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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 2 months

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I'll Crawl Home To Her - LN

Summary: Lando has been away with for three race weekends in a row (based in 2024, Spain, Austria and Silverstone) but he finally gets a chance to go home to his girlfriend who managed to catch viral tonsillitis and he feels awful for not having been there to take care of her.

Y/n was meant to go to the Spain GP but that was when the symptoms started, and since y/n rarely gets sick. Like maybe once every 4 years, her body is very melodramatic in reaction and practically leaves her feeling like she's dying.

When she told him it was viral tonsillitis and there was no way to treat it but instead just wait it out till the symptoms cleared up on their own. Which could take anywhere from a few days till a couple weeks.

That then turned into her missing Silverstone too.

Max is coming back with them, purely because they've got things to sort out for Quadrant and he just wanted a visit with his friend.

"Y/n?" Lando calls out as he gets home, sighing as he looks around. She definitely has attempted to eat, but nothing much. "Baby?"

There's movement and shuffling before he moves quickly through the apartment finding her walking out their bedroom.

"Oh baby." Lando pouts since she doesn't just look ill, she looks miserable. He moves forward quickly scooping her up and lifting her to latch her legs around him. "Alright, I'm going to take care of you."

"Where's Maxie?" Y/n whispers, her voice and volume clearly compromised.

"Maxie. You two got pet names now?" Lando laughs then carrying her through to the living room where Max. "My girlfriend wants to see you."

"Hey, y/n. How you feeling?" Max grins while she is left on the counter by Lando. "Not great?"

"No." Y/n murmurs while Lando appears with some water for her knowing that the main they is she needs to be hydrated. "Thank you."

"How much have you had to eat?" Lando asks knowing that she can't talk much but he just wants to know how little she's eaten since the evidence of leftovers is there and she's definitely hollowed out a little from lack of eating and probably general exhaustion from being ill.

"A few bites of toast, I had some yoghurt?" Y/n mumbles seeming to think on it while Lando watches her with focused eyes.

Max has actually never seen this side of Lando, he's really just used to Lando fucking around or if he's not in a good mood then Lando would usually just disappear to be on his own.

Lando proceeds to quiz her about her symptoms and then places his thumb on her chin to pull her mouth open gently.

"Do you have a rash in your mouth?"

"Mate did you just google symptoms of viral tonsillitis to look for or something? Leave the poor girl alone, a doctor confirmed it." Max states earning a small glare. "You know maybe I'll just go and stream."

"Yeah, you go do that." Lando grumbles while y/n smiles lightly knowing that this is just Lando's love coming out in a form of protectiveness. He waits till Max is gone before looking at her again and sighing. "Do you just want to cuddle for a bit?"

He knows the answer already.

"Please."

Lando nods smiling sadly at her and picking her up again, managing to pick up the bottle of water too.

"Ok, baby." Lando sighs lying them down on the bed where she does nuzzle down into him. "Let's have a nap together, yeah?"

"Are you sure Max is ok being left on his own?" Y/n mumbles which only earns her a tsk since Lando has plenty of time to spend with Max later right now he just wants her company anyway.

Y/n doesn't really struggle to fall asleep with Lando there. He's without a doubt her comfort person and brings her more comfort than anything else in the world. They'd facetimed while he was away but that doesn't equate to him being there, and him rubbing her back under the light t-shirt she's wearing lets him know she's definitely running a little hotter than usual. Not as far as a fever but she did say that she was feeling hot and the doctor said it's a side effect of the virus.

"Hey, mate. I was going to go out and grab some stuff to drink and eat. You want anything?" Max asks making Lando look up since he'd been scrolling on his phone to pass the time.

"Can you get some more water? And just some snacks. I think I'm going to be here for a while."

Lando does eventually get on stream with Max after a couple days, though only on the criteria that y/n is set up in there with them. Which means she's lying on sofa cushions that Lando has put on the floor and made a little more comfy with other pillows and blankets.

It makes sense that she's just been dozing in and out of a sleepy state. He has managed to get her to eat more so she does have more energy and look a little more like death warmed up. But as usual with her body when she falls ill, she's just exhausted.

"The chat wants to know what you're constantly looking at. I mean they're guessing the right thing." Max states while reading the chat who are asking what Lando is looking at then correctly guessing that it's Lando looking at y/n.

"Y/n is on a makeshift bed set up. Just so we can stream and I can keep an eye on her. She's still not very well guys." Lando explains while Max nods alongside him as they read the chat. "No. She doesn't want to come on the stream, she just wants to be close to me and I want to make sure I can grab anything she needs."

"Isn't he adorable? Aww...yeah you guys think it's cute. Try being the third wheel that gets in the way. Lando has never given me so many dirty looks."

Another pause as they read the chat and Lando smirks in victory since they all say he's the cutest for having that behaviour.

"They're saying I'm the new standard." Lando grins turning to Max with a look from from her.

"People want to know what's wrong with her."

"She's got viral tonsillitis guys. She just has to like deal with it but y/n never get sick so she's just really struggling. Her body doesn't know how to cope with her being unwell." Lando explains then sighing as he looks down at his girlfriend who has shifted hearing him talk about her. "Hey, baby. Are you alright down there?"

Y/n nods still preferring not to use her voice as she sniffles sitting up, still out of frame as she reaches for the tissues then wiping at her nose.

"Do you need some more water?" Lando asks softly then reaching down and shaking her bottle. "Yeah, I'll get you more water. Want more ice."

"Yes please."

"You two are causing a riot." Max questions making her look at him while Lando disappears not so much as acknowledging his friend's words. "How you feeling?"

"I've been better." Y/n murmurs wiping at her nose again which is pretty much raw from her constantly trying to handle her running nose. "This is hell."

"You do look pretty rough."

"Leave her alone. She looks perfect." Lando states reappearing which makes y/n and Max exchange a look since she very obviously does not. His then turns back to her and looks at her for a moment then speaking quickly while Max focuses on the stream. "If I run you a bath, do you think you'd want to get in it?"

"Yeah, I should really clean up."

"I'll join you." Lando smiles kissing her forehead.

"Ok." Y/n whispers then sniffling making Lando frown. "I'm sorry."

"Alright. Ok, mate. we'll be back in a bit." Lando states picking her up and sighing softly as he carries her out the room and Max pulls a face to the stream.

"She's really not well guys. I've never seen Lando like this." Max states not being too loud.

"Ok, baby. What's wrong?" Lando asks while y/n tries to blink tears away.

"I just feel like shit and you're taking care of me but you shouldn't have to be." Y/n hiccups while Lando sighs. "And I can't even kiss you."

Lando smiles a little at her final comment before he pulls her closer.

"Alright, baby. You're just frustrated and overwhelmed." Lando soothes gently rubbing her thigh. "I'm going to run the bath, go out and say by to the stream and you are getting every ounce of my attention."

Y/n sniffles nodding a little as she watches him move to run the bath then moving to inform Max of his new plans. When he reappears she smiles sadly as he moves over gently pulling her top up and off of her.

"Alright, gorgeous." Lando smiles before he tries to hide a frown that momentarily appeared. She's still looking a little too small for his liking since he knows this isn't her healthy weight. "You are so beautiful."

Y/n raises her hands, wiping at her eyes again.

"Alright, baby." Lando smiles once the bath is filled. "Gotta get you completely naked."

Y/n sighs standing up and allowing Lando to look at her for a moment before he pushes her shorts down then guiding her to the bath before he strips off and climbs in with her.

"I'm so going to get you sick too." Y/n mumbles looking guilty but Lando only rolls his eyes.

"If you were going to get me sick, I'd be sick by now." Lando states though he really knows that's not entirely true. He just doesn't want her to push him away if when she's feeling like this. He really wants to just keep her close to himself at all times. Regardless of his own health.

Even if he does have a race not this weekend but the next, getting ill is not an option for going into that race.

"I love you so much baby. So so much." Lando smiles while wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tightly.

"I love you too, it sucked not coming to Silverstone...it's the home race."

"There's more home races in my future. Don't worry." Lando smiles while he head drops back on his shoulder. "You're going to be at the next one. I'm going to make sure of it."

"Working magic?"

"I always do." Lando smirks than laughing when she tsks at him knowing he's referring to something no as innocent as she can handle right now. "How are you feeling?"

"I just want to be...better." Y/n grumbles before she frowns. "I do like having you here. It's nice having you here. I really missed you more than anything I hate missing a race, but really I hate not getting to see you more."

"I hate not having you there too baby. I hate not being able to just tuck you away you in my pocket. But I do like coming home to you too. Makes me feel like I got you wifed up."

Y/n snorts then hiccuping as her emotions get the better of her again and she begins to tear up.

"Alright, baby. It's ok."

With anyone else Lando would almost certainly not tolerate so much tears but he knows y/n is crying to be annoying. She's just feeling like shit and there's no fix to it.Eventually the water cools a little and wanting to prevent a potential fever or just making her generally worse. Lando gets them out the bath.

Max has disappeared from the streaming set up as they walk through the apartment and Lando decides to just tuck y/n into bed after sort of getting her dressed before moving to check that his friend isn't mad that he bailed on him.

"Hey, mate. Sorry." Lando sighs earning a smile from his friend.

"Don't worry about it, I'm just glad I'm not as bad a state as y/n. I was going to go out and grab some food for us? Want to text me some food orders from y/n?"

"Yeah, I'll see if I can force a request out of her. She's says it still hurts just swallowing."

"Christ, is that what made the two of you take so long in there? Poor girl can't catch a break with you." Max jokes then being swatched at by his friend. "Alright. Sorry, that was wrong of me."

It took till only a couple days before the next race for y/n to feel sure and recovered enough to go with Lando to the Hungary GP.

"You seem very very happy to have your girlfriend. I think I've heard so many thing about people closely following her progress and updates about her tonsillitis. But she must be better. How bad was it?"

"I mean she wasn't eating, could hardly drink. Fever, cough and sneezing a lot."

"Oh poor thing, is that why I'm hearing about you being the best nurse?" The journalist laughs while Lando grins.

"Yeah, I basically saved her life." Lando jokes then spotting her. "I do want to hurry here because she looks like she wants me to go over there."

Lando is given the ok to leave and he rushes over to his girlfriend catching her in a kiss since they did check with the medic who even swabbed her tonsils for tests to make sure she wasn't contagious anymore. She's all clear and Lando has been abusing his privilege of being able to kiss her without a second thought.

"Everyone cares so much more about knowing that you're ok thank actually asking about me and driving." Lando grins though he does actually know for a fact he'd happily talk about this woman any day of the week for hours upon hours and if asked about her in an interview he'll detail everything he can about her and how much he loves her.

"That's because I'm the coolest and luckiest girlfriend in the paddock." Y/n laughs making him pick her up and almost toss her in the air though she manages to catch herself locking her legs around his waist, laughing as he runs to the McLaren unit. "Where are we going?"

"I'm still force feeding you till you're back up to healthy weight." Lando smirks making her roll her eyes since Lando might have to make sure he's never gaining too much weight but he seems to be on a mission to really get her back to her weight before she got sick. "Don't get sassy because I do these things out of love and care for you."

"So bossy." Y/n jokes just to really play into the idea that she's trying to annoy him. "I love you really, even if you are bossy."

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iamthescalesofjustice · 2 years

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why is tim the endangered salamander in the river of my mind

#this man is an indicator species #every now and then for no apparent reason i enter Tim Stoker Suffering Extravaganza lockdown for like 48 hours #and the i come out of it with some fascinating new aus that bloomed in the midst of a semi-delirious furor #and i surface from that and breathe fresh air and look back at what just happened and go 'ok now what the hell was all that about'#but i know what its about just not why #what its about is that some time in the next week after that the bleeding starts #and then the next. well. at least 2 weeks? is a different kind of fugue. one of exhaustion.#which. okay sure but. why him?? why is this the thing that heralds it. why has my brain sunk its teeth into this #its not even sexual. i would understand if it was. but its almost purely emotional sadomasochism. hurt no comfort. whump. etc #'what if tim crying and wretched and miserable and full of hate and bitterness and lost and grieving' said my brain. again. for some reason #'we have been over this? im pretty sure we have been over this before #several times. im not sure theres any new material to be found here' i replied. like a fool. before coming up with 3 entirely new scenarios #meanwhile the factory upstream is dumping pollutants into the river and my man is experiencing side effects as it damages the ecosystem #just release him into a nice stream somewhere. let him have a rock to shelter him and clean water. this has all been A Bit Much

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3archangelsaints · 1 month

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"Aye lass, what do you want for yer birthday?"

"A dog." You say quickly, smiling and opening up pinterest, showing pics of German Shepherds and Blegian Malinois. Johnny scrolls through it, as you laugh and giggle and reach for the phone. "Give it."

"Aye, should I tell Lt you want a dog?" He laughs and you shake your head.

"And tell him what? That I'm so fucking miserable when he's deployed and sometimes I can't do anything from crippling anxiety at the thought that he's dead. That I want a dog so I'm not lonely." You say it so quickly and emotionally, that you almost sob and tremble at the confession. "Sorry."

He tugs you into a side hug. "Lt know?" You shake your head.

"Its his life. He has you guys, I don't wanna take that from him." You say solemnly. Trembling. "Please don't tell him."

---

You slump into the sofa, feeling dazed and overwhelmed. "Did he tell you?" You ask eyes closed, but its directed to Simon.

"Tell me what?" He sounds confused. Your lips purse and you tremble scared.

"I can't sleep when you're deployed, and I get lonely, sometimes my anxiety is so bad I can only sleep until I pass out from pure exhaustion." You pause. "Simon, I don't know if I can handle it happening to you too." You breathe ragged. "That's why he's getting - got me a dog." I cry softly.

Simon looks at Kyle and John as he comforts you. Nothing they can say can be of comfort and its not like your thoughts were irrational, it could happen, Simon - Ghost could be killed. One pull of a trigger pointed at his head and then gone.

Price nods. "We're gonna get you that dog, eh?"

"We can call him Soap if you want." Kyle offers. You laugh and cry into Simon's shoulder.

"He was the only one who saw my wedding Pinterest board." You admit. Everyone goes silent. "He was gonna be the best man, he said, that he'd talk to Lt." You huff tearfully, "Maybe Price officiate, he said, Gaz would be the ring bearer." And suddenly you're laughing hysterically before wailing in utter despair.

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callme-holly · 2 months

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could you maybe please do some scenarios for (y/n) comforting sodapop, Dallas, ponyboy, and Johnny if you want please. also could you please make the reader fem please and thank you

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 [𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬, 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐝𝐞.]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - im a little behind on requets but im getting there! i've got my final exam of this week tomorrow and then i'll be a lot speedier, i promise. asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1.6k

𝐰��𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mentions of fighting, getting jumped and small injury detail

Dallas Winston - The room is quiet as you card your fingers through Dallas’ hair, the greaser’s head resting against your thigh. His eyes are closed, and there's a nasty bruise blossoming on his cheekbone, accompanied by a few bloodied scrapes that he refuses to let you clean. There’s dried blood crusted beneath his nose, which you wipe away gently with the pad of your thumb, humming softly under your breath as he breathes out a low, soft groan. “You alright?” Your tone is barely above a whisper as you tug at the ends of his mussy locks, pushing them back from his face. He blinks once or twice, his eyelashes fanning against his cheeks, and his expression is a little less pained than it was just minutes ago. “Yeah,” he murmurs after a moment, “fine.” He shifts a little bit so that his head is now more firmly planted upon your lap, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a half embrace. You reach down between the two of you and retrieve the ice pack that is sitting forgotten beside you, pressing it against his swollen cheek once more. He makes a disgruntled noise but doesn't open his eyes again. “Sorry 'bout this.” His voice is rough, strained from the exertion: “Y' shouldn't have to take care of me all the damn time.” The words fall heavy between the two of you as he speaks, and you smile softly, shaking your head. “It ain't too much trouble, really.” You rub small circles against his bicep, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “And besides...” your voice drops to an almost conspiratorial murmur, “I like taking care of you. It makes me feel better when I know you're not lying dead in a ditch somewhere.” He gives you a lopsided grin at that, eyes still closed. “You've got so much faith in me, doll.” Your smile widens, feeling something twist inside of you. You take his hand, squeezing it gently before pressing a quick kiss to his busted-up knuckles. “Whatever.”

Sodapop Curtis - A small sigh leaves your lips as Soda buries his face in your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your middle, tears cascading down his cheeks as he struggles for air. It pains you to see him like this, his usual bright smile replaced with a look of pure anguish, silent sobs racking his body. You rub slow circles against his back, mumbling soft words of reassurance into his ear as he clings to your shirt. “I don’t understand,” he gasps, his voice thick with emotion. “Why can't they just get along? They never used to be like this. A shudder runs through him, and you tighten your hold on him, rocking him a bit back and forth as he cries. “Shh, Soda, hey, you need to breathe,” you murmur soothingly, combing your fingers through his hair. “You’re gonna make yourself sick.” You press a soft kiss to the top of his head, hushing him quietly as his cries gradually abate. “I just want them to get along.” Soda whispers brokenly, burying his face against your collarbones. “I'm tired of being made to pick sides. I don't wanna be in the middle all the time.” You hum sympathetically, shifting slightly so that you can wrap both arms around him and pull him as close as physically possible. Soda melts into your touch, relaxing fully against you. You can tell he's exhausted, both emotionally and physically. "I hate it.” He sounds miserable. “All they do is yell at each other. Darry is way too hard on Pony, and Pony's trying his hardest, but he can only take so much–" Soda stops abruptly, his breath hitched in his throat as another sob tears from him, wracking his body. His grip tightens around your middle and your heart clenches painfully at the sight. “I just want things to go back to normal.” You give a slow nod, closing your eyes. “I know, I know. It'll be okay.” You press another gentle kiss to his temple and run your hands slowly up and down his spine, trying to offer as much comfort as you can. He relaxes under your touch, melting further into you as he tries to take deep, steady breaths, struggling to control himself. You tilt his chin up so that he's looking at you once more, running your thumb over his cheek. “I love you, you know” “Mm,” he hums, blinking rapidly to rid his vision of the last remnants of tears. His eyes meet yours, and even though his gaze is glassy and filled with sadness and pain, his expression is soft and tender. “Love you too.”

Ponyboy Curtis - You're sitting in the lot, your jacket pulled tightly around you, when you hear the sound of approaching footsteps. You stiffen and turn sharply, expecting to see a group of drunken socs or the odd greaser looking for trouble, only to come face to face with none other than Ponyboy Curtis. He has tears streaming down his cheeks, his hair mused as he all but throws himself at you, shoulders shaking and chest heaving. You don’t speak a word as you pull him into your arms, rubbing your hands over his shoulders in an attempt to calm him. His head comes to rest on your shoulder, one fist clutching the front of your sweater as tight as possible, the other hanging uselessly by his side. For several moments, he sits in silence, letting you hold him while he finally manages to collect himself. Then he pulls back, wiping furiously at his face. “Sorry…” You don’t miss the way he averts his gaze from you as he speaks, refusing to make eye contact. “Didn't mean to bother you; I just—” You shake your head, interrupting him. “There’s no reason for you to apologise.” You pause, considering for a long moment before continuing. “What's up?” He exhales shakily, then hesitantly meets your gaze again. “I—Darry yelled at me again. He got real mad this time.” His voice cracks, and you pull him close once more. You know Darry’s been harder on him as of late, expecting too much of a boy Pony’s age. You know he means well, but you also know the toll it’s been taking on the younger Curtis brother and how difficult these past few weeks have been for him. “Sometimes I don't think Darry likes me very much.” You can hear the vulnerability in his tone, unable to miss how broken he appears. He's not crying anymore; if anything, he looks a little embarrassed and ashamed. You frown, brushing his damp bangs from his forehead. “Don't be ridiculous.” Your tone is firm, determined to keep him from ever getting caught up in that dark spiral. “He cares about you a whole lot.” “He's got a funny way of showin' it.” Pony grumbles softly, and you can't help but laugh at his bluntness, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “I wish he'd be nicer. I really don't like all the fighting we do.” “I know. But it'll get easier.” You look down at him. “If you want, I can go talk some sense into him.” That earns you a smile as Ponyboy nods, squeezing you a little tighter. “Good luck. I doubt he’ll listen.” You press a quick kiss to his forehead, smiling softly. “I’ll try my best.”

Johnny Cade - Arms circle around your waist, gripping onto you tightly as you comb your fingers through his tangled, and still heavily greased, hair. Johnny’s head rests in your lap, eyes squeezed shut as he tries desperately to fall into some sort of relaxed state, but he just can't seem to find the will within himself to do so. You watch him silently, running a finger absently along his jawline, taking in the bruises and cuts littering his face and arms. He looks worn thin and broken; his cheeks are tear-stained and hollowed by exhaustion. His breathing remains unsteady and uneven, his skin pale, and you can't help but reach out and brush the pad of your thumb across the faint lines beneath his eyes, your brow furrowing deeply. He flinches slightly but doesn’t open his eyes, his breath hitching. “Sorry,” You whisper, going back to smoothing your hand over his hair. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” Johnny lets out a soft sigh, leaning his forehead against your stomach. “S' okay…” He shifts a little closer to you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together. “...just glad yer here.” You bite your lower lip, tracing patterns into the back of his hand with your thumb, pressing soft kisses against his forehead as you let him snuggle closer, relishing in the simple closeness of it all. It eases your nerves knowing he's safe with you and calms the storm raging inside of you. Your mind wanders back to earlier, the images of him lying, half-dead, in that field flashing unbidden through your mind. It takes a lot to make Johnny Cade cry, but the second you had knelt down beside him and pulled him into your arms while the gang huddled about you, his composure had completely crumbled. Sobs had wracked his body, shaking his entire frame, and you could do nothing but hold him until he had finally calmed down. And now, here he was, curled up into your embrace, clinging to you like a lifeline. Every little noise made him jump, every sudden movement made his muscles tense, and your heart ached for him. You wanted so badly to make everything better, but there was nothing you could do. All you could do was stay there, holding him as he cried, wishing that there was something you could do besides sit by and whisper softly to him. But, you know, right now, just you being there is enough for him.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #johnny cade #dallas winston #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis x reader #johnny cade x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #ponyboy curtis imagine #dallas winston imagine #johnny cade imagine #sodapop x reader #dally x reader #ponyboy x reader #the outsiders imagine

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mactavishsgfandwife · 3 months

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141 When They’re Sick

bilingual privilege is using your second language to scribble down notes for your tumblr fanfiction in class with the reassurance that no one else will be able to understand what you’re writing 😋 pure fluff (not proofread)

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish

soap has such man flu vibes

i just know he will have a little cold from never dressing appropriately for the english weather (he thinks he can tough it out) (he can’t) and then lays on the sofa for a week, miserable and constantly pining for your attention

he loves a cup of tea when he’s sick but he also swears that irn bru has magic restorative qualities, and "that’s how i keep m’physique, bonnie"

Johnny groans, rubbing his face with his palm as he lays stretched out over the sofa, his feet resting on one arm and a hot water bottle flopped lazily over his stomach. For the most part, the grunts and sighs seem genuine, but you could swear that he makes sure to emphasise his suffering when you walk past, just to let you know what a big strong boy he’s being for dealing with his sore throat and slight headache.

"Head hurts…" he groans, holding a forearm over his eyes to shield them from the light.

"I know, honey… you want a paracetamol?" you pat his head, trying to hide your little, sympathetic laugh.

"Nah, only just had one… Y’could gimme a kiss, though," he grinned up at you, his tone lightening a little.

"Ew! Stop, I don’t want your germs," you laugh, pulling your hand away from his hair.

"Aww, c’mon… might make me feel better," Johnny teases, sitting up a little (he wasn’t really that weak in the first place) and holds your wrist so you can’t escape. When you see the stupid, irritating grin on his face, you know you don’t really care about germs. You just want to kiss him.

Captain John Price

price, when he’s feeling ill, likes to be looked after - the number one cure for ANY of this man’s problems is a warm bath

he loves it when you act like a little housewife for him, running him a warm bath and bringing him a constant stream of cups of tea - sometimes he’ll pretend to be sicker than he is for a little longer than he has to just for a day or two more of being doted on by you. not that you don’t do that anyways.

but he’s a menace when you try to go off shopping or to work - he lays a strong, hairy arm over you, mumbling something about being sick and needing you to stay

if you massage his back and shoulders when he’s feeling sick, he will be so happy. it takes a little longer than when he rubs your back because there’s just more of him, with his broad shoulders and muscular dad-bod (yum)

You have John laying on his front, on the bed, arms crossed under his head. His hair is damp, getting the bedsheets a little wet beneath him, and he has a soft white towel wrapped loosely around his hips - he smells strangely like lavender (he definitely used your shower gel instead of his because yours is nicer - you pretend not to notice, as your hands gently move up and down his sore back).

He’s managed to come down with a bad cold the day after an intense workout, so his body is totally exhausted and nothing really appeals to him other than laying down. Being as fit as he is, you wouldn’t expect him to be in such a state, but the man needs a break and it’s plain to see.

The soft light from the nice-smelling candles that you’ve lit on the bedside table plays in his wet hair, which you gently comb your fingers through.

"You been using my products again, hmm?" you grin with a gentle tone, leaning in closer to him.

"Sorry love…" he starts to respond, his voice a little hoarse.

"It’s okay," you laugh softly, nuzzling your face into his back as you lower yourself on top of him, like a weighted blanket. Your soft hands wrap gently around his scarred sides, as little sighs of contentment leave your mouth.

"What happened to my back rub?" he teases, feeling your body laying against him. Still, he doesn’t a muscle to stop you from cuddling up to him.

As you keep quiet, enjoying the warmth of his body, he chuckles and pulls himself into a more comfortable position below you.

"That’s alright, sweetheart…" he replies to your silence.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

simon would try to be an unphased tough guy but he’d have little moments of weakness

he’d insist that he’s not that sick while taking paracetamol and drinking tea constantly, pulling you close to him as often as he can and being clingier than usual (he’s always touchy, but he is particularly reliant on you now)

he’s in a terrible mood, but just resting his head on your shoulder or holding you while you work helps him… better yet, he loves it when you’re sitting on the sofa and working on your laptop, or watching a film, and he gets to lay down with his head in your lap - with your soft fingers occasionally brushing through his short hair

he’s a tough guy, but when it’s just you and him, he can just lay down with his girl without worrying about being ghost. he’s just simon - poorly simon, with his sweet girlfriend taking care of him.

Phone in your hand, you quietly text your friend about her crazy ex boyfriend and the dress that she’s going to wear out tonight - the red one or the other red one, with the different neckline? You look up to the doorway to see a tall, tired man walk into the sitting room - 6’4", dressed in an old grey hoodie and a pair of pyjama bottoms, ruffling his hair and looking utterly exhausted.

"Thought you were asleep, Si…"

"Can’t sleep," he mumbles gruffly, silently moving towards you and finding a spot to lay his head - right in your lap, his feet resting on the opposite arm of your big sofa.

Understanding his fatigue, you sigh softly and stroke his head as it lays against you. His skin is pale, showing his sickness, and his eyes look tired and dry. A little groan escapes his lips as he shuffles on the sofa, trying to make himself comfortable.

"Love you, darling…" he whispers softly, his eyes shutting in preparation to finally sleep.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

i feel like kyle’s love language is food

if you make that man a curry or a good spag bol, he will secretly be making plans to propose to you as he eats it

and that’s all the more true when he’s ill or tired out - some comfort food home cooked by you would mean the world

Gaz had a bad cold and had been hibernating in bed all day, mostly asleep but occasionally watching the football or texting Soap to complain about how sick he is. As you walked into the room, brandishing a bowl of spaghetti carbonara, his eyes lit up.

"Hey, what’s this?" he grins, his voice a little hoarse.

"Carbonara. For you," you chuckle, placing it down on his bedside table, "I have some work stuff to finish, I-"

"Y’could just stay with me instead. I’ve been locked up in here all day," he teases.

"You’ve been asleep all day! I really need to… well…"

"Come on, baby."

You struggle to hide the grin that’s creeping onto your face, not wanting to procrastinate your work any longer (this wasn’t the first time Kyle has stolen you away from typing up emails) but he got what he wanted when, a moment later, you were cuddled up to him. Wearing his tshirt and your underwear, with your head resting on his shoulder.

"Oh my God, this is so good!" he chuckles, eating, voice still strained from the sore throat. He’s mostly just happy to have you next to him (oh, as well as the pasta).

gaz is my babyyyyyyy i don’t think you guys get it 😣😣😣 this took an age and a half to write i hope it’s up to standard thanks for reading!! xx

608 notes · View notes

fillemarlou · 2 months

Text

time to pretend.

pairings. slytherins x fem!reader

summary. a typical day at the summer house.

fillemarlou says. saltburn inspo but no bath water :/ this is bad lol purely for the aesthetic.

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"oi!"

the morning sun was beaming down stronger than yesterday. your sunglasses weren't even enough to keep you from squinting, though the book in your hands did good job if held at the right angle. and had it not been for the towel between, your skin would've been sticking to the lawn chair.

"morning blaise..." pansy said dreamily at your right. she was still half asleep.

you looked over your shoulder and saw blaise approaching, draco in tow. "didn't even bother to tell us you were out here, i see."

"we wanted you to get your beauty sleep, darling. nice swim trunks." they had tiny hula girls on them.

"i am a man of fashion." he plopped himself at the chair to your left, adjusting his shorts and sunglasses. he flashed a smile - a pretty one that only he could own and flaunt regardless the time of day. he quickly nudged your leg and pointed to draco, who sat at pansy's feet.

he was covered in noticeable amounts of sunscreen, head to toe. not only with a look of distain on his face but his slouch conveyed a message just fine on its own.

involuntarily a snort escaped, followed by stifled laughs.

"oh shut up."

even pansy, who was curled on her side away from everyone, sticking her hand out to some small animal, laughed, "we're only admiring you.”

all he could do was roll his eyes.

"stolen my chair then, have you?"

everyone’s attention turned to the voice, only to see enzo, also in his bathing suit, holding a platter of fruit. he almost looked like the cover of a magazine your mother wouldn't let you buy.

glancing over the back of the chair you could see mattheo and theodore walking in the field, talking lazily, probably sharing their first hellos of the day.

lorenzo placed the silver plate down on the small table between the chairs. you had asked him to bring something to eat expecting a piece of toast, though with him, you should've known better.

"well we can share, you know?"

"thank you, enzo."

he gave you a quick nod and wink, his way of saying no problem, never wanting to make a big deal out of gestures he found to be the minimum in his friendships.

"want me to sit on your lap then, blaise?"

draco rang on your left, "past a strawberry… please."

your arm extended to him, presenting three instead of just one. he cracked a reluctant smile, always surprised at how well you all knew him, never letting him stay miserable for long, "thanks."

a new shadow appeared on the ground in front of you causing you to peer up and greet theodore, "fruit?"

he shook his head, eyes still puffy and barely open, indicating he had just awoken. he stretched and rested his hands on either side of yours and pansy's chairs. bringing his forehead down to his left hand, he seemed to be taking a chance at sleep again.

"theo's had a rough morning."

you turned again and almost cackled at the sight of lorenzo sitting in blaise's lap, and mattheo sitting in lorenzo's. you could've sworn you saw the chair slightly give way under their weight.

pansy teased, "but an excellent night, isn't that right, teddy?"

he groaned loudly. drinking was never his strong-suit. he could roll and smoke all day, even on his worst, but going shot-for-shot was something he did only when feeling the most audacious. and something he always came to regret.

he shuffled his way to the small dock at the pond in front of you. eyes still closed, he laid down on the edge, his arm hanging over and into the water.

"hangover so bad he had to reconnect with nature."

“we’ve all been there.”

you smiled idly. placing the book on your stomach, not even considering an odd tan line. tilting your head back, your eyes closed.

a breeze blew, giving your skin a break from the exhausting heat it was under. you could feel the full trees above sway, and hear the water of the pond move with theodore’s helping hand. the low indistinct chatter of your friends simply background noise to remind you you weren’t alone in this oasis.

most mornings were like this. easy and quiet, any and all problems excluded from this place, this bubble of a world you had. if ever asked what moment you wished you could relive again and again, it would always be this.

the large, wall lining, arched windows of the left wing hallway made it the sunniest place in the house at this time of day. and the cold tile felt nice under your concrete-burnt feet.

the windows were wide open, allowing the plants and hung-dry linens of the courtyard to creep in and fill the corridor with a scent that could make one nostalgic for a place and time they’ve never even been.

your steps were the only sound until they multiplied. by the cadence of the walk, you knew who it was.

“theodore feeling any better?”

“loads,” in the corner of your eye you could see him pull a cigarette out and spark a light, he took a long drag before continuing, “gave him one of my cures.”

you shuddered, twisting your face. mattheo had an affinity for putting ingredients in a pot, mixing it up, and saying it would fix any and all problems. sometimes you thought even he didn’t believe his own words, he just liked seeing your face contort in disgust. “let me know when his tail starts growing.”

entering the room at the end of the hall, the sound of the shower running became clear. the french doors of the back wall were open, allowing air to flow freely.

you spun on your heel and allowed yourself to fall onto the four-poster, now staring at the charm displayed up on the canopy. one you recognized, as all your parents used to do it when you were children; a depiction of the night sky, to lull you to sleep and wish you sweet dreams.

mattheo was on his stomach next to you, carefully tapping ashes off the side of the bed. in the lighting of the room you could see how summer had be treating him, skin tanned by the sun, while his hair only got lighter. he tapped your arm for your attention, and pointed to the bathroom, furrowing his brows.

“pansy.” you answered.

an oh formed on his face.

the sound of wind chimes rang in the distance, accompanied by tree leaves brushing against each other, and birds singing softly. there were actually a few birds gathered at the small balcony just outside the french doors. they always seemed to gravitate towards pansy, all the beauty in life resided to her.

“i wonder what snape is doing right about now.”

you groaned, putting your hands over your face, trying to hide from the imagine of your professor in your mind, “don’t mention him, his energy will invade the space.”

“say his name three times and he’ll appear, you know!” pansy’s shouting voice carried into the room. there was actually no need for her to, you could hear her perfectly fine seeing as the bathroom door was wide open; she hated having it closed, never wanting to be separated from the rest of world for too long.

you shouted back, “says she who flirts with him for a higher grade!”

“it’ll work one day, just you wait!”

this was true, she was absolutely convinced she could charm her way to at least Exceeds Expectations. not that anything had given her an indication it had worked in the past. or ever.

mattheo sat up, almost choking on his laugh, “just do what enzo does, pretend your best friends with him.”

the shower turned off, followed by long rustled movement before she walked out. she held a stark white towel to her body, water droplets coming off her hair and onto her freckled collarbones. “does it work?”

he ran a hand through his hair while reaching to put his cig out on the bedside ashtray, “ ‘course not. but easier to watch and keep the lunch down than your attempts.”

she made a face before opening one of the dresser drawers next to her and chucking a pair of balled-up socks at him.

suddenly the door bursted open, presenting blaise and lorenzo. they wore cheesy smiles and had their arms extended out beside themselves, “OUR DINNER OUTFITS!”

both were still wearing their swim trunks from earlier in the day, yet this time accompanied by suit jackets, ties, - that certainly did not match and they definitely dug up from the attic - dress shoes, and jewelry to go with. theo ran up behind and wrapped a boa around blaise’s neck.

“no fair! i want one!”

“there’s a whole lot more in the boxes we found, hurry up and we’ll get you one.”

“didn’t think to include me, then?”

“those have to be at least 60 years old.”

“jesus enz, what kinda parties did your dad used to throw?”

he flopped on the bed, a dust cloud emerging from the jacket, causing you to cough and wave your hand through the air. “no clue,” he leaned closer to you, showing his wrist, “but look at this fancy watch i found.”

it looked as old as time.

“no doubt you’re sweating enough for all of us in those?” draco leaned on the doorframe.

“would be unnatural if we weren’t.”

pansy walked to the armoire, and shuffled her hanging clothes along until she found what she was looking for: a silk black dress. she picked the hanger off the rack and walked it over the french doors, putting on the doorframe. she turned to everyone’s eyes on her and shrugged, “might as well.”

playing dress up was always fun, especially when all the glamour was real. watches and diamonds, boas and silks.

the dining hall was lit, wall to expansive wall with candles. the curtains up high drawn back, displaying the rising moon. the long table in the center was decorated with the most gorgeous grand arrangement.

the house elves had absolutely outdone themselves, platters of food spanning each end of the table. and though you didn’t see much of them, you made a mental note to seek at least one out and thank them.

after more digging around and even a trip to the attic, which made you consider taking a second shower of the day, you had found the best box of all; charles berkshire’s record collection. bowie, zeppelin, beatles, queen - it was a 60s/70s wet dream. so for the first time in what must’ve been years, the gramophone record player of the dining hall was to be put to use.

with everyone now standing at their respective seats, prosecco was to be poured.

mattheo, who sat on the right head of the table, was the one to open it; he always was. his naturally mischievous smile was one to be admired, especially when each of you wore the same one. with a big POP! he went around and filled everyone’s flutes - although you all cheered, the night hadn’t started just yet.

each with your drinks, lorenzo danced over to the record player and placed the needle down. a night at the opera began. he slowly turned to face you all once again, raising his glass and walking back to his seat, the left head of the table. all other glasses were then raised high, and his role as host was to be fulfilled, “live forever!”

“live forever!” you chorused, arms extending closer to each other before cheers erupted once again, louder this time, accompanying the crescendo of death on two legs. cups were brought to mouths, and taking your first sip you could’ve sworn you recognized that phrase, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, but couldn’t seem to place it.

pulling chairs forward, everyone was sat. looking around, under the immense candle light their faces had a new glow, one that filled you with an unexplainable excitement. the night had begun.

the feast was lovely, you all agreed it must’ve been the best you’d ever had. though you could’ve just been drunk and hungry.

“this is the best food i’ve ever tasted.”

“best.” emphasized lorenzo.

mattheo covered his mouth, still chewing, “never been better.”

this conversation happened multiple times since you had started eating. each time blaise ended it by saying, “god we sound like our parents.”

the room smelled like the extravagant parties back home, the boys smoking their macanudo’s - inspirado black’s, they swore by - leaving strong cigar smoke lingering above you. pansy had drank enough to pull out her cigarettes, and one was passed around the table. your glass was bottomless, literally, allowing your feeling of weightlessness to continue.

the conversations around were indecipherable, you just sat picking at whatever food was left on your plate, intent on listening to the music in the background. the record player was enchanted, never needing for someone to get up and change the record; once the needle was down, and an album was over, a new one would take its place.

you took another sip of whatever it was in your glass, listening to the end of some song, what was going to play next didn’t even cross your mind until the beginning chords of a new one rang out. standing up suddenly, causing your drink to slightly spill on the hard wood, you gasped, “this SONG.”

your arm immediately shot out to pansy, who looked up at you mid-drag and smiled. you couldn’t even remember what song it was or where you had heard it before but you knew it was imperative to give it its own moment. meeting each other halfway, arms waiting for the other person and giggling, your hands interlocked with hers.

dancing, spinning around, and laughing; you had never felt so blissfully unaware. or dizzy.

more bodies appeared around the two of you, but ones you knew well and invited with the most love one could feel for another person. blaise’s boa wrapped around him and draco as they danced and sang, theodore holding a bottle of champagne while mattheo bent lower to waterfall it, and enzo grabbing both yours and pansy’s hands to spin you simultaneously.

you weren’t sure who’s laugh was who’s, or what song was playing, who’s hand you were holding, or what drink was being poured, not like any of it mattered. once again you had entered a bubble, impenetrable from the outside world.

the library couch was the comfiest in the whole chateau. the fire had been crackling for some time, accompanied by lorenzo’s piano playing on the west wall. he was actually the best you’d ever heard, though he shyly kept his talent close to his chest - until the proper moments.

you watched the embers pop off the fire mindlessly, not thinking about anything in particular. a book sat in your lap but it had been forgotten long ago, your unfocused eyes unable to retain the words. they were however able to travel upwards to the painting on the mantle, for the first time you truly looked at it - it was a group of people, slightly older than yourself. you immediately recognized lorenzo’s father, although here he was more handsome, his son certainly took after him. searching farther you spotted a woman, and after some staring you deduced it was bellatrix, her cheekbones being the exact same as mattheo and enzo. she truly was beautiful, regardless of the sinister look she was giving through the paint. you couldn’t make out the others, though you noted a boy, who was definitely younger than the rest, with curls that fit his face well and a solemn expression that carried a worlds worth of weight.

mattheo and draco sat on the rug, silently playing chess. they had become more and more fond of muggle chess as the summer went on.

pansy was sprawled out on the lounge chair to your right, the spaghetti straps of her dress daring to slip off her shoulders. her eyes were closed as she hummed - incorrectly - to the piano. she hung her head over the edge, causing her bangs to fall off her face, and her now open green eyes found yours. your smiles matched each other.

blaise, who was seated next to you on the couch, had his legs resting on the ottoman. he was holding a letter from his mother that had arrived a couple days ago, just now finding the time to read it. theodore was in the opposing lounge chair, eating the chocolates that accompanied the letter. she had sent them just for him - his favorites from honeydukes he had sorely missed. he watched mattheo and draco’s game intently.

“play that last one again.” you had called out to enzo.

he scooted his chair and looked over his shoulder, “liebestraum no. 3?”

“sure.”

“you like liszt?”

you paused, turning to face him and furrowing your brows in obvious confusion, before replying to the best of your ability, “…i like you?”

he gave a smile that was only reserved for you. liebestraum no. 3 began again.

you slumped down on your side, your feet now hitting blaise’s clothed thigh, he gave a tap to your ankle, indicating recognition but not taking his eyes off the letter. with your ear now against the armrest, your breathing slowed.

you focused on every sound. the chess pieces gliding across the wood board followed by draco’s or mattheo’s huffs of concentration, the faraway wind chime carrying in through the open window, lorenzo playing that piece you had grown to love in the last few minutes, the pops of fire, pansy’s subtle soft humming, and the crinkle of the papers blaise held.

your eyes closed, whether voluntarily or not you weren’t sure, but you didn’t fight it. overwhelming comfort and content had taken you, warmth from all over allowing absolute relaxation.

“hey… hey, wake up.”

“y/n… y/n…”

the harsh nudge of your arm made you open your eyes. squinting up, you could make out blaise and theodore. you, unintentionally, matched their tone by whispering back to them, “what?”

“wake up, we’re going for a swim.” blaise flashed you the same smile from the morning, it was so genuine even your groggy mind thought of how you’d never know anyone else with one like that. theo had moved on to wake pansy.

draco’s voice came from behind the couch, “she awake?” before an answer came he peered over from above and your eyes met, “lovely. now get pans and let’s go.”

sitting up and looking around you finally realized why everything looked different - the fire had gone out. now the only light was the full moon shining through the windows. the room was coated in silver.

you rubbed your eyes harshly to adjust and looked over to see pansy doing the same, “what do you want again?” her voice was raspy and tired.

“swimming.” you answered, standing up with the help of blaise’s hand. once to your feet you realized you were still in your dinner attire, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. you stuck an arm out to her. grasping it and standing, she opened her eyes wide and blinked rapidly. her voice was abruptly normal again, “well c’mon then.”

the boys were close behind the two of you, exiting the library. the entire manor was the same coloring of silver and blue. any other place and you would’ve been creeped out and uneasy, but in this place with these people, you could never feel anything other than safe.

going your separate ways from them to change, you and pansy walked the corridors, chatting nonsensically.

entering your room, you undressed quickly, happy to get the confining dress clothes from what seemed like hours ago, off of your body. you picked a bathing suit from drawers, tossing one to pansy too, who couldn’t be bothered to go to her room. both of you helped the other tie their suit.

voices in the hall approached your door, before a series of knocks. you both called back, “yeah?”

draco’s head peered in cautiously, before noticing you both were clothed, then opening the door fully to reveal the others. he held his arm up, “we’ve got towels, come on.”

all the boys said some iteration of come on and let’s go, eager to get out. rushing, you both were handed towels. excited chatter overtook the group, voices echoing and bouncing off the expansive walls. lorenzo appeared suddenly from the back, running, and yelling at the top of his lungs.

this triggered a domino effect, everyone was now chasing each other down the halls. something in the back of your mind told you to look around, and when you did, it seemed as though childhood had come back. playing games and having races with the same people that ran beside you now. watching their faces as they passed you saw summers long gone, of late night swims and early sun-basking mornings, dress up dinners and quiet library lounging. you ran and ran and ran.

your bare feet hit the concrete of the patio before hitting the dewy grass. though night, it was still warm, humidity latched to your skin. you had joined hands with blaise, a silent agreement. the moonlight illuminated the pond, beckoning you to come forward. it was just a ways away.

lorenzo had made it first, his shout as he jumped in rattling everything in a 10 mile radius. for the rest of the summer he would go on to say that he had to have made the world record for largest splash.

mattheo was close behind, so close in fact you thought he might land on enzo’s head, though he resurfaced just in time to watch him jump in and moved out of the way.

you and blaise were next, hand-in-hand again, running off the dock, your screams silenced by the water. cold consumed your entire body for the first time in months. it was relieving to have your body soaked in something other than sunscreen or sweat. feeling the last of your friends enter after you, you opened your eyes and found them. swimming to each other, you grazed skin as if to say even in water, i’m right by your side. if you didn’t need air, you would’ve considered staying down there forever.

breaching the surface and taking a deep breath, you brushed all the hair out of your face. you looked around to find some with droplets combing through from their hair to their eyelashes, and others with water slicked-back hair. each was breathing as heavily as you, half from having to catch their breath, half from pure exhilaration.

water splashed from all directions, making you squint and do the same. you weren’t sure who was splashing you for the fun of it and who was splashing you because you had splashed them. yelps and laughs were echoing off the surrounding trees. the plants were drinking well tonight.

“let’s play chicken!” someone had shouted over all the noise. cheers of agreement erupted from the chorus and subsequently the excessive pushing of water was halted.

you had fond memories of chicken. it used to be the boys on the girls shoulders, back when they all were still shorter than pansy and you. but now they were taller and had built quidditch bodies. as much as you believed in yourself, you didn’t desire feeling a draco sized weight on your shoulders.

“girls versus boys!” you announced.

theo shrugged, “not much of a competition.”

blaise took him by the shoulder, “ay, beware of the black haired one, she likes to go for the eyes.”

it was decided you and pansy versus theodore and lorenzo. they were a great duo, the two of them were the beaters on the quidditch team. they surely knew how to work together.

theo stood behind enzo, waiting for him to dip underwater.

“oi try not to pull the hair, i’ve got a sensitive scalp.” enzo reached a hand up and combed the back his head. theo looked like he was going to say something, before just shaking his head and sighing, “m’sure i’ll manage.”

a countdown from three began, then hitting one, you and lorenzo went under. water engrossed your entirety once more. feeling pansys hand upon your shoulder for balance, then her leg, you held on. within less than a few seconds she was securely on and you rose. you took a big breath once again, pushing your hair out of your face. the boys were in sync with you.

almost immediately pansy and theo were at each others throats. their arms went up, interlocking, and their bodies casted a shadow on lorenzo and you. it was like a tiny pocket. shouts came from beside you; blaise, mattheo, and draco each yelling out what could’ve been tips but when shouting over each other it really just sounded like a bunch of nothing. you were pretty sure whatever they were saying was going to be unhelpful anyways.

between keeping your balance, trying to push enzo, and still treading, you were determined to win.

“ah! ow! STOP TRYING TO PUT YOUR FINGERS IN MY EYES I CANT SEE!”

pansy clearly was as well.

it suddenly hit you who you were up against. this was lorenzo, the single most ticklish person you’d ever know. you weren’t sure why you hadn’t thought of it earlier. with a mischievous smile and lots of trust that pansy could remain on your moving shoulders, you reached to his bare stomach and began prodding at him.

just as you expected, he started to freak out. “hey! HEY!” he laughed between his shouts, “STOP- STOP THAT! NOT- FAIR!”

the boys on side were having a field day.

“ENZ!”

“I CANT-”

“DONT YOU DARE DROP ME.”

and with a strong push from pansy up top, and another prod to enzo’s side from you, both of their exclamation were stifled by gurgles of water.

pansy dived down, quickly coming up and hollering. cheers were shared all around, even from theo and enzo.

“let’s stick to quidditch.”

“agreed.”

in the midst of it all, you turned to face the house. it wasn’t foreign to any of you by any means, yet catching it in this moment you couldn’t help but feel amazed by its beauty. as if you were truly noticing it for the first time. it harbored your love within its stone. your love for this season, your love for this place, your love for these people. looking at the scene you saw your friends, you reached for them and they accepted, reaching for you. you heard their laughs, saw their smiles, and felt the same on yourself.

all in one breath you realized what lorenzo had said earlier was not just some toast; it was a definitive proclamation.

in this bubble of a world, you would live forever.

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456 notes · View notes

swiftispunk · 10 months

Text

in my hometown, part iii | joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist | series playlist

pairing: neighbour!dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!actor(ish)!reader (+ platonic!tommy and platonic!sarah)

rating: 18+ minors dni

word count: 10.7k

summary: pre-outbreak/tlou. joel finally accepts his fate and comes to see you in LA but he’s not prepared for what he finds (or doesn’t find) when he gets there.

*takes place after the events of come back, be here (no avoiding it, folks, you’re going to need the context - and all the foreshadowing)

warnings etc: set in 2002. smut, angst, fluff - aka PURE ROMANCE, alcohol use, drug use, unwanted sexual advance (not by joel), hurt/comfort, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, 10 year age gap (joel is 35, reader is 25), OC!adam (he deserves a warning), food, smoking mention, me making things up about hollywood. NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: well! here we are! i don’t know what to say other than thank you to every single reader who made this series what it is. i hope you feel this is a fitting end for joel and superstar, my favourite babies. dedicated to ziggy @johnwatsn who came into my life because of this fic, katy @midnightswithdearkatytspb for supporting this series from the start, and cat @joelscruff, without whom i'm not sure anyone would care about this story at all

You

I resolve to make new friends I liked my old ones But I fucked up so I'll start again What's the worst that could happen?

Is there anyone here you know?

You look around the room from your place against the off-grey wall. Adam's posh apartment in West Hollywood is filled to the brim with a sea of strangers, a collection of wannabe C-listers, supposedly there to celebrate you, haphazardly assembled by somebody else. Whatever, you let it go.

You have to start making new friends eventually. And you have to admit that your agent's assistant has some fairly notable connections. Around here, that's all that matters.

You clutch the drink Adam had made you (something far too bitter and heavy on the bourbon, not your thing at all). The darkened space overlooks a wall of windows and a sprawling balcony, forty-eight floors above the city below. Bright lights and freeways pierce the black, starless sky.

Los Angeles. Home. Or something like it.

All the while, the memory of your earlier conversation with Joel hangs over you like a rare California raincloud, ominous and debilitating.

"Okay - um, shit - it's asking me for more quarters, I'm all out. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"You can call me any time you want, darlin'."

"Bye, Joel."

"Bye - "

But he'd been cut off all too soon, dial tone ringing out through the speaker of the heavily vandalized payphone.

You'd rejoined the agency brunch party, dazed and depressed.

You'd thought Joel would have been happy for you, now that you'd finally accomplished something worthwhile. He's only heard you crying your eyes out over the phone for the past six months - although admittedly you've been calling less lately - so you’d assumed he'd have more to say than an offhand, "That's amazing sweetheart."

Sure, you'd caught him at work but that didn't justify the worst part of all; Joel had been, of all things, petty.

"Seems like Adam already knew."

Cold, unflinching jealousy, palpable even through the phone, hundreds of miles away. It had left a bitter taste in your mouth, unsure at first how to respond. What the hell did Joel have to be jealous of?

Maybe you have been calling less recently, but you've had good reason. You've actually been trying to accomplish what you came here for, auditioning constantly and working non-stop at a smoothie bar in the meantime just to pay your damn bills. You'd been on the verge of giving up entirely until the TV offer had come, the opportunity finally breathing some hope back into your miserable day-to-day life.

Other than that, it's been nothing but boring, repetitive, exhausting.

You hadn't wanted to burden Joel with that.

Somehow, after filtering through all of that, you'd landed on feeling hurt - hurt because you'd upset him, hurt because you'd made him think for even one second that you wouldn't rather be back home with him than at some meaningless agency party being showered with mimosas by a too-drunk-for-noon Adam.

But that was hours ago. Now Adam's brought you here, to what he'd affectionately referred to as a "real party," not unlike all the other ones he's been dragging you to the last couple of months. Overcrowded, late-night gatherings at his pristine apartment, unrecognizable music blaring, drugs and alcohol abound. It's always the same.

You can’t say you like the guy all too much. He's constantly overdressed to an obnoxious extent, lanky and tan with brown curls that would remind you of Joel's if they weren't constantly loaded with greasy product.

He's older than you, but not so old that he should be as cocky and confident as he is, as though he's somehow wiser to the world than you are. He's just a guy - a guy with good connections and an easy high-paying job. You've met countless people like him since you came here, talentless drifters who cling to the rich and famous, desperate for a shred of their success.

Problem is, you've also seen how much it helps to have people like that in your corner. Knowing people here is everything.

And you know for a fact there are people here tonight that are worth meeting, higher-ups and producers that you should really be shaking hands and making nice with. Instead, you pull your cell phone out of your pocket and flip it open, scrolling absently through the list of recent calls - every one of them incoming from Joel. You sigh.

"You good, Texas?" Adam's voice is saying then, catching you gloomily musing away on the fringes of the crowd.

"I'm fine," you assure him, but your voice wavers, giving you away. Stupid.

Adam smirks knowingly, eyes flitting down to the phone in your hands before you snap it shut. He slyly loops an arm over your shoulders and guides you into the throng of bodies.

"Come on and join the party, what are you hiding for?"

He leads you through the crowd to the plush, ivory couch in the centre of the open room. It's situated around a massive glass-top coffee-table, barren of any notable décor. The couch is large enough to fit you and him snugly between the bodies of four other partygoers. Booming electronic music blares from his sound system so he's forced to lean in close when he asks,

"Who's Joel?"

Fuck. How did he...?

Adam sees the question in your eyes, nodding his head towards the cell phone still clutched in your hand, presumably having caught a glimpse or your caller list. You hastily shove it in your pocket.

"He calls a lot," Adam observes. "Was that him on the pay phone earlier?"

"Uh, yeah," you finally admit.

"So...who is he?"

You freeze again. The question should be simple enough to answer, but you find yourself stumped – who is Joel? Who is Joel to you?

"He's, um...my neighbour."

Adam bursts out laughing, appropriately so, you think. It sounds ridiculous to your ears, too.

"Who calls their neighbour from a fucking pay phone?" he demands. "Who calls anyone from a pay phone, honestly? You're living in the past, Texas."

Yeah, that's probably accurate.

"Well, he's a - a family friend."

It's somewhat more accurate, but Adam's not satisfied.

"Nu-uh, it's more than that."

Your brows furrow, annoyed. You sip your disgusting drink to buy you some time while you decide if you really want to get into this with him. You don't know Adam that well, only brought together by your agent in the last couple of months or so. He's seemed far more interested in you than you have in him, often visiting you at the smoothie bar or parading you around parties just like this.

You've also noticed a sharp increase in his interest since you'd got a callback for the TV job.

So yeah, not really the first person you want to be talking to about Joel but he's kind of got you on the spot so -

"Fine, I mean, we hooked up," you concede at last. "A couple times."

"And?" Adam says, staring you down expectantly, eyebrows raised. You'd hoped your answer would have sufficed. Maybe back home, but not here apparently. You sigh.

"And now it's complicated, I guess."

"Ah, complicated," Adam nods. "You guys, like boyfriend-girlfriend now? You caught feelings? That why it always seems like you're only ever half here?"

How can one man be so fucking patronizing?

"No, we're not boyfriend-girlfriend," you roll your eyes, frustrated. "And I'm not half here. I'm here. All in."

Adam blissfully, doesn't know you well enough to catch you in the lie. Joel would have caught it.

You watch then as Adam reaches into the pocket of his shiny grey blazer to retrieve a small plastic bag filled with white powder. You pointedly avert your eyes; it's not the first time you've seen coke at a party since you got here - and certainly not the first time you've seen Adam do it - but you've still yet to indulge. Frankly, the sight of the stuff still puts you on edge.

You silently sip at your drink while Adam leans over the tabletop and empties the bag's contents directly onto the glass. No one around the table even bats an eye; this is standard for a party at Adam's. He pulls an Amex card from his wallet and crushes the minute clumps into fine dust, lining up two thick, precise lines before inhaling the first into his nose with a hundred dollar bill.

Eye-roll.

The size of the bill you snort coke with is like a dick-measure here, you've noticed. The richest, coolest, hottest men breathe in their poison with the most expensive paper, then they expect you to be impressed when they hand the rolled up bill to you, as if they're offering you the greatest gift in the world.

You shake your head when Adam does just that, leaving him to breathe in the other line himself.

"Sorry, forgot you're not into it," he grins but you don't think he sounds sorry at all.

He leans back into the couch again and swipes at his nose, leaving the bill on the table along with the remaining pile of coke.

"So, what's this guy's deal?" he asks you, pupils now shot as he stares you down with exaggerated interest.

"Joel? What do you - "

But Adam cuts you off, louder and brasher than you at the best of times, but especially so now.

"You said it's complicated, but he's not your boyfriend," he pries. "So...what's the issue?"

"I don’t know, we left things kind of…open I guess. "

"Open's fun. What's the real issue?"

You sigh again, struggling to think of the real answer to his question. Because he's right, there are a million more reasons why it's actually complicated. The hard part is trying to remember why any of them matter.

"Um...well, he's also a bit older - " you start but Adam cuts you off again with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Non-issue," he says decidedly, before he thinks of something that makes his features contort into a frown. "Unless he's like, fifty. He's not fifty, is he?"

You shake your head - though you have to admit that even if Joel was fifty, you'd probably still feel the same way about him.

"He's got a kid," you admit.

Adam grimaces - a nasty, ugly expression that sparks a sudden wave of protectiveness in your gut.

"That's a problem," he gripes.

"No," you push back. "No, I love Sarah."

Adam laughs disbelievingly, condescending.

"Who you tryna convince here, babe?"

Tragically, it's a good fucking question. You cross your arms over your chest and sit back into the couch, glaring at the table before you.

"Why don't you just tell them to come out here?" Adam suggests simply. Like it’s that fucking easy.

You shake your head again. "I couldn't ask them to do that."

He shrugs then with another patronizing laugh that makes your skin crawl.

"Then go home," he says bluntly. "Forget about the show. Follow your heart."

He places a dramatic hand over his chest, pulling a put-on sentimental face.

It's your turn to laugh now, one bitter exhale that in no way indicates humour. It's clear he doesn't see the complexity of your situation, could never understand the turmoil you've been living under for the past year, how your heart can be in two places at the same time.

"You're making fun of me," you say and he just grins triumphantly, throwing an arm over the back of the couch behind you and leaning in close to your face. You can smell liquor and the distinct scent of something chemical on his breath.

"No, but you see how crazy it sounds?"

You have to chew your lip to keep from biting his head off. You burn in your seat, shifting uncomfortably, utterly cornered between him and the back of the stranger sitting beside you.

He's right, you realize, it does sound ridiculous.

"You should be stoked you got this gig," he says, oblivious to your quiet fuming. "Do you even realize how lucky you are? You'd give it up to go play stepmom for your - fucking - neighbour?"

You hate the way his snarky voice envelops the last word so cruelly. You wish you'd never described Joel that way, reduced him to something so benign.

"I didn't say that," you argue. "I do want it. I feel lucky. It's just been...a whirlwind is all."

It's all mostly true.

Adam grins. "That's how it happens, baby. It's exciting." He places a hand on your knee and shakes your leg, cocking his eyebrows at you till you reluctantly smile back at him.

Maybe he's right. It's not that you don't want the opportunity - of course you do - it's just that you can't let go of all the ways things could be better. Namely, if Joel was here. Or maybe if all of Hollywood was in Austin.

"And I mean, three episodes..." Adam goes on, suddenly sitting up straight and talking with his hands erratically. "That's enough time to establish a fan base. This part's memorable as fuck, it's a popular show; you'll be getting calls, trust me. We'll get you a publicist, send you out to some red carpets. They're gonna eat you up, baby."

He shoots you a wink and you find yourself smirking again; he does make it sound pretty intoxicating. And it is why you came here after all. Still, it's definitely not lost on you that Adam seems far more concerned with your potential notoriety than your actual craft.

Such is the way here.

"Well," you nod, trying to absorb some of his enthusiasm. "Tomorrow I sign the contract officially so maybe it'll feel more real then. But I am...I'm excited."

It could be a trick of the light - it's gone so suddenly - but you think you catch something pass over his features then, a glint behind his eyes and the subtle twitch of his lips upwards.

"You haven't signed the contract yet?"

You shake your head, eyes narrowing at the strange edge his voice seems to take on. You can't decipher what it means.

You should have left a long time ago.

The only people still hanging around the apartment are the ones fiending around the remaining drugs, most of the notable guests having left at a reasonable hour, only Adam's closest entourage still hanging around; about six other men just like him, neatly dressed and high off their minds.

You've stayed fixed to your place on the couch beside Adam all night, watching and listening to his boisterous, meandering conversations, shrinking uneasily each time he places an arm over your shoulder or absently touches your leg.

He's been getting more and more blatant with it, his side firmly pressed into yours for the last hour or so, even though there's only the two of you on the couch now, more than enough room for him to move away. You're too nervous about how he may react if you try to move yourself.

You were never a nervous person till you came to LA.

You wish there was somewhere else you could go, someone else you could cling to. Or maybe that you were brave enough to not have to cling to someone at all.

It's past 2 a.m. when you finally consider calling it a night. But then, as if he can sense your imminent departure, Adam turns to you with wide, beseeching eyes.

"Have you checked out the view yet?" he asks.

You look over your shoulder at the wall of windows.

"I mean - I can see it."

Adam grins.

"Come see it for real," he suggests, standing and holding out a hand out to you. You reluctantly take it and rise to follow him to the balcony.

Goddamnit. It's what you've been avoiding all night, having to be alone with him. You steel yourself as you subtly slide your hand out of his, letting him lead you out through the sliding glass door into the warm, night air. He leans over the ledge while you stand several feet back, cautious.

"Nice, right?" He glances back at you, cocking his head and imploring you to move closer.

You nod, inching forward enough to rest your fingertips on the balcony's edge.

A few seconds of awkward silence pass and then -

"So, be honest," Adam starts. "Like deadly, seriously honest."

"Okay."

Adam turns to face you, leaning coolly with one arm against the ledge.

"Do you actually want this part?"

Your brows furrow, indignance painting your features.

"I have the part," you protest.

Adam shrugs. "Well, I mean, if it's not in writing..."

The fuck?

"What are you saying?" you demand as annoyance begins to prickle hot under your skin. Adam, on the other hand, appears cool as a cucumber.

"I'm just saying, if you wanted to back out, it's not too late. You could still go make your little Joel the happiest man in the world."

You guess it's what you get for confiding in him.

"I'm not backing out," you argue. "I want it, okay? Joel...Joel's not important."

It's a big, stupid fucking lie but it has to be true. You have to let him go eventually, that much is clear.

Adam's shrewd grin widens as he reaches a hand out to move your hair behind your ear. Warning signs shoot you through you at his touch, but it's his next words that truly send you into fight or flight mode.

"No?" he hums, moving in closer. "So he wouldn't mind if I kissed you right now?"

Oh. Fuck.

"What?" Your voice is flat - too flat. Weak with shock even though you could have seen this coming.

"Joel's not important?" he presses, his lips making contact with your neck. Your stomach turns.

"Adam..."

His fingers trail over your collarbone - featherlight and threatening all at once.

"How bad do you want that part, sweetheart?" His breath fans out over the skin of your neck and -

Oh, fuck this.

You push against his chest with all the force you can muster.

"Stop," you tell him, voice finally gaining some power as anger takes over. Anger at the fucking...predictability of it all. The only thing men like Adam crave more than fame is the chance to get their stupid fucking dicks wet. "I'm not doing this with you."

He shakes his head, that same cocky expression glued to his face, however tainted by the film of outrage at your rejection.

"You really don't wanna say that, sweetheart."

"Yeah, actually, I really fucking do," you rage in return. "I'm leaving."

You turn on your heel and escape through the glass door, leaving it open behind you. Adam yells something after you that you barely catch as you storm through the dwindling party and out the door, descending from the forty-eighth floor into your own personal hell.

How bad do you want that part, sweetheart?

His words echo in your mind as you fight for sleep that night, waves of tears and nausea, nausea and tears keeping you awake until the sun rises. You consider calling Joel but what could Joel do? He can't protect you now, he couldn't save you then.

You have to let him go. One way or another, you have to let go of Joel Miller.

And besides, surely what Adam had said hadn't been a genuine threat. Surely he doesn't have that kind of sway.

No. You have the part. You’re fine. You're okay.

And they tell you that you're lucky, but you're so confused 'Cause you don't feel pretty, you just feel used And all the young things line up to take your place

Joel

I bet she told a million people that she’d stay in touch, But all the little promises that don’t mean much, When there’s memories to be made

You only ever sent Joel one postcard. He'd always hoped more would come, but they never did. Just the one, some time in March. He'd been working late, hadn't remembered to check the mail. Sarah hadn't forgotten, though, of course not. He'd come home after ten o' clock to find the glossy image of a California beachside sitting on his kitchen table.

He'd curiously read your little message before folding the postcard in on itself two distinct times and slotting it into his wallet with a sigh and a faint smile.

It's stayed there ever since, though, he can't say he's looked at it again.

At least until today.

Now he examines it carefully in the driveway, glancing over the return address in the corner, burning the information into his brain and committing it to memory.

"You good to go?" Tommy says, finding Joel with one hand on the door of his pick-up.

"No," Joel tells him truthfully, cracking the driver's side door and tossing the postcard onto the passenger seat, right next to his map.

"S'alright, I'll hold down the fort," Tommy assures him with what he probably thinks is a comforting hand on Joel's shoulder. "Get Sarah to soccer camp on time and all that shit."

Joel just gives him a skeptical stare. Like Tommy has any idea what "and all that shit" entails. If Sarah wasn't so self-sufficient, Joel would never feel so comfortable leaving. He barely feels comfortable as it is.

"I mean it, you don't gotta worry," the younger Miller continues, pulling out a smoke from his pocket nonchalantly. "Just go do what y'gotta do."

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Rule number one," Joel grumbles, snatching the cancer stick out of his hand before Tommy can light it. "None o'this shit in front of her."

Tommy holds up two hands innocently. "Alright, shit."

"Don’t see her around right now, but okay…" Tommy mumbles under his breath. Joel pretends he doesn't hear it.

"To be honest, Tommy, I kinda got no fuckin' idea what it is I'm doin'."

Joel leans into the side of the truck, running a tired, nervous hand over his face. He'd barely slept last night, too keyed up after his 2 a.m. epiphany and a decision set in stone after his call to Tommy.

"Well, you got about twenty hours to figure it out, brother," Tommy quips, holding his palm out for the cigarette. Joel deposits it there reluctantly.

"I'm actually askin' for your advice, for once," Joel admits, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at his shoes.

Now he knows he's really hit rock bottom.

"You think I fuckin' know?" Tommy laughs, echoing Joel's thoughts. "I'm worse at this shit than you are."

That's...true, Joel realizes. Still.

"Just...I don't know, tell me if I'm punchin' above my weight here," he shrugs. "M'I wastin' my time? Just forcin' something that can't - or - that - that isn't - ”

He sighs frustratedly, losing his words. He can't even get it right now, here, in front of Tommy. What the fuck is he going to do when he gets to California?

Tommy seems to sense his brother's mounting dismay, his firm hand once again coming down on Joel's forearm.

"I saw the two of ya at Christmas, Joel," Tommy says, finally sounding some semblance of sincere. "Looked pretty damn natural to me. Just go say your piece and if it works out, it works out. If it don't, then, you know...you tried."

The two Millers lock eyes before Joel nods stiffly. It's not much (and it’s hardly the most soothing sentiment) but it's all Joel needs to finally get behind the wheel, to slam the truck door behind him and pull out of the confounded cul-de-sac.

Sweeping desert passes him by as he guns it west on the two-ninety. He barely had time to construct a plan beyond drive, the reality of his decision now setting in with each click of the odometer.

The memory of his pep talk with Tommy fades quickly. He's been grumbling since Fredericksburg, miserable musings that range from, "What the fuck are you doing?" to, "Turn the damn car around, idiot." Of course he doesn't, stubborn to a fault, repelling the urge to back out now that he's committed to whatever the fuck it is he's committed to.

'Course, he makes it as far as the state line before he really begins to question his choices.

He should have called. He should have asked first. He should have waited.

He's tired of waiting.

Eventually (inevitably), his emotions catch up with him. Joel's not ignorant to the way his breath has started to come in heaving gasps, hard as he tries to pretend it's not happening, even as his chest pangs painfully with each ragged inhale, intrusive thoughts moving in faster now.

Would you even still want him? When he shows up on your doorstep, will you even care? Or is he already out of time?

Fuck.

Joel's powerless to stop the tears that well in his eyes then, hot liquid salt streaming out over his cheeks and into his lap, blurring his vision.

"Shit," he curses, voice thick as he wipes the wetness out of his eyes. But the tears don’t stop; he's forced to succumb. He pulls over, hazards flashing as he parks on the shoulder.

Safely off the road, he buries his head in his hands, leaning into the steering wheel as sobs flow freely from deep in his chest. A continuous refrain of, stupid stupid stupid rings out in his mind -

This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever fucking done.

Or maybe, he pushes back on the thought, maybe the stupidest thing he'd ever done was letting you leave in the first place.

He chases the setting sun as far as Phoenix before he finally decides to call it a day. He sleeps in the cheapest motel he can find, in the driest heat he's ever felt, cloying anxiety cloaking his dreams on what he hopes is last night without you.

Dear Joel,

This is NOT the view from my apartment…but you get the idea. Maybe you’ll see it for real one day. I hope so. I miss you.

The postcard sits in the passenger seat, that little return address his only compass as he crosses into The Golden State. There are still miles of desert before he reaches LA, but the hours pass faster now the closer he gets. He's gridlocked the second he enters the city, naturally. The clogged motorways and smoggy skies of Los Angeles only further fog his troubled mind, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he navigates his way through the dense traffic.

He follows the postcard like a North Star, exiting far outside the city centre, in a neighbourhood he'd likely never venture to otherwise. You'd been telling the truth, it's nowhere near any balmy beach. He's not judging, of course (Joel'd never judge someone for having less than someone else, as someone who's barely got much to begin with) but he can't deny the tinge of protectiveness that bubbles in his guts at the sight of the pot-holed roads and condemned apartment buildings that lead to your place; surely this isn't the safest place for you to be living.

Finally, he finds your address - a small one-storey home with a lawn unattended and only two cars parked in the driveway.

He notices, uneasily, that yours isn't one of them.

He checks the postcard for the hundredth time - it's definitely the right place. He takes a deep breath and parks uncertainly across the road, folding up the postcard and stuffing it back into his pocket before taking those final, crucial steps to your front door.

He's imagined every possible scenario - from the most painful to the most perfect. Maybe you'll swing open the door and pull him right into your arms, maybe you'll tell him to fuck off, maybe you'll cry or scream or smile or all of the above.

Turns out, he needn't've worried about any of that, because instead, he's greeted by a face that's not yours and three words he certainly had not prepared for when he asks for you by name:

"She's not here."

He deflates in the doorway, his mind going temporarily blank. He scrambles dumbly to understand.

"'She's not here,' like…she's out for the day - or...?"

The girl stares back at him with confusion.

"No, as in, she's gone,” she says very slowly. "She left. She went home."

"What? When?"

"I don't know, last night?" she muses offhandedly, uncaring. "She got home late and just packed a bunch of shit and left."

Joel's blood begins to boil as she speaks, concern melding with rage at the girl's indifference while his brain tries to catch up with the reality that you aren't fucking here and he is.

"And none of you tried to stop her?" he demands, his voice rising with obvious frustration. "In the middle of the fuckin' night?"

The girl just shrugs. Another girl appears behind her then, blonde and piqued, looking on with dubious concern and a hand on the other girl's shoulder. Joel runs a palm over his face exasperatedly and tries to reign himself in before one of your roommates calls the cops on him for making a scene on their front porch.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me..." he mutters to himself.

That's when the other girl pipes up, voice high-pitched and cutting, an undeniable fry coating her words.

"Wait - you're not Joel, are you?" she asks.

He sighs, "Yeah, why?"

The two girls exchange a knowing look that makes Joel's skin prickle.

"Well, I see why she can't shut up about you," the blonde one says and the two girls snicker. Joel sighs again, he really doesn't have time for this.

"Have you tried to call her at all?" he presses.

"Why would we do that?" the blonde one ponders cruelly.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, to check on her?" he growls. "You got a phone?"

A moment of hesitation as they consider letting him in - a moment that ultimately ends when the two share a cursory nod and step aside to let Joel through.

It's a pretty small place, three bedroom doors siphoning off from a shared living area and open kitchen, mismatched furniture and a clunky TV set. Tattered movie posters and a big calendar marking the dates of various upcoming auditions line the walls above beige carpeted floors, stained from the current tenants or past ones, Joel's not sure. There's no sign of you here, no mark that tells him you once dwelled within these walls. Like you'd barely ever settled there at all.

That is, except for the room to his immediate left with the door swaying ajar, giving him a view of the space he now recognizes as undeniably yours. An all-too-familiar purple bedspread lines a twin bed that's not unlike the one you have at home. The cheap IKEA dresser that stands against the other wall though is totally alien, nothing like the one he'd built you, the one that still sits in your childhood bedroom with his initials carved into the top drawer. Discarded t-shirts and a pair of forgotten tennis shoes litter the floor.

He can almost picture you, hurriedly buzzing around the shoe-box-sized room, packing a suitcase and leaving the door swinging behind you. He'd been so close...if he'd have just gotten here that much faster maybe he could have caught you.

Most concerningly though, Joel wonders what it is exactly that could have caused you to leave in such a rush.

He swallows back a sudden lump in his throat, pulled from his reverie by the grating voice of your roommate.

"Over there," the blonde one tells him, nodding her head towards the holster on the wall in the kitchen. The two girls hover for a moment as Joel punches in the number for your cell phone, till he shoots them a disapproving glare and they - finally - scatter.

Well, he sees why you hate them so much.

He holds the receiver to his ear and listens as the line rings once, twice, a third time - fuck. Dread sets in; what if you'd let the damn thing die again?

A click, then -

"Hello?"

Thank fuck.

"Hey!" he exclaims, relief washing over him momentarily. Not for long though. "Jesus, are you alright? Where the fuck are you?"

"Joel?" you ask timidly. He thinks your voice sounds a little tight, like you've been crying. He's heard the sound through the wire enough times to recognize pain in your tone.

"Yeah, it's me, just - where are you?"

"I don't know - I don't know, somewhere in Arizona," you stammer. "I - wait, where are you?"

"I'm in LA."

"What?"

Your voice rises several octaves, piercing Joel's eardrum. He winces at the sting but works to stay focused. You're not far. He can still catch you. He can still get to you.

"Do you see anythin' around you? Anywhere you can pull in?"

"I don't - no, there's nothing, it's just desert I - what do you mean you're in LA?"

"Fuck - "

Depending on where you are, he could get to you in five hours or less...but he can't track you down in the middle of the fucking desert. He presses his hands into fists, prodding his knuckles into the kitchen wall as he wracks his brain for a solution, a way to find you before you got too far - again.

"Wait," you say then and Joel's chest hammers with a brief flash of hope. "There's a - a truck stop and - motels and stuff. Coming up, um, Benson? Does that sound right?"

As you speak, Joel pulls your postcard from his pocket while he feverishly hunts for something to write with, pulling open drawer after drawer in the kitchen, leaving a tornado's worth of disaster in his wake till he finally finds a dull golf pencil buried under a stack of audition sides.

"Just tell me the exit number," he says. "You're on the I-10, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, the I-10...um..." your voice trails as you assumedly scan for the answer. "Three-oh-two, exit three-oh-two."

Joel jots it down on the postcard, a messy scribble beside your original note.

"Get off there," he commands.

"Joel - "

"Get off there and wait, okay? I'm on my way."

There’s been no way for me to say That I felt a certain way in stages, oh I think the story needs more pages, 'cause...

You

I’m coming home from that hardest year, I’m making plans not to make plans while I’m here And this life has been no holiday, a complicated situation I’m fine all my memories, still I could use vacation

It's not romantic. It's not beautiful. It's nothing like the movies.

It's sitting on a bench at a truck stop somewhere in the middle of the desert. It's leering eyes and curious stares from onlooking men and passersby. It's cold gas station coffee, your third since you pulled in.

It's waiting. Waiting for Joel. Hours and hours and years and years of waiting, waiting, waiting for Joel Miller.

Your eyelids are drooping by the time the sun starts to fade behind the vast horizon. You've lost count of how many cars have passed you on the interstate. The cell phone hasn't buzzed since Joel'd called earlier.

You hadn't thought any part of it through last night, just packed all you could as fast as you could and driven out of town. You hadn't even consciously decided you were going home until you'd found yourself driving east on the interstate, crossing into Arizona long after midnight. You'd crashed in the first major city you hit, when the wetness in your eyes had made it hard to see in the dark and the weight of your anguish had grown too heavy to ignore.

You'd slept in too late this morning, only on the road for two hours before that call from Joel had come. You've been here ever since.

"You get stood up, gorgeous?" a brave trucker sneers, demanding your attention, his buddies looking on with vile judgment, mocking you.

"Fuck off," you shoot back, not for the first time today. Not for the first time in your life. Fending off men and the things they judge you for, the things they try to take from you, the life and joy they suck from you so carelessly.

You'd never stood a fucking chance.

Maybe that's why you'd always loved Joel, you muse to yourself as a fresh wave of tears spill from your eyes. Joel takes nothing from you, Joel wants you to live. Joel let you go even though all you'd ever wanted was for him to ask you to stay.

It's dusk now, you notice offhandedly, the air cooling as a canopy of thick, milky stars begin to coat the sky above, the neon signs and headlights dulling their shine from where you sit.

You consider walking out into the open desert, till you're far enough away from Benson that you could clearly see the Big Dipper. Better yet, you could walk north until you see the Aurora Borealis or hit the open ocean and just disappear forever into the frozen water. It would probably feel better than how you feel right now.

But no. You can't. Joel could never find you there. And Joel has to be able to find you.

As if on cue, a familiar truck comes into view, cracking open your reverie and blasting down the interstate at a dangerous velocity. You practically jump to your feet as Joel's truck comes to a grinding halt, sandy dust clouding the air around you as he parks across two spots before you.

You watch, heart in your throat, as he leaps out of the front seat. You're not sure what you're expecting - a longing embrace maybe? A cinematic kiss perhaps. A heroic Joel scooping you into his arms and carrying you home, a vision you'd dreamt about dozens of times since Christmas.

It’s none of the above. Because as quickly as Joel gets out of the truck, you notice the look on his face; jaw clenched and brows furrowed, lips melded into a hard line -

Joel is livid.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell were you thinkin'?" he demands, approaching you fiercely before stopping suddenly, still several feet away, not close enough to touch, as though he's not sure if he's allowed. But he's there - Joel is right there.

The last of the ogling men disperse cautiously, Joel's rage apparently far more frightening than yours.

"What?" you shout back at him, matching his energy instinctively. Exhausted and heartbroken, anger comes easily.

"Drivin' through the night like that? Are you insane?"

You scoff. You're a good driver, more than capable of driving at night. Plus -

"I had a reason." You hate how cracked your voice sounds from crying and lack of sleep. "And I didn't drive all night, okay? I stayed the night in Phoenix."

"Are you fuckin'..." Joel shakes his head in disbelief.

"What?" you press him.

"I was in Phoenix last night," he huffs exasperatedly. "We went right passed each other."

Fuck. It would be funny if it wasn't so goddamn heartbreaking. Joel had been in the same city as you and you hadn't even known. You could have stayed in the same motel. Could have gotten breakfast at the same drive-thru before leaving in opposite directions.

You're at a rare loss for words. Joel sighs and presses a tired fist to his forehead.

"You should've called m - someone," he says finally. "You should've called someone."

You catch the slip-up, of course you do. And you can't even argue because you know he's right. You feel your face crumple, feel that familiar slump of defeat in your shoulders. Meanwhile, Joel is right fucking there, the closest he's been to you in months and for some reason you're still not touching him.

"I'm sorry..." you croak. "I'm sorry, Joel."

Joel's ire dissipates in an instant, his features softening as he finally closes the space between you and pulls you into his arms in a bone-crushing hug. The second he wraps you in his embrace, the sobs you've been containing break free, shaking against his chest as your tears meet his t-shirt.

"Oh, babygirl, it's okay," he murmurs gruffly into your hair, pulling you in tighter. You can hear the strain in his voice, his ragged breath on your bare skin. Joel is just as overcome as you. Sensing it only makes you cry harder.

"What happened?" he asks.

Where do you even begin?

It's too late to get back on the road, Joel decides.

"We'll just stay here tonight, okay?" he suggests. "You shouldn't be drivin' like this."

You don't disagree. He books you a room in the adjacent motel. You park your vehicles side by side out front. You sit with him on the springy mattress while Joel holds you till your tears subside. Several minutes pass like that, Joel lightly rocking you in his big, comforting embrace.

It’s the safest you’ve felt in a long time.

"You ready to tell me about it, sweetheart?" he asks softly, pulling back to wipe the last of your tears from your cheeks before clutching your hands between your bodies.

You nod. He waits.

"Don't get upset, okay?" you begin. His lips instantly turn down in a frown - so much for that.

"Okay," he says anyway, voice hard and flat.

You take a deep breath. "So you know Adam?"

You feel him stiffen, catch the way disdain flashes in his eyes at just the mention of the other man's name. If Joel's jealousy had been palpable through the phone, it burns like a wildfire in person.

"I guess."

"He - kind of tried it with me. That day I called you."

You watch Joel's face carefully. A terrifying muscle clenches in his jaw and he swallows harshly. His grip on your wrists tightens as he nods stiffly but says nothing.

You can probably imagine what it is he's holding back.

"Nothing happened," you go on. "Like, really, nothing. I turned him down and I thought that was the end of it."

Joel listens intently, waves of quiet rage rolling off him while your hands burn in his grasp.

"But then yesterday..." you continue, taking a steadying breath as emotion pools in your stomach again. "When I went to sign the contract for that job - you know the one I told you about?"

Joel nods once.

"They told me I didn't have it anymore."

Joel's brows furrow. "But I thought you already had it?"

"No...I guess...it was never in writing," you shake your head. "Adam - um - he went behind my back. He told my agent I'd backed out before I could sign anything."

"Why would he do that?" Joel asks through his teeth, sounding very much like he already knows the answer.

You don't respond, just stare at your conjoined hands, confirming his unspoken assumption.

"I'll kill that fucker," Joel gnarls then and you think it sounds like a genuine threat.

You snicker coldly. "Not if I kill him first."

He clears his throat, shakes his head and - rather pointedly - changes the subject.

"But there'll be other jobs." He squeezes your hands, this time with more soothing intent. "You didn't need to leave."

You sniff lightly and shake your head, glancing up at him from under your tear-soaked lashes.

"Well, no, actually," you press, gearing up for the pièce de résistance. "My agent dropped me. Said it didn't reflect well on them if I've got 'one foot out the door.'"

"Fuck," Joel breathes.

"Yeah. And, anyway, is that why you came to see me, Joel? To tell me to keep at it? Just keep goin'?" It's a weak impression of his low, gravelly drawl but it makes him fleetingly smile in spite of it all.

But then his eyebrows furrow again and as quickly as it had come, his smile fades.

"No," he shakes his head but doesn't elaborate, his eyes fixed on the flowery bedspread.

It's quiet for a long moment then. You take a deep breath and fill the sudden silence with the truth.

"I'm giving up, Joel," you confess, hysterics rising to the surface once again. "I can't do it anymore. I thought I could do it, but I can't. I can't do it when - "

He looks up at you, fervidly attentive while he waits for you to go on, like he knows what you want to say.

You fill your lungs with cigarette-stained air and finally let slip what's in your heart - "I can't do it because you're back home and I'm not."

You can't look at him when you say it but the weight of your words hangs thick like fog around you both. He doesn't speak so you go on.

"I know it's - I know it's not right," you cry. "I should want it more, I should be - I don't know, like, fighting for myself or working harder or - or - "

You take a steadying breath and bury your face in your hands, too ashamed to admit the rest to his face.

"But I just - don't want any of it without you. I don’t care if that's or stupid or naïve or whatever. Or if you even want me like that, I just - I would choose a life with you over this any day. I'll always choose that, Joel - and I'm sorry."

It's quiet again while your confession seeps into walls around you, drowned out by the hum of the AC and the static buzz of fluorescent lighting above you. You wet your palms with tears while Joel breathes shallowly before you.

Finally, after far too long, his hands find your wrists again, this time to pry your fingers away from your face. Joel sighs, placing two big palms on either side of your face, his gaze unavoidable now.

"Sweetheart, what'd I tell you at Christmas? I never wanted you to go. Baby, I want you more'n anythin'. You know that."

You shake your head. You don't know that. You've never known that.

"Darlin' - fuck - " Joel's palms burn your cheeks as your tears collect on his fingers. His sincere, brown eyes look back at you, wet with his own overflowing emotion. "I want you to come home. So much - god, I want that so much. But you - you can't...you can't quit 'cause of me. M'not...worth it."

You want to argue that it's not just because of him - that every time you'd made any sort of headway in Hollywood something had come along to fuck it up again. That the universe obviously just doesn't want this for you. It's not not true, but it's also not nearly as important.

Because of course it's about Joel. It's always been about Joel.

You swallow back a wave of tears and grip his forearms.

"Joel you're..."

How do you even put it into words? Of course he's worth it - he's worth everything, to you. You decide to show him instead.

"Just tell me," you instruct him with conviction.

He frowns, confused, as he works to catch up with your line of thinking. "What?"

"Tell me you want me to come back. Joel - please."

Now his tears spill over, features tightening as he, not for the first time, visibly wars with himself. Always, always warring with what he really wants and what he thinks he should want.

"I can't do that, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice shattered because you can see how much he wants to.

"Then why'd you come here? Huh?" you demand, voice rising as your desperation grows. Joel flinches at your words. "This isn't the life I want. And I'm not just saying that because of what happened. Joel - there's only one life I've ever wanted."

Your gaze locks with his and you watch him scan your face for any trace of a lie. You know he won't find one.

"Tell me, Joel," you beg weakly. "Tell me to come back and I will."

Joel waits a beat, squaring his shoulders with a steadying breath and a cracked sniffle.

"Come back, superstar," he pleads then. "Come home to me."

A soft gasp and you nod fervently, breathy, "I will, Joel, I will," lost, as he steals the words from your waiting mouth with a bruising kiss.

It's like every other time you’ve kissed him, feverish and heady, always running out of time. His mouth moves against yours with intent, tongue slipping between your cracked, wet lips as his hands tangle in your hair, locking you in place. You're no less impatient, palms wandering the vast expanse of his broad chest, his shoulders, his arms, pressing closer to him with each shared breath that passes between your lips.

"Fuck," Joel groans when you climb into his lap, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his neck. His palms find the small of your back, pressing your hips closer into his, the burgeoning bulge in his jeans prodding into your thigh; materiality at last. Joel is here.

"Is this real?" you find yourself asking anyway, as your fingers coil in his curls and his lips explore your neck hungrily.

"I hope so," he murmurs gruffly into your collarbone, the faintest of chuckles coating his words. He can laugh all he wants but it's a valid enough question - Joel's been nothing but a memory for the past six months, a disembodied voice through the wire, not someone to hold and kiss and love.

He lays you back then but stays comfortably situated between your legs, his pelvis grinding into yours, another stabilizing reminder of his presence.

He's still not wasting time, helping lift your shirt over your head and unhooking your bra clumsily while you fumble with your jeans zipper. He palms your breasts roughly the second they're free, calloused fingers dragging over the soft skin of your stomach before sliding your jeans and underwear off completely.

He's burying his face into your aching heat without warning then, moaning the second his tongue swipes through your folds, already wet with need. It catches you off guard, the sudden contact on your long-neglected cunt. Your fingers scratch at his shoulders but it only seems to encourage him - he braces his hands on your thighs as his eyes flutter closed, savouring your flavour when his lips close around your clit.

"Missed this pussy so fuckin' much," he hums distantly against you. "Almost forgot how good you taste. You miss my mouth, sweetheart?"

He sounds almost needy for the assurance.

"Shit - yes," you promise him. "Thought about it all the time, Joel."

"S'right."

Amid the obscene sounds of his lips on your soaking folds, you're reminded of his needy voice through a cell phone speaker, all those months ago now -

"...Wanna get my mouth on you so bad. Wanna taste you again."

It had sounded true then. It feels true now.

He doesn't need to ask this time; you know he wants to hear you, know how much likes it. And it's hardly a stretch to give him that, the way his tongue is circling your clit has you crying out a symphony over him, quiet curses and repeated refrains of his name tumbling from your lips unabashedly. You find yourself squirming under his touch, grinding your hips upward for more, more, more.

Joel seems to get the hint.

"Let me see you, baby," he implores you brusquely, pulling back to tap your sides, gently coercing you to turn on your tummy. But then he's yanking you back by the hips so your ass is up and your chest is pressing hard into the mattress, his tongue once again invading your entrance, slipping inside with no resistance from you. Your spine arches and you push back into his mouth, his big hands fanning out over your ass and spreading you open so you're fully on display for him.

He hums a pleased little noise into your heat, vibrations rattling your bones and making you dizzy with him, before he's pulling off you with a final languid lick only to replace his tongue with one thick finger. He drags his slick-coated moustache over your skin to nip at the plush skin of your ass while he slowly fucks his finger in and out of you.

"Christ, look at you," he marvels quietly, again, like he's saying it just to himself. "My perfect girl."

"M'yours, Joel..." you vow, drunk on the way it sounds, how it feels to be his. It's all you've ever wanted. Joel, for his part, groans openly at your hushed assertion.

"Say that again, sweetheart," he supplicates raggedly. You peer over your shoulder to see him palming himself through his jeans, index finger of his other hand still slotted securely in your centre.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"I'm yours," you tell him again, breathless and truthful. "Joel - make me yours."

He grunts softly, hearing the request in your words as he quickly strips down, the clinking sound of his belt buckle sending sparks flying to your core in anticipation.

He's back over you in an instant, leaning his naked body on yours so you feel his cock, hard and leaking, against the bare skin of your thighs. You rock into him and the friction seems to effect the both of you, Joel's hands combing harshly up and down your sides, over your perked nipples and down your spine.

"You know how many times I dreamt about this, babygirl?" he breathes, planting fevered kisses down your back, one of his hands once again creeping between your thighs to sink two fingers into your heat, stretching you in preparation for him. "To have you like this again, all wet and open for me. To - fuck - to be inside you."

"Joel…" you whimper, impatience setting in as you drip over his knuckles. "Please."

It's the most you can muster and it's all you need; Joel doesn't seem to be interested in teasing you any longer. He pulls you into his chest and buries his cock into you at last, cursing hotly in your ear as his strong arms engulf you, palms grabbing at your breasts till one finds your face, tilting your chin towards him to lock his mouth with yours.

He swallows each breathless moan from your parted lips as he fucks you deeply, not slow but not rushed either, sloppy with his efforts when he reaches around you to finger your clit, desperate to make sure you enjoy it too - so very Joel.

"I wanna feel you come around me, sweetheart, can you gimme that?" he growls into the hollow of your ear and you nod -

Yes yes a million times yes.

"Good girl."

You moan out his name, his words sparking a reminder of your very first night together, how dark and commanding he'd sounded in the dim light of your bedroom, how similar he sounds now and yet so completely different.

A pool of heat begins to build in your belly, Joel's thrusts never slowing, his fingers on your clit demanding. He's all around you, everywhere, finally.

You try to warn him but it's too late, the heat erupts in your core and you quiver against him, laboured, "I'm coming - Joel," escaping your lips in the form of a high pitched groan. Joel groans too, the feeling of your walls tightening around him turning his movements messier still, his big hand on your chest locking just under your neck as he rides it out with you. He's close too, right on the edge, if the quickening of his panted grunts in your ear are anything to go by.

In the haze of your orgasm, limp in his arms, you recall again his words on the phone all those moons ago now:

"Let me hear those pretty sounds you make."

Your head falls back on his shoulder and you answer his prayers.

"Joel, baby…" you croon, velvet soft and dripping adoration. "Come inside me, please. Missed it so much..."

You feel his hips stutter as he whimpers at your words, his fingers unwittingly tightening at the base of your neck.

"Fuuuck, keep talkin'," he pleads lowly.

"You feel so fucking good, Joel," you go on. "Wanted your cock for so long - shit - wanted to - feel you fill this pussy up. Only you, Joel. Only you make me feel this good."

"Fuck me, baby, I'm gonna come," he groans, an enticing promise. "You want it inside?"

"Pleasepleaseplease."

Two more piercing pumps and then he's crushing you into him, coming with his cock deep inside you, his muffled moans getting caught in your hair and tickling your ear. It seems to last forever, Joel filling you completely with his seed, refusing to pull out until the last of the aftershocks pass through him and you've both properly caught your breath.

Then he sits back on his haunches, keeping you trapped in his embrace so you're sitting in his lap with his arms wrapped around your middle.

It's quiet for a long while as Joel plants tender kisses over your shoulders and cheeks, the back of your neck. Your eyes slip closed at some point, and you think you might fall asleep like that, safe in Joel's arms, finally back where you belong.

But Joel shifts above you to check the time on his watch before you can, stirring you back to life.

"What time is it?" you whisper.

"Midnight."

A smile pulls at your lips then when you realize the date.

"Joel. It’s July twenty-fifth."

You look up to see him staring down at you with bemused confusion. "So?"

"It's Christmas in July," you tell him, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. A full six months since you were last together.

"Shit," Joel smirks, squeezing you a little tighter into him to whisper in your ear, "Happy...birthday in July, Jesus?"

You burst out laughing, your first real laugh in months; it’s probably the funniest fucking thing you've ever heard Joel Miller say.

"I don't think that's how that works," you say.

"Yeah, that was fuckin' stupid, m'sorry. Was funnier when you said it."

But he's laughing too as he finally unwinds himself from you, only to lie back with his head on the superfluous motel pillows, reaching a hand out to you to join him. You curl into his side and he wraps a thick arm around you, both of you sighing when you settle into place.

You close your eyes again but you don’t sleep. You think.

You think about how maybe this could be life with Joel. Mind-blowing sex and stupid jokes and warm embraces. But that wouldn’t be all of it, you know that. Maybe it'll be hard; maybe he'll get distant or angry or busy or scared.

Maybe you'll be all those things too. Maybe you'll wish you'd tried harder in Hollywood or come to regret all that you'd given up. Maybe you'll get bitter or sad or stressed-out or stubborn.

Maybe, though, maybe it's okay.

Because you want all of it. The complications and the dreary Mondays. You could still work, follow your passion in a smaller way - teach snotty, suburban teenagers the Brechtian method or go back to school yourself. You could do it.

You could do it with the man you came home for, the only soul who can tell which smiles you're faking. The warmest bed you've ever known.

It's clearer now, so much clearer than before, your future and all it could be.

You're pulled from your reverie when Joel begins to snore softly beside you, his thick chest rising and falling in peaceful swells.

He's so beautiful. He's yours.

One way or another, he's finally yours.

Sun streams through the crack in the motel's mint green curtains and Joel is already awake.

"Hey," he's saying in a hushed murmur as he gently shakes you to life. You blink in the morning light until he comes into focus over you, standing beside the bed, sleepy-eyed and haggard-looking, but undeniably up.

"We should hit the road," he insists softly. "Long day."

"Mmm," you nod as you peel yourself off the mattress. You're sore, in a lot of places, hours of driving and fucking and crying leaving you achy and weak. You stretch your arms and wiggle your toes. Joel smiles down at you.

"Do we have time for breakfast?" you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You really hope you have time for breakfast.

Joel's grin widens. "Not really."

"I know you want a coffee," you press him. He sighs, you've got him there.

"Come on, we're on the interstate, I want a Grand Slam," you say with finality, holding out your hand and letting Joel help you out of bed. "When in Benson, you know?"

Joel rolls his eyes. Yeah, you've got him. Welcome to the rest of your life, Miller.

Twelve-hour drive be damned, you savour your eggs and bacon at the neighbouring Denny's, tucked into Joel's side in the yellow booth in a manner most inconducive to eating. You don't care. Neither does he as far as you can tell.

Joel sips on his coffee and swipes your sausages ("It's like that, huh?" "M'not hungry, just want a bite."), placing the occasional kiss to the top of your head and stealing glances at the news flashing on the TV overhead for traffic alerts.

There’s nothing to fear. It’s all clear on the I-10, as far as Van Horn.

Eventually you have to part ways, relegated to your own vehicles for the long journey ahead. You hate it, hate that you have to be apart from him again after just getting him back. Joel seems uneasy about it too, clinging to you with an arm over your shoulder right up until he's depositing you by your car.

"You'll follow me?" he asks.

"I'll follow you."

He nods, slowly leaning in to kiss your cheek, chaste and sweet. "Drive safe."

Your eyes slip shut when his lips brush your skin; you lean into it, however fleeting it is.

"You too."

Joel takes a deep breath, looking for a moment as though he's ready to walk away, before he's crushing you into his chest for one last embrace. Just a hug - a strong, solid, lasting, fervent hug.

There's something lurking under Joel's grasp, something uncertain. You feel it in the way his arms constrict around you, the tautness of the muscles there, the way he clings to you a little too long to feel comforting anymore.

Is Joel...afraid? You'd been afraid too, in your dreams last night, that the spell would break once you'd left this place. The reality of what going home actually means has been creeping up on you since your exchange of confessions in the motel room. There's going home, then there's going home with Joel.

You still don't know what that looks like.

You hug him back fiercely, nuzzling into his chest and infusing all the love you can muster into your embrace. Whatever it is you're going back to, you're ready for it.

You hope it's enough. Because now you really have to go if you hope to beat the dark. It's already not looking good. At this rate it'll be well past dusk by the time you hit Texas.

Sure enough, the sun is long set behind you when you cross into your home state. Traffic has you losing sight of Joel's truck somewhere near Sonora and although you're not thrilled at the loss, you don't panic. You know your way from here.

It's muscle memory by the time you get to Austin, the way to that old familiar cul-de-sac etched in your mind like hieroglyphics.

You're not surprised to find Joel's beaten you home, standing in his driveway in the glow of a streetlight.

Muscle memory tells you to turn left into your dad's driveway. That’s what you'd normally do, that's what you've always done. Turning right into Joel's driveway isn't something you've ever even considered. Until now, of course.

You're taking too long to decide, awkwardly frozen in the middle of the road. You catch Joel eyeing you expectantly before he averts his gaze, never one to pressure you. Since day one that's been true; Joel's never pushed you, Joel's always waited for you to make the first move.

It hits you then - how it's not a hard decision at all. It's the easiest goddamn move of your life. There's Joel, perfect and patient and kind and caring and waiting - waiting for you. You don't have to think, you don't have to question it -

You turn right, home.

THE END.

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number1mingyustan · 4 months

Text

-Cuffing Season-

Your Call

boyfriend!mingyu x fem!reader

Warnings: established relationship, cursing, explicit smut, mutual masturbation (m+f), virtual sex, size kink, fingering (f.)

Summary: Even a thousand miles away you still have the same effects on him

Word Count: 1.8k

_______________________________________________

(a/n: i'm baaaack!! im so sorry for going MIA I was busy with school and now that I'm on break I've had literally no motivation to write but I've got a few more drafts I'm working on so expect me to be more active!)

The hotel door swings open and Mingyu walks through it, hand already pulling at the navy blue tie draped around his neck.

He undoes it with one hand before dropping it onto the carpeted hotel floor. He lets out a sigh of pure exhaustion and leans his back against the wall as his briefcase meets the floor.

He’s been in meetings all day and tired can’t even describe what he’s feeling right now. He’s away from you in Tokyo on a business trip and he’s miserable. His days prior to this were light, a meeting here and there and a couple of conventions. But today?

Back-to-back meetings with potential investors and clients have worn him out. He hasn’t even gotten the chance to call you yet today.

For the two weeks, he’s called you at least three times and you’ve texted back and forth every day. Now it’s nearing 1am and he hasn’t spoken to you at all.

He strips himself down to his boxers and lays down on top of the bed. He scrambles for his phone and immediately dials your number.

You pick up on the first ring. “Gyu?”

“Hi baby,” He rasps.

"Was beginning to think you forgot about me," you pout.

"Never, I was just swamped. I knew it was gonna be a heavy day, but I had literally no time to myself. I just now got back to the hotel," he sighs.

"You work so hard babe," You say. "I'm proud of you, but take it easy."

He nods. "It'll only be this bad for the next few days. I think it'll be worth it though, seems like a lot of good can come out of this for the company."

You shift on the bed, making yourself more comfortable as you lie down. "That's good Gyu, I would hope so."

The call goes silent for a few moments. You can hear each other breathing lightly into the phone as you lay in comfortable silence.

"I really miss you," Mingyu says, finally breaking the silence.

"I know, I miss you too." You sigh. "I've been miserable without you. I'm so lonely here, we should've gotten like a cat or something."

Mingyu lets out a breathy chuckle. "Noted. It'll be the first thing I do when I come home next week."

"Ugh," You groan dramatically. "Don't remind me I have to wait a whole week to see you again."

You can practically hear him smiling into the phone. "A week can go by fast, don't worry. I'll be home in no time."

"Good," You smile. "Bed's cold without you here."

"Must be," He yawns.

"Yeah Gyu, I hate it. Need you here now," Your voice is just above a whisper.

"What are you wearing?" He asks.

"You want me to tell you or show you?" You ask.

"Fuck," he whispers. "Show me."

Before he can even finish his thought, his phone is already ringing with an incoming Facetime call. He presses on the green button and sees you adjusting the camera.

Your phone is leaning against something to hold it up and you're sitting crisis cross applesauce on the bed in front of him. "Hi Gyu."

"Hi pretty girl," He smirks.

He rises to his feet, holding his phone in hand as he makes his way over to the desk in his room. He sits down, angling the camera so you can see him.

"Really missed you today," You tell him.

"Missed you too," He licks his lips. "You wearing my shirt?"

You nod. "Yeah. Still smells like you and everything."

You pick up the phone, angling it down so he can see the black and white striped button-up you have on. It fits you big, coming down mid-thigh.

He rasps. "Looks good on you baby."

"It does, doesn't it?" You smirk. "Think it might look better off though, right?"

Suddenly Mingyu isn't sleepy anymore.

"Shit baby, don't do this to me. You know I'm going crazy cuz I can't touch you," He groans, tilting his head back.

"This is the next best thing, no?" You lick your lips, allowing your hand to undo the first button.

"Damn right, it is," He agrees, slipping his hand into his boxers. To no one's surprise, he's already sprouting a semi at the mere thought of having phone sex with you.

It was only a matter of time before this happened anyway. You and Mingyu would rarely go this long without being intimate with one another.

"You didn't seriously call me in nothing but your underwear and expect me not to want you Gyu," You breathe out.

"Didn't do it on purpose sweetheart," He grins.

You've already undone half the buttons of his shirt. He can see your bra peaking through the open material. His cock twitches in anticipation.

He watches like a hawk as you slide the shirt off your shoulders and let it fall off your body entirely. "Shit," he whispers.

You're kneeling in front of the camera in nothing but your bra and underwear. It's a matching lavender set that he bought you a while back.

His eyes are glued to his screen as he watches you. You play with your bra straps, sliding them off your shoulders slowly to expose your breasts to him. He lets out a low groan and feels his cock harden more in his boxers.

He's suddenly feeling suffocated by the material on his hips. He sits up, sliding his underwear off and exposing his leaking cock. He lets out a breath of relief as he wraps his hand around his length.

He swipes his thumb across the tip, using the bit of precum to lubricate his cock. He licks his lips slowly, watching you as you slide your soaked underwear off your body.

"You're so big," you whisper. You're practically drooling at the sight of his cock.

He spits on his hand and starts pumping himself slowly. "Touch yourself f'r me."

You sit back on the bed and slide your hand down between your thighs. He watches as you spread your legs, revealing just how soaked you were for him.

You let out a shaky breath as your finger circles your clit.

"Need you so bad Gyu," You whine.

'i'm here baby-fuck," he groans.

He pumps his length faster, gliding his hand along his hard cock as he watches you touch yourself. He strokes himself, swiping his hand across the sensitive tip every time he pumps himself.

"Inside me.. need you inside me," You whimper. You slip two fingers into yourself slowly. You spread your legs wider to give him a better look. You push your fingers deeper, curling your digits against your inner walls.

"Soon baby, 'm all yours." He breathes out.

"You're so big Gyu, want you to fuck me so bad-ah," You pump your fingers deeper inside of yourself, desperately trying to coax yourself toward an orgasm.

"F-fuck y/n... keep talking," He drops his head back and groans. His muscles are bulging and his grip on his cock is tightening. "Missed your voice."

Even through the low quality of your phone camera, Mingyu was still in awe of you. His eyes were hyperfixated on the way your fingers disappear deep inside of you. His hips jerk up into his fist, warm blood pumping through his veins and making his limbs grow hot with arousal.

You lean back, fingers tightening around his bedsheets clumped in your hand as you push your hips into your hand. "Hah- my fingers are hardly big enough. Need your cock baby–" You whine.

You curl your fingers the same way he does when he touches you, pressing your fingertips against your inner walls. The sensation has your toes curling with a familiar feeling building up inside of you.

His dick twitches in his hand. Fuck, he's so reactive when it comes to you. No one can make him feel the way you do. He lets out a low groan, squeezing the head of his cock to stop himself from cumming when he hears you.

You continue pushing your hips into your hand with erratic movements. You look at your screen, watching your boyfriend strokes his cock. You watch the way his large hand glide along the length of his cock.

"Gyu–fuck, I'm cumming," You warn him.

Mingyu stops holding back the second the words pass your lips. He speeds up his hand, loosening his grip every so slightly. You cum together, bodies shuddering with sloppy movements as you drive yourselves into a state of euphoric pleasure.

He fights to keep his eyes open. They remain half lidded as he refuses to rip his eyes way from the scene before him. He's fixaed on the way your fingers dip into your pussy, coating them with more of your slick arousal as your body spasms and jerks.

He can feel the way his load spills all over his hand and onto his lower abs, but he can't take his eyes off of you. He missed being able to see you fall apart. It's one of his favorite views. Even a thousand miles away, he was still going to see it for himself.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you come down. You draw your slick fingers out of your hole slowly, licking your lips as you tap back into all of your senses.

He blinks slowly as he comes down from his high. He grabs a tissue from the desk, cleaning up the mess on his skin. He discards it and slouches against the chair.

"Can't believe we just did that," He lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Thought it would've happened sooner. Been expecting it since your first night away," You smirk.

Mingyu yawns and decides to call it a night. He grabs his phone, plugging it into the charger and pulling his boxers back up onto his waist.

"Sleepy?" You ask.

"Exhausted," He turns off the lights and climbs under the hotel bedsheets. "I feel a lot better though."

"Good," You say.

You mirror his actions, redressing yourself, turning off the lights, and plugging your phone into the charger before climbing under the bedsheets. You're yawning too, snuggling in the sheets with your boyfriend on the phone.

The call goes quiet and it doesn't take long before both of you are fast asleep.

Mingyu can't wait to go back home and sleep next to you properly. For now, FaceTime calls will have to do. But once he can have you in his arms again, his home will feel complete again.

——————————————————————————

#seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #mingyu smut #seventeen drabbles #seventeen mingyu #kim mingyu #mingyu drabbles #mingyu svt #kim mingyu smut #svt mingyu #mingyu fanfic #mingyu #cuffing season #kpop

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denaliwrites · 5 months

Text

Don't Blink

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader

Summary: Going home was meant to be a vacation from all the aliens and monsters.

Part 2: Don't Turn Your Back Part 3: Don't Look Away Part 4: Dreams See Us Through

Requests: Open!

Tag List: @nyxiethesimp

Warnings: Weeping Angels, babes.

You hadn't slept in days.

It started innocuous enough -- some nerves as you crawled into your bed, for once. You'd assumed it was because you were so used to the TARDIS that home didn't feel as much like home anymore. You thought that maybe, after a day or two, it'd get better.

It got worse.

Waking up the next morning, you were confronted with the feeling of being watched. No matter where you went -- your mum's, the shops, the cellar, even the restroom. Everywhere. All day. By the time you dropped into your bed that night, you were exhausted from being on high alert the whole day.

You didn't sleep well that night.

Nightmares plagued you -- they were nebulous, slipping just out of focus every time you thought you could make out even just a single detail. But despite that -- or maybe because of it -- you were terrified.

You awoke drenched in a cold sweat, covered in goosebumps and with a stomach churning with unease. You felt feverish, but when you took your temperature the thermometer flashed with a perfectly normal number.

Going about your day felt like a monumental task. While your limbs felt weighed down with lead, the rest of you felt light, jittery... panicky. Any attempts to focus for more than thirty seconds at a time failed miserably.

Maybe it was just your heightened state, but you could've sworn that everyone could see that you were starting to lose it.

That was the first night you didn't sleep.

The second night, you finally caught sight of the predator in the underbrush -- the thing that had been stalking you since you arrived back home. Only for a brief, blink-and-you-miss-it moment, but it was still long enough for you to know that it was the cause of your sleepless nights and worsening mental state.

You weren't sure how a perfectly ordinary angel statue could cause so much distress.

The third night, you noticed the statue had moved -- just a couple inches -- but it was enough for you to see the difference. Finally, you called the Doctor. Not five minutes later, you heard the TARDIS materialize outside.

You turned away for all of one second, but when you looked back, the angel had gone.

Well, "gone" was relative. It was out of line of sight, you could say that much for sure. But you knew it was still lurking nearby -- you could still feel it watching you.

The Doctor didn't bother announcing himself as he barged into your flat -- the TARDIS brakes were announcement enough. The sonic screwdriver was held aloft, its light moving in erratic circles in the darkened flat as the Doctor gradually made his way to you.

"Where is it?" he asked once he finally reached you. "Did you blink -- did it move!?"

You weren't sure how to answer. He had told you not to take your eyes off it, you recalled that now that he was here, yelling at you about it -- but you didn't even remember looking away just moments ago you were so exhausted.

In the back of your mind some little part of the normal you knew that the Doctor was just worried, but that little piece was dwindling with every moment you continued to lose sleep.

You'd moved right past delirium at this point -- and, hell, you weren't even sure how much of this was real. What if you were hallucinating? Angel statues that could only move if they weren't being looked at? That was a little crazy, even for the Doctor.

He turned to look at you when you remained silent, and when his eyes met yours they melted into pure, unadulterated concern and some dam inside you broke.

Sobs wracked your body and you collapsed. The only reason you didn't hit the ground was the Doctor surging forward, arms wrapping around you and holding you steady.

"Oh, dear," he cooed, holding you close. You buried your head into his chest, your cries still rocking through you, though the Doctor's arms kept you pretty snugly in place, and his clothes did an excellent job of muffling your blubbering.

You could feel one of his hands running comfortingly through your hair, while the other rubbed soothing circles into your back.

Miraculously, you calmed. For the first time in days, you felt like you could relax. Breathe. Hell, maybe even sleep.

It was with that thought that you felt yourself being effortlessly lifted. The Doctor carried you, bridal style, back to the TARDIS, through the doors and the console room and the halls, until he reached your bedroom and settled you carefully onto the bed.

"What about the angel?"

"You're completely safe in the TARDIS. I promise."

You knew that he knew that you had meant something different, but you were too tired to argue. Now that you were safe, sleep was coming to claim you rather quickly.

Once you fell asleep, you were haunted by nightmares again, but you were just so glad to be getting any sleep at all that you didn't care.

You found the Doctor in the console room the next morning, looking over something on one of the monitors. Without even so much as sparing you a glance, he dived right into it.

"That's no ordinary Weeping Angel."

"What do you mean?" you asked with a yawn and a bleary blink in his direction.

"See, normally a Weeping Angel wouldn't waste any time -- you blink, you're dead. Well. Teleported to another time so that they can feed off the energy that the displacement causes. But this... this is..."

"It's torturing me."

It wasn't a question -- how could it have been? You and the Doctor both could see what it was doing to you.

"Yes," he confirmed sadly.

"Reminds me of something," you said with a shrug.

"Oh?"

"Oh, do I get to be the brainiac for once?" you teased with a smirk, leaning back against the console beside him.

"I guess we'll find out," he teased back, mirroring your expression and bumping your shoulder lightly with his own.

You blushed, suddenly self-conscious, but you forged ahead anyway. "So, usually when a predator becomes a maneater it's because it's sick or injured and almost always starving, and humans are really easy prey compared to deer and antelope and stuff."

He was watching you with such rapt, adoring attention. You could barely stand it.

"But," you continued, "sometimes there are outliers. Predators that kill humans for unknown reasons, reasons that don't align with what we know about typical maneaters. The maneaters of Tsavo -- they were these two perfectly healthy, normal lions by all appearances, that killed anywhere from -- realistically speaking -- twenty-eight to thirty-two people, but reportedly they killed over a hundred. And no one really knows why they did it. There are theories, of course, but because they were healthy, and it happened over a century ago, there's no way to really confirm one way or another why they killed all those people."

You paused, thinking.

"Well, no way for the average person."

The Doctor beamed at you. "Oh, you are clever, aren't you?"

"I try."

"So you think maybe this Angel is an outlier?"

"Yeah, it's possible."

"No indicators of illness or injury, no signs of weakness or starvation. Just..."

"Sadistic tendencies?"

"But why?" he asked no one in particular, leaning back to stare at the monitor again.

"And..." you started thoughtfully. The Doctor turned to look at you again. "Why me?"

"Why you?" he repeated cluelessly.

"I wasn't here when it arrived, and it couldn't have known I was gonna be coming back anytime soon. It's possible it's been waiting for days, weeks for me to come back -- and it could've been waiting even longer if I hadn't decided I needed a break. That's a lot of waiting for a random person you don't know is coming back."

Realization dawned on the Doctor's face. "It's targeted."

"But why?"

"Why indeed?" he asked in that tone that was meant to sound casual but only served to let you know that he was deeply worried. "Let's find out, shall we?"

#tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #doctor who x reader #the doctor x reader #the doctor x you #reader insert #doctor who fic #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who #the doctor #david tennant #canon typical peril #weeping angels

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sunboki · 1 year

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WHEN SKZ REALIZE THEY WANT TO MARRY YOU

including; ot8

notes; in conclusion, this is a collection of things i’ve daydreamed abt in class.. enjoy

*lowercase intended

BANGCHAN’s favrorite thing is when you cuddle him. that’s it. just kidding. perhaps it’s the way you look at him, eyes filled with so much love. he usually has to look away in order to maintain his sanity, which doesn’t last long anyway. “you’re so pretty Chan.” your voice, soft and saccharine sweet as you admire—gently holding his cheeks in your hands. he giggles like a lovestruck kid, the tips of his ears flushing a pretty pink. then his mind wanders. wanders to what he would give to experience this with you every day, wake up next to you every day, listen to your voice every day. he wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days he explodes from all the torture his heart puts up with because of your antics. it floors him. no less Hannah teases him about how whipped he is on FaceTime and continuously tells you that she would treat you better. jokingly, of course. or..?

MINHO bids you goodbye, already missing your presence even though you’re simply getting snacks from the supermarket down the street. he’d never admit it, as always. that is until the gentle lull of rain greets him from outside. then it hits him. it’s raining? you don’t have an umbrella with you, do you? cue a worried Minho racing through the downpour in search of you, the last thing he wanted is for you to catch a cold. it’s straight out a kdrama when you step from the entryway with your bags in each hand, gazing at your exhausted boyfriend drenched in rain. without a care you skip towards him, ignoring his obvious distress whilst he shouts a warning to wait for him under the awning. “Baby.. i was gonna bring the umbrella to you. you better not catch a cold.” he scolds, quickly opening the umbrella currently sheltering you two. “you’re so cute Min.” you kiss his nose thoughtfully. he’s blushing red.

CHANGBIN lives for your happiness. he’s accepted his role in life wholeheartedly or whole-chestedly without complaint. the story goes all the way back with Changbin, back when you’d just began dating and he was nervous wreck. before he’d shove his socks in your face just to get playfully slapped, giggling regardless. at the time you sat in their recording studio, listening to a few in-progress tracks 3racha was testing out. but it was when he was recording live, composing in front of you. he was beyond anxious that you wouldn’t like his rapping; until he made eye contact with you. that look. he can’t describe it. was it admiration, awe? whatever it was, he loved it. no, he’d die for you to look at him like that—look at anything like that for the record. such pure and raw happiness he treasured so deeply. that’s when Seo Changbin’s mind flipped a switch to a ‘i need to be with you forever’ mode.

HYUNJIN took you ice skating. not the sweet and romantic ice skating where it looks like you’re both floating on ice, hand in hand. but the ice skating where you’re basically clawing down him like a disoriented cat. granted, Hyunjin isn’t the best skater either, but you make him look like a pro. “tell me why i ever agreed to this.” you grumble, cursing your balance. “hold onto me, love.” your boyfriend instructs, mitten clad hands holding your own with a reassuring squeeze you can’t help but feebly return. slowly but surely he maneuvers you along the ice, guiding your movements oh so carefully. having Hyunjin beside you makes ice skating not as miserable. “i’m gonna be so bruised later.” you mumbled from the bench, watching him untie your skates calmly. and when he looks up to respond? bang. his heart shattered. your face is hidden in his red scarf, cheeks and nose a rosy pink and toboggan adding to the sweetness. he’s gone. oh to tattoo this adorable moment into his eyelids. easily clarification he wants your hand in marriage.

HAN sits on the windowsill. the soft thrum of raindrops hum against the pane, creating a peaceful ambience. he hears you move from your place snuggled in bed, searching for his absent presence. but for the busy Quokka, this is his napping time. he’d arrived home at an ungodly hour last night from the studio, gaze heavy from sleep deprivation as he stumbled into your sheets—still exhausted into the morning. as if for a moment his mind drifted elsewhere, subtly relaxing till his eyes snap back open from a minty smell wafting beside him. there you stood; his big t-shirt that hung off your shoulder lopsidedly, holding two mugs of warm mint tea. taking the cup happily, you watched him stare at you, apparently waiting for something. “c’mere, i’ll always sing lullabies for you.” you laugh at his pout, ushering him to lay down. that saturday he plopped his head onto your lap, listening to you hum him a quiet lullaby like a child. he’d never make it without this, without you. he preferred it that way.

FELIX had been chasing you down the street for 20 minutes, well, because of his own doing. why you were running? because you’d both made a bet that whoever got to the playground down the street from the convenience store faster got $20, and Felix was not one to back down. running as fast as his legs could take him, he just barely stepped foot into the sand when you screamed “i won!” which led to a very begrudging $20 being slapped in your hand. “not fair.” your boyfriend huffed, flopping onto one of the swings nearby to watch you dance around. “or maybe..” you got closer, leaning in with a menacing smile, “—not fast enough.” being sure to wave the crisp bill right in front of his face. “yah.. stop rubbing it in.” he dramatically deflated, hunching over. “ahh i’m just kidding.” you giggled, sitting beside him now as you reached your hand out for him to take the money. “buy us something with it, something fun.” and of course the ginormous rubber duck in the mall had came home with him the next day. something he called the “most fun in his life.” with freckles basically twinkling.. how could you resist.

SEUNGMIN peered over your shoulder, watching the numerous words be typed up on the screen. being the nice guy he was, Seungmin decided to help work on your paper with you. “this?” you pointed to the screen, then glanced back in his direction—not expecting your boyfriend to be wearing his glasses and all. you had to admit, it was beyond charming. he nodded quickly in reply, appearing more focused than you. however, the way your shoulders trembled with laughter didn’t go unnoticed, Seungmin cocking a playful brow. “what?” he teasingly hovered in front of your screen, dissolving you into louder a fit of laughter. “you’re just so handsome with glasses, Mr. Seungmin.” the title earned a snort from him, shaking his head. “or should i say, my husband.” the room got quiet. “..are we engaged?” another burst of giggles from you, he was so serious and it was breaking you. “no, but one day.” you promised softly, watching a big smile tug at his lips. so pretty now that he didn’t conceal that beautiful smile. “one day.”

JEONGIN didn’t waste time when he heard the smash of glass against your tile flooring echo along the halls. “i’m okay!” you call out quickly, but Jeongin was already there. and despite your assurance, you still had multiple cuts scattered along your now bloodied hands. “Don’t move.” your boyfriend gently instructed, carefully maneuvering around the glass to scoop you off your feet with ease—funny that the ‘baby’ of the group was so much stronger than expected, sitting you on the bathroom counter to patch up. “you shouldn’t just tell me you’re okay, you could’ve gotten really hurt.“ his knitted brows and jutting lip told you he was worried, and it utterly melted your heart. “let me take care of you sometimes. i love to take care of you.” he lied. he wanted to take care of you all the time, not just sometimes. to be the one putting bandaids on for you and sitting by your bedside when you were sick to kiss your forehead. god, did he mention you’d look stunning in wedding attire?

taglist — @starlostseungmin

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diarivie · 5 months

Text

angsty?? coriolanus is LONELY (this is just a rewritten vs of my charlie fic from a while ago shh)

Coriolanus is alone, he doesn’t like to admit it, or say it out—in doing so he’s accepting what it is, and just how deep he’s gotten himself into such a situation. But, he craves just the presence of another person, that unmistakable feeling of pure content, the knowledge that you were lucky enough to sit with a friend, and experience them in all their mortal being.

He believes he must’ve done something absolutely horrid in his past life, he doesn’t think he deserves to live in the same timeline as you but not with you—he’s merely a bystander, he views you going to class, he sees you picking an apple from your bag, he sees and sees and sees, but he doesn’t interact, he’s a prisoner in his own body—only ever letting his eyes be the one part of him to become aware of your presence, it’s suffocating, it’s disgusting—the pure iron grip you have on his soul.

He shares a few classes with you, but he hides himself. It’s self sabotage at this point, there’s no doubt in his mind that it isn’t—he has every chance, every fucking chance to come up to you, to start up a conversation, but, he’s comforted by his own sadness and despair. He’s okay with it, he’s okay with it because it’s what he knows best.

It’s alright if it leaves his brain a bit more fumbled, his vision blurred when attempting to focus on a test—after-all, he rather be sad, and miserable than have to ever deal with any, any, amount of a rejection that may fall from your lips, or worse—love.

A miracle happens one day, he’s surely being dramatic, but you noticing him is a miracle and a burden all at once. You don’t comment on his clothes, or try to make fun of him in any hidden way, you’re just talking to him because you had noticed his satchel straps were undone.

it’s the smallest, most minuscule thing you could’ve picked up, it’s almost ludicrous. He’s not paying attention however, your lips are glossed up, you’re wearing some type of cherry red—it really doesn’t matter, but again it does. He’s losing himself in you, he’s being sucked in, like a constant vacuum of doom.

you’re still talking, and he’s a fool, he’s concluded he’s really just a fool, through and through, he only nods and sends a small, barely whispered thank you, and then he’s on his way. He sees why he’s alone now, even when given the chance he blows it, he screws up any hope of having a friend, even just a friend—he’s positive you’ll tell everybody you know how weird he is now, and he’ll be forced to stare at you again through the shell of a body he has.

So, yes, Coriolanus Snow is alone, and afraid, he’s nearly paralyzed from the fear that through his entire life he’ll live it by himself—he supposes maybe that’s just who he is, he’s meant to spectate, analyze, be in the background only observing. He’ll never have the luxury of anything more, and he’s too exhausted to try and change it, so, he’ll just look at you, and focus on every small thing you do, watching you waft through life, while he gets stuck behind.

@ diarivie 2023 , do not repost on any third party websites, or copy my works.

#( ✧ ) — new letters !#( brainrot ) — coryo <3 #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #corio snow #the hunger games #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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invisiblestringmm · 1 year

Text

chapter one

secrets i have held in my heart are harder to hide than i thought

pairing: fem!reader x mason mount

summary: A one night fling that turned into the reason of your whole life, then a month of falling in love with him… until he ghosted you. Mason was never there to watch her grow, completely unaware of his daughter’s existence. It was just you and Lilian Maisie against the world until fate decided play with you and change that — now you have to face the consequences of your decision to keep him out of her life for almost five years. And also try not to fall for him again when he reveals to be the best dad to your little girl.

author: I hope you enjoy this as much as I do. Thank you for sticking around, it means a lot!

warnings: this chapter contains fluff, angst, mentions of a tough pregnancy, language.

word count: 4.879k

Watching her was one of your favourite things to do; the way the soft dark brown curls bounced as she swayed around the living room, the way her cheerful laugh echoed every corner of the house and those big, brown eyes sparkled with pure innocent bliss - Lily was your everything, she was your whole life and though, at first, being a young single mum terrified your entire being, she became the reason of your existence. It felt like a lifetime, but it was just four years before that day that you were sitting where your dad was, on that large and comfortable armchair, with your feet up as you stared at a tummy poking out. You remember how that was the first time after finding out you were pregnant that you went from miserable to somewhat joyous to know a tiny human was growing inside you.

FOUR YEARS BEFORE

Every little thing bothered you to the point you’d grab the first object in front of you and throw it against the wall. Your hormones were everywhere, the nausea was unbearable and you knew it was a matter of time until you’d find yourself with another IV fluid bag hanging on your bedside. Four months of what had already earned the first place on your “lifetime worst experiences” list, when it shouldn’t be like this. You should be happy, and thrilled, planning your days and making a list of potential boy and girl names for your child. But you weren’t, considering this was far from what you expected of your first pregnancy.

The long sigh that parted your lips clashed against the daunting yet peaceful silence that took over Foxwoods House the minute your parents went out for grocery shopping after you insisted you’d be fine on your own for a few hours and how much you needed it. Even if they meant well and were just making sure you were healthy enough to be on your feet, all the attention could be suffocating, though their attention wasn’t focused only on you. Though exhausted, you tried your best to focus on relaxing once your eyes closed.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Slowly, you felt lighter, your body finally relaxing on your dad’s favourite armchair, and, unconsciously, your hands rested on your stomach and your eyes shot open when you noticed that there was something there that wasn’t the last time you touched it. Avoiding any kind of touching, talking, and staring at yourself in the mirror had been your way of coping with your new reality, even if it wasn’t a smart way of doing it. It wasn’t easier, either.

“Oh hello,” you whispered, poking your tummy with your index finger. “I don’t think you can even listen to me yet, but… can you bear with me, peanut? Hm?” Brushing your thumb against your skin, your eyes burned with tears. You wanted things to work out, you wanted that kid to be born into a healthy environment even if it included just you — of course, your parents would be there, but in the end, you’d be a single mum. The idea of it terrified you but, deep down, you could feel some courage sparkling.

“I’m still new to this mummy thing, and I hope you’ll like me once you’re here with us, running around… but I promise you that I'll do my best.”

Finally, you allowed the tears you were holding to fall, wetting your cheeks as you sniffed and quietly rubbed your stomach. For the first time since the pregnancy test was positive, you felt love engulfing you most softly. You felt peace and a strong motivation to fight for your child’s happiness. You’d be their best friend, the first person they’d think of whenever they needed something or whenever they were happy, sad, or confused. You’d be their everything because, as you watched that tiny bump, you realised they were your everything too.

PRESENT DAY

The final whistle blow and the loud groan that parted your dad’s lips brought you back from memories of the early and hard pregnancy days.

It wasn’t the first time you watched your dad so upset that England was out of another World Cup, but this time Lily mimicked everything he did and as torturing as it was to watch, it was also funny. Both clapped their hands in front of the TV, mumbling words of encouragement to the squad though they obviously couldn’t hear it. Lily was dressed in her England kit, one of the many your dad bought her along with Arsenal kits, as he was a die-hard gunner and used to take her to most of the matches with him. There was no way Lily would grow up without football being such a huge part of her life. It was part of her and who she was, it was in her DNA - even if no one but you and your best friend knew about that.

Watching the scene in front of you became harder when he was on your dad’s big flat screen, and though your daughter was mimicking her grandad, she was the spitting image of him. Her dad.

For the past four years, you’ve found yourself doing your best to run from him but Mason Mount was pretty much everywhere you looked, being Chelsea’s star boy and part of the England squad. It hurt you, it opened a wound that you fought so hard to heal but he had to come back to haunt you now and then. You’d turn your look away, turn off the TV, and ignore his face whenever you drove by Stamford Bridge - but he was everywhere. He was on Lily’s face, bottom nose, and all. And, as far as you reminisced of his laugh, hers sounded identical.

It hurt, it cut deep, and it made you swallow hard the horrible sensation that effortlessly took full control of you - so you had to inhale and exhale at a slow pace as soon as your sight blurred. Mason not being there for her still made you feel vulnerable, and not good enough for your daughter for you often felt like you were keeping her from being happier as she was always mentioning how much she wished her daddy was around, and you had either to make up dumb excuses or distract her with something else. You’d often listen to her through the baby monitor, crying out in whispers for her daddy - it always sounded like she was praying.

The warmth of your mum’s touch, softly squeezing your arm, made you feel slightly better and safe. She didn't know who Lily's dad was, but she knew what went through your mind whenever you spent too long gazing at your daughter. Not knowing the full story never stopped her from fully understanding you - she was a mum too.

“I'm alright,” you reassured her before she could say something, and watched her lips form a delicate line as a reaction to your words. She knew you were far from being alright - with Lily asking more questions than ever about her dad - but didn’t know what to say. It was something she’s never been through and thought you were both brave and a bit stupid for dealing with it all on your own, when even your dad, who wasn’t as warm as her, was entirely supportive since Lily became part of your lives. You adored them even more for being so respectful of your decisions.

“I never judged you and I never will, and I still wish you’d talk to me as you’ve always done… including anything affecting my granddaughter,” your mum confessed, doing her best to hide she was a bit upset, but failing miserably.

You nodded, moving your stare from Lily to your mum. “I see him every time I look at her, and it hurts me.”

“Because you still have feelings for him?”

“I don’t,” you were as quick as possible on clearing that question, it felt like a lifetime ago that Mason was the reason for the butterflies in your stomach and he managed to end that himself with his stupid behaviour. “It hurts me because my daughter is being deprived of a life with her father around.”

“You can always find him and tell him,” your mum moved her hand from your arm to your back, rubbing it softly.

“It’s not-” you sighed, brows furrowed, as your eyes searched for Lily again. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s always simple, love. As a mum, you know it’s always simple when it comes to making your child happy.”

Always the optimist, your mum pecked your cheek before leaving you alone with your thoughts. Not knowing the truth never stopped her from giving you advice that’d often feel right, but so wrong at the same time. If Mason was any other normal guy, you would’ve let him know the day Lily was born and you held her in your arms for the first time, seeing how much she looked like him.

You would’ve let him know the day she took her first steps.

You would’ve let him know the day she screamed her first word - a loud, cheerful “goal” when Arsenal scored, making your dad the proudest grandad in the world.

You would’ve let him know the day she kicked a ball for the first time.

You would’ve let him know because you’ve always wanted Mason around, simply for being around and raising that beautiful girl as best as you both could. But there you were, doing it practically alone.

“Mummy,” Lily woke you up from your thoughts, softly pulling your sweater while curiously staring at you with her big hazel eyes. She giggled when you took her in your arms, sitting her on the kitchen counter with her little legs around your waist. “Are you sad it’s not coming home?”

“Well, baby… I’m a bit sad because grandpa is sad,” you watched her pout, nodding in agreement, as you played with her hair around your fingers. “Why don’t you go there and give him all the smooches in the world, huh? Maybe that’ll cheer the old man up a bit.”

Lily nodded again, a bit more cheerfully this time and you put her back down, watching her rush to her grandpa he nestled her in his arms as she kissed his face and squeezed his cheeks with her chubby hands. The truth was you were more than glad that the torture was finally over, with no more of him on your TV while your dad proudly cheered for England and, consequently, for Mason whenever his gorgeous face showed up.

For the rest of the weekend, you enjoyed the cosiness of Foxwoods House and that included long walks with Lily, baking with your mum, and playing poker with your dad while you shared half a bottle of whiskey - one of many in his collection.

Although you loved London, a life away from the city’s fuss had always been your goal, even more so after Lily was born so you’d often take advantage of your parents owning that huge estate and drive to Cotswolds to enjoy a few quiet days with your girl. You could tell how much she loved, always bringing up that there were just two things that’d make your getaway even more perfect: her daddy and a puppy. Usually, you’d just give her a smile as an answer and kiss her forehead, but on your drive back to London you thought about how Foxwoods would be such a great place for some family time.

On Monday, you quietly walked into the usual warmth of your office, only nodding at a few colleagues who cheerfully welcomed you back after a disappointing weekend for football fans. You spotted Willow, your childhood friend, walking towards you with two mugs of the steamy coffee you always shared in the morning in each hand, and a smile splattered on her face - to which you frowned, because Willow had never been the one in a good mood in the morning.

“I’m guessing you had a fun weekend?” You asked, taking a mug from her hand and closing the door behind you as she made herself comfortable by sitting in the armchair by the window.

“You’d know if you returned my calls, Y/n.”

“And you know how my dad is,” you shrugged, feeling your body happily welcome the hot liquid. A large dose of caffeine and chatting with your best friend was always the best way to start the day, and you were lucky to work in the same place as he – just a few doors away as you two were responsible for different departments at the Swedish fintech you’ve been working for a couple of years. “No phones allowed when it’s Foxwoods weekend unless it’s-”

“An emergency,” she chuckled. “I know, I know.”

“So?” You raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to tell you whatever she had to tell, as you lazily checked a few emails.

“I was feeling a bit bored on Saturday morning and decided to go to Paris.”

“Willow, you’re so fucking random…” You sighed and she rolled her eyes.

“Met with Arthur there, and we spent the weekend together.”

Arthur, her longtime french fling, the idiot who only showed up when he wanted something from poor delusional Willow.

“Well, can’t say I’m surprised, because I’m not,” you moved your eyes from the laptop screen to your friend, who still had that same smile on her face. “Why are you so happy, though?”

“I met his parents.”

“He introduced you to them?”

Then, when she sighed, you knew it wasn’t as she wanted you to believe and she was making a fool of herself again for a guy who just wasn’t interested. This time, there wasn’t a single trace of pride for being right, because it meant your best friend was now hurt. Deeply hurt. You watched her nervously chew the inside of her cheeks, sipping her coffee and looking out through the window as if there was anything fascinating outside.

“Hey,” you called her, bright green eyes looking at you. “Lily’s ballet recital is right after Christmas and rehearsals start today. Come with me.”

Finally, she flashed you a smile; one you loved seeing for a sad Willow made no sense as she’s always been the happiest person in your life, always cheering up everyone and looking after people while you looked after her, so she’d be fine too. The bond you two shared became stronger when you found out you were pregnant, and Willow had been there since day one - appointments, baby shopping, days you spent at the hospital due to HG¹, and sleepless nights when it hit you that Lily would grow up without her dad around. There was no one like Willow, she was the sister you never had.

You wrapped up work a bit earlier than usual so you’d, for once, make it in time for your daughter’s ballet class. It wasn’t unusual for your mum to pick her up from school and take her to classes, and even so, sometimes you’d arrive 10 minutes after all the mums had picked up their little ones once class was over. It made you feel horrible seeing Lily there, anxiously waiting for you, and getting overly enthusiastic when spotted you arriving at the studio - she’d smooch your entire face, and tell you how much she loved and missed you.

“Mummy,” she called you, squeezing your hand as you walked to the studio with Willow on your side. Looking down, you smiled so she’d continue. “Ice cream after ballet?”

How could a wrong choice in life guide you to this? To her? Almost four years later and it still overwhelmed you, because you never believed you had that unique thing that’d make you a mum, but somehow, you managed it just fine — with extra help from your family and friends, unquestionably, but at the end of the day it was just you and Lily. And her fish, of course. The only pet you allowed her to have for now, so she’d start to have some sort of notion of commitment.

“We’ll see about that, peanut, but if we go then it’s on auntie Willie.” Lily giggled as a reply, entertained by the funny scowl on her godmother’s face for she knew that auntie Willie would do anything and everything she asked.

“I’ll pay if you eat dinner first, Lils!” Willow said, and Lily sighed in return, as if her life was the most complicated she now had a tough decision to make.

She remained in silence for a while as you chatted about work with Willow, an important deadline approaching right before Christmas break and she knew someone would have to interfere or the firm would lose such a significant client like Nike. You thought that was the issue of making partnerships with companies that had their marketing branch and the ideas had to match.

That gentle hand squeeze was there again, Lily looking at you with her big, brown eyes that softened your entire being. “Mummy,” she called. “Can Summer come too if we go get ice cream?”

Summer, the ballet bestie you never met because you always dropped Lily at the studio later than the other kids normally arrived, and she was gone before you went back to the studio to pick up your daughter. You only knew what she looked like because one day Lily came home with a cute Polaroid picture of the two of them, taken by Miss Albright, the teacher. Your heart melted a little at how precious that was, the two girls clutching each other, tiny chubby arms around each other and big smiles on their faces — you could even swear they looked alike, maybe that was a bestie thing.

“First I have to meet her mummy and make sure she trusts me, so she feels safe to leave her baby girl with me.”

“Just like you do, mummy?” You nodded, a big proud smile on your lips at how easily Lily understood things. “My legs are tired.” She said, completely changing the subject and stretching both arms at you so you could carry her but Willow was faster and nestled Lily in her arms.

“A ballerina with tired legs? Oh my,” Willow faked a shocked expression, hands on her chest as she gasped, getting a cheerful giggle from Lily. You loved how she closed her eyes and tilted her head back whenever she laughed - your chest clenched at her adorableness.

“I played footy at school today, auntie.” Lily covered her mouth with her small hand, letting out a loud yawn. Your heart skipped a beat for a second, sharing a look full of meaning with your best friend as Lily laid her head on Willow’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “Mr. Martin said I’m good.” She mumbled.

Of course, she was good. How could she not be good at something that was part of who she was?

Willow gave you a comforting smile, knowing how much this could affect your mood, as you walked in silence into the ballet studio; a smiley Miss Albright welcomed you, gently pinching Lily’s chubby legs with a kind smile curling her lips. She was the most loving and understanding lady.

Lily quickly awakened from her short nap, impatiently wiggling her legs in the air so Willow would put her down. She stormed out to meet her classmates after blowing you and Willow a kiss - you left out a soft gasp, allowing the blissful effect that your daughter had on you to fully embrace you. Lily was constantly full of energy, always beaming, brightening the room every time she walked in.

Like her daddy, who had no idea about her existence.

A soft poke on your shoulder woke you up from your thoughts and you turned around to face a heavily pregnant woman accompanied by, apparently, her mum, considering they looked a lot like each other. They were both smiling at you, and the youngest pointed at your daughter, who was now clutching a little girl.

“Which of you are Lily’s mum?”

“Guilty,” you raised a hand, eyebrows softly furrowed as you let out a giggle. Taking another peek at the two little ballerinas, you frowned at how indeed they looked alike. It was easy to identify that one. “I assume that’s Summer, and you’re her mum?”

“Jasmine, but you can call me Jaz,” you shook hands, smiling at each other. She introduced you to Debbie, her mum, and you introduced her to Willow who quickly engaged in a cheerful chat with the woman.

“I’m Y/n. It’s lovely to finally meet you, Lily just won’t shut up about Summer,” you giggled, thinking of the never-ending talks about how your daughter’s ballet bestie is the… best.

“She’s Summer’s current favourite person,” Jasmine said, linking her arm to yours and walking you to where the other mums were. That sudden loving gesture made a soft smile curl the sides of your lips - you weren’t friends with other mums, especially the ones from school. They were so hard to bond and you missed having someone else - who wasn’t your mum - who’d understand your daily routine of wonderful moments and struggling as a mum.

It was easy being around them, your mum arrived at the studio shortly before class started, and quickly bonded with Debbie about the wonders of being a grandmother; how they both spoiled the girls and were spoiled by them.

The rehearsal went on fine, full of the cuteness of 4-year-old girls in baby pink tutus. You were happy to be there, so you could see how happy your daughter was as she occasionally waved between clumsy pliés and pirouettes. Nonetheless, she was a natural, and you weren’t being too biased — as a ballet dancer herself, Willow made sure to point out all the right things Lily was doing. Watching Lily so focused on everything Miss Bennett said, all the instructions she gave, and how your little one did everything so clumsy yet so perfectly made your eyes burn a little with some tears. You’d still think she was the most perfect creature even if she wasn’t your daughter.

Once the rehearsal ended, you spotted Lily yawning and blinking heavily, but you knew she’d remember the ice cream. Sometimes, you couldn’t negotiate nor change the little one’s mind, and she got all that stubbornness from you.

“Mummy,” she started, and you took her in your arms, pressing soft kisses all over her face as she giggled.

“I know, my little monster. I didn’t forget your ice cream.”

When you invited your mum and best friend for dinner, they both apologised over and over, saying their time off had been exclusive to Lily’s rehearsal and they had to go — your mum, to your dad, because even after 30 years together they just couldn’t stay away from each other; and your best friend, back home, because she needed to meet her dad for dinner. That was when, kindly, Jaz invited you and Lily for Italian at a place she loved; when your daughter looked up to you with her best puppy eyes and the biggest pout she could pull off, you couldn’t say no. Lily knew very well that most of the time she did that you’d quickly say yes, the dimples showing up when she pouted made your heart melt.

And you were also looking forward to seeing your daughter and her new bestie interacting as if they were two adults, which happened, for your amusement. Though you were engaged in chatting with Jaz and Debbie, who were two sweethearts, you couldn’t help but feel completely hypnotised by how Lily behaved throughout the whole time you spent at the restaurant; she shared a colouring book with Summer and they both talked about school, ballet shoes, and pink tutus.

Bonding with the two women was easy, especially with Jaz. You found out that Lily and Summer almost shared a birthday, with your daughter being just a few days older than hers; that you both had big families although you were an only child and she had three siblings. Debbie quickly explained that the siblings part was a bit complicated, but easy to understand, and in the end they were all family; she didn’t get into a detailed explanation, though, which you didn’t mind for it kept you from having to share something just because they shared too, although you noticed some curiosity sparkle in Debbie’s eyes when you mentioned it was just you and Lily living in a brand new flat that had more space. Your father kept teasing you about giving his favourite girl a puppy for Christmas, and you knew it’d end up in more than just teasing so you’ve decided that more space would be needed considering Lily wanted a golden retriever.

“Don’t forget about Moana, mummy!” The fish, your daughter remembered, to which you just nodded with a smile on your lips.

You watched Lily having her strawberry ice cream as if there was no tomorrow, and you could only hope all that sugar wouldn’t keep her from falling asleep right after you bathed her or it’d be a long night trying to calm her down from a sugar rush. Jaz was going through the same struggle as she watched Summer; you noticed her eyes widening a bit but she giggled each time her daughter hummed in delight with one spoon after another of her chocolate ice cream.

When you said your goodbyes after sharing the bill, and before you left, Debbie kindly invited you and Lily over on Saturday for lunch, so the girls could spend a day together, playing, something they didn’t get the chance to do yet.

“Jaz will have her mocktail and I can make us some mojitos,” the woman said; Lily looked at you again with her pleading brown eyes, blinking heavily as she let out a long yawn.

“We’d love that, Debbie.”

After exchanging phone numbers and Instagram accounts, you went in different directions of the street - you wanted to squeeze both Lily’s and Summer’s cheeks when they blew each other a kiss after a long hug. Happiness washed over you seeing that it wasn’t hard for your daughter to make friends, and bond, even if not having her father around clearly affected her behaviour sometimes, often noticing that she, sometimes, was a bit needy and clingy - but also extremely kind and sweet.

Soon, you were home and while Lily went straight to her bedroom to pick clean pyjamas, you quickly fed her fish and met your daughter already waiting for you in the bathroom; ready for her bubble bath. Even clearly tired, she chatted the whole time, telling you how much she enjoyed dinner and that Summer was her best friend in the world - she also thanked you for being an incredible mummy and allowing her to spend Saturday with her friend, which made you swallow a sob at how adorable your daughter was. Raising that wonderful little girl mostly on your own was tough, but moments like this were proof of the fantastic job you were doing.

Thankfully, after properly tucked under the covers, Lily mumbled an ‘I love you mummy’ and quickly fell asleep. You gently pressed your lips against her forehead, getting a sigh from her in return as if she had been waiting for it; when you walked into your bedroom, flickering heavily as you yawned, Lily was already snoring lightly - you chuckled at the baby monitor. You showered, switched into your pyjamas, and decided to check on your social media once you found yourself after the covers: there was a text message from Jaz but it was too late for a reply, and she also followed you on Instagram; you smiled at a picture of Summer in a pink tutu and of another one where the little one was between her parents, a wide smile, and her tiny arms was over their shoulders.

But you wish you had never met Jasmine, or that your daughter had never met Summer at all when you found a picture of her entire family at a stadium, all of them dressed in England jerseys and a familiar face in the middle was on your screen when you decided to zoom in on the photo. You dropped your phone on your stomach, feeling your mouth instantly drying and your eyesight blurring - if you weren’t already in bed, the weakness you felt spreading from your legs through your body would bring you to the floor.

Breathe, Y/n.

That was Mason, and it didn’t take you much to realise who precisely he was. Or who Jasmine was.

Mason was her brother.

Not believing what your eyes just saw, you went back to scrolling through her Insta and you felt your whole body trembling now, tears filling your eyes and rolling freely down your cheeks; there were a bunch of pictures with him, of the entire family on Christmas, of him with Summer. You felt the urge to vomit, your heart pounding against your chest so loud you could nearly listen to it.

Mason was her damn brother.

Mason, the father of your daughter.

Lilian Maisie.

********* words:

HG: hyperemesis gravidarum: A severe type of nausea and vomiting during pregnancy.

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