🖤 An Ongoing Series, from Misha’s Masterlist Library.
📚+ 📁 Infodump file & all volumes and chapters (+more) below.
TAG LIST FULL. -> See disclaimer here.
☾⋆⁺₊ Welcome to the full series masterlist. ⋆⁺₊☾
Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader 🖤
enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+
🏹 AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the hill I die on. This pairing? My OTP. They'll never not be my favorite, no matter how many other fics that I write. Steve & Babe Bauman Supremacy 5ever.
SUMMARY: Murray Bauman’s niece shows up, and Steve Harrington’s last nerve packs its bags and flees the country.
That's you.
The adults think you’re a godsend. The kids practically build a shrine. You’re helpful, charming, funny (of freaking course you are) and you fit into the group like a missing piece of the puzzle to help solve the end of the world.
But not for Steve.
Because as far as Steve’s concerned? He thinks you’re the end of the world in a cool jacket. You’re the reason he lost the girl. The reason his maybe-life, his maybe-happy ending, blew up in his face. If you had just stayed out of it, if you hadn’t left that bunker with Nancy and Jonathan, he wouldn’t be stuck watching a future he almost had walk around like it never belonged to him in the first place. If you had just stayed out of it, if you’d kept your too-smart, too-sarcastic ass inside that ridiculous bunker? You wouldn’t be haunting him like a ghost with better hair.
Now you’re everywhere. With your mouth, your attitude, your impossible face. The female version of Murray Bauman, if Murray had cheekbones and a death glare that could peel paint. Witty. Sharp. Always one step ahead. Less beard, more bite. You’re like if Murray Bauman were somehow hot and terrifying. You’re clever, lethal, infuriating… And Steve can’t stand you.
He hates how your laugh gets under his skin. He hates the way you look at him like you already know what he’s thinking, and you’re bored by it. He hates that you always end up being right about most things and don’t even brag about, just sitting there all satisfied and subtly smug. He hates how you talk, how you think, how you smirk like the universe is in on your joke.
CHAPTERS: All chapters listed chronologically, in sequence with the way it's meant to flow and be read. I highly suggest not skipping, or reading out of order, so that you truly can read this and experience it fully plus comprehend the plot.
SUMMARY: Steve Harrington’s life was going just fine (no it wasn’t) before you came into the picture and made him lose the girl (even though she’d already mentally clocked out of their relationship). He’s already in the search for a cat-eating monster lizard (thanks, Dustin) and a newly dethroned king turned babysitter (thanks, Billy). But then you waltz in, with your bad-to-the-bone combat boots and obnoxiously witty snark (and stupidly full lips) as if you’ve decided to mock his ancestors just for kicks and make his life a total joke.
Little does he know you’re the love of his life and you’ve only ruined it by giving him no chance at a life without you in it.
SUMMARY: The upside down is gone. Welcome to the right-side up universe — also known as normal life. No more Soviets plaguing the city of Hawkins. No more hellish quarantine. No more monsters, or Vecna, or supernatural curses and comatose kids, or death scares. Now? Now you all live together, under one roof. Steve’s roof. “Casa Harrington.”
…but while you all made it back in one piece, Steve’s sanity didn’t.
He’s gone nonverbal and catatonic, his mind lost in the void of his own head. He can’t unsee everything. Your second flatline. Dustin being taken. The kids screaming for him. Murray looking petrified, Hopper being frantic to save you all, Joyce taking a bullet for her sons. Mentally? He’s still back there — even though physically, he’s right here. In your arms, safe and sound, his ear to your heartbeat as it now beats in regular time. And you’ll spend the rest of your life loving him, devoted and determined to bring him back to you.
So will the kids.
So will Joyce and Hopper.
So will Robin. Nancy, Jonathan, Eddie and Argyle.
Dr. Owens and Eleven are guiding him through it daily.
And your uncle? He never leaves Steve’s side for one second.
SUMMARY: The world’s ending quietly in Hawkins, and somehow, Steve Harrington is still trying to save what’s left of it. After all the gunfire, after the blood, after the smoke clears, it’s just the two of you in a Winnebago that smells like your miserable arrhythmia safe decaf coffee, gasoline, and ghosts. The roads are dead. The sky’s the wrong color. Every radio channel is static. It’s the end of the world, but Steve Harrington now looks at you like you’re the most important human worth saving instead of the worst person he’s ever met.
And he’s going to do anything to save you, even if it costs him his own life along the way.
🗄️ -> THE BAUMAN FILES
📁 baby bauman begins
📁 Marjorie Bauman
📁 [TBD]
💌 MY FAVE OSWDLS ASKS -> from you
babe bauman face cards
anon write-in (new reader)
anon librarian’s love letter to OSWDLS
Murray Bauman is a softie, period.
Murray 🫱🏼🫲🏽 Regina George (@thecreelhouse gets me)
Steve & Bauman’s song (all thanks to @silkholland)
Jonathan Byers is a riot
petition to prohibit bauman from ever climbing anything ever
❤️🩹 my inspiration for catatonic Steve
💥 bauman + buckley = Steve’s dream team soulmates
🍒 cherry baby, checking in
🥵 kinky/freaky/emo smutty steve x babe bauman
👀 UMMM HELLO BAUMAN’S EX CAMEO???
🖤 more babe bauman gushing
✨ Joseph’s review / reading breakdown (<- go here if you’re confused please, i beg of thee…)
thank you all x999999 for the OSWDLS taglist requests !!
unfortunately Tumblr has now made it known to me that i've reached my limit :( so i'll still be taking any tag requests and writing it down into my list of library cardholders. apparently, the limit is 30?!?!?!?!??! diabolical. that being said, please follow me and turn on your notifications. that way, you don't miss the updates for this x
Jason Todd: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone.
Tim Drake: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back.
Dick Grayson: Vampires.
Jason Todd: ...
Tim Drake: ...
Dick Grayson: I got turned into one once and nearly killed peoples. It's a bloodlust, you never know when you'll be fully quenched and every non-vampire is a succulent vessel... But I'm not a vampire anymore and that is in my past.
ꨄ Summary: You’re fired from your job and end up in a meet-cute situation with a cute stranger
ꨄ Word Count: 3.3k
ꨄ a/n | i really wasn’t expecting the first part to even get as much attention as it did, but here’s the second part. i hope it lives up to expectations
“Fired?!”
Your boss takes a lengthy step back at the way your shrill voice bounces through the air. But you’re too upset to care.
“You’re refusing to return to work. What am I supposed to do with an employee who refuses to work?” He sneers back, his hand waving in that uncaring, dismissive way.
You gawk at him. “I’m not refusing to return to work,” you argue, your voice trembling with emotion as you try to not shout, “all I’m asking for is a couple days off so I can wrap my head around the whole ‘being held hostage’ ordeal. Surely that’s not unreasonable?”
Apparently it is unreasonable. It’s all you can do but stare in disbelief as your boss rounds the serving counter and begins tapping at the register screen, as if to busy his hands while debating your mental health rights to recovery. The shame that fills you is unfair and outright wrong, but your recognition of that fact doesn’t stop the tears from filling your eyes and your entire face heating up.
“You either show up for your shift tonight or I’m terminating your contract,” he passively answers, his shoulder shrugging. The way he dismisses you is cruel and wrong; how is it possible for a person to be so uncaring?
You blink rapidly through the tears and clench your fists at your side to try and ease the shaking of your limbs. Your throat burns with the intensity of how much you want to burst into tears, from the humiliation of this whole situation being played out in the public space of the main store floor where anyone can see. It’s your coworker who stands in the end aisle, an open box in one arm and the consumable product in her hand as she stacks the shelves, head deliberately turned away to feign ignorance to the conversation.
There’s no dignity to any of this, and that angers you more than the fact that you’re being fired for putting yourself first. Nevermind the fact that your other coworker was murdered last night by the same psychopath who held you hostage because he was drugged up and hallucinating demons.
You suck in a breath and blink through the initial sting of tears. “Terminate my contract. I’ll go find a job elsewhere with a boss who is actually human,” you spit out, wanting to match his inhumanity. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were half a decent person.”
There’s no answer from your, now, ex-boss. He simply continues to tap away at the register screen with the same indifference as always. From your experience, you can only guess that he’s adding new products to the register or looking at the sales page for guidance on what prices to set his consumables at. Despite being such an asshole, he knows exactly what prices to set to make them sell without making losses or coming across as extortionate.
You scowl at yourself for even thinking of the praise. And with that, you spin on your heel and storm out the main entrance of the shop. The overhead bell on the door sounds like a mocking goodbye, and you’re furious at the fact that the door has that slow-automatic effect on it that means it won’t slam shut. What you wouldn’t give to slam it and potentially crack the glass.
You return home faster than expected, so much so that the journey back is just a blur of fast-paced walking and angry incoherent mumbles. But immediately you sink onto the worn couch and open your laptop to begin job hunting. Your CV, thankfully, is pretty up to date and only needs minor tweaking to make it ‘polished’, but other than that it’s good enough to send out and hopefully be eye-catching.
The days that follow are extremely repetitive. Wake up, apply for jobs, read rejection emails—or groan at the fact that you’ve been ghosted by companies that aren’t even that good—, watch a couple of shitty television programmes, check for updates one final time on the job situation, and go to bed.
Being desperate to not fall behind on rent— because even though your landlord is nicer than most of Gotham, that doesn’t mean his patience is thick—you make yourself presentable and head down to the job centre for some advice.
Honestly, the job centre is exactly as you had imagined it. With rows of questionable individuals sitting in the waiting area, all of them looking like they’re suffering from withdrawals or something, and a handful of open desks with very stern employees sat behind a computer monitor. You beeline for the receptionist desk and introduce yourself, explain why you’re there (even though the reason is pretty damn obvious), and then you’re directed to the seating area to wait your turn.
You have a choice of sitting next to a pale, twitchy man with eyes that are bulging out of his head, or an elderly woman that looks like she’s going to smack someone with her cane. Considering the situation where you were held hostage by a shifty, pale man only a few days ago, it’s only natural that you take your chances with the mean old lady instead.
Once seated, you muster up the courage to flash the old woman a friendly smile, only to be met with a nasty scowl and her tapping her cane like a threat into the limoneum floor. You retreat back and look away, suddenly wary of the fact that she might actually hit you.
You’re suffering from the trauma of shifty-looking men, you’d rather not add to that by being frightened of old women with walking aids.
It feels like the minutes drag into hours as people are called one-by-one to the many not-so-private desks to discuss their situations. The old woman falls asleep by the hour mark, her snores making you feel far more relaxed in knowing that you aren’t at risk of assault—though you can’t help but wonder if a sudden noise will startle her awake and cause her to lash out.
But you never find that possibility out as your name is called from a man at another open-desk. You practically jump to your feet from relief and the eagerness to escape the seating area of questionables. You smooth your hands down your black trousers and adjust the flower-patterned blouse that balloons majestically at the sleeves, then make a hasty walk over.
You smile and hope it looks polite and not at all desperate, even though that’s exactly how you feel, and then you plop down into the chair opposite the desk.
“Hello,” you greet, teeth flashing for a moment. You then inwardly cringe and start second guessing the way you had greeted the man. Was it too sing-song-like? If there was ever a way to take back words, you’d definitely use it at that moment to retry your own greeting and not sound like a weirdo.
“[_____], correct?” The man asks, sounding bored and not at all impressed. His eyes are hidden behind thick framed glasses, and you immediately can tell he has a strong prescription due to the way his eyes are magnified.
You swallow nervously and confirm your own name.
He continues to reel off some other basic information that you’d helpfully submitted at the reception desk, and once he’s certain that you are exactly who you say you are, he begins the process.
“So, please tell me why you’re here today,” he prompts, his eyes dragging away from the screen to connect with yours. The eye contact feels contractual and like an obligation for his job, but you try not to feel scrutinised under his state despite the urge to reel back and sink into the floor.
Your hands twist in your lap. “A few days ago I was held hostage at my job by someone high off of drugs,” you start almost too quickly, the memory fresh and too hostile to feel comfortable with recalling. Goosebumps line your arms instantly, and you’re suddenly thankful that you chose this long sleeved blouse to wear. “I got into a disagreement with my boss about taking a few days to recover from the experience, and he fired me for not wanting to return to work immediately.”
The man tilts his head once into a nod. His hands fly across the keyboard with a motion that feels robotic, like he’s done this far too many times to count. “It says here that you have applied for several jobs around Gotham already. If you’ve applied for jobs, why are you here?”
“Uh, well, yes—“ you can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks from embarrassment. “My applications were ignored or rejected by the places I applied to, so I was hoping to get some jobseekers advice or some help with applying.”
There’s a pause before the clicking of keys returns to the unprivate space. The desk across from yours has a young man loudly retelling the woes of endless job hunting and the fact that all of the recommendations he’s been given haven’t suited his employment needs. This feels impersonal and not at all ideal, like it’s a humiliation ritual rather than a place of help. Because nothing screams compassion than having to air your dirty laundry and employment issues out loud to a room filled with other people.
“And what type of job are you searching for?”
You snap your attention back to the goggle-eyed man. “Honestly anything. I’m pretty flexible with taking on new jobs, I just need to pay my rent.” You thoughtlessly readjust the collar of your blouse, not liking the way the material is tickling your neck. Then, you stupidly add on, “Heck, I’ll even group in with one of those criminal gangs that work for Two-Face if it means I can pay the bills.”
It’s meant as a joke, something to make you feel more at ease and to hopefully break the uncomfortable tension of the room, but it doesn’t land the way you wanted it to. Instead, the man abruptly stops typing and fixes you with a look of utter contempt. It’s enough to make you shrink into your seat and wish you could snatch the words out of the air and stuff them back down your throat.
“Ma’am, this establishment does not encourage criminal activity. As an organisation dedicated to steering the general public away from turning to a life of crime, I can offer for you to speak with an advisory over at GCPD to discourage your desperation.” His fingers return to tapping at the keyboard.
You gawk at him.
“No, no,” you squeak out, your entire body feeling uncomfortably hot. “That’s really not necessary. I was just making a joke.”
The man stops typing and lifts his gaze to yours, his mouth twisting into a frown. “Making light of crime is not a joke, ma’am.”
Wow, this feels exactly like being told off by a parent or teacher. How embarrassing. The words “I’m not angry, just disappointed” spring to mind, and once again you’re left with the desire to have the ground swallow you whole.
“Yeah, I got that,” you breathe out, “I’m sorry.”
The meeting drags on for another fifteen minutes, with the advisor asking further questions and tearing apart your talents, personality, and hobbies all for the sake of finding a job role that will essentially suit you best. The process is demeaning and unnerving, and you’re left wondering if this whole thing is just to make jobless individuals feel worse about themselves.
Thankfully the end is in sight, and you almost cheer in relief when the advisor concludes the meeting with a promise that suitable jobs will be sent to your email inbox for you to apply for. You take the liberty to thank the advisor, apologise a couple times extra for the unfunny joke you made, then hightail it out of the gloomy building.
Before heading home however, you spot a cute coffee shop at the end of the street. Against Gotham's grey palette, it looks painfully out of place. But maybe that’s what draws you towards it, because it feels hopeful against the gloom of the city. Plus, there’s dark rain clouds looming overhead, and considering it’s a twenty minute walk back to your apartment, you decide shelter is important if you’re to dodge the risk of getting wet.
You slip inside the coffee shop and are immediately greeted by a short-statuted woman. A frilly apron hangs around her waist, with coffee stains and milk splats down the front. And despite the cheerful exterior and interior decorations, she looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here.
“Hi, please can I have a vanilla latte?” You ask once you’re at the counter. The woman just nods and taps at the register. Her jaw moves in a chewing motion, and then she gestures sharply to the display counter of pastries and baked goods.
“D’you want anything else?” She asks, sounding utterly miserable and painfully bored. “We have a discount deal for hot drinks and pastries.”
You manage to smile despite the hostile conditions. “A job opening would be ideal,” you say with a forced laugh. The regret is immediate, because the short woman looks completely unamused by your attempt at a joke.
“We’re not hiring. D’you want a pastry or not?”
Gotham really does lack humour.
Your eyes flick towards a delicious-looking chocolate twist. You really shouldn’t be wasting money like this, but after the unnerving day you’ve had, you think you deserve it.
“I’ll take a chocolate twist, please.”
The woman tells you your total and you pay without question or another word spoken—because god forbid you make another joke and have the entire of the city want to lynch you for it. You start to wonder if maybe you’re not as funny as you initially thought you were to be, or maybe the people you’re encountering just have a constant stick up their ass. Considering the constant stream of bad luck you’re having at the moment, you wouldn’t be surprised if you just keep bumping into the wrong people.
You thank the woman for the pastry and coffee and turn to leave—
Only for you to collide face-first into someone standing up from their chair.
Foam from the cup shoots out the top of the drinking hole, and you accidentally squeeze the paper packet containing your delicious chocolate pastry. You squeal in surprise and crane your head up, eyes flying open in surprise just as the strange man shoots his arms out to grip your shoulders and steady you.
“I’m so sorry!” You shout out, face turning into a flaming pool of embarrassment and defeat.
Yeah, you were definitely experiencing the worst case of bad luck anybody could ever have the joy of experiencing.
The stranger retracts his hands from your shoulders and wipes them against the front of his shirt. You want to take offence at the action because you shower nightly and smell good—and that’s not you tooting your own horn, because your care routine is intricate in the sense that you own the best body scents and moisturisers a girl can have—but you’re slapped in the face with instant realisation that the coffee from your cup had sloshed out and stained the front of his white shirt.
“Oh, fuck,” you groan, eyes almost rolling back.
It’s not even bad luck anymore. At this point, your luck just doesn’t even exist.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Honestly, I spill coffee down myself all the time, don’t worry about it.” You drag your eyes up from the stain and stop at the man’s face— a very soft, cute looking face.
And now your face feels hot for all the wrong reasons. Trust you to crash into a hot stranger and throw your coffee down his pristine white shirt.
“Um, this is going to sound weird, but…”
Your heart skips a beat.
“I couldn’t help but overhear you asking the barista for a job. Are you—um, sorry—are you looking for a job right now?” He asks, his blue eyes shifting towards the pastry counter and then back to your face. The paleness of his skin makes the blue shine brighter, and you can’t help but marvel at the fact that they look like gemstones.
You blink a few times before registering the question. “Oh! Yes. Yes—looking for a job, I mean. Not that the question was weird. Well—no, yeah, it wasn’t weird. I’m on the market—“ His eyes visibly widen. God you really need to stop talking “—for a job. I’m on the market for a job.”
His long fingers rake through his hair, his lips twitching up into a smile. “Good, good. The company I work for has an opening position in the buyers department. That’s… well, that’s if you’re interested in office-based work.”
If not for the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a public space, with a very judgemental barista standing behind the counter, you could have screamed with joy. Thankfully, you have some self restraint and you’re able to calm yourself before responding.
“Oh my goodness, really? I’ll literally take anything right now,” you admit.
He looks relieved. His shoulders drop a fraction, and he smiles down at you with a softness that doesn’t feel real. “Perfect. It’s a trial position, so there’s no contract binding you to the company if you don’t like the role,” he explains, his hand shoving into the pocket of his trousers and pulling out a phone.
You barely register the fact that it’s a damn expensive model before he’s reeling off more information.
“It’s 9-5 work, and once the trial period is up the minimum pay is a salary of $32,000 yearly. There’s chances for department promotions and pay rises, plus a lot of benefits that other companies don’t give. It’s hybrid work too once the trial period is over.” The way he rambles and lists off the details is mesmerising, and you can’t help but stare in genuine awe at his face as he talks. Even his voice is cute with that deep rumble.
He continues to talk about commute times, company discounts and benefits, as well as team building exercises that each department organise between themselves, but there’s a need to know question on the tip of your tongue.
“What’s your name?” You interrupt.
He pauses and blinks almost owlishly at you. Then his hand rises to rub the back of his neck. “Tim. My name is Tim. And you are…?”
You introduce yourself, shoulders rising towards your ears in a bashful shrug. “How do I go about applying for the trial position?”
Tim beams down at you. “I can sort out the application process. The position is all yours if you want it— I can text over the details if that helps?” He holds his phone out to you, and you don’t hesitate to take his phone to type in your contact details.
Once you hand his phone back, he looks down at the screen before shoving his phone back into his pocket. His smile doesn’t fade. “Well, it was really nice bumping into you,” he says, “and honestly I’ll even say the coffee stain was worth it. I’ve got to head off, I’m kind of running late for something, but I’ll text you this evening with the starting date details.”
You nod almost too enthusiastically. You don’t have time to correct yourself and feign nonchalance though, because Tim is already turning away and waving goodbye.
It’s only when he’s leaving do you realise how dumb it was to accept a job position from a stranger, and give your details to him just because he’s cute.
It’s honestly a wonder how you’ve ever navigated life as long as you have without dying.
Our Downfall Part 2 | Jake Sully x Metkayina!reader
Read Part 1 here
Word count: 5k
Pairing: Jake Sully x Tonowari's daughter!reader
Description: As you are accompanying Jake and Kiri to return Spider home, the group is attacked by the Mangkwan. You are kidnapped by an old foe, but Jake arrives to save you.
Content Warnings: Avatar: Fire and Ash (slight) spoilers! Movie level violence, side character death, Jake is a stone cold killer for a minute, established relationship, low-key torture, substance use, kidnapping... think that's it.
Author's note: Y'all wanted it, so here it is, Part 2 to Our Downfall! This takes place during the begining of Avatar: Fire and Ash and obviously goes through some slight plot changes. Reminder that Neytiri never mated with Jake and his only child is Kiri (read Part 1 if you're confused). Hope you like it!
Na'vi Words/Terms used:
Tawtute = humans/Skypeople, Wiya = Damn/expression of frustration, Ska'avum = Nightwraith, Nga kavuk si = you betray, Uturu = refuge
The wind blew through your hair and rustled the adornments on your chest. You had never been this high up before. Even Jake had not taken you this high in the air on his Ikran, Bob. The two flew beside the Tlalim ship now, Bob keeping pace as they both kept their eyes peeled for danger.
You let yourself admire Jake from afar. It was so strange to see him flying at eye level. He looked different today since he was covered in a woven cloak and had a gun held tightly in his arms.
The battle with the RDA still left you rattled even over a week later. Nothing had scared you more than when you had almost lost Kiri to a dream walker during the battle. The false Na’vi had held his knife to her throat, kidnapped her, and tried to kill her. You would give him a slow death if you ever came across the demon they called Quaritch.
Miraculously, the battle ended with Kiri safe in her father’s arms and Jake gaining a small human. The boy was a friend of Jake’s daughter, but you suspected Jake cared for him like another child.
You were on a journey now to return him to Jake’s friends Norm and Max at the human settlement at High Camp. If the winds were favorable, today you would be meeting the Omatikaya clan that Jake had once led as their Ole’eyktan.
He had asked you to come with them, although you weren't sure of his exact intentions. Jake was originally going to send Spider with the wind traders by himself, knowing he would be safe with a neutral party, but Kiri wouldn't have anything to do with it, so Jake had compromised and you were all now traveling back with him.
Jake caught you watching him and smiled, dipping his head in acknowledgment. You waved back and wrapped your arms around yourself at the chilly breeze sweeping through. Footsteps loudly hit the woven floor and the human came tearing around the corner.
You gasped as the boy, Spider, tripped on the ropes that attached the ships to the windrays that pulled them. You grabbed his arm to steady him, “careful,” you warned.
“Thanks,” he chirped, not letting his almost fall dampen his spirits. He quickly looked behind him as if he was expecting a pursuit. “Hey so, I meant to ask you earlier, are you and Jake, you know… together?” Spider asked in surprisingly good Na’vi.
“We are courting, yes,” you replied, eyeing the boy as he raised his eyebrows.
“Wow, Kiri said her dad would never get married,” he shook his head.
“We are not mated, Tawtute,” you corrected him.
“Yeah, but you're gonna right?” he asked
He received a mere couple blinks in response, “you ask a lot of personal questions,” you snipped.
The whoosh of wings drew your attention away from the little human asking, “Yeah, but are you?”
“Raiders!” Jake yelled from above. A multitude of painted Ikrans crested over the cliff, pouring down below towards the ships. The smoke filling the sky told you exactly who had arrived.
“Spider, go get Kiri and come back here to me,” you demanded, swiftly moving to prepare. Spider’s head snapped to the yells from the sky and opened his mouth to speak. “We do not have time, go!” you ordered. Spider hesitated before he dashed off to go find her.
“Baby, do you copy?” Jake's voice crackled through the comms he had given you.
“I am here Ma’Jake,” you answered, watching in horror as you realized a Ska'avum was leading the charge.
The Mangkwan people were terrible and twisted. Even far into the reef, the Metkayina had heard of the horrors committed by the clan. They ransacked villages in all four directions, taking resources and women, killing those that they did not want to use as slaves. The sight of them heading towards Jake now sent a pang of fear through you.
“Protect the kids. Abandon ship if you have too. The kids will know how to get to High Camp.” he instructed.
“I’m not leaving without you,” you protested.
“Do me a favor baby, just worry about Kiri,” was all he said before the coms went silent and you saw him come in contact with the first Mangkwan warrior.
“Wiya,” you hissed. Your current position near Kiri’s Ikran would be best for an escape, and you could see here as well here as anywhere else.
You pulled off your traveling cloak and grabbed the bow and quiver at your feet. It had been a long time since you had learned to be proficient on the bow. You hoped that your aim would be good enough to help Jake.
As the first Mangkwan rider came into range, you already had an arrow for him to receive. You had grown used to daggers and crossbows from growing up with the Metkayina, but your father had ensured you were at least somewhat comfortable with all weaponry.
You fired your arrow at the first Na’vi rider and shot. Your aim held up, although you were a little rusty. He clutched his shoulder and the force of the shot threw him off kilter. His Ikran keeled to the left as the warrior fell off of its back.
You notched another arrow and aimed at a Na’vi woman approaching Jake. This arrow went through her throat, and you didn't feel too guilty at the instant kill.
“What’s going on?” Kiri cried as she and Spider approached you.
“Mangkwan raiders,” you explained shortly, “are your comms on?”
“No,” she replied, clutching her neck, “I don't have it on.”
“Forget it, stick with me. Make sure your Ikran is ready to fly if we have to go,” you instructed, letting another arrow fly.
“They’re on the ship!” Spider yelled, pointing to where ash covered Na’vi dropped onto the ship. They were setting fire to any possible surface and it was spreading quickly. Kiri and Spider started running to pour water and smack out the fire with fabric. It was of little use.
You aimed your arrows at a Mankwan who had a woman’s arm in his grasp. He was laughing as she screamed and kicked at his legs. You aimed for his eye and your arrow went through his forehead instead. Close enough, dead is dead.
The previously captured woman drew her knife and jumped at another enemy. You let another arrow hit a Mangkwan who was attempting to approach you. There were too many of them now. Fire ate away at the floor only 50 feet in front of you. You had to go while you still had the option. Kiri and Spider backed up to the railing as the Ikran let out a screech in warning.
You let out a yell in frustration as a man ran at Kiri. “Jake, we will have to abandon ship!” you paused to yell over the coms.
You had fired two more arrows before he responded, sounding half out of breath like he was running, “Get them home, don't worry about me.” Your heart stuttered at the thought of leaving him behind. But he knew battle best, you would follow his request and protect his daughter.
“Go!” You ordered the two teens. Spider and Kiri got on the Ikran as you watched their backs, making sure they had cover. You were about to mount on yourself when a slicing pain hit your thigh. You screamed as you faltered, barely keeping hold of the bow. A larger than normal arrow protruded from your skin, crimson red already starting to cover the blue.
“No!” Kiri yelled as a large man approached you.
“Go Kiri!” You yelled, knowing your own chances were too slim, but they could make it, only if they left now.
“But-” she started.
“Go!” you screamed, stumbling forward to harshly push at her Ikran’s face, sending it clawing at the burning ship to regain balance. “I will find you,” you added. Kiri grimaced but nodded. The Ikran unhitched from the ropes and set off into the air. Your leg burned like it too was on fire. You looked down to see free flowing red blood pooling on the woven mat below you.
Heavy footsteps approached and you turned to see a Na’vi built like your kin. This was a Metkayina covered in paint, a traitor to his people. “Nga kavuk si,” (you betray) you hissed.
The man reached you now, grabbing your kuru and yanking your head back. He snapped the comms off of your exposed neck and threw them overboard. You snarled and swept your bow out to hit him, but he caught it. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” he asked, grinning wide in mockery. It then clicked who stood before you. Under all the paint and ash, the ruins of a man you once knew.
“No…” you stammered, your knee nearly buckling with the effort it took to stay standing. He reached down and snapped the arrow head off where the shaft was still embedded in your leg. “No!” you yelled urgently, understanding what he was about to do.
Before you could protest again, he pulled the arrow shaft out of your leg and you screamed. Colors blurred and his laugh sounded far away.
“You are exactly who I was hoping to see. You were wrong, Eywa still smiles on me after all,” he gritted out as he gripped your queue tighter. You forced out a sound through your teeth at the blinding pain.
“You are wrong to say Eywa can only favor one.” You breathed deeply to manage not to pass out.
“Maybe,” he shrugged, “But I see she does not favor you.”
“Baby, do you copy?” Jake called into the comms and his heart sank when he still received no reply. Neither you or Kiri had given a response in the past hour.
Maybe your comms were damaged in the fight? Maybe the Hallelujah mountains scrambled the signal when it was already weak from the distance? He could only hope it wasn't what he feared.
Jake landed at High Camp as Tarsem, Mo’at and a few others walked out to meet him. “Did they make it? Are they here?” He huffed, shaking off the stinging sensation on his abdomen. The cut was barely 4 inches across, but it was deeper than he thought originally.
“They are here, Jake,” Tarsem nodded. “What has happened?”
Jake sighed in relief, nodding once to remind himself it would be okay. They were home, Kiri was safe. “Mangkwan Raiders attacked us. We were traveling to bring Spider home,” he explained.
“He is with the humans now. Kiri said they ran into a problem on the way home and well, there seems to have been a… change.” He hesitated to go further which set Jake’s adrenaline rushing again.
His body jerked into motion and he set off for the science labs, not pausing to end his conversation with the Olo’ektan. He opened the lab door and ducked through the human sized opening. His eyes immediately found Kiri who was standing next to Norm watching a monitor screen.
“Kiri,” he breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived as Kiri turned and immediately started tearing up.
“Dad!” She cried, running and falling into his arms. Over her shoulder he could see Spider talking to Max.
“What’s wrong babygirl? What happened? Where’s y/n?” He asked rapidly in succession, holding her close.
“They took her! We were trying to leave but a man attacked her. She told us to go and we did. She was protecting us!” Kiri sobbed into his chest.
Jake's heart sunk down to his toes. “Is she still alive Kiri?” He demanded, holding her back so he could read her reaction.
“Yes,” she started and Jake’s resolved hardened. “But the Mangkwans took her, the man put her on his Ikran and took off. Dad, it looked like Na’ran…” she said in a near whisper, her eyebrows furrowed heavily with worry.
“Jake, you’re gonna want to see this!” Norm called then, but it took everything in him not to run out of the lab after hearing Kiri’s story.
“I gotta go Norm!” He called back. “Stay here with Tarsem,” he ordered Kiri.
“Jake!” Norm tried again and Jake finally looked over to him. “Spider is breathing without a mask.”
Jake paused, finally noticing Spider hooked up to wires and machines.
“What happened Kiri?” Her dad asked again.
Kiri closed her eyes and winced, “His mask was running out, and his spare burned in the fire. We had to set down and then… it was Eywa…” Kiri explained, her tear stained cheeks making his heart pang.
“What does that mean?” He asked firmly, taking both her arms in his hands and crouching down to see her face at eye level.
“She told me what to do, I laid him on the ground and I gave him air. I don’t know Dad, it was amazing,” She said in wonder.
“Is he okay, he’s gonna be fine?” Jake turned to Norm.
“According to the scans we took, it looks like he has undergone a cellular change. He has a mycelium endosymbiont-“ Norm started but Jake’s hand raised to halt him.
“Norm!” Jake cut him off, knowing the clock was ticking on your rescue.
“He’s fine,” Norm shrugged.
“Okay,” Jake nodded, “I’ll be back. Stay here Kiri,” he ordered one last time.
“Dad! Where are you going?” Kiri pleaded.
“Don’t worry about it, babygirl. Have I ever not come back?” He asked, pausing before he left.
Kiri hesitated, “no…”
“Okay, then if I say I’ll be back, I’ll be back,” he reassured her, before he ducked out the door and gathered what he would need.
You opened your eyes blearily and could make out a few figures surrounding the area. None had noticed you were awake yet. Your thigh throbbed, but you couldn't see the state it was currently in.
It seemed like you were laid out on the ground on your stomach, the Pandoran sun beating down on your back. Your hands were tied behind you and the rope was attached to a stake driven deep in the ash covered rock.
“Who’s slave is this?” a feminine voice called out above you. You stilled, hoping she hadn't seen you move your head.
“Mine,” Na’ran’s voice said, and your breath hitched.
“She’s in my way,” the woman bit out. “Move her.”
“Yes, Tshahik.” Na’ran said before you heard his footsteps get closer.
“Wait,” the voice said, still near you. Fingers gripped your tied hands and yanked you up to your knees. You cried out in pain as pressure was put on your shoulders at the action.
You could see more now that you were upright. It looked like you were in the Mangkwan camp near erupting mountains. The camp was bleak and devoid of life. Several Mangkwan’s sat around a fire, eating a small animal on a spit as they watched.
“This is Toruk Makto’s woman?” the Tshahik asked. She circled around you, taking your Kurk in her hands and running it through her fingers. You stamped down the urge to shudder or jerk away from her touch.
Na’ran’s voice hesitated, “Yes, Tshahik.”
“Hmm,” she hummed. You couldn't see her, but the sound of an unsheathing knife alone made you freeze.
“I claimed her as my slave.” Na’ran hurriedly said in explanation.
“I have no alliances or qualms with JakeSuli, he is nothing to me. She is another mouth to feed,” the Tshahik argued.
“She is an Olo’eyktans daughter, her death could invoke war with two clans,” Na’ran continued.
“Do you think I do not know that?” the woman shrieked and Na’ran crumpled.
“Of course, Tsahik!” Na’ran fell to his knee, a position you had seen him in the last time he was with the Metkayina as he kneeled before your father. “I was mistaken that I could claim slaves.”
“You are not mistaken,” the woman admitted, walking around again to stand at her front. “She is a pretty thing. I see why Suli chose her.”
You glared up at the Tsahik. “Ahh, she grows angry,” she laughed mockingly.
“We will have some fun before she dies,” the Tshahik relented. “I have wondered about the life of the rider of last shadow. Bring her to me,” she ordered.
“Yes ma’am.” Na’ran nodded as the woman turned away and left. Na’ran yanked you up by your arm, dragging you towards the tent flaps that the woman had just gone through.
“Please, Na’ran. We were children together,” you appealed to him as you followed her.
“Yet that did not stop you from betraying me for that forest creature,” he spat and your shoulders sagged.
“Because I love him,” you reasoned.
“And I loved you,” he snapped. “Love turns to hate when it is spurned.”
“Then you did not really love me, you merely wanted me,” you said. Your limbs felt weak and cold, but you pushed on. This would not be a place that was accepting of the meek.
“Perhaps,” he hissed. “It does not matter now. Varang will have you dead by morning.” He pushed you through the opening and you stumbled forward, your injured leg throbbing as you fell to your knees.
The woman turned around with a strange contraption in her hands. Before you could react or say a word, she was putting the opening to your nose and Na’ran was pinning you in place from behind.
She puffed out air and a powder shot out into your airway. She backed away and Na’ran held you up as you melted onto the hard floor. You blinked in shock as everything blurred and meshed before your eyes.
“This will release the truth from your lips,” said the woman. Varang, Na'ran had called her.
You looked up to her, but her figure was swaying and growing and shrinking and multiplying all at once. “Bitch,” you muttered in the English Spider and Kiri had jokingly taught you only yesterday, fighting to stay upright.
Varang smiled at your attempt to be aggressive. She held up her hand and an inked eye stared back at you. “Hmmm, you are mated to JakeSuli?” she asked, starting with the basics.
“No,” you admitted.
“But you want to be.” she observed, “You are not really his woman until then.”
“Yes,” you agreed. The world pulsed around you.
“Why has he not committed to you? He loves another?” she pushed.
“No, he loves me,” you slurred. “But he is afraid.”
“Toruk Makto is afraid,” she muttered in surprise. “Afraid of what?” she interrogated, growing more interested in your words.
“Of a dream walker, a man named Quaritch,” you answered truthfully.
“This Quaritch, he is hunting JakeSuli?” she guessed.
“Yes, he would kill us all if he could,” you said.
“And why hasn't he?” Varang smiled sweetly down at you and it turned your stomach.
“Because Jake is strong. He does not cower. Quartich tried to kill us, but Jake defended his home,” you gritted out through clenched teeth as your head swam.
“Ahh, and yet he cowers when faced with the simple act of committing to you,” she laughed.
“Our courtship is still new,” you explained, feeling guilty at this woman's assumptions. You wanted to stick up for him and defend his actions, but words stuck to the roof of your mouth like sap.
“I see, then do you think he will come here to save you?” she mocked.
You gritted your teeth, feeling the compulsion to tell the truth. “No, he will not come.”
She smiled wider, “Then we have more time to play. He must not love you so terribly if he would not come find you,” she suggested.
A tear dripped down your cheek but you didn't say anything. This angered her, “What does he love more than you? There must be something,” she snarled.
You fought the urge to speak. You still had the smallest shred of reason and you clung to it.
Instead you glared up at her and her eyes flamed like hot coals. She hit you across the face and the force sent you reeling. The room swayed at both the impact and the substance she gave you, but you stayed silent.
“You will speak!” she yelled, the sound caused you to flinch. She cocked her head and pressed her nails deep into the skin at your opposite cheek. “Speak or I will kill you!” she hissed.
“His daughter,” you cried, hating how you had buckled under pressure. Varang sighed like she was merely disappointed at your answer.
She leaned back and waved a hand, “Her words bore me. Take her away,” Varang ordered and Na’ran grabbed you again.
That night, you were tightly tied to the supporting pole of Na’ran’s tent and the craggy ground dug into the flesh in your legs. They had given you no food, no water, but you were still alive at least.
You had spent the last hour thinking of different ways to escape, but had come up with nothing. The first step should have been to find a way to cut away ropes, but there was nothing remotely sharp in your vicinity.
A scream tore through the night and for a second you thought there might be the sound of fighting outside, but laughter followed and your heart sank again that no one was coming to save you.
The overwhelming roar of multiple fires and the shrieks of the Mangkwan outside made it hard to think clearly. Adjoined with the waning effects of Varang’s drugs, you could barely form a coherent thought other than escape. Na’ran had left hours ago to join in the festivities and you were left with no idea how much time you had left.
The flap of the tent made you even more distressed until you looked up to see that the sound hadn't come from the entrance. You swiveled around to see Jake with a finger pressed to his lips and you nearly collapsed in relief.
You loved how expressive Jake was, you could read his face like a book, but now he looked so guilty it made you want to cry. He gestured with his hands in a short mix of Metkayina sign language and military signals, but you guessed what he meant. “Are you okay?”
You nodded, but pulled your leg around to show him the wound. Blood had coagulated over the hole, but if it went untreated and you had to run, you could bleed out. You already felt woozy from what you had lost already today.
His jaw clenched as he saw it, but pressed on to assure your safety first. He pulled out a knife to cut the ropes that bound you. More yells sounded from outside and you stared wide eyed at the entrance. He grabbed you from under your arms and lifted you up, catching you as you swayed into his chest.
“She gave me something,” you mumbled quietly into his neck.
“Okay, it’s okay,” He held you tightly to him, smoothing a hand over your hair and pausing your escape to press three barely-there kisses to your face. “I got you, baby. I'm here now,” he whispered. Even at the lightness of his touch, your cheek stung where Varang had hit you. You made sure to make no reaction, he had enough to worry about at the moment.
He helped you move to the tents’ side where he had entered and pulled it up and over the both of you. Outside, dead Na’vi littered the ground and a chill swept over you realized that Jake had killed them all. “I know,” he grumbled. He had grown used to having a human enemy. He shoved a knife into your hand and you clutched it with fervor.
In the cover of darkness you stumbled away through powdery ash and boulders. Soon they would realize you had escaped. You needed to hurry.
Jake supported most of your weight and it took a while to get out of sight of the camp. You relaxed the smallest bit, trying not to let down your guard.
“Leaving so soon?” a male voice echoed over the barren wastes. You should have known not to relax until you were in the air.
You both froze as Na’ran pushed off from a boulder and sauntered over to you. Jake pulled out his hatchet from his belt and held it in front of your body, the blade aimed directly at Na’ran.
“You again?” Jake asked with a surprising lightness to his tone. You clutched his bicep as your vision blurred.
“Well, I felt we left things a little unfinished.” Na’ran shrugged and stopped a few feet away.
“I think you should leave while you still have the chance,” Jake snarled. “There’s no one to stop me from caving in your head this time.”
Na’ran laughed, “You may be Toruk Makto, but I would best you hand to hand, old man.”
“You really want to test that theory?” Jake asked, his eyes blazing.
“I have to,” Na’ran hissed, his tone turning darker and disjointed. The irony of him once calling you crazy was not lost on you.
“No. No you don't," Jake attempted to reason. “It doesn't have to end this way.”
“I do! I do because it was ALWAYS going to end this way.” Na’ran roared and you prayed to Eywa that the Mangkwan did not hear.
“All this for one woman who never loved you?” Jake spat and gestured to the ground with his weapon. His arm flexed under your hand.
“You say that as if you haven't traversed through enemy territory and put your life in danger for that woman,” Na’ran pointed to you for emphasis. His eyes betrayed his thirst for vengeance.
Jake stepped in front of you more, “Why do you keep trying to take what’s mine?” he paused and scoffed, “What, did you think I wouldn’t come for her?”
Na’ran smiled, “Oh I knew you would. She said you wouldn't, but I knew.” Na’ran pointed at himself instead as he spoke. He slapped his chest, “I knew you couldn't resist a territorial display, Toruk Makto!” Jake flinched and winced at the words.
“At first, it was about the woman, but over time… over time the anger in my chest morphed into hatred. I will not rest until I have slain you, Jake Suli. You put all of our lives in danger, you cast me out of my home! My mother mourns for me as if I am dead,” He yelled. His face was twisted in fury, “You send me here, an outcast, to beg for Uturu from savages who force me to forsake Eywa. This is unforgivable.”
For him to blame all of this on Jake, that was what was unforgivable. “You had the choice to stay. My father loved you as one of the people, this is your fault! Let us go, Na’ran. If you ever loved me as you said, then let us go,” you pleaded. Jake reached behind him to hold out his hand at you in warning.
Na’ran turned his eyes to you and you could see his blackened heart stuttering to keep beating. “You learn nothing, woman,” he snarled. “As you told me, I never loved you. I hate you. And that feeling is much stronger.” And with that, he raised his spear and ran at Jake.
Jake easily deflected being rushed and with a sickening turn of his blade, he buried the hatchet in Na’ran’s side. You muffled the scream you let out with your hands and Jake's eyes found you in a moment of distraction. He didn't want to do this, but he would eliminate any threat to you without hesitance.
Your former friend grunted at the force of Jake pulling the weapon back to him. Na’ran stumbled, backing away as he clutched his ribs. “There’s still time for you to be saved. Just let us leave,” Jake pleaded in a desperate, last ditch effort.
Na’ran let out a roar of anger and threw his loosely held spear at Jake. You gasped as the blade grazed Jake's ear, leaving a red stripe.
Jake reached out to feel the blood and when his fingers came back red, you saw the same color behind your eyes.
With Na’ran’s attention purely on Jake, he did not see you as a threat. He knew you had been kidnapped, tortured, drugged and deprived of food and water. You were weak, you could not fight. But you wouldn't need to. One clean hit would eliminate the threat.
Your hand gripped the blade in your hand, the weight feeling heavier than you were used to. You stumbled forward, and before Jake even realized what you were doing, you had used your remaining strength to lunge at Na’ran.
Your knife hit true as you buried it in his back. He let out a strange gurgling sound as you tripped backwards. Na’ran crumpled to the rock, Jake’s knife still embedded in his flesh.
You felt the impact of the ground at your back before you heard Jake’s voice shout “No! Baby, wake up for me,” and the world ebbed away into darkness.
You woke up to the sound of human devices beeping and you jerked awake. You looked around to see bright lights and metal, but also blue.
Jake laid at your side, his face buried in your neck and his arm slung over your torso. His hair tickled the side of your face and you brushed it behind him, his profile now on display. He looked so much more at peace as he slept, as if the worries of the world couldn't reach him there. His warmth was welcome and helped you relax that he was here too.
“Jake,” you called, your voice hoarse from misuse. “Ma’Jake,” you tried again.
Jake lifted his head, looking around before alert eyes settled on you. “Baby, you're awake,” he sighed, a smile breaking across his face.
“I am awake,” you agreed teasingly.
“It's been days, they had to put you in a coma.” he said hurriedly. A light laugh was strung through his words, “But you pulled through, you're so strong sweetheart.”
“Only because I knew you would be waiting for me when I woke up,” you smiled wider.
His happiness faltered, “I'm sorry baby, I'm so, so sorry. I should never have left you. When you said you were leaving with the kids, I just assumed you had. I’m so sorry,” he repeated, lowering his head back down to rest on your forehead as he continued muttering platitudes. You reached up and smoothed a hand over his hair and down his back.
“It is alright Ma’Jake. Is Kiri alright? And Spider?” you asked, fearing that you would hear you were the reason for their demise.
“They’re fine, you saved them. You got them out,” Jake said, voice thankful as he breathed you in. He leaned forward to place a kiss by your lips and you smiled in relief at the news.
“Eywa has not turned her back on us yet,” you muttered to the ceiling.
Info about joining my taglist
Avatar specific taglist:
@omg-hellgirl
@malnic
@fiction-obsessedd
People who asked for/mentioned part 2:
@mrsjohnnysuh
@malnic
@h2obluedream
@annieaintok22
@shadowmoonlight0604
@karma-reader
After years of fighting for her place in motorsport, Y/N finally finds herself exactly where she’s always wanted to be. The first race weekend of the season is supposed to be about proving herself, focusing on the job she worked so hard to earn, and staying one step ahead of the chaos that comes with Formula One. Instead, she finds herself wondering why the reigning World Champion won’t stop staring at her.
Author Note:
The winner of the secondary poll was Max Verstappen, so it’s finally time to start this series!
I’ve been so excited to write this one, and I genuinely hope you all enjoy following these characters as their story unfolds. Thank you for all the love you’ve shown my recent fics. Every comment, reblog, like, and vote on the polls means so much to me.
I’m excited to take you all along for the ride.
Happy reading 🤍
Getting into Formula One wasn’t easy.
Especially being a race engineer who happened to be a woman.
It wasn’t even my passion in the beginning.
I wanted to be a driver.
That wasn’t in the cards for me, though.
So I decided to make an impact in a different way. If I couldn’t be behind the wheel, then I’d help someone else get there. Maybe prove that women deserved more recognition in Formula One along the way.
As a kid, my dad put me in karting.
You could definitely tell he wanted a boy and got stuck with me instead.
Not that he treated me differently.
If anything, he was harder on me.
Perfection was expected.
Mistakes weren’t.
The pressure was a lot for a kid, especially one who never felt like she belonged.
Every race felt like I had something to prove.
Then there was this one kid.
He never treated me differently because I was a girl.
Never went easy on me.
Never gave me sympathy.
He raced me hard and treated me like an equal.
Our dads somehow became friends.
I think they bonded over making our lives miserable.
At least that’s what it felt like at the time.
Eventually life happened.
Different paths.
Different dreams.
And before I knew it, Formula One wasn’t something I was watching from the karting paddock anymore.
It was my career.
The first Grand Prix of the season had finally arrived.
The off-season chaos was over.
The interviews.
The meetings.
The endless proving myself.
No team really wanted to give me a proper opportunity.
Minor roles?
Sure.
Support positions?
Absolutely.
But I knew I deserved more.
One team saw it.
McLaren.
That’s how I became Oscar Piastri’s race engineer.
No pressure.
Just the responsibility of helping one of the most talented drivers on the grid.
Easy.
The McLaren garage was already alive by the time I arrived.
Engineers moving around.
Mechanics setting up.
Everyone preparing for the first session of the weekend.
I barely had time to put my bag down before a familiar voice appeared beside me.
“Morning.”
Oscar.
I looked up from my laptop.
“You’re late.”
Oscar immediately looked offended.
“I’m three minutes early.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not how being late works.”
“It does when you’re my driver.”
Oscar rolled his eyes.
“Good morning to you too.”
I smiled.
“Good morning, Oscar.”
The two of us had worked together long enough to fall into an easy rhythm.
One built on sarcasm.
Mostly mine.
The first session went smoothly.
A few adjustments.
A few notes.
Nothing dramatic.
For once.
By the time everything wrapped up, Oscar and I were walking back through the paddock discussing data.
“Balance felt better towards the end,” Oscar said.
I nodded.
“Turn 10 still isn’t where I want it.”
“You never like Turn 10.”
“Because Turn 10 never likes me.”
Oscar laughed.
I was about to answer when something caught my attention.
Or rather…
Someone.
A feeling.
The strange sensation of being watched.
I looked up.
Straight across the paddock.
And found Max Verstappen staring at me.
Not glancing.
Not looking in my direction.
Staring.
I slowed slightly.
“What?”
Oscar looked over.
“What?”
I pointed subtly.
“Why is Max Verstappen staring at me?”
Oscar followed my gaze.
His eyes landed on Max.
Then back to me.
“Huh.”
“Huh?”
“Huh.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Oscar shrugged.
“Maybe he likes your face.”
I deadpanned.
“Thank you, Oscar.”
“You’re welcome.”
I looked back.
Max was still staring.
Actually staring.
Like he knew me.
Which was ridiculous.
I would’ve remembered meeting Max Verstappen.
Right?
“That’s weird.”
Oscar nodded.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
Then:
“Anyway.”
And just like that, I moved on.
Max didn’t.
Not even close.
From across the paddock, Max felt like the air had been knocked out of him.
Because there was no way.
No way that was actually her.
Older.
Different.
But still her.
The same eyes.
The same stubborn expression.
The same look she used to give him every time he beat her in karting.
For a moment, Max wondered if he was imagining things.
Then she laughed at something Oscar said.
And suddenly he was twelve years old again.
Watching her throw her helmet into the grass after losing a race.
contents/warnings: fem!reader, slow burn, yearning, angst angst angst!, violence (classic st stuff here), talk of injuries, scared steve, fluff, tension, gore, blood, major injury (reader), cliffhanger kinda:)
wc: 4.9K
a/n: wowza! this one took me a while too, seems like i have created a schedule for myself. i call it "taking way longer to write these parts than it should". this one is a little gorier and angsty than the others, keep that in mind here. i'd say maybe one more part but who knows, i said that last time! enjoy:)
part 1 - part 2
Your eyes flickered while trying to keep them open, pain coursing through your body. Everything hurt, you could feel every bone, muscle, and joint. You knew that if your eyes closed, they might not open again. You peered at each of the people crouching around you, taking in their features, but your eyes landed solidly on one person. Steve. He was crouched in front of you, close enough that you could see every line in his face. The crease between his brows that never quite smoothed out. The split skin on his knuckle, still red. A smear of dirt along his jaw he hadn't noticed yet. The softness in his dark brown eyes.
You forced your eyes to stay open, blinking slowly, deliberately. Steve was talking in short sentences, clipped and steady but you couldn't track what he was saying. Instead, you cataloged him. The way his chest rose too fast. How his jaw kept tightening like he was bracing for a hit that hadn't come yet.
His eyes met yours and something sharp flickered there. Fear, or maybe guilt. It made your throat tighten. You didn't know why that part mattered more than the rest.
"Hey," he said, quieter now, like he was afraid to startle you. "Don't close your eyes."
You almost laughed. If only he knew. Dustin pressed harder at your side and you gasped, fingers curling into the fabric of Steve’s jacket without thinking. Steve didn't pull away. He shifted closer instead, blocking your view of the bus windows.
"You're gonna be okay," he said, trying to convince himself. "Just stay with us." You nodded, barely. Your gaze drifted again, his mouth when he swallowed, the mole near his mouth that you'd never looked at long enough to notice before. It felt important now. All of it did.
Dustin glanced between Steve and your gaze on him that stuck for just a minute too long. He didn't dwell on it though, too focused on the fact that you were bleeding out.
"We have to get her to the hospital," Dustin spoke rapidly. "Like now."
You shifted your gaze to him, it was like everyone was talking in slow motion, or maybe like they were underwater. You couldn't fully make out what they were saying but you knew it had to do with you.
They all began to move swiftly, grabbing their bags and weapons. Dustin got up from next to you and started riffling through his backpack, dumping everything out on the grimy floor of the bus. He grabbed a small, lone, gauze pad that must've been sitting in the bottom of that bag for months, a last resort. Now was time for the last resort. As he moved back towards you, Steve stopped him.
"Let me do it." He spoke quietly, one hand planted on Dustin's shoulder and the other outreached for the gauze pad. Dustin stared at him, confusion lacing his eyes.
"What? Why?" He spat out. It wasn't meant to be rude, but more concerned, nervous.
"I have experience patching myself up, let me do it." He spoke again, more demanding this time. He grabbed the gauze out of Dustin's hand softly, as if to tell him not to worry.
Your eyes were starting to feel heavier, blinking slower now, not because you were scared but because it was physically hard to keep them open. Steve was quick to take Dustin's spot by your side, putting the gauze patch on his leg and pulling off Dustin's sweatshirt that was now soaked in blood. You sucked in a breath through your teeth, it peeled off your side, pulling your shirt towards it and off your puncture wound. Tears poured out of your eyes, it was a new feeling, the adrenaline was wearing off and it was starting to hit you. That this might really be the end for you, because of your stupid instincts to protect someone. Steve would've been fine on his own, but you had to step in to be a hero. You weren't a hero, you were just a girl, a stupid girl. You scanned Steve's face, looking for some sort of annoyance or anger because of the idiocy of your situation, but you couldn't find it. He just looked nervous, scared, maybe even terrified.
Dustin grabbed your hand and held it tightly.
"This is probably gonna sting, or feel weird, but we have to get something on here to stop the bleeding while we get you to the hospital." Steve spoke slowly and deliberately, like he could tell you were starting to zone out. You nodded in reply, squeezing Dustin's hand a little tighter, waiting for the pain to get worse.
Steve pulled your shirt up, revealing a deep set hole in your side, where the only one of the demogorgon's talons hadn't missed. Your stomach was covered in blood, dried and new. The wound wasn't letting up and pretty soon, you were going to be out of blood to give. Steve looked into your eyes, flashing you an apologetic look before pressing the gauze hard onto your stomach. You let out a dry scream, one that would have been louder if your throat wasn't so dry.
"Lucas. Duct tape. In my backpack." Steve snapped, giving him a serious look. Lucas scrambled to his bag and grabbed out the roll of duct tape.
"This is definitely not ideal but it's what we have. Bear with me." Steve wasted no time pulling off long strips of duct tape and placing them over the sides of the gauze, holding it in place. You winced every time his hands touched your side. You wished your life wasn't on the line, in any other situation you would be nearly swooning over his hands being all over you, but there wasn't time for that.
"Okay. She's going to bleed through this pretty quick so we have to go, quickly." Dustin, Lucas, and Max stood up, ready to rush out the door. "My car is parked close, if we can get there, we can make it." Steve stood up next to you and threw on his backpack.
"Ready? It's gonna hurt and I'm sorry but we have to go." Steve spoke quietly, reaching his arms down for you. You nodded slowly and hooked an arm around his neck.
He lifted you in one swift motion and followed the kids out the door. Steve picked up a light jog, causing the pain in your side to surge through your chest and down your legs. You gasped and gripped onto Steve's jacket, leaning your head into him. He tightened his grip on you and caught a quick glance down at you, making sure you were still awake.
"It's gonna be okay, just another minute. You're gonna be okay." Steve sucked in a deep breath while reassuring you. You could tell by the shaking in his voice that he was scared, he was scared for your life.
When you arrived at Steve's car, you all piled in. Steve set you in the backseat gently, next Dustin and Lucas.
"You have to keep pressure on it, so she doesn't bleed out." He spoke strictly, closing the door and hopping in the driver's seat.
While sitting in the back of the car your consciousness started to come and go. Your vision started to get hazy and your brain felt fuzzy, like someone hard shaken you around a bunch.
"Easy, easy," Dustin said, even though he wasn’t the one driving. He was wedged beside you in the backseat, one hand pressed tight against your ribs, the gauze already soaking through. "She's still bleeding."
"I know," Steve snapped from the front. Not angry, but strained. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm trying."
Lucas was on your other side, arm braced next to you to keep you upright. "Hey," he said quietly. "Stay with us, okay?"
You nodded, or at least you thought you did. Your head felt too heavy to be sure.
The world started to blur again, not all at once, just at the edges. The road noise dulled and the sound of the engine stretched and warped like it was coming from somewhere far away. You focused on breathing, counting each one like it mattered more than anything else.
Your gaze drifted forward, past Max in the passenger seat, to Steve's reflection in the rearview mirror.
He wasn't looking at the road like he usually did, loose, confident, one hand half off the wheel. His jaw was locked tight, eyes flicking between the winding road and the mirror like he needed to see you to keep driving straight. You forced your eyes to stay on him. The curve of his cheekbone, the faint bruise at his hairline, the way his lips pressed together every time the car hit a bump.
You were trying to memorize every little thing about him. The last time you were sitting in his car, you were angry at him. So angry, yet in this moment all you felt was guilt and regret. He carried you to the bus in an instant, bandaged you up for a second time, and ran with you tucked in his arms. He cared about you.
Your thoughts came to a halt as the darkness crept in slowly this time. Heavy, yet gentle in the worst way. Your eyes closed for just a second, feeling like a small relief to the pain coursing through your body.
"Hey- hey," Dustin said, his voice suddenly sharp. "No, no, no. Don't do that! Look at me!"
You tried. Your eyes fluttered instead.
"Steve," Dustin called, panic cracking through his words. "She's- she's fading."
"I see it," Steve said, too fast. "I see it."
The car swerved slightly before correcting. You felt it more than you saw it.
"Hey," Steve said again, louder now, like volume could reach you. "Don't you dare check out back there. You hear me?"
You wanted to answer. You really did. But the effort felt enormous, like pushing against water, sinking down farther and farther. Until, the dark closed in.
Your body felt like it was almost floating, maybe just because the pressure of pain had been taken away. Your memories flashed in your mind, fuzzy, faded, and dreamy. It almost looked like it was all recorded on film.
Dustin's seventh birthday, when he got his first toy robot, it talked to him and you had never seen him so happy in his life. Your elementary school friends, the tiny friend group playing on the swingset during recess. Dustin's elementary school graduation, him giving a speech like he was valedictorian and even though he was just chosen out of a hat, you cheered like he was. The first time you introduced Dustin and his friends to dungeons and dragons, you heard the laughter that flooded Mike's basement and the smell of dinner cooking upstairs. And the first time you ever saw Steve. The hallways were filled with people and you felt wildly overwhelmed. You could feel the tightness in your chest from that day, the fear that sat in the back of your throat. It was the first day of freshman year and you didn't have any friends. Yet, all those feelings came to a stop when you saw him. Hair falling lightly over his forehead and into his eyes, his eyes, soft and calm. He leaned against his locked, a few down from yours, like it was fate. You remember being so entranced that you leaned into your own locker and knocked half your books out of it. It made a loud crashing noise and everyone looked at you, but you were only looking at him. He didn't even notice the noise, he was too entranced by the girl he was talking to. Everything came so naturally to him and you were a mess. Yet, it never stopped you from staring, even if he never looked back. When he finally looked at you, at the party, you thought your dreams had all come true. Even through the time you were angry with him, you always had this heavy feeling somewhere in your chest. The feeling that he was the one, he was the only person that ever made you feel like that.
You came back to pain, sharp and immediate, like your body remembered it all at once.
A gasp tore out of you as your vision snapped into focus too fast, the inside of the car suddenly too close, too loud, headlights streaking past the windows in disorienting flashes.
"She’s awake," Dustin said immediately, relief crashing into his voice, and Lucas's arm tightened behind you as if to keep you from tipping forward.
Your heart raced, panic spiking before your thoughts could catch up, the sense that you'd missed something important clinging to you as you tried and failed to sit up. A hot flare ripping through your side and forcing a sharp breath from your chest.
"Don't- don't move," Dustin said quickly, hands shaking as he pressed his hand down harder, apologizing under his breath like he could undo the damage if he said it enough times.
Your gaze drifted forward without meaning to, finding Steve in the rearview mirror again, his eyes already on you, relief crossed his face so fast you almost missed it before he swallowed it down and turned back to the road, jaw tightening as if he could lock the fear away by sheer force.
"Good," he said, voice tight, gentle and steady. "Let's keep it that way." He brought a sleeve up to his face, wiping his eyes quickly, hoping you didn't catch it. But you did, you always did.
The words settled deeper than they should have, your chest tightening as you watched him grip the steering wheel like he didn't trust himself to let go, like he needed to keep moving to keep you here. You held on, to the pain, to the moment, to the image of him driving like it mattered more than anything else. Afraid that if you closed your eyes again, the dark might take something you weren't ready to lose.
The car swerved onto the street to the hospital, not just any hospital, but the one where Will was. That must've been something you missed, deciding to go there instead of the other hospital. It was under the assumption that if there were doctors who could help you without needing a made up backstory, it would be the ones at Hawkins Lab. Everyone suddenly got quiet, a weird energy washing over the entire car. Dustin's eyes widened in shock as the car slowed to a stop.
"Wha…ts going on.." You whispered out, trying to get anyone's attention. Dustin's attention quickly shifted back to you, blinking quickly.
"It- The hospital.. Something's wrong." He said back quietly.
Steve put the car in park and stepped out, a series of loud screeches and growls flooded the car when the door opened.
"Fuck. Fuck!" Steve was quick on his feet, sprinting to the security booth.
You tried to sit up again and see what was going on. You caught just the smallest glimpse of lights going out through the windows of the lab and Steve rapidly slamming buttons in the booth. The gate stayed shut and the air went thin. You were going to die in this car.
Steve came running back to the car and took the keys out of the ignition. Steve's grip tightened around the keys like he might snap them in half, as another screech echoed from somewhere beyond the gate, close enough to make Dustin flinch.
"Steve," Dustin said quietly, shaking his head, but he was already looking back at the car. Through the fogged windows, you slumped between Dustin and Lucas with the blood darker now, spreading, impossible to ignore.
"We don't have time," Steve snapped, eyes flicking once more to the entrance as more noises echoed from the lab, the sound sealing the decision. You swallowed hard, throat dry.
"Steve," you whispered, barely audible, but he heard it. He was back in the car in an instant, yanking the door open and turning to the backseat so he was level with you, his face pale and nervous under the parking lot lights.
"Hey, hey, don't talk," he said quickly. "Save it." Dustin's hands were shaking as he pressed down harder.
"She's bleeding through again," he said, panic breaking through his voice. "Steve, I can't- it isn't stopping."
Headlights cut across the lot as Steve slammed the driver's door shut, and for half a second everyone froze as another car skidded to a stop near the gate. Nancy was out first, shotgun door flying open, Jonathan right behind her. Their eyes were immediately on the lab, lights flickering and loud screeching cutting through the air.
"Steve?" Nancy breathed, surprise lacing her voice. In an instant her eyes dropped to the car Steve had just stepped away from, to you in the backseat, groaning in pain.
"Oh my god. What happened?" Jonathan said, already moving closer, his face tightening when he saw the blood soaked through your shirt under Dustin's hands.
"The demogorgon," Dustin blurted, words tumbling over each other. "It got her. She's bleeding a lot." Nancy's hand flew to her mouth as she leaned closer, taking in your pale face, your unfocused eyes.
"That's bad," she said quietly, the understatement heavy with fear.
Another screech ripped through the air, closer now, and Steve turned sharply toward them.
"It's worse than bad," he spat out, voice tight.
"The lab's overrun with those things. Will and my mom are in there, we have to get to them." Jonathan looked back at the lab, then back at you, jaw setting.
"You need to get her out of here," he said immediately.
Nancy nodded, already stepping back. "Go," she said. "You can go to Will's, we'll meet you there!"
Steve didn't argue, he was already moving, already back in the driver's seat, the car peeling away from the lab as the sound of growls and alarms.
The cold crept in again, deep and aching, your head tipping forward as Dustin's voice went frantic, begging you to stay with him. Steve's voice cut through the haze, sharp and furious, not at you, but at the road. "Hold on," he said. "Just- hold on. We're gonna be there soon."
The car screeched into the driveway of Will's dinged up house. You could barely tell what was going on, everyone piled out of the car, grabbing their things and running inside to get supplies ready. Steve exited a little more controlled, coming to the back of the car to help you out. His hands were on you so quickly, you couldn't register the pain of moving. He picked you up and walked quickly inside, keeping his eyes on you the whole time.
"This should've been me," He breathed out as he set you down on the couch. "This is my fault."
Your vision suddenly became clearer with his words, realizing you weren't the only one in pain. Steve was hunched over you, adjusting the pillow behind your head, helping you to lay back further and straighten you out. Clattering was coming from different rooms of the house. Dustin ran through the kitchen holding a bowl, bottle of water, and a towel, Lucas had a bottle of rubbing alcohol and an ace bandage, Max with gauze and gloves.
You noticed you were staring at Steve when he put a hand on your shoulder, in addition to the one putting pressure on your side. You blinked and scrunched your eyebrows, finally making eye contact with him. No monsters, no movement, no loud noises, just you and him. Tears were starting to flood his eyes, his grip growing a little tighter on your shoulder.
"Steve… Are you okay?" You muttered, trying to keep your breathing quiet.
He chuckled quietly, wiping his eyes with the same sleeve he used in the car. He smiled at you for the first time since Halloween.
He shook his head in disbelief, voice light, a relief after everything that happened. "I can't believe you're asking me that right now." His head dipped down, letting out a quiet sigh.
You just looked at him, nodding and putting a faint smile on your face, one that felt un-natural after everything had happened. When he finally looked up, he made eye contact with you, eyes lingering on yours for just a little too long. It made something rise in your stomach, something that contrasted the pain surging through your side. Suddenly, feet pounded on the floor, pulling yours and Steve's attention away from each other. He almost jumped back, creating a space between you that held all the feelings that almost spilled out of your throat. The situation became real again, pain rising again in your side, you leaned back against the pillow placed behind your head, a groan echoing through the room as you gripped the couch. Dustin was at your side, the bowl of water, washcloth, gloves, alcohol, ace bandage, and gloves dropping to the floor next to him. Dustin started moving quickly, getting things ready to fix you up, your eyes widened as you realized the pain was about to get a lot worse. Dustin pulled up your shirt, now sticky with drying blood, to reveal the gash in your side. Though it could have been a lot worse, the bleeding had come to a steady slow. Dustin shoved the gloves on his hands and gathered the water bottle from the floor.
"This isn't gonna hurt too bad but it's not gonna feel good." Dustin spoke quietly, insistent, that this was the only way to do things. You nodded quickly, encouraging him to just get it over and done with.
He held a towel next to your side and dumped half the water bottle onto the wound, you winced and jumped slightly at the coolness of it.
"Just get the dirt out, try to stay still. I'm sorry.." He speaks again, keeping an eye on your side to make sure the bleeding doesn't start again.
After it was cleaned enough to sterilize, Dustin sighed, he knew it would be hard. He was being just as strong as you were. His hands shook slightly as he picked up the rubbing alcohol, like he was about to feel the pain of it. Your breathing got quicker and your hands began to shake from how hard you were gripping the couch. Steve must've noticed as he rushed to your side, kneeling on the floor next to Dustin. He pulled your hand away from the couch to hold his own, looking into your eyes once more. The entire time you had been injured he hadn't been like this, reassuring, kind. Just serious, on track. But now, he was looking at you, eyebrows scrunched, hand gripping yours, a small smile plastered on his face. His face was laced with guilt, the type of guilt you could tell he had from the beginning. He wished it was him, he wished you never stepped foot outside the bus, he could've handled it on his own.
Dustin dumped the rubbing alcohol on your side without warning, assuming that if you weren't expecting it, it would be over sooner. Lucas and Max stepped back with hands over their mouths, wincing at your situation.
You screamed, a real guttural scream, almost the same as when the claw made that gash in your side the first time. You squeezed Steve's hand, hard enough to crack some joints and cause him to suck in a deep breath. The world around you spun, it felt like fire was spreading through your stomach and up into your chest. The spinning made you dizzy, despite laying down, you felt like you were about to fall over. As your breathing got faster and the burning continued, everyone burst through the door. First, Joyce, Hopper, Will, and Mike. Then, Nancy and Jonathan. They were frantic, Will was unconscious in Hopper's arms, Mike was rushing around, Joyce was actively sobbing, and Nancy and Jonathan were equally frantic. You couldn't even focus on them, you barely noticed they came in. Meanwhile, Lucas and Max began to fill them in while they did the same, explaining plans back and forth.
The stinging began to soothe, feeling like the fire had finally stopped spreading. Your grip on Steve's hand released slightly, but his stayed strong, hands clammy and tight. Your face ran pale as the nausea began, the pain was subsiding but your body didn't seem to recognize that. You squirmed slightly, hoping the feeling would go away too, but it didn't let up. You opened your eyes that were previously tightly squeezed shut, revealing little dots in your vision and Steve, now closer than before. He was hovering over you, keeping his eyes focused on your face, tears threatened to fall. Your gaze then shifted to Dustin, his tears were running down his face, hands shaking at the same time, white knuckles still gripping the bottle of alcohol. You took a deep breath and nodded your head viciously, showing them that you were okay, you were going to be okay.
"I'm sorry- Oh god- I'm sorry." Dustin spit out, squeezing your shoulder lightly, enough for you to know he was being dead serious. Steve only patted his back, comforting him in a way you couldn't.
Your body finally relaxed as Dustin let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He started to pick up the gauze pads, readying them for the next step. It was almost over. Steve's gaze quickly shifted back to you, letting out a similar breath to Dustin. You noticed that the entire time, their reactions nearly lined up, the reactions of two people who lov- no that's crazy. You thought, cutting off your previous thought, that was just how friends reacted to someone in pain, someone on the verge of death. As your eyes shifted around the room, you noticed the people that had previously entered, they were discussing the plan to bring Will to Hopper's cabin, away from everyone, somewhere he wouldn't recognize. What they were saying didn't make a ton of sense in your head, but what did right now. The only thing you could think about was how this was almost over.
Dustin softly applied the gauze pads on your wound, then paused.
"You need to sit up.. and lean against the couch." He mumbled, hoping you caught what he said. He felt like no matter what he was telling you to do, he was just causing you more pain. He felt so bad and you could see it weaving through all his features.
Eyes tight, pressing into small slits. Mouth turned down, frowning as he spoke quietly, teeth clenched after his words. His tone was careful, testing, waiting to see if that was something you were capable of.
You let out a shaky breath, playing out your options in your head. Continue to bleed out or sit up. You thought about the pain leaning forward had previously caused you, but like then, there wasn't much of an option right now.
"Okay." You spoke quietly, yet demanding. As though you wanted the pity to stop and instead wanted them to encourage you.
Steve peeled his hand away from yours, before you could turn with a question, his arm slid carefully behind your neck, steady and sure. Dustin readied the Ace bandage, stretching it taut between his hands like he was afraid if he hesitated it would be too late.
"Ready?" he asked, voice tight as he knelt closer.
You nodded, trying to lean forward on your own, even as your muscles trembled with the effort. Yet, before the strain could take hold, Steve was already guiding you, gently pushing you forward with a firm hand at your shoulder. His grip was careful in a way that didn't hurt or burn or sting like everything else did, just light and grounding. Dustin worked quickly, threading the bandage around your middle beneath Steve's arm and across your back, the pressure built with each wrap until you sucked in a shallow breath, fingers curling into the fabric of Steve's jacket as the room tilted slightly.
"It's gotta be tight, to keep it from bleeding." Dustin said without looking up. You shook your head as your weight sagged, Steve adjusting instantly, his arm tightening just enough to keep you upright without comment.
"Almost done," Dustin murmured, hands moving faster now, relief and fear tangling together.
When he finally secured the bandage Steve didn't pull away, his arm staying looped behind your shoulders as he eased you back against him instead of letting you lay down on your own.
"Easy," he murmured, low and meant just for you, his hand settling more securely at your upper arm, thumb shifting absently against your sleeve like he wasn't ready to let go yet.
"You dizzy?" he asked quietly, your hazy eyes shifting to him. You nodded, blinking a little slower, trying to push away the daziness.
His gaze shifted when you admitted you were, he leaned in just enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back.
"Okay," he said, softer than before. "Then don't move just yet." You stayed there longer than necessary, letting your weight rest against him as an uncomfortable thought crept in.
That maybe something about this, about the way he was holding you now, felt like before. Enough to make you wonder if this whole thing had brought you closer than either of you were ready to admit.
Part Six - Final Part (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five)
Word Count: 4.761K
Blurb: When Luke Hemmings returns to your hometown the same time you do, you are forced to address the greatest heartbreak of your life: being left behind by your best-friend.
Warnings: language; alcohol; yearning; smut: fingering, sex, alluding to oral sex
Notes: Oh my God. I can't believe this is over. When I started this, I did not expect for it to turn into what it has. Thank you for reading. Thank you for crying. Thank you for leaving your love. I'm crying as I write this right now because I'm very emotional. Also, it is officially July 16th right now in Australia, so happy birthday to Luke.
You spend the following days pantomiming belonging to each other. Acting like the time that has passed and the lives you created separately isn't another divide you may not be able to cross.
But the pretending feels so real. When you and Luke cook dinners together in the kitchen with Liz and the three of you end up dancing to music from the 80s. When you grab take-away late at night and eat it in your car in front of the old school just to see if the place still looks as miserable. The way Luke laughs, eyes shining and grinning wide, when you say it does still look like a penitentiary.
How he leans across the console after and kisses you hard, greasy mouths and all without grimacing. Calls you, "my crazy girl." How the use of "my" doesn't make your skin crawl, doesn't feel like a claim being staked. It feels like hoping. Feels like speaking aloud what you both know.
You spend every night together. You talk about being kids, reliving the origin story of you approaching him at school when the other eight-year-olds were making fun of Luke for being a bit chubby. He tells you how you saved him that school year. You don't need to tell him how he had saved you from your Mum's after. How so much of your life you had credited to Luke saving you until he pushed you away and forced you to rescue yourself.
You kiss and hold each other. You have sex, sex that leaves you breathless and aching and satisfied in ways you never knew to be possible. It's so good, so intimate, that just calling it sex feels like a bastardization.
You both know what you're doing, what you're feeling, but just like the pretending, you don't talk about it. As far as Luke seems concerned, there is no elephant in the room. There is no hailstorm and no, you're not sheltering yourselves in a glass house. There's just you two in the liminal space of Liz' home. In the hometown you both left. In Luke's bedroom.
The sixteenth night of your stay, you lay in Luke's bed, head on his bare chest, hand resting on the patch of hair that's grown there. You're both covered in a thin sheen of sweat and the stickiness between your thighs from Luke's mouth is fresh. You smell like each other. He smells like you. You don't care anymore if his scent clings to you. You welcome it.
The room is quiet except for your breathing, the sighs escaping Luke's mouth.
"What if you came back with me?"
Luke's question breaks the stillness. The tension in your chest, the familiar one, flares as you shift your body to look at him. The dark tendrils of his curls are stuck to his forehead, cheeks slightly flushed still, his eyes clear. Nervous. Hopeful.
"What?" you ask, although there's no real question of what he's asking. You're just caught off guard.
"What if you came back to LA with me?" Luke repeats, gaining his voice. "I could move you out there. We'd figure out the citizenship. I could take care of us both."
He means it. You've known him long enough to know he's thought about what he asks you. It hurts. It hurts because a part of you wants it. It hurts because Luke knows you, should know you enough to understand why you can't.
"Luke, I have my job here," you say, sitting up. "I've worked for so long to get where I'm at."
There's a shift in Luke's gaze as he adjusts himself to sit up with you. It's a look you recognize but haven't seen in a while. You catch him trying to reel it in, the reaction you know he wants to give to his feeling of being rejected.
"You're talented. You could get another job out there. I'm sure I know people I can connect you to," he says.
"I don't want to have my job because you got me in," you say. You do your best to not feel insulted by him thinking that's something you'd want. You tell yourself he's trying to be helpful, to keep you both together, to have a reason for you to stay with him, but the most debase part of you believes he still sees you as the fourteen year old who needs saving. "I want my job because I worked for it, because I created that stability for myself. You should know I wouldn't want that."
You realize too late that you sound sharp, more accusing than you mean. You sound the way you did when you had convinced yourself that you hated him. Luke picks up on it immediately, and his tone alters with yours.
"I'm not trying to insult you," he says, jaw tightening.
"I know," you say. "I'm sorry, let me just--" You stop yourself, run your hand through your sweaty hair, take a shaky breath. Your fingers itch for a cigarette, but you force yourself to continue. "I know you mean well. I know you're asking with good intentions--"
"Fuck, intentions, Angel. I'm asking because I love you."
Your breathing stops, which you tell yourself is stupid. You've known that you love Luke. You've ascertained that he loves you, at least in some way. But Luke saying it so outright, that rips the air from your lungs. All you can do is look at him, into the eyes that haven't changed in many ways except the sadness in them. Into the face that is the same yet so different.
He's still your Luke. But he's also transformed, so much more heavy than you ever remember him to be. His emotional gravity draws you in. You don't see how you could have ever avoided it, even if you had never forgiven him.
"I love you, too," you say.
Luke's jaw unclenches and he sighs. His hand works anxiously in his lap and he breaks his stare from your face. Focuses on the connection of his forefinger and thumb.
"Then why aren't I-- isn't that enough?" he asks, catching himself.
You reach across and grab his hand to still it, to comfort despite your heart also wrenching. Your hand can't even cover his, but he stops moving.
"Luke, we both know why I can't. It has nothing to do with you not being enough. It has nothing to do with me not loving you."
You swallow hard, realizing what you're about to say. Realizing that the teenage version of you who had no dreams for herself outside of Luke would be raging at you right now, screaming that you're messing it up.
But the version of you now, the one who carried you through your mother's death, losing your best friend, and moving to another city by yourself despite the all-encapsulating grief, she knows you're doing the right thing.
"It has to deal with me not throwing away my goals to follow after yours, even if you're someone I want," you continue. "Even if you're the only person I've ever wanted."
Luke looks up from your hands. You see the fresh tears there, the pink rim of his waterline. It makes your chest ache, seeing your boy like that. And yes, even now, Luke is your boy.
"Will I still be if you leave?" he asks, his voice steady but broken.
"You still were even after you did."
The look he gives you, you can tell he understands your decision. That him begging you to go with him would only disrespect you, would crumble what you've built. Would eviscerate any amends he had made with you.
"Would you let me fly you out when you have holiday?" he asks. "If that's something you want. I don't want to go years without seeing you, again."
"Of course," you say, your thumb brushing the knuckles of his fingers, swallowing the lump resting in your throat, looking down at your hands. The words you plan to say next threaten to break your voice. "Just please tell me if you have someone, okay? If someone else comes along, I want you to be happy, but I want to know."
Luke sighs, heavy.
"There's not going to be."
"You don't know that," you say looking up to him, the briefest bit of your own insecurity coming out, and you hate it. But you know the reality of what Luke does. Of how many people want him.
"I do," he says, grief bleeding from his irises. "It's one of the only things I know."
"Do you hate me?" you ask.
"Never," Luke says, taking his hand from yours and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you back into his body. You meld into his shape, and let his warmth settle around you both, the way he smells like cigarettes and sandalwood and you. You sit in the silence of him. In the heaviness of your decision, in the quiet of his.
Finally, you ask a question you shouldn't.
"Do you really plan on waiting for me? Even if neither of us ever stay?"
For a moment, you think Luke won't answer, the stillness of the room intensifying, the dark seeming to enshroud you both as time ticks on, as the days you have left together grow fewer.
"Always."
*****
Three days pass.
You try to take what you can get from your time with Luke without it being tainted by the fact that you're leaving him. That's the reality of it. In a twisted act of the universe, all you ever wanted for years was to be able to leave Luke Hemmings in the same way he left you. Now that you are, that you're making the active choice to leave when he's asked you to stay, you want anything but.
You focus on what you can do with him, with his family. You focus on coffee in the mornings, and working in the garden, and one last library trip. You do whatever you can.
When it gets to be only three days before you leave, Liz calls you into the kitchen while she's answering her daily crossword. Usually, Luke helps her, but this morning he insisted on running to the servo to grab more cigarettes. You had asked if he wanted you to go, but he had only sent you a soft smile, kissed you on the mouth and squeezed your hip saying he'd be right back.
"I just can't get this one," Liz says once you get to the table.
You read over the question frame, immediately knowing the answer. You also know there is no way that Liz doesn't know it, either.
"Liz," you say.
"What?" she asks, looking up at you from her seat, feigning innocence.
You sigh, slide the chair out from beneath the table and sit.
"If you want to talk about it, just ask me."
She looks to you, eyes glazing over your face, as if deciding to continue playing like she doesn't know what you're alluding to. When she sets her pencil down and shifts in her seat, you know you've opened the conversation.
"Luke told me he asked you to go back to Los Angeles with him," she says.
"He did," you say, seeing where she is going to take it.
"He said that you can't go with him because of your work."
The way Liz says it, lips forming around the words with precision, you understand that she doesn't agree with your choice. You're not shocked. Liz is the reason you reconnected in the first place. You both would have never stepped foot in the same building, otherwise.
"I've built a life for myself, here," you say. "I know you don't know the full story of what happened between us, but you know how I struggled to function after. My work, going after what I wanted is the only thing that kept me going."
You wait for Liz to say something, but when she doesn't, you continue.
"It's no surprise I love Luke--"
"And he loves you," she says, only interrupting then.
"Yes," you say, nodding. "But I can't leave just to be someone's partner. I want my own things, my own work. I don't want to lose myself in just being his. I love him terribly, but I've learned what making your entire life a single person does."
Liz watches you, staying silent. Then she swallows, takes a sip of coffee, puts the mug down gently.
"I understand, Doll. I do." She twists the mug in her hands, traces the mouth piece with her finger. "I also understand that Luke has never been comfortable with anyone but you. I see the way you look at him, the way you always have. As someone who's been in love with the same man for over thirty years, I know what you have is rare."
"Liz--"
"But," she continues. "I know that you're doing what you need and that you owe it to yourself. I support that. I'm just asking, as a mother, as someone who raised you and loves you both, to try if the opportunity arises."
She looks back up to you, those familiar eyes both full of love and tinged with sadness.
"Don't shut out the idea forever. Give him the chance," she says. "Give yourself the chance to actually be happy."
You want to answer, to tell her that you following your job is giving you the chance to be happy, to create something for yourself. You do love your job. The work, the people, the little flat in Brisbane that it gives you. It's the only happiness you've known the last nine years.
But you can't answer, because the smallest part of you knows the truth and also, Luke comes through the front door. The bag from the servo in his hands, his basketball shorts hanging low on his hips, stained band t-shirt clinging to his broad frame.
He looks casual when he smiles toward you, but Liz' words are echoing in your mind so it takes you a moment to return it. He comes next to you both, squeezes your shoulders, presses a kiss to your temple when he sits.
"What are my gals doing?" he asks.
Liz sends a look to you, gives him a smile.
"Just talking over this cross-word, but we solved it," she says.
She take's her pencil and goes to the 59. across frame: ____ ____'s kiss.
She scratches the answer into the space.
True Love.
*****
Your last evening there, you're on the back porch getting ready to smoke when Luke steps onto the hardwood, a football in his hands. You cock an eyebrow at him, a smirk playing on your lips.
"What do you have there?"
Luke sends you a grin.
"Fancy some footy?"
A surprised laugh escapes you.
"I haven't played in years," you say.
Luke shrugs.
"Neither have I, so it's fair."
You sigh in falsified frustration, but smile at him, take the ball from his hands.
"Fine, loser owes winner a cigarette."
"Deal," Luke says, following you to step off the porch and into the yard. You toss the ball to your feet, shoot Luke a smile. You spot the same two bushes you had set as make-shift goal posts as kids. The ones that Luke had crashed into one time when he was running too fast to stop himself. He had scratched his legs up so badly, and after you stopped laughing, you had helped doctor the wounds. You were twelve and it was the first time you had wondered what kissing Luke would be like.
"Same posts," you say. "First to three?"
Luke nods across from you.
"First to three."
"You're gonna lose, Hemmings," you say.
Luke just smiles at you, lowering his body to be eye level in a spread-leg stance.
"Whatever you say, Angel."
And then you take off, moving the ball between your feet with surprising agility. You can tell it catches Luke by surprise at the speed you still have, and he tries to chase after you when you out-maneuver him.
"How the fuck are you still so fast?" he yells, already laughing through his panting.
He attempts to intercept you, but you cross the ball through his legs, retrieving it on the other side of him as you race down the yard. You easily kick the ball through the bushes, throw your arms up in the air in victory, admittedly breathless.
You turn to him, smiling.
"Maybe you should work on your speed," you tease.
He shakes his head, curls falling over his forehead.
"I won't be so easy on you next."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," you say, jogging back to the middle of the yard, the blood rushing through your veins, heart thumping from the cardio and the way Luke's eyes land on the sweat dripping down your neck.
When he moves this time, he out paces you, arms pumping at his sides as he does his best to beat you across the yard. You fight from holding back a laugh at his long strides, the way he looks like the gangly teenager you knew sprinting across the school football field. And for a moment, you feel like you're fourteen again, too, just running with your best-friend, trying to find something fun to do in this boring place that wasn't just drinking beer and smoking weed.
This time, unlike the first day here, the image flashing in your mind of skinny legs and red faces doesn't hurt.
"Goal!" Luke shouts. "C'mon baby, you just gave up on that one!" he says, turning and laughing.
"Fine," you say. "I've got you this time."
For the next twenty minutes, you chase each other across the yard. The next goals take more effort, both of you sweaty and tired, the years and numerous cartons of cigs taking its toll on you both.
When you kick your third goal through the bushes, you squeal with laughter.
"I fucking told you!" you yell, turning, only to collide with Luke who is running your direction, wrapping his arms around you, bringing you to the ground.
"There's no way you beat me!"
You're both laughing, faces red and strained, breathing ragged. Luke braces himself on top of you, not putting his entire weight on your body, kisses your face in dramatic flare to make you laugh harder.
"Get off me!" you giggle.
"Say that I won!" he says.
"Never! I won!" you retort, and you're laughing so hard that tears threaten your waterline.
Luke looks over you, his curls plastered to his forehead, cheeks tinged with pink, a smile so wide on his face. His eyes search yours, roves your face. His smile softens, his eyes moving into a different emotion.
"I've missed you," he says. "I'm going to miss you."
Your laughter slows. You don't wipe the tears from your eyes.
"I'm going to visit," you promise.
"I know," Luke says, rolling over beside you in the grass, laying face to face with you. "Still."
You notice the way the sun sets behind you both, the sky bleeding into oranges and reds and pinks. The light frames Luke's hair, casting a glow over him. You're going to remember this: Luke sweaty and red faced and laying in the yard with you.
You want to remember this.
"I'm going to miss you, too," you say.
Luke doesn't say anything, just looks at you, drinks you in as though you're the one cast in the glow of the dying day. Maybe you are, maybe in this moment you're both wrapped in light, in the gaze of each other.
"Promise me you'll tell me if you change your mind," Luke says.
"About staying?" you ask, your voice quiet.
"About loving me."
His request makes the ache in your sternum come to life. The way his insecurity drips into his words. It reminds you that Luke is still him. Despite the stardom, the addictions, the way he carries himself with a sense of restraint, your Luke that questions himself is still there. Will probably always be there.
"I promise," you say, because you don't know how to answer any other way. You don't know how else to say that all you know when it comes to love is Luke. That you believe to the depths of your soul that even if you ever cared for someone else again, it would never be the way you love your best friend.
"I know I have a red-eye in the morning," Luke begins, "but stay with me tonight?"
"Wouldn't dream of anything else," you say.
*****
That night, Luke pulls you into his room after Liz and Andrew have gone to bed. He kisses you hungrily, like he's a man on death-row and this is his last night alive. Your tongue meets his feverishly, letting Luke's taste burn into your mind. His large hands grip at your hips, your thighs, back to your waist, memorizing every curve of your body.
"Luke," you moan when he sucks at your neck, pushes his fingers into you, grazes his teeth down your jawline. You clench around him, already needing him, wanting Luke inside you like you've never been able to have him before. "Please," you beg, and he moves into you quickly, swallowing the way your whine spills into his mouth when you finish over his hands.
"Luke," you say again.
He watches your face, his eyes greedy, somber, aware of this being your last night together in however long time decides just.
"I need you," you say, hoping he hears you.
I will always need you. Even if I'm deciding this. Even if I'm the one staying away.
Luke hears you. He takes you in his arms, carries you to his childhood bed, lays you down gently. He pulls the clothes off both of you, leaving you bare, exposed, honest. He kisses your collar bone, your sternum, your stomach.
"Okay, Angel," he whispers when he's back against your mouth. "I've got you."
Luke kisses you deeply before he presses into you, as if committing it to memory. Your groans, the way your body molds into his, the way you kiss him like you mean it when you say you'll never love anyone else.
You're memorizing him, too, because on your last night together in his childhood home, Luke makes love to you.
For the first time in twelve years, you don't want to forget a single thing about Luke Hemmings.
*****
You don't want to remember Luke leaving without you. He's done it twice before, and you had promised yourself you wouldn't let it happen again.
You also never would have thought you would be the one to decide to not get on a plane with him, but you are.
The morning when he leaves is melancholy, his flight leaving at four. He wakes you at one, tries to get you to go back to sleep, but you refuse. You watch him get dressed. Watch as he packs his things into Liz' car. Watch the way your hands look holding each other's in the backseat.
You watch it all. How the car pulls to the curb outside the airport. How Luke hugs Liz close to him, kisses her goodbye, promises to see him as soon as he can. You watch Andrew clap his son on the back, hugging him tight, telling him to be good. How Liz and Andrew climb back into the car, leaving you and Luke alone on the pavement.
Luke watches you, taking in your face: your eyes, your mouth, the nose-piercing.
"I'll see you," he says, giving you the space to decide how your goodbye goes.
You reach toward him and he lets the bag fall to the ground, wraps you in his arms, dwarfing you. You breathe him in, tell yourself that you will always recognize the scent of him.
"You will," you say.
He pulls from you when you hear a worker shout about Liz' idling car. He shoots them a look that they don't see and turns back to you. He presses a kiss against your mouth, quick, gentle, enough to make your stomach churn.
"I'll text you when I land," he says. "Text me back?"
You send a soft smile.
"Always."
With another quick kiss, he picks up his bag and turns to walk into the airport. You're about to get back into the car when you hear a, "Wait!" You turn and Luke is jogging over to you, a cigarette between his fingers.
"I never gave you this," he says.
You laugh, looking to the cig in his hand.
"Keep it. I'll come collect at some point," you say.
Luke smiles wide at you.
"Okay, Angel. Whenever you want."
Then Luke is heading into the airport and you're climbing into Liz' car, pulling away from the drop-off. Letting the one man you've ever loved leave without you.
It seems that all either one of you ever knows to do is leave.
*****
You and Luke keep your promises.
Neither one of you goes radio silent, even with different time-zones and work schedules and book releases. You stay in touch. He FaceTimes you when he can, texts you lyrics to songs he hears that reminds him of you. You listen to 5 Seconds of Summer with a different kind of pain, one that doesn't feel like betrayal anymore.
You don't see each other again for another year. Luke flies you out to see him before the next album release. You stay in his house in LA for three weeks, Liz forgiving you for using the holiday time reserved for her to see her son. Those three weeks, you're yourselves again, the one's that grew up together. The one's who come back after being apart.
But when you leave, when Luke kisses you goodbye at the airport, asks if there's anyone back home when you both know the answer, it feels like a mistake.
A mistake you don't know how to fix.
*****
When you get promoted to Copy Editor of your company's new international office two years and two LA trips later, Luke isn't your first call.
It's Liz.
*****
You knock on the double doors to the house, hoping you made the right decision by not giving a heads up.
When the door opens, Luke stands there in his sweats and t-shirt, his now blonde hair tucked behind his ears. He freezes, mouth going agape before his brain catches up with his eyes.
"Angel?" he asks, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in through the door, into his chest. His warmth seeps through you, unchanging. He smells like he always does, even with the hint of new cologne on him.
Luke looks at you with disbelief, his hands roving over your shoulders and your face as if you're just a part of his imagination, like you're something that could disappear.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asks.
"I got promoted," you say.
His eyebrows scrunch up, the wrinkles more visible in his forehead at nearly thirty-four. You love being able to see him age.
"That's amazing, baby," he says. "But you flew out here to tell me you got promoted?"
"It's an international office," you say, hoping the pieces click.
When you see the way his eyes light up, the way he kisses you hard, pulls you into his body, hands finding your waist with ease, you know he understands. You don't even have to explain.
Luke pulls away from you, in his eyes, there's the love that you've held onto for the last three years, the last fifteen before that. Even when you've both denied it, it's remained.
"Stay with me," he says.
"Always."
Luke smiles so wide, and you realize that you're not the same people you were at fourteen. You're something more aged, broken and cemented back together. Something that's been made stronger, somehow.
Luke takes you by the hand and drags you up the stairs. You giggle as he pulls you along.
"What are you doing?" you laugh.
"Taking you to our room," he answers. When you get to the top of the stairs, he hooks his hands beneath you, pulling you and your legs around him. Luke kisses you and the ache in your sternum goes away for the first time in your life.
"Then after," he says. "I owe you a cigarette."
You laugh and kiss Luke. Your best friend. Your lover.
