's safe, at the very least. He's not trapped and being tortured. No one's going to hurt him. He's got your soft hand in his and he's okay for right now.

The drive to your house is silent, but it's not awkward. You try to keep your eyes on the road as much as you can but you can't help that they keep finding themselves back on Steve. You've never seen him so reserved. You're sure it was more than a fire that happened back there, and you're sure he won't tell you a thing about it. You drive one-handed the whole way home. You let him need you.

At your house, you get your bathroom set up for him to shower, placing fresh towels on the rack for him, laying out your products on the counter. He would've been able to find them regardless, but you busy yourself with it anyway. When you go into your bedroom to tell him the bathroom is ready, his shoes are off and put into the corner he used to always put them in, and he looks exhausted. "I didn't bring clothes to change," is the first thing he says.

"That's what you're most concerned about?" You give him a funny look. You open your closet and rummage around on the ground for a second before tossing him a pair of his old sweatpants and a t-shirt. He stares at them in his hands. "I didn't know if I should give them back. So I just... didn't." He smiles a little. The first you've seen all night.

"Thanks," he waves them in the air before retreating down the hall. The door shuts and the shower squeaks on.

The way you loved Steve was unconditional, as much as you wish it wasn't sometimes. Even when he was pushing you away, even when he kept things from you, you'd always be there for him. He didn't have anyone in his corner like that. And you wanted to be. It wasn't something you felt obligated to do. You cared about him, and so you went to him. He'd do the same if the roles were reversed. It was unconditional because even when being there for him hurt, you still stayed. You still loved.

When he comes back into your room, his hair dripping but clean, God, he feels clean, his face devoid of dried blood but bruised and wounded, you're waiting for him with a first aid kit and a fresh ice pack. You must've heard the water shut off and gotten everything ready for him. The old sweatpants and t-shirt smell more like you now than they do like him but he's not complaining in the slightest. Something about you keeping them instead of throwing them away or lighting them on fire makes him think maybe there's hope. Not that you had a bad break up to begin with, it was more sad than angry, nothing that warranted a clothes burning, but still. Still, still, still.

He sits down where you indicate, rubbing his towel across his head to soak up the sopping water. His face is flushed from the hot water. You sidle up next to him with the medicine and bandages and try not to get too caught up in him. He places the ice pack on his puffy, blackened eye. He doesn't get it, this gentleness. He doesn't think he deserves it, really. After everything, does he deserve it? Does he get this peace?

"You're fidgeting," you mutter, narrowly missing the spot you were aiming for.

"Oh, sorry," he lifts his chin up a bit more and tries to sit still. You're so patient and kind and it makes him ache a little. You take care of him and it's not for any reason other than you caring about him. He's not used to anyone caring about him. "Are you sure this is alright? You don't wanna... be alone?"

"No, I wanna make sure you're okay," you answer easily, as easy as breathing, swiping medicine across his wounds with the lightest touch you can manage. He hisses in pain, and you wince, feeling it, too.

"Are you sure? You don't have to."

"I want to, Steve, I promise." You pat his cheek, another gentle, affectionate maneuver from you. If he's okay, you're okay. He takes this in. He thinks he really feels his heart expanding.

As you start dabbing at his other wounds, you speak, finally. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can," he replies, blinking up at you with his good eye.

"Was this..." you hesitate. He probably won't answer. "I don't doubt there was a fire but this..." you gesture to his face. "This looks a hell of a lot worse than just escaping a fire, Steve, you look seriously fucked up."

"What, you don't think I look pretty anymore?" He smiles again and you roll your eyes at him, but you smile back all the same.

"You're very pretty, Steve, but you have a black eye and there was blood all over your face and you're all cut up." He swoons just a little when you call him pretty. He's got an ego, what can he say? He continues smiling at you, a little high off painkillers, a little high off being here with you. If he's gotta be tortured he may as well get you back out of it.

"You look pretty, too, y'know," he says softly, his free hand twisting a strand of your hair around.

"Dodging the question I see," you raise your eyebrows at him but say nothing else. It was to be expected.

He takes a deep breath, looking up toward the ceiling, thinking maybe all this time he's just been stupid and silly for not telling you sooner, maybe he could've been with you all this time if he'd just told you, maybe it wouldn't have been the end of the world to have you involved. Maybe it would all be fine. "I wanted to keep you safe from all of it. See what happened to me? It could've been you, if you had been there."

"I would've wanted to be there with you," you insist. "You know I would."

"I do," he nods. "And that's why I don't involve you, babe, if something happens to me it doesn't matter to anyone but if something happens to you-"

"Why would you say that to me? You think I wouldn't care if you died?" You take his face in your hands, and he drops his ice pack. "Steve, are you an idiot? It would matter to those kids you spend all your time with if you died. It would matter to Robin, and to your family even if they take you for granted, and it would matter to me. I love you so much you moron, you can't say it wouldn't matter. I wouldn't be here if it didn't matter. I go out of my mind worrying about you, don't tell me you don't matter."

His head spins, in the best possible way. The pain from his wounds doesn't register. Your hands on his face registers. You words register. Everything else is background noise. "You still love me?"

Oh. Your face warms. It's not like it had been that long since you'd called it off, it should've have been a surprise to him, but hearing you say those words makes him light up. You see him light up. "Yeah, of course I do, it doesn't go away just 'cause you won't tell me anything about your life," you grumble, taking your hands off him.

"Hey," he whispers, grabbing for you before you can tear yourself away from him. He brushes the hair back from your face. He has that look in his eyes that make people fall to their knees. Heavy-lidded and tender. Soft. Loving. "I love you, okay? I do. That's why I try to protect you. I'll tell you anything you want." He knows it now, for real, that he can't lose you again. Not this time. "C'mere, come back." You let him pull you in. "I'll tell you anything, please don't leave me, okay?" You shake your head at him. Never, never. He's pleading, desperate. When he moves to kiss you, the desperation is laced in it, he's lurching forward and he's hungry and yearning and your lips meet soft and fast because he wants to savor it after so long.

The disconnect of your lips sends him reeling, he wants to dive back in for more, for more of everything, but you stop him. "It's me and you, okay, always. But you gotta let me all the way in this time." You tap his heart lightly. "All the way, Steve. Everything."

He leans back. He is hesitant and bruised and bloody, a little bit broken, but mostly he's in love. Mostly he wants to give you the world. So he takes your hands in his. He tethers himself to reality. And he talks.

[kayesfanfics]

Hi there! May I request an Adrian x reader where he's in need of comfort, so he asks (maybe shyly) if he can sit in her lap, even though she's smaller? She holds him gently, soothing him in any way she can?

Thank you for your consideration ❤️

A/N: YESSSS MY BABY BOY NEEDS COMFORT SO BADLY AND THIS IS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT<3

You and Adrian had been spending days on end cleaning up the castle, disposing of bodies after the battle and mopping up the blood, mending torn drapery and broken artifacts. The work was tiring, both physically and emotionally for Adrian. Having to go through his destroyed childhood home where he had killed his own father hurt him like nothing before, feeling the melancholic feeling of nostalgia waving over him as he wandered the halls of his childhood home, avoiding his old bedroom like the plague. You didn’t clean that room up yet, not wanting to overstep any boundaries before Adrian was ready. He was very quiet and solemn, as expected from someone going through his situation, but you made sure he wasn’t alone for it. You made sure he ate, would hold him as the both of you slept, would offer him a shoulder to cry on when he needed it.

On a day like the past few weeks, you were at the table sorting through dried herbs in the kitchen while Adrian was working elsewhere in the castle. It was so empty and silent and dreary in the castle, even being alone for a little bit made you feel uneasy, knowing it once housed a loving family. In the dreaded silence, you heard Adrian’s shows against the floor from the doorway behind you, and saw his shadow loom from the torches in the hallway.

“What’s on your mind, my love?” You asked without turning around, hearing his footstep get closer to you before a pair of thin, pale arms wrapped around your shoulders and a chin rested on your head.

“I’m not sure. My mind is just wandering right now.” He replied with little emotion, compelling you to set down everything you were sorting and turn to face him. His beautiful face was solemn and stern, his eyes puffy as if he had been crying, and his sweet lips in a tight frown. He looked as if he were about to cry right there in front of you, his eyes not meeting yours and looking down, as if he were ashamed to cry in front of you.

“My love?” You repeated, a hand moving to hold one of his, causing him to snap out of his thoughts and finally look you in the eyes with his own teary ones.

“May I…may I sit in your lap?” He asked with a trembling voice and a blush across his face. You told him ‘of course’ and moved so he could, wrapping your arms around his waist as he kept his around your shoulders. He took a deep breath of relief before letting out a shaky breath, slowly dissolving into tears as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You immediately held him tighter, moving one of your hands to rub his back as you buried your own face in his hair. You felt his body tremble against your own, his tears already soaking your blouse as he held onto you tightly, as if you’d disappear into thin air at any moment.

“Shhhhh, I know, darling.” You cooed, kissing his clothes shoulder as you yourself began to tear up. It hurt so much seeing the man you loved be so distraught and lost, stuck in a mourning phase he couldn’t escape. The two of you sat like that for what felt like forever until his sobs melted into sniffles, finally out of tears to cry.

“Adrian?”

“Y-Yes?”

“I love you. So much. You know that, right?”

“O-Of course.” He pulled away from the crook of your neck and you wiped any tears left away from his pretty face, holding it in your hands as he leaned into your touch. “I love you, too, Y/N.”

“How about we go to bed early tonight? I just want to hold you.”

“I would like that very much.”

[mysunshinetemptress]

I love you

Alexia Putellas x sisters best friend reader

Warnings: fluff, slight angst,

Alexia hadn’t always liked you let alone love you, to her you where her little sisters annoying best friend who would do anything possible to annoy her daily. She would huff and roll her eyes every time you would bounce over and ask for her to watch a dance both yourself and Alba had just come up with, or slam her bedroom door in your face anytime you knocked, you where a constant pain back then.

But to Alba you were her best friend who had been there for her through her worst and best times. Alexia and Albas father had died when Alexia was 18 and Alba was 15 with you still being 14 and you had been Albas constant being there from the beginning of their worst nightmare until Alexia decided to shut you out. It was something you always brushed off stating it was understandable you weren’t family and Alexia simply wanted to mourn such a massive loss with her sister and mother in private much to Albas dismay who constantly stated she needed you and Alexia had no right to push you away in that manner, especially when she knew how much you loved her sister.

Alva had been there for just as much as you had for her especially when her sister had began to date her teammate Jenni Hermoso breaking your heart in the process. Alexia didn’t know of your feelings swearing Alba to secrecy but her constant show of affection towards Jenni at the Putellas family home saw you avoid the house much to the older girls delight.

Alexia didn’t think she could dislike you anymore until in her words you “tried to take Alba away from her home.” You had been accepted into the Paris Opera Ballet School at the age of 18, she had screamed at you much to your, Eli and Albas horror, once again you had left the Putellas house on the older girls wishes only this time you didn’t return, instead you said goodbye to your best friend and boarded a plane. A year later Alba flew out to you and never looked back instead she began flying around the globe with you as you began your professional Ballet career stating you need a reminder of home (her).

But now at the age of 25 you where heading home for the first time, you where taking a well deserved break before your next contract started up opting to travel home to spend time with family and friends.

That’s how Alexia found you relaxing on the couch in her family home “Y/n.” You turned looking at the eldest Putellas smiling softly “Hola Ale.” Alexia looked at you stunned “you…you are home.” You nodded “Sí for a while I have a break in my contract so I thought why not.” Alexia nodded unable to take her eyes off of you “well eh..it’s nice to see you.” You smiled brightly at her “it’s nice to see you too Ale.” Alexia let out a nervous laugh before rushing into the kitchen to find her mother as Alba trotted down the stairs “what was that.” You let out a huff “that was me realising I might still have feelings for your sister Al.” Alba smacked you laughing “dios mío, y/n you told me you where done with her the night you left.” You shook your head “I know but Al, I forgot how hot your sister was.” Alba through a pillow at you head as you laughed.

You spent nearly every day at the Putellas house like the old days only this time Alexia didn’t seem to care as much, maybe it was the fact she had her own place now but you often found her sitting watching movies with you and Alba or sitting at the dinner table having coffee in the morning. What blew your mind altogether was when she invited you on a night out with her teammates, “Alba will be there, but I just thought I would ask you know incase you wanted to meet them or just go out for the night.” You smiled happily nodding “I’d love to, eh I’ll be here at 7pm.” Alexia couldn’t help the butterflies in her stomach “sounds good Osa.” You couldn’t help but blush at the nickname remembering back to when the word adesoso used to follow after it.

You had been panicking since 4pm on the phone to Alba “I don’t have clothes Al.” Alba huffed “yes you do amor, wear the black corset and trousers you know the leather ones and your boots you look hot in them.” You rolled your eyes “ok are you sure.” Alba rolled her eyes “you could wear a bin bag and Ale would think you are hot.” Three hours later you were stood outside the Putellas house nervously talking yourself up to ring the doorbell looking up suddenly when you head Alexia’s voice “Joder, eres preciosa.” You looked down as your face reddened “Gracias Ale.” You finally looked up staring at the older girl “wow Ale you look wow.” Alexia shook her head before grabbing your hand and pulling you in the door shouting out to Alba that you were here and ready to go.

Arriving at the club you scanned the room before catching eyes with Barcelonas best known defender “Mapi.” Maria turned on a dime laughing as she ran to scoop you up “Bebé pequeño.” You laughed at the nickname you kissed her cheek as she put you down not turning as you felt a hand on your back thinking it was Alba “how are you amor, what are you doing here, oh I have someone I want you to meet.” You laughed at Mapi’s excitement “Más despacio,Maria.” The hand left your back as Mapi dragged you towards the crowd “Mi Vida I have someone you have to meet.” You froze slightly at the sight of the tall Norwegian until she smiled brightly at you “Maria did you kidnap a ballerina.” Mapi looked confused “eh no, this is Y/n mi Bebé pequeño.” Ingrid shook her head “no you kidnapped one of the best Ballerinas in the world.” You laughed shaking your head before putting your hand out to shake Ingrid’s hand “Hola, I’m Y/n.” Ingrid looked surprised as you leaned into Mapi “how do you two know each other.” You both looked at each other and laughed “Ale and Alba.” Ingrid looked even more surprised before you began to explain “I grew up with Al, and then when I moved to Paris to study Alba followed me over a year later.” Ingrid looked stunned “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched you perform either live or on screen you are incredible.” You felt your cheeks reddening at her compliment before a hand grabbed your back again, once again assuming it was Alba you relaxed into their arms “My friends are actually trying to organise seeing you in Vienna.” Finally the voice behind you spoke causing you to stiffen “Vienna.” You turned looking at Alexia “sí, I leave in two weeks to begin rehearsals and then my next show is in Paris and then my agent said something about dancing in London.” Alexia felt her stomach drop “so when are you coming home.” You looked at Alexia confused “probably not for a while, why you aren’t going to miss me.” You laughed half heartedly but stopped at Alexia’s frowning features “of course I will.” You shook your head “you hate me.” Alexia sighed “I don’t hate you Osa, I’ve never hated you.” You wanted to push further but Alba grabbed your hand “Come on show off those moves we all know you’ve got.” You couldn’t help but look back at Alexia eyes softening as you looked at the frown spread across her face.

You had been dancing for hours getting lost in the moment with Alba like you both normally did, although this time you couldn’t help but look for Alexia sighing every time you noticed her talking to someone else before shaking your head and going back to dancing. You stiffened suddenly as an unknown hand wrapped around your waist before someone began speaking to you “Hola, guapa.” You turned looking at an unfamiliar face before smiling nervously “hola.” You turned looking for Alba before seeing her talking to a girl “it’s ok she’s with my friend.” You looked at the strange woman confused “ehh ok.” You quickly looked at the table of Barcelona players trying to catch someone’s eye but finding no one, you couldn’t help but squirm uncomfortably as the girls hand stayed on your waist squeezing it before you turned to Alba grabbing her hand “Al Por favor.” Alba simply brushed you off to busy batting her eyes at the girl she was flirting with “Al.” You tried again only to feel the random girl pull you towards her “hey why don’t we go get a drink.” You shook your head “no gracias.” But she wasn’t taking no for an answer as you put your hands on her shoulder trying to push her off you. You gasped quickly as you were pulled into a different pair of arms relaxing immediately as you took in Alexia’s perfume unable to stop the gasp you let out “Ale.” Alexia ignored you pulling you before she grabbed Alba “Al we are leaving.” Alba turned to argue before she caught your eyes and a worried expression spread across her face “what, what happened Y/n.” Alexia huffed “you would know if you took your head out of that girls ass and stopped flirting with her.” Alba huffed pulling her sister back towards her “why do you care.” Alexia shook her head “leave it Alba, I’m not doing this here.” Alba shook her head not taking that “no we are, you have hated Y/n since our friendship started, you haven’t made it a secret so don’t try to deny it.” Alexia huffed “I don’t hate her.” Alba cut her off “yes you do.” Alexia was getting angry “no I don’t, I love her.” Alba looked at her sister surprised “I love her, I’m in love with her.” You looked surprised at Alexia “you love me.” Alexia turned to you shocked “well….i…..ehm.” You grabbed the older girls face pulling her into a searing kiss “I’ve wanted to do that since I was four years old.” Alexia laughed kissing you again “let me take you home Osa.”

You groaned lightly turning to see Alexa’s relaxed features as sleep took over her body until she groaned at the sound of the knock on door until Eli pocked her head in “Gracias a dios, you grew a pair Ale.” You couldn’t help but laugh “hi Eli.” Eli smiled at you “Papa would be so happy.” Alexia looked at you smiling softly “I know, he told me if she wasn’t going to be his daughter in law he would disown me.” You laughed pulling the older girl into a kiss “slow down mi amor, you only admitted to your love to me yesterday.” Alexia sighed happily “yeah but I know this is forever.”

[rosyblooom]

blooming season🌷 (1) | ln4

"grief is just love with no place to go”

PAIRING: lando norris x fem nepo!reader WORD COUNT: 2.6k WARNING(S): mentions of death & blood, swearing SUMMARY: four years after she fled monaco, y/n is back on the anniversary of her father's death. however, an unexpected encounter with an f1 driver disrupts her plans. A/N: my first time doing this, so probably has errors. if you've got any thoughts or requests pls let me know xoxo hope u enjoy! :)

part 1 <- | part 2

The scent of salt still lingers in the air, but now it feels different, not as welcoming as it used to be. It's a painful reminder of days gone by, days filled with joy and warmth that now seem distant and unattainable. No matter how hard you try, you can't shake off the memories, replaying them in your mind like a scratched vinyl record that refuses to play properly.

Today marks four years since your father's passing, and four years since you left Monaco. You were just eighteen then, fresh out of high school, when the news of your father's tragic car accident hit you like a ton of bricks. In a desperate attempt to escape the overwhelming sorrow, you packed your bags that very night and left before the weight of it all drowned you.

You couldn't bring yourself to attend your father's funeral, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't real. But deep down, you knew the truth—your father was gone, and nothing could change that. Even as you threw yourself into your studies, pursuing a nursing degree, the pain never truly went away.

And now, here you are, sitting alone on this deserted stretch of beach, watching the waves crash against the shore in a steady rhythm.

This spot holds a special place in your heart, known only to a handful of locals—a fact you couldn't be more grateful for. Here, away from the watchful eyes of tourist crowds, you find solace as you simply listen to the earth rotate.

You exhale slowly, leaning forward to brush the sand from your palms before reaching into your bag for the bottle of red wine nestled inside. It takes a bit of effort to uncork it completely, but the satisfying pop is worth the wait. With careful precision, you fill a wine glass to the brim with the rich, maroon liquid—something to take the edge off.

"Welcome back, Y/N," you whisper to yourself, lifting the glass in a silent salute. "Thank you, thank you. I can't imagine anything worse."

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, a stark contrast to your usual composed demeanour. It's been 1,460 days, yet it feels like your world only just came crashing yesterday.

Needing calm now, you take a sip of the wine, savouring its sweetness, when the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention, pulling you back to the present moment.

"Seriously?" you think to yourself, feeling your heart plummet like a stone sinking into deep waters. You took every precaution to keep your return under wraps—after all, you paid good money for that privilege.

Arriving just last night, you made it a point to rise at the crack of dawn, a time before the world awoke; a time when it's just you and no one else. You couldn't bear the idea of facing the prying eyes that would surely accompany the day ahead. For once, you didn't want to be known as the daughter of one of Monaco's wealthiest families; you simply wanted to be yourself, stripped of titles and expectations—a daughter mourning her father.

Feeling like a trapped animal, you become acutely aware of every sound and movement, your gaze locked on the figure approaching.

A man.

His brown curls bounce with each step until he comes to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from you.

With a small wave and a nod, he greets you with a simple "Hey."

It takes a moment for you to register that the greeting is directed at you, causing you to tear your gaze away without a response. Your eyes flit between the gentle ripples of the sea and the man settling down uncomfortably close, prompting an annoyed grunt to escape your lips.

“Fuck spatial awareness, huh…,” you mutter under your breath, though not quiet enough to evade his notice. He slips off his black headphones, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Sorry, what?"

You clear your throat, then sit up straight and gesture expansively. "All this space, and you have to sit right next to me?”

He smiles.

Your gaze narrows.

"But I'm not right next to you," he retorts with a playful grin. "You're all the way over there." He points towards you and then at himself. "And I'm right here."

"Well, it's still too close," you snap.

"Sorry, did you buy this beach or something?" he counters, his grin widening. "Last time I checked, it's open to all members of—."

Growing increasingly frustrated, you interject, "No, I didn't buy anything. I just want some personal space. But clearly, that's lost on you."

With a scoff, you spring to your feet, snatching up your towel and cramming it into your bag, sand and all.

"Wait, you don't have to leave," he insists, his footsteps drawing closer. But you pay him no mind, tossing your phone into your bag and hastily gathering the rest of your belongings from the ground.

Once everything is crammed into your bag, you snatch up your half-empty glass of wine and stand upright, only to feel a foreign warmth enveloping your hand and glass. The man now stands directly in front of you, invading your personal space completely; you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his piercing green gaze.

"Look, I'm sorry if I did something wrong, but—" he begins, but you cut him off sharply.

"Way too close now," you snap, attempting to pull your hand away, but he refuses to release his grip.

"You do realise I'm trying to apologise, right?" he asks, confusion evident in his eyes.

"I don't care."

His grip remains firm. "There's plenty of space for both of us here."

"It doesn't matter anymore," you respond, your patience wearing thin.

The struggle continues, your voice growing louder with each tug. "Let go of the fucking glass!"

Suddenly, a sharp yell pierces the air, followed by the hollow thuds of broken glass hitting the ground. Shock washes over you as you barely register the sticky liquid trickling down your hand and onto your toes.

"Ah, shit," he exclaims, snapping you out of your daze. You quickly assess the situation, noticing the shattered remnants of the wine glass scattered on the ground, staining the sand crimson.

Panic sets in as you frantically check your hand and feet for any injuries, your eyes wide with fear. After several anxious moments, you breathe a sigh of relief.

I'm okay.

The tranquillity is abruptly shattered by deep groans echoing through the air, drawing your attention to the man's slumped figure with his back turned to you. His face remains hidden from view.

Though he's clearly in pain, you're tempted to slip on your shoes and make a hasty escape. Today is already burdened with its own weight; you're not sure you can handle any more. You even take a step back, ready to flee, but then something stops you.

A pang of guilt washes over you, weighing you down like heavy bags strapped to your legs. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly admit to yourself, "I can't believe I'm about to do this."

"Okay, fine. How about you put on your big boy boots and let me take a look at that?" you say, crossing your arms expectantly.

There's no reaction from him, not even a response.

Rolling your eyes, you drop your bag onto the sand and cautiously circle around him until you're face-to-face with his unruly brown curls.

"Hello?" you tap his shoulder, frustration creeping into your voice. "Earth to the stranger who doesn't understand personal space?"

"Seriously?" he retorts, his tone sharp.

His eyes meet yours as he straightens up, his expression guarded, but you simply shrug, maintaining a neutral demeanour, and extend your hand.

"Let me see," you say calmly.

For a moment, he simply stares at you in bewilderment, but then he tentatively extends his hand towards yours.

"I see," you breathe, examining the large cut in his palm with care, mindful not to dirty it with your fingers. Despite the blood seeping from the wound, you release a relieved sigh after a thorough inspection—it's not as deep as it initially appeared.

"Alright," you announce, dropping his hand and clapping your hands together. "Go home, make sure nothing touches that hand, clean the cut, and bandage it. Keep it dry for a couple of days, and then reassess."

Without waiting for a response, you turn towards your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and shoot him one final glance.

"This has been... unpleasant," you remark dryly. "I really hope our paths don't cross again. Goodbye."

"Wait!"

You shake your head and ignore him, determined to continue onward.

"Wait!" he calls out again, desperation evident in his tone. "I don't have any bandages!"

You stop walking, considering his words, but still don't turn around.

"And... I don't have any sanitising stuff either," he adds, his voice trailing off slightly.

Slowly, you turn around and wave your hands dismissively in the air, shouting back, "That's what supermarkets are for! I guess it's time for a shopping trip!"

Just as you're about to spin on your heel and leave again, his voice cuts through the distance.

"Look, you seem like you know what you're doing. Can't you just help me out here?"

Shielding your eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, you squint at him as he begins jogging toward you. "That advice," you shout back, "was me helping you out. Trust me, I wanted to leave way earlier."

For a moment, neither of you speaks as you watch him closing the distance between you. When he finally comes to a halt in front of you, you instinctively take two steps back—you need your personal space.

"So?" he says between pants, waiting for your response.

You furrow your brows, deep in thought. "Well, I don't have anything on me, sorry to disappoint. But like I said, there are shops around here."

You resume your walk, but to your dismay, the guy falls into step with you almost immediately.

"So, what? You have nothing at home?" he presses, his gaze burning into the side of your face.

Refusing to meet his eyes, you increase your speed.

"Right, because I'm just going to invite a stranger," you emphasise, "who I didn't want to be around in the first place, into my home."

His hand suddenly grips your arm, causing you to instinctively rip out of his grasp, both of you coming to an abrupt halt.

"What?" you bark, irritation seeping into your tone.

"You can google me," he offers, his voice calmer now. "Lando Norris, Formula One driver. Search my name up. You'll see pictures—every single detail about me, you'll probably find on the internet. Now I'm not a stranger anymore, right?" he suggests, his gaze pleading.

You remain silent, shifting your focus toward the calm waters as you breathe in and out. It feels as though the world has paused, waiting for you to come to a decision, to reach a conclusion.

Today, the anniversary of your father's death, is a day you've been dreading yet anticipating for so long. Its disruption unsettles you, but deep down, you know you can't simply ignore it. As much as you wish to skip over this chapter of your life, tear out its pages, and never look back, you can't. It's not healthy.

Still, that doesn't mean you can't delay it for a little while longer.

"Fine," you sigh, relenting to the situation, and begin rummaging through your bag until you locate your phone.

Quickly, you extract it and raise it to Lando's face, snapping a photo of him with the flash on.

"What the hell?" he exclaims, blinking rapidly.

"For my protection," you state matter-of-factly. "Just because you're famous doesn't mean you can't be a bad person."

Once his gaze meets yours again, he runs a hand through his hair and offers a sheepish smile. "Fair enough."

You nod, acknowledging his words, and continue your walk toward the car park.

"I'm not a bad person, though," he adds quickly, catching up to you.

"Colour me convinced," you reply dryly.

*********

As you approach the car park, annoyance bubbles within you at the sight of it: filled with cars and swarmed by dozens of people.

"You said you're a Formula One driver, right?" you ask, tilting your head up at Lando.

"Yeah, why?" he responds.

Instead of answering, you grab the hood of his jacket and pull it over his head.

"Why did you do that—" Lando begins, but you cut him off.

"The last thing I need is a mob of your fans, okay?" you interject firmly. "The quicker we get this done, the sooner we can go our separate ways."

Lando chuckles as he adjusts the hood. "I'm really that bad, huh?"

"Worse," you deadpan.

"...Right."

With your raven car in sight, you quicken your pace, relief flooding through you. The last thing you want is for people to realise you're back, especially not today.

However, as if your luck has run out, a woman steps in front of you, blocking your path. You immediately turn your focus to Lando, motioning for him to take a picture with his fan and hurry up.

But instead of the attention falling on him, a weight suddenly falls onto your shoulder, catching you off guard. You clear your throat, preparing to speak, but the woman beats you to it.

"Oh my goodness, Y/N. It's you, isn't it?" the woman exclaims, her voice filled with recognition and sympathy.

You can't reply; your mouth feels dry, your tongue heavy with unspoken words.

No, not today. Please, not today.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Y/N," she continues, her expression radiating pity. It's uncomfortable—the way she looks at you, the way she touches your shoulder so gently. It feels like you're being burned alive, yet you're immobilised, just as you were four years ago when you first heard the news.

"Your father was such an amazing man. And you, I mean, you've been missed. My daughter loves you—"

Suddenly, you're being pulled forward, jolting you out of your trance. You struggle to keep your balance as you try to comprehend what's happening—the woman is gone, and Lando's hand is firmly clasped around yours, pulling you closer to him.

Your personal space has been completely invaded, yet you don't feel the usual urge to pull away. Even if you did, you're not quite sure Lando would let you.

"Your car's the black one, right?" you hear him ask, but the words don't immediately register.

"Huh?" you mumble, still reeling from the encounter.

"That black car over there," Lando points and leans in close, his gaze locked with yours, "that's yours, right?"

You nod, still not quite ready to speak.

Lando releases your hand and holds out his palm to you. "Okay, car keys, please?"

"What? No," you shake your head, rejecting the idea. "There's no need for that."

"Come on, I'm a Formula One driver, remember? I won't crash it."

"It would be irresponsible of me to let you drive in this state," he adds, his voice firm.

"And what about your hand?" you nod toward the injury.

"Like I said," Lando smiles slyly, cocking his head to the side, "I drive race cars; I think I can handle driving with one hand."

Rolling your eyes, you relent, "Okay, fine."

With a sigh, you fish out the car keys from your bag and hand them over to him.

4:05 ───────────ㅇ─ 4:28

[evilvillain123456789]

i can't stop fucking old people. it's seriously a problem. their hearts can't fucking take it. they know i'll kill them. but they never say no. i travel city to city with each conquest. i log onto tinder and meet a girl. three chances a year... one for easter dinner, one for thanksgiving, one christmas. she takes me to her house to meet the family. the grandmother and i lock eyes from across the table. grandfather has passed. shes here alone.. sad.. we make eye contact for a while until she excuses herself, and i follow her. sometimes the deed is done right there in the bedroom, sometimes i'm given the number to her jitterbug, to return to her later. she makes me go in raw no matter what i suggest. i break up with the girl shortly after i've achieve sexual contact with one or both grandparents. i've no family of my own. that's true, that's always the excuse. i got a reputation that follows me. that's why i'm always moving. the grandmother often catches a VD from our little quickie. her weakened immune system. she passes away a few weeks later. some time before her time. or maybe just in time. god forbid, she invites me over. i sit in her little rocking chair as she speaks to me. that was her husbands chair.. she eyes me. my presence awakens this within her. i make her feel young again. she leads me to her bedroom. i have no reason to restrain myself, nobody will find us. she comes, then she goes. i clean her up as she grunts from the remnants of her heart attack, and leave her tucked into bed. she lays there peaceful, like shes asleep. that's when i lock the doors on my way out, and head to the next city. the next city, where i'll lay low until the next holiday season. start chatting up some chicks while i'm at it.. god, and the grandfathers. unlike with the grandmothers, they dont need to have lost their love to want me. they always cheat. they always want to use me as a tool to cheat. they look at me in ways their wives havent seen in years, and their wives see this. but their wives remain subservient. they always let him do this. they pray for him, but none of them pray for me. they hate me. they hate me so much. they know what i'm doing but refuse to make it stop. i lead their husbands away and kill them. they know it serves him right. i leave them heartbroken. but they'll never say a word. they'll never say a word about how an ugly little gay boy stole their man and now he's paid the ultimate price. and so have they. they seethe until their death. sometimes i swoop in on them too. silence them. they want me to silence them. but usually its too risky. after all, there are simply some secrets, that one must take to ones grave no matter what. i have nothing to gain from doing this. what i do is completely legal. all are lucid. but i feel as if i'm moving through a dream. i feel the earth around me shift as though i were asleep. i can't settle down. i can't fucking stop it. i want to stop. i want to find love. i feel so guilty. how many women fell in love with me, only to lose me. lose one or both grandparents and i'm nowhere near to comfort her. by the time it comes to mourn, i'm already long gone..

But yes, i suppose you can apply this to your fucking little tomgreg or harry styles or whatever. Yeah dude. You fucked that old man.

[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 1

Loki x Reader

Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: A long overdue mini-series for one of my favorite characters of all time. I had this idea when season one of Loki first came out, but never got to writing it, and now with season two coming, I decided to finally do it. There are two important things that need to be said before we head into it though; firstly and most importantly, I will not be following the show's plot at all, this story will only be focusing on the relationship between Loki and the reader, after all that's what it is about and I don't want it to be unnecessarily huge; secondly, this story will be mostly told in moments, which means that not every single scene happening between the characters will be written down in length. Lastly, I do hope you can all enjoy it. <3

Masterlist

Things felt worthless. Everything suddenly seemed unimportant. His whole life, everything he knew, felt small and frail. Because here, infinity stones were mere paperweights.

Loki scoffed as he pushed himself up from the floor, one hand coming up to tug at the collar still wrapped around his neck. This place made him feel as if his brain was melting, it was all too much, too sudden—sacred timeline, variants. A sense of utter helplessness started to weigh heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Yet he couldn't hold himself back from sitting at the single table in the middle of the dim-lit room. The checkered image of the Avengers right in front of him seemed to be taunting him.

This was still the same day, right?

Or maybe not, Loki wasn't certain anymore; it sure didn't feel like the same day.

For a split second, as he looked down at the red, round device resting on top of the table, he thought about how everything here looked so old-fashioned. It was almost ironic, for a place out of time.

Loki couldn't help himself. His curiosity got the best of him eventually. But if anyone had their whole life just a click away, they'd probably do the same.

So he watched, through glimpses passing on a screen, a life that was supposed to be his. He watched his mother die, and then his father; he watched as Thor called him a brother with a smile on his face again, and as they made earth a new home for Asgard. Loki's eyes were already a pool of tears as soon as his mother's lifeless body had appeared in front of him, they cascaded down his cheeks freely, leaving behind a damp path of a lifetime worth of mourning, now seen in less than a minute. The loss somehow felt greater, because now he wouldn't even have those moments to begin with.

But suddenly, amidst the moments of suffering and mistakes, an unfamiliar face appeared. She had a smile on her face most of the time, and even through the static of the image in front of him, Loki could clearly see the glint in her pupils, the crinkle beside her eyes. She was quite captivating, maybe that's why it took him a second to realize she was smiling at him.

A frown etched itself in Loki's eyebrows, he leaned forward on his chair as he pressed play again. Curiosity and... apprehension twirled wildly inside his stomach.

The moments with her were endless. Walks on the beach, shared ice creams, quiet nights watching a movie, dancing together in a dark kitchen, the golden rays of a sunset shining against her hair in a memory tucked away like a treasure; and even a moment of her talking with Tony Stark and the others, while her hand held tightly onto Loki's, the other Loki, that is. All of them looked futile, a simple existence Loki would never have considered fit for him; so why did these moments feel important?

Inside TVA's lonely room, Loki held his breath until his lungs ached. His heart was threatening to jump out of his chest and his eyes were stinging for a whole new reason. He could feel the shaking of his own hands. That look in her eyes, it was one of love, anyone who saw would know it. But the cause of the sudden lump in Loki's throat was the fact that this look was always directed at him. That love in her eyes, that smile on her lips; was for him.

Several minutes went by with him silently looking at the paused image of her on the checkered screen. A few stray tears rolled down his cheeks, and he wasn't sure why yet. If it was for the shock of learning that someone could love him this much; or because of the envy, the longing for something that wasn't even his, not really, he never got there after all.

There was a hole in his chest, a missing piece of something he never had. Loki didn't even know her name, yet a part of him was screaming it anyway.

He eventually moved on, and almost threw up when he watched Thanos take his life from him. Loki watched his brother cry over his lifeless body, yet he wasn't seeing her.

And despite the boatload of information thrown at him, the questions clouding his mind were only; who is she? Where is she?

Lost. Loki felt more lost than he probably ever did in his entire life. He had just watched what was supposed to be the rest of his life, yet... it wouldn't be. So what now?

He sat down on the small stairs of the room, burying his head in his hands.

And then there was this girl; smiling and laughing and holding his hand as if he had been the best thing to ever happen to her. This feeling, warm and heavy, squeezing Loki's heart, was a foreign one—he couldn't quite place why that look of pure adoration in her eyes was directed at him.

He needed to know who she was. He needed to find her and ask her why. He needed to know what she was, or- would be to him.

The sudden sound of the door opening startled Loki, he watched as Mobius walked into the room, his steps overly cautious. "Loki? Nowhere left to run."

Gulping back a sob clawing its way through his throat, Loki took a deep breath. He slowly glanced up, voice calm and defeated as he asked a question he already knew the answer to; "I can't go back, can I?"

Mobius simply looked at him, his eyes holding some kind of sympathy as he spared Loki from hearing the truth out loud.

Loki pursed his lips, his gaze slowly trailed back to the screen on his left that again adorned a paused image of the mysterious girl. Her lips were turned up just slightly, dark sunglasses covered her eyes, and she held a slowly melting ice cream in one of her hands. "Who is she?" he asked quietly.

Placing his weapon on the table, Mobius let out a long sigh, "I was hoping you wouldn't ask about her."

The words made Loki snap his head towards him, a frown coming to his eyebrows immediately.

"She..." Mobius hesitated, "she is someone almost as annoying as you."

"That doesn't answer my question." Loki nearly sounded offended. He got up then, taking slow steps towards Mobius. "She seemed... important, yet I don't know who she is."

"I'm afraid you haven't met her yet."

"Then tell me who she is."

Mobius grimaced; "I don't think it's my place to say it."

"That's absurd," Loki scoffed, "it's my life we're talking about here."

"How about we help each other then, hm?" Mobius offered, and when Loki only frowned at him, he continued; "a fugitive Variant has been killing our Minutemen."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "And you need the God of Mischief to help you stop him?"

A small smirk came to Mobius' lips; "That's right. You help us stop him. I get you an opportunity to meet her and you can ask her whatever questions you want to know."

A meeting with someone didn't feel like much for his end of the bargain, but that same voice inside Loki was still screaming a name he didn't know how to spell. He had to know.

"Deal."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 2 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Loki’s taglist:@milkiane @v1ci0us

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[We went on shopping (it didn’t go well)] - TF141*F!Reader

not a chapter actually just a rambling, it's kinda messy and not my style imo, pls feel free to skip this etc. might rewrite this shit when I have time since I’m busy with my job these days and I just accidentally sliced my thumb open making it difficult to type, hence not much to provide sorry :( and the weird stranger incident in the latter part did happen irl damn it’s creepy af, but I was the one telling them to fuck off tho (they harassing my cute friend RAGE)

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

After your car graduates from its car life in about a week, congratulations, the poor shelf accompanies you since your college life is finally undone, fragments spreading across the floor making you shout Mama and mourn for its graduation.

You don’t have a car right now, so when Gaz offers to drive you to buy a new shelf, you agree to his suggestion without a second thought. Yet when the day comes and you open the car door, only to be greeted by the wide smile of Soap and Gaz, you almost slam the door close in reflex.

“Okay, but why do all of you come together? this isn’t an elementary school field trip!” You gawk at them when you squeeze in the car.

“Sounds fun, how can ye not tell us?” 

“Gaz I thought you could seal your lips!”

“Sorry love, Ghost exchanged it with some goodies.”

Oh yeah, Ghost is sitting in the driver’s seat.

Wait, he’s sitting in the driver's seat?

“Goddamnit—“ Your scream dies out on your tongue when said man puts his foot down. 

Ghost does a good job at providing you the same experience as riding a rollercoaster, glad that you didn’t throw up in the car and arrived at the warehouse without dying. If he's your Uber driver, you will give him five stars and block the hell out of him. 

You hop out of the car and walk to the door. As the automatic door parts after sensing your presence, you feel much better when the cold air of the store. Nice a.c. is one of the important features of a nice store, and you already built a fondness for the warehouse with how refreshing the chilly air is inside.

The first area welcoming you is food. Not bad, 6 out of 10 if it needs to be precise. Gaz pushes the cart and follows you as you saunter to the aisle with cereals.

“Oh, they have my favorite brand.” You murmur to him as your eyes travel across the price tag.

Wait, you must still be dizzy because no way it’s 30% cheaper than the same one you just bought from the supermarket.

“Kyle, it says it’s 3 pounds, right?!” pointing at the tag, your voice raises a whole eight-tone with excitement.

“Yes?”

“Good.”

5 boxes of cereal are added to the cart. 

Actually, 9.9 out of 10 for this place, you fix the evaluation as you watch Gaz putting some of those ten bags of chocolate Ghost and Soap dump into the cart back on the shelf, and as a little revenge to Gaz for letting the other two men join the trip without you knowing, you choose to turn a blind eye when you spot Ghost sneaking all of them back in the cart.

Not forgetting the primary goal for today, you go straight to the furniture area after letting Soap throw five packs of gummy bears in the cart and convincing Ghost not to get a cup of tea from the random tea shop. You’ll make a much better one for him when you get home — you coo when he stares at you with unhappy eyes not covered by the mask, glad that he seems to accept the idea, so he huffs and lets you drag him and Soap out of the food area.

“You should buy this.” 

“Ghost I don’t need a green shelf in my shop thank you.”

“Then ye should buy this bonnie!”

“That’s not even a goddamn shelf, Soap.”

“How about this?” 

Your eyes brighten up when Gaz shows you a wooden shelf, it’s stripped-back, with not many decorations, but it surely will fit wonderfully into your store with its aesthetic vibes and high functionality, thus you pick up your phone to type down the product number immediately.

“Oh my, Kyle, you’re the best.”

and you’re too busy typing the numbers down that you don’t notice him shooting the others a taunt of victory.

The last area before the cashier’s counter sets a bookshop. You don’t plan on buying books, but you indeed need to go to the bathroom, so you dismiss yourself and tell them to look around before you’re done.

Why are the bathrooms always hidden in a bloody long hallway? What if someone can’t hold back during their way? Your footsteps echo through the corridor as your mind starts hitting you with a fresh and unnecessary question, glad that you aren’t that urgent though, so you’re able to get to the destination without wetting your pants.

Washing your hands, you step back to the hallway again, but you yelp in surprise when you bump into someone.

“Sorry!” You nod at the man and start heading back to the bookstore.

but it’s weird, the man you just bump into walks so close to you, that you suddenly realize he’s just a step behind you.

Hey, don’t panic, might just coincidence, you try to tell yourself as you make another step.

“Hey, lovely.” Okay, it’s not a coincidence, fucking hell. You curse when his hand touches your shoulder and stops you.

“Sorry for bumping into you, Sir. Anything that I can help?”

“No, I’m waiting for you to separate from the blokes for a while can’t ask for your phone number when they surround you like dogs.”

“I don’t give strangers my number, sorry.” You try to leave, but the man’s hand grabs your shoulder forcefully preventing you from moving.

“Hey, give us a chance yeah? I’m sure we will have some nice time together.”

“I don’t fucking know you!”

Prying off his hand, you turn and start walking fast, almost running when you hear the stranger’s footsteps coming towards you.

Fuck fuck fuck, you haven’t run with such desperation in years, last time must be high school.

“Who the fok are ye arsehole?”

The tears prickling in your eyes when you hear Soap’s voice ringing in your ears before you feel a pair of warm hands drag you behind him.

“Ghost and Soap will deal with him, let’s go.”

Adrenaline pumping through your body finally subsides when Soap and Ghost reappear from the hallway, you don’t want to know what happened to the stranger, maybe hope they’re still alive and in one piece so you won’t involve yourself in another chaos, 

“I think it’s time to go home, Kyle. Is it okay?”

“Of course, wanna grab some food before we leave?”

“I guess Ghost already bought sufficient chocolate for us.”

A burst of laughter catches your attention whilst Gaz looking at the cart with bags of chocolate stuffing under your cereals with disbelief, and a smile crawls back to your lips as you look at Ghost slamming his forehead against a lower door frame and Soap laughing over him.

They aren’t that bad, maybe, or they reserve the remnants of tenderness for you, you’re not sure whether is correct, but at least they have your back when you need them, and that’s enough for you to stop exploring the answer for now.

“Oh.” A book gets knocked off when you shift to stand up. Turning around to pick it up, you have a good look at the shelf behind your seat.

Your eyes dart from ‘Today’s recommendation’ to the book within your grasp.

‘Surrounded by idiots — by Thomas.’

You will rate this recommendation 10 out of 10 for sure.

After insisting on paying yourself and shooing the men off, you take out your card and place it on the scanner.

‘Insufficient balance :( please try again’

You frown when the machine shoves you a nuh-uh, and you open the bank app to check your balance.

So you overspent 10 pounds huh? What a shame to your title for being a successfully financially broken adult. Which link loses and makes you make a wrong shopping decision? 

you scan the list of items with sharp vision until you land your eyes on a product.

Surrounded by idiots - £ 10.61

Ah.

a/n: thx for reading :D sorry it's messy and unlike my previous writings :( hope I can have time to write again btw Price went on business trip so he's missing everything

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143 @goodbyegh0st @reaperxxxxzz @kaoyamamegami @imyprice @cod-z @poppingaround @live-for-fluff @masterstr0ke @mall0ww @ghostysloot @hxnneydew @cutiecusp @beigechristmastree @rejectedbytheempty @lupikekee @hotvinimon @whitetiger846

[carmenized-onions]

Where To? | Delivery Fees

logline; Fix, after fix, after fix; at a point, you've gotta ask what you are.

[!!!] series history, this is the fifth; First, Second, Third, Fourth

portion; 8k+ (sorry, it's about to go down. Perfectly in time for your long Friday midnight read that you regret in the morning!)

possible allergies; birth/medical shenanigans (nothin' scary, tbh, unrealistic), Mikey heavy talks and thus, mentions of drug addiction, it's traumas, his death, and grieving! Tony makes a joke about being bisexual, and I simply can't apologize for this, I write the perspective I have, man.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (aunt, mentions of bein' a mom, no pronouns? I think?)

this is by far, I think, the best (and longest) chapter so far, and if you don't leave me a paragraph (or several) detailing your thoughts and favourite moments, I will eat a lightbulb. And you will simply never hear from me again. Be warned,,,,,

Everyone works fast and efficient. Hospitality is used in two places for a goddamn reason. A well-oiled machine can switch gears on a dime.

Sydney gets a clean table cloth sample from a pile of off-whites they’d been considering. She puts it down in the office, swiping it over the floor to cover up the grime. Does she close her eyes when she walks in, and trip over the chair on the ground? Yeah. But she’s trying to be respectful of Nat’s privacy, okay!?

Tina talks Nat through everything as she gets Nat to lay down, she finds your Carhartt jacket hanging the shelf, folds it, and tucks it under the small of Sug’s back for support.

Richie is in the front of house, yelling at Pete over the phone, both with disdain and love somehow? That’s fathers for you. Fak is respectfully standing in front of the office door with one pile of warm cloths and another pile dry. Was he yelled at when he initially tried to come in? Yes. He’s handing them off to Sydney as needed now.

You scrub your hands clean, dry them, then start rolling on prep gloves at the sink. An apron is thrown around you, you turn your head just so, to see Carmen behind you, tying the neck and then waist of your apron for you.

He’s focused on the knots, but he looks up at you for a split second, meeting your curious gaze, his only explanation is, “S’faster.” You refocus on your gloves, because you’ll go insane if you don’t. It’s a silent exchange.

When you’re both scrubbed and ready, Carmen takes the towels from Fak and you usher for him to switch places with Tina, who slips out along with Sydney.

Everyone else sits outside the office, hushed and worried, and it is just the three of you, in here. Technically four, if you think about it. He sits on his knees so Sugar can elevate her head on his lap. And on the other side of him, about to assist in the birth of his niece, between her legs, is you.

You situate yourself, hands at the ready to catch a baby, towel in your lap.

And if you can just pretend you’re wearing medical gloves instead of prep cook gloves, and scrubs instead of an old Beef apron, you can almost believe it’s three years ago and you’re riding in the back of an ambulance helping a new mom deliver a baby, and Mikey is still alive somewhere where you don’t know him yet. You shake your head out of it. There’s not time for this.

“Alright, you’re doing a great job, just keep breathing, just keep pushing— Sometimes talking helps, uh, with labour.”

“I— What should I talk about—?”

“Oh, uh—” You look up at Carmen as if it’s gonna help you, and in a way, it does, “Why don’t you tell me baby names you’ve been considering? You pick one out?”

“Oh, oh I— Christ— I was thinking maybe, maybe Michaela? Is that stupid? That’s stupid, isn’t it?” She warbles with a stinging level of insecurity.

“I don’t think it’s stupid, Sug.” Carmen’s quick to jump in, swiping her hair out of her eyes. You nod in agreement, backing him up. “I don’t think it’s stupid. It’s a sweet sentiment— Nobody gets to judge the way you mourn, Nat.”

She groans in pain, then groans more pitifully, like being struck with a sudden guilt, “Tony!”

“Yeah, yeah, Nat? I’m here.” You take her hand.

“I was being a bitch before in the bathroom!” She whines this out like a drunk girl’s confession.

You’re quick to lean forward to her, consoling her, as if she is in fact a drunk girl in the bathroom with you, “Nononono, you were fine— Hey, keep pushing, keep breathing— You weren’t bein’ any type a way, you’re good!”

“I was so judgy! I was just like my fucking mom— Oh my God— Am I gonna be my mom?!”

Carmen and you are lightning fast to usher and coo a myriad of denials and flat out ‘No’s. When he gets the chance, he looks up and whispers to you, “What did she say to you?”

He’s far too hung up on this, in this moment. You squint at him, whispering back, oozing with sarcasm, “She can still hear you.”

“I said— I said ‘didn’t see you at the funeral’! Like who says that!?”

Carmen should be looking at his sister, which makes his stare feels ten times more exposing, “You didn’t go to the funeral?”

You shrug, but you feel a mountain of guilt on that shrug, like fucking Atlas. “Neither did you.”

He squints back at you, head tilting just slightly, “Yeah, but—”

“You knew him so much better than we did and I just— You’re so intimidating!”

“Intimidating?” Looking at Carmen’s face, it doesn’t look like he disagrees. Which only shocks you all the more.

“Yes! You know, you’re— You’re—”

“You’re like Mikey.” Carmen finishes for her. She nods, deliriously, trying to focus on her breathing.

“In what way?” You’re way too interested in this conversation, Goddamn it, look at the baby forehead, not the boy.

“You don’t talk like him or nothin’, but—”

“It’s the air!” Sugar shrieks on ‘air’, white knuckle gripping your hand. “You just, you control the temperature— you make rooms easier to breathe in like he did— And I— I wanted to push to see you make it harder to breathe like he—Oh my God!”

“Nat, you’re doing a fantastic job. The head’s a quarter way out, you’re doing —great.” You nod to Carmen, and wordlessly he knows to take your absolutely shattered hand out of her grasp and replace it with his. “And I try my best, but I— Y’know what, this isn’t the time—”

“No! Please, God, keep going!” She is clinging to your words like a telenovela. “This is all I have to keep my mind off my vagina tearing open!”

You nod, you want to wring your hands together but you’re wearing latex gloves. “I just— I didn’t know your brother better than you did. I just— I just knew him when he wasn’t letting a lot of people know him.”

“How did— you become friends with Mikey?”

“Dad was a fixer—”

“No, I know how you met. How did you become friends?”

You pause. God, no one’s ever called you on it. You've always been able to get away with a mere list of factors.

“I, uh…. was a couple jobs in at the Beef, with my dad, and we’d spoken casually before, but I stepped out to get some air, and he was there, havin’ a smoke, and he offered to share, and when I said ‘Oh, I don’t smoke’, he—”

You soften at the thought, eyes distant, smirking. “He went ‘What, are you Amish?’ And I guess, we just… Became friends over how detached and different I was, from everything else in his life. I didn’t know anything about him before The Beef. I didn’t come with expectations or social circles to rat on him to. I was— I was basically Amish, to him.”

You were his lock box. You had no way of using anything he ever said against him, and even if you could, you never would.

He could bitch about his successful baby brother in Denmark, and also rave over how excited he was about his successful baby brother in Denmark. He could do impressions of his little sister's cringey husband, and also show his relief in the fact that she will always be loved. He could tell you how scared he was, he could tell you what Uncle Lee said—he couldn’t tell you he was using. No. He couldn’t tell you. But you would find out, when you had to administer Narcan on him as he was passed out in the back alley of The Beef.

From there, there was nothing you didn’t hear about, nothing he thought would be worth hiding, after that. A diary of confessions is carved into your heart. Your name is carved into your favourite booth at your second favourite diner, not two blocks from here. It’s all the same handwriting.

You didn’t know Mikey better than his siblings did, you just knew how he felt about the things they saw.

Natalie’s shrieking brings you back to earth, you re-cradle your hands for the very top of the baby’s head. Despite the pain she’s in, she was right, your talking really is helping her keep the focus off her pain, “Is—Is that why you didn’t go to the funeral?!” She’s not judgy or mad, she just can’t say anything without full screaming it.

“I don’t— I don’t know if this exact moment is the best time—”

“I decide what time it is!”

Carmen looks up at you, and for the first time, is wincing at the iron clad grip his sister has his hand in— Ironically, the one with the stabbing tattoo. He wheezes, “She— She decides what time it is.”

“Right.” You nod at both of them, eyes wide. Your tone is hasty, you’d rather explain yourself well, but now you just have to explain yourself fast because the baby’s head is three quarters of the way out.

“Well, I, uh, yeah— It was, it was tough. I didn’t— I didn’t want to watch a group of people I’d heard so much about, good and bad, walk up on stage in front of a closed casket— N’— N’ talk about like, cute childhood moments— When I—When I had seen, when I had only seen him at his worst. And I— I liked the Mikey I got, loved the Mikey I got, but I know those last two years were very different. And I guess— I guess, I didn’t wanna learn… What I missed.”

There’s a lot of reasons why you didn’t go to the funeral, but that’s the one you know she’s going to find the most digestible and make some semblance of sense out of, right now.

She nods, repeatedly, deliriously, Carmen holds her head still. “I’m— I’m sorry, Tony.”

“I forgive you, Sug.” You nod back, reassuring, a soft smile for but a moment. “Now breathe, and one last big push— Head’s almost out! Smooth sailing from there, you’re doing so good!”

Just as frantic as Natalie’s screaming, there’s doors slamming, yelling, and what sounds like tripping from outside the office, “Nat! I’m here! I’m here! I’m coming!”

“Oh! Hold it in, Pete’s here—”

“Sugar, again, I hate to tell you this, not how that works!”

It’s about an hour later, you’re sitting out in front of The Bear, on the curb, with Syd.

Tina headed home as soon as she could to get back to her family. Richie said he’s on ‘daddy drop off’ for Eva tomorrow, so he had to head out— And he’s Fak’s ride, so he left too.

Once the baby had been delivered, and you’d screamed at calmly communicated to Carmen to get the exact time for the birth certificate, and Pete had rushed in and almost slipped on the wet sheets and cracked his head open— Everything was totally chill.

Pete’s driving his wife and daughter to Saint Anthony Hospital, where they’ll stay in holding for the next one to two days. Carmen refused to let you clean up on the basis of, ‘you just delivered my niece, get the fuck out’; and is inside, finishing that up. And so, you and Syd are perched up outside, getting some much-needed air, talking about nothing.

“That was fucking— crazy.”

“I think I should start smoking.” Is all you can reply, laughing shakily, eyes on the stars— Though there’s not many. Shout out light pollution. You hug your arms, still in the same outfit, apron-less, jacket-less, cold as fuck.

Syd laughs, “Yeah, that’s the move. For sure.” She sighs, sipping water from a deli cup she’d brought out. “...I’m never fuckin' having kids.”

“No, for sure.” You whistle, leaning back for dramatic effect, “I go back and forth on it a lot, and then I see a mom giving birth or dealing with her goblins and I’m like—”

You look to each other, speaking at the same time, “Free birth control!”

“Genuinely!” You snort, laughing through the words, “I leave cat food out on my fire escape for this one stray on my block, and I think that is as committal as I’m willing to get with taking care of creatures.”

She sniffs, looking at you more peculiarly, still smiling, “I think you’d be a good mom, though.”

Your amused grin sobers into a wistful smile, “I think you’d be a good one, too. Both like taking care of people.”

She punches your shoulder, softly, obviously. “You came through in an insane way, tonight.” When you try to wave it off, she doubles down, “I literally do not know what would’ve happened without you. The Bear is literally in your debt—And—And— You ditched your date, for us.”

You sigh, though smiling, “Syd, it wasn’t—” “It was bad? It was so bad you were kinda wishing this would happen?”

The house lights of The Bear shut off and Carmen comes out as you respond, locking the door behind him.

“I cannot fathom a date so bad that I actively hope my friend’s sister goes into labour and needs me to deliver her kid.”

“So it wasn’t bad?” She leans forward onto her knees, like she’s about to get the daily scoop.

“Not what I said, no, you keep cuttin—”

“You cold?” It’s Carmen who cuts you off this time, standing behind you both. You turn your head to him, still hugging your shoulders. He looks …stiffer than usual? Tense? You can’t tell the adjective, he just looks… Different. Or maybe it’s just a default you’ve never noticed. But you think you would’ve noticed.

You stand up, as does Syd. “Oh, yeah. I thought I’d like… Rinse my Carhartt before I wear it again. I’m good, though.”

He pauses where he is, like he’s computing, then shakes his head, “Don’t act tough.” And takes off his jean-fleece jacket, holding it out for you. Who are you to refuse that?

When you reach for it, he pivots in time to put the sleeve over your arm for you, then the other. You quickly recall the walk-in, and suddenly this feels like divine retribution. God, it’s weird to be cared for in return. God, he cares for you? Don’t start ruminating right now, holy shit—

“Thanks.” You cough, awkwardly, looking to Syd, pointing your fingers to both of them. “Ride? Ride?”

Syd holds her bag over her shoulder, and you can already tell what she’s gonna say. “I’ll take the—”

“If you say L instead of my fuckin’ car, it’s your ass, Adamu.” It’s past twelve. No way.

“…I’ll take the ‘your fucking car’, please.” She bows her head down, you throw your arm over her shoulder, dragging her with you. “That's my girl!”

You turn your head over your shoulder to Carmy, his weird different demeanour has somewhat melted away, good enough. “You comin? I’m holding your jacket hostage this time, so you kinda have to.”

He follows close behind you two, sheepish. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take the ride.”

“Who wants to sit in the back?”

“Isn’t the hot-seat s’posed to be shotgun?” Syd questions.

“You know, people say that, but that’s for when you wanna socialize, when it’s late you wanna sprawl in the back and pretend you’re the last person on earth.”

“You make a compelling argument, my friend.” Syd taps her nose, grinning. She calls to Carmy behind her. “I call the back!”

“Is it bad if I don’t check on my dad, while I’m here?” You park in front of Syd’s place. You know it well, your dads live on the same block. “No, right? It’s twelve in the morning and no matter what you both say, I think I do still smell vaguely of afterbirth.”

“If I were your dad, I think I would prefer to not be visited, right now, yeah.” Syd nods, taking her seat-belt off.

“Woww,” You eye her through the rear-view mirror, “You don’t love your daughter, Syd? Wouldn’t get up at midnight for me?” Carmen laughs from the sidelines into his fist, leaned against the window.

“Of course I would, my sweet child!” She snickers, reaching forward to pinch and pull your cheek, you slap her hand away. “Alright, fuck off.”

When she pulls back and goes to grab her stuff, you remember. “Oh! There should be a lil’ gift bag, somewhere on the ground back there?”

“Yeah,” She procures the bag, lifting it up to her head for you to see. “This thing?”

You nod, “Open it.”

“Oh what!?” She groans, before even opening it, “You got me a present and have saved me twice? Did you kill a loved one of mine or something?”

You laugh, shrugging. “Bloodlust is insatiable. But, y’know, I’m proud of you for opening and getting Head, I wanted to commemorate, or whatever.” You shove Carmen’s shoulder, getting his attention, “Yours is coming, by the way, I just need a lil’ more time on it.”

He seems perplexed by the idea that you’re getting him a gift, even though you already told him you would, but he nods. Syd unbags her present, “What…?”

In a small box, with a clear lid so she can see through, is a white Dickie peter pan style collar. Tacked onto both lapels are gold circular collar pins. On the left one, it has the initial S, and the other A; both in gold over a white background. A thin gold chain connects the two pins, across the neck. All fake gold, duh, you’re not rich. But it’s still gorgeous. And thoughtful.

“‘You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.’” You repeat her own words back to her, looking at her through the rear-view mirror, smiling. “I thought maybe a little extra personal touch on the uniform would help with that. The collar’s really just to explain how the fuck it works, but I also sweat so much in your kitchen, so I thought it could be use—” Syd cuts into your ramblings, swinging her arm over your headrest to hug you, more like choke. But with love, so you hug her arm back. “—Full.”

“You’re a great daughter, Tony.” She squeezes. “Thank you.” You just squeeze her arm back.

She shows the gift off to Carmen, who seems genuinely impressed, he can’t stop glancing between the gift and you. You remember things. “Beautiful, Chef.”

“Oh, oh oh, before you go—” You snap your fingers, “I’m coming to the wedding gig, fuckin’ uh… Vickie and Merman? That can’t be right…”

“You’re coming to Vinnie and Mira’s wedding?” Ah, count on Carmen to know names. It's his family, after all. Or family adjacent? Unsure.

You nod, “Bartending. Cicero got me. You’re catering?”

He nods, “30k is 30k.” Syd backs him up. “It’d be fucking stupid, if we said no, especially since they’re taking expenses.”

“We should like, coordinate or something—” “Wait!”

Syd interrupts, clutching the shoulders of your seat and Carmen’s. “When did you see Cicero?”

“Uh, couple hours ago? When you were spamming?”

Syd squints, looking into the middle distance like she’s just cracked a case wide open. Hot outfit. Denial of dates. Cicero. “Oh my god... Cicero’s your sugar daddy?”

“What?!” Lightning speed, both you and Carmen yell. Probably for entirely different reasons and confusions.

“No! Syd, I was at work—” “Well, it is a type of job—” “I am not doing any sort of code for Sugar Baby activities! I was at a real place of business and he was there, he asked me to bartend, he said y’all would be there.” You gesture with your hands wildly as a form of enunciation.

“Right…” She opens the door behind her, eye contact un-breaking. “I’m gonna figure you out…”

You roll your eyes, waving goodbye with one hand, flipping her off with the other. “Text me your hotel plans for New York, loser. We can split a room.”

“Okay, loser! See you. See you tomorrow, Carm!” She waves you off, shutting the car door behind her. Carmen waves back to her. Once she’s safely inside, he turns to you. You speak before he can.

“Listen, there’s something about being around your childhood friend, and also around your old neighbourhood, dropping her off at home like you used to in high school, that makes you completely age regress into a sixteen-year-old.”

He smiles, putting his hands up in defense. “I didn’t say shit.”

“I could feel the judgment, radiating.”

“I, I wasn’t—” He chuckles awkwardly, scratching his nose to hide his eyes. “I thought it was cool. To uh, see, a different side to—to both of you.”

“Awe.” You pull off the curb, driving off. “Wonder what you were like, as a teen.”

He laughs, “A fuckin’ loser, is what.”

“Eh, I was too.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Oh? We go to the same fuckin’ high-school, Berzatto?” You flick your gaze from the road to him for a moment. “I think I would’ve remembered.”

He rolls his eyes, though you don’t see it, back on the road. “You wouldn’t have been a loser. Not like, like me level loser, at least.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Too nice.”

“That’s true. I was an angel.” You hum. “I was well known but not popular, I tended to hang out with the more fringe people. Also, I was fucking depressed, I missed like, half my junior year with fake sick days.”

“Hm.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the head rest, tilting his vision to you. “I would’ve thought you were cool.”

“I would’ve thought you were cool, too.” You smile. “I bet we would’ve been friends.”

He just hums in reply, not confirming or denying, lost in thought. He tilts his head back to look at the road. You speak up after a moment, “Where are we headed, by the way?”

 He straightens up in his seat immediately, leaning forward. “Oh, oh right, fuck, directions—”

“That, but also like, I can drop you somewhere else— Like, not home.”

“Like?”

Like your place. “Like uh, I dunno, if you wanted to go to the hospital? If you’re like… A hospital family?”

He snorts, “A hospital family?”

“Like, for my nephew, I didn’t go to the hospital, I met him a week later. But you did already meet your niece— So maybe you get a pass?”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re a hospital family, anymore, anyways.” Ah. The silent knowing. The glue that was there is gone. “You have a nephew?”

“Yeah, you wanna see photos?”

“Oh, uh, yeah—”

“I’m fucking with you.” You chuckle, “No one wants to see photos. But I do have a nephew.” You click your teeth. “You have now joined me at Aunt and Uncle status, people will congratulate you despite the fact that you contribute nothing to becoming one. Congratulations.”

You reach a hand out, awkwardly shaking his hand for a second before right back to the wheel. It’s hard to move one hand up and down and also drive. Carmen just shakes his head, chuckling. A win.

“We could also go shopping.” You shrug. “Buy your niece some baby shit? Or, you’re tired, so I should probably just drop you—”

“Let’s go shopping, yeah.” He’s quick to interrupt, pivoting to face you. Anything to keep the night going, with you. “If uh, if you want.”

“There’s always something I need to re-up on, I’m down.” You nod to him, more specifically, his phone in his lap. “Can you find the nearest 24/7 department store, for me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He fiddles with his phone, getting directions, then balances it on the console so you can see. There’s a lull of comfortable silence as the adrenaline from you two delivering a fucking baby wears off. God, the trauma bond between you is as thick as a lead pipe at this point. You can’t tell if that’s a good thing. You don’t want to find out.

He’s first to break the silence. “Left up here.” Just reading you the directions, and then tacks on, as you take the left. “…Where were you, when we called?”

You groan, though smiling, “Not you fuckin’ too, Carmy!”

“I—” He laughs, disingenuous, you can tell. “I just wanna know, if, if we really did interrupt somethin’ for you.”

“You wanna know if I went on a date.” Not a question, a statement.

His mouth opens, shuts, opens. He shrugs. “A little.”

“Why, you wanna ask me out?”

What. What. What. What. Why— Where— Who—Huh? Crash the car. Why did you say that? Why would you say that? Crash the car right now. Veer into that streetlamp. Kill both of you. Instantly. Those should be your last words. Do it. Do it!

You cough, clearing your throat after a solid one second of silence— Eons too long. “I was— I was actually at work. Not lying to make you feel better. Didn't ruin shit, for me.” You’re certain you’re fumbling this, as you fake laughter at your cool joke, definitely a joke because he literally broke up with his girlfriend yesterday and that was an insane thing to say. Disrespectful, even.  

He’s silent, for a good few seconds, which again, centuries. If you were looking at him instead of the road, you’d see he looks like a deer in headlights, but like, a deer that is somewhat hoping he does get hit by that car.

“…What’s your work?” He flits between you and the GPS. “Straight through this intersection.”

“Bartender.”

“What bar?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“That’s why I’m asking. Take a right up here.”

You turn your head to look right, and also at him. He’s looking at you expectantly. You grimace, taking the turn. He’s not gonna let this go. “…Eden’s.”

He squints. “…Isn’t that—”

“VIP bar and club, yes.”

He backs up in his seat, thinking. Prodding at his inner cheek. “You’re a—”

“Alright, I’m a fuckin’ bottle girl, Carm!” You groan, wanting to say the realization before he could. “I do bar too— And I have been a sommelier, but yes, I am a fuckin’ ‘throw around bottles with flashlights strapped to them’ girl.”

“Turn into there, up left.” He crosses his arms, you’ve raised your voice but he hasn’t. “Is it… Good?”

You sigh, “Tips are good. And I tend to get put on bar. I’m only on-call, it’s just when they’re down someone and I’m down on services for the month.”

He nods, slow, pensive. You shrug, turning into the lot of the department store. A Target. The nice Target, too. “Gotta make rent somehow, y’know?”

He nods again, very clearly lost in thought. You park the car, in a relatively empty lot. He’s still thinking; you turn to him. “…You good, Carm?”

He turns his head up to you, at a molasses like speed. The gears are visibly turning in his head. “What if you worked at The Bear?”

“…Huh?”

“You could, you could do bar.”

“You don’t have a bar.”

“You could make drinks, in the back. We don’t have a drinks guy.”

You take a deep breath, thinking. That is really, what you want. You’d be at The Bear, every day. It’d feel like home. You’d spend time with your second family instead of an ever-turning roster of old male customers. Your coworkers at Eden aren’t bad, but you never quite clicked as family. Not like you did at The Beef. Not like you did at The Bear. You’re staring at Carmen, and his face is slowly morphing into a golden ticket.

Carmen wants you to quit. Carmen’s maybe never wished for the downfall of someone’s career more than right now. Or maybe it’s an uptick? He wants your success, really. The Bear would be an upgrade. You’d be at his restaurant, in his uniform. In the back, making drinks, where no one’s going to look at you, whistling, turning heads. You could make him lavender coffee, every morning. He could put it on the menu. You could work on a cocktail menu together. An evening coffee menu, too, maybe. He could spend the rest of his miles to send you to Paris, have you visit wineries to learn about different types of grapes and shit. He could come with you, maybe, if he got the time off. Who’s he kidding. He’ll never get the time off. But you could send him photos. An entire lifetime is rolling on in Carmen’s head, as he waits for your answer.

“You can hire me.”

There’s a wreath of grapevines, cascading over your shoulders, but then you poke his shoulder, and— “When—” they vanish. “—You can afford to.”

He squints, heart stuttering. “We-We can afford—”

“No the fuck you can’t.” You interrupt, shaking your head. “You and Syd are unpaid, right now, I’m not coming on until I see you cashing cheques.”

The coffee in his head hasn’t gone cold just yet. “But you will come work for us?”

You smile, nodding. You put your hand out for him to shake on it, he does. “You’ve got a promised bartender, Berzatto.”

He’s beaming, he’s trying to hide it, but his eyes are too bright for one in the morning. It’s impossible to not see it. But he keeps his cool persona, just nodding. “Cool. That's cool. Let’s uh, let’s—”

You smack your thigh, opening your car door. “Let’s get fucking going!”

It’s a ghost town in the store. You’re pretty sure you could rob this place blind, and not a single worker would bat an eye— If there’s even an employee here right now. You stroll through aisles relatively quickly— Carmen doesn’t have to wake up insanely early tomorrow, since The Bear doesn’t currently have a morning schedule— But he does have to get up at a decent time for Syd, who’s coming over to rework the menu.

Yeah, he took your advice. He’s working on being a better partner. He’s even grabbing ingredients that spark something in him, mumbling cooking terms you couldn’t utter back to him if you tried. It’s a stunning sight, to watch him work in this way. In his element.

Which makes him, in the Children’s Department, completely out of his element, look so much funnier.

“What the fuck do you buy a baby?” He stares down the aisle, alarmed, confused, possibly a touch scared. He turns his head to you, expectant, as though you’re a prophet who’ll save him. “What the fuck did you get your nephew?”

You shrug, counting on your hand. “A Peter Rabbit book, a teething toy that doubles as a stuffy, and a onesie—Or I think they’re called rompers? When they don’t go all the way to the feet?”

He squints, scratching behind his ear. “Do they use any of that shit, when they’re new?”

“No.” You deadpan. “But, my brother reads to him at night and baby switched from holding to teething pretty easy when the time came. Clothes are honestly the most useless. They outgrow that shit in two seconds.”

He nods, looking nowhere, thinking. “Bear and book?”

“Bear and book. Plus something for your sister.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not giving away my ideas.”

“You’re getting her something?”

“How haven’t you gotten my love language is acts of service and gifts at this point?”

“You could gift me with an idea.”

You cannot bite back the smile on your face. You shake your head and roll your eyes, walking ahead to get the bear and book. “I’m getting her a heating pad. You can get her bubble bath shit.”

The bear is cute. It’s incredibly squishable, he’s got adorable heart shaped nose and blue instead of pink on his ears. You’re holding the babe, since Carmen’s basket is full of groceries and you didn’t want to get the sweet little gentleman dirty. Carmen does not like that you keep calling the bear a sweet little gentleman. You do it more.

You offer up the Berenstain Bears for a book, he simply walks away from you. Oh, suddenly it’s bad to make this child’s life entirely bear themed? What world do we live in? You agree on Frog and Toad.

You split up for a couple minutes, he’s getting soaps on one end of the store, you’re getting a heating pad on the other. Plus the smallest bottle of bleach you can find.

It is a bizarre sight, you imagine, for the greeters watching you. Walking around, clutching a bear to your chest, holding a bottle of bleach in one hand, a boxed up electric heating pad in the other. Wearing a jean jacket that’s both a little too big for you and yet too small to button over your chest—and if they’re paying attention, underneath, a red leather corset. God, it’s one in the morning. Your makeup has probably melted off by now.

When you meet back up, he’s in the Hygiene aisle, relaxing bubble bath with Epsom salts already in his basket. Good Carm, he learns fast. Even better, he’s in the Men’s Hygiene section.

…Staring at Old Spice scents.

Your entire system completely reboots for no good reason. You blue screen mid-step. Thank God, his back is to you, so he doesn’t catch this. You sidle up next to him, coolly, squatting down to look at the scents on the bottom shelf.

“Every lesbian I know uses Wolfthorn.”

He turns his head to look down at you, flattening his lips in a line to not laugh. “You want me to smell like a lesbian?”

You tilt your head to look up at him, shrugging. “You currently smell like a bisexual.”

He still smells like you. Well, mostly he smells like seared meat and fish, but underneath that, he smells like your soap and shampoo.

He snorts, taken aback slightly by the subtle come out, covering the bottom half of his face with his free hand.

“You should get the fuckin…” You stand, finger waving over the bottles looking for the right one. “The relaxing one. Get all the advantages you can.”

He hums, “You like lavender?”

“In doses.” You shrug, swallowing. He thinks you’re intimidating? You feel like you’re under a microscope, the way he looks to you. “I get a headache, when it’s too strong.”

He nods, grabs the Bearglove scented one, and starts walking. Not letting you question the choice. You hurriedly follow after, heading to the self-check-out with him. He walks and talks. “What’s with the bleach?”

You stare at him for a long while, squinting. He stops walking to face you. “What?”

“I’m debating whether or not I tell you.”

“Are you gonna poison me?”

You click your teeth and snap your fingers, ‘awe shucks’. “You’ve foiled my plan.”

He smiles, but looks at you expectantly. You shrug, you must acquiesce. “It’s for your present.”

“You said you hate the painting in The Bear, so I’m making you a new one.”

It’s his turn to blue screen. You add, “If you end up hating it, you don’t have to put it up, but I wanted to take a shot at making a piece that’s you, like you wanted.”

All he can bring himself to do is nod, because if he doesn’t, he’ll spill his guts in the middle of this Target.  “I’ll hold off on getting a new one, then.”

He taps his card before you can, when you use self-checkout. He shrugs when you grumble about this. “I owe you gas money.”

“You did not owe me thirty dollars of gas money.”

“Then I’ve got credit in advance.”

It’s half past one in the morning, when you park in front of his place. Two nights in a row, this is gonna fuck with your schedule… Eh, when did you ever really have a schedule?

“Thank you.” He turns to you with a striking certainty, swallowing. “Like. For everything. I think I could’ve died every single day for the past few days, if you weren’t there.”

When you open your mouth to brush off the thank you, because he knows you’ll brush off the thank you, he hovers a finger in front of your face, shushing you. “Don’t give me that ‘no big deal’ shit, neither. It’s been a big fuckin’ deal to me.”

You sigh, nodding, you take his hand where it hangs in the air, bringing it down. You’re still holding it. You’re hoping he forgets that you are. He absolutely won't. “…I just don’t like it when people feel like they owe me. Other than, y’know, doing actual handyman shit for money.”

He nods, “I don’t feel like I owe you. I want to pay it back.”

You shrug, “You’ve fed me every day. So, that’s kind of a huge return.”

“You delivered a baby.”

“Listen, I’m just trying to make you feel better.” You lift your hands in defense, letting go of his hand. You regret it. “I’m very cool, we know.”

“You are.” He chuckles, but his words are sincere. Why is he looking at you so hard?

“What?” You cross your arms, looking back at him.

“You delivered a baby.” He repeats, wonderment in his voice.

You nod. “Not the first time. Which is lucky, not every paramedic has experienced a code O-B. I don’t wanna give you an unrealistic expectation.”

“How was that?”

“The code O-B?”

He tilts his head back and forth, ‘kinda’. “Being a paramedic.”

“Hard.” You nod, straightening up. “Hard. Went to school for two years, straight out of high school. Spent three years as a first responder. It was… Fucked. I cut like...”

You chuckle when you say it, shaking your head, but the feeling isn’t amusement, “Everyone out of my life. Not on purpose, just by design. The hours are insane, obviously, and my co-workers… Like, you expect to be the youngest in the room, and so, when you’re surrounded by kids your age, breaking some grandma’s ribs, doing C-P-R in the back of a shrieking, speeding truck…” You trail off, looking down.

“It’s uh… It was tough, yeah.” You sniff, not crying, just filling silence, looking back up at him.

He nods, “…That sounds pretty fuckin’ tough, yeah.” He’s thankful that you gift him with a laugh, however dry. “And you just switched to, to handiwork?”

You shrug, so-so. “I would’ve kept doing it, is the thing. Which is kinda scary to say. But, basically— In the free time I did have, my dad, who owned Chicago’s Kindest, would ask me to come fix shit with him— Which, would seem tiring, but he really just made me hold a flashlight and hand him shit, most of the time. It was more like… His dad way of asking to hang out.”

“And uh, it’s a old family business, right. He’s been doin’ that shit since I was born. And uh, when he started—” You flex your hands and fingers, cracking them, staring at them. “Gettin’ arthritis and all the other fun old people weaknesses, I started working and he started holding the flashlight… It was kind of a no brainer, when he told me he had to retire. To make the switch, I mean.”

You click your teeth, looking back up at him after a moment, “Sorry, I’m fuckin’ talking too much—” “No, no.”

“I— I, It’s good when you talk too much.” You do not notice the way his jaw grinds, for just a second. Cursing himself out in his head for bowing out at the last minute there.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean your arm on the shoulder of your seat, then your head against your arm. “Yeah, good bedtime story, at least.” You check the time on your phone. Almost two. “You’ve gotta fuckin’ go to bed. You’re probably gonna need to meet with Uncle J, anyways.”

“…Oh fuck.” He rubs his hand over his face when he realizes.

You continue, nodding, cringing for him. “Maternity leave, catering gig— You’re in for a fuckin’ day tomorrow, Berzatto. Need your beauty sleep.”

He swallows, nodding repeatedly, head in hands. “Yeah, yeah, I do.” He laughs, halfheartedly. “Thank you. Uh, for all the shit, again, and the ride. And the detour.”

You shrug, “Welcome. More fun with you, anyways.”

He nods, eyes going from straight at you to literally anywhere else. He fiddles with the door handle for a moment, though he’s turned towards you, not the door. It looks like he’s having a wrestling contest with his own brain. You’re not sure who, but someone wins. “I, I uh, do want to, by the way.”

You furrow your brows, a little worried, honestly. “Want to do what?”

“Ask you out.”

…

It’s sort of like, all the facilities of your stupid brain shut off. You think the teenager tripped over an important wire and every thought and ability to contextualize feelings has left. The same has happened to him, of course, and now it just comes down to both of your now palaeolithic brains to rapid fire responses to each other.

He adds, “Not right now, but, eventually. After, y'know, we— we know each other better.”

You nod. He continues, rambling. “And I’ve— I can’t split my time, right now. I’ve gotta-gotta focus on The Bear, right now, and- and Syd, right now.”

“That should be priority, yeah.”

“—I’m not expecting you to wait—Or-Or even say—.”

“I will.”

It’s his turn to go mum. You play with the stray baby hairs on the back of your neck, explaining.

“The timing right now, like, could not be worse for you.”

“Right.”

“You just started a new business,” “—Yeah—” “That you’re 800k in the hole for,” “—A little less—” “You just went through a break up.”

“Not a rebound.” He’s quick to assure, with a certainty. “If that’s—If that’s a concern.”

You smile, shaking your head, “Not a concern for me, concerned for you. I just wanted to agree with you, that the time for it isn’t right now.”

He laughs, softly, through an exhale. “You don’t wanna convince me otherwise?”

You laugh, shaking your head. You straighten up, putting your hands down. You feel bolder. He’s sort of asked you out, he’s called you pretty, he smells like you, you’re wearing his jacket, he’s staring at your mouth. No risky half-joke is gonna get rid of you now. Probably.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, just so you’ll fuck me, Carm.”

It’s like, a sleeper agent activates, in his brain. Like you’ve done the fucking Konami code. He goes from nerve wracked to nerve wracking. Reaching over the console, fast, hand on the back of your head, pulling you while also meeting you in the middle— And he’s about to go for it, not give you a second to reject him, before he thinks better. Well, kind of.

Holding you there, “I’m going to kiss you.” It’s not posed as a question, but it’s functioning as one.

You stare, wide eyed, taking in his features. Taking in his already waning confidence. “…Sure.”

And he does. And he’s realizing, as he pushes you towards him, pressing his mouth to yours, that this is so so so different, from Claire. You are not going to distract him— In a good way. You wouldn’t let him. You’re prioritizing him, even when that means you need to wait on him. You want to know him, first. He wants to know you. You were being funny, sure, when you said you wouldn’t lie to fuck him— But God, think of how much that means. He sure is. And now, that he knows you have so much respect for his work, his mind, his body, and are happy to just get to know him as a friend first—to give him the space and time he needs— He immediately wishes he'd never asked for said space.

He's holding your head to him, unyielding—Unless you signalled otherwise, but you haven’t yet. At the same time, he’s also pushing your shoulder back, pushing you back, leaning over the center console. He's realizing he's never really gotten the idea of wanting to give oneself and take another. He’s taking in everything, taking everything you’re willing to give.

He knows your conviction well enough, at this point, when it comes to others. He’s asked for time, and that essentially means, the second he stops, he’s going to be locked off from doing this again. He has to give everything—then take everything he can. Ration it out, over weeks. God, what if it’s months? You wouldn’t hold this from him for months, surely?

You tap his neck, gently, and he swears he hears— Feels a gasp. A moan? Don’t think about it. He pulls away, just a few centimetres. He smells like you. He still smells like you. Staring. Soft, scary, eye contact. It’s two in the morning, your makeup has melted, your lip gloss has evaporated, but it doesn’t look like it. No. They’re perfectly wet, blush pink bottom lip. Don’t think about it. He thinks about it; he doesn’t think about his next sentence. You speak at the same time, and for the first time, don’t say the same thing.

“Do you wanna come up?”

“You’ve gotta go, Carmy.”

He shakes his head; you can’t be serious. You’re so sweet, and now you’d be so cruel? You laugh at him, incredulous. He swallows, correcting himself, “Come up and—And sleepover, just that. Make you breakfast, again.” He kisses you, again, selfish. He knows that. He’s at peace with it.

“Carmy,” Good start, that deserves a kiss. “—as much as I’d love to see your apartment—”

“You’d hate it.” He cuts you off, God, it looks like you’re gonna keep talking, and he’s going to have to respect that. He switches to your jawline. “I don’t have a bookshelf.”

“You— Hold on, you don’t have a bookshelf, Carmen?”

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Don’t bite! How many books do you have?”

“Ninety-one. Cookbooks. I narrowed down for the move.”

“Where do you— Christ— Keep ninety-one books?”

“Floor.”

“Floor?!”

“I told you you’d hate it.”

“I don’t hate it, I just— You deserve to have nice things.”

He pulls back again, staring at you, practically wheezing he’s breathing so heavy. He thinks on it for a second, this time. He wants nice things, too. You make him believe he deserves nice things. You're why he took a chance, took a risk, and told you he wanted to see if more could happen. He believes he deserves nice things. Nice you.“Come up.”

This motherfucker is evil, you think. He’s asked you to hold a conviction, asked you to hold a level of patience, for him. And you’re trying so hard to hold that conviction— While he’s actively trying to make you break it the second he’s decreed it. You’re hanging by a thread here. You cradle his face in both hands, kissing him on your own accord, this time. He takes this as meaning he’s supposed to go insane again. You laugh, and that makes it hard for him to not laugh too, which makes it hard to kiss you.

“Carmy.” You hold him back by his shoulders, just slightly. Giggling. You’re smiling, he can get you to fold, if he puts his mind to it. “You’ve got Syd coming over in the morning, all week—”

“Not until noon.”

“Baby, not the point.” Oh, pet names. Good. You called him Sweetheart when he was locked in the freezer, and that was all his brain had to work with until now. God, why did he say he wanted to get to know you first? You can do two things at the same time. You're multi-faceted.

“The sooner—” You wheeze, looking at him, he looks insane. “The sooner you go get sleep, the sooner the morning will come, the week will go by, you’ll start being able to pay yourself, soon enough. I’ll become your barback, you’ll be able to take time for yourself, and you’ll ask me out.”

He stares at you, thinking. “…I don’t think it’d go any faster—” “Carmen!” You squeeze his face with one hand. “Bedtime!”

He nods, finally, escaping his fugue state. “Okay.” He reaches into the back to grab his grocery bags. Christ, don’t look at the midriff, motherfucker, lock in! Lock it in!

You start to peel off his jean jacket to return it, he’s quick to stop you.

“Keep it. Wear it to work. Til you quit.” He looks at you, considering something once again, groceries in hand. “…Wear this too.”

After he finally gets out, and you wave to him from your window, waiting for him to get inside safely. You drive off, heading home. You take a long fucking breath. Slowly, your motor skills and cognitive abilities return to you.

You take one hand off the steering wheel, fishing out your rope chord necklace from your pocket. You rub your thumb over the plastic pendant, a year-old self-soothing method, by now.

You think about something Mikey said off-handedly, quite often, you squint, staring at the road ahead, perplexed, driving home with the first hickey you’ve had in a minute. You shout out in your car, pleading for an answer from beyond the grave here.

“Mikey, are you sure he’s a virgin?!”

Before we even, start here-- Number one, I'm sure you've forgotten at this point, but I will eat that lightbulb, motherfucker-- I just wrote 8k, I need my k of thoughts in return!! What'd you like! What stuck out to you! Favourite lines/moments!

What even happened in this chapter, deadass, I can't remember it all. Let's try to summarize.

Birth (woah!)

Mikey talks, a lil more of their friendship revealed, cute

Syd and Tony being cute as hell. Speaking of, I'm Desi, so I write Tony like a WOC-- I don't think it makes a huge difference to their dynamic, but I felt like noting it. Oh, Tony's gift!! Collar pins!!

Jacket exchange program, fr.

We would've been friends in highschool.

Why!!! You wanna ask me out!!!??? (crashes car)

Haha, what if you worked for me? (imagines a full perfect life together) I'm so normal.

(buys the brand of body wash you like) (specifically doesn't get the one that could give you a headache after a prolonged period of time) (even if it's the relaxing one) This is what normal people do.

Paramedic/Chicago's Kindest backstory!

(pseudo) ASKS OUT!! TENATIVELY!! REALLY JUST GOT SO FUCKING SCARED BY THE IDEA OF YOU GOING ON A DATE WITH SOMEONE TONIGHT THAT HE HAD TO TAKE THE PLUNGE.

kith.

That was the coin flip, btw. Hehehe. Heads he goes full smooch, Tails you go 'alright, sick, see u later', and he leaves. I could see it going either way. Carmen's a reserved guy. I knew I was going to make him state his interest, because I wanted to try out a lil something new. In the past, I've had the climax of a romance be 'omg we like each other how nice', and I wanted to try out the idea of these two knowing they like each other, and basically trying to maintain that. Thought it'd be fun.

Oh, this one's serious. I gotta know-- Good kiss? God I feel like someone's first boyfriend. I do not write sequences of intimacy. I go 'they fucking kiss, hurray, next scene'. And so, I really gave it my all here. I hope it turned out. I think Carm and Tony had so much tension piled on top of so much trauma that it simply couldn't have not been so feral.

Anyways, I expect an essay on my desk tomorrow. Thesis statements with supporting evidence, motherfucker. I love u. I hope u liked it <3

I start my job next week so I'm trying to write as much as possible before then, lmao.

Next Part

[disneyprincemuke]

invisible string * ms47

unbeknownst to you, there was a force that was pulling you and mick together your entire lives

pairings: mick schumacher x fem!reader

word count: 5.4k

notes: hi guys i missed mick so here's a mick fic pls ignore the fuck ass ending, i didn't know how to end it ok

(f1 masterlist)

21 years ago

you sigh tiredly, cheeks pressed against your father’s shoulder as he weaves through the busy crowd moving in several directions. and you must have dozed off for a bit, letting the stuffed bunny you held in your hands fall off in your slumber.

because when your father had buckled you into your car seat, the fluffy white stuffy was missing from all the action.

“where’s bunbun?” you ask softly, rubbing your eyes as he buckles you up.

“honey,” your father says softly in confusion. he takes a step back and looks around his feet if you had dropped it. “you were holding bunbun while i carried you back.”

you whimper as the sleepiness wears off. have you really lost your best friend in a stuffed animal? “what?”

tears quickly well in your eyes, lips quivering as you feel a sob bubbling from your gut. “i lost bunbun?”

“aw, i’m sorry,” your father sighs, sitting on the floor of the car. he cups your cheeks and wipes away the tears now falling excessively. “but, honey…”

you’ve lost your favourite toys before, one time even leaving behind a doll at the airport cafeteria when your mother was in a rush to head to the boarding gate. you’ve even lost a toy phone once.

none of that is ever as serious as losing your stuffed bunny.

“we need to find her, daddy,” you cry, rubbing your eyes roughly. “i’ll miss her! she’s my best friend!” you kick your feet in frustration. “let’s go back!”

your father sighs, looking back at the crowd pouring out of the grandstand exit. he looks back at you. “maybe bunbun will have a new best friend to make memories with?”

“no! she’s my best friend for life!”

is there even a way to console a four-year-old when she loses her favourite stuffy at a formula one race? he doesn’t even know he knows where you’d dropped it.

“you know, you’ll make new best friends,” your father hums with a small and hopeful smile. he brushes the hair out of your face as you cry. “i’m sure you will reconnect with bunbun if you’re really meant to be best friends.”

you stifle a sniffle, folding your arms over your chest. your father didn’t make any sense to you. but you’re tired of explaining yourself over a stuffed bunny.

so you just nod and turn your head, grabbing the stray blanket on the backseat of the car. you’d spend the entire night — and the next two entire days — mourning the loss of your best friend, bunbun.

on the other side of the grandstand, there’s a small boy running around as his older sister chases him around with a giggle and her hands in the air.

“i’m coming for you, mick!” she giggles, slowing herself down when she finds herself eventually catching up to the little legs that were trying their best to keep him away.

he screeches as he tries to get away from her, their mother in the far back craning her neck to see where her children are running off to before resuming her conversation.

he comes to a slow stop when his eyes are able to make out the small bundle of white on the ground. his sister bumps into him lightly, not expecting him to suddenly stop.

“what’s this?” he asks, bending down carefully to pick up the soft toy. he turns around to his sister. “cat?”

“no, silly,” she laughs, dusting off the stuffy lightly. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the animal, but her brother is still young. “it’s a bunny. look at its ears.” she takes it into her hands and holds it by its long ears to show her brother. “see? long ears.”

“cool.” he takes it back into his hands, wrapping his arms around it. he holds it against his chest and grabs his older sister’s hand. “mama will let me keep?”

“maybe! let’s go ask her!”

he tries to follow his older sister’s pace as they run back to where their mother stood.

“hey!” she greets them, immediately dropping into a squat and her arms wrapping around them. she notices the object in her son’s arms, knowing well that he had not left her running with that. “what do you have here?”

he points to where he had picked it up from. “gina and i found this over there,” he explains, nuzzling himself into his mother’s arms. “can i keep it?”

she presses her lips together, contemplating the safety and cleanliness of it altogether. “are you sure? papa and i can just get you a new one.”

he pouts his bottom lip out and bends slightly. “please, mama? it’s a bunny,” he whines, holding it in his hands to show her. “please, please?”

“okay, fine,” she laughs, rubbing his back gently. “give it to me first, okay? we’ll wash it when we get back.”

“yay!”

mick would wind up bringing that stuffed animal everywhere he went for the next couple of years, refusing to fall asleep without the softness of its fur by his side. he ended up naming it ‘stitches’, inspired by the off-white stitching it has right between its legs.

14 years ago

“hi!” you look up from your book, finding a girl towering over you with a smile. you’re about 10 now, sitting on a bench in the backyard of your school during recess. you’re newly transferred after moving into another town. and well, you didn’t really have any friends yet. “we’re playing tag and we need one more person — would you like to join us?”

your eyebrows shoot up in shock, looking around you to make sure that she’d been talking to you in the first place. you don’t want to be one of those people. “um, are you sure? i’m not really a runner.”

“that’s okay. neither are we,” she smiles. “i’m shannen. you’re the new kid, right?”

you nod shyly and say your name. you slot your bookmark between the pages before closing the book. “yeah, i came from a few towns over. this school’s closer to our new house, so i transferred.”

“oh, cool!” she beckons you over to join the rest of the kids gathered at the school playground. “come on and join us! i’ll introduce you to my friends.”

“alright.” you follow her hesitantly, hanging your head low as she introduces you to her friends. you were never great at approaching people by yourself, which is why you’re typically by yourself. you’re typically adopted by the extroverts and you didn’t mind that one bit.

you would spend the next two or three years, up until graduation, attached to the hip with shannen. she spends time in your house, and you go over to hers to swim in her pool with her friends outside of school. you’re best friends, even, up until you were in secondary school.

but for some reason, life had gotten too busy to keep the friendship. eventually, you drifted apart, as you had with several other friends. at some point, you’re just social media mutuals who don’t talk anymore. but the times you spent together still make you smile.

10 years ago

mick snorts, throwing his head back. “mate, let’s go! we’re the last ones there!”

“i can’t find my phone! hold on!” the girl shrieks, digging through her bag for her phone. there’s a fire alarm drill, and they had to stay back because she couldn’t find her phone. “go ahead!”

“your phone really shouldn’t be your priority in a fire!”

“it’s not even real!”

“what if it was?”

“i don’t care! i’m not standing in the sun for an hour without anything to do,” she grumbles under her breath. she throws a notebook out of her bag and digs some more. “i found it!”

she holds her phone triumphantly in her hand and waves it at mick. “see? i found it. it didn’t even take me long.”

“shannen, mate,” mick laughs, shaking his head. he yanks her into the hallway, blending in with the mass majority of the student body on their way to the stairwell. the fire alarm bounces around, prompting both mick and shannen to cover their ears.

“if this was a real fire, we would both have burned to death, you know,” mick points out as he rolls his eyes jokingly. he bumps into shannen lightly with his shoulder. “good thing this is just a drill.”

“you are so dramatic.”

mick and shannen spend the rest of their secondary school years together. while they’re not necessarily friends outside of school, they keep a casual friendship — often hitting each other up on social media every couple of months years after their graduation.

they swear to each other that if they were to ever get married, an invitation would definitely be sent.

7 years ago

you hum with a small smile, picking up the grey kitten into your hands. you coo as it purrs against your chest. “oh, i love her. thank you so much,” you grin, nuzzling your cheek on the kitten’s head. “i’m sorry it took me forever to get back to you. i’ve just finished settling into my new apartment.”

“oh, it’s absolutely no problem,” the woman smiles, watching you bend down and put the kitten into the carriage you’d gotten just for the kitten. “just remember to give her plenty of fluids. you don’t want her getting a uti.”

“of course,” you smile, picking up the carrier from the bag. “thank you again for waiting for me. i’ve been looking for a kitten forever, and when i saw your listing on instagram, i immediately fell in love.”

the woman shrugs, walking with you to the door of her home. “well, you seemed very determined to adopt a cat. i had to reserve one for you.”

you drive home with the grey cat in your passenger seat. you name it ‘concrete’ because it’s grey, giggling as she hesitantly comes out of the carrier to venture into her forever home. concrete falls asleep on your chest that night after dinner.

you wake up the next morning with a text message from the woman you’d gotten concrete from, telling you that she’s accidentally given you the wrong cat. she had only realised because the guy looking to adopt the last cat of the litter arrived and noticed that the cat he’s bringing back didn’t have the white patch of fur in the shape of a heart above its tail.

you sigh and ask her if you can just keep concrete since you’d already bonded in the day that you had her. much to your surprise, she agrees and says she’ll find a way to convince the other adopter otherwise. then you hang up and get up, preparing concrete’s breakfast.

meanwhile, mick sighs, holding the phone up to his ear. “well, they already gave the kitten to someone else, gina,” he explains softly, looking over his shoulder at the woman also on the phone. “the kitten really looks identical to the one you wanted. it’s not really anybody’s fault.”

“what?” gina says softly, as if she’s in the room with mick. “but that’s what really drew me to the kitten — the heart in its fur. is there really no other way?”

“the cat was taken home like yesterday… do you really wanna ask for a kitten back from somebody like that?” mick raises an eyebrow. he looks down at the kitten that’s walked up to his feet, dropping on its belly above his toes. “this one’s just as cute as the one you showed me.”

truthfully, he’s never really been a cat person. he very much preferred dogs over them, but the light grey kitten that’s plopped over his toes is convincing him otherwise. the kitten’s green eyes look up at him with a soft mew, making his heart skip a beat.

“ah, forget it, mick,” gina sighs over the phone. “you’re right. but i don’t think i want the cat anymore.”

she quickly hangs up. he puts the phone into his back pocket as he squats down to pet the kitten on its head.

“you’re very cute, aren’t you?” mick coos, smiling widely when the kitten purrs against his finger. “you know, i’m not a cat person.”

the kitten simply blinks at him, before closing its eyes as he scratches its chin.

“um.” he turns around, smiling at the older woman now walking towards him. she has worry written all over her face, and it only tells him that his sister will never get the cat that she had spent weeks swooning about. “i really tried convincing the other person…”

“it’s no problem,” mick grins. he stands up with a soft huff. “i’ll adopt it nonetheless.”

that’s how mick schumacher ended up with a cat instead of a dog.

5 years ago

“where do you reckon we should go for dinner?” mick asks, tapping on his phone. he looks over to his side, his smile dropping when he sees arthur holding up his phone with the front camera open. “arthur, hello?”

“quiet for one second,” arthur mutters, moving the phone around and sporting different smiles to try and get a good picture. “charles is asking where i’ve gone without him.”

mick raises an eyebrow. “charles or your secret girlfriend?”

“my brother, of course!” arthur scoffs, snapping a quick picture. he slows down his pace slightly and sends the picture. he looks up and turns to mick. “what were you saying about dinner?”

“where to eat, mate.” mick shoves his hands into his pockets and presses his lips together. “remember? robert asked us to choose where to eat tonight.”

arthur looks around, lips pursed together with a small smile. “i mean… we are in silverstone... what’s there to eat here?”

“i don’t know! that’s why i am asking you for help with the thinking.”

arthur momentarily turns away from mick as a pair of girls walk past him. his face lights up as he turns back to his friend.

mick, noticing that the distraction was caused by girls, smacks arthur on the shoulder. “focus! on dinner! not girls!”

“no, mate! you’ve got me wrong!” arthur laughs. “i know where to eat!”

but what mick hadn’t noticed, is that you had been the pair to walk past them, your arms linked with your best friend’s.

“oh, i heard there’s this really good restaurant up ahead. it’s got 4 stars on google — bar and grill or something?” you had said to your best friend as you looked down at your phone for options to dine in. “are you up for that?”

“sounds like a great idea!”

that night, mick would spend dinner in silverstone bar and grill in the far back of the restaurant with arthur and robert. all the while, you’re by the booth by the front doors of the restaurant with your best friend.

you would catch arthur’s eye as they flood into the restaurant, but by the time mick looked in your direction, you’d returned your attention to the menu for something to eat.

4 years ago

“ah, you look so pretty!” you shriek, holding yourself up on the sink in the toilet of the club. you put a hand on the shoulder of the new friend you had made. “you’ve got to tell me what lip product you’re using!”

“oh,” the woman laughs. ”it’s the too faced melted matte lipstick.” she reaches into her purse. “do you want to try it? i’m sure it looks good on you!”

you shake your head with a giggle. “no, don’t be silly! we can’t just share lip products like that anymore.”

you squeeze her shoulder endearingly before you step back at an attempt to pull yourself together. getting shit faced drunk was never part of the plan, yet here you are, four cocktails and three shots in, befriending the unassuming girl in the toilet.

she just wanted to wash her hands. it’s just unlucky, in your opinion, that she ended up next to you while you’re in a chatty mood.

“what are you in the club for?” you ask, reaching into your own pocket for your lip gloss. “celebrating something?”

“yeah, actually,” she laughs. “my brother won a championship earlier tonight. it’s a big thing — formula 2, if you’re asking.”

you stare blankly at her through the mirror, halting your application of your lip gloss. you don’t follow racing as much as you did when you were younger. in fact, you kinda despise it after you’d lost that damned stuffed bunny at one of the races you attended with your father.

or maybe it’s the alcohol, because you had no idea that something like formula 2 existed.

“oh, that’s cool…”

she laughs, patting you on the back. “it’s okay if you don’t know what that is.”

you hurriedly apply your lipgloss, recapping it then turning to her. “i’m sure it’s cool! i mean, congrats to your brother! you must be very proud of him!”

“i am, thank you,” she laughs. she taps you, her eyes shining bright. “can i follow you on instagram?”

you shriek again, stumbling back as you fish for your phone. “that’s genius!”

you give her your phone and watch her type her name into it. though you’re sure you wouldn’t remember her name — or the fact that you even followed her in the first place — in the morning.

she puts the phone back into your hand, squeezing it gently. “i’ve got to run, my brother’s waiting for me outside. it’s nice meeting you! and, my name’s gina.”

you wave at her giddily, watching her exit the toilet. you look down at your phone and hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the account that’s on the screen.

it doesn’t have a profile picture, or many followers. but you’re intoxicated. so you shrug and shove your phone back into your purse, returning to giggling giddily as your best friend stumbles out of the cubicle she’d been stuck in, puking her dinner out.

gina steps out of the bathroom, met by a stoic expression from her brother. “what took you so long?” mick grunts, guiding her through the crowd back to the table that his friends had gotten. “i waited almost 10 minutes for you.”

“i met the cutest girl inside,” gina laughs. she grunts and rolls her eyes when mick shoots her an unimpressed stare. “you wouldn’t get it.”

you have no recollection of meeting gina schumacher, and she never really posted anything on that empty account she gave you. she deactivates that account eventually, erasing the only evidence of the friend you made in the bathroom on a night out in abu dhabi for one of your friend’s bachelorette party.

2 years ago

mick follows the girl into the apartment, shaking his jacket off his shoulders. “cool apartment.”

“thank you,” cindy grins. “just give me a second, okay?”

mick nods politely, watching as cindy disappears into the apartment. he scans the apartment, overwhelmed by the vast differences between his and the one he stands in.

is this how drastic apartments are between guys and girls?

there’s several decorations, magazines on the coffee table, vases of flowers and pots of plants on shelves and–

interesting. a ferrari cap sits on the third level of the glass cabinet by the tv.

he walks over to it with a small smile. he hears footsteps behind him, prompting him to turn and glance at her momentarily. “i didn’t know you were a ferrari fan.”

cindy presses her lips together. “i’m… i don’t follow racing,” she says softly, pointing at the cap. “that’s my roommate’s.”

“oh, i’m sorry,” mick hisses to himself, taking a step away from the glass cabinet. “i didn’t… i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine,” she laughs, shaking her head. “um, so, here’s an umbrella you need to get home. be safe.”

“thank you,” mick smiles, receiving the umbrella with a grin. “i will… text you so i can return this to you.”

“good — it’s good investment to make sure you talk to me again.”

mick looks down at the umbrella tilting his head. “aw, it’s got cats on it. i love cats.”

cindy presses her lips together. “it actually belongs to my roommate. she’s got a cat,” she explains with a small smile. “i prefer dogs.”

“oh,” mick trails off. he’s not saying he’s so shallow to judge someone just because they don’t really like cats, but it’s really starting to sound like that in his head. “that’s okay.”

cindy takes a deep breath. “just… that’s my roommate’s,” she laughs, pointing at the umbrella. “i’ll need that back soon.”

“i’ll return it to you, i promise,” mick smiles. he raises his eyebrows as she leads him to the door. “on our second date? friday night?”

downstairs, you’re pulling up into the the street where your apartment complex is. you hum to yourself as you drive down the street, squinting your eyes as you try and see through the droplets falling on your windshield.

while you’re waiting for somebody to open the gates of the parkling lot of the building, you glance outside the window. there’s mick, leaving your apartment complex with a familiar looking umbrella.

you would walk into your apartment and sigh, asking your roommate if she had taken your umbrella with the cat prints again.

she would apologise for lending it to the man she’d gone on a date with, but swears she will get back for you. and she does — thank you, mick — and she briefly moves out about 4 months later to start her new life elsewhere with her boyfriend.

her boyfriend that doesn’t end up being mick, simply because she can tell that they’ve not got much in common. she breaks up with mick about a month later.

3 months ago

you squeak, hands on your cheeks as you look down the hallway. “concrete,” you say out loud, trying to make out the shape of your cat through the tears flooding into your eyes.

you had left your door open too long, according to a cat owner, as you struggled to bring your bags of groceries in. in the short three minutes that you struggled, your cat must have slipped out.

the worst is that you’d only realised about 10 minutes after you shut the door behind you that the house is suspiciously peaceful.

“you wouldn’t survive as a stray — you need to come back,” you frown, starting to walk down the hallway. “i don’t wanna get another cat.”

you have her bag of kibble in your hand, shaking it occasionally. as if your cat would reappear out of an non-existent nook out in the hallway.

you had never thought to get concrete chipped, of course. the cat had only started getting curious about the bigger world on the other side of the door recently when someone else with a cat moved in two weeks ago.

there’s a ding that echoes in the hallway, completely unbeknownst to you as you’re hunched over and still trying to lure your cat out with treats. the doors slide open, mick appearing with a grey cat in his arms.

“i don’t suppose this is your cat, right?”

you shoot up and whirl around, coming eye-to-eye with your green eyed cat. “you fuck ass feline! where have you been?” you scold, scowling as she comes into your sight.

you feel yourself soften up at the reunion with your car, relief washing over you. “why did you run away like that?”

you drop the bag of kibble to your side and step forward to take concrete into your arms. “thank you so much! where did you find her?”

“i saw her outside the apartment complex, meowing at people,” mick laughs, stepping back to watch concrete nuzzle her face into your chest and purr. “i was gonna house her for a bit until i find the owner — i didn’t know she lived right on the floor my friend lives at.”

“oh, thank you thank you,” you sigh, bending down to pick up the bag. “i really don’t know what i would have done if i lost her. i’m not a bad cat mum, i swear, she slipped out as i was bringing groceries in!”

“i don’t doubt that,” mick laughs. “i have a cat of my own at home. sneaky little devil, that one.”

you glance down at concrete and sigh in relief. a weight feels like it’d been lifted right off your chest. “is there any way i repay you? money?”

mick raises an eyebrow. “coffee?”

you stop dead in your tracks, a small smile playing on your lips. “are you hitting on me?”

“yeah? is that okay?”

you smile, nodding. “yeah, that’s okay.”

mick pretends he doesn’t notice the blush creeping up your cheeks as you continue to walk slowly. “how does wednesday night sound?”

you and mick would wind up getting coffee immediately after he’s done meeting his friend. your neighbour, dino, whom you actually are on greeting terms with when you come across one another out in the hallway.

you would spend the rest of the evening in that small coffee shop right at the corner of your street, talking about everything. this eventually leads to a second date, then a third, and then a fourth.

suddenly he’s telling you his full name, sending you into a shock as his name registers against the list of famous people in your head.

“ah, don’t mind the mess,” mick mutters, holding the door open for you as you slip off your shoes. “i wasn’t expecting to have anyone over so soon.”

you laugh under your breath as you put your shoes on the rack. “it’s not your fault there’s a storm bad enough to strand me,” you hum as you start taking off your jacket. “i’m sorry to be a bother when you weren’t expecting company.”

“no, no!” mick shakes his head quickly. he shuts the door behind you with a hand behind your back to guide you inside his apartment. “i mean, i was gonna invite you over soon anyway. we’ve just been so busy.”

“well thank you for offering me to stay the night anyway.”

he takes your jacket from your hands, disappearing momentarily into a room and comes back out emptyhanded. he jogs around his living room, picking up stray pieces of clothing and trash from the ground. “i’m really really sorry. i swear i’m not this messy. my schedule has been a little tight since i got back.”

you shrug and hunch over, picking trash from the ground with him. “i understand. if you look at the state of my apartment, i’d be the one apologising.”

mick does a double take when he glances up at you, noticing you helping him clean his living room. he shrieks softly, jumping over to you. he wraps his arms around you and drags you over to his couch. “what are you doing?” he screams, sitting you down on the couch and then taking the trash from your hands.

you look up with your head tilted. “i’m helping you clean!”

“don’t do that! make yourself comfortable,” he cries before walking away from you again. “don’t get up from that couch unless it’s to do something a normal person would do in someone’s home!”

“don’t be ridiculous. cleaning is fun to an extent,” you giggle, watching him walk back towards you with a small smile. “don’t worry about it.”

he huffs, looking around the objectively cleaner area. “do you want something to drink?”

“sure! just some water,” you smile politely. you look around the small apartment. it’s fairly clean, actually, even before mick had started picking stuff up from the ground.

you get to your feet and start navigating through the living room, admiring the picture frames right by the entryway with a small smile. mick has always been cute, it seems.

one picture catches your attention in particular, making you tilt your head in confusion. you lean forward slightly and squint your eyes.

“hey, mick?” you call out, eyes still scanning the picture of a toddler mick with his family in the paddocks. “you had a stuffed bunny as a kid?”

mick walks over to you, handing you the glass of water you requested. he puts a hand on your back and looks at the same picture. “yeah! he’s my favourite,” he says. “i have him in my bedroom, let me show you.”

you turn around with a grin, waddling after him. “i used to have one too! exactly like the one in the picture, actually. i lost it when i was like 4, but i loved that stuffed bunny like my best friend.”

“really?” mick asks from inside the bedroom.

you stop right by the door and lean against the door frame. “yeah, she had this stitching right between the legs. my cat tore it apart when i was 3. so there’s this really poorly done job of stitching it up where it tore.”

“that’s weird,” mick presses his lips together, appearing with a bunny in his hands. he flops it around in his hands, its ears flopping around as he shows it to you. he pulls the legs apart, showing the off-white stitching. “mine’s got that too.”

“oh, my god!” you shriek, taking it into your hands. you trace over the stitching, counting exactly 10 — the number you had known to be how many times your mother sewed it up for your impatient toddler self. you lift your head to look at him again. “this is weird. did you get this from somewhere?”

he laughs airily, towering over you. he puts a hand over yours and presses his lips together. “yeah, gina told me that i picked it up at one of my dad’s races in the paddocks when we were playing.”

you perk up. “i lost my bunbun at this one race my dad and i attended when i was 4.”

“oh, what a coincidence?” mick smiles with a soft laugh. “do you reckon this is the one you dropped?”

you puff your cheeks, tears welling in your eyes as you fight back a smile. “absolutely. the cracked eye… the ten stitches… this is bunbun!”

the world has a mysterious way of bringing you together with people you’re meant to be with.

you would spend the rest of the night, after taking a shower and cozying up in one of mick’s shirts, talking about your past. you joked that there’s clearly someone in the universe that thought you’re meant to be together.

to you, it’s the only way that bunbun would have ended up with mick in the first place. cause here you are, lying back on his couch with the first best friend you’d made in your life, all thanks to mick.

you spend the rest of the night, until sunrise, giggling over the invisible string that seemed to tie you together your whole lives.

“wait. i thought you said you had a cat?”

“oh, she’s at my sister’s,” mick explains. “i’ve been pretty busy — i haven’t had the time to pick her up yet.”

“you should pick her up soon! let’s set our cats together for a potential play date!”

@cashtons-wife @darleneslane

honourable mention: @localwhoore

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Being Becca and Butchers Child

Requested: Firstly HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!!!! ﾟ+.ヽ(≧▽≦)ﾉ.+ﾟ. Secondly, could u write like some headcanon about being Butcher's child (like who is two years older than Ryan) and how other members from the boys (+ maybe Soldier boy, cause of season 3 and how he would interact with them :3) - anon

A/N: Thank you my love!!! In the headcanon I made reader 10+ years older so they'd be at least 18 by the time they found out about Becca and Ryan, I hope you don't mind!! That way they can be part of The Boys and grow up with them, if that makes sense? I also had a very similar request of a headcanon so I'm basing it off that so there's some background :) I love this request!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Headcanon Pt. 1 / Headcanon Pt. 2

Butcher knew he couldn't take care of you. He was getting drunk every night, picking fights at bars, searching the city for your mom. Your perfect grades were slipping, you were getting into fights at school, you were emulating him. He knew how dangerous that was. First with your Aunt, then your Great Aunt, until you tracked him down all these years later. He still has a picture of you in his wallet, a baby picture that's creased and faded. You and Becca. You've grown up since then, though. And you're angry. He insist you go back to Judy, pretend you never saw or heard what you did, but you refuse. You want to pick a fight with him. You want to yell and scream and get out eight years worth of grief. He understands where you're coming from, he does. He never wanted to be like his father and yet, in so many ways, that's exactly who he was. Your relationship will never be what it is. That's not possible anymore. You have to learn to deal with one another now, in the present, instead of the happy kid you used to be, instead of the dad he used to be. It hurts you both to think about the past, who you could have been instead of who you are.

Hughie isn't really sure what to do with you. There's no doubt you're Butcher's kid. He's still relatively new to the team, so he just assumed this was something else Butcher hadn't shared with him. When he realizes no one knew about your existence, he's shocked. You, like your father, gravitate towards Hughie for reasons you can't put into words. You'll let him sit next to you when you're watching TV and maybe even talk to him if you're in the right mood. You don't shoot daggers at him like you try with everyone else. Similar to a cat, he's someone you can stand to be around. He comes to your defense a lot, especially when you stumble in drunk and pass out for the day. He's sure if any of them had been raised by Butcher, or at least the outside relatives, they would have turned out exactly like you. He can't blame you for being angry, or pissed, or hurt. He can see the hurt better than anyone else no matter how much you try to hide it. He thinks you just need some time and empathy to get straightened out. The least they can do is offer that, right?

Annie has no idea what to do with you. She tried smiling and talking to you, but you didn't want anything to do with her. She reminds you too much of your Aunt. She always said you should be happier, bubblier, that you were so smiley as a kid. You couldn't live in the past like her, with her. Too much had changed. Hughie assures her it's nothing against her, you're just getting used to things. She thinks it's sweet how you're attracted to Hughie. He's the only one you mildly respect and even, once in a blue moon, listens to. She doesn't take it too personally considering you're ready to rip your fathers head off. It could be a lot worse. Over time you see that Annie and Hughie are together and that definitely earns her some points. Annie can't imagine what your life must have looked like, all those years mourning your mother and father, all those years spent with relatives just doing their best. She understood why you were so angry all the time, so cagey and spiky. She doesn't hold it against you.

M.M. feels conflicted. Betrayed isn't the right word, but it's the closest thing he can come up with. He never 100% trusted Butcher. He was always going behind everyone's backs, doing what he wanted despite the good of the team, etc. He was destructive, combative, and spiteful. But, he thought they knew each other better than that. When he met you he couldn't deny you were Butcher's. Your mannerisms, the crazed look in your eye when you were upset, it all matched your father. He can't help but see you like how he sees Janine, even if you're much older: a victim of Vought. A generational curse. You're stubborn, and angry, and distant all because of what's been done to you, all because of Homelander. If your mom had been around, if Homelander had never done what he'd done, you'd still have your perfect family. He feels this need to protect you the same way he does with your father, even if you both fight him on it, even if you don't want or deserve it. He can't help it.

Frenchie doesn't trust you the same way he doesn't trust your father. He especially doesn't like that you and Kimiko are so close. She doesn't tell him anything about your conversations, knowing it would completely break your trust if she did. He believes Butcher would hide something as big and important as a child. He knows what your family can be like. Lying, drunken, selfish, vengeful. You're only a few of those things, not that he can tell the difference. You know Frenchie isn't your biggest fan, so you love messing with him, teasing him, rubbing it in his face that you and Kimiko are close. Similar to your father, Frenchie thinks this isn't the kind of place for you. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. M.M. might feel fatherly towards you, but Frenchie sees you as a Mini Butcher, just another handful no one on the team can deal with. You yell and scream and fight and drink. That proves to him you're still a child despite it all.

Kimiko adores you. Despite the difference in circumstances, she sees a lot of herself in you. Ripped from your family, angry and hostile and doing everything in your power not to get hurt again. Besides Hughie, you'd warm up to her second. You're actually incredibly smart despite never applying yourself and pick up the signs pretty quickly. Whatever you can't sign, you write to her, wanting your conversations to stay secret. You show her the pictures of your mom that you kept all these years, telling her all about the good times you had before she disappeared. When you see Butcher you instantly grow hostile, angry all over again, and the person she saw, the person she was just talking to who was kind, and thoughtful, and smart totally disappears. When you blast your angry music she never minds. In fact, she quite likes it, adding it to her own playlist. She doesn't look at you like you need fixing or, worse, need to get out of here.

Bonus! Homelander always knew about you. Becca was more than willing to talk about you and Billy to co-workers. He even remembers taking that picture with you that one Christmas. He's kept an eye on you through the years, but you never seemed like the vengeful type. You never knew what happened after your father abandoned you. He does, however, use it as leverage against Becca. Remember the kid you left behind? Seems like she's got favorites. Becca agonizes over leaving you, but she was caught between a rock and a hard place. He uses you to keep her there, in her place. He gives her updates, usually to make her feel bad. You're kid drinks way too much, did you know that? Of course you didn't. He loves to tell her that Butcher abandoned you all those years ago. He loves to see that it absolutely kills her. He's not worried about you coming after him. You've got to work through your issues before you get to him and therapy for a lifetime couldn't get you an Butcher on the same page.

Bonus! Soldier Boy would actually get along with you. I think you'd have a Worst Dad Competition and though you're close, you definitely think you win. You two share a drink and you tell him all about your dear old dad. "No wonder you turned out like this." Ben says, pouring you more. Hughie urges you to slow down, but you have a high tolerance. Ben, to piss of Butcher, will always take your side in arguments and uses what you told him against him. "You dumped them off and never looked back. Now you're parenting?" Butcher absolutely hates it. You tell him about your mom, how much she loved you, how she was killed. You don't mention Ryan though, knowing Ben's go to answer would be to seek revenge. You have a lot of complicated feelings around your brother, but you still have a burning Hatred for Homelander. You make Ben promise he'll kill him. He does, even if it means killing his son. You two bond really fast. Neither Hughie nor Butcher trusts it or him, but you do.