Synopsis: In which Mel’s ex girlfriend is absolutely stunning and she’s not the only one who see’s that. And even more unfortunately, she’s still not over her. Lucky for her, the feelings mutual.
Pairing: Mel King x black!fem!reader
Genre: SMAU
Warning(s): Girl cries and begs a little bit (an honest moment of weakness)
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. ..?
❯❯❯❯ ❯❯❯❯ ❯❯❯❯ ❯❯❯❯ ❯❯❯❯ ❯❯❯❯ ❯❯❯❯ ❯❯❯❯ ❯❯❯❯
I don't like the way he's looking at you… I'm starting to think you want him too!
Synopsis: All you’ve ever wanted was to be someone important outside of the mask you had found yourself wearing one day. Forced? Maybe but regardless you found yourself with power that came with great responsibility. Now here you were, one big balancing act. Luckily or well rather unluckily for you, things are about to get real shaky.
In which Kara Zor-El finds herself crashing through the window of your apartment in the middle of New York. Now you have to balance being New York’s one and only Spider-Woman on top of figuring out where this random girl came from. Ready, Set, Love?
Genre: DC meets Marvel, oh the drama!
Warning(s): Girls being unseriously oblivious and silly.
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
Now Playing ‘New Perspective by Panic! At The Disco’
In which Kirishima wants to learn a new sport, and what a better teacher then the star quarterback he just so happens to be crushing on?
tags: american highschool au, football, subtle 2000s settings, teenager stuff, shinsou jirou bakugou friendship, chapter one(?), gets angstier the further into the story
To be honest, Katsuki wasn’t the biggest fan of the whole “House Party” thing.
He understood that the party was technically being held in celebration of him and his team, but that was really the only reason he was there.
He wasn’t the type to get drunk in a crowded suburban house blasting “Get Low,” by Lil John. Wasn’t his type of music, his type of scene, his type of people.
In the faintest sense of the word, Katsuki Bakugou was a loner.
The word loner is defined as a person who does not seek out, actively avoids, or fails to maintain interpersonal relationships. He’d gotten the definition from a dictionary and committed to memory at the age of 8 when his mother first joked with the word when he begged to leave the playground. She’d said, “You’re not gonna get anywhere in life being such a loner, Kat,” and the next week, Katsuki found himself on a recreational football team.
He supposed that’s what started this whole thing.
Katsuki loved football, don’t get him wrong. The adrenaline rush every time he fit his helmet over his head made him want to grin like the devil and punch his Geometry teacher in the face, but…
He wasn’t sure.
Katsuki sighed, tossing the yellow and red football up and catching it lazily in his other hand. After every championship they won, the student council would paint their game ball in the school's colors and gift it to that year's mvp. As a sophomore, Katsuki now had two.
He was currently outside the house, pacing the grass that resided just to the side of the pool. Jirou was in the pool, propping herself on the edge with her elbows and playing her own type of music on a small stereo she’d brought. Shinsou was sitting criss-cross beside her, texting someone on his phone and chuckling from time to time.
The song “Disarm” by The Smashing Pumpkins, had just finished, and Katsuki huffed up a, “Finally.”
“What’s your beef with Billy Corgan, anyway?” Jirou laughed as she changed it to a Gorrillaz album.
“‘S borning,” Katsuki grumbled.
“You're boring, asshole,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “By all means, though, when you buy a full Limp Bizkit album, let me know.”
Katsuki huffed a laugh, grunting, “Not all of us have rich girlfriends,” and taunting her with a fake throw. He felt a smirk grow over him as she flinched, but in her defense, it really wasn’t exactly above him to actually throw it. Katsuki snickered, tossing it back up in the air instead.
Shinsou leaned over with a shit eating smirk, directing a, “He got you good, there,” at her with a click of his tongue.
He was promptly splashed.
Katsuki watched more-than-contently as Shinsou shieked, reflexes kicking in for once in his life as he jumped to his feet, protecting his phone with all that he had.
“I just fucking got this one, dipshit!” he exclaimed, going to kick her in the head with his socked foot. Jirou drew back with a sneer, pinching her nose.
“PU, dude!” she whined, kicking up some more water as she jerked back in the pool. “Put some shoes on!”
“Put some good music on!” Katsuki interjected, just loud enough to be heard over the speaker and the splashing of water.
“You leave Gorrillaz out of this!” she jeered back, pointed an accusatory finger at his forehead. Katsuki snickered, going to throw another fake at her.
She flinched again.
Shinsou pouted jokingly at her, crouching down and asking, “She hits you, doesn’t she?”
Jirou groaned, sending another wave his way. The purple-haired teen screeched, retreating behind Katsuki. That was where Katsuki had a problem.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, trying to move away from being Shinsou’s personal meat shield. Jirou was still splashing away, and Katsuki felt as though he was playing some sort of DDR, hopping around and trying to get Shinsou off his back while also avoiding the water. His frustration soon fizzled out to amusement, and a wide grin split across his face as he shifted gears to rather get Shinsou to be his meat shield.
The boy's eyes widened as he realized his plan, and shot off down the length of the yard.
“You’re already wet enough for the both of us!” He shouted as Katsuki chased him down. There was a short pause before he laughed, “Not like that!”
Katsuki wasn’t even thinking like that before he spoke his comment, and his immaturity had the blonde rolling his eyes and pouncing for his legs, bringing him down. “Shut the fuck up, you idiot,” he scoffed, watching as Shinsou tried his hardest to escape his grasp.
“Wait!” He exclaimed between bursts of laughter, beating back Katsuki’s hands as he went to scoop him up. “Let me at least drop my phone!”
Katsuki paused for a moment, then begrudgingly allowed the boy that liberty. His black and blue flip phone scattered across the grass and Shinsou seemed like he could finally surrender easily. Katsuki picked him up by his waist and carried him over to the pool, Jirou screaming and shouting cheers in Katsuki’s favor. The two boys were laughing the whole way back over, ignoring the weird looks they received from the other teens that took claim to the patio. As they approached the pool, Katsuki adjusted his grip so that he could throw Shinsou in at the optimal target. The center of the pool.
He reeled back, and Shinsou screamed out in laughter, gasping, “Wait, wait, wait!”
Katsuki looked back with a brow raised, bellowing, “What?!” with a wide grin.
“Do-” he had to take another breath. “Do you have your phone on you?”
“No?”
“Carry on, then!”
Of course Katsuki ended up in the pool, too.
Shinsou howled as he flew to the middle, and Katsuki lost an already losing battle to regain his footing before he, too, was fully drenched, shoes and all.
He came up with a gasp for air, his stomach aching so much from laughter he could hardly stay afloat. Jirou was bent over in hysterics on the pool ledge, and Shinsou waded over with his hands outstretched to Katsuki, the intent to fight written across his face.
The blond’s eyes widened and he smirked, tearing his soaked hoodie and shirt off and preparing for a tussle to the death.
“Bring it on, shit head!” he exclaimed, balling his hands into fists, beckoning him with a smirk.
It was Shinsou’s turn to pounce at him, and the two boys wrestled, practically trying to drown each other.
They were Katsuki’s type of people.
The party seemed to be winding down now, yet Katsuki, Jirou, and Shinsou were still hanging out on the patio. One of his teammates, Mirio, the one whose house they were at, had said once the majority of the party had left, he wanted all of the actual players to stay back for whatever reason. It was currently about 10 PM, and considering the DJ had gone from playing Hip Hop to random 80s love songs, Katsuki had to assume it was just as dead inside the house as it was outside. He thought this was pretty early for a house party to be dying down, but it was still a Thursday night during exam season after all. Just because the football season was over didn’t mean the school season was anywhere near it, unfortunately.
Jirou had been sitting on the table, a towel wrapped around her shoulders as she and Shinsou spoke about some marching band stuff. Katsuki caught maybe every three words, but considering he was a drummer, he was rather frustrated he couldn’t understand more, especially since they were both percussionists, too. His head just swiveled between the two as they talked, uselessly, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself now. He and Shinsou were still dripping wet, small water droplets from their hair landing on the table with each subtle move. Neither had bothered going back inside to get towels, opting to just let themselves and their clothes air dry considering it was a hot summer night. But, with nothing better to do, Katsuki figured he might as well see about that now. Maybe he could ask for a change of clothes, too.
Without announcing his exit, Katsuki stood and headed to the sliding glass door. He peeked his head inside and saw just about what he’d expected. There couldn’t possibly be more than a good 20 people still inside, some on the couch watching Nickelodeon, others in the kitchen, some perched on the counter and some on the floor. His eyes quickly found Mirio’s mustard blonde hair, and he called his name gruffly.
The boy in question looked over with a smile, jogging over. Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Hey Bakugou! We were looking for you!”
Katsuki ignored that. “You got any towels?”
Mirio thought a moment before nodding and jogging towards the hall closet. He leaned over to see Katsuki from the hall, asking, “You need any clothes, too?”
Katsuki turned to check on Shinsou, and the two purple haired teens were watching his interaction with pinched brows. He turned back. “Two shirts, two shorts.”
The older student shot back finger guns, disappearing into a room. In the meantime he’d gotten a few greetings and congratulations from kids that knew him better than he knew them, and soon, Mirio returned.
“Glad to know you had some company out there!” He said with a smile. “Most of the guys had just thought you’d gone home!” He peered out the glass door to where Jirou and Shinsou sat and waved. The two waved back less than courteously. Katsuki wasn’t quite sure they knew how to do that- be courteous. He let out a scoff, taking the clothes from his hand.
“Thanks,” was all Mirio got before Katsuki was on his way out, but a hand held his shoulder in place.
“Hey, maybe come inside now, yeah?” Mirio suggested nicely. It was too nice- made his skin prickle. “The team’s saying they can’t stay out much longer, so I want to get this out of the way real quick!”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he shrugged. Mirio's smile shone once more, and he gave the shoulder he had in his hold a swift pat before letting Katsuki go.
As he made his way back to the table, he tossed Shinsou his things and jabbed a thumb back towards the door.
“C’mon,” he said, turning right back around and heading back inside. He knew Jirou and Shinsou were giving each other that look, but he hardly knew what was going on himself, seeing as the seniors were steadfast in keeping whatever this was a secret. He turned to look over his shoulder with a shrug, saying, “I don’t know, either.”
In the living room, there were about fourteen people not including Mirio and the guy next to him setting up. Ten of which were actually on the team, two of which being Shinsou and Jirou, and then the other two being Mina Ashido from the color guard, and Eijirou Kirishima from… nowhere, come to think of it. Katsuki knew him because he would sometimes help out on the field as a water boy or something, but Katsuki thought that was simply because the coach was his mom. He did know he was pretty good friends with Kaminari, their current sub-out for one of the defensive starters, and Sero, a starting receiver. The Kaminari kid was good, but obviously he didn’t take priority over the seniors and the only reason Sero was in was because one of their starters got benched for their grades. Honestly speaking, the only reason Katsuki was quarterback these past couple years was because Mirio had gotten seriously injured in the middle of last season and wasn’t fully recovered. He was just about healthy at this point, but because he had gotten a scholarship to a college for football, he didn’t want to risk reinjuring himself if there was someone who could do his job just as well- if not, “better.” (Mirio’s words, not his.)
So, that was the attendance, now-
“What the fuck is going on?” Katsuki asserted, leaning back on the couch and crossing one leg over the other. Jirou slapped him in the side, a gesture that obviously said “be nice”. Katsuki shoved his middle finger in her face, and she attempted to bite it in retaliation. Shinsou, who was leaning over the couch between them, broke it up before Katsuki could slap her upside the head.
“Just a moment!” Mirio said, looking over his shoulder. He and some other senior that was not on the team, but seemed to be very close with the boy were struggling in connecting a laptop to the TV. “I thought you were a film student,” he whispered to the kid he was with.
The kid looked over and replied, “Yeah. Film, not tech,” bumping into him less than gently. Kaminari then perked up, offering his hand, and the video was set up within the next couple seconds.
“You had it in HDMI 1, not 2,” he explained, patting the two on the back.
Sero shouted a cough-covered, “Nerd!” and Kaminari turned back and poked him under the ribs.
“Now that that’s set up!” Miro said grandly, clapping his hands together. “We, as seniors, have a small gift to offer you guys!” A few of the players that were friends with the present seniors bumped their shoulders and chuckled at the corny speech. “We had a great season this year, even if I was more of an assistant coach than a player-“ There were shouts of “don’t sweat it!” and the like at this, and Miro laughed bashfully. “Uh- but yeah! You guys have my friend Tamaki to thank for this, so- uhm, give your hand for him and enjoy!” He gave a small smile, gesturing to Tamaki whose face glowed red from the attention. There were a few scattered claps before Mirio shut off the lights and everyone hunkered down for the show.
[Video: a highlights reel clipped and edited to the song “No More ?’s” by Easy E. Clips included touchdown passes, endzone celebrations, sacks and tackles, the marching band and dance team’s halftime show, the cheer squad in the stands, and the benched players cheering for their teammates after a good play. They were all put together in a scrapbook-comic esk design, with a camcorder filter over top and different sound effect bubbles in places. It was about a minute and 30 seconds long, skipping a verse of the song to get to the end faster. At the end when the woman asks, “What’s your real name?” An audio clip of the championship’s announcer cuts in shouting, “UA HIGH SCHOOL!” As the rest of the track plays, the screams and chants of the crowd put over top as the credits roll.]
The video ends, and the team is a tad stunned. Ashido is actually the one to break the silence, clapping obnoxiously loud and leaping up to surely ask Tamaki a million questions. The rest of the room follows suit with compliments to the editor floating around.
Jirou turned inward to her friends and gave an approving nod. “That was sick.”
“I could do better,” Shinsou shrugged jokingly, and Katsuki pushed him away by his face.
“Like hell you could,” he said. The three chuckled about it before Katsuki jolted at a tap on his shoulder.
He turned, and the only reason he didn't snap was because he was in a mildly good mood.
It was Kirishima.
“Hey!” He said, over enthusiastic as is expected from his type. One of his hands fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. Was he nervous? Katsuki couldn’t imagine what for.
“Hi?” Katsuki replied.
“I was watching that video, and I’m just now realizing how crazy good you are at quarterback!” He continued, taking a seat. “I’m usually just fooling around with Denki on the bench, you know? Not really paying attention?”
“… Okay.”
At the second dry response, the boy seemed hesitant to go on, but persevered nonetheless. “Anyway, I was thinking about doing a sport next year, and maybe I could take on football! It seems like fun, plus it’s not like I’m starting from absolute scratch. I know how the game works, I just need to get into the groove,” he said the last word with a small body roll and a laugh. Katsuki didn’t laugh. He actually thought the action was quite stupid.
Who’s this guy, again?
“Yeah,” the red head sighed with some lingering chuckles. “I usually help out with the little league teams on Saturdays over at the rec field, but I’ve never actually played before. I usually just watch games on TV. Maybe you could meet me out there one day and coach me up a bit?” He gave an awkward smile, and Katsuki only blinked.
His nice, free Saturday? That day was sacred. It was the only day no one would bother him! Sunday was cleaning day and Monday through Friday was school. Saturday was his me day!
… But.
If he went through with this thing, maybe that old hag would quit nagging him about making more friends. That was the only thing she had to say to him on his Saturdays- always complaining about how “normal” kids hung out with their friends on the weekend, but Katsuki just hung out in his room and played Sonic games. She also called him a nerd.
She was so annoying.
Katsuki internally rolled his eyes. He hardly knew this kid. The only reason he was even talking to him was because he was a god at football. He was being exploited for his talents right now, shouldn’t he be offended?
Who cared what he should be?!
Maybe he’d accept the boy's offer in spite of that narrative!
You know what?! He would.
Worst comes to worst, he doesn’t make the team and Katsuki wasted a few hours. Best comes to best, Mitski gets off his ass about making friends, the football team gets a new player, and Katsuki subverts expectations and makes himself all the more unreadable.
Seems like pretty balanced odds.
And so, Katsuki gave the redhead a shrug, holding out a hand for his phone. Kirishima gave a grin in return, and that was that.
Katsuki doesn’t see him the rest of the night, hanging out with Shinsou and Jirou once more and finishing off the last of the pizza. Katsuki did have to make sure it wasn’t some kind of huge edible first, but when Mirio confirmed it hadn’t been touched, they dug in.
At 11:30 the party officially ended, and everyone went their separate ways. It wasn’t a long walk to Katsuki’s home from Mirio’s, but he was hit with a wave of exhaustion heading down a hill to his street. He had to take a moment to remember where he was.
Just then, there was a buzz in his pocket.
From Kirishima.
𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚
Hey bro! Just letting you know that I’m at the fields from 1-6, but you don’t have to stay the whole time!
Hell right he wouldn’t be staying the whole time.
Katsuki scoffed and replied, thankful for the distraction from his sleepiness.
𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮
thanks. ill prolly stay til maybe three. i got shit to do
“Shit” being rotting in his bed and reading comics.
𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚
Totally get it dude!
𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚
Are you home yet? Hanta told me you usually walk, but it’s pretty late so
That was… nice of him, Katsuki supposed. He checked his surroundings, seeing his mailbox a few paces before him.
𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮
im looking at my house rn
𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚
Great!
𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚
See you tmrw Bakubro!
“Bakubro”?
Katsuki sensed he made a mistake agreeing to this.
Synopsis: In which two girls love each other, take all the wrong steps going forward, and live a happily ever after?
Pairing: Trinity Santos x black!fem!reader , actress!reader and singer!trinity
Genre: doomed yuri
Warning(s): Women not loving women, question mark?
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She lyin to me and I’m lyin to her, fuck it guess we both ain’t shit…
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You prolly treatin' her like she a prize, me, I treat her like she disgustin'
Ding!
“Hello?” You spoke hesitantly into the phone.
“Did you have to say it like that?” She scoffed into the mic as you simply rolled your eyes at her bitter tone.
“I don’t have your number saved so I needed confirmation,” you taunted, seemingly innocent. She should’ve known that if she wanted to play this game you were prepared to take it to hell if that’s what it took to win.
“Omg, you’re so petty,” Trinity groaned, frustrated.
“Look, we aren’t even dating so we really don’t need to have this conversation…” you spoke, trailing off.
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what Trinity? What am I doing?”
“The whole redirection and the whole ‘I don’t care’ act because it’s very clear to me that you do otherwise you wouldn’t have been out with Odessa right after people saw me with Tori,” she spat out, tone taking on a more serious edge.
“What, friends can’t hang out now? It was just a coincidence that it was the same day,” you stated, defending yourself as you adjusted your position on your bed, now sitting upright and admiring your nails. You were trying to distract yourself from the nickname she used for Victoria and you were way too aware of the fact that pointing it out wouldn’t help your case at all.
“How are we supposed to be in a truthful relationship when you can’t even be honest with me right now?” she said accusingly.
“Boo, nothing about this relationship is honest, it’s not even a relationship if we’re being honest,” you said, challenging her rhetoric.
“Y/n, please,” she pleaded, sounding tired.
“You have a history Trin, you know it won’t work out the way you want it to,” you replied condescendingly.
“C’mon pretty, can’t we at least try?”
“You do know that pet names do nothing for your cause?” you said, more as a warning than as a question and if we were still playing this game of being honest, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel something.
“Let’s try? Please…” she begged. You honestly wouldn’t mind if she spent the rest of her life begging you to be hers and especially in that tone.
“Have you seen social media today? Like besides the main post of Odessa and I, did you look at comments on it and what people have been saying?” You questioned her seriously.
“No, I just wasn’t worried about them at the time, you were my main priority,” she spoke after a moment of silence.
“How sweet,” you said, almost in disbelief, before you burst out laughing.
“Have a nice night Trinity, don’t call me.”
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Hos ain't spare me, why would I spare them?
“Y/n? Are you up?” Trinity spoke softly, arms wrapped around your torso as the two of you laid in your bed.
“Do you need something?”
“Nope, just you,” Trinity replied, her voice muffled as she rested her face on your chest. Some days you wish you were dumb enough to believe that it was just you but it’s ok because you had already accepted that there were no strings attached, Trinity seemed to be the one forgetting that nowadays.
“Right so that’s why somebody named Valerie is calling you right now? You must have a type because what’s up with you and these V names?”
“I promise you she’s nobody,” Trinity said, groaning as she slowly began to regain consciousness and wake up, her arms leaving your waist as you sat up.
“So it’s fine if I answer the call?” You asked, not allowing time for an answer as your thumb slid across the screen and a voice emanated from the phone.
“Hey baby, you weren’t answering my texts so I was wondering if we were still on for tonight?” came Valerie’s voice, inquisitive and doubtful. After a moment, you muted the call.
“Aww look at you breaking that poor girls heart. That definitely didn’t sound like nothing,” you taunted.
“Are you sure it’s not your heart that’s breaking?” She challenged, the soft mood shattered.
“You’re funny, but you know what was funnier? Listening to you last night begging me to give you chance,” you said while laughing before seeing her expression from the corner of your eye, which threw you into another fit of laughter.
“Wait is that not funny? Why we not laughing? I’m confused,” you spoke, still cackling. You were laughing so hard you almost felt like you couldn’t breathe.
“Y/n.”
“Ok. Ok, I’m sorry, that was just hilarious,” you said finally.
“Someone’s calling you,” she noted.
“Yeah lemme answer this call real quick and then I’ll listen to whatever nonsense you’re getting ready to tell me,” you retorted.
“You can answer it in here, I mean you answered my call, no?”
“Tuh, I mean if that’s what you want,” you replied easily as you answered the call.
“Hey boo, what’s up?” you said, speaking softly.
“Nothing much love, I was just wondering if you wanted to come over,” she answered shyly.
“I’m already on my way, see you in a few,” you teased before hanging up.
“So?”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right Trin,” you sang before continuing, “and another thing, you can leave whenever, just lock the door behind you.”
She lyin' to me, and I'm lyin' to her, fuck it, guess we both ain't shit
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A/N: Might write a part 2 and give them a redemption arc…
To begin your plan you had Trinity and Dennis convince Cassie and a few other day shift doctors to have a night out at the local bar and grill.
This job was definitely something but the things people do for love, right? Now to make sure you didn’t look a mess. The absolute worst thing about being a vampire has to be the whole not being able to see your reflection thing.
And now you weren’t sure if you should tie your hair back or leave it out as it was in its curly state and you couldn’t fucking see anything. Cassie would be coming soon though so you made the executive decision to put it up into a messy bun.
And the uniform was a whole different issue, let’s just say you definitely had some complaints but you really made anything look good so you held your tongue. Tonight had to be perfect so you had to remember to blink and remember to breathe as humanly as possible.
After looking over yourself, boredom soon found you, leaving you preoccupied with running your nails along the smooth laminated wooden counter, tapping them every once in a while as you played the waiting game.
When you saw the group outside you momentarily made your way to the back, simply because in all your years of knowing Cassie you knew she would definitely try and leave if she saw you but everything was fair game was she was seated and committed to the night out.
After giving them a few minutes with their menus you soon made your way over to their table.
“Hello, my name is Y/n and I’ll be taking care of you guys today!” You stated simply, avoiding making eye contact with Cassie for as long as you could as the table reciprocated your greeting. Though you totally weren’t paying attention to her, you heard a sharp intake of breath coming from her direction and smiled.
You looked at all of them before deciding to make it known that you knew Trinity and Dennis. No harm no foul, right? You weren’t sure if that’s how humans used it or if it was still used at all but you moved on from that thought quickly.
“Oh my gosh, what are you guys doing here?” You exclaimed as you looked at Trinity and Dennis. You could already see Dennis shrink into his seat as Trinity rolled her eyes playfully.
“We literally had no clue that you worked here, that’s kind of insane,” Trinity responded, immediately playing her role. Dennis just sighed softly before speaking.
“Out of all the local bar and grill places we ended up here, what a coincidence,” he followed up, slightly unconvincingly but to be fair he was sandwiched between Robby and Cassie so you’d let him off the hook for now.
“The wonders of Pittsburgh, am I right? Let me not take up too much of everybody’s time now. Can I start you all off with something to drink?” You questioned, stencil pressed against the IPad as you began to select their drinks.
It then came time for you to get Cassie’s drink and you angled your body towards her, making direct eye contact before speaking.
“And for you sweetheart?” You beckoned. She simply cocked her eyebrow in disapproval before responding.
“I’ll just take a glass of water.”
“Ouh, risky. Good choice,” you teased, you felt your retracted fangs tingle when she simply smirked and nodded her head before facing the woman in front of her. Your smile tightened slightly and you could taste blood on your tongue before it quickly healed.
“Alright, are we ready to order or do we need more time?” They seemed to all be in agreement that they needed more time so you simply dismissed yourself and told them you would be back with their drinks shortly before turning to Trinity and winking subtly as you sent the orders off and made your way to the next table you were hosting.
If anyone asked how Cassie ended up in your apartment, you’d never tell or maybe you’d say a little bit of sweet talking here and there would do the trick.
“Is Harrison with his dad for the week?” You questioned as you held the door open for her to walk in.
“Yeah but soon I’ll be able to have him with me full time,” she replied smiling softly, a hopeful glint in her eyes.
“That’s nice, seems a bit has happened while I was away from you,” you stated as a matter of fact.
“Wow, isn’t it crazy that life goes on even in your absence? What a radical concept,” she replied sarcastically while crossing her arms.
“Yeah yeah, whatever,” your voice faltering as you spoke. You then decided to simply say what was on your mind.
“I missed you,” you muttered as you began to approach her, the fact that she was taller than you had never annoyed you more than in this moment.
“Hmm? Speak up, I didn’t quite catch that,” she teased.
“I missed you,” you asserted, voice taking on a more serious tone.
“Right and what am I supposed to do with that information?” She replied as she leaned back and propped her arm up on the counter top.
“You’re such an ass,” you said, further voicing your annoyance by hissing and baring your fangs.
“I mean, you were the one who broke up with me so I think I have some grounds to be one,” she quipped, amused, her fangs now bared in response to yours.
“Babyy,” you whined, now pouting.
“You know we all make mistakes sometimes,” you followed up with now getting closer to her.
“Mhm, is that what we’re calling it now? A mistake?” She taunted.
“The worst mistake of my life, promise,” you responded, playing right into it. After a moment she opened her arms and who were you to pass up on a clear invitation. You walked into her arms and she closed them around you, letting her hands come together on your lower back.
“I knew you couldn’t resist…” you teased, tone cocky.
“That didn’t sound very nice, wanna try again?” She cautioned patiently.
“Thank you…” you replied meekly, now trying to escape her hold.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she chided as she simply pulled you back in, hands now resting firmly on your hips.
“Try that one more time for me babygirl, you know what you’re supposed to say,” she coaxed while forcing you to hold her gaze by bringing one hand up to your face, focusing your line of sight.
You pricked her with the fang closest to her palm in defiance and watched as she chuckled darkly before bringing her palm to her mouth and slowly licking the blood off of her hand as she maintained steady eye contact with you, your pupils dilating in response to the seductive action. You missed this.
Summary: when Mel’s friends from college come to visit, there’s only one way to keep them off her back, and it’s your job as her best friend to help her. How hard can pretending to be someone’s girlfriend really be?
CW: fake dating, friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, fluff, angst, kissing, kind of a slow burn, unresolved tension (in this part), homophobic language (use of “dyke” in a derogatory way), alcohol consumption, a man hitting on you for the plot.
WC: 12.2k
Tightrope (part 2)
A/N: this is the longest piece I’ve written on Tumblr so far.
♡ ───────── ♡ ───────── ♡
You learned very quickly on her first day that people had a habit of walking away while Melissa King was still talking.
Not in an intentionally cruel way, but more like just drifting away. Nodding halfway through her explanation and then peeling off the second something bigger demanded their attention. She would never call them back or raise her voice, she would just let the rest of her sentence fall away and move on like she hadn’t been speaking at all.
You hated it.
Mel listens to everyone. Patients rambling about their lives, family members who are spiraling, med students panicking, you name it. She gives her full attention like it’s an unlimited resource. It bothered you that she poured so much into other people and rarely seemed to receive the same in return.
So you decided it had to be you.
At first, it had been small things: lingering after a conversation so she could actually finish her thought with another person in front of her. Asking follow-up questions when she would say something about her personal life. Seeking her out toward the end of a shift for something that wasn’t about a patient.
The first time you approached her about having dinner together, she’d looked almost startled, like she couldn’t figure out why someone would want her company without some sort of agenda. When she explained that she wanted to, but she had to pick up her sister from her day center, you adjusted the plan like it was no big deal. You ordered far too much spaghetti and garlic bread from Pasta Too and showed up at her apartment an hour later.
That was the first time you met Becca. The first time you saw Mel in her own space, far more relaxed than you’d ever seen her at work. You ate at her tiny dining room table while Becca explained why Pasta Too’s spaghetti is actually better than Sienna Mercato’s and Mel laughed along in a way that felt sincere.
After that, friendship settled in naturally. You weren’t work-friends, you were real friends. You learned the King sisters’ routines and had your own specific mug at their apartment.
And at some point, your reasons for showing up became a little less simple.
You told yourself it was just loyalty, or maybe protectiveness over Mel and her casual kindness that she gave a little too freely. Just the satisfaction of being the one person who didn’t walk away from her mid-sentence.
It was easier to just not think about it too much.
Mel was always careful with her heart, and you’ve never been sure there was space for you in that way, not when her life is already so full of responsibility, and certainly not when she’s never once looked at you like she’s wondering.
So you let the feeling hide away in the back of your thoughts where you could keep it smothered. Friendship, after all, was something you already had and you weren’t about to risk losing it.
Which is why, when Mel is off her game today, you notice immediately.
She normally doesn’t miss things. She doesn’t drift her attention in and out during work when nothing is wrong, and she certainly doesn’t stand in the middle of the ER staring at the board blankly until someone calls her name.
But today she does, and you don’t know why.
“Dr. King?” you say gently, nudging her elbow with yours. “You’re still with me, right?”
She blinks like she’s surfacing from underwater. “Right, sorry.”
You’ve watch her the entire morning. She’s competent - she’s always competent - but she’s quieter than normal, even for her. She’s slower between cases, and her smile at a patient’s joke hits her face half a second later than usual.
When you finally get five uninterrupted minutes where nobody is demanding either of your attention, you drag her toward the supply room, closing the door with your hip behind you.
“Okay,” you sigh. “What’s going on with you today?”
Mel doesn’t look at you, instead choosing to count suture kits that don’t require counting.
“Nothing.”
You lean against a shelf, arms crossed in front of your chest and a look of disbelief on your face. “Mel.”
Her tongue pokes the inside of her cheek as she deliberates. Then, with a resigned sigh, she says, “Charlie and Sabrina are coming into town.”
You frown, trying to recall the familiar names from your list of knowledge about Mel. “Those are your college friends, right?”
She nods.
You’ve heard about them before: stories about shared dorm kitchens and bad boyfriends and finals week meltdowns. They were the kind of friends who help shaped Mel when she was in college, long before her mother passed and life changed for Mel and Becca.
“That’s good, isn’t it?” you ask carefully. “You haven’t seen them in what, a year?”
“Eight months,” she corrects. “They come every year.”
“…and they’re staying with you?”
“On my couch,” Mel sighs. “For a few days.”
“So why do you look like someone just told you we’re short staffed for the next month?”
That almost gets a smile out of her.
“Because,” she says, exhaling through her nose, “every time they visit, it becomes a State of the Union on my personal life.”
You blink. “What does that even mean?”
“It means they think I’m overworked. Burnt out. Alone.” She shrugs one shoulder, still not meeting your eyes. “They’re not totally wrong.”
You purse your lips as she goes on.
“They just…” she pauses, looking for the words. “They care. They don’t want me pouring everything into work and Becca and ending up with nothing for myself.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“I know,” Mel says, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “I just don’t have the bandwidth for it right now.”
You soften a little. You know what her days look like. Long shifts, sometimes taking tablets home to finish charting at midnight. Checking in on Becca throughout the day, picking her up in the evenings, making sure her routine isn’t ever disrupted.
“So what do they do?” you ask. “Interrogate you?”
She huffs. “It’s more like…persistent encouragement.”
You’re more confused than ever at why any of this is a bad thing. “That just sounds like they love you.” You study her face, trying to understand what she isn’t saying.
Then, a lightbulb.
“They’re pushy about your love life, aren’t they?”
“Very.”
You nod slowly with the realization. “Okay, so we solve that.”
Mel’s brow furrows. “We?”
“Yeah, we.”
Mel leans back against the shelves next to you. “Unless you can find me a partner in the next two days, I don’t see how you’re going to be much help.”
An awkward laugh follows her words, both defensive and dismissive.
You exchange a look, and the conversation is left dangling as Dana’s muffled voice calls out an incoming trauma from the nurse’s station. Mel heads out of the supply room quickly, ducking her head to try and avoid others noticing the flush on her face at the very private topic of her love life.
You follow, silently brainstorming practically the rest of the day on how to help her.
All day, every time she appears, you notice how her eyes unfocus when nobody is watching her. The little tense curl of her shoulders as she, too, is clearly trying to solve this problem between patients.
And every time, you catch yourself thinking about how you could fix this. How you could make it easier for her.
She’s your friend, after all, right? That’s what friends do.
At the end of your shift, you spot her leaving through the employee door of the hospital. She’s checking her bag, a thin coat draped over one arm and her phone in her hand. The hallway is otherwise empty, not a soul coming in or out.
Perfect.
You fall into step beside her. “Hey.”
Mel glances up with a surprised expression. “Hey.”
“About earlier.” You pause. “I think I found a way to help.”
Her eyebrows furrow as she focuses on your face. “How?”
You stop walking as you make it out the door, standing close enough to her that the cool air feels different outside of the hospital. “I could…pretend to be your partner.”
She also stops walking, mid-step. “Excuse me?”
“Just for a few days,” you clarify quickly. “We tell your friends we’ve been seeing each other, they leave you alone about it, and then they leave and we never have to talk about it ever again.”
You can see the cogs turning in Mel’s head as she says, “…you would do that for me?”
“Who could do it better?” you urge, reaching out and taking hold of her arms gently just above her elbows. “We already spend time together outside the hospital, Becca knows me, I’ve been to your apartment and you’ve been to mine before. It’s a minimal disruption to your life and you get your friends off your back.”
She’s clearly weighing the risk, her gaze lifted somewhere above your heads as she thinks.
“I need to think about it,” she finally says, looking at you.
“Okay.”
Apparently, Mel didn’t have to think about it for long.
The following night, you’d barely had the energy to shower, let alone cook, so dinner had consisted of crackers, a string cheese, and the electrolyte drink you’d bought during your last grocery run when you were trying to be healthier and then forgotten about it until it was the only thing you had besides water.
Now, you’re curled sideways on the couch in an oversized sweatshirt and sleep shorts, a cooling face mask tight across your skin while Love Island plays to an audience of one just a little after 9pm.
Your phone buzzes against the arm of the couch.
Are you awake?
You smile at your phone, picturing Mel on the other end, practically sending a u up? text.
yeah, what’s up?
Barely a moment passes before your screen lights up again.
Can you come over please? Becca just went to bed.
Your pulse stutters for reasons you refuse to think about, even as you jump off your couch and pull on your coat.
Her apartment isn’t too far from yours, and it’s both silent and mostly dark when you arrive.
She opens the door before you can knock, as if she’s been standing just inside waiting. Given she waited until after Becca was in bed to text you, you assume that was on purpose.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Come on in.”
The TV murmurs faintly from her living room, the volume low. A blanket is rumpled on the couch, telling you that Mel had been mirroring you in your own home.
You slip off your shoes at the front door. You’ve been here enough to know the rhythm of Mel’s apartment.
For a moment she just stands there, her arms folded, like she’s rehearsing words in her head. Then she sighs, closing her eyes.
“I…I want to do it.”
You blink. “Do it?”
“The pretending,” she says with a small, awkward gesture of her hands. “Us, dating. For my friends.”
You smile, mostly out of surprise. “Oh, okay, yeah, let’s do it.”
Mel nods, hurrying past you to the kitchen counter, where she retrieves a folded sheet of lined paper. “I made a list of things we should think about.”
Of course she did.
You can’t stop the small laugh that escapes you as she hands you the paper, filled with her handwriting. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“I was up most of last night,” she admits, not looking even a little embarrassed.
Her handwriting is neat but urgent, like she didn’t want to lose track of the thoughts as they came.
• Becca needs to know it isn’t real.
So her routine won’t be bothered when Mel’s friends leave, that one you understand.
• Relationship details planned ahead.
Makes sense, you need a cohesive story.
• No surprises in front of Becca.
Again, another one you understand. Mel always puts Becca first, anything that would disrupt or dysregulate her is an immediate no.
Your eyes drift over the rest of the list of what seems to be rules, until they finally reach the last line.
• Rules for PDA???
You look up, your eyebrows lifting as your gaze settles on Mel’s face.
She doesn’t even question which one you’re looking at, pressing her lips together firmly. “That one felt…necessary.”
You bite back another smile at her thoroughness. “Are we workshopping these rules right now?”
Mel takes a seat on her couch and you follow suit at the other end, drawing your knees up to your chest. “If we don’t do this right, it’s only going to make them ask more questions.”
“So,” you say carefully, “what kind of rules do you think we should have?”
She looks up until her eyes catch yours, then back down at her hands nervously. “I don’t know,” she admits.
You scoot across the couch until you’re on the seat next to her, and she almost shrinks under your gaze. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you say slowly. And then you reach for her hand, taking it in yours. “Are you okay with this?”
Mel inhales, short and quick as she looks down at your joined hands. “Yeah, that’s okay.”
Her hand is warm in yours, and you let go before you can think too much about the contact.
“What about hugging?” you ask.
Her head lifts immediately, brows drawing together in confusion. “We’ve hugged before.”
There’s just a tiny bit of defensiveness in her tone. It’s not anger, more like she thinks you’re implying she’s fragile and can’t stand to be touched.
You smile gently. “I know, but I’m not talking about end-of-shift, ‘good job surviving’ hugs.”
She tilts her head a little as you go on.
“I mean,” you clarify, “if we’re pretending. Would your…partner need permission every time? Or is it normal to just -” you hesitate, searching for neutral phrasing. “Touch you.”
Her gaze drops to your hands again, though you’re no longer touching.
“I didn’t think about that,” she admits quietly.
You nod. “Like, if I came up behind you, would that be okay? Or would you want a warning first?”
Mel’s mouth tilts to one side, thoughtful. “I don’t like being surprised,” she says. “But I don’t need formal permission. Just…try not to sneak up on me.”
You study her face, searching for any discomfort there. “Mel,” you say gently, reaching out to take her hand again. She doesn’t pull away. “We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do. If this is too much, we don’t have to do it. Your friends can kick rocks.”
“It’s okay,” she says quickly, looking back up at you. “I just don’t want this to ruin our friendship.”
Your thumb brushes across the back of her hand lightly.
“It won’t,” you promise. “We’re not changing anything. When they leave, everything will go back to normal.”
The words sound simple and sensible.
Mel’s shoulders loosen, tension easing from her posture as she nods in agreement.
You give her hand one last reassuring squeeze before letting go, leaning back into the couch.
Normal. Everything will go back to normal.
But as Mel relaxes beside you and the conversation moves back to your usual friendly banter, a quiet unease settles in your chest.
Because you’re not fully sure your heart understands the word pretend. And you’re not sure, once that door opens, that you’ll be able to close it again.
♡ ───────── ♡ ───────── ♡
The following day comes too soon, and your shift is over faster than you expected. By the time you’ve clocked out, your feet ache and your brain feels like it’s been wrung dry.
It had been one of those shifts, full of non-stop call lights, two near-misses that left your adrenaline spiking for over an hour after each, and the kind of emotional exhaustion that settled deep in your bones. All you really want is a boiling hot shower, your own bed, and eight uninterrupted hours of silence.
Instead, your phone buzzed in your pocket long before your shift had ended, reminding you of your self-assigned responsibility.
They’re here. Making dinner.
You had stared at the message for a long time when it came in two hours ago, your exhaustion warring with obligation.
No pressure.
Right.
You want to go home. You want to collapse face-first into your pillow and pretend you never offered any of this.
But Mel is expecting you. And more than that, she’s counting on you.
So now you’re in your car, the engine humming beneath you as the city lights slide past in familiar turns and traffic lights while the sky dims into a soft blue-gray as the daytime turns to evening.
Your hands tighten on the steering wheel, and you tell yourself that it’s just nerves. This is acting, that’s all.
You and Mel are friends who are going to pretend to be girlfriends for a few days. You’ve run through the plan a dozen times since last night. Becca already knows, Mel promised she had explained everything. Everyone is on the same page.
Still, a small, treacherous worry creeps its way into your thoughts.
What if Becca forgets and says something? What if she cheerfully announces they’re pretending! halfway through dinner?
You sigh and try to shake your head of the thought.
Mel wouldn’t have agreed to this if she thought it would upset her sister in any way. And Becca knows you, she trusts you. That has to count for something.
At a red light, you flex your fingers against the steering wheel to try and steady your heart pounding in your chest.
This is no different than acting. You just have to be warm and familiar, and a little affectionate. Physical affection, you remind yourself, is part of the performance. Hugging. Sitting close. Holding her hand.
Your stomach flips and you try to force yourself to focus on the practical stuff instead.
A couple of months, that’s the story you’ve agreed on.
Long enough that sleepovers make sense; your toothbrush is already sitting beside Mel’s in the holder, your spare hoodie is hanging in her hall closet, a pair of socks in her dresser like you’re there all the time.
But not long enough that Charlie and Sabrina will be upset she didn’t tell them right away.
You’re new and easy and still in the honeymoon phase. You can do the honeymoon phase.
You pull into the parking lot of Mel’s apartment complex, parking in the closest spot you can find to the building’s single entry door. You turn off the engine and sit there for a moment, listening to the ticking quiet of the cooling car. Then you reach for your bag, step out into the cool air, and head toward the building.
When you make it to her floor, the spare key she’d given you slides easily into the lock.
You don’t hesitate. Because if you hesitate, you’ll overthink everything, and you’ve already done enough of that in the car.
The door opens to the warm, lived-in comfort you’ve come to associate with Mel’s apartment: there’s the low hum of voices, the soft clatter of dishes, and the unmistakable smell of garlic in sauce on the stove.
You toe off your shoes beside the door like you always do and set your backpack down.
“I’m home,” you call, the rehearsed words leaving your mouth before you can second-guess them.
The conversation and laughter coming from the kitchen halts immediately and silence takes its place.
From where you stand in the entryway, you can see the layout clearly: Becca and two women you don’t recognize are seated at the dining table, mid-conversation, their attention slowly pivoting toward you. One of them holds a drink in her hand, hovering mid-air like she was about to take a sip before you interrupted.
Mel stands at the small island with her back to the room, her shoulders hunched in concentration as she chops vegetables. She hasn’t turned around, clearly more prepared for you than anyone else was.
This is it.
You cross the apartment room on quiet feet, slipping into Mel’s personal space like you’re comfortable doing it. For half a second you catch the smell of her strawberry shampoo, the soft cotton of her shirt brushing your forearm as you wrap your arms gently around her waist.
You feel her entire body jolt in surprise at the contact.
Before she can turn, before you lose your nerve, you lean in and press a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder.
Three things happen at once:
The first is that your own heart kickstarts into overdrive. You’re pretty sure Mel can feel it against her back, it’s pounding that hard against your chest. Your lips against her body, even through her shirt, is too much for your poor nervous system to take.
The second is that Mel freezes.
Not the small startle you’d expected from her, like when you first touched her, and certainly not the quick recovery you both rehearsed for, but a full, stunned stillness, as if her brain is short-circuiting. The knife remains suspended in her hand above the cutting board. You can feel the sudden inhale she takes, the way she goes rigid beneath your arms.
And the third, behind you, the room goes utterly and profoundly still.
You glance behind you.
Becca’s expression is bright with recognition and something like poorly-contained delight.
The other two women are looking at you like you’ve just materialized out of thin air.
You loosen your hold a little, suddenly aware of the heat that’s rushing into your face, the way Mel hasn’t moved an inch.
“Hi,” you say, voice soft, uncertain.
The taller of the two women, a redhead, blinks first. “Who are you?”
You glance at Mel, still frozen in front of you, then back at them, offering a small, sheepish smile. “I’m…I’m Mel’s -” you falter, unsure of yourself. “She didn’t tell you?”
Mel finally turns around in your arms. Her face is pink and her eyes are wide, the shock slowly giving way to embarrassment. A flicker of nervous laughter hovers at the corner of her mouth.
“I was going to,” she admits. “I just…hadn’t gotten there yet.”
The two women remain frozen. The one holding the drink sets it down very carefully.
Becca looks between all of you, clearly thrilled. Your name leaves her mouth suddenly, loud and excited. “That’s Mel’s girlfriend!”
The declaration lands in the room like a dropped plate.
Charlie and Sabrina, though you’re not sure which is which, both snap their attention from Becca back to you, then to Mel, then back again - their expressions astonished.
Mel lets out a small laugh that’s clearly made out of panic. “I -” She glances up at you, her cheeks flushed an even darker shade of pink. “Yeah, this is - we’re -”
You squeeze her lightly, trying to ground her before she can spiral.
“Hi,” you say gently, offering a small and apologetic smile. “Sorry for the dramatic entrance.”
Neither of them responds immediately.
Becca, however, looks immensely pleased with herself.
The brunette leans back in her chair, eyes wide. “Mel,” she says slowly, “you literally told me on the phone the other day that you don’t have time to date.”
“I didn’t say that,” Mel mutters.
The other woman gestures vaguely in your direction. “There is a person attached to you.”
You become acutely aware of your arms still around Mel’s waist, and you take a step back from her.
Mel sighs, tension cracking into shy resignation. “I-I was going to tell you,” she says. “It’s just…new.”
New.
Becca nods emphatically, as if confirming everything.
Charlie and Sabrina are still staring at the two of you, processing, rewriting the narrative in real time.
And slowly - very slowly - the shock in the room begins to melt into other things.
Curiosity. Delight. And the sense that your relationship has just become the most interesting development of their entire visit.
The silence breaks all at once.
The redhead recovers first, shoving her chair back as she stands and crosses the short distance toward you, her eyes bright with disbelief and curiosity.
“I’m Charlie,” she says, studying you. “And I have questions.”
The brunette rises more slowly, though her expression is just as stunned. “Sabrina,” she introduces herself, shaking her head like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “Jesus, Mel, we leave you alone for five minutes…”
Mel makes a strangled noise behind you and abruptly turns back to the cutting board, knife meeting wood in quick thunks that suggest she’s channeling every ounce of her flustered energy into chopping the veggies.
“It’s really nice to meet you both,” you say.
Charlie leans an elbow on the counter like she’s settling in for an interview. “How long have you been dating?”
“Charlie,” Mel says warily without turning around.
“What? I’m pacing myself.”
“Two months,” you answer, trying to keep your tone easy.
Sabrina’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Only two months?”
Behind you, the knife pauses for a second before resuming it’s rhythm.
Becca, meanwhile, is practically vibrating in her chair. “They hold hands when they watch TV,” she announces proudly.
Mel drops a piece of zucchini.
“Becca,” she says weakly.
“And she sleeps over all the time,” Becca continues, clearly taking delight in divulging fake details. “Her toothbrush is blue.”
Your face warms.
Charlie presses her lips together, fighting a grin and losing. Sabrina looks openly charmed.
Mel’s shoulders creep higher toward her ears.
You take pity on her.
“I’m going to go change,” you say gently, placing a hand on the small of Mel’s back in passing. “Long shift.”
Mel nods quickly without turning around. “Yeah. Go. Please.”
Becca waves enthusiastically as you retreat down the hall like you live here - which, for the purposes of the next few days, you pretty much do.
You change into the clothes you’d stashed here yesterday: soft sweatpants and a tank top, the comfort of them helping to settle your nerves. The muffled cadence of voices carries from the kitchen, and you’re unable to make out the words, but they’re animated.
But while you’re gone -
Mel keeps her eyes on the cutting board long after you’ve disappeared down the hall.
The moment the bedroom door clicks shut, Charlie leans forward, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper.
“Mel.”
Mel sighs, “Don’t.”
Sabrina’s smile is soft. “She’s so cute.”
Mel’s knife slows.
Charlie props her chin on her hand. “Also, the way she walked in and just -” she gestures vaguely towards Mel, “-claimed her spot?”
Sabrina studies Mel’s back for a moment, thinking heavily. “Hey,” she says quietly. “Why didn’t you tell us? Really.”
Mel shrugs with a small lift of one shoulder. “I told you, it’s new.”
“Did you think we wouldn’t be happy for you?”
Mel’s brows knit faintly. “What? No.”
Sabrina presses, but carefully. “We’ve been giving you grief about dating for years now. Was it because we always said ‘boyfriend’?”
There’s no accusation in it. Just a question.
Mel finally turns around, knife in hand, leaning back against the counter.
“I didn’t think you’d be upset,” she says. “I just…didn’t want it to be a thing. You guys already think I work too much, and with Becca and everything else…” she gestures vaguely. “I didn’t want to add another conversation.”
Charlie frowns a little. “The only reason we’ve ever bothered you about dating is because we want you to be happy. We don’t care who it is.”
Sabrina nods. “If anything, I’m just offended you didn’t call me after your first date.”
Mel’s face flushes immediately. “I didn’t - it’s not -”
Becca kicks her feet under the table, happy with both the chaos and her sister’s embarrassment.
“For the record?” Charlie grins.
Mel looks up warily.
“She’s cute,” Charlie says. “And the way she looks at you? Yeah. I approve.”
Sabrina nods again. “Very much.”
Mel presses her lips together tightly, failing to hide the warmth and the smile creeping into her expression. “I know,” she admits quietly.
Dinner is surprisingly natural once you return.
Without making a big spectacle of it, you move alongside Mel in the kitchen - pulling plates from the cabinet she always uses, setting the table, spooning pasta and vegetables into neat portions that don’t touch on Becca’s plate while Mel protests that she can do it herself.
“You cooked,” you remind her, brushing past her. “Sit down.”
Mel only hesitates for a moment before relenting, her shoulders relaxing as she slides into the chair beside Becca.
You place a plate in front of Mel, another in front of Becca, and pause when Becca looks up at you expectantly.
You smile. This, you’ve done a thousand times.
“Orange juice?” you offer.
She nods enthusiastically.
“Coming right up.”
By the time you sit down with your own plate, this feels like things are back to normal. No forced niceness or awkward small talk, just having dinner instead of performing for Mel’s friends. It makes everything feel like less of a lie.
Charlie and Sabrina exchange looks over their forks any time you and Mel interact.
They don’t say it outright, but it’s obvious in their expressions with every gesture.
Questions come, but they arrive wrapped in curiosity rather than interrogation. How did you meet? Who asked who out? Do you work the same shifts often? Is Mel finally taking days off? You move through them carefully, Mel’s awkwardness at the nature of the questions helping make your answers feel natural.
A couple of months. Work friends first. Coffee after a long shift. It just sort of happened.
Becca contributes freely, offering enthusiastic confirmation of dinners and movie nights and hand-holding like she’s your relationship’s personal publicist.
Mel’s friends seem pleased with all of it.
By the time dishes are rinsed and stacked and the apartment settles into nighttime quiet, the initial shock has settled into warm approval. Eventually, yawns begin to spread around the living room. Blankets are claimed, the couch is prepared with pillows, and lights are dimmed.
You and Mel exchange a glance.
So far, so good.
The bedroom door closes softly behind you.
The quiet feels immediate and intimate after the grilling conversation you’ve been fielding all evening.
For a moment, you and Mel just stand there in her bedroom, looking at each other - then, like a string that’s been pulled too tight finally snapping, you both dissolve into soft, nervous laughter.
“Oh my god,” you whisper.
“I know,” she breathes, pressing a hand to her forehead as she leans back against the door. “Charlie’s face when you walked in -”
“You froze.”
“You kissed my shoulder!”
“You should’ve seen your face!”
She laughs again, trying to muffle the sound in the sleeve of her shirt.
“I thought I was prepared,” she admits. “I was not prepared.”
You grin, keeping your voice low as you say, “For what it’s worth, I think they believe us.”
Mel nods, passing you to flop onto her bed. “Yeah, they definitely do.” She’s quiet for a moment before adding, “Becca is being…extremely helpful.”
You smile, following to sit next to her. “She’s committed to the mission.”
She laughs, throwing an arm over her face, shielding her from the overhead light. You hurry back to the door, flipping off the ceiling light and instead turning on the lamp by her bedside.
“You know,” she says after a moment, not quite meeting your eyes, “you don’t actually have to stay the night. If you want to sneak out once everyone’s asleep, that’s okay.”
The words are soft and almost insecure.
You tilt your head. “Do you not want me to stay?”
Mel flushes instantly and she turns her head away under the pretense of smoothing the edge of her comforter, refusing to look at you.
“Of course not,” she says quickly. “Having you here has made this…a lot easier for me. It's actually kind of fun, pretending.”
You watch her reach up and tuck a corner of the blanket, redundant since it’ll be pulled back soon anyway. The movement betrays her nerves.
“I’m going to go brush my teeth then,” you say, keeping your voice low for the sleeping apartment beyond the bedroom door. “I’ll be right back.”
Mel nods quickly. “Okay.”
You offer her a small smile before disappearing into the hallway, the door closing behind you.
Mel exhales slowly, pressing her fingertips into her forehead to steady herself.
She can still feel the ghost of your arms around her waist earlier, she thinks back on the way you plated her dinner, poured Becca’s juice. The way you move around them like you’re part of her home.
This is supposed to be pretend.
Instead, watching you walk out of her bedroom toward the bathroom, your hair still slightly mussed from your long shift, something else is settling in her chest. A strange awareness that having you here, acting the way you are, doesn’t feel like much of an act at all.
♡ ───────── ♡ ───────── ♡
The first light of morning is just barely brushing the edges of the blinds, painting the room in soft gold rays. You stir, only half-aware of the alarmingly cozy weight draped over you.
And then you open your eyes.
Mel is pressed up against you, her face tucked into your collarbone, both arms curled around your waist, one over, one under you. Her legs are tangled with yours, her body molded against you in a way that feels almost possessive. You inhale slowly, trying not to move too much, because you’re sure that the moment you do, the spell will break.
She’s asleep, but it’s not the restless sleep you’ve seen her in after a long shift when she falls asleep on her couch before you’ve left her apartment. There’s no furrowed brow, no twitch to her limbs. She’s just peaceful right now. The rise and fall of her chest is steady and calm, and it makes your heart squeeze.
You can feel the weight of her arms, the gentle press of her soft skin against yours, and the warmth of her hair brushing across your chest, stray hairs falling out of her usual braid. Your fingers itch to smooth her hair down, to trace the line of her arm. But you stay still, because again, this is delicate and you’re painfully aware that it’s stolen time.
Pretend. It’s just pretend.
But your thoughts betray you. Your chest feels tight, it knows you’re lying to yourself. You’ve been pretending for the last twelve hours straight, but the longer you hold her in this exact minute, the less fake it feels. You wonder if she knows deep down that this is no longer just a mission or a favor to you - that this isn’t entirely pretend.
A small, sleepy sigh escapes her lips and you catch the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, even in her sleep. You let your hand drift lightly along her back, just enough to feel the warmth of her body under the blanket, careful not to wake her.
Time seems to stretch. A minute is an hour, an hour is a second.
Eventually, though, the morning nudges you toward motion. You don’t want to get up, but you also know the world is coming. And with it will come Mel’s shift at the hospital.
She works today, you don’t.
Against your better judgment, you press a soft kiss to the top of her head. She moves just a little in her sleep and her arms tighten around you, her body trying hard to avoid the wake-up that her mind is heading toward.
“Coffee?” you whisper softly, more to yourself than her, partially because speaking her name might wake her and also because you know she doesn’t actually like coffee.
A soft groan drifts from her lips.
Careful not to wake her further, you slowly begin untangling yourself from Mel. One arm slips out, then a leg, moving cautiously. Her weight shifts against you, a small stir in her sleep.
Don’t wake her. Don’t wake her.
Finally, you’re free - fully separate, but the warmth of her still lingers on your skin. Relief washes over you for a moment…until you catch a glint of moisture on your collarbone.
Oh.
She’s drooled on you.
You giggle softly, trying to be discreet as you dab at it with the blanket, heart hammering. And that’s exactly when her eyes flutter open.
She blinks, slow and still half-asleep, and looks up at you. For a heartbeat, you think she’s going to say something, or maybe even recoil. But instead, she just watches you carefully, the tiniest trace of embarrassment in her gaze. Her mouth quirks to the side both in shyness and amusement, and she doesn’t look away.
“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice husky from sleep.
“Morning,” you echo quietly.
You both move to get ready - brushing your teeth, pulling on clothes and glasses, and tidying up her bed together quietly. There’s a strange feeling in the air, almost as if both of you are aware of the lingering closeness, the newness of it, yet trying not to admit it out loud.
By the time you emerge into the living room, the sun is rising higher, painting the apartment in gold. Becca is already perched on the couch, chatting happily with Charlie and Sabrina, who are lounging comfortably and clearly already invested in the dynamic.
“Morning!” Becca calls, her eyes lighting up when she sees you.
Charlie and Sabrina glance up, both smiling warmly, and you offer a small, nervous wave.
Mel stands behind you, her glasses propped up on top of her head as she rubs her eyes and greets the trio with a yawn.
You make your way into the kitchen, tying your hair back as you go, then opening the fridge and get to work making breakfast like you’re the host here.
Eggs crack softly against the bowl’s rim. Butter melts in the pan with a gentle hiss. Bread slides into the toaster. You rinse strawberries, slice them into halves, then add blueberries and orange slices to a bowl for everyone to share.
The eggs cook quickly - they’re just for you, Charlie, and Sabrina. Mel and Becca both hate the texture, something you learned toward the beginning of your friendship during a late-evening takeout debate on whether or not breakfast foods were acceptable as dinner.
The answer, by the way, was a resounding no from both of them. You disagreed.
Hyper-aware of Sabrina’s eyes on you from the living room and the need for performance, you call out softly, “Babe, can you c’mere for a moment?”
There’s a pause in conversation, and it seems to take Mel a moment to register that you’re talking to her. She appears in the entry to the kitchen, crossing the room slowly. When she reaches you, you slide an arm around her waist and pull her gently against your side, your lips brushing the side of her head.
Her body goes still.
You lean closer, your voice barely a whisper that’s meant only for her. “If you want them to stop interrogating you,” you murmur, “you’re gonna have to sell it a little harder.”
Mel exhales softly, and you can almost feel the decision as she makes it. Her fingers curl into the front of your shirt and she leans into you, resting her cheek against your shoulder, her arms wrapping around your middle as she buries her face against your neck.
“Better,” you whisper, continuing to flip the eggs. “I made breakfast,” you say, your voice returning to normal volume so everyone can hear you. “Figured you and Becks might want fruit.”
“Yes please!” you hear Becca call from the living room.
Mel tilts her face towards you, sliding her glasses from the top of her head onto her nose. “Only if you share with me.”
Oh fuck.
For a moment, the domesticity of the situation you’ve found yourself feels dangerously close to real. Mel’s face is close enough to your own that you could lean in and kiss her if you really wanted to, it would be so easy. And you want to, her lips are right there -
Down, girl.
You blink hard, turning away as your brain reminds you of the harsh reality you’re currently in. Mel isn’t your girlfriend, this is all pretend, and you just told her to play it up. You can’t let yourself be fooled by the acting you literally just made her do.
You can feel Mel still staring at the side of your head, her gaze scanning your face with the tiniest trace of confusion in her expression and you know the wheels are turning inside.
You plate the eggs, and then butter toast slices as they come out while the bread is still steaming.
Mel’s hands still haven’t left your shirt yet, and your free arm is still around her waist. But even that has to end if you ever want to eat.
Plates clink softly as you and Mel carry everything to the table.
Mel stays tucked against your side until the last possible second before sliding into her own chair. Her fingers trail lightly across your arm as she lets go. Subtle, but not so much that it goes unnoticed.
She's a surprisingly good actress.
You set the plates down and give a sheepish half-shrug.
“Not exactly a five-star breakfast,” you say, sliding into your seat. “I’m a nurse, not a chef.”
Charlie snorts as she joins you at the table, Sabrina and Becca not far behind. “This looks like a Pinterest breakfast compared to what Mel feeds herself.”
“Rude,” Mel mutters, reaching for a strawberry.
The table conversation drifts, everything from light teasing to stories from the night before, Becca explaining in detail why she doesn’t like the texture of eggs.
You aren’t listening. You’re too focused on the way your heart feels dangerously close to splitting open. You remember, with painful clarity, the night you sat in your car and cried while you promised yourself that you wouldn’t cross this line. That your friendship with Mel mattered more than wanting her.
But this pretending you’re doing feels like someone is reaching into your heart and prying all those carefully-sealed pieces back to the surface. And that’s worrisome, because this isn’t real. In two days, her friends will leave, the act will end, and you’ll have to step back across the line that you shouldn’t have crossed in the first place.
Mel laughs at something Sabrina says, and the sound pulls your eyes up despite your best effort. Her gaze meets yours instantly, like she was waiting for you.
You force a smile back, the kind that says everything is fine, even though you’re starting to feel anything but.
Charlie leans forward across the table, tilting her head with a playful grin. “So…coffee?”
Sabrina nods. “Yeah, I could use some caffeine.”
Your gaze immediately flicks back to Mel. You know she doesn’t keep coffee in the apartment, neither her nor Becca drink it, and the thought of her trying to host without it sparks fondness. Without a word, you turn toward her and hold up your hands, one in a fist on top of the other laid flat, forming the unmistakable shape of rock.
Mel freezes for a moment, then smirks and mirrors your gesture.
You play a single round of rock-paper-scissors quickly, and of course you lose.
“Alright, alright,” you say, holding your hands up in mock-surrender as you stand from the table. “I got it.”
As you slip on your shoes and grab your keys, you tell Charlie and Sabrina to have Mel text you their order as you head out the door. You give a wave over your shoulder with a quick “be right back!” as you shut it behind you, grateful for the out this has given you.
Inside the apartment, Mel stretches, letting out a soft sigh as she begins to gather her things for her shift at the hospital.
She hates the idea of leaving her friends when they're here specifically to visit her, but she was comforted by you promising to play host since you had the day off. Plus, that meant Becca didn't have to go to the day center.
Becca’s eyes light up at the sight of her sister retreating back to her bedroom for something and, without a word, she follows Mel, careful not to draw attention from Charlie or Sabrina. Once Mel is in her room and has begun rummaging through her drawers for her phone charger, Becca quietly closes the door behind them.
“Okay,” Becca says, sitting on Mel’s bed as she watches her flit about the room. “You have to tell me something and promise not to lie.”
Mel pauses, caught off guard. She sets the charger down on the bed carefully and glances at her sister. “Uh…need help with something?”
Becca tilts her chin, her expression confused. “I thought you said this whole thing with you and her was fake.”
Mirroring her confused expression, Mel sits down on the bed next to Becca. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been with you since birth,” Becca says pointedly. “And it doesn’t feel like you’re pretending. You want to kiss her, don’t you?”
Mel’s cheeks warm instantly. “What? Becca - I -” She pauses, looking down at her hands, trying to gather the right words through her fluster. “It’s…it’s complicated.”
“Why does it have to be complicated?” Becca asks innocently.
Sighing, Mel folds inward as she clasps her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” she admits quietly, like the words are dangerous.
Becca blinks at her, clearly processing. Then, matter-of-factly, she says, “But you like her, I can see it. That’s not fake.”
Mel bites her lip, both flustered and relieved at her sister’s bluntness. “Becca…” she starts, but her twin shakes her head.
“No, no excuses. Just don’t mess it up,” Becca says simply. “If she makes you happy, then it’s not fake.”
“Okay. I…okay.” Mel smiles. “But you can’t tell anyone, okay? Even her.”
“Cross my heart,” Becca says plainly.
Mel nods in acknowledgement, standing to tuck her charger into her bag.
You aren’t gone for much longer, stepping back through the apartment door with two drink trays in hand, setting them down carefully on the kitchen counter. The smell of coffee and tea fills the small space. You’ve brought coffee for everyone else, but Mel’s drink is hers alone - boba, both sweet and piping hot.
She’s got her work backpack balanced on a stool and is shoving necessities into it when you set her drink in front of her.
“You didn’t have to get me boba,” she murmurs as she lifts the cup and straw. “That means you had to go to two different shops.”
You shrug, feigning casualness even though your chest tightens at the way her eyes linger on yours. “I didn’t want to leave you out just because you don’t drink coffee,” you say softly. "You're worth it."
You’re interrupted by Charlie popping her head into the kitchen, her voice bright and teasing as she says, “Okay, lovebirds, out of my way. Don’t get between me and coffee.” Her eyes turn to you. “Seriously, thanks for going.”
Sabrina follows her in, peering at you over her shoulder with a grin. “Are you guys always like this? Or is it just for show?”
Mel’s hands tighten around her own cup. She swallows and glances over at you, a mix of exasperation and worry in her expression. But you just shrug and reach for her, drawing her to your side by her waist, doing your best to ignore the muffled little squeak she lets out at the unexpected contact.
The moment lingers longer than necessary. You keep your arm around her waist just a second past performative necessity, long enough to feel the warmth of her through her thin shirt, long enough for your brain to feel like she belongs there. Charlie rolls her eyes and shoos you both out of the way, and Sabrina’s grin only widens as she steals her drink and retreats.
Mel pulls away first, mumbling something about leaving for work before she’s late.
You walk her to the door without really thinking too hard about it.
She slips her shoes on and double checks for her badge.
You see Dr. King nearly every day at work, but it feels weirdly intimate to see the transition, watching her change from the Mel you’ve gotten over the last eighteen hours to the doctor you know and lo-
Whoa.
Where did that come from?
“Where did you go?”
Your eyes snap up at the sound of Mel’s voice, and you realize you’ve been lost in your thoughts just standing at the door with her. You shake your head, ridding yourself of the intrusive thought that just infiltrated your brain, willing it to disappear.
“Ha-have a good shift,” you whisper, ignoring her question.
Her eyes are questioning as they search your face, but you watch as she lets it go and turns toward the door.
Then she’s gone.
Her apartment feels different without her in it.
Quieter.
Becca claims the far end of the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. Charlie and Sabrina commandeer the coffee table with enthusiasm, the kind reserved for people who have nowhere to be. You settle in easily among them and let the day unfold in simple, comfortable ways.
Board games come out first, something strategy-heavy that Becca insists has clear rules and “no emotional ambiguity.” Charlie cheats at least twice, and Sabrina calls her out both times.
You laugh more than you expect to and allow yourself to relax.
And somewhere between Charlie’s dramatic (cheater) victory speech and Sabrina reorganizing the game pieces while insisting on a rematch, you begin to understand them. And, by extension, you understand Mel a little better too.
They fill space easily, just the two of them. Charlie with a bright warmth and charm, Sabrina with a dry steadiness that keeps everything relaxed and easy. They tell college stories in fragments: late-night study sessions Mel insisted she didn’t need but showed up to anyway; the time Charlie dragged Mel to a party and she spent the entire night befriending the host’s anxious dog; Sabrina getting locked out of their apartment at two in the morning and Mel sitting on the hallway floor with her for an hour just to keep her company until her roommate made it home to let her in.
You can see it clearly: two extroverts who decided at some point that Mel was theirs to keep, and an introvert who let herself be adopted without admitting out loud that she needed them.
It makes sense why she loves them. And why they love her right back.
But throughout the day, every so often, your gaze drifts toward the front door and you have to make a conscious effort not to religiously check your phone.
Time moves slowly throughout the day, and on multiple occasions you catch Becca studying you with a seriousness not often found on her face before she looks back at whatever she was doing before.
When the late afternoon light finally begins to fade and keys rattle in the lock hours later, your heart skips a beat, filled with anticipation and eagerness for you know who’s on the other side, and it worries you how much it feels like coming home.
♡ ───────── ♡ ───────── ♡
Last night had ended quietly.
Mel had come home late, exhausted in that bone-deep way that comes with a shift at PTMC. You’d stayed long enough to make sure she ate something and to help Becca get settled for the night, then slipped back into your own apartment with a promise that you’d see her tomorrow.
The distance had felt strange.
Morning came with the muted gray light typical of Pittsburgh winter, and you moved through the day slowly, as if you were walking through sludge. A grocery run because your fridge was empty, a stop at the pharmacy, laundry folded while your comfort show played in the background. You were doing your best to be productive, but there was anticipation humming in your veins beneath everything, a current of energy that kept pulling your attention toward the evening ahead.
Going out isn’t something you do often, at least not out in public. Mel’s apartment? Sure. But a bar?
You took your time choosing what to wear, something that made you feel good in your body, nice enough that you wouldn’t feel out of place in public. You’d changed twice before settling on something that felt like you.
By the time you returned to Mel and Becca’s apartment, the already cramped space felt fuller.
Charlie and Sabrina had claimed the couch, sprawled out comfortably. A half-finished mug of coffee sat forgotten on the side table. Music played on a low volume. Becca sat cross-legged on the floor with a puzzle spread out before her, focused and content, while Mel moved through the kitchen in socked feet.
You eased into the rhythm without trouble, drifting between the kitchen and the living room, accepting a mug of tea, leaning against the counter while Mel absentmindedly nudged your foot with hers when she passed. It almost felt like it wasn’t a performance.
Eventually, as the afternoon fell closer to the late evening, change began slowly.
Makeup bags appeared on the coffee table and outfit options were considered. Sabrina disappeared to claim the bathroom and emerged ten minutes later smelling like perfume and hairspray. Music volume clicked up; phones were charged.
Energy built gradually, just a group of women getting ready for a night out together.
You were looking forward to it.
And that’s where you find yourself now: tucked into the warmth of the bar, the cold of the night already a distant memory that clings to the hems of the coat you’ve draped over the back of your chair.
You’ve chosen this bar meticulously. Light pools in halos from hanging lamps above the tables and the air smells a bit like spilled beer and fried foods that drift from the kitchen. Sound gathers rather than overwhelms, laughter layered over quiet music that has a thud of a bass line that you feel more than you can really hear.
“- I swear I’m not exaggerating,” Sabrina insists, one hand lifted like she’s testifying under oath. “She stood up on the coffee table like she was addressing Congress.”
Charlie is already laughing, her shoulders shaking with each breath. “No, no, you’re leaving out the best part! Tell her what she was wearing.”
Mel groans beside you, sliding lower in her chair. “If this is the toga story, I’m leaving.”
“It was a bedsheet,” Sabrina corrects. “A navy bedsheet. She looked like a stateswoman.”
Becca laughs into her soda, her eyes averted as she listens to a story she’s heard at least twice before.
“I was making a point,” Mel mutters.
“You declared,” Charlie says, lifting her finger in imitation, “’From this day forward, this kitchen is a democracy.’”
Sabrina nearly chokes on her drink, laughing at the memory. “And then she tried to pass legislation banning tequila.”
“It was a good policy,” Mel says defensively, even as the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile she tries to hide.
“You had consumed half a bottle of cheap margarita mix and like two sips of tequila,” Charlie says.
“Listen,” Mel says, pointing at her across the table, “that stuff is disgusting.”
You laugh with the rest of them, the sound escaping bright and easy. Mel’s hand tightens around yours on the tabletop - contact that had started as performative but was now starting to feel natural.
You lean toward Mel. “Did the kitchen remain a democracy?”
Mel sighs. “It did until Charlie tried to impeach me for burning grilled cheese.”
“I still stand by that impeachment,” Charlie says. “You were really drunk.”
Sabrina lifts her glass. “To the shortest-lived government in history.”
Everyone raises their drinks and the soft clink between them rings out as you all take a sip.
The laughter lingers for a few moments longer and Mel’s thumb traces an absentminded circle against the back of your hand. You take the last sip of your drink to give yourself something else to focus on, the ice clinking against the glass before the empty settles in your palm.
“Okay,” you say lightly, glancing around the table. “Who’s in for another?”
Charlie lifts her glass immediately. “Absolutely.”
Sabrina tips hers toward you in silent agreement.
Mel hesitates only a second. “Just water for me,” she says. “I’m pacing myself.”
Becca nudges her soda with two fingers. “I’m good.”
You nod, gathering glasses one by one - yours first, then Charlie’s, then Sabrina’s - the table colder where your hand leaves it. Mel’s fingers slip from yours and it almost feels like it happens reluctantly.
“I’ve got it,” you add, flashing a quick smile at Mel when she moves like she might stand too. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”
She looks at you for a long moment before settling back in her chair.
The bar is only ten feet away or so, and you set the empties down on the worn wood counter, catching the bartenders eye and nodding toward the table behind you.
“One more round,” you say. “Same as before. And a water.”
The bartender gives a short nod and turns around to start pouring.
You sigh, your shoulders loosening, letting yourself relax in the small pause between hosting and performing. It’s nice to just exist without feeling like eyes are on you, being able to focus on the conversation around you, the bass thrumming through the floor. You let yourself space out, nodding along with the music.
You don’t notice him step up beside you until he actually speaks.
He leans one arm against the bar beside you casually, like he’s been standing there longer than he actually has.
“Busy night,” he says. It’s not loud enough to intrude, just enough to be heard over the low hum of conversation.
You glance over, polite reflexes kicking in. He’s maybe mid-thirties, clean cut in a very relaxed way, with flannel sleeves pushed up and an easy smile that suggests he’s comfortable.
“Seems like it,” you reply, returning the small courtesy smile he gives you before shifting your attention back toward the bartending lining up glasses.
His gaze flicks to the cluster of empty cups in front of you. “You ordering for the whole place?”
You laugh quietly. “Just my table.”
“Good,” he says lightly. “Was about to feel left out.”
The bartender sets down the first fresh drink, and you slide it aside to make space for the others.
“I can grab that,” he offers, reaching for his wallet. “At least let me get you this round.”
You shake your head immediately, trying to keep your tone friendly. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve got it.”
He pauses, then lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug. “All right, next one, then.”
You tilt your head in noncommittal acknowledgement rather than actual agreement. “We’ll see.”
Another glass lands on the bar, ice clinking inside it. You line it up with the others.
His eyes linger on the drinks, assessing them - and you - without being overt. “So, what are you drinking?”
“Vodka cran.”
“Solid choice,” he says with an approving nod. “Let me upgrade you to something nicer than the well.”
“I’m good, I promise.” You keep your tone light but firm, trying to not invite further negotiation.
He smiles at you again, but there’s an edge of disbelief to his expression now, like your refusal was unexpected.
“What about your friends?” he tries. “I could send something over, be the hero of your table.”
You shake your head. “We’re taken care of.”
He studies you for another moment, then glances past your shoulder toward the room. “No boyfriends hovering nearby,” he says with a laugh, like he’s making an observation rather than the challenge you know is coming.
You lift one of the glasses, checking the level of the drink inside before setting it back down. “That would be because I don’t have one.”
His brows rise in interest.
You meet his eyes for a moment, then add, “I’ve got a girlfriend.”
His smile falters. Not fully gone, but altered.
“C’mon,” he says, the scoff he lets out in disbelief accompanying his words. “You don’t gotta lie about being a dyke just to get me to fuck off.”
You don’t match his scoff or his tone. You make a conscious effort to stay steady, more so out of self-preservation rather than actually caring what he thinks.
“I’m not lying,” you say evenly. “And I’m not interested.”
Another drink appears, then Mel’s water. You gather them closer, creating a careful lineup for carrying.
He lets out a heavy exhale, irritation beginning to show through the seams of his composure. “Your loss,” he mutters, even though he doesn’t step away. But when you reach for the first glass, his hand closes around your arm.
Across the bar, Sabrina’s voice cuts through the laughter of a nearby group. “Hey…uh, Mel, I think your girlfriend needs help.” She nods subtly in your direction, wide-eyed.
Mel turns sharply, following the gesture, and her stomach drops. She sees the man, leaning a little too close, his hand gripping your forearm. It’s casual, it doesn’t look overtly aggressive, maybe even friendly-looking to anyone else. Not you. She knows you. She knows that hand doesn’t belong there; the casualness in your stance is performative, and that’s enough to make her heart hammer.
The protective surge inside her is immediate. Her chair scrapes against the floor as she rises, all pretense of calm gone. “I’ll help you with those,” she calls out as she approaches you, forcing a casual lilt that doesn’t mask her panic. She moves fast through the crowd of people to get to you.
She reaches the bar just as the man’s grip tightens on your arm. You turn toward her instinctively, your lips parting to explain, but there’s no time. She doesn’t hesitate - her hand is on your waist in a protective hold, pulling you close to her.
“Let go of her.”
You pivot back to the man and take a steadying breath. “Oh look,” you say, “there’s the girlfriend I told you about.”
The words hang in the air between you, both a declaration and a warning. The man blinks, caught off guard as you pull your arm from his grip.
Your hand moves of its own accord, reaching up and your fingers pressing lightly against Mel’s jaw, tilting her face towards yours. Before you can overthink it, you lean in, pressing your lips to hers.
Mel freezes, startled, but doesn’t pull away from you. Her lips part slightly and you can taste her drink on her breath, the sweetness pairing with the faint saltiness of her skin.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, a tiny but distinct oh no cuts through - something you don’t voice. You’ve crossed the line you’d been toeing so carefully, but the sensation of her lips, the softness, the way she begins to respond and move against you in return, makes it impossible to pull away. You linger there, holding her mouth against yours, memorizing the way she tastes and the feeling of her hair against your cheek.
Finally, you ease back enough to breath. Your thumb grazes her lips, committing them to memory. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide and luminous, and there’s softness mixed with confusion as she studies your face.
And for the briefest instant, your gaze flicks from her face across the room, catching a shadowed profile near the dart boards - dark hair half-up, the rest falling over one shoulder, a stance that’s familiar in a way that makes your stomach twist. Recognition hits you, but before you can dwell on it, someone moves in between you and the sight, and the moment shatters into background noise. You shove the thought aside, telling yourself it was nothing.
The man’s presence has faded to background noise, but the bartender’s voice cuts through, clear and final as she addresses him: “you gonna order or move along?”
He mutters something under his breath and steps back, retreating, but the air between you and Mel is charged with electricity. Your hand slides from her jaw, lingering for a second on her shoulder, and you step back to gather the drinks. But the nerves in your body still thrum from the feeling of her lips on yours and the realization that kiss wasn’t performative, at least not for you.
It feels dangerous.
Surprisingly, it’s Mel who recovers first.
The world rushes back in around her and she becomes acutely aware that you’re still standing very close to her and your expression mirrors her own stunned silence.
She clears her throat softly. “I -” Her voice comes out thin and a bit strangled, so she tries again. “I’ll help you carry those.”
You nod, grateful for something practical to do, and turn toward the bar as the bartender slides the last glass forward. Neither of you mention what just happened. And neither of you look directly at each other.
Your fingers brush as you divide the drinks and you both pretend not to notice.
The walk back to the table is both quiet and quick. Mel can still feel the shape of your hand on her face, your mouth on hers. Her lips tingle as if the imprint remains.
She focuses on not dropping the glasses.
Sabrina looks up first from conversation as you approach, a grin already forming on her face. Charlie’s gaze flicks between the two of you, eyebrows raised with amusement.
“Well,” she says, accepting her drink, “that was quite the little show.”
Sabrina snorts into her own glass. “Seriously, ten out of ten performance, very convincing.”
Becca doesn’t comment. She just watches Mel carefully, perceptive eyes studying her face as she takes another sip of her soda.
Mel sits. Her pulse is still too fast.
Conversation resumes with surprising ease. Sabrina launches into another story, Charlie chimes in, you slide back into your seat and responding when spoken to. It all lends itself to the rhythm of the night knitting itself back together as though nothing unusual has happened.
Not for Mel.
She hears the conversation without absorbing it. Words drift past her like radio static. Her fingers curl around her water glass, condensation dampening her skin.
She can still feel you.
She risks a glance at you.
You’re laughing at something Sabrina said, your shoulders are relaxed but your smile doesn’t seem to quite reach your eyes. You almost look shaken. Maybe thoughtful? As if you’re trying to act normal and hoping nobody notices that you’re making a conscious effort to do so.
Mel’s stomach flips.
Her friends continue chatting, comfortable and obvious, the moment already filed away as proof of a cute couple.
But Mel can’t file it away.
Charlie is halfway through dissecting some disastrous Hinge date when you lean back into your chair, finally relaxing back into the conversation.
“Did he actually show up?” you ask, grinning. “Or -”
Sabrina cuts in animatedly. Charlie protests. The conversation overlaps in the messy, affectionate way it almost always does when people feel safe.
You turn a little, instinctively, to include Mel, who’s been strangely silent this whole time.
“What do you think?” you ask her, nudging her knee under the table lightly. “That’s totally a red flag, right? Am I being dramatic here?”
She doesn’t answer, and you turn fully to look at her. To make sure she’s okay.
There’s something noticeably undone about her. The composure she usually wears is missing, her expression filled with rawness, her lips even turned into a slight frown, and you can immediately tell she wasn’t listening. It’s identical to the expression she wore at work a while back when she was worried about her deposition and couldn’t focus on anything else.
“Mel?” you prompt softly.
You’re really close to her. Your shoulders are almost touching, she could bump you if she wanted. The golden bar light catches the curve of your lip, the same place where your thumb had brushed hers earlier, and her brain helpfully replays the exact feeling of your hand on her jaw.
You tilt your head when she doesn’t respond. “Are you okay?”
She swallows hard.
This is a mistake. This is toeing that line again.
This is -
She leans in.
Her hand comes up, fingers sliding around the back of your neck and tangling in your hair as she brings your lips to hers again. Her mouth presses against yours with a softness that’s almost unreal compared to the firmness of her grip on you. Like she’s asking a question she’s afraid to hear the answer to.
The table noise fades. Sabrina is still talking, Charlie is talking over her, and you have absolutely no idea what’s going on with Becca in this moment - but it all feels so far away.
Mel’s lips are warm as they move against yours, and you place a hand on her thigh to steady the way you’re leaned into her. Your lips part against hers and she tilts her head, deepening it. There’s a quiet sound from your throat, barely there, but she can feel it.
And God, she doesn’t want to stop.
But she does.
She pulls back slowly, her lips brushing yours one more in a lingering, almost unconscious follow-through before she forces herself to create space. She keeps her eyes closed for a second too long, trying to understand why she would do that.
When she opens them, you’re staring at her with the most unreadable expression on your face.
Nobody at the table says a word. To them, it’s ordinary, you’re just any other couple.
From her other side, Mel catches Becca watching her. Her soda straw is paused halfway to her mouth, her eyes moving between her sister’s face and yours. There’s no confusion in her expression, no surprise. Only a quiet, satisfied knowing, like she’s just seen a puzzle piece settle exactly where it belongs.
The night goes on without much disruption after that. Someone orders fries for the table, you laugh at something Becca says so hard that you have to wipe tears from your eyes, glasses clink over and over. Life continues.
And yet, nothing feels the same.
You sit beside Mel with intentional space between your thighs where there hadn’t been any earlier. Your knee no longer touches hers under the table and when your fingers brush reaching for a fry, both of you pull back too quickly. You fold your hands in your lap to stop yourself from reaching for her again.
Because now you know.
You know the shape of her mouth, the warmth of her breath, the way she leaned into you instead of away from you.
This performance has edges now, sharp ones. And they hurt.
So you keep your hands to yourself.
But still, the distance never fully holds. Her shoulder finds yours when she laughs. Your elbow grazes her arm when you reach for your glass. When she leans closer to hear Sabrina over the music, her hair brushes your cheek and you tense up so suddenly it steals the air from your lungs.
Across the table, Becca watches the two of you with contentment, sipping her soda and swaying faintly to the music that only she seems to be paying attention to. Both Charlie and Sabrina remain blissfully unaware, long since settling into the comfortable assumption that this is how the two of you behave together.
By the time the tab is paid and chairs scrape back from the table, the night has changed and the air is filled with a strange electricity that you don’t fully know what to do with.
Back at the apartment, the ritual of bedtime unfolds in tired smiles, far too late to avoid the hangover that’s sure to haunt you at work tomorrow. Charlie and Sabrina reclaim the couch with gratitude and soft blankets. Becca disappears into the her own bedroom long enough to change before reemerging to hug you goodnight with affection.
And then it’s just the two of you again.
Mel changes in the bathroom while you sit on the edge of her bed, staring at your hands like they might confess what you’re too afraid to say. When she returns, the room feels smaller. Quieter.
You slide beneath the blankets on your usual side and she turns off the lamp.
Her breathing evens out beside you, slow and steady, the rhythm of someone who has surrendered fully to sleep. Or is pretending to.
You lie on your back, staring into the dark, the nerves in your body aware of the mere inches between you.
Tomorrow, her friends will leave. Tomorrow, her spare key will be returned to her. Tomorrow, there will be no reason to stay the night, or hold her hand, or call her babe in any capacity. No reason to kiss her.
Your chest tightens.
You don’t know how to go back.
You don’t know how to fold your heart back into the safe little shape it fit into before this weekend.
Beside you, Mel shifts in her sleep - or something like it - and her fingers brush the back of your hand where it rests on the mattress between you.
You freeze. She stills.
Neither of you pull away.
You stare into the dark above you, heart pounding, and try to memorize this: the warmth, this unbearable tenderness of wanting something you’ve already begun to lose.
Synopsis: In which you and your boyfriend break up and Trinity knows she could do so much better if you’d give her a chance.
Pairing: Trinity Santos x black!fem!reader
Genre: Romance and roommates!
Warning(s): The mention of a terrible man?
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“I just don’t understand why he acted like that Trin, like I feel like I went out of my way for him and then if for once he had to do anything for me that required some actual effort he couldn’t! Am I not as capable of being loved as everybody else?” You exclaim frustrated while pacing in yours and Trinity’s shared apartment.
“Well first of all, he’s an idiot,” She says before gently patting the space next to her on the coach, silently asking you to listen. You simply lifted an eyebrow in response, as stubborn as ever, though she can’t say she didn’t see it coming.
“Secondly, thats in no way true. You’re you and who you are is someone so very capable of loving and being loved. It’s actually so terribly easy to love you and he’s a fool for not seeing that,” She ranted, voice becoming dangerously low as she speaks.
“And third, c’mere.” She followed with softly in response to your silence. You just rolled your eyes before sitting next to her. Trinity placed her hand on your thigh, almost like it was second nature. You looked at her for a moment just to see her already staring at you. Both of you froze at the eye contact and you watched as a light blush began to dance along the slope of her nose bridge.
“Well, um… I’m gonna go and start getting ready!” You exclaimed, voice shaky as you stood up quickly, already heading to your room to get ready.
“Yeah sure, you’re going out with Victoria and joy, right?” She questioned.
“Yeah, I don’t know what outfit I wanna wear yet though, I’m between two. I’ll come out and show you them in a sec so you can help me decide.” You say before finally entering your room.
“Mhm,” Trinitys response came, moments after you had left the room, sounding hoarse and weak. She just sighed as she cocked her head back and began to relax into the couch, thighs spread wide.
Soon you came out of the room wearing a backless black capri jumpsuit with a leopard print bag that matched your heels. Trinity sat up upon seeing you exit the room.
“Ok, this is outfit number one,” You said while doing a quick twirl.
“Do we like?”
“Yeah, it’s cute. It fits you well.” Trinity replies, voice steady.
“Ok ok, lemme go try on the other one now.” You say smiling as you head back into your room. Meanwhile, Trinity finds herself still on the couch, slowly losing her mind. She doesn’t have too long to regain her composure though as you rush out in the second outfit.
You were now wearing a sheer black halter top, in which you could see your solid colored black bra through, some black shorts, and a pair of 6 inch heels that stopped at your mid calf.
“Now that I’m looking at this one, I think I like it more,” You murmured, more so speaking to yourself, before speaking to Trinity, “What do you think Trin?” You asked as you walked forward, which left you standing directly in front of her, towering over her.
“It’s definitely a look, you look gorgeous,” She answered as she stood, hands reaching out for your waist. You stayed silent, looking down at her, as she looked you over, gaze piercing.
“About what time do you think you’ll be coming back?” She inquired.
“Maybe like 11, today was a really long day so I do want to come home and get some sleep,” You replied honestly, now fidgeting with her hands that were still on your waist.
“Ok, alright. I’ll be up,” She said simply.
“Trin, you really don’t have to wait up.”
“What kind of roommate would I be if I didn’t?” She teased, as to which your response was, “A regular one?”
“Well, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” She said after, brow quirked. You simply rolled your eyes and slipped out of her hold as you went to accessorize and grab your purse.
“Alright, Trin. I’ll see you in a few hours. If I’m not back by 12, assume I’m dead,” You said as you made your way to the door.
“Right… See you later.”
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“So, what did Trinity say about the breakup?” Victoria questioned, seemingly innocent.
“She just said he was an idiot,” You said trying to end the conversation about it there.
“Well she’s not wrong,” Joy responded, shrugging.
“Yeah, but that’s all she said?” Victoria said, now interrogating you. You immediately gave in and just decided to tell them what happened.
“Ok well I guess she was trying to comfort me and called me beautiful or whatever, but that’s normal for her. And then she had me sit next her and she like put her hand on my thigh and…”
“Omg,” Victoria exclaimed while shaking Joy back and forth, trying to contain her excitement.
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yourusername guess how many drinks were had between the three of us and yes one was non alcoholic for tori
farmboy trinity is losinsner
yourusername WAIT NO, COME BACK??
melking this is what the fans wanna see!!
yourusername you used this in the perfect context, we’ve come so far🥹
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You were now at your apartment door fumbling with a keys, struggling to open the door when you heard a lock click and watched as the door began to open.
“Oh my god, is the apartment haunted? I always thought those things only happened in movies… What if it got Trin…” You said aloud, losing your mind and completely unaware of Trinity standing at the door and watching you spiral.
“Apartment is not haunted and I am alive and well.” She said before hooking her index finger on to the waistline of your shorts and gently pulling you inside as she shut the door behind you two.
“Trin? You’re alive,” You said, eyes full of childlike wonder as you placed your hands on either side of her face.
“Mhm…” She mumbled out softly as you continued to ramble
“Let me get you some water, walk with me,” She said gently as she continued to guide you and let you continue doing whatever you were doing.
As she began to move away to get you a glass, you clung to her and refused to move.
“Y/n… baby, it’s only going to take 5 seconds and I’ll be in your line of sight the whole time,” She whispered as the two of you were so close you could the warmth of her breath.
You felt your face grow warm as she then sat you on the kitchen stool and poured some water into a glass and made her way back over to you.
“Drink,” She said encouraged. You turned your head away from the cup.
“No, thank you.” You objected weakly, ready to just put on T-shirt and sleep.
“Y/n, it’ll help,” She advised. You simply rolled your eyes and continued to look away. She then lightly placed her hand on your throat and turned your head back towards her and the cup.
You nervously swallowed as she moved her hand up to cup your jaw, the other holding the cup to your lips.
“Come on pretty, just a few sips,” She crooned. You said nothing and simply began to drink from the cup as she continued whispering sweet praises.
“Good girl, I bet you feel better already, huh?” She teased. You felt your face become warm as she smiled and leaned in to get a better look at your expression.
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3 months later
triceratops two girls
yourusername woah really? never would’ve guessed if it wasn’t for the caption
triceratops is it still too early to say that I love you?
queenvictoria war is finally over
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Trinity santos with a gf that’s taller than her supremacy🥹
Synopsis: In which you interview Macklin Celebrini. Chaos Ensues.
Pairing: Macklin Celebrini x black!fem!reader
Genre: Love
Warning(s): None!
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Talk to me, talk to me. Talk to me, talk to me…
“Alright I think we should start with introductions! Even though it’ll be on the thumbnail anyways. I’ll go first. My name is y/n!” You speak confidently and excitedly.
“Hey, I’m Macklin Celebrini,” He said after you with a noticeably nervous tinge in his voice.
“And today I’ll be asking him about all his deepest and darkest hockey secrets and desires,” You say jokingly before smiling brightly and angling yourself towards Macklin. You watch as he smiles awkwardly as though he’s can’t tell if that’s a joke or something else. You just laugh for a moment before speaking again.
“So, how are you doing today Macklin?”
“Pretty chill,” He replied.
“Not going to ask me how I’m feeling?” You say teasing. You watch as his face slightly flushes before returning back to its natural shade.
“Sorry… How are you doing?” He questions.
“Pretty good and no need to apologize. I was just teasing,” You say smiling. He just nods slowly.
“Alright, first official question! If you could steal the skills of any hockey player who would it be and why?” You start off.
“Probably from McDavid. His ability to score crazy goals is insane. It’s more so his stick handling like you think there’s no way that’s going in and it just does.”
“Yeah, I can definitely sympathize with that feeling. He has me both stressed and in awe every single game!” You exclaim while laughing. You watch as Macklin laughs too before the both of you make eye contact and start laughing again. The interview goes on pretty smoothly from there.
Looks like we're making up for lost time. Need you to spell it out for me!
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yourusername Go check out my most recent interview with Macklin Celebrini aka Baby Shark #1
username1 A baby calling another baby a baby
username2 The way you can hear the nervousness in his voice
username3 so excited to watch
username4 I’m starting a rumorrrr
username5 he lowkey locked in by the end of that interview
username9 The two of them laughing the whole time is frying me
username89 Bossa Nova on all night, It's like a type of alchemy…
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yourusername some days I wonder if this is rlly my life
username9 macklin’s greed knows no bounds bc will and y/n???
username72 omg will smith interview coming soon
mackcelebrini I hope that I was fun
username28 I love when she shares her life with us
username71 wait bc I’m sensing something rn
username78 Introduce me to your best friend, I can come and slot right in…
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A satellite ain't even that far… I, I kinda wonder where you are.
Already know I can't leave it alone. You're on my mind… Already gave you the time and the place. So, don't be shy…
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yourusername babysitting
username6 the photo of will, we’re being fed rn
username3 now I’m craving ice cream
username18 the last photo… y/n we know where u were
username50 this is so cute
username10 Just come be the man I need. Tell me you got something to give, I want it…
mackcelebrini Break
username50 the way I want to question the two cups but one could genuinely be for will
username1 the goat has posted
_willsmith2 making moves
username5 HELLO?? What does this mean??
username43 what can he not do bro
username90 I kinda like it when you call me wonderful. Whatever the type of talk it is, come on then!
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I gotta know you're meant to be the man I need… Talk to me!
“Ok wait, alright hello! I know that everybody’s used to seeing me on my own podcast but today I’m taking a day off from being the interviewer and I am now the interviewee,” Y/n said smiling brightly while Mack and will were positioned of either side of her.
“And Mack and I are the interviewers,” Will said after a beat.
“How the tables have turned,” Mack followed with. Everyone was silent for a moment before bursting out into fits of giggles.
Mm, talk to me, talk to me! Be the man that I need, baby…
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_willsmith2 third wheeling
username2 evb pay up
username7 I manifested this into existence
username8 Who’s Etsy witch do we owe for this
username I can die happy
username9 him making himself the cover before posting the photos of them is frying me
