#his mom is a high functioning alcoholic

[florallylly]

steve harrington's mom used to love him. she used to brush his hair and pinch his cheeks and tuck him into bed. and then she caught his dad in bed with his secretary.

and it got too much so she started to drink. and when the wine hangovers got too annoying to deal with, she started taking ativan. something to calm her nerves, something to keep her from spiraling.

steve insisted she still loved him. and she did, but she was different now. instead of making him a cup of cocoa when he couldn't sleep, she gave him a glass of wine. he was eight

and when he started to grow up, the features inherited from her became more prominent. and she constantly reminded him that beauty fades, and no one stays for just a pretty face. she told him he had to be clever, unlike her.

so he closed himself off, only casually dating. he never let himself get attached, but the romantic in him longed for something different.

but the more he dated around, and the more times he talked about going on a date with a new girl, his mom saw his father in him. and it became too painful to see her little boy becoming the man she hated and loved the most. and she couldn't stay around to watch him

#steve harrington #steve harrington should have nuanced parents #his mom is a high functioning alcoholic #her idea of protection has good intentions but her advice leaves much to be desired #i think it would be so heartbreaking for steve to love his mom and remember all of the good times #but then he's ten and he's the one tucking her into bed bc she got too sloshed to take off her makeup and get into bed herself

[bookshelf-dust]

all the time

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 7,206

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, family drama, best friends to lovers type beat (lemme know if i missed anything, as always)

a/n: this got pretty long, and i’m sorry about that. i put a steve option in my 1k celebration poll, and i haven’t been able to get over it, so that’s what this is. i thought i could try it out. i haven’t really had this much fun with a fic in a long time. i know my steve audience isn’t as big, but i guess there’s a chance someone might like it.

————

The crumbs from your crackers drop into your lap, the crease of your book catching them. You set your spoon back down, flipping the hardback over to ensure no crumb will be left lingering in between the pages. 

You’re curled into the end chair at the table, just as always, legs crossed and book nestled against your bare legs. Your parents sit across from each other, talking about whatever, but you aren’t listening. 

You dunk a cracker in your soup, holding it there for a moment to let it soak up the broth, before tossing it into your mouth. You continue on this way—alternating between scooping up noodles or chicken and drowning saltines—until you have nothing left but the dregs in your bowl. 

You mark the page in your book, tuck it under your thigh. You’re tipping the bowl backwards, drinking the rest of the soup, when your mother says your name loudly enough to tear you from your stupor. 

You swallow and wipe your mouth haphazardly with a napkin. “What?”

“Your father and I were just talking about your sister’s wedding.”

You raise your eyebrows, wondering if she’s actually being serious. 

“No shit.”

Your father sets his cup down, glaring at you. “Language.”

“Sorry,” you say, though there’s no real meaning in the word. 

Your sister has told practically every goddamn person in Hawkins that she’s getting married at the end of the month. Everyone is talking about her wedding. A wedding that you don’t give one singular fuck about. 

She’s marrying her high school sweetheart, they’re moving into a sweet new house in the suburbs, blah blah blah. She’s doing the same shit every other peaked-in-high-school woman her age is doing. And you can’t be bothered to care. 

Not only that, but you have to be a bridesmaid. You’re not very close with your sister, so her choosing another friend as her maid of honor really didn’t hurt you. Frankly, you would’ve been fine if she’d left you out of the bridal party completely. 

None of this is really as spectacular as everyone’s made it out to be. 

“Anyhow,” your mother begins, “you know she’s allowing her guests to bring a plus one.” She pauses, and you raise your eyebrows again, not understanding the need for dramatics here. 

“Well, she asked if you were going to bring someone, and I told her that you were.”

You push back from the table, entirely too confused. “What?”

“Honey, don’t get so frantic. I didn’t think you would want to be alone, especially considering your attitude towards the entire function.”

You take a deep breath, pressing your fingers into your eyelids. 

“I thought you could bring that boyfriend of yours. Actually, that’s what I told her. She’s already put in the name for a place card.”

“Mom, are you out of your mind?” 

She gasps, taking a sip of her wine to gather herself. Your father chooses this moment to begin clearing up the table. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” you exclaim. 

Her eyes widen. “What do you mean? I told her you’d bring that boy, Steve. You spend an awful lot of time with him for him to not be your boyfriend.” 

You feel like you’re choking on air. Like your dinner is going to come up if she doesn’t cut this out. “That’s because he’s my friend!” 

“You’re always with him, sweetie. Much more than I ever was with any of my male friends.” She clearly doesn’t believe that he’s not your boyfriend. Like it’s impossible that he isn’t.  

You shove past her and into the kitchen, utterly exasperated. Why are people making decisions for you? Why is your mother suddenly proclaiming to everyone that you’re in a relationship you didn’t even know you were in?

When you turn around from facing the sink, both of your parents are staring at you. “What now? Something else you’ve told the whole damn town about me?” 

Your mother reaches out to you, but you brush her off. You’re a little too pissed for any sort of cooing right now. 

“I’m sorry I assumed he was your boyfriend, honey. But you have to bring him, or else the family will ask questions and there will be an empty space next to you. Personally, I’d find that embarrassing.”

You push your way out of the kitchen, more than done with this situation. “You’ll be lucky if I even go to the damn wedding. And, personally, I wouldn’t go blabbing about things I’ve just assumed about my own daughter rather than just talking about them with her.”

When you turn down the hall, your father is rubbing his forehead, and your mother is looking at you like you should be grateful for her having assured you have company for the big event. 

“This could be good for you!” she shouts, and your only response is the slam of your bedroom door. 

In hindsight, of course the slam was childish, but you really can’t believe your mother. 

You’ve never been so frustrated with her in your life. And yeah, you’ll go to the wedding, but what gave her the right to do that? This is your life. Not hers. 

Normally, you would call Steve about something like this, but shit, you can’t. 

Steve. As your boyfriend? 

That’s too much for your brain to handle right now. You throw yourself on the bed and call it a night. 

————

“So, let me get this straight,” Robin begins, holding up her hands so as to count off your main points. “Your mother just told everyone that you have a boyfriend, that this boyfriend is Steve, of all people, and that he’s your plus one to your bitchy sister’s wedding?” 

The countertop is cold when you press your forehead against it. “Yes,” you whine. 

You’d gotten up first thing this morning and head to Family Video, needing to spill your guts to the one and only person who would surely match your energy and try to help you handle the situation. 

Your arms are laid out in front of you, hands dangling over the edge of the counter and reaching for Robin on the other side. She grabs hold of them and squeezes. “That’s one hell of a pickle you’re in. But! Lucky for you, I’m gonna help you figure it out.”

You squeeze her hands back, only to jerk your head up at an alarmingly fast rate. Robin cringes like you’re going to give yourself whiplash. You’ve just had an absolutely terrifying thought.

“Steve’s not working today, is he?”

Robin tries to think off the top of her head, but there are too many thoughts rambling around in there, so she’s quick to consult the schedule pinned to the wall behind her. She probably could’ve told you the times of each of his shifts if only you hadn’t asked. 

“He won’t come in until this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank fuck. I’m not ready to see him yet. He’s going to notice something’s wrong and then he’ll want to talk about it and then it’ll just be a big fat shit show.”

Robin props her chin up with her hand, elbow resting against the green countertop. “You know, maybe that’s a good thing. He already knows you so well that he’ll probably make a great boyfriend.”

“Robin, what?” 

She’s plotting and you’ve never felt more afraid. 

“Well, you can’t just not take him to the wedding after all of this, right? It would be ten times messier now that your mom has told all of Hawkins that Steve Harrington is your boyfriend. And you know he’ll agree to go, being ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ and whatnot. Besides, you’ve gotta admit that there’s chemistry between the two of you.”

You go to speak, but she holds a hand up to stop you. 

“So you tell him about your little predicament, and maybe he can just act as your boyfriend for the night?” She smiles nervously, shoulders rising in slight fear of your reaction. “You two are best friends, no one’s bound to be the wiser.”

“Robin, are you suggesting that I just fake-date the man?”

She raises her hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “What’s the harm in it? It’s just a one time thing. You go, you get it over with, and Steve will be there the whole time. It’ll be totally fine.” 

You drag your hands down your face, peeking at her through your fingers. This is insane. This is fucking delusional. But it could work, couldn’t it?

A customer comes in, and you step to the side while Robin helps them at the counter. Chemistry? Maybe Robin’s right. Not that you’d ever tell her that. 

Last Valentine’s, Steve showed up at your place after dark, flowers in hand, knowing full well that you hate the holiday. “I just wanted you to feel special,” he’d said. “And I love you and everything.” You’ve been saying that to each other for forever it seems. And you mean it. He’s your best friend. But now you’re wondering if maybe he means it in a different way. Or if that’s just what you want to think. 

Steve doesn’t know that you pressed a few of the flowers to keep, or that you’ve saved the stubs from the movies you’ve seen together. You think about how he holds your hand on the way up the theater stairs, keeping you from tripping and spilling popcorn everywhere. How he offers to go out with you when you need to be away from home, not wanting to leave you alone. That he takes your bag from you the second he notices you adjusting it, straps digging into your shoulder. 

Your hands start to sweat, and you feel like this could either go just as Robin’s told you, or it could go really fucking badly. 

“Hello? Anyone home?” Robin’s voice breaks you out of your stupor. She’s waving her hand in front of your face. 

“Listen honey, I can see your brain working from here. I know you’re coming up with every possible way that this could go wrong. Just talk to him! It might go really well. You never know.”

Robin boops you on the nose and starts to walk towards the staff room. It’s her way of signaling that you need to get your shit together. 

“Good luck! I love you!”

You grab your keys and make for the door, flipping her off as you go. She only blows a kiss in response.

————

You’d been pacing your room when Steve called and offered to take you to the bookstore. Really he just wanted to spend time with you, and you needed to spill your guts. You spent an hour contemplating calling him, going over to see him, maybe even just cutting yourself off from him as a whole. In fact, cutting yourself off from the world had crossed your mind, but he’d since prevented that. 

Now Steve hovers behind you while you wander down an aisle filled with mystery novels. None of them are catching your eye.

There’s a warmth behind you, and you look up to see Steve. He reaches above your head, one hand on your waist, and pulls something down. He flips it around in his hands before holding it out to you. “What about this one?”

Surprisingly enough it does sound vaguely interesting. “You have to read it after I do.”

He grins. “Yes ma'am.” 

And we will read it. You know that he will because he’s done it before. He’s sat on your couch and blabbed about books to you, whining about this character, asking you a question about that plotline. Robin’s voice chirps in your head. Chemistry. Shit. 

Steve takes the book back from you. He never lets you carry anything. 

You walk further into the store, your feet carrying you to the same places they always do. You end up in a quiet corner, and your heart rate picks up. Not telling him is only hurting you more. You take a deep breath.

“Steve, I gotta tell you something.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the end cap. “Shoot.”

“You know how my sister is getting married?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I’d say I’m familiar with the event.”

You’d smile if it weren’t for the fact that you feel like you might puke at any moment. “Well she decided that guests could have a plus one.” Steve hates the way he warms up at that. At the fact that he wants you to take him. He nods, encouraging you to continue. 

“Well my mother decided to tell everyone that I’d bring you. As my boyfriend.”

Steve coughs, and your head jerks in his direction. “Your boyfriend?”

You press your hands together. “Yeah. She said she assumed that we were dating because we’re always together, and when my sister asked if I’d be bringing someone, she just told her that it would be you.”

You make eye contact with Steve. His cheeks have gone red. “So naturally, she’s already had your nameplate printed. And now, what I’m saying is that I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend and go to my sister’s wedding with me.” The last part spills out of your mouth faster than you’d intended. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you start to panic. It’s as if you’ve been sent into overdrive, like every sense in your body is on high alert. If this goes wrong, Robin’s ass is grass. 

You back into the corner of the aisle, book spines pressing into your back. “I realize I said I need you to do this, but I should have prefaced it by saying that of course you don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to–”

“I’ll do it.”

Steve pushes his hair back from his forehead. 

“What?”

“I said I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”

“Steve, are you sure?”

He’s moving into your personal space bubble, hands grasping for your arms where you’ve tucked them behind your back. He pulls them out, hands sliding down your forearms until he’s got your hands in his. His palms are warm, and you can’t help but notice how big his hands are. There’s a ring on his pinky finger too, and it takes you by surprise, considering he’s not usually one for jewelry. You’ll have to ask him about it later, assuming you survive this. 

“I’m sure. I’m not just going to let you show up after your mom did all that shit. She’s more trouble than she’s worth, if you ask me. But I promise, I don’t mind. I’ll go and be your boyfriend. I don’t know how good I’ll be, but hey…we’ll see.”

You pull your hand away to smack him on the arm. He winces like you’ve brutally wounded him. 

“Don’t you dare say that, Steven. You’d make an excellent fake boyfriend. And a kickass real one. Don’t let me hear that shit again.”

You let go of him and start to walk away. 

Steve chuckles. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll beat your ass, Harrington. And you’d definitely lose that one.”

He catches up to you and his hands find your waist again, though he struggles to hold on when you’re continually moving.

“Hey,” he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out at you. “Not fair.”

You look back up at him and reach up to pat his cheek. It’s warmer than you’d expected, and still all rosy. “Sorry, sorry.”

“That’s not very nice of a fake girlfriend.” 

You snort. “Ha! I guess my fake girlfriend skills aren’t up to the great Steve Harrington’s standards.”

“You’re being so mean to me today.” He rests his chin on your shoulder while you pick through a sale pile. 

“Only yanking your chain, dearest.” 

He chuckles, and you can feel his breath against your neck. 

You start to wonder if maybe everyone has a point. You do spend the majority of your time with Steve, and you are touchy, but that’s just the kind of person Steve is. You hadn’t realized how much you enjoyed physical touch from another person, even when it’s the most mundane action, until him. Robin is the same way, always holding your hands or leaning on you. They’re spoiling you. 

But the more you think about it, the more you realize that you’ve started to crave Steve’s touch when he’s not around. At night when you feel lonely, when you’re staring at the ceiling and letting your thoughts engulf you, you wish he was there to give you a hug. You wish he was there when you’re eating lunch alone and his leg isn’t pressed against yours under the table. You miss the warmth and the weight of him beside you on the couch. It’s like there’s a part of your brain that’s reserved for him, and suddenly you’re worried that this fake dating Steve thing might be the worst decision you’ve ever made. 

————

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, and I’m going to leave this with you until the masquerade is complete so that both of you morons have a reminder of your agreement.”

Robin sits on Steve’s couch, white board in hand. She’s brought way too many markers with her. She decided it would be best if you and Steve had a list of things that are acceptable for your temporary fake romance. She also insisted she be moderator. 

“Masquerade? Is that really what we’re calling this?” Steve looks at you.

“No. It’s not.”

“Both of you! Focus!” Robin uncaps a marker and throws the lid at Steve. He catches it. “Now, what kinds of things are okay to do during this little performance? I’m talking, hugging, handholding, kissing, the lot of it. Now shoot.”

Steve looks at you again. “What do you think? This is your family that we’ll be around.”

Your knee starts to bounce.

The majority of your little charade will be during the reception, and having to stand during the ceremony is saving you much more trouble than you’d realized. You never thought you’d be grateful to be a bridesmaid. But now there’s the added pressure of knowing Steve will be watching you then, that your family will be watching the both of you afterwards. 

Steve catches your shaking leg and is quick to put a hand out to steady you. He knows you’re nervous. 

“See? That’s good. Believable.” Robin is staring at the two of you, or more specifically, at where Steve’s hand rests on your knee.  

Steve pulls his hand back. “Okay, so we can hold hands?” you say, questioning yourself already. “You can touch me, like that or like you usually do.”

“I can do that. Hands, arms, back. That alright?”

You start to warm up. “Yeah, that works. What about you? I don’t want to be too handsy or anything but it might be weird if I don’t touch you at all.” 

Steve sits back in his chair while Robin scribbles away, her bulletpoints little stars. There are two sides, one for each of you. 

“All of that is fine with me too. I really don’t mind, and I think you know I like physical affection. But you know when you like, hang on my arm sometimes? I really like that.”

Robin smiles brilliantly. “That’s good! Makes you look super lovey-dovey.” She jots it down under Steve’s name. 

You try not to let it show, but Steve’s words are running rampant in your head. I really like that. He does? You hadn’t realized it before. 

“What else?” Robin asks. “Kissing? How do we feel about that?”

“Uh—I hadn’t really thought about it,” you tell her. And you hadn’t. The thought of Steve kissing you at all, other than the top of your head like he’s done before, makes you feel like your heart has just dropped out of your ass. “But I suppose it’d be weird if we didn’t at all, you know?” 

You’re looking at Steve, hoping he’ll feel the same way, searching for some sort of consolation. 

“No, yeah, that’s a good point.” He’s quiet for a moment before continuing, “What about your cheeks and forehead and stuff? Maybe the face is fair game? And you can do the same for me.”

You wipe your palms across your thighs. Kissing Steve. Steve kissing you. You’re losing your shit. 

“Yeah, that’s totally fine. That works.” You’re amazed that you’ve even managed to get the words out. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you know?” Steve’s expression is soft. You know he’s being serious with you. 

“I know. And I don’t want to make you feel that way either. I want this to be a perfectly comfortable evening.”

“And I’m sure it will be!” Robin claps her hands together, setting her board down against the couch cushions beside her. 

She stands abruptly. “Basically you’re just behaving like you normally do, but with a little more hands-on action, you know?”

Steve quirks a brow, taking a furtive glance at you. “What do you mean, like we normally do?”

Robin moves towards her best friend and crouches, taking his hands in hers. “Uh…what are you doing?”

“Listen, little Stevie, you’re a touchy-feely kind of guy, and you’re always all over the lovely lady to our left. You can’t deny that.”

“I mean—yeah.”

Robin nods her head. Steve struggles to keep eye contact with her, knowing you’re watching the interaction.

“And you’ve rubbed off on her! She wasn’t really like this before you, Harrington.”

This time he jerks his head towards you. “Really?”

He’s thinking about your hugs, how you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze. About how you always take his hand when he offers it, or how you'll toss a leg over his on the couch. Any other sort of behavior would feel strange.

You feel yourself go all warm. Feel your chest squeeze. You’re forgetting how to breathe. She’s completely right. Steve has brought out a side of you that you swore you didn’t have. The side that longs for affection. Maybe more. 

You nod your head at him.

“Yeah,” Robin says, “Most I’d get out of her was some hand holding before you came around.” 

She releases Steve from her grasp and rises once again. 

“But my point is, you two are going to make a fantastic fake couple. And maybe even an excellent real one.”

Steve face palms. “Robin.”

“Sorry, sorry! Make sure to take pictures for me, alright? I’ll be so sad to miss this happening in person.”

Steve stands, grabbing Robin’s bag for her. “Yep. Alright. See you later, Rob.”

He looks at you with what you’re quite positive is fear in his eyes. He leads her to the door, and you can’t help but chuckle, even if you’re nervous as shit, as he reassures her that there will be pictures, and that you’ll tell her all about it. 

————

“Just hang it up on the doorframe, and then you can hold stuff up to it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

You sit cross legged in the center of Steve’s bed, watching him rummage through his closet. He’s going to knock your dress on the floor if he doesn’t quit his frenzy. 

You’d told him it wasn’t necessary that he coordinate his outfit with yours, but he insisted, so you brought your dress over for him to see. Steve has a feeling that when he sees you in it he’s going to lose his shit, not that he can tell you that. 

“You know, I never thought these would be useful. But I guess your asshole dad dragging you to business events pays off sometimes.”

Steve lifts a bunch of hangers from the rack and pulls them out of his closet, setting them on the bed beside you.

“Fancy,” you say, smirking.

He rubs his hand over his chin, the other braced against his hip. “Yeah.”

You can tell he’s a little frazzled at this. The reminder of dressing himself up to be paraded around by his father—a father who doesn’t spare Steve a second when not in the public eye. 

You hate that you’ve made him dig up all these memories. 

“They all fit okay?” you question. 

He nods, that one insistent lock of hair slipping free. He pushes it back before you have the chance to. 

You slide off the side of the bed and stand. You gesture for him to sit and that gets a smile out of him. 

After he’s settled, you lift each suit up one by one, seeing which matches the blue of your dress best. You’re only glad that your sister picked a nice shade: a dark, rich midnight blue. The kind you’d be able to spot from far off in a department store and need to take a look. 

You get to a sort of soft gray one, and Steve stops you. You hook it up on the doorframe beside your dress. 

“I think that looks nice, yeah?”

You walk backwards until your spine meets Steve’s knees. You brace yourself, hands on his calves. His chin meets the top of your head because of how high up the bed is. 

“I like it a lot, Harrington.”

He snorts, and you can feel the puff of air against your scalp. He’s warm, his presence all around you. His cologne, maybe his shampoo if you let yourself fall in between his legs. But you don’t. You stand. 

“Looks pretty solid to me,” you tell him, though your grin falters just slightly enough for him to catch it.

He puts a gentle hand on your cheek, making sure you keep your eyes locked on his. 

“Hey. It’s gonna be great, okay? You’re going to kill it in that dress. Probably kill me, actually,” he laughs. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”

“Alright, Steven.” You’re trying not to over-analyze that comment. This is not the time to get sweaty. 

He stands up, hand sliding down from your cheek to cover your collarbones. You wrap your arms around his back on instinct, and you swear you see him blush as he moves to encircle you in his own. 

“Does being your fake boyfriend mean your incessant picking has only gotten worse?” 

You rest your forehead against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. You think about how nice it might be to do this all the time. What it might be like if he weren’t your fake boyfriend, but your real one. 

“Mhm,” you mumble. “I plan on continuing it, too.”

Steve’s hands run up and down your back. 

“I look forward to it,” he whispers. There’s a part of you that knows he means it.

————

Steve hasn’t stopped looking at you since you met him at the door to the wedding venue. 

You’d run down, more than happy to have company that wasn’t your sister's bitchy bridal party. 

He stands with you now, waiting until he’s allowed to take his seat, and you can feel his eyes burning into you. 

Not that you’re any better than he is. 

His suit fits him just right, and every time he pushes his hair around, you watch his shoulders move under his jacket. It’s driving you insane. And he’s wearing that fucking ring again. Except this time, there’s also one on the middle finger of his opposite hand. 

The sun is hitting him just right, turning his eyes this amber color. It’s mesmerizing. You notice then that his tie is the same blue as your dress. 

“Steve?”

“Hm?” 

“Did you have that? Just lying around?” 

He follows your gaze to his chest. No, he absolutely didn’t. He ran out and picked one up in a shade as close as he could get it to yours. Wearing something that felt like a piece of you had his mind abuzz. Abuzz with you. 

It’s the same way he feels about these rings Robin bought him. She said you were into them, always talking about Steve’s hands or something. He’s started to like them, but really it’s for you. Most things are. 

“Yeah. I found it in a drawer.”

Robin would slap him if she were here. He doesn’t know why he lies, but he does. And then you’re blushing and he’s got to sit down. He squeezes your hand one last time, an encouraging gesture, but one that has so much more buried beneath it.

The ceremony thankfully goes quickly for you, and you’re grateful, hating having to stand up there like you give a shit, like your sister is some saint. 

For Steve, it’s the slowest wedding he’s ever been to. You look so fucking gorgeous and he can’t keep it together. He barely even pays attention to the wedding, too busy looking at you. The way your indifference shows on your face, even if you know you’ll hear about it later. The way your hands wrap around the little bouquet you’ve been given. The way the setting sun sets your skin alight, and he thinks that you might truly be the death of him. 

When the ceremony has concluded, when Steve is looking for you in the reception hall, he realizes he has to tell you so. You deserve to know how gorgeous you are. He’s beating himself up for having said you looked ‘great,’ and that was all. 

You spot him first, and rush to him like you had before, anxious to be near him. 

“My mother is looking for me,” you tell him.

“You want to get some air?” His hand finds the small of your back, already leading you away from the crowd and just outside the doors. 

“You’re such a good fake boyfriend.”

You suck in a breath of cool air, shake your hands out. 

Steve smirks, hands moving up to massage at your shoulders before he even has a chance to give the action a second thought. “Just knew you’d like to get away is all.”

Knew. 

The word hits you and you feel like you’ve been slapped. Goddammit, Robin. She’s been in your head all day, and you’ve done nothing but pick up on the little things Steve does for you, the things he seems to know about you, that make him so much more than just a best friend. 

You’re fucked. 

“Thank you, Steve. For that, and for coming to this. It means a lot to me.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’d do it again.”

He’s looking at you with such fondness, and you have a feeling he wants to say more. You grab hold of one of his wrists, locking your eyes with his in hopes that it will communicate the message. Go ahead. 

He exhales. This sort of thing used to be so easy for him, but it’s never been that way with you. He knows it’s because you aren’t just some chick he wants to take out. You’re everything. And he’s fumbling for words. 

“I, uh, I wanted to tell you that…” You squeeze his wrist, and he continues, albeit with a shaky voice. “I wanted to tell you that you look beautiful.”

A smile creeps up and onto your face before you can stop it. 

“I mean, you always look beautiful, b-but tonight you’re just—stunning. Like, totally breathtaking. Don’t let anyone hear this, but I’d even say you look better than the bride.”

You let out a laugh then, the kind that comes straight from your belly, rich and sickly sweet. It makes Steve laugh, too. He can’t believe you. You’re unbelievable. 

“Sorry, Steve, I just–fuck that was so funny.” You straighten up, putting your serious face back on. “Thank you for saying that. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m serious, you know. You’re gorgeous.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and plush against your skin. 

You go all warm and fuzzy inside. “Thank you, Stevie.”

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, just because he can. 

“You look pretty too, you know.” 

Steve blushes at your comment, and it’s at this very moment that your mother’s voice rings out, “Sweetie! Come in here, people want to see you!”

Fear flashes across your face, any trace of the sweet flirtiness there seconds before having vanished. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve says, watching you gesture towards your mother, telling her you’re on your way.  “Let’s do this, yeah?”

You make eye contact with him, and he grabs hold of your hand, weaving his fingers between yours. “Yeah.”

————

“So, how’d the two of you meet?”

You’re surrounded by a crowd of women, some are your family–your mother and sister–some women you’re not even sure you know. 

“School.” Steve saves you from having to speak first. “We went to high school together, but we met through a mutual friend.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “Robin,” you tell her. 

“Oh! What a lovely young lady.”

Steve snorts and you slap him on the back. Not that anyone could’ve seen it with how close he’s got you pressed to his side. “Yep,” Steve coughs, “She’s great.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hoping it’ll give him a moment to suppress his smile. Your sister steps away from her friends, catching the action. 

“So, Steve, does she treat you okay? I know my sister can be a bit frantic sometimes.” You watch your mother down the rest of her wine, and you know she’s hoping nothing breaks out between the two of you like it has plenty of times before. 

Steve’s arm wraps more firmly around you, his hand coming to rest on your hip. Everyone has their eyes locked on you, waiting, hoping that Steve will spill some sort of secret that they can spread throughout Hawkins like wildfire. Nothing beats good gossip around here. 

He squeezes your hip, and for a split second you think the gesture might be possessive. Protective, even. 

“She does. Your sister is considerate and thoughtful, and she’s the best woman I know. I’ve never felt more comfortable than I do with her. And if she’s ever frantic, it only helps her deal with me when I’m the same way.”

You feel like you could pass out. Because you know he meant every damn word of that. You know he isn’t lying. 

Your sister looks between the two of you. “Well, I suppose that’s good to hear.” Her smile is nothing but insincere when she walks off to greet another wedding guest. 

One of your aunts swoops in, and Steve feels you clutch his side a little harder. He has a feeling you’re about to be ridiculed. 

“Such a lovely day, isn’t it? You two ever think about tying the knot?”

Steve pinks and your hand slips under his suit jacket, clutching at the fabric of his shirt instead. Is this really the time?

“No,” you pipe up. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

The woman frowns at you. “Well, isn’t that silly? You better get around to it sooner than later, honey. Take after your big sister. You won’t be young forever.”

You go to speak, but Steve’s already begun. “I’m sorry, but she doesn’t have to get married on anyone else’s terms. Hell, she doesn’t have to get married at all, and I can say that in utmost confidence. Maybe back off, okay?” 

Your aunt looks absolutely scandalized, as if she cannot bear to accept what just happened to her. 

Steve starts to lead you away from the group. “Come on, baby.”

Baby. 

Steve called you ‘baby.’

You don’t have time to analyze that though with the way he’s escorting you back outside. He parks you on a bench and starts to pace in front of you. 

“I can see why you didn’t want to do this now. Jesus, are they always like that? I thought my dad’s colleagues were dicks, but my god.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wait—can you call judgmental ladies dicks?”

You snort and bury your face in your hands. “Yes, Steve, I think so.” It comes out muffled, but he hears it all the same. 

When you look up, Steve is staring at you, and he’s much closer than he had been. He starts to say something, but both your mother and sister have shown up, looking for you. 

“Sweetie! What are you doing out here?” Your mother looks frazzled, and maybe a little tipsy. You knew your sister would be a bitch on her wedding day, but apparently your mother hadn’t yet realized.

“Escaping the mob.”

“Your aunt isn’t entirely pleased with your behavior, I’ve been told.”

You stand up then. “Honestly, mom, I don’t really give a shit. I came to this wedding, like you told me to. I brought, Steve, like you told me to. And I just don’t care anymore. I’m sick of your bullshit.”

She looks aghast, way more than your aunt had. 

You look at your sister, who’s clearly hoping to see you fuck up. 

“Congratulations on fucking yourself over. You’ll have a severely depressing marriage.” 

“C’mon, Steve.”

He takes your hand, and he can’t help but giggle as he follows you out. 

————

“Sweetheart? You comin’?”

You’ve stopped halfway up Steve’s stairs, a far off look in your eyes. He’d brought you back to his place to stay the night, and now that you’re here, it’s like every thought you’ve had about him is fit to burst. This cannot just be a tonight situation. You can’t let this end here. 

You drop your dress where you’d been holding it up to prevent yourself from tripping. 

“Maybe Robin’s right. About the chemistry.”

Steve’s hands go to his hips. He’s got no idea what you’re on about, but the way you’re looking at him is enough to have his heart rate kicking up a notch. “Chemistry?”

“Yeah. She pointed it out. And she said we’d make a fantastic couple, remember?”

He blushes. He hopes this is going where he thinks it is. Tonight has made him realize how much more you are to him than just a friend. He wants you all the time. “Yeah, I remember.”

Your heart is pounding and you feel like you can’t really breathe, but if you don’t say this now, you’re not sure you ever will. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” He’s never been so stressed in his life. He’s actually starting to sweat. 

You exhale and push the words out. “I don’t want you to be my fake boyfriend. I want you to be my real one.”

He coughs, chokes really, and you move up the stairs towards him to make sure he’s okay and not actually sick over the matter. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, surprising himself with the ability to speak considering how raw his throat feels. 

“Wouldn’t have said so if I felt otherwise, Harrington.”

There she is, he thinks. You really want him. Just like he does you. He can’t believe it.

“Again with the picking. You’re so mean to me.”

You smirk, your hands finding his sides again. You seem to have some attachment to them, and Steve wonders if it’s because you know there are scars underneath. If you’re telling him more than what you can bear to say. Giving him a glimpse of all you have to offer him, all the love you might hope to share. 

“I’ll show you mean, you little shit.”

You press your lips against his before you can second guess yourself, before you let that little voice win. 

Steve hums in surprise, but it’s clear he’s not upset by the gesture with the way he responds to your touch. His hands find your neck, thumbs stroking over your cheeks. 

He’s kissing you back, and fuck if he’s not trying to tell you everything he’s been feeling. 

When you pull away for air, Steve’s too greedy to let you go. He pecks your lips once, twice more, and when he really can’t breathe, he peppers your face instead. Now that you’ve given him the chance, he seriously can’t get enough of you. 

“Damn.”

You laugh, and push that strand of hair back where it goes, this time getting to it before he can. 

You take Steve’s wrist in your hand. It’s late. You hadn’t realized how worn out you were, but you are. 

“Can we go to sleep?” you ask, searching his brown eyes. His lashes are unfairly long, but you’ll have to berate him about it later. 

“Do I get another one of those before bed?” He’s already hauling you up the stairs, wanting you settled. 

“If you’re good.”

————

“So when did it happen?” Robin’s voice is almost accusatory.

“What?”

You’re standing close enough to Steve to ensure that you can hear Robin on the other side.

“When did this love confession take place?”

“That’s not what it was—”

“Just tell me when, dingus!”

“Last night, after we got home. She told me she didn’t want it to be fake anymore.”

“Shit!”

Steve rolls his eyes. You fuss with the belt loops on his jeans, trying to figure out what she’s been up to. “What did you do?” he asks. 

“I owe Dustin twenty.”

“You bet on us?” Your voice is loud enough that she hears it, and you know she’s cringing even if you can’t see it.

“Maybe? Yes. I bet that you’d give up the act later than that, that you two would be cowards about it. Figured you’d both wallow in self pity for a while before you just came out and said how you feel.” 

Steve looks at you, and mouths: Are you hearing this?

Robin keeps going. “Dustin said you’d come to your senses quicker than that. He bet on the wedding day specifically. Goddamnit!” 

You take the phone from Steve, and his forehead meets your shoulder. You can feel the way he shakes with laughter. 

“Thanks for having so much faith in us, Rob.”

She chuckles. “What? You’re both extremely good at lying to yourselves. I expected this to be much more dramatic.”

“Mhm,” you start, a plan forming in your mind. Steve can almost feel it. “Hey, Robin?”

“Yes?”

“Just for that, I’m calling in sick for Steve today. That shift is all yours.”

“No. Nononono—”

You hang up the phone. That means there won’t be the buffer that is Steve Harrington to prevent Robin having to interact with Keith. She’ll be stuck with him all evening. 

“That was just cruel,” Steve laughs. 

You cross your arms. “Oh, so you wanna go in then?”

He smiles at you and holds his arms out. You move into the circle of them. His hands find your waist and squeeze. “No, I didn’t say that. I haven’t had a day off in months.” 

“So quit whining.”

“See? I’ve only been your real boyfriend for like, a matter of hours, and you’re still being so mean to me.”

You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips. It seems to appease him. 

“Was that mean?”

“Not at all.” 

You grin and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Mean and a tease. Wow.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “Only for you, Stevie.”

He takes your face in his hands, fingers pushing gently into your skin. 

“Damn right.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @clovermunson

#savannah’s fics #steve harringtion #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #robin buckley #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington comfort

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 03. Sebastian (Date Night)

Pairing: Sebastian / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,779 Warnings: established relationship, cock humping, cum in pants. thats it <3 Prompt(s): 03 — date night Wanna take part in the event?: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: im loving how soft everyone in this event has been, it's allowed me to stretch my fluff writing muscles a little which i desperately needed <3 don't get me wrong, im just as excited to get to the rougher requests too hehe! but this is a nice change of pace from my usual stuff, so thank you for letting me indulge in this type of writing!

A weekly tradition, one he's kept with him for as long as he can remember. Even when he was too young to drink, his mom would drag him to the saloon every weekend just like how everyone else in town would inevitably show up soon after, the kids getting free reign of the pool room to play in while the adults enjoyed the end of the week together, surrounded by too tall glasses of beer he was always mesmerized by. And years later, he still visits to play with his friends— only he's of legal drinking age now and able to appreciate the taste of alcohol appropriately, which adds a fresh spin to the lifelong pool nights as it were.

And, of course, there's you too. The new addition to his routine, married and homely. A welcomed plus one at that, not just by him, but by his friends too. A small little get together with everyone that quite often doubles as a date night; especially considering there's fuck all else to do in the lazy Pelican Town other than get drunk outside or get high at home. And he does enough of the latter with you already, so he likes to think that these saloon date nights count for something, right?

It's a chance for you to get all dressed up and pretty at the very least! Not that he doesn't think that you're always the prettiest girl in the world, but he knows that he puts in a little more effort himself when it comes to attending the weekly function, and it's nice to see what sort of outfit you'll end up in too. Because you look so pretty in them all, he'd be hard pressed to pick a favourite. Giddily awaiting his chance to politely ogle you from across the bar, a secret hidden game shared amongst lovers.

"Seb!" He hears you yell from the bathroom, and a smile automatically finds its way to his lips. Sitting on the edge of your shared bed, all ready to go, he yells back an eager yeah babe?

Footsteps answer his question, and he awaits your arrival with bated breath. Expecting you to be done dressing by now, maybe needing some help with a difficult to reach zip or something? But what he doesn't expect is... Well, God, look at you...

Oh, that's gotta be his favourite outfit on you after all. Wasn't so hard to pick now, was it? The sight of you entering the bedroom, cute confused look on your face, wearing what he can see is only his old hoodie and a pair of underwear is such a pretty view. He bites his tongue as you saunter closer, else he's liable to spill filthy secrets about just how long he's yearned to see you wear exactly that, eyes half lidded the moment his gaze lands on your bare thighs. You could wear anything in the world, the most expensive dress known to man, the prettiest pare of heels in the world, and this would still be his favourite. Barefoot and underdressed, how domesticated you appear, hair and face all done up nicely, dressed to the nines in his hand me downs. There's not a prettier sight, he suddenly decides. Wanting to clutch his chest from how in love he is with you wearing his hoodie, an unmistakeable thirst present in how his hands itch to haul you on top of him so he can love on you a little. Genuinely pained from how badly he wants you in such a swift moment, his pretty little wife.

Still, he hopes you plan on wearing more than just that out to the saloon; a tight tug of jealousy wrapping around his fluttering heart. Except, well, maybe he really doesn't. You look perfect as is, all smiles and wifely in his beloved clothing. His beloved wearing his beloved, he'd rather you stay just as you are. But the thought of others interjecting themselves into such a personal moment for him is annoying, has him already wanting to shield you away from prying eyes despite remaining safe at home.

"Do you know where my uh... My— y'know?" You vaguely gesture towards your bare thighs with your words, and his eyebrows raise in faux suspicion. You always get so frazzled before leaving for the saloon, something about the excitement of the night to come getting to you, and though he truly believes it's innocently adorable how you fret, he can't help but wet his lips at the way you draw attention to your pretty legs right in front of him.

"Your... pants?" He questions back, tutting quietly to himself when you enthusiastically nod yes!

Of course he knows where they are— you had thrown them to him just before getting in the bathroom to assumedly finish getting ready. And like the polite husband he is, he took them without any issue. Quietly holding on to your possessions like he's been taught to, because he enjoys helping you out without need for questioning. "Sure do." He plainly states, reaching behind his back to retrieve the thrown away bottoms only to waggle them in front of you— just out of reach!

The sigh of relief you let out has him chuckling, light laughter filling the air as you ramble on about being so ditzy sometimes, but he thinks it's cute. Loves being your metaphorical knight in shining armour when you come seeking his help for the easiest of things; simply because you've forgotten again. It's nice to be of use to you.

Buuuut, on the other hand, it's just as much being your bully, too. There is intimacy in the moment where your eyes go wide as he tugs the clothing a little farther away, a silent encouragement for you to keep coming, just a little closer. The soft padding of your bare feet on the old creaky floorboards of the farm house rings in his ears as you pout prettily at him, almost bashfully, and he considers it a blessing to see you this exposed and vulnerable up close. "Ah-ah." He teases, extending his arm as high up as possible and rendering your pants inaccessible, a sneaky smirk matching his taunting tone. "I think you should leave just like this," He wiggles around, escaping your attempts to take hold of your bottoms with ease, because he knows your tactics well by now. This is not the first time he's teased you like this. "What d'ya think, babe?"

"I can't, Seb! It's too cold, hence the hoodie!" You huff cutely, and by God does he wanna kiss your lips all better. Cock quietly twitching in his pants as you take his playful attitude well, leaking a little precum for you as you tug on the hoodie strings enough for him in your demonstration of how cold you really feel to be able to see that you wear it just like him: as in, with nothing else on underneath.

He briefly wonders if you can feel the heat coming off of him, big arms ready to cuddle you up against his toned chest in an effort to share his warmth with your apparent shivering self. But you answer his question swiftly when you take to climbing on top of him, his arms immediately wrapping around you as a sharp gasp escapes him— the feeling of your knee brushing against his cock knocking the wind out of him, and still he cares more for your safety than the embarrassing fact that just seeing you in his hoodie has him rock hard already.

Tense pause follows, frozen in place with his strong arms keeping you stable as you rock preciously on his lap. God knows where your clothes have gone, because they were immediately tossed aside the moment he thought you might fall, favouring your safety above all else. And then, without a second though, he blurts out a rushed "Sorry— I, it's just..." Before he buries his head against your chest, taking a shaky inhale to try and collect his thoughts, but with your body practically skin tight to his from how snugly he holds you, cock rubbing inadvertently against your leg, the scent of you mixing with the old musk of his worn hoodie— it was a mistake to tease you from the get go. Only resulting in riling himself up enough to have him biting down on his bottom lip to stave off the primal need to buck his hips against literally any part of you like some sort of horny teen; the things you still do to him. Maybe it'd be understandable if he was acting this way back in the beginning of your relationship, and yet...

"You look good in that." He sighs into you, emphasis on the good to make sure you understand the weight of your actions tonight, curling further into you and leaning back on the bed, safely dragging you down with him and letting go just so he can see how you look above him. "Should be a sin, honestly." He laughs with you, noticing the soft blush on your cheeks prompted by his open honesty.

It's not so bad to admit to such degeneracy, right? Cock nestled firmly between your legs, his hands coming up to stroke gentle lines up and down the fat of your thighs lovingly. Would that he could keep you here all night to himself, dying to show you just how much he loves the minimal fit the best way he knows how. But one look at the clock denies him such pleasures, a heavy sigh escaping him as he notices that he should have left with you five minutes ago.

"C'mon," he pats your ass fondly, blowing some hair out of his face as he half sits up, leaning his weight on one arm while his legs still yet hang off the edge of the bed. "We should get going, once we find your— ah, fuck— babe—!"

Mid sentence, you effectively shut him up with a simple movement. Just a small rock forward, nothing too serious. But fuck does it feel great having you take control like that, his eyes flickering up to your face only to see it scrunched up similarly to his own. Tense, expectant. He holds his breath for a second or two, reclaiming a spot on your back as one arm wraps possessively around it, the other still holding him up.

"Or— We could stay here, if y'want?" He offers, but rather than waiting for a response, he slowly guides you into more movement. Pushing lightly on your back to help you hump forward, and removing the weight of his hand to watch you slide back down his lap. Knowing that you're depending on him for stability when your own hands take root on his shoulders is nice, strokes his ego about as well as your barely clothed cunt strokes his cock off right now. And he figures he's got his answer when you bite your lip so seductively that he has to roll his cock up in tandem with you, literally forced into helping you get off on his lap because instinct begs him to please his wife.

It's just that he's so in love with all the small details, y'know? Like how his hoodie fits you better than it ever has him, how it falls from your frame so prettily as you hover above him, his hand gripping the back of the fabric a little tighter so it showcases your frame just that much better for his leering eyes. The little hah's and seb's your pretty lips whine for him as he helps you ride back and forth on his fat cock, the way your brows furrow in concentration, trying desperately to feel the full weight of his hidden cock, cloth barrier providing enough stimulation to rub nicely against your scantily clad clit, but he knows that frustrated sob all too well. He's fucked it out of you enough times before to know that you need more— but babe, you're already running late.

"C'mere." He prompts you with a head tilt, the moment your face gets close enough to his own he courteously kisses you. Short and sweet, a quick peck more than anything, before your greed overtakes you and you push your hips down into him with more vulgar intent, leaving his mouth wide open in a silent gasp of pleasure for you to take advantage of. He'd never complain at the feeling of your tongue running along his own, his grip tightening on the old hoodie you adorn as a means to display some semblance of restraint, but every drop of shared saliva he's forced to swallow in hopes of more has his head dizzy with desire. A great need welling in his tummy to help you get off, desperate to have you use him for your own benefit like the pretty princess you are to him.

He returns the fervour readily, impishly nibbling down on your lower lip before you do the same back, charming him with a simple smile as he leans in for more kisses. All the while his hips continue to buck up for you, fucking forward when you stroke down, and vice versa when he helps your ride closer to him, drawing his hips down so that his tightly concealed cock almost mimics catching on your pretty hole. The shuffling sound of his jeans fill the room to match the squeak of the bed, and he welcomes every lewd moan and suck you have to offer his needy lips.

"Feels s'fuckin' good, babe—" He slurs truthfully when taking a breather from the heated kiss, vision hazy with how good you look riding him like this. And the fact that he's close already from just a minor amount of petting is a testament to how much he just adores you, he thinks, so there's no room for shame in his pervert thoughts when you push him back down onto the bed, his back cradled gently by the sheets below. And the addition of your open palms on his rapidly rising and falling chest as his lungs struggle to keep up with how fucking hot his wife is when you know what you want only adds to the tight feeling in his core. Balls taut under your relentless humping of his cock, head thrown back with barely there control.

He only wishes he could have whipped it out in time to really feel how soaked your pretty cunt must be, gliding up and down his red hot length as you start to shake on top of him.

Which is perfect, really, because he doesn't think he'd be able to last much longer at this rate either. Saloon well forgotten about when he's got the prettiest girl alive on top of him, riding him so well that he's about to stain his jeans white with how your hips snap up and down his tip, unsure who the main culprit is of the growing wet spot on his bottoms is— but that's hot. Unashamedly yearning for each other as your nails dig into his chest, your thighs tightening at his sides as you pinpoint the exactly location needed to help trigger your orgasm and then—

"That's it, that's my girl—" He manages to force out before he's cumming with you, mostly due to the sight of his hoodie sleeve getting suckled on as your eyes roll to the back of your head, the sickening contrast between how fucking cute you are and that fact that you're cumming all over his nice jeans is too much to handle. After all, he's but a simple man. And when his wife starts to moan his name around the makeshift hoodie gag, he can't help but to shoot his load against his underwear. Cock throbbing under your soaked little cunt as if he were actually filling you up— God he wishes he was, hands digging into your hips as he pushes you against his spurting length to help milk the remainder of seed out.

Just for you.

And he holds you there until he's done, only releasing his grip on you once his body stops tensing and he remembers how to breathe again, a dry half laugh crawling up his throat as you continue to shake for him.

"Better than the usual date night, right?" He muses out loud, pulling you in for a tight cuddle when you join in on his breathless laughter. Hid friends can wait, at least until he's able to find your clothes again. And, a new pair of jeans for himself.

#500 event! #i like this one its nice n soft #PRAYING FOR NO MAJOR MISTAKES THIS TIME BUT WHO KNOWS LOL #sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv sebastian smut #sebastian smut #stardew valley sebastian smut

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝚅. 𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, flirting, fluff, angst angst angst, pining, inherent power imbalance due to boss/employee dynamic, Southern culture slander just for @jupiter-soups, multiple instances of violent men/situations, predatory/SA behaviors, Sad During the Holidays™, financial/emotional/physical abuse, high functioning alcoholism | WORD COUNT: 18.3k lmaoooo

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: You try to make the best of the "holiday season," and Joel tries to piece together the secret you've been keeping from him.

The shopping centers around town had all hung their plastic wreaths with bows and fake candles from the light poles that lined the increasingly crowded lots. You never understood why the accompanying flags said Happy Holidays! or Season’s Greetings! when all the decorations were clearly Christmas themed. No matter what anyone celebrated, you dreaded this time of year.

The disappointment was obvious when you were a kid and Santa didn’t come some years because you’d “ been too naughty.” You’d get a few meager gifts from your parents that were clearly an afterthought, but you were always left with the failure and profound sense of shame of not being good enough. Of not having tried hard enough. Of not proving yourself. Of not wanting it badly enough.

By the time you were a teenager, you reasoned that those years where Santa didn’t visit were probably due to the volatile, strange relationship your parents had with each other and with money. Your dad had always brought home enough pay to afford the basics and then some, always offering the allure of a financial safety net for your mom, never having to worry about missing a payment on something or not being able to afford what the neighbors could afford. He was outraged when she took up part-time work, thundering about how it belittled him and isn’t what I make good enough for you?

Your mom made awful choices, often one after the other, but you knew she couldn’t have chosen to love your dad. Who on earth would choose to love someone with such a massive inferiority complex? Someone who needed to keep you under his thumb in case his ego needed a boost or his temper needed an outlet? Someone who kept you strung along just enough to make you see what things could be – dangling the carrot on a stick – just to yank it from you because you weren’t worthy of it yet.

It was your dad’s ego and need for validation that led him to cheat on your mom. That was your best guess, anyway. It’s not like the family sat down to talk about it ever. Everyone knew, but no one was allowed to speak on it. Unless of course it was your parents screaming at each other in the middle of the night, accusations and confessions flying.

One of the times your mom had gotten it the worst from your dad is when he’d discovered her fooling around with somebody at her part-time job. After he made sure her body wouldn’t ever move again without a reminder of him, he made her quit and sign over all her remaining pay to his private account. It was probably some sort of punishment for her hard earned money to go into his personal, private account. What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine.

It never stopped her from lashing out at him, though. She always finagled her way into an account or stealing a card before blowing a bunch of money on something insignificant just to spite him. You never understood why sometimes she’d cower from him and other times openly defy him. They’d hit each other and then sometimes he’d just hit her. He always hit Calum, though.

When your mom couldn’t disrupt that dynamic, she started leaving the house more often. If she couldn’t stop it, then she didn’t want to be around to see it. The anger you carry for that still bubbles up every now and then, often when it’s least convenient to address. You and Calum were never given the option of leaving.

You were both expected to fall in line with whatever whims were being had by whichever emotionally stunted adult was home at the time. You were both expected to tune into the mood of the household and adjust yourselves accordingly. 

It took a long time after your mom left for you to realize why your dad chose Calum as his main target: he was the next in line that posed an inevitable threat to his authority.

Calum had always leaned more towards the scrawny side, but a few growth spurts after age 12 had bulked him up and upped his height significantly. You can still vividly remember the first time it clicked for them both that Calum was finally a physical match for your dad. They were arguing about Calum’s grades, as if the horrible stress of your mom leaving on top of the already shitty home environment weren’t a clear source for the poor academic performance. 

When your dad shoved him, he shoved back. Hard. Hard enough that your dad stumbled backwards into the wall and cracked some of it with his shoulder. The tense silence that followed felt like it went on forever. You watched on in horror, anchored to the spot and shaking. It felt far-fetched and perfectly reasonable all at once when you briefly feared that your dad might kill him.

 Before he could say or do anything, Calum scurried off to his room and slammed the door shut. Your dad rounded on you and slapped you clear across the face for “just standing there watching it all.” For bearing witness to the shame of him being challenged and bested. You’d automatically apologized and ran to your room.

You didn’t have fun family holiday traditions like everyone else seemed to. You didn’t have fond memories of a cherished gift. Your parents didn’t have funny stories about the mayhem of beating out other parents to snag the hottest toy of the season for their kid. You didn’t have a favorite holiday movie. You didn’t have fun, quirky stockings or personalized ornaments or special recipes that were only brought out this time of year.

Your distaste for the holidays had grown into an outright dislike for them altogether. If it wasn’t the stress of your parents fighting or whether or not Santa would deem you a bad kid again this year or having to hear all your classmates buzzing with the excitement over break once school started back up, it was the glaring truth that you were different and had to hide because of it.

Everything was a lie. Everything was a carefully concocted and delivered story. To avoid prying questions. To ignore the hurt of what you lacked. To keep anyone from finding out about your home life and getting you and Calum separated.

You tried not to stew in it. You tried not to rain on everyone else’s parade. It wasn’t their fault you’d grown up like that, and it wasn’t your right to be angry with them because they hadn’t. Still, this was your first Christmas without Calum home. Thanksgiving had been more manageable since everyone treated it as a single day of celebration – a half week at most. But come December, it was just a month long barrage. Twenty five days straight of reminders that you were alone. You hated it.

You made sure to keep that to yourself, though. Joel had sheepishly kept the radio on a holiday station, mumbling something about how Sarah would always make him leave it on. You didn’t tease him over it, didn’t mention the obvious fact that he seemed to like the music, too, but wasn’t sure how to acknowledge it without getting grief for it. Tommy for sure would say something just to get a rise out of him. You wonder what they were like as kids at Christmastime.

You jostle in your seat as Joel takes a particularly sharp turn. The usual shopping center route he took as an office cut through was busier with cars and people with all the holidays looming. You cherish the extra 3 or 4 minutes of alone time this alternate route gives you.

It’s only a few days into the month when he strikes up a conversation about getting gifts early so he’s not scrambling at the last minute. He tells you all about how he should know better by now and how many years he spent rushing around at the last minute with Tommy sat up at the house while Sarah slept just so he could try to get his hands on what she’d asked Santa for. 

You think to yourself how you wish you knew what to get him for a gift. Not that you’d do it. You barely have any money, and you don’t even know what he’d like. Plus, it’d probably be rude or look weird to not also get Tommy something. At worst, you’d get Joel something you could actually afford, and it would just be a cheap gift no matter what. You’re also not well-versed in Christmas gift exchanges considering your upbringing. It’s probably best to just avoid it altogether at this point in your life.

“You know, you could use a vacation day if you wanted. Or even a half day if you don’t need the whole day.”

You pivot in your seat from where you’d been gazing out the window at all the random, tacky decorations that popped up seemingly overnight. Calum would’ve laughed at them with you if he were here. “What?”

“Yeah, you can use some time off. You’ve already earned some.”

You blink a few times and try to figure out what he means by bringing this up. Did he not need you as much? Were you too unproductive to keep around? Was he trying to let you down easy while he told you the job wasn’t yours anymore?

“I don’t want a day off.”

“Oh. Okay. It’s nothin–”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Huh?” He tilts his head to meet your eye. He looks just as confused as you feel.

“If I made it seem like I don’t want this job, I do. I really do. And-And I can work harder, too. I can take more hours. I can take on more responsibility.” It all comes spilling out of you in a frantic rush. Whatever he needed to hear so that you didn’t lose this job. So you didn’t lose Joel.

“Sweetie, I just meant  if you had Christmas shoppin’ or somethin’ like that. You could use a vacation day instead of fightin’ off the crowds on the weekends.”

Oh. Of course that’s what he meant. And of course it hadn’t occurred to you because you don’t have anyone to get gifts for. The lead brick of embarrassment knocks around your head and leaves little bruises of self-doubt at every point of contact. You could’ve just thought about it for two seconds instead of making a fool of yourself.

“You know,” he starts gently and sounds a lot like he’s choosing his words carefully. “You’re a hard worker. And a good person. And there’s nothin’ wrong with me recognizing that – or anybody else. Even you.”

Your throat feels tight and prickly, and your nose feels suspiciously like it wants to start dripping warm with sentiment. This is already embarrassing enough without you sniffling and getting all bleary eyed. You want to clam up and bury it all deep until you can act like a normal person again. But something about Joel’s earnestness and kindness pulls at the loose thread that’s keeping you from unraveling altogether.

“I thought you were firing me,” you blurt out.

Apparently this is outlandish enough that Joel has to pull over for a moment to digest it. “What in the world?! Why would I fire you?!” He doesn’t sound mad, just genuinely perplexed. “Look, if I’m givin’ you that impression, you gotta tell me because that is NOT what I wanna portray here.”

“I-It’s not you,” you assert. “I just–I get in my head sometimes.”

He softens at that and reaches out for your hand. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

You grab onto his hand but can’t meet his eye, choosing to look out the window again instead. “This job–you–This job means a lot to me, and I just get scared sometimes of losing something that makes me happy.”

You feel the dip of his weight bow the bench seat as he scoots across it to nestle closer to you. You practically melt on the spot when he wraps his free arm around you. “Hey, you ain’t losin’ this, okay? I don’t want you worryin’ about that.”

You shake your head side to side like you’re trying to dispel all the disorienting thoughts. “Sometimes I just feel like I don’t do enough, like I don’t—I dunno, like I have to keep showing that I’m useful or something. It’s like that guy who has to push the rock up the hill, and it just keeps rolling down.” You fix your eyes on a spot in the distance to keep yourself distracted enough to keep talking.  “I feel like it’s gonna crush me one of these days,” you confide in a strangled whisper.

You don’t protest when Joel wraps his other arm around you and pulls you snug against him. It’s an awkward sort of embrace in the confines of the truck, and your tired, pliant body isn’t helping things much. 

“Sweetheart, what’s goin’ on?” 

It’s not a demanding question at all, but it certainly feels that way with how trapped you are in your own secrets. Joel couldn’t possibly know what he’s asking you to divulge.

“It’s my dad,” you confess quietly. 

You feel Joel’s body stiffen against you. How much had he already pieced together? You couldn’t tell him like this. He didn’t deserve to have this shoved onto his plate. He’d just been so happy talking to you about all his good memories from this time of year, and you’d gone and ruined it like you always do. You backtrack a little. A half-truth. A half-lie. 

“Ever since Calum left, it’s just been harder, you know?”

His body relaxes slightly. “Your brother? Is that why you’ve been on edge? And your dad?”

You clock the relief in his voice. He must’ve been thinking it was something worse. He must’ve been too close to realizing the truth.

“I miss him,” you sniff. “I know him and my dad were never going to get along, but I just wish somehow he could’ve stayed.”

He holds you close, and you angle yourself to fit right into the crook of him. You’ll allow yourself this comfort, just this once. You know from now on you’re going to have to keep a tighter lock on things. This wasn’t anyone’s problem but your own.

“He didn’t make it home for Thanksgiving?”

You shake your head against his shoulder. “No. Probably for the best, though. I always just end up getting caught up in the middle of them.”

“That sounds really hard.” 

When you let out a shaky breath in reply, Joel rubs your back and shushes against your temple. “You been dealin’ with this by yourself?” He doesn’t wait for your response. He already knows. “You shoulda come to me, sweetheart. You could’ve, you know?”

“I know,” you sniff.

He pulls back just enough to see your face. 

“You come to me if you have somethin’ you wanna talk about, okay? No judgment here. Hell, I won’t even offer advice or say anything if you don’t want. I can just listen if that’s what you need.”

Your bottom lip quivers, and you tug it into your teeth to keep it still. You nod and drift into another hug from Joel.

He’d recognized the shift in you. Something had been even more off since Thanksgiving. You’d said it was a nice day, just a lowkey event. As always, there was the presence of something unspoken just in the periphery of the conversation, but Joel knew better than to ask or to push you for more information. He’d been worried about your notably quieter and somber mood, though. He found himself worrying about you a lot these days. He got the distinct feeling you needed something – someone, maybe – and it drove him crazy that he couldn’t seem to flush the answer out of the reeds.

And then finally, finally, you’d said something that made things clearer. Your brother up and leaving all those months ago was the missing piece. It made so much more sense now. Your dad’s prickly, on edge demeanor. His overbearing worrying about your comings and goings. Maybe the whole bank account thing was just him trying to hold onto the one kid he still had left at home. It wasn’t the healthiest approach, but Joel couldn’t really blame a parent for doing anything in their power to keep their kid in their life. The misdirected upset at you was still irksome, though. You didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of your dad’s unresolved issues about your brother leaving.

Joel painstakingly replayed the conversation over and over again in his head, trying to piece together all the crumbs of information you’d left here and there. 

You and your brother got along well enough that his absence weighed heavily on you.

He and your dad didn’t get along at all.

You were always caught in the middle of it.

Your brother left because he and your dad couldn’t work things out.

Did you blame yourself for not being able to keep their relationship intact? Did they still put you in the middle or make you choose sides? Were you still acting as referee to their disagreement?

As many questions as your admission had answered, many more took their place. 

“You okay with your bonus bein’ in cash, too?”

He always asked even though he knew the answer by this point. You wonder if he wanted you to say no and just get paid like everyone else did. “Oh, I didn’t know I was getting a bonus.”

“You’re an employee, aren’t ya? Employees get a holiday bonus.” He says it like it’s obvious, and for once you appreciate the finality of the conversation. You didn’t have to wrestle with yourself over whether or not you deserved it because Joel and Tommy were going to give it to you regardless, just like every other employee. 

“Thank you,” you say politely in a small voice.

He hums in reply and looks over at you. His jaw slides back and forth a few times in thought before his eyes are on the road again.

“You did good this mornin’.”

You snort and roll your eyes, face angled at him to emphasize your amusement. “I didn’t even do anything. Like, a few laps in a completely empty parking lot isn’t really anything to write home about.”

He smiles softly. “Progress is progress, ain’t it?” he contends. “One successful driving lesson under your belt is plenty enough to celebrate as far as I’m concerned.”

Your cheeks warm at his praise and insistence that something you did deserved to be acknowledged and commended. “I dunno, I think my instructor is a bit of a softie,” you tease. “Feel like I could’ve driven his truck straight into a ditch and he still would’ve found something nice to say.”

Joel chuckles and shakes his head. “Now I don’t know about that one, ya little weasel.”

“Weasel?!” you laugh. “Okay, that’s a new one.”

He laughs louder now and fake pinches your side. “Well it’s the first time you’ve suggested driving my truck into a ditch and gettin’ away with it. Had to bring out the big guns on that one.”

You giggle and jerk out of his reach when he goes to fake pinch you again. “Surprised you didn’t put some weird southern spin on it like usual. ‘Cheesy wheezy weasel goober doober’ or some shit,” you laugh. “Constantly making up words. Real country bumpkin shit, Joel.”

He breathes out a laugh and rolls his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“I dunno, Goober Doober. What am I gonna do with you?”

“If I’m Goober Doober, you’re Plucky Duck,” he challenges.

You both burst into a fit of cackles at the ridiculous nickname threats. The laughter dies down eventually, and the usually unbearable lilt of Judy Garland crooning from now on, our troubles will be miles away in the background feels almost cozy in the confines of the truck.

For once, when she serenades with through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow, you aren’t thinking about your broken family, your broken home, and all the broken, splintered things that could’ve been. You’re thinking about Joel and all the overwhelming urges to be closer to him and keep him with you as long as possible.

The pull of whatever this is that you share is undeniable. Your fingers reach out to him almost without your permission, body reacting and acting in spite of your brain trying to keep things rooted in professional, neutral territory. Your retaliatory pinch ends up as more of a greedy grab to his soft middle.

“Goob,” you huff.

“Pluck,” he shoots back as he grabs your hand.

You pull it back slowly and place both hands in your lap, smiling like an idiot still. Your brain has entered the picture again and is furious with your autopilot heart for constantly pushing the boundaries. The click of Joel’s blinker and the subsequent honk from another car wrench you from your self-chiding.

He jerks the truck back into the lane before laying on his horn and yelling, “Jackass!”

Your hand grips your chest from where it flew up in fright from the sudden maneuver. “Jesus christ! Where’d that guy come from!?”

“Was speedin’ over that hill back there. Can’t see what’s past it until you’re already on top of it. S’why the speed limit changes about four times on this stupid road,” he grumbles. “Hate takin’ it because of that very reason. Fuckin’ hardware store is over this way, though.”

“Fuck I thought he was gonna hit us!”

“Just about did. Fuckin’ idiot drivers. Honked at me like it’s my fault he ain’t followin’ the signs,” he huffs. He glances over at you, arm still clutched across your chest. “You okay?”

You nod and adjust in your seat. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay. Just scared me a little. Are you okay?”

“I’m good, sweetie.”

It’s a quieter drive to the hardware store where Joel checks on you one more time before leaving the engine running for you while he pops inside for a minute. “Just gotta grab another set of these brackets real quick.”

You sit patiently and listen to the not-so-grating-anymore Christmas music that plays in a low hum on the radio. A lively rendition of Jingle Bells spurs a completely forgotten memory of the year Calum sang the Batman parody version of it over and over again until you were both just about peeing your pants trying to keep your laughter down. You grin and mumble-sing what you can until it all comes back to you.

Jingle bells Batman smells Robin laid an egg The Batmobile lost a wheel And The Joker got away

You giggle and scoot closer to the driver’s side to turn the radio up more. Maybe you did have a happy holiday memory after all.

The nostalgia is cut short when the driver’s door flies open to reveal a surly looking man shooting daggers at you. You scream and reach to shut the door, but he hops onto the truck step and blocks you. He crowds into the frame of the door, not quite entering the truck, but effectively blocking a main exit. You start to scramble for the passenger side but think Joel’s truck getting stolen would be worse than you getting hurt by some psycho. You inch backwards and put your hands up in a placating show of submission.

“Hey, you fuckin’ bitch! You almost made us wreck back there!” he shouts. It’s so much louder in the cabin of the truck.

You shake your head, eyes bugging out wildly at the baffling charge.

“Back on Beaufort? Just over the hill? You’re really gonna act like you didn’t almost make me hit you when you came into my lane?!” he seethes.

It dawns on you that this is the driver of the car that had come hurtling over the hill and honked at Joel a few minutes ago. You hadn’t even noticed him going this same direction. Had he followed you? Obviously not too closely otherwise he would’ve seen that it was Joel who’d gotten out of the driver’s side. Unsure of what to do, you go with your tried and true default: apologize even though you hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I-I’m sorry,” you warble.

“Sorry? Oh, you’re SORRY? Well I guess that fixes everything, huh?” he barks. “Sorry ain’t gonna fix all of us getting pancaked in a pileup just because some girl thinks she can run around in a big pick up truck and keep up with the guys. You need to learn to stay in your fuckin’ lane – literally and figuratively!”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a quieter voice.

He leans into the truck and demands to see your ID card and insurance so he can “make a report.” You don’t even know what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.

“Please, I’m really sorry!”

He yells again, and you flinch. Had this been 5 seconds or 5 minutes? It was all a blur. The adrenaline is coursing through you and making it hard to hear over the pounding in your ears. He looks at you expectantly. He must’ve asked a question and you missed it. You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. He laughs, completely devoid of amusement, and shoves a pointed finger in your face. You don’t even hear what he’s screaming at you. You can just make out the furious twitch and pull of his expression, spit flying as he berates you.

And then, he’s gone. Like a giant cane pulling an act off stage, he launches backwards and out of the truck. You shrink onto the floor of the passenger seat and huddle down. The shrill whistle in your ear eases up, and you hear Joel shouting something. There’s someone else shouting, too, but it sounds pained and pitched. Surely that wasn’t the same man who’d just been in the doorframe screaming at you. It sounded so distressed. The loud roar of an engine and then tires peeling against concrete erupt from somewhere behind the truck. It’s quieter again.

The passenger door swings open to reveal a panting, panicked Joel. His eyes lock on yours, and you’re no sooner scrambling up to grab hold of him with your entire body. His arms wrap tight around you as you hitch yourself to him, clawing and hooking your limbs around his shoulders and hips.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, I’m right here,” he says over and over. You slump into him, your body melding against his however gravity sees fit, and breathe in the grounding scent of him. His arm is braced against your back and locking you against him. He shuffles forward to rest you on the edge of the seat so he can look you over for any signs of injury. “Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head side to side, fat tears spilling over with the movement, and pull a shuddering inhale that catches a few times before it takes. “No, h-he was just p-pointing in my face and yell-yelling.” 

“Fuckin’ monster,” he hisses under his breath. 

A few beats pass as you steady yourself. The abrupt hostility of it was most upsetting, and you tell yourself over and over again in your head that the threat has passed. Joel switches between looking you over for injuries and pulling you against him and rubbing your back.

“And to a fuckin’ woman, too. Goddamn coward ain’t no man.”

Joel’s unwavering, southern gentleman trope come to life commentary makes you giggle despite the circumstances. It catches him off guard as much as it does you. You sniff and brush your arm across your eyes. “Just, like… s-something about you being equally offended that he did th-that but also that he d-did it to a wom-woman is funny to me. S-Sorry.”

Your lopsided smile makes the drying tracks of your tears crinkle on your skin. Joel’s head inches back a little, bewildered and amused at the sharp turn in mood, and smiles a laugh. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m-I’m okay, I think. Just shook me up a little,” you say in a firmer tone.

He sizes you up for a moment and nods, satisfied with whatever clarifying bit of information he’d pulled from your demeanor. “I mean, it is worse that he’s a man doin’ that to a lady,” he emphasizes as though you weren’t entirely understanding where he was coming from.

You close your eyes and grin. “Joel, you’re just, like, the epitome of southern gentleman no matter what. It just struck me as funny. That’s all I meant.”

“I don’t think women are inferior,” he insists with a pleading look in his eye.

“No, I know that. Look, you– this conversation is going sideways. I know you don’t. I-I like how you are with m–how you are with women,” you quickly correct.

He smiles tenderly at the quick switch, obviously catching your original, unfiltered thought. “Just think some things should be taken care of, is all. Nothin’ manly about treatin’ a lady bad. Drives me up a fuckin’ wall.”

You sniff and hug yourself a little closer as the adrenaline starts to fade. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to th—”

“I know. I want to,” you interject. “So, thank you.”

He sighs and rubs a few circles on your knee where it’s bent against the edge of the seat. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Anytime. M’just sorry it happened at all.”

“Not your fault.” You shrug and poke at the side of his thigh as he drifts closer to you again. “Besides, you showed up in time. You came to my rescue, right?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He peers off at nothing in particular in the distance before fixing you with an earnest look. “You know if you needed somebody to show up for you, I’d show up for you. Right?”

You swallow down the wave of warmth budding from your chest and nod. “Yes.”

“Good. ‘Cause I need to know you understand that.”

“I do.”

He considers you again like he’s making sure you’re not just saying all this to appease him. He looks over his shoulder and leans back. “Alright, you ready to get outta here?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

He makes sure you’re situated in your seat and shuts the door for you before climbing into the driver side and pulling out of the lot. 

It made him sick to his stomach every time he thought about how frightened you’d been. You were jumpy in the truck for a few days after but had settled down since. He hated to think what could’ve happened to you if he hadn’t been walking out at that moment. It makes his chest tight to imagine if he’d decided to just walk around the store for a minute to look for something else rather than just going in to pick up what he needed and heading right back out like he had.

He’s sure it was driving you crazy to have him constantly checking in on you, but he couldn’t help it. He had to know you were alright. He hadn’t planned on telling you that he’d always show up for you, but it was so compelling in the moment he couldn’t stop himself. You looked like you believed him. God, he needed you to believe him. To understand how fucking deep this went because he was awash in all of it without any understanding of how it’d happened so fast. 

He hadn’t known you long enough to justify this sense of duty and devotion he had for you. This innate need to protect and care for you. You were plenty grown enough to take care of yourself, and you didn’t need some old man inserting himself into your life. But he just couldn’t stop.

At first he told himself he was simply showing you gratitude for helping out in the work bind Jenn had left Miller Contracting in. But you’d been around for a few months now, and his sustained level of interest and appreciation felt less and less appropriate for somebody just showing thanks to a new employee who’d stepped up when the company needed it.

He was wrestling with himself even now as his hand hovered over the send button. He shouldn’t be texting you like this. He shouldn’t be pushing for more than what was necessary for work. Even Tommy had picked up on it and given him a little talk about “just being careful with it” as if Joel was some idiot teenager who let his dick do all the thinking. 

Joel hated it even more because Tommy was justified with everything he’d said. How you were younger – a lot younger than Joel. How things were weird because he was the boss and you were under him. How even if everything was above board and two consenting adults were venturing into something romantic, there was still the optics of “fucking the secretary.” Joel had winced when Tommy put it in those terms, but he understood why he’d phrased it so harshly.

There were so many things that screamed this isn’t smart, but Joel couldn’t ever find anything to convince himself to turn away from you. It felt like he was hurtling towards the sun and accepting the burn if it meant a moment of warmth. 

He sighs and hits send. Your text bubble pops up almost immediately.

Joel: What would it take to convince you to help me wrap these Christmas presents?

You: idk how big are the gifts

Joel: Normal sized? I dunno. There’s hot chocolate in it for you.

You: do you even have hot chocolate lol

Joel: I could if that’s what it would take to convince you.

You: haha you’re actually so ridiculous You: be there in a min

And there it was. The reason he couldn’t stop himself. You gravitated to him, too. He knew you felt it, too. He didn’t know if you felt it as deeply as he did, but there was no denying it existed for both sides. And as much as you liked to poke fun at his traditional southern gentleman tendencies, you sure seemed okay with being looked after that way.

He hoped you understood where it came from. It wasn’t ever about sticking to gender norms or playing a part. It was just expressing an intention of care and devotion to someone that deserved it, to honor a beautiful, strong woman with the sort of reverence she inherently deserved.

At least, that’s how he’d been raised. It was hard to shake when it felt so good to take care of somebody, to offer protection and something solid and strong to someone who maybe wanted to lay their defenses down for a little while. To be the safe space for someone to not have to keep those walls up all the time. And in return let him be soft and attentive and competent and strong.

It felt good to be someone a woman could trust, especially in a world as fucked as this one. And when it was more than just being friends, it felt special to be that sort of man for a woman in all those ways, too.

He waits by the window for you like some sort of creep, unable to miss out on the way you glide up to his house on that old bike of yours. He should really get you a new one. He wonders how much of a fuss you’d make over it before just accepting the gift. He meets you at the door and doesn’t even chastise himself over appearing too eager to see you again after wishing you a goodbye and a good weekend not even 20 hours ago.

“Hey, Goob,” you greet with a wry smile.

“Pluck,” he greets back with matched energy.

His heart beats faster and swells with joy when you let yourself in. You felt comfortable here. You felt comfortable with him. An odd sense of pride takes root in him knowing you feel safe with him and recognize even in a subconscious way that you belong here with him. Together.

He grips his thigh from the inside of his jean pocket in an effort to keep his mind from wandering into such ridiculous avenues. He had no business with those sorts of possessive feelings on top of everything else he felt for you. You said something to him, but he had to ask you to repeat it because he was so fucking distracted.

“I said, were you just planning on kicking back and watching TV while I did all the wrapping?”

You point to the TV playing some random, old Christmas movie he can’t even remember the name of. “Oh, no. Just had that on. Was too quiet around here, you know? Good to have some noise.”

Why was he so flustered today? Where had his cool, collected back and forth with you gone? It was like this attraction to you was making his brain rot with it the longer he held it in.

You seem almost flattered that you being here was helping it not be so quiet, like you felt honored in some strange way that you were being asked to be present and just exist as yourself in a space. That impression is further enforced when he asks about what sort of movies or shows you’d like to watch instead.

“Oh, I don’t really watch too much stuff, honestly.” You lift and sag your shoulders so loosely it’s obvious you’re trying to be flippant about it. “My dad sort of prefers the quiet. Work gets him stressed or whatever. Just likes things to be quiet unless he’s got something on.”

“You don’t watch anything together? Y’all don’t like the same stuff?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess we just like different stuff.” It’s a stiff delivery, and you busy yourself with searching for the tape and scissors in the box of wrapping supplies Joel had brought down. He hadn’t even really intended for you to wrap anything. He would’ve been happy to just sit on the couch together and shoot the shit over some schmaltzy Christmas classic in the background. You seemed like you invited the distraction of it, though – something to blame for your diverted attention away from the curious things you were sharing about your homelife.

“Well, d’ya think you’d like watchin’ more movies? Or TV or whatever?”

He can’t ask the things he really wants to, like why on earth you aren’t allowed to watch the TV in your own damn house or why you have to exist in silence just because your dad calls for it. If he ever tried to pull that with Sarah, she’d laugh in his face and tell him to get a grip.

“I dunno. Maybe. Probably.” You sit for a moment and pick at the ribbons. “Yeah. I think it could be nice.”

He wants things to be nice for you, and he wants to be the one to make them happen. It should be done right. You deserve that much. He can do things right for you. He can do right by you.

Christmas morning is just like any other morning, except it’s a weekday and you don’t get to see Joel. Not a great start. Then of course your dad had sprung the news on you yesterday that Denise and her two young kids were going to be coming over, so the house needed to be “presentable.” He’d been spending more and more time with them, and you could only imagine the sort of lines he was feeding her. It wouldn’t be any use trying to warn her about his true colors, though. She was decidedly frosty towards you for some reason. You didn’t much care to have a relationship with her or her kids, anyway.

Your dad is awake and dressed in a nice sweater, mulling around the kitchen and straightening things that didn’t need it. “You look nice,” you offer up in a show of keeping the peace for the day.

His eyes glide over to you and give you a once over. “Wish I could say the same. Can’t you put something else on?” His nose wrinkles at your sweats and tshirt.

“I’m still in pajamas, dad. I’m gonna change,” you explain.

He snorts and goes back to his pointless tidying. “Maybe it should be a bit of a wakeup call that I can’t tell the difference between your pajamas and your regular clothes.”

You don’t rise to the bait. “Maybe.”

You just shrug your shoulders and mosey towards the fridge to look for something to nibble on before you have to fake your way through the day. You eye your dad’s perfunctory inspection and correction of your work from yesterday and bite back the nasty comment you wish you were brave enough to make. He’d of course been missing the entire afternoon as you swept and scrubbed and cleaned. All to put on some show for his girlfriend and her kids.

Deciding it might be best to know what the schedule was for the day so you could play your part, you ask if there’s any sort of itinerary. He must have some nervous energy he’s looking for an excuse to take out on you because he scoffs and throws a demeaning scowl in your direction.  “What do you think they’re coming over to do? What do people do on Christmas, genius?”

You once again swallow down the urge to scream in his face. How were you supposed to know what people were “supposed to do” on Christmas when you’d never had a “normal” one in your entire life? Keeping your calm as you chew a small bite of food, you finish and deliver a neutral response. “Unwrap gifts? Eat something?”

“Always knew you were brilliant,” he snorts sarcastically. It’s derisive and upsetting – just as he intended.

You wander into the living room and stop in your tracks when you see the shiny pile of presents under the sparsely decorated tree. You scold yourself for the flash of hope that tears through you, thinking and wishing that maybe there was something under there for you. But you hadn’t gotten your dad anything. What if he’d gotten you something, but you didn’t get him anything? He’d be upset, wouldn’t he? That would be selfish. Even though you weren’t supposed to exchange gifts. That just wasn’t something your family did.

“Don’t touch them,” he snips from behind you. You jump, unaware that he’d followed you. “Don’t want you getting crumbs and fingerprints all over them.”

The subtext there was of course that these gifts were not intended for you. Your heart sinks, and you want to admonish yourself for even being stupid enough to hope for a moment that anything your dad put effort into would ever be for you.

Something spiteful and angry brews in your stomach. All those sparkling, shiny gifts for two kids that weren’t even his. Hell, they weren’t even his step-children. You and Calum had never had a Christmas that looked like this. Your bitterness bubbles over when you consider that your dad never had a reason to lovebomb you both when you were already stuck with him anyway.

“Lots of presents for two kids,” you remark before you can talk yourself out of it. It’s a mistake to voice anything akin to negativity, though. You should know better by now, but the hurt of having to watch two other children live out the sort of childhood you’d never had was just too much.

“They’re good kids,” he snipes back pointedly. “And you better not say a fucking thing, either. I already told Denise we don’t exchange gifts like that, so nobody is gonna listen to your little pity party over no gifts. Got a damn roof over your head for free and you still find something to bitch about.”

“I wasn’t complaining! I was just saying it looked like a lot!”

“You need to quit running that mouth of yours, little girl,” he warns.

“Dad, I’m trying to say that if you got them more than Denise got them, it might make her feel bad,” you lie and clarify in an attempt to smooth things over.

He fixes you with a nasty smile and gestures to the gifts. “Guess what, genius? They’re from me AND Denise. Christ, you’re a real fuckin’ piece of work, you know that?”

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment. There’s no way you would’ve known that, but you still somehow feel stupid anyway. The embarrassment quickly bleeds into resentment. “So, what? I’m supposed to sit here and watch two kids I don’t even know open gifts from people that aren’t me? That’s so weird, dad. Come on,” you huff. 

You know this surge of indignation is only going to land you in hot water, but you can’t seem to stop your mouth from running a mile a minute. Perhaps you were bolstered by the fact that somewhere in your subconscious you knew he wouldn’t do anything - not today, at least - with their impending arrival. A wrecked house and a wounded daughter weren’t exactly what you wanted when you were trying to sell a fairytale to some woman.

“They’re going to be here within the hour. You have 20 minutes to get the fuck out of the house and stay gone until I tell you that you can come home. Do you understand?”

“What?! It’s Christmas! Everywhere is closed! Where am I supposed to go for half the day?!” you stammer

“That’s for you to figure out.”

“I’ll stay in my room, okay? I’ll shut the door, and they won’t even know that I’m—”

“No. You should’ve thought about that before being disrespectful and showing how fucking selfish you really are. You were too busy running your mouth instead of rubbing two brain cells you’ve got left in that heard of yours together to form a singular, smart choice. All I know is that I’m not gonna have you ruining this just like you ruin everything else. Get your shit and get out.”

He turns on his heel and stomps back to the kitchen. You scramble to your room to collect your wallet, your phones, your keys, a hoodie…. You grab whatever you think you might need that doesn’t weigh your backpack down too much.

You change into whatever clean pair of jeans and t-shirt you can scrounge up. You’re out the back door before your dad decides you shouldn’t come back until tomorrow or some other harsher punishment. 

You don’t know where to go except for the office, and the entire bike ride there gives your mind nothing but time to whip itself into even more of a frenzy. Why couldn’t you just shut up this morning? Why did you let yourself be so surprised over his shitty attitude and hurtful words? Why hadn’t you just played along and kept the peace?

Your thoughts are a full-blown whirlwind by the time you get to the office. You punch in the wrong code at first and set off the alarm because of course you do. A new wave of panic slams into you when you remember that the system sends alerts to Joel’s phone and will call him to verify a false alarm. You get it together long enough to push in the right passcode, but you aren’t sure if the alert has already gone to Joel’s phone. You scurry inside and fish your work phone from your bag.

You: hey if you get an alert about the security system at the office it’s just me 🤦‍♀️ You: punched in the wrong code like an idiot You: merry xmas 😬

Your stomach drops when his contact picture takes up the whole screen.

“Hi, I’m sorry,” you groan.

“The hell are you doin’ up at the office? How the hell’d you even get there?” He sounds concerned and befuddled at the odd situation.

Your brain is fried from everything that’s already transpired thus far today, and you contrive some story about forgetting a gift at the office and trying to sneak out of the house and grab it real quick before anybody noticed you were missing.

“You biked all the way up there?” he sputters. “You shoulda called me, sweetheart. I woulda drove you!”

“Joel, it’s Christmas. I’m sure you’ve got stuff going on with your family just like I do with mine,” you lie. 

“Not until later, but that don’t matter anyway. What’re you doin’ takin’ your bike that far? That’s not safe.” He sounds like he’s actually upset with you for once, and you can’t take it. Not today.

“Look, I’m extra careful, okay? Besides, I’m just popping in to get the gift and heading back out. It’s a quick trip.”

You hear keys jangling and the scoot of something against hardwood over the receiver. “You stay put. I’m comin’ to get you.”

“Nope, already on my way back out,” you lie again. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. I promise I’ll call you the next time, alright?” He doesn’t respond, and bile starts to lick up your throat. “Joel, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you. I’m just ignorin’ that ridiculous statement like I’m gonna let you bike all the way back home.”

“Joel, I’m in a rush! I gotta get this gift back home, alright? I’ve already got everything packed up and am heading out now. I appreciate the offer and everything, but I gotta go,” you assert in as firm a voice as you can manage. Your hands are shaking with the effort of keeping your nerves in check. 

He grumbles something that doesn’t sound much like he approves before speaking clearly again. “Fine. You better text me when you get home safely, you hear me? I mean it. The second you get home.”

You hold back a sigh of relief and promise to text him when you get home. You practically crumple to the floor when the call ends, anxiety overwrought and mind going so fast it might as well be empty. You estimate how long it would take to bike home and text Joel once the window closes.

You: made it home You: sorry again about the alarm

Joel: It’s fine. Glad you made it home safely. Please don’t ever do that again! Call me next time! 

You: ok ok I won’t! 😳

Joel: Good. See you in a couple of days.  Joel: Merry Christmas, Pluck. Joel: 💚❤️

You: happy xmas Goob ❤️

Your limbs feel like they’re strapped to concrete blocks as you plod towards the back of the building to Joel’s office. His jacket hangs from the hook just inside the doorway. You pull it down and take it with you as you cuddle up in one of his plushier chairs. You bury your face in the smell of him until you’re able to drift off and forget about your life for a little while.

Sleep had been elusive over the past couple of nights, most hours spent tossing and turning with the events of Christmas playing on loop in your head. It was the cherry on top of the shit sundae to come home later that evening and learn that your dad had proposed to Denise with a big, flashy ring. Just another way of making it clear that you weren’t worthy of his resources and attention and that he was steadily building a new life. A life without you. A life that left you behind, just like everyone else always did. 

You push away the nagging thought that money from your account was put towards the ring as you sit waiting for Joel to pick you up. You look awful, no doubt about it. He wouldn’t say anything, but you were sure he’d notice.

You’d never felt like it was work to be around Joel, but keeping all of these disruptive changes to yourself felt like a unique sort of agony. He grew more attuned to your moods and feelings the more time you spent together, and, while that had once felt like a breath of fresh air to not have to explain every single little thing to someone for once, it now feels like a cloud over your head that you have to duck to avoid.

His truck rumbles up the driveway and comes to a stop. He’s out the door and opening yours before you make it down the front steps. You misjudge his body language and go in for a hug. It’s clear you’d misread it with all your inner thoughts flying every which way when he lets out a surprised little exhale. He quickly recovers, though, and wraps his arms around you with a quick, smoothing pass of his palm against your back. It’s like your subconscious needed this, needed the closeness and stability of him, and puppetted you into his broad, solid frame.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he hums.

“Morning.” You step back and rub a nervous hand along the nape of your neck and climb into the truck. 

His mood feels buoyant and light, like the interior of the truck is five times bigger just from trying to contain such a vibrant air in such a small space. You latch onto it and siphon as much as you can into your own mood.

“So, did ya get anything good?” he asks, eyes glittery with something eager.

“Oh, mostly gift cards,” you bluff. “I’m sort of hard to buy for I guess.”

His eyes slide over to you in a dubious slant, but he doesn’t comment. “Hm, so whatcha gonna get yourself?”

You weren’t expecting the question, and it makes you hesitate. “Oh. Um. Not sure yet.”

“Hm.”

“Um, did you get anything good?”

“S’gonna sound cheesy, but the best thing I got was just gettin’ to spend some down time with family. Got to see Sarah and Ben for a little bit longer than I expected, so that was real nice.”

You’re aware of your rapid, unnatural blinking, but your brain feels like it’s short circuited a bit. You aren’t sure how much more you can handle talking about family right now, especially if it was the warm and fuzzy kind of bond.

“That’s cool,” you offer up weakly.

Joel’s face flickers confusion, but again he doesn’t remark on your reserved conversation. “So, what did ya have to bike back with anyway?”

“What?”

“The gift? You went up to the office to get a gift, but you never said what it was. I was hopin’ it wasn’t too big for you to lug back since, you know, somebody wouldn’t let me drive them home.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. The fake gift for your dad. The dregs of your mental fluidity and deftness weren’t producing a convincing answer like they so often did when you found yourself in need of some believable excuse or story.

“Book,” you blurt out.

“A book?”

“No. Um. A few books. A series,” you stutter.

You suddenly feel wide awake now and on edge at the flimsy alibi that just tumbled from your mouth. Even a series of books could’ve been hidden at your own house. There’s no reason to have them stored at the office. You’ll just have to say you forgot it.

Wait, isn’t that what you’d already told him? You’d told him something already when he spoke with you on the phone that day. Had you said you were storing it there on purpose and had just forgotten it? What lie had you already fed him?

Joel sits in a contemplative silence as he drives you to the office. “What’s the series called?”

It’s an unassuming question, but you feel the probing connotation beneath it. He was fishing for something. He was suspicious. You weren’t lying well enough.

“Um, The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly.”

You don’t know why your brain went with a Western that you vaguely remember watching as a young kid, but now you’re stuck with it.

His lips purse, and he clicks his tongue softly as he turns into the parking lot. “Never knew they were books.”

“Oh, yeah. The movies are from the books. John Wayne was a huge fan of them. I’m pretty sure that’s why he got involved with the movies. Turned out to be a pretty good move, I think. Launched him into fame for sure. Staple cowboy from then on.”

“Well aren’t you just a trivia trove,” he chuckles.

You shrug and force a smile. Your heart stops pounding so hard when it seems like he’s moving away from the topic. You can’t believe you managed to remember so many details about the series. Conversation shifts into easy small talk as you both head inside. You just about descend into a panic again when Joel asks you to step into his office for a minute. Had you left his jacket out? Had you not put the furniture back the right way? You’d been so careful when you were leaving to make sure nothing was out of place. 

“Is everything okay? Did I do some–”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the shiny blue bike propped against Joel’s desk. He’s beaming and holding his arms out like he’s presenting a prize on a gameshow. He adds a little tah-dah! for good measure.

“What is that?”

“Merry Christmas.” His smile is impossibly wider. “It’s a few days late, but, yeah. Little Miss I’m Too Hard To Shop For. Pppfffftttt. Think I did pretty good, huh?”

Your mouth doesn’t work. Your tongue isn’t cooperating. Your lungs are taut and fixed.

“Are you serious? This is–Is this for me?” you breathe.

“Yep,” he replies plainly with an emphasized pop on the P. “D’ya like it?”

You inch towards it and don’t even want to mess it up by touching it. “This is too mu–”

“We ain’t doin’ all that, so you can cut that short,” he interrupts.

You’re shaking your head when he grabs something from his desk. “Sorry it’s not wrapped.”

Your eyes bug out at the small box of bluetooth headphones he handed you.

“Sarah said it should connect with the work phone, and once we get some apps on there you can use my password. I don’t got all of ‘em, but I think there’s a pretty good selection.”

“What?” you ask a little breathlessly.

“Streaming apps or whatever. You know, movies. You said you wanna watch more movies, so you can just pop the headphones on and watch it from the phone this way. Won’t be too loud and all that for your house. Figure between the two of us we can figure out how to get all of it set up.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet before leaning against the desk. Your mouth feels like you’ve been chewing sandpaper. “But… I.. didn’t get you anything?”

“So?”

“I didn’t get you anything. And-And you got me something, though.”

“Yeah, I got you somethin’ because I wanted to. Don’t need anything in return. And I’m the boss, so I’m callin’ it boss privilege that you can’t feel bad about it. It’s against the rules.” He folds his arms across his chest and grins at you, all boyish and clearly pleased with himself.

You’re still shaking your head when he stands upright again and pokes at your side. “C’mon. Let’s see you take a spin on this thing before everybody else gets here. I’ll load it up in the truck after so we can get it home today.”

You’re stunned into silence at his persistence that you enjoy this – just let it feel good for once. He walks the bike out of the office and calls over his shoulder to you. “Give you five bucks if you can pop a wheelie on this thing!”

His goofy challenge spurs a laugh to bubble out of you. You feel lighter, like each breathy laugh had expelled part of the weight you’d been shouldering lately. You jog to catch up with him. “Make it ten and you’ve got a deal,” you bargain.

He smiles wide at you and agrees.

“Are you sure you can’t walk in the sparkly ones?” Kenzie asks for the fifth time.

“I dunno, Kenzie. Do you want to deal with me spraining my ankle or falling on my ass halfway through this thing?” you lob back at her pointedly. “Besides, the tights have rhinestones all over them. That’s plenty of sparkles.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Fine. Just saying they would be a lot cuter.”

You’re well aware that the almost flat “heel” of hers you’d decided on wasn’t the most sexy pair of shoes to go with the staticky, clingy dress you’d picked from her closet, but you didn’t want to spend your entire New Year’s Eve worrying about looking like a newborn giraffe every time you had to walk. Then again, this event was sure to have plenty of stumbling drunk people, so maybe if you did wobble here and there you’d fit in just fine.

“What was the theme again?”

“I think Monte Carlo or Casino Royale or something. I dunno. It’s not even real gambling since that’s illegal in Texas or whatever, so it’s just like you can earn chips to put towards a raffle or something. I have no idea. I just know we’re gonna be with the Double Phoenix setup most of the night,” she explains. 

She applied a heavy swipe of glittery shadow to her lids and leaned back to assess her work. Seeming pleased with it, she started on the other.

“I’m not even planning on drinking to be honest since this is sorta like a work thing. I mean, I’m not, like, technically with the company or this account, but I could be. It’s sort of weird with the whole internship thing. I think it’s like a test or something, so we gotta make sure we’re paying attention.”

“And Double Phoenix is the name of the company?” you clarify.

You wanted to get this right for her. It wasn’t often that you were invited out for things like this. Turns out your more sober tendencies were perfect for something like this since Kenzie was approaching it as a networking opportunity rather than a wild night of partying on somebody else’s dime.

“I don’t know what the parent company is called, but the vodka is called Double Phoenix. I guess after Logan and Charlie – that’s who we’re gonna be with most of the night. It’s their first alcohol brand or whatever. Just coasting off the success of Trial By Fire to be honest, but don’t tell them I said that.”

You don’t even know enough about Trial By Fire – the dating game reality show Logan and Charlie had been on that saw them rise to fame quickly as fan favorite “loveable bad boys” – to even say anything about it, but, regardless, you assure Kenzie that you won’t tell them all the disparaging remarks she’s made about them. You busy yourself with putting your hair back in a few glittery clips while she finishes up her makeup. You opted for as little as possible so you wouldn’t accidentally rub your eyes or lips and smudge all of her hard work.

You mess around with your hair for a little bit until you get the half up half down look presentable enough. You turn your head to catch the light on the sparkly claw clip Kenzie insisted you had to wear. The little dangly fringe pieces glittered in the light whenever you moved your head, much like the little crystal dangly bow earrings she’d shoved into your ears. “It ties together with the bow shoes you picked,” she’d said. You inspect the black velvet slingback pumps and their neat little bow on the back of your heel.

You take the opportunity to assess the entire look in the full length mirror when Kenzie wanders into her bathroom for god knows what. She was smaller than you, but the black cinched dress had a little bit of give. 

“Is there, like, a fancy cardigan or something that goes with this?” you ask. “I feel like I’m gonna get cold.”

Based on Kenzie’s reaction, you would’ve thought you’d just asked her to name every single pope in chronological order while jump roping to the beat of deli meat going through a slicer. Her mouth is hanging open in what you think is disgust but might also be a heavy dose of disbelief.

“A cardigan?” she chokes.

“Can you not?” you half-heartedly snip. “It’s not outrageous to just wanna be warm, Kenzie.”

She sighs and shakes her head, hands raised to the side like she’s doing a quick meditation for the distress you’d put her in.

“Babe. Babe,” she starts. She takes a deep breath and looks at you as if she’s trying to reason with some wild animal who’s stumbled upon her picnic in the woods.

“What keeps us warm are the thoughts of how bomb we’re gonna look in the pics, okay?” she says slowly and clearly like she’s explaining a difficult math problem. “No cardigans. This isn’t study hall, babes. We’re gonna work with nothing but these cute as hell ‘fits, okay?”

“Oh my god,” you grumble under your breath. It was bad enough this dress didn’t have pockets, which meant you had to carry a tiny purse (called a clutch for some reason), but now you were gonna be cold, too.

“It’s one night of sacrifice for an eternity of hot pics, okay? When you’re, like, 87 you’ll be able to look back and say ‘thank you, god, for giving me a friend like Kenzie who didn’t let me ruin my Hot Girl Outfit with a librarian’s jacket’,” she proclaims like she’s the Shaman of Thirst Traps.

You snort and roll your eyes but can’t hide the emerging grin on your face. “Yeah yeah. Fine. You’re the expert.”

She claps her hands together victoriously and lets out a dramatic exhale. “Ugh, yes. Finally, you get it. Let me be your guide, okay? Besides, I bet you won’t be complaining when you send Joel a little pic and get his reaction.”

“Um, no?” you sputter. “I’m not sending Joel of picture of myself in all this. He’s gonna know it’s all borrowed, anyway. I would never have the nerve to buy or wear something like this on my own.”

“Um, yes?” she argues back. “Ain’t nothing borrowed about you in that outfit, okay? It’s giving very much ‘I own this’ energy, okay?”

Your chest feels warm and light at the genuine compliments, and you can’t help but agree with her a little. You do feel pretty cute even though you’re not really used to dressing up and going out like this. It felt nice to do nothing but primp and preen yourself for the past couple of hours.

Even Kenzie had an air of excitement about it since this was her first time venturing into a dressy work event. You’d seen plenty of pictures of her “in her heyday” with strappy, tight dresses that showed every bit of glistening skin that was legal to have on display. She looked incredible in all of them, of course, but it wasn’t exactly what came to mind when you thought about career networking.

“You picked really nice outfits.” You shoot her a warm smile that grows wider when she returns the gesture.

“Okay, I was totally freaking out about it, too. Like, obviously I am gonna look good no matter what, but I was so worried that I was gonna end up looking like an Amish lady or something,” she laments.

You can’t help the abrupt guffaw that fills the entire room. “You’re literally wearing a brown sequin minidress with poofy sleeves, Kenzie. I don’t really know how you could be worried about looking Amish in that.”

“First of all, it’s chocolate burgundy. Secondly, they’re ostrich feathers,” she corrects with pretend insolence. “And last of all, I didn’t even have to search through my underwear drawer to find a pair that wouldn’t show in this dress, so that’s basically Amish for me.”

You both crack up at her ridiculous parallels as you check yourselves in the mirror side by side. You might not be as glitzy as she is, but you both go together somehow in a nice little balanced image.

“Okay, let’s go to the backyard to get some pics,” she announces as she snatches your work phone and her phone and prances out the door.

You indulge all the stylized, practiced poses that Kenzie makes as you have a mini photoshoot for her. You smile every time she switches into a new angle and posture. It’s so silly for her to do so many different ones when she looks good in every single picture. She’d argue with you over that, of course. When she declares that it’s your turn to take pictures, you oblige with a few standard poses, which she immediately rejects and insists that you “loosen up a little bit.”

She does manage to get you to genuinely laugh when she retells the story about how your old boss Jeremy most definitely had a lover’s quarrel in the middle of the cereal aisle with what could only be a friend of his grandmother’s or a sugar grandmomma. He’d been so embarrassed even though you both wouldn’t have had anything nasty or negative to say about it. A few “eat me out, sonny boy” jokes between yourselves, sure, but nothing to his face.

“Okay, just a few more.”

She fiddles with the settings on your phone, explaining to you how your flash exposure wasn’t set right and other jargon you don’t fully understand, and takes a few more photos once she’s made the necessary adjustments.

“AAAAnnndddd, done!”

“I don’t even post anywhere, Kenz. I don’t know why I need so many pics,” you protest.

She just shrugs and sports a shit eating grin, which you don’t understand until you receive a notification on your phone that Joel has texted you. The mortification takes hold the second you open to the text thread and see that Kenzie had sent him several of the photos she’d taken of you.

Joel: WOW! Joel: 🤯 Joel: Where are you going dressed to the nines like that?

You: omg I am SO SORRY my stupid friend sent those to you like an idiot You: she’s such a moron sorry You: idek who she was trying to send those to

Joel: I like the pictures. They’re really nice. 👍 Joel: You look like you’re already having a good time. Joel: You have a ride set up for tonight? Lots of dangerous drivers on NYE.

You: we’re not drinking but also Kenz ordered us an Uber

Joel: Okay well please text or call if you need a ride. I’ll be up. Joel: Be safe and have a fun time! Joel: 🪩🥳🥂💃🕺

You smile down at your phone and giggle. You’ll remember to be upset at Kenzie in a minute.

You: I will 🫡 You: are you staying home the whole night?

Joel: Yep. Tommy is probably gonna come around for a bit, but otherwise I’ll just be watching TV or something. Too old to be out there partying. Might throw my back out if I tried to dance to the popular stuff.

You: lol I would pay so much money to see that

Joel: I bet you would, ya little punk.

You:  😇

Joel: Okay, angel. And you never said where you were going.

You: here 📍

You attach a link to the venue where Kenzie said the event was being held. You explain the circumstances of it because it’s a lot nicer of a place than most twenty somethings would probably go, especially for such a big party night like New Year’s Eve.

Joel: Pretty nice place. Looked it up on Facebook. Says it’s a charity casino night. Invite only. 😵💰🎰

You: yeah idk we’re just gonna be there with this vodka brand from Kenzie’s work You: she does this marketing internship thing and this vodka is a client

Joel: Fancy. Already sounds like y’all are some high rollers. 😎

You: lol maybe Kenz is. im just the plus one You: you should see her outfit then maybe you’d know what i mean 💀

Joel: Nah, you got sparkle tights. That’s the winner right there.

You: wow a fashionista too is there anything can’t you do?

Joel: Yeah, I already told you. Dance ha ha. Joel: 👴🏼

You: i highly doubt that but ok You: we gotta leave in a few but ill text if i need anything

You punch in a heart emoji but hesitate for a split second before throwing caution to the wind and sending it anyway. Your entire body warms at his reply.

You: 💖 Joel: 🥰❤️ Joel: I’ll be thinking about you. Joel: Be safe. ❤️

You: i will 💖 You: happy new years in case i don’t see you sooner

Joel: Happy New Year’s, and I hope you see me sooner rather than later. Want to start my year off right. ❤️

You’re too giddy from texting with Joel to truly be upset with Kenzie, a fact she relishes in the entire Uber ride to the venue. You still feel light as air as you make your way to the Double Phoenix display area and meet the two guys associated with it — Charlie and Logan.

You quickly see why Kenzie hadn’t had a lot of positive things to say about them both even though they weren’t patently terrible right off the bat. Maybe to most people the plastered smiles and forced carefree attitudes would distract long enough to hide the truth of their actual personalities, but you were a little more used to getting a quick grasp on people.

Charlie was younger, but you wouldn’t have known that from all the cosmetic procedures he’d had done. His face didn’t even match with the version featured in all the promotional materials with their images on them. An unnaturally chiseled jaw, lips that seemed plumped and deflated all at once, a marshmallowy cheekbone, and eyebrows that didn’t move enough. It all combined into some strange, plasticine version of a man. 

Logan had leaned into the rugged and handsome look quite well, but his teeth were remarkably white to the point that it contrasted with the rest of his visuals. You wanted to laugh at how forced it all was. You knew rugged and handsome well. Joel Miller was the end all, be all to rugged and handsome in your humblest of opinions, and he actually had the life experience that  made it authentic. Men hadn’t ever really been much of your “type” - especially not the overtly masculine ones - but of course that  had changed fairly recently.

You were grateful that they both zeroed in on Kenzie’s attention and left you to wander close by for a few minutes. The glowing neon and sleek black everything made the entire venue hum with a sort of subdued electricity. You’re sure once the event actually begins and people start showing up that it’ll take on a life of its own as the background to a perfect night of revelry.

You lost track of time for a while as you meandered through the various setups. You can’t begin to guess how much all of this costs to produce and put on. You know without a doubt that you could never afford to get in. With Kenzie’s borrowed outfit, you don’t appear too out of place, and you try to work with the feigned confidence of someone who belonged here. By the time you make it back to the Double Phoenix setup, Kenzie is shooting you where the fuck have you been?! eyes, and you give her an apologetic grimace.

“Ah, there she is!” Charlie booms. He sounded like he’d been sampling the goods, and the stack of empty shot glasses scattered around the tables only lent to that hypothesis. A few frantic looking waitstaff scurried around with rags and fresh glasses. “You wanna do a shot?”

Your face scrunched, reluctant and put off. “No thanks, I’m good for right now. Maybe later.”

“Oh, come onnnnnnn,” he huffs. “It’s fuckin’ New Years! Live a little! Come on, just do a shot.” He starts spinning in almost comedic half-circles in search of shot glasses and liquor. Kenzie is looking a lot like she’s got a headache brewing – but not from any bottom shelf vodka shots. “Tell your friend to knock the sand outta her vagina and take a fuckin’ shot, Kenny!”

“It’s Kenzie, and that’s not a very—”

Logan, who appeared just as sober as when you’d left them all, stepped up with a crooked grin and patted his friend’s shoulder. “Definitely just getting the night started, right? No need to rush a good time, Tank.” He glances over to you and winks, and you think he means to convey that he’s stepping in between you and his rude, pushy friend. 

Charlie snorts and taps Logan’s face with a loose, goofy smile. “You’re right, man. Just so fuckin’ PUMPED for this brand, dude!”

Kenzie scoots around to you and guides you away from the front of the setup so you can speak more privately. “This guy is an asshole!” she hisses.

“Yeah, is he seriously already drunk?” you scoff. You note the heavy smell of alcohol on her breath and raise an eyebrow. “Exactly how many shots did y’all even have? You don’t even do shots of vodka, do you?” The last part of the question is up several octaves in uncertainty. Maybe you weren’t a big drinker, but you knew enough that downing shots of vodka was sort of an “alcoholic activity.”

She rolls her eyes and grips onto your elbows. “It tastes so bad,” she groans. “It’s supposed to be ‘so good you don’t need to mix it.’ I honestly underestimated how good of an actor Logan is because he barely even made a face when we were all taking a shot for their Instagram Story. And Charlie? I don’t even think he cares to be honest. He would probably drink hand sanitizer if it gave him a buzz.”

“That’s really sad,” you reply in a low, gloomy tone.

She responds in kind with a cheerless shrug and nod. “I told Logan that we could do a few more shots with some of the bigger local names so they could put it on their socials, but I said we should definitely be cutting Charlie’s shots with water. He was surprisingly cool with it and thanked me for looking out for him.”

“Yeah, that’s smart,” you agree. “How many did you do already? How many are you going to do? I thought you weren’t planning on drinking?”

You try to keep the nerves from creeping into your questions, but a tremor or two slip through. You really, really didn’t want to end up the sole sober person in a room full of rowdy, drunk partygoers. It was more of an upscale setting, but that was never a guarantee that things wouldn’t get sloppy.

“I’ve only had two, don’t sweat it,” she assures you. “I’m totally good to take a few more, especially if they’re spread out.”

“Okay, just be careful. That Charlie guy seems a little aggressive.”

“I think he just likes to party.” She shrugs and eyes the two men who don’t seem to have noticed your side conversation yet. “C’mon, let’s get back before they see we’ve snuck off.”

Kenzie wrangles Charlie into doing a few staged photos around the setup – you assume before he gets even more drunk and won’t photograph well – and Logan strikes up some easy conversation with passersby before wandering back over to you. He shoots you another apologetic grin and holds a hand up in an awkward wave.

“Hey, listen, I’m sorry about Tank. He gets a little nervous for these types of events sometimes and hits the bottle a little early and a little too heavy,” he explains.

“Tank? Why’s he called ‘Tank’?”

He flushes with a sheepish grin and admits it’s from “one crazy weekend” where he repeatedly wound up in a “drunk tank.”

Your nose scrunches and pulls against your unimpressed frown. “Charming. Sort of goes with the whole telling women they have sand in their private parts thing he’s got going on.”

He squints and grimaces. “That was totally out of line. I’m really sorry.”

You sigh and let your shoulders slink down. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding them so high and tight. “I guess it’s not your fault he’s got a problem.”

“No, it’s not my fault, but I should probably do a better job of stepping in before he goes around disrespecting women.”

He scratches the back of his neck and looks off. He mindlessly watches the crowds of people walking by the setup and waves to a few before turning back to you.

“Well, uh, I’m Logan. Just in case you didn’t– um, you know, didn’t catch it before. And I, uh, hope you have a good time with Double Phoenix tonight even if it started out a little rocky.”

He sounds genuinely embarrassed by his friend. Maybe you’d misjudged him at first. You give him the benefit of the doubt and a small smile. He flushes again and busies himself with chatting up some local DJ who stopped by to do a promo shot with the brand.

It’s much the same for the next hour and a half, except you notice that Logan and Kenzie both have taken several shots with numerous local celebrities. Logan at least has enough sense to remind everyone to drink water in between and munch on something. He goes around and checks on the waitstaff to make sure everything is running smoothly. You think without his legitimate interest in this brand, Kenzie would be running in circles trying to keep things on track.

You pull your work phone from your clutch. It’s somehow only 9:00pm. You suppose you had arrived before the event even started, so it’d been at least 3 hours of this. You can’t imagine another 3, but you’ll push through it for Kenzie’s sake. You’re about to tap on the messaging app to see if Joel had sent anything when a shadow passes over the screen. You look up to see a more lax Logan smiling down at you.

“Event's that boring huh?” Yeah, he’s definitely a little drunker than when you’d last talked.

You look around for Kenzie and spot her talking animatedly to some random woman in the brightest neon green dress you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh, I was just checking the time to make sure Kenzie was still on track,” you bluff.

“Gotcha, gotcha.” He nods and runs a hand through his hair. “So, uh, you want a drink or anything? I can just get you a soda or something if you didn’t want to try the vodka.”

Something about the way he says it sounds like he’s already disappointed at what he thinks your answer will be. You feel bad, but you don’t know why.

“Listen, I know it’s not, like, the bestest there is, but I think we did a pretty good job of it. I’d love to hear what you think of it,” he hedges.

One shot won’t kill you you remind yourself. You shrug and agree to a single shot with a sugary chaser. He beams like a golden retriever and lopes off to grab your drinks. You smile at his back as he runs off. It’s sort of cute how excited he seems. Maybe he really did give a shit about all this and had to deal with a business partner who didn’t do much of the legwork. He’s back shortly with a canned soda and two double shots for each of you.

“Whoa, that’s way too much!” 

He stares blankly at you for a second and then shakes his head like he realizes he’d gotten double shots. “Shit, that’s my bad. Hold on, I can—” He turns to look for somewhere to dump part of your shot out.

“Look, I’ll just have half, okay? You can have the rest or throw it out or whatever. Or give it to Charlie. I dunno.”

He laughs at that and gives you a cheers. You swallow down a little more than half by accident, and you think it must’ve been the shock at how god awful the taste is. Whatever Kenzie had said, it was ten times worse. You choke your one and a half shots down and grab for the canned soda, snapping the tab open and chugging down several large gulps. The sting of the vodka still burns as you watch Logan down your half shot as well as his two doubles. Your eyebrows shoot into your hairline at the amount he’s downing in one go.

“Aren’t you gonna get sick?” you sputter.

He giggles a bit and takes the soda from your hand, downing the rest of it. “Eh, I’ve done all the brand commitment stuff. I’m sort of off the clock now.”

You blink at him and wonder how the hell that’s supposed to explain how he’s not going to be throwing up in about 15 minutes.

“You make me nervous,” he giggles.

He leans in a little, only to list backwards and wave a hand in the air. He erupts into a fit of laughter and covers his face with his hands.

“Christ, I’m so sorry. I’ve been wanting to tell you all night how beautiful you look, but I didn’t really feel like there was a good opening after, you know, Charlie went and talked about your sandy vagina.”

His eyes bug out like he realizes what he’s said, and he slaps a hand over his mouth. It might be the alcohol surging into your bloodstream, but you laugh at how ridiculous it all is. He chortles behind his hand and flushes a million shades of red.

“Fuck, I am so fucking sorry,” he gasps. “I just wanted to tell you you’re beautiful, and then I just said sandy vagina and I’m really really sorry, and I’m, like, very sure your vagina is probably perfectly fine and doesn’t have any sand in it.”

You giggle even harder at his distressed stream of consciousness. “I-Well, thanks and all, but I’m – I don’t really mix business and personal, you know?”

He nods like he perfectly understands your position. He puts his hands up in surrender and gives you a sort of bow before kissing your hand. “I’m– I understand. Definitely. No worries at all. And thanks for trying the vodka even though it’s shitty.”

You laugh loudly at that and wave him off. He chuckles to himself and strolls over to the bar area. You take your time walking to Kenzie, who jumps up and down when she sees you. Not wasted, but definitely not sober.

“That vodka tastes fucking awful!”

She grabs your forearm like you’d just said the most profound thing she’s ever heard. “Yesssssssss ohmygod.”

You hug onto her for support as she whispers in your ear about how she’s got a really good feeling about the impression she’s made with the brand and how this could be a huge opportunity for her. You commiserate together how nasty the taste is but both agree that she sort of had to do shots for social media unless she wanted it to look like she didn’t enjoy it. She snorts and rolls her eyes when you relay the flirty, drunken conversation that Logan tried to have.

“He probably isn’t used to being turned down,” she posits. “S'prolly good for him to hear 'no' every once in a while.”

You giggle and lean against the counter for more support. You felt very warm now – cardigan debate all but forgotten – and a bit like you need to pee. Knowing the extra effort it’s going to take for you to get the tights down enough to use the bathroom, you excuse yourself sooner rather than later.

Everything is a lively haze of big energy as you make your way to the bathrooms. One of the main raffles is taking place, so you don’t even have to wait in line. You eye yourself in the mirror and think you still look pretty good. The little bit of alcohol you had is in full effect now, and you hope it starts to ebb soon.

You make your way out of the restroom and stumble when you hear the excited cheers from the main dancehall. Someone must’ve won something big. You lean against the wall for a minute until you feel more certain these shoes won’t cause any issues.

“Sneaky, sneaky thing,” Logan giggles from beside you.

You jump at the sudden voice coming from the dimly lit hallway. “Jesus christ you scared me,” you hiss.

“Sorry sorry. Just had to take a leak and then had to sit down for a minute. Mighta had too much.”

He seems bigger somehow even though he’s slanted to one side. Maybe the alcohol making him so loose was also making him seem unrestrained, too. “Soooooo, you coulda just asked me to follow ya know?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets as he saunters closer. 

“Huh?”

“Earlier? You said you weren’t interested, but-but- and then I see you sneaking off to the bathrooms. Coulda just asked me to follow you, and I woulda.”

“No thanks,” you exhale. 

“C’mon you don’t gotta put up a front, 'kay? Your friend won’t get jealous if she doesn’t see us, right?”

“What are you talking about?” you groan.

His body is up against yours, pressing you into the wall. “Let’s mix up a little business with a little pleasure,” he purrs. Your entire body freezes up, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “It’ll feel real good I promise.”

“Logan, there’s been a misunderstanding,” you insist. “M’not interested in–”

“Ssshhhhh,” he coos. “You can quit pretending. Be good 'n I’ll let you take a pic during to show all your friends, 'kay?”

“Get off me, you creep!” you hiss with a shove, but his body doesn’t budge. Another round of applause and cheering comes from the main hall.

“Let'sssssee,” he slurs. His thigh parts your legs just as his hands go underneath the sides of your skirt to grope your ass. “What kinda panties you got on?” He starts to lift your skirt above your hips when you knee his groin with as much force as you can. He doubles over and staggers backward. He chokes out bitch! a few times before vomiting all over the floor. You hurry away to find Keznzie, heart beating a million times a minute. She’s at the bar doing yet another stupid shot.

Between her drunkenness and your flustering, it takes several agonizing moments before she grasps what you’re saying – that you’ve been assaulted by somebody and left him on the ground near the restrooms. She’s looking around for security and asking you what the guy looks like. You tell her again it was Logan. Her body stops mid-movement like some sort of eerie robot that’s been unplugged. She blinks a few times like she misheard you.

“Logan? Logan Logan?”

“Yes!” you practically shriek.

She’s hesitating now, no longer hellbent on finding security, and you can’t figure out why. Where had all her urgency gone? Why had her entire mood just shifted? Why wasn’t she comforting you?

Then her eyes meet yours, and you see it. The reluctance to make a fuss over it because of who it was. The mental math to calculate that it wasn’t right what he’d done but that it  hadn’t “gone too far” and he hadn’t “gone all the way” with it. The hesitation to hold off on involving security if this all sounded like a drunken misunderstanding between two people that didn’t need to be escalated. The sort of “mistake” that could be fixed with a few sober apologies.

“Kenzie…..," you whisper. 

Like she’s on a sinking ship that’s quickly taking on too much water, she shakes her head and grabs your upper arms to pull you closer. “This will blow all my chances with this brand and maybe even the job.”

Her eyes are pleading for you to understand the position she’s in, what all she has to lose by taking up for you in this moment, and the gut wrenching realization that you’re not worth it to her begins to sink in. She sways a little on the spot and hiccups.

“He’s–He’s prolly so drunk he doesn’t even know what he was doing,” she pleads.

“You sure you’re not so drunk you don’t know what you’re saying?” you snap back. “Because I’m pretty sure a bad friend would tell you to drop it when somebody just had their hands all on you.”

Her nostrils flare at the accusation. “Well maybe a bad friend would make her best friend lose her whole future just because some guy felt up her butt, like that doesn’t happen all the time on the bus and in clubs and, and, and everywhere!”

“All you care about is yourself!” you hurl at her.

You turn on your heel and stomp your way to the exit. Tears blur the edges of your vision, but you’re enough of a mess that people sort of make way for you until you emerge from the building and into the cool night air.

You’re shaking. Your brain is a soupy mess as the alcohol starts to wear off. You pull out your work phone from your clutch. It flashes 9:48. How on earth had so much gone so wrong so quickly?

You fumble through some of the apps and end up downloading several rideshare apps, but they’re all crazy expensive because of the holiday. You can’t risk that large of a transaction showing up and your dad seeing it. You’re not even sure how far of a walk it would be to get home, but you don’t want to go home, either. Your dad was probably out, but you didn't want to risk it.

You shiver and stare at the homescreen.

If you needed someone to show up, I’d show up. 

That’s what Joel had said after that guy confronted you in the parking lot. And then tonight he’d said to call if you needed a ride or anything. You don’t have much of a choice, but even if you did, you’d still choose Joel.

You find his contact and hit call.

The influx of pictures of you all dressy and smiles was the perfect distraction. He’d been mulling over the lies he’d caught you in, and it was making his head buzz. 

You’d lied about the gift for your dad. Clint Eastwood — not John Wayne, like you’d claimed - had starred in The Dollars Trilogy.  A Fistful of Dollars, A Few Dollars More, and The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. All screenplays, never books. He’d grown up watching enough Westerns to know that much.

That was plenty of proof that you weren’t being entirely upfront with him, but he didn’t understand why. When he went into the security system profile and checked Christmas day, his heart sunk when it showed you hadn’t left when you claimed and in fact didn’t set the alarm again until several hours later.

He tries not to take it personally that you were lying through your teeth over very strange things, but it was hurtful and made him feel a little foolish for some reason. He knew in his gut that you were an honest person, so he could only assume the only other thing that made sense was that you didn’t trust him, which stung in a particularly painful way. 

At this rate, he didn’t believe that you even got any gift cards. You didn’t give the impression that you gave much thought to your own wants and needs. It’s like it’s been drilled into your head to put yourself last every time. 

He sighed and flipped through the pictures you’d sent — or, rather, your friend had sent on your behalf. The one where you were smiling the biggest was a little blurry, but it was his favorite nonetheless. He’d set it as his homescreen background without a second thought. 

He was letting himself get lost in how stunning you looked in the photos when a call popped up. It was you. After the surprise of receiving a call from you wore off, he hit answer and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Um,” you sniff. “N-Not really.”

His whole body goes rigid at the sound of your trembling voice. “What happened? Where are you?”

“Um, I’m still at that same place I sent earlier. Do you— Can you come get me?”

He’s snatching up his keys and starting his truck in a flash. He stays on the line with you until his headlights reflect and sparkle across the glitter on your tights. He hops out and gives you a quick once over, looking for some sort of hurt. He draws you up into a hug and helps you into the truck.

“What happened?” he breathes.

“Just, um, had a fight with my friend.”

“Is she okay in there? Does she have a ride home? Is she hurt?”

As honorable as his concern for Kenzie’s safety and wellbeing was, something about it irked you. She hadn’t given you any support, so why on earth did she deserve any? Maybe being drunk and left to deal with those jerks on her own would change her perspective. Maybe Logan would hurt her, too, and then she’d have a different opinion on what constituted a big enough violation to be addressed. You instantly feel guilty for thinking it, but the anger doesn’t entirely subside. 

“She’s fine,” you grumble. “I don’t really wanna talk about it if that’s okay.”

“Sure, of course,” he soothes. “Let’s just get you home, yeah?”

“I don’t wanna go home,” you whisper, fidgeting with your hands in your lap.

“Okay, sweetheart. You don’t hafta go home. You can come stay with me, alright? Is that okay?”

You nod. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Of course. Of course ya can,” he insists. 

The drive to his house is quiet, and he keeps stealing glances your direction. You keep your eyes fixed on the road, fearing that looking him directly in the eye again will crumble all your resolve and you’ll fall into a million pieces and tell him everything – all the rotting, ugly truths of your secret life.

He pulls into the drive and helps you out of the truck and into the house. You let him lead you as you walk unevenly in your heels. He guides you to the living room couch and slips your shoes off. He gives your feet a firm, kneading rub when you wince.

“Feet hurt?”

“Yeah.”

He massages them for a few beats, and you realize it probably hurts his knees to be bent on the floor like that.

“You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

He leads you upstairs and shows you the guest bedroom — Sarah’s old room that still had a lot of her personal decorations and items throughout. He leaves you for a moment and returns from his room with a pair of drawstring sweatpants and a button up flannel. He asks if you need anything for a shower, and, despite feeling utterly drained, the thought of washing this day off you is too appealing to turn down.

He digs around the hallway bathroom, which you learn was Sarah’s once upon a time, and pulls various toiletry items out from the cabinet. While there aren’t any shower specific items, there is a bottle of cosmetics remover and a roll of cotton pads, and you gather them up alongside the borrowed pajamas to take with you to Joel’s bathroom.

He gives you a quick rundown on how the shower works and leaves it running before slipping out the door to give you privacy. His heavy footsteps descend the stairs, and you’re struck by how alone you suddenly feel. You carefully extract yourself from Kenzie’s dress and tights and set them on the vanity. You strip away your undergarments and toss them into a pile near the corner.

You don’t bother adjusting the temperature of the water. You leave it just how he’d left it running for you, and it beats down onto your itchy, too tight skin with a purging heat. You lather in his soaps and shampoo and feel like you can breathe easier with it fogging up around you. It felt safe. Your hands dip to your hips, groin, and backside, and you hesitate for a moment before rushing through the area. You can still feel Logan’s insistent hands on you.

You rinse off and drip dry for a few seconds. The dry, fluffy towels wrapped around you make things feel normal again for a fleeting moment. The cosmetics remover and cotton pads clear away the streaking mascara and flecks of makeup left behind. You look in the mirror at your naked body and feel like you should be able to see the traces of unwelcomed touches painted onto your skin in bright, blood red. Your bare form reflects back to you, and you force your attention away and to Joel’s clean clothes he’d left for you.

The sweatpants are cozy and worn down. The flannel is soft like it’s been worn a million times. You roll the cuffs on the flannel and do the same to the sweatpants a few times, giving the strings a pull to cinch them on tighter, until your feet and hands aren’t flooded in fabric. The smell of him on the clothes only heightens as your body heat warms the fabric. 

Wanting to be lost in the scent of the real thing, you head downstairs and find Joel in the kitchen with a tall glass of water and freshly made sandwich. He opens his mouth to say something but falls short as he eyes you. He swallows thickly and meets your eye again.

“Clothes alright? I know the sizing is a bit off.”

“They feel really good.”

“Good. Good.” He clasps his hands together and moves aside to gesture towards the food.

He gives you the option of sitting at the table or sitting in front of the TV while you eat. You opt for the latter and start on your sandwich as Joel flips through the channels until it lands on the Ball Drop Countdown. You sit quietly together, but you can sense the weight of unasked questions emanating from him.

“Guest bedroom look alright? Everything you need in there?” He’s being sincere, but you can tell he’s trying to fill the silence with something. 

“It’s really pretty in there. Sarah has really cute taste.”

“She does,” he agrees with a crooked grin. “Kept up the girly stuff for way longer’n I thought she would. I always had a soft spot for that kinda thing, I guess. Kinda made it feel like my little girl wasn’t busy growin’ up and gettin’ ready to head out into the world without me.”

“Do you… Does she see you a lot?”

You aren’t sure why you’re asking or why you want to know. Some part of you is maybe just a glutton for punishment to hear about families who don’t hate each other. Or maybe just confirmation that such a thing was possible.

“Not nearly as much as I’d like, but I shouldn’t complain. She calls all the time, and that helps. Video calls and all that, too. Makes the distance feel shorter, you know?”

You nod like you do know, but you’d never had such an experience. You would kill for a video call with Calum. You weren’t going to think about that right now, though. Not on top of everything else that happened tonight.

As if he could sense the direction of your thoughts, Joel carefully asks if you want to talk about what happened. You think for a minute and then shake your head no.

“That’s okay,” he reassures you. “No pressure. Just wanted to ask in case you… I dunno why. In case you needed m–needed someone to talk to.”

You hold back a smile at his near slip. In case you needed me. And, you do very much need him.

He takes your empty plate and glass without asking, double checking that you’ve had enough before taking it to the kitchen and then settling back onto the couch with you. Without the task of eating and the personal space required to do so, the distance between you both felt infinitely larger than before he left. Your hunger is sated with the food he’d made, but something still stirs in your gut.

The memory of tonight still clings to you. Logan’s mask slipping to reveal the devil beneath. Kenzie deciding that you weren’t worth the risk of jeopardizing her future career, even if it was with men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

You can still feel the ghost of Logan gripping your flesh and turning up your clothing, the stench of his alcohol laden breath clouding your nostrils and making you want to choke. You want to erase it. You want your body to forget the sensation and experience of it. Maybe you can replace it with a different sensation, a new experience. Something to take the place of Logan’s shadow lingering on you.

“Joel?”

He turns to look at you, mouth all pouty and parted with concern. You want to lick into it so badly. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something weird? A weird favor?”

“Of course ya can,” he urges. He angles his body to give you more of his attention. “I’m sure it ain’t weird. What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’m–Can I just—” You falter as you try to figure out how you can ask him to act as a prop in your recreation of tonight just so your body can be tricked into believing it never happened. “If I ask you to–to hold me a certain way, could you do that?”

His brow knits together like the hesitant phrasing of your question betrays its innocuous veneer. “I can do whatever ya need me to do, sweetheart, but it might help if I knew what exactly—”

“Please?” you ask so quiet you’re surprised he caught it.

His lips purse, and his body relaxes in defeat. “Of course.”

You wordlessly crawl along the couch until you’re almost on top of him and swing a leg between his. You ignore the way your crotch feels hot and needy against his warm thigh. You gently guide his hands to your hips and backside, urging his fingers to splay wide enough to engulf the globe of your ass and meat of your hip. He tenses like he’s going to ask if you’re okay or if you’re sure about what you’re doing or if this is a good idea, but you don’t let him get to it.

“Please,” you breathe – beg. 

He relaxes again. 

You slump your body against his and nestle your forehead against the crook of his neck. He feels so impossibly large beneath you, all warmth and brawn and safety. Under different circumstances you’d probably be dripping with arousal by now, but instead your body starts to succumb to the enveloping cradle of his hold. Your breathing evens out, and you think somehow this might actually be working. You can pluck the rotting seed of tonight straight out of your body’s scorecard and plant something that won’t devastate the soil and overtake the sparse sprouts that already exist.

The loud snap! and boom! of fireworks jolt you awake. Joel snorts an inhale and opens his eyes comically wide before blinking quickly. His hands are still on you. Your body is still on him. You’re still safe.

“Nodded off,” he mutters almost to himself, voice thick with sleep. He glances lazily out the window as neighboring houses send off fireworks that probably aren’t street legal. “Damn things are loud.” His head lolls back to face you, and he’s sporting a tired, goofy grin. “Happy New Year’s, I guess, huh?”

You fist the collar of his shirt and crash your mouths together. You’ve been awake for less than 30 seconds, and all your brain can churn out is to take take take.

You meant to take it slow, or maybe you didn’t. You aren’t even sure as you rock your body against his until he comes alive beneath you, hands flying up from your hips to brace against your back and pull you closer against him. His tongue is warm and wet against yours, taking his time to explore you and taste you. He swallows down your hitched moan, groaning in response with a hand coming to cradle the back of your head. 

It’s over just as soon as it began when a particularly loud boom breaks the magnetic spell that took over you both. You slowly pull back and release the hold on his shirt. He’s staring like a deer in headlights, and you’re sure you aren’t much different.

What the fuck just happened? Why did you do that? What compelled you to do it like that?

“Um, well. Um. Happy New Year’s. And, um, I guess I’ll – I’m shou–I should be getting to bed, I guess. So–” You awkwardly extricate yourself from the couch and give an awkward wave. Joel just stares back at you dumbfounded.

You wave again like an idiot. “Okay. Um. Happy New Year’s. Um. Goodnight.” You force yourself to walk normally up the stairs and not slam the door to the guest bedroom. You can still taste him on your lips, all echoes of Logan faded into nothingness.

Thank y'all for waiting on this one. The first draft was much shorter, but I just felt like I wanted to flesh it out significantly more than what I had originally written. It feels right now, and I hope you have the same feeling after reading it.

tagging:

@survivingandenduring @bizarrelove-triangle @cumberpegg @verybigvag @koshkaj-blog @pastelpinkflowerlife @toomanystoriessolittletime @walw1017 @tuquoquebrute @confusedpuffin @reneerocks3617 @ellenmunn @electriclasso @pastelnap @zooty-and-fruity @drunk-and-capable @copperhalfcent

#fic: chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #hurt/comfort #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fluff

[mayariviolet]

How They Drink Alcohol (AoT Men)

ft. Jean, Eren, Connie, Reiner and Armin.

Summary: What they drink when they go out partying or just attending social functions! Also, how they got introduced to alcohol in the first place!

a/n: General headcanons, but these characterizations are primarily for my upcoming Jean Kirstein x Reader fic! I will upload some WIP for the fic soon because I need to be held accountable to keep writing (help me, haha). Slight toxic masculinity from Eren and Jean?

Pro-Taking Shots: Connie and Eren.

Anti-Taking Shots: Reiner, Armin and Jean (he’s lying).

✧˖°.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ✧˖°.✧˖°.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ✧˖°.✧˖°.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ✧˖°

Jean:

When he first started drinking, it started with skimming the top of his dad’s liquor before sneaking out to a house party. He watered down some rum before buying some coke at a corner store. Since then, it has been his go-to (and beer, specifically a corona). He doesn’t like ‘jungle juice’ concoctions, no matter how much Connie shoves them down his throat. However, he once went clubbing with your friends, and Connie convinced him to try this cocktail (lime mojito). At first, he was apprehensive, but he was like, “How fucking drunk can this chick drink get me?” and took a sip. Jean got belligerent that night that he didn’t know how many he ordered because it was so good. His credit card company sent him a message asking if his card had been stolen, and he had to explain that it was not a series of suspicious purchases. He is now a massive advocate for fancy cocktails (ESPECIALLY AN ESPRESSO MARTINI), so he’ll splurge on that when he’s out drinking. I can see him getting into whisky when he’s older. A lover of vodka soda, too.

Eren:

At a wedding when he was younger, his dad offered him a tequila shot (his mom found out and got mad later), and it caused him to vomit so badly that he didn’t drink again until his last year of high school. Eren is a huge beer drinker and ONLY A BEER DRINKER. (Or so he says). He is not very particular about brands, although he likes things more ‘hoppy’ to feel like a man. Eren is the kind of guy to get mad at you for not knowing how to pour beer properly and getting more foam than anything. He won’t admit it, but he had some sips of the lime mojito Jean was having. He got drunk and was over the moon. Eren tried other cocktails, but besides a Long Island iced tea, he’s not a huge fan of other cocktails. When he gets really drunk at the club (he's a lightweight but does a really good job of concealing how inebriated he is), he and Connie will coerce Jean into buying a STUPID AMOUNT OF ALCOHOL TO GET A TABLE (see Jean's suspicious credit card purchases). Think $50 Mango Ciroc and Patron!

Connie:

When he went on a family cruise at the age of nine, he ordered a “Shirley Temple” (virgin), and he was “drunk.” Fast forward to a shitty date he went on; he ordered a Shirley Temple again. Connie got belligerent, and his date had to take him home. He did not hear from her again. This man is a nut. He loves cocktails so much that he bought a cocktail kit, but he barely measures, so it’s just 90% alcohol and 10% any discernable flavour profile. Connie is the kind of friend who mixes you a drink and says: "It's mostly juice! Just Try it!" but it straight up tastes like pure gasoline. He’ll happily drink anything else but prefers cocktails and mixed drinks over beer, shots, etc. Connie is the type of guy to order “Blow Job” shots as a joke but then gets way drunker than everyone. Surprisingly, he’s a huge Reisingling fan. Unsurprisingly, he and Sasha got blackout at your birthday party after downing half a bottle of Pink Whitney (they snuck away to take turns throwing up in the guest washroom).

Reiner:

Huge whiskey nut and wine snob. He’ll talk your ear off about various wines he’s into, and he actually knows what he’s talking about. Reiner is the kind of guy who will bring a bottle of wine to a friend's birthday dinner, and he gets it RIGHT! He’ll drink beer (not particular about the brand). He only started drinking when he was legal, so there’s no crazy story other than the one time he and Bertolt went to a daytime wine tasting, and by the time they sobered up, it was nighttime, and they were 45 minutes outside of the city. Most times, if Reiner is in a work setting, he’ll drink what other people are drinking, too (but he’ll opt for a vodka seltzer). He’s tried cocktails before, but he’s not a fan.

Armin:

He hates beer. His grandfather offered him a swig when he kept looking at him, and he never drank again until he was legal. This man is a cider fan, and no one can tell me otherwise. Specifically blackberry and green apple. Armin enjoys wine (red > white) and will listen to Reiner babble on about the best ones. But his drink of choice is a bit pricey: champagne! But if he’s at a party, he’ll just settle for drinking a vodka cranberry. He mentioned to Connie that he likes “Shirley Temples” ONCE, and whenever they all go out, Connie will buy him one. Armin is too shy to decline, so he'll take a couple sips before giving it to either Eren or Jean (they will fight amongst themselves as to who gets to finish it).

✧˖°.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ✧˖°.✧˖°.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ✧˖°.✧˖°.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ✧˖°

a/n: I included Armin and Reiner because I love them so much, but they're most likely not going to be in my upcoming fic! WAH. Specifically Reiner... I'm sorry, my beloved.

══════════════════

© Please do not copy or replicate my work. Inspiration is appreciated, but credit properly! ♡

#aot headcanons #modern aot headcanons #jean kirstein headcanons #reiner braun headcanons #armin alert headcanons #eren jaeger headcanons #connie springer headcanons #someone hold me accountable #I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH #mv.writing📝 #attack on Titan

[unladyboss]

JUST CARMY

I'm always so confused about Carmy's behavior. Like the more I try to figure it out, the more confused I get. It's like what Ebra said about Mikey, he got confused by his behaviors. So I thought about it and realized that maybe I was confused because I'm SUPPOSED TO BE CONFUSED.

Because you can't reason out the behavior of an addict. I really think now that Carmy is a high functioning alcoholic. When I figured that out, my heart dropped and I looked at all scenes with different eyes. Hear me out. High functioning alcoholics are difficult to spot. They can maintain near normal appearance for job, family, friends etc, but it eventually catches up

1. The alcohol in the office . It's there always. Check the green bottles

2. Alcohol just at different levels

3. Carmy's mom is an alcoholic. It's rare for none of the kids not to be alcoholic. Mikey was a drug addict.

4. Maybe the reason Syd's dad hasn't met him yet is because he'd get outed. Syd's dad doesn't drink, possibly because he used to drink too much.

5. If Syd's dad used to drink too much it would explain, some of her attraction to Carmy. That codependent thing that occurs in families of addicts

6. Claire. I'm sorry I was mean about Claire but she was a big big clue. That's why Claire was brought in.

When she said she remembers Carmy and he gave her the wrong number, its possible that the past him also drank too much. I'm not too sure

However, she manages sad drunk people. Even though he doesn't drink in front of her and drinks pop. The clues were in front of us. Red cup party.

The insistence of Claire to track him down. Possibly a tool to help him see that he needs help. She manages him the whole time.

7. The anxiety

8. The ibuprofen for headaches

9. The insomnia

10. Everything in his life is pointing toward him needing help

11. He's going to Al-Anon meetings. We think it's just about Mikey but then the look of the meeting changes and he says it's three times a week so Al Anon may have switched to real alcoholics anonymous meetings

12. Mikey not wanting him to work at the bear, might be him knowing that Carmy would probably fall into worse things... Maybe he saw Carmy's own addiction and kicked him out

13. The tattoo. He knows alcohol is bad and can kill, not just because of his mom, but because he's doing it.

14. The mood swings. Screaming at people, anger, one minute mad, the next minute calm

15. All the Al Anon pamphlets he was reading. That wasn't just about Mikey. It was for him

16. Brain issues - wet brain. 'is that sound in my head?' When the alarm goes off. Cicero asks if it's not driving him crazy. He said he's used to it.

Is my hair on fire? He asked Syd

17. The fidgeting fingers. Withdrawal. Need a drink to stabilize

18. The disappearing, like into the fridge. Remember one time the Pepto was in there? The drink could be too if it's not in the office any more

Pepto usually near to the alcohol . Disappearing from the Bear. Just bailing on things in general.

19. The delusions seeing his old boss at friends and family and being inconsolable.

29. Panic attack.

The whole sydcarmy thing could be and probably IS happening simultaneously along with the high functioning alcoholism.

But this is mad serious.

30.I think they put JOSH in that last episode to show just how high functioning an addict could be, but that eventually the addiction will ruin things

31. Big hints at Claire's party

32. The chest pain, heart beating fast

This is so serious.

I don't think I'm wrong

We said the show runners were playing in our faces. I thought they meant just about Syd. It was probably them trying to show us THIS, but we were too distracted by SYDCARMY.

When I figured this out, I couldn't watch the sydcarmy interaction the same way any more.

This whole time he's probably been going through bouts of withdrawal and symptoms of that, along with relapsing.

I feel sick.

I HOPE I'm wrong, but I don't think so at all.

You guys. Talk me out of this. I need reassuring words right now.

#high functioning alcoholism #alcoholism #love #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #carmy x syd #the bear #slow burn #sydcarmy #romance #relationship #carmy x claire #the bear fx #christopher storer #restaurant #addiction #Al-Anon #carmen berzatto #ceres #philip k. dick #philip k dick #time out of joint #Jeremy Allen White #ayo edebiri #ebon moss bachrach #carmy is an alcoholic #emmy awards #baftas #golden globes #critics choice awards

[lermisv4]

Reasons why Maya Amano is the best thing to happen in MegaTen ever

1. She is a functioning adult in exactly ONE (1) aspect of her life (her job) and a disaster in everything else.

2. Twenty-three and still sleeps with her favourite plush toy, which same bestie. Same. Thank you for validating me.

3. Carries that plush toy EVERYWHERE. Including alien spaceships, underwater ruins and other life or death situations.

4. The only thing she ever bothers to clean (other than her clothes) is her stereo.

5. Was given a pair of custom handguns by a high-schooler she literally just met and never questioned it.

6. Pacified Cthulhu - like, the actual literal Cthulhu - by giving him canned tuna.

7. Ironically, while she has pyrophobia her solution to almost everything is fire.

8. Gunned down mobsters and the army for the sake of talking to a kid who does everything in his power to avoid her.

9. Ever seen Megidola reflected in someone’s face? Maya can do it!

10. Scuba diving is a very cool hobby.

11. Nobody knows how she got her driving license, but she makes everyone regret it.

12. She is oblivious to the above.

13. Once tried to interrogate a corpse right after she killed him.

14. Not afraid to swear in front of elementary schoolers.

15. Only person ever to make Tatsuya fucking Suou shrug helplessly and coming from that guy you know it’s a big deal.

16. The mom friend, except that she’s the “that’s cool sweetheart, let me show you how the experts do it” type of mom.

17. Was also given a pair of hundguns by a serial killer who tried to kill her, but she decided to keep them anyway.

18. The guns are pink. Imagine being a special forces operative powered by magitech, killed by a cute reporter chick with pink handguns.

19. Can and will interview ANYTHING. Including gods.

20. Also killed the serial killer twice.

21. Abducted the dude who conned her bestie. Yes the police knew. They did notthing to stop her.

22. Someone put a hit on her for being too cute. To their defense, there was too much alcohol involved, but still.

23. Despite befriending Cthulhu, she hates squids.

24. Her response to killing demons is “Sorry~! ;)”

25. Thinks that eating squid is the ultimate sacrifice she can make.

26. Accidentally made her boss regret her life choices.

27. Kicked her own ass twice.

28. She’s a closet gambling fanatic.

29. Burn scars are valid even if they’re hidden.

30. She finds crabs so cute that they’re her favourite food.

31. The female bartender and that high class casino bar is openly gay for her.

32. Killed the god who killed her.

#this is a maya amano appreciation post #play persona 2 #persona 2 #maya amano #honestly i have next to no clue on how to convey her attitude #she's just special #and everyone else gives up on reason by being near her #i said i would do an appreciation post for her and i did it #pink handguns #she's just as crazy as tatsuya #a worthy protagonist successor #original post #innocent sin #eternal punishment

[the-dawn-star]

Place to Stay part 23 Klaus M. x GIlbert!reader x Elijah M.

A/N: Hello and happy holidays! I'm sorry for the wait but here it is now.

-S

+ 2300ish words, proof read by Ana_Mia_Lisa on ao3. extra plus: comments, reblogs are high appreciated.

For a moment my heart stopped beating, ceasing its respective function entirely. My hands clenched into tight fists.

The inevitable confrontation. It had come sooner than I expected it to.

My sister, accompanied by the spawns of satan walked through the front door. 

They would certainly not let her walk into danger alone! My brain commented sarcastically. 

Some, –mostly the elderly or mothers that had marriageable sons– would say that my sister looked like an angel sent by the Gods. This chapter of our lives had completely reassessed that statement. Elena was no angel if she walked right besides him. 

Why was she here? To exact revenge? Make a statement? Tell me to pack my things and leave? Lecture me on how I should pick my friends? Those were the only options. Because, what was there left to say besides that? 

My sister, who I loved so much, the only biological family I had left, the only person who had seen me grow up and become who I am today. For better and for worse. Wasn’t on my side anymore. 

What was left of our family was a mess. 

I took a sharp breath. Enough was enough. I would not let her or the vampire she pretended not to love shove me around anymore. 

My throat closed up, and I glanced  at the wine bottle, left on the coffee table. I drank from the bottle itself without a second thought. 

Why should I care about how I look in my own home? 

I remember the nights when Elena went  to parties while I stayed at home. And the moments when she came home drunk and barely able to stand straight. She’d only gotten a slap to the wrist before mom told her to get to bed and sleep the alcohol away. 

When did I become the one to day drink alone? 

My mother had always called me the more empathetic of the two of us, and maybe I would have shown some semblance of empathy towards my sister, if she had the guts to confront me on her own. 

She did not. 

Damon freaking Salvatore with his icy blue eyes and a creepy behavior towards minors, stood there with his signature mock expression. 

How could she bring him here, to our home? After all that he had done to me? To her? To Caroline?To Bonnie? Had she really thought that this would be the smoothest way to approach me? With this particular vampire on her heels?!

Not a chance.

Elena opened her mouth to say something, her hands locked in front of her chest. Was my sister nervous? I didn't know and I certainly didn't care enough to know. At that moment I couldn’t feel much of anything towards my sister. 

“Hello lovely sister! How has your day been?” I did not stand there, turning on my heels, I walked towards the kitchen. “Please, let yourself in. Although I would prefer that you'd leave the dog outside. I've just cleaned up, you see.” 

I knew that the sarcasm couldn’t bring anything good, but holy god it felt good to show my distaste for once.  

I disposed of the half empty bottle into the trash can. 

“Well, well. The kitten has claws.” 

Damon's comment was ignored. By me and my sister it seemed. 

“I know that you are angry, and I’m really sorry how all this turned out–”  

“So tell me Elena,” my tone dripped with sarcasm, “how exactly did you hope it would have gone? I’m genuinely interested.”  

But I didn’t get a response from her, because like I expected she didn’t have one, at least one that didn’t have the possibility of me dying in the hands of the Original family. Because there wasn’t such a possibility that I had gotten the daggers and survived.  

“You hooking up with Klaus, until you have wrapped him around your finger that he has no choice than to save you, that was the first draft of the plan. But you fucking Elijah too was just a nice addition, so good work with that,” Damon spoke way too calmly and somehow dared to give me a thumbs up.  

People often talked about seeing red, and in all honesty, I never knew what it really meant. But if it was real and not something that the poets and writers made up…, this must have been what it felt like. An anger unlike anything that I had felt ever before. Was this the feeling that people felt right before killing someone, because at that moment I really wanted to kill Damon Salvatore in our living room.  

“I’ve always wanted you to be safe Y/N, you know that.”

My breathing was shaky, too much for my liking. Maybe that was the reason why I felt like I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t look at them, I couldn’t look at the man that I wanted to murder so badly, and my sister...oh my dear sister, who would rather side with him than me. Her family.

I stood up slowly, making sure that I wouldn’t trip, I walked to the kitchen and finally turned my back to them. I lowered my eyes to the counter and took a deep breath.  

But I could feel Damon’s stupid smirk and my sister finally looking at me.  

Okay Y/N, you can do this... 

5 things that you can see... 

One my hand, two my shirt, three the counter top, four the oven next to me, five the knife block. 

Knife block...  

God, I want to hurt him, but I would never be fast enough to get close to him, I wouldn’t get a scratch to his skin.  

“Damon! Don't be an ass!” Elena whisper yelled to the vampire.  

“Yeah, Damon don’t be an ass...,” I repeated and slowly turned around to see the couple standing in the living room too close to each other for my taste. I leaned on the counter and finally in a long time I looked Damon in  the eyes.  

“Don’t abuse your brother, or Caroline, or Elena. Don’t compel people to be in a relationship that they do not want to be in. Don’t kill your family members. Don’t kill innocent people just because you are sad. Don’t compel me to fuck people that I do not want to fuck...,”  

I pulled away from Damon’s icy eyes and turned to look at my sister who looked to be in shock from my words. I could see tears forming in her eyes but the empathy hadn’t sunk in yet. 

“But don’t be an ass, works too...,” I shrugged. 

I hadn’t known Damon as long as Elena had, but one thing that I had picked up on, was that Damon had to say the last word...always.  

“Oh, come on, we all know that you had a thing for them long before this thing, so don’t blame me for your inability to understand how relationships work.”  

My hold on the counter tightened and the need to throw anything towards Damon got stronger. Maybe my death would be worth it if I got to stab Damon Salvatore first.  

“Did you say that to Caroline too?” I asked, biting the inside of my lip until I tasted blood in my mouth.  

And somehow, Damon fucking Salvatore had the fucking nerves to roll his eyes!  

Deep breaths. 

I took a step to the side and silently pulled a knife out of the knife block and hid it behind my back.

“Hey, why don’t we all just calm down?” Whispered my sister, clearly wanting to break the tension in the room. Her hand slithered against Damon’s arm and I wanted to throw up. I held the air in my lungs, letting the burn take over my body. 

I took a few steps closer to them, closer to Damon than Elena and I let myself breathe the precious air again.  

If I was going to die today, with  the hands of Damon Salvatore, at least I could try to break the rose-colored glasses on my sister’s head. 

But I couldn’t look at her watery eyes. They reminded me of the time she had fallen and gotten a bruise on her knee. And I held her while she cried until dad came with a band-aid.  

“Did you want me to die?” I asked as softly as my rage could contain. 

Damon didn’t say a word but gently shook his arm out of my sister’s hold. He was a lot taller than me, but it didn't even bother me.  

“Did.you.want.me.to.die?” I asked again, this time voice louder and my tone clipped. 

“Or do you not want to tell the truth because Elena? Do you think she would forgive you after admitting that you wanted me to die?” 

That was the button... 

With a human speed his arm reached for my throat but somehow, I was quicker than him.  

The blade sank through his stomach and his hand stopped mid movement.  

I heard Elena gasping and Damon grunting while bending in pain.  

This wasn’t enough...  

I twisted the knife inside Damon feeling the blood trickling down my hand and dropping to the wooden floor. Mom had always talked about how important it was to keep hardwood floors clean.  

I heard my own name slipping between Elena’s lips but I didn’t turn to look at her. I don’t think I could ever look at her...  

Damon let out a painful sounding moan and I twisted the blade again.  

Slowly, painfully slowly for even my own taste I pulled the knife out of the vampire, letting it fall past my fingers and hitting the floor.  

I heard my name again but I paid no mind to it. Watching the blood on my hand was hypnotizing...  

Had Klaus felt like this when he hurt Damon last night? Had he felt this euphoric last night? 

“You little shit...” Damon mumbled while Elena tried to cover the bloody wound with her hands. I took a step away from the vampire and the doppelgänger and to my delight they allowed it.  

And slowly with steps quickening with every second I walked out of the front door slamming it and ending Elena’s yells. The sunny and warm sky was the most comforting thing in a long time. The warmth that I hadn’t felt even in my own bed with a teary face.  

I let the sun wash over my skin for a second before taking a quick look back to the house. And then down to my feet, which were only covered by socks...  

I couldn’t think... I couldn’t think of what I had just done. 

My legs were shaking due to the adrenaline taking over my body. I shoved my bloody hand to my pocket, just in case someone saw me. And I didn’t want to see the blood of Damon covering my hand and trickling to the asphalt. I’m not sure if I can ever watch my hand without the feeling of warm blood covering it.  

My head was banging in pain. Was it for the scene that I had just witnessed?  

I knew that he would be fine. Most likely he was healed before I took a step outside. But still, I had done it. What was I worth if I acted just like the people who I criticize? Sure, I wasn’t a murderer but that is not a very high standard to be reached.

The road was empty and I could feel the cold ground under me. Last night the ground had frozen, but I hadn’t paid attention to the fact that I had more important things to look after.   

This is better, not thinking about it. I need a distraction, I need one right now. 

Right fucking now... 

Maybe this was a good moment to look for those five things.  

I looked around the now darkening sky. The trees that were losing their leaves so fast.  

One the orange and red shade leaves.  

Two my feet are only covered in a pair of socks.

Three the blood on my sleeve.  

The blood, the fucking blood on my shirt. The blood covered arm that was shoved in my pocket. How have the people in this town killed so many people and seemed to have no remorse for it.  

--- 

I’m not sure when I decided my direction but it happened mostly without a conscious choice. But I knew I couldn’t go home not now. And Caroline and Bonnie would most likely judge me more than I could handle right now. How could I ever look at them after all this.  

And how would I even survive with the wrath that Damon could show me. He had killed people from a lot less than stabbing him.  

--- 

The house was the most comforting sight in a long time. I walked up the few stairs, legs shaking dangerously for my balance. I tucked my bloodied hand from my pocket. I took one deep breath before knocking on the door.  

My hand fell against my side, fuck I was tired. For a moment everything was silent, and for that small moment I forgot the blood and the sight of Damon’s face looking at me ready for a murder. And I could almost feel a smile pulling on the corner of my mouth.  

Klaus looked as amazing as always and I couldn’t stop the smile from blooming on my cheeks. 

The hybrid shared a smile with me before taking a good look at my form.  

My form without shoes and jacket, and my hand being covered with a layer of blood.  

I heard my name but I couldn’t find anything to say.  

“What happened, love?”  

My smile fell and I took a step closer to him.  

“Whose blood is that?” There was a weird panic in his voice but it made my heart only beat faster with something I could not name. I took one more step closer until we were chest to chest. I needed to be closer to him. I needed him, like a human needs air. Like a vampire needs blood.  

“I stabbed Damon Salvatore...” 

---

( @dark-night-sky-99 @venomsvll @teenwolfbitches28  @haloangel391  @queenthorin1 @ollieandbonnie @hcqwxrtss123 @redwolfs-things @theweirdoleigh @mostly-meg @fandom-princess-forevermore @musically-ambiguous @isawritesstories @felinegrate @i-like-horror-andshitt @original-siphon @meyocoko @eddiebea @multistanhell @haroldpotterson @anastacia1705 @fictional-characters-i-love-them @beingsthings @kiaraandrea @hazgold @hallecarey1 @ethereal-imagies @pinknerpersona @ lil-writer-523 @malfoylaufeysonweasleybarnes) @queen-of-arda bellamy1998 )

#the vampire diaries x #the vampire diaries #the originals #the originals x you #the originals x y/n #the originals x reader #tvdu x reader #tvdu #the mikaelsons x reader #the mikaelsons #klaus mikaelson hc #klaus x y/n #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikealson x reader #elijah x y/n #elijah x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #elijah mikaelson #damon salvatore #elena gilbert

[lullabyes22-blog]

on a scale of 1 - 10 what would you say the alcohol tolerance of the characters in FnF are.

2 - Caitlyn: She isn't a fan of drinks, and even at social functions, tends to eschew the champagne for a tall glass of water. Sometimes if there is wine served at her family's dinners, she'll take a few sips, make appreciative noises about the label/year, then put the glass on a maid's tray when nobody's looking. The staff know the young miss dislikes spirits, and the nicer ones will sneak her a fresh juice at her mother's parties.

4 - Jayce: Like Caitlyn, he's not too fond of strong drinks. Champagne just goes up his nose, and the hard stuff makes him queasy after a few sips. At galas, he'll snag a glass of champagne - and then proceed to hold on to it for the duration of the night so nobody tempts him with refills. On the rare occasions he partakes too much, he's a friendly but somewhat pensive drunk. Will ruminate at length over his Hex-tech projects, science, magic, philosophy, the human condition - and his mom. Awww.

6 - Viktor: Undercity-born and bred, so he's had his share of gutrot hooch when growing up in the Fissures. Has better tolerance than Jayce, and sometimes monitors his science-buddy's intake to make sure he doesn't fall asleep facedown in some caustic solution. On principle, he is a teetotaler. Not only would booze exacerbate his poor health, he's generally at once drunk and high off the adrenaline of his and Jayce's projects. If he breaks his own rule and actually gets drunk, you'd best leave him alone. He's a quiet, bitter, irritable mess who just wants to lament his fickle mortality in peace.

7 - Jinx: Likes the fruity concoctions and cocktails, and can knock 'em back like a pro - but she isn't allowed a lot of opportunity to partake, because 1) Silco orders his crew to keep watch over her intake, and 2) having grown up in a bar, she doesn't find alcohol a huge novelty. Mostly, she sees liquid cheer as something losers need to give them courage. She's already got plenty. Not to mention loads of heavy artillery, all which requires a cool eye and a steady hand. She'll stick to her favorite cherry soda in her favorite sippy cup, tyvm.

8 - Vi: She's not much of a drinker. Like Jinx, having grown up in a bar, she also doesn't find alcohol hugely interesting. In many ways , the opposite: she's watched people get belligerent and make absolute jackasses of themselves while drunk. If invited to a night of drinking, she'll indulge in moderation, then quickly go into 'designated driver' mode and begin watching her companions' intake. Booze isn't bad for a little buzz, but she hates having to break the seal and go pee every twenty minutes.

9 - Silco: This man grew up drinking absolute poison. By this point, either his liver is made of steel - or on its last legs. That said, he's more of a casual drinker; he can go without alcohol if necessary, but nicotine is his real vice. Has an appreciation for top-shelf whiskeys, and the rare vintage wine - but in a pinch he'll drink the same swill as everyone else in the Lanes without batting an eyelid. Best stop him from getting drunk though. He's prone to rants full of billingsgate and general belligerence. Might threaten to gouge out someone's eye with a broken bottle right before he blacks out.

9 - Mel: Has a surprising tolerance for strong drink, and enjoys using them to smooth tempers and sweeten temperaments during galas and negotiations. A little liquid cheer enhances a good verbal spar in her experience. That said, she prefers high-end wines and will turn up her nose at hard liquors and beers. She also prefers to drink in moderation, so it's very rare that you'll find her tipsy, let alone drunk. On the rare occasion that it happens, she'll get somewhat quiet and melancholy, and want to go paint by herself.

10 - Sevika: An enigmatic well of a woman. Booze goes in. Nothing comes out. Not words, not tears, not tantrums. She's been known to drink the toughest comrades under the table, then shrug it off and go shoot pool or enjoy a round of darts. She's also the person the crew summon when Silco threatens to get too deep into his cups. He'd never tolerate being bodily hauled up to his quarters. But she can match him shot-for-shot and take his invective in stride, until he subsides into sleep. (She'll treat herself to his fine cigars afterwards. The next day, Silco will pretend he doesn't notice they're missing.)

#asks #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane sevika #arcane silco #arcane mel #arcane jinx #arcane jayce #arcane viktor #arcane vi #silco #vi #jinx #sevika #mel medarda #jayce talis #viktor #arcane headcanons #arcane headcanon

[bellysoupset]

hi!! so sorry to know that you’re not feeling well ☹️☹️ if it helps could you tell me literally ANYTHING about max 😭😭 mundane minute details whatever you like ⭐️

Hi star!!

Honestly, tomorrow I shall be well again and collected, but tonight I'm giving myself the grace to lick my wounds and indulge into cheerful stuff.... such as torturing these ocs lol.

Alright some random facts for Max!

He loves being an only child

His father is a high functioning alcoholic. He's sober now, but they did hit a rough patch when Max was 12, when his parents divorced.

His mother is into aaaall that eat-pray-love bs. Does the weirdest diets, definitely tried her hand at keto and paleo, also that blood type one. Max suffered with this as a teenager, none of those were nice diets to his sensitive tummy.

He flunked at his senior year! Then got into Doveport's community college and to this day he's a high key defender of local education. Max still has friends among the college professors

Vince is right, Max's little condo does look like a cave. He's very focused on his job, he really could not care less about his living space.

He is SUPER into camping. Despite hating his mom's hippie ways, he's also very nature focused and he does trails and hikes during his free time. Doesn't like the gym or closed spaces.

Got arrested for arson during a protest against law enforcement once <3

Max and Luke are the same when it comes to the competitiveness. Sore loser extreme.

A Slut. This is a man who has dating apps downloaded in his phone and posts thirst traps on his insta (CLOSED FROM STUDENTS BTW)

Despite being a very cool teacher and vibing with his students, he doesn't let them in his personal life at all, as it should be.

You bet your ass this idiot has done tiktok dances his kids asked him to do. Put together songs so they could remember the periodic table. He loves teaching, he just really dislikes Parents.

His favorite flavor on anything is green apple.

He hates reading. Sorry, but I have enough bookworms 🙈🙈 (Vince, Luke, Leo, Jonah)

#myocs #max daniels

[plumbogs]

anyway brandina time.

I've rambled before about how I love Dina Caliente and will defend her to the death etc, plus i'm a "dina was michael bachelor's young and questionable trophy wife" truther. I don't think she was ever necessarily a gold digger in a greedy manipulative sense, moreso that she valued the comfort/security found in wealth and Michael was well-off enough to provide that for her in exchange for him having a hot young wife and whatever. He came around the same time that Flamenco died, and Nighat had been dead since she was a kid, so she was entering the adult world functionally alone apart from her twin sister. I think Nina was probably jealous on some level of Dina/Michael, even if to most outsiders that relationship was questionable, because Nina just had her lameass high school boyfriend-situationship who she didn't actually want to be romantically involved with and whatever, but it still was a bit of a wedge to them for me. that's mostly irrelevant though. in turn Dina was totally jealous of Nina having Don in high school. usual sibling rivalry nonsense.

In my timeline, Michael died around the same time that Bella disappeared, so she and Mortimer ended up bonding in grief and kicked off their relationship. yknow still like, bizarre age gap but to me it's not intentionally malicious on either of their parts. BUT I do think that Mortimer as a partner did help her 'mature' in some ways, primarily because he had kids and wasn't as reckless and whatnot as Michael. She never marries Mortimer to me. She'd never be able to really replace Bella to him or his family and knows that. he has the world's angstiest verge-of-teenhood son and cassandra is literally her age. they're not about to see her as a real mom. Their relationship never really gets that deep to me, either. It gives her some time to come into her own and whatnot, be independent, etc.

Dina never went to college in my headcanon, she kinda just immediately married Michael and lived like that for a while, then lived half off his inheritance and maybe a lower-wage job of her own in the culinary industry. So sometime around her mid-to-late 20s, Mortimer also dies because he's so old. obviously that's sad for her again. With him she did have some more chances to sorta figure herself out beyond being a trophy wife, reconsider what's important to her.

MEANWHILE, Brandi was also engaged and married stupidly young. She was a teen mom to me. She and skip had a shotgun wedding, had their kids, Skip wasn't the best husband anyways before died, she went into a horrendous life-ruining grief period and alcoholism. the broke kids had it rough, the social worker breathing down her neck, etc. so she had to like, get sober eventually because Dustin had enough and had to move out and get his own life together before he lost it completely. she started doing yoga or a comparative social activity, introducing her to the Calientes, and they became friends because Brandi is so friendly and nice :) Dina's still with Mortimer, etc, but they're still getting along and Brandi's life is getting together.

Then Mortimer dies, Brandi's life is together enough and the kids are not little and in need of constant care anymore (not that she was great at that stage either but this is not a brandi broke parenting analysis post shhh). She is older than Dina to me by a bit but personal development wise they're now in the same place of "what do I do now". SO naturally they bond over that. and they start kissing about it because surprise. bisexuality.

to Brandi, Dina's nice. she can cook, she's been through grief more times than anyone can count, and is like an expert in "you need to do something fun for yourself" pep talks. to Dina, Brandi's recovery and work on herself + dedication to actually being a better parent is inspirational in a way. she doesn't really care at this point what people think of her, and Dina "professional arm candy" Caliente never really had a partner yet who had basically no expectations for how she came off to other people, giving her the most space she'd ever had to figure out her own life goals and dreams. brandi's all humble and whatever. her kids are annoying as hell but a very interesting change compared to the goth kids. dina's never a mom type to me but she does end up bonding with them all. whatever. yippee

I think after getting together, Dina would probably finally go to college or get a real career for herself otherwise. I think it can go a lot of ways. Both of them can cook. I think it'd be cute for them to open some kind of diner together :) or a similar thing. bake sale lesbians. mutual mid-life coming of age. trying to pick up the pieces of their young adulthoods not really belonging to them in a way that mattered. whatever!

#plumbog headcanon #its the sort of thing i think would work better as an actual written fic tbh #but i am sooo busy right now. and i am soooo bad at writing short succinct stories that perfectly capture my thoughts in brief. #especially since as characters they are both massively flawed and it'd be a challenge to both portray their happy future lives #without coming off like i handwave brandi being a shit parent to her kids for a chunk of their lives. idk its NUANCED #or dina with her age gaps. #i did a few dina-focused chapters in my monstrous giant fanfic that kinda suggested at her arc but from the most biased pov ever. sad! #and i SOOOO regret not putting in a later chapter of dina appearing again when i was writing it. i wanted to but couldnt work it in #but now i know what that chapter would look like and im considering just putting it as a oneshot but ahsdjflhj

[itsstrange]

Karl Urban/reader story

Best friends for about 10 years. He is off doing a movie when she gets an invite for a function (you decide what). Calls him to see if he would be available to be her plus one. He say maybe but unsure.

He shows up late and helps with an ex who is harassing her (you decide how)

Fluff and ditching a little after to go hang out at home

A/N: I know you requested other ones before this one but I just had to publish this one first since I pictured this request all too clearly and was very excited about this one tbh, so hope u don’t mind this one being published first, your previous request(s) will soon be published love!! Hope You Enjoyed this one! 💚✨

To 10 Years and More

Fandom: The Boys

Relationship: Karl Urban x Reader

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: (No) Fluff, Slight Mention of Harassment, Mention of Alcohol, Comforting, Confessions, Kissing, Karl being an Absolute Gentleman, Friends to Lovers.

————

Enjoy! 💚✨

————

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Together with their parents,

Rubie Jardin and Tomas Lockwood.

Joyfully invite you to celebrate their Wedding!

November 16, 2022

At 5:00 PM

The Colonel Ballrooms, 7577 Jacobs Ave.

See You There!

It read on the invitation that was currently in your hands, which you have been staring at for the past 10 to 20 minutes. Still can’t believe she’s doing it. You tell yourself as you continue to stare at the invitation. You weren’t gonna lie, the invitation was rather beautiful, its color was matte black with golden leaves as a frame, something that definitely screamed Rubie. She was obsessed with those two colors, you also wouldn’t doubt it if her dress turns out to be the same color, yet you wouldn’t worry too much about criticism she’d receive from the guest, that woman can rock anything and everything.

She did win Prom Queen after all.

Another disbelief, yet happy, scoff leaves your lips as you continue to stare at the invitation, still not quite believing it. It became realistic at the bachelorette party, but now, just a few days away, it all just seems like a dream. Never in a million years did you think, Rubie Jardin, your high school bestie, your rebel half, your partner in crime would ever get married, but here you are, staring down at the invitation to her very own wedding that would happen in a couple of days. You never really thought she’d settle down, she never picked you as the type to tie the knot with someone, but boy were you proved wrong. And you were glad you were. She deserved someone who would cherish her, love her for who she is, care for her in any way, and you knew Tomas was the perfect man for the job. He had found her queen and she had found her king, and you wished them both a happily ever after.

Only thing you weren’t happy about is actually attending the wedding, alone that is. Even if it said at the bottom of the invite ‘plus one’ you still didn’t have anyone to take, your mom was off the list, she was off on vacation with your father, Anniversary, your siblings were also off on vacation or out of town with their own family and you just didn’t really have anyone else you’d like to accompany you to the event. Your co-workers were a no go, you didn’t really have that close connection with them, yet, and the rest of your actual friends were already taking a date with them, and the thought of hitching a ride with them just didn’t sit well with you. Even if they didn’t mind the third company, you sure did, you felt a burden, so that was also a no.

Only person you can think of who would absolutely love to be your date uh.. plus one, would be the one person who is constantly working and constantly traveling for work. The thought of even texting him or calling him just seemed pointless, you knew he was busy, probably won’t event answer the call from how busy he is, but in all honesty you wondered if he’d actually answer your call since you hardly ring him up during work days. Also, you were curious to know what would be his reaction, Rubie along with multiple friends have mentioned how different he acts whenever you’re around. He doesn’t, they’re crazy. You mentally remind yourself but don’t realize how your fingers are already scrolling through your contacts until you’re tapping on his name.

This is pointless. Why am I even calling him he’s busy and across the country.

Yet you still put your phone on speaker before placing it on the island, waiting patiently as the line starts ringing throughout the kitchen. Your hands leaning against the table, fingers lightly—nervously— tapping against the marble counter while your eyes are casted down on the screen. After the fifth ring you thought about hanging up and sending him a mess to give you a call back whenever he can, but before you can hover your finger on the screen, a voice is being heard on the other end.

‘Urban industries,’ You stayed quiet at the familiar but non-familiar voice, then a smile tugs on your lips when you recognize it,

“Hey Jensen,”

‘Gotta tell you, you just brightened my night even more,’ He states over the phone, smirk visible in his tone,

You chuckle, “That so?”

He hums then continues, ‘You proved me wrong,’

“How exactly?”

‘Well, I always wondered who he loved the most. Me or his so-called best friend, but now that I’ve seen how he has you as his contacts I believe I won,’

“You think so?” You snark back, wide smile on your face,

‘Oh I know so. I’ve got hearts by my name,’ You can visibly picture a large, cheeky smile on the mans face, earning a heartfelt chuckle to slip from your mouth,

“You’re an idiot,” You comment with a shake of your head, earning a deep chuckle from the man as well, “Where’s the Kiwi at? Would love to have a serious conversation about our friendship,” Relationship.

‘He’s somewhere around here— ah, there he is, gimme a sec,’ You hear shuffling on the other end of the phone, then wind blowing in the background and then voices before you hear Jensen talking to another person, seconds pass before finally hearing his voice coming through the speaker,

‘’Ello?’ His Kiwi accent slips, invading your eardrums beautifully, easily making your heart flutter in your chest,

“Replacing me I see,” You playfully say, smile turning into a smirk when his soft chuckle is heard through the phone,

‘I could never,’ Karl replies

“I don’t know, he seems very certain that he’s won you from me,” The same smirk is still on your lips as you grab your phone to maneuver yourself around the island,

Karl chuckles once again, causing your heart to flutter once again, ‘We’re in it together. Till the very end, remember?’

Your smirk switches back to a large smile, one that has your cheeks burning up, both from pure happiness and absolute love. If only he knew how you actually took those words. If only he knew how you actually felt about him, then you wouldn’t be riding with so much hidden feelings, but you did, for so many reasons. Reasons to prevent heartbreak and pain. However, you’ve been dealing with said pain, every time you were near him, the urge to just let him know everything you were feeling, the urge to just kiss him stupidly until those feelings have been satisfied have been growing nonstop. But you held a firm grip onto those feelings to prevent them from ever spilling out because you just didn’t want to ruin things, didn’t need more pain nor a reminder about the time your best friend didn’t feel the same way about you.

So, you kept them hidden, and we’re going to keep them hidden until one day you were brave enough to share them with him.

It was back in 2012, it was the first day of work as the makeup artist on the set of Star Trek. You were having a conversation with another co-worker, sharing your guys’ excitement when the door to your trailer opens up, revealing Chris Pine with his piercing blues and right behind him was the one and only Karl Urban. If somebody would have told you it only took weeks to grow close with him you would have believed them, but if another person would have told you it only took a month to fall for him, and two years to admit it, you would have said that’s crazy. But it was the absolute truth.

You fell for him. Hard. But you knew it wasn’t right, he’s a successful actor and you were just.. a regular woman trying to survive the American Dream. You two would never correlate, he was always working, traveling, it has actually surprised you so many times how your friendship remained strong for these many years. Normally you never kept contact with actors you’ve worked with, but for some reason, Karl decided to stay in your life. Till the very end.

A question you’ve always asked yourself was, How the fuck are you still hiding it from him? And the answer you’ve always given was fear. That’s how you kept it from him, because you were scared of him, scared of what he might say, scared of what he might do, scared of losing him, that’s why you never slipped, and will not slip. It was too much of a risk, you love him too much to lose him.

Wait.. love?

‘So what’s up?’ Karl says, breaking you out of your own ranting thoughts,

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” You tell him with a apologetic tone,

‘Nah all good love, we’re just finishing up this scene before calling it a night,’ He reassures you, cheeks burning up at the nickname,

You look at the time on your phone, realizing it was barely 11:30 pm at night, meaning it was barely 1:30 on his end. Normally he’d get off from work at three in the morning, but if the director loves them enough he’d let them off until four in the morning, so it seemed to you odd he was clocking off work much earlier. Especially on a Monday night.

“You boys sleeping on the job?” You ask reaching into your fridge to grab a bottle of water,

Karl chuckles once again, then sniffs, ‘That’s all Jensen, poor lad is on his tenth coffee cup,’ He jokes then adds, ‘The temperature keeps dropping over here, and filming in an abandoned warehouse ain’t helping, nearly freezing my tits off, plus there’s a snowstorm coming in a matter of hours,’

You scoff in disbelief, feeling sympathy for him and the rest of the crew for having to work in the most brutal weather conditions in Chicago, where you on the other hand were cozy and warm in your apartment.

“Sounds like fun,” You sarcastically say as you make your way towards your couch,

‘Oh it’s thrilling,’ Karl responds back with the same sarcasm, but continues with, ‘How bout you? You alright love?’

Damn him and his fucking nicknames, you’re lucky he can’t see the way your face is fucking flushed.

“Oh I’m heating like a furnace over here,” Literally. “And I’ve got Harry Potter throwing spells at me,”

Karl groans into the phone, and lordy did that do something to you, immediately sending your mind into sinful thoughts. ‘What I would give to be in your position,’

You giggle as you stare at the screen, watching but not quite paying attention to the film, you didn’t need to, you’ve about watched that film more than you can count. Can visibly picture and say each line and scene with your eyes close as if it were the back of your hand.

“Maybe if you flirt with Richard he’ll let you go right now,” You smirk, knowing he too shared the same look,

‘I just might,’ He says with a short chuckle before adding once again, ‘Now what’s on your mind?’

He really did know you. Probably knows you better than you do. You’ve been avoiding the question since he spoke on the phone, but he picked on it much quicker than you thought.

You scoff with a shake of your head, dropping your phone on your chest, “I’m not even sure I should tell you,”

‘How come?’ Confusion and curiosity can be heard in his voice,

You stay quiet for a couple seconds, teeth biting your bottom lip from the nerves, “Because it’s pointless,”

‘Don’t be daft (Y/n). Obviously it’s not pointless if it’s got you calling me during work hours,’

“It is because I already know the answer to the question,”

‘Spill it,’ He simply says, firmness itched in his voice,

God you really hated him.

With a loud sigh you let your head lean back against the couch, you did call him, now you’ve gotta ask him.

‘(Y/n)’ Karl says your name with a slight warning to get you to talk,

Another sigh leaves your mouth again but the words fall freely from lips, “Okay. Remember Rubie?”

‘Of course,’

“Well she’s getting married in a couple of days..On Friday actually and—,”

‘Married?’ Karl questions with absolute confusion,

“Uhm.. yeah. Married,” Does he not know? He has to know I told him. He was there when she broke the news.. right?

‘With that one Tomas bloke?’ He asks again, Does he really not know?

You scoff with a soft chuckle, “Yeah him.. Don’t you remember Rubie spilling the beans that one Saturday night?”

He stays quiet for a couple seconds on the other end, making some noises with his tongue before finally remembering with a loud, excited, ‘Oh Yeah! Sorry love, been absolute crazy over here,’

The way he constantly forgets things brings a soft giggle out of you. Normally you’d think he’d be great with memorizing things considering his line of work, but it’s actually the quite opposite.

‘Alright, so she’s gettin married?’ He asks, which sounded more like he was edging you to continue with whatever it is you wanted to say,

“Yeah and— well.. I obviously have to go, she’s my best friend and all but..,” You stop yourself, silently inhaling through your nose as you look up at your ceiling, honestly regretting even calling him but continue with your question, “I..I didn’t want to go alone.. and.. I’ve got a plus one but got no one to take. And— well I-.. I figured I’d ask you,”

‘Right..,’ Was Karl’s response, hesitant and soft but then adds, ‘But you knew I worked,’

“Hence, pointless of even asking you,” You remind him, fingers nervously playing with the brand of your water bottle,

Silence hovered over you, definitely not helping with your nerves, but then you begin hearing the way he lets out a loud exhale through his nose.

‘You know I would absolutely love to go. Not only to crash the wedding but to also be there with you,’ If only he knew just how bad those words effected you, heart fluttering uncontrollably in your chest with cheeks burning, god how you wished he knew, ‘But I’m not sure if—,’

“No, yeah I know,” You cut him off, awaiting disappointment settling in your chest, “You’re busy.. you don’t have to explain, I get it. Why do you think I didn’t wanna ask you,”

‘Yeah.. sorry love,’

“Honestly Karl don’t be. You’re busy, plus I’m sure it’ll probably be difficult to even get the day off. It’s understandable,” You reassure him, fingers now playing with the corner of your pillow,

You weren’t sure, but you definitely think you heard a disappointed sigh on the other end of the phone, or maybe it was the wind? Either way, you too felt disappointed, even if you knew it was coming it still sucked knowing he’d most likely miss the wedding and would have to decline being your plus-one. Yet, despite the disappointment, you felt somewhat relieved knowing he didn’t reject your offer, reject you. Not that it proved your friends theory. He just couldn’t make it.

That’s it.

While you continued playing with the corner of your pillow, you hear Karl speak to someone on his end, then hear another loud, exhausted sigh escape from him. A small knowingly smile creeps on your lips when you recognize that sigh.

“Duty calls?” You ask, which he response with a short yawn,

‘Yeah,’

“Go. Finish the scene so you can catch some shut eye,” You tell him, even if you didn’t want to end the call you knew you had to, he needed to get back to work,

‘Alright love.. I’ll give you a call later on,’ He says with another small sigh,

“Okay. Goodnight,”

‘Night love,’

At his words you both end the call. Grabbing your phone from your chest you toss it to the side on the couch with a disappointed sigh. You stare at your phone for a couple seconds, replaying the conversation in your head, feeling the way your chest warms up when you heard his voice again after weeks of not being able to communicate. You always did enjoy your guys’ conversations, but now, with these feelings growing every minute, it just felt different, it was a different kind of happiness, it felt much more.. stronger. You couldn’t describe it other than feeling like the sun was constantly shining around you every time you’d hear his voice.

And it was a feeling you wished you’d feel everyday, wished it was the same feeling he felt, but knew that wish would never fully fulfill, because not every wish finds their way.

*****

Four Days Later

The wedding was absolutely beautiful. She looked absolutely incredible. The venue, the theme, the colors, her dress was just beyond perfect in your eyes, everything was just beautiful. That’s all you can say to describe the day. Things were going great, large smiles, heartfelt laughters, happy tears were being shared all around, you on the other hand we’re glad you decided to put waterproof everything because you definitely went through at least six pieces of tissues. Nonstop, happy tears rolled down your cheeks as Rubie made her way down the aisle with her grandfather, taking her fathers place considering he was no longer with us but proudly watching from above, the way they both shared their vows, promising each other to always protect and give unconditional love and support, then came the rings and the kiss. Then Husband and Wife.

You cheered with everyone, hugging Rubie’s mother with pure joy, new tears rolling down your face as you watched the newly wed wave with large smiles on their face. Everything was just beautiful.

Everything was going great after. Once everyone ate, everybody began enjoying the rest of the day with the newly wed. Drinks, laughter, more tears, chatter, pictures were being shared around the entire venue. You were sure you had thousands of great photos with friends and the newly wed, great memories to look back to, however, despite enjoying the night, you wished a certain someone was there to enjoy it with you. He had called you two days before the wedding to let you know he definitely wouldn’t be able to make it to the wedding, claiming they had to makeup the day for canceling the previous day due to flash floods, again you reassured him it was fine and completely understandable, but you still couldn’t help the way your heart shattered knowing you wouldn’t be seeing him anytime soon.

But even then, you still sent him pictures of the day, of the venue, of you and Rubie and even managed to sneak in a small FaceTime call, but had to cut it short since he claimed he had to go back to work. That was a couple of hours ago, ever since the call you tried to busy yourself by having a couple drinks with friends, chatting, laughing, even dancing with friends and the bride. The night was going splendid, definitely a night to remember, until it wasn’t.

You parted away from your group, claiming you had to use the restroom. Once that was taken care of, you began walking in the direction of the bar where you ordered your preferred drink and waited patiently. A smile would come across your lips every once and a while as you watched Rubie dance with her new husband to a slow song, it was such a memorable scene, making you wonder if you would ever get to experience such a beautiful moment too. Your thoughts were soon brought out by the bartender placing your drink on the counter, once thanking him and giving him a tip, which he sends you an appreciative smile, you turn to walk away, but was stopped by the one man you had been avoiding throughout the whole day.

Mason Peerson. Better known as your shit head of an ex-boyfriend.

“Hey,” He greets you with that all too familiar smirk, causing dark memories to resurface in your mind,

“Mason,” You say his name with pure disdain, distaste, causing an uncomfortable knot to start forming at the pit of your stomach when his smirk only darkens at your tone, clearly finding your hatred amusing,

“It’s been a while,” He starts, leaning one elbow on the counter of the bar, smirk still plastered on his face,

“Sure has,” You respond shortly, wanting nothing more than to leave this conversation, leave him, but you knew walking away from him was pointless, he was like a piece gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe once stepped on,

He won’t leave you alone. Yet, you were actually surprised he hadn’t bothered you earlier, then again, you never did leave your armor of friends. Trying to get through them was like trying to get through a pack of viscous wolves, it was pointless to even try and it was incredibly dangerous. For him, anyways. They all knew the way he had mistreated you during the last few moments of your relationship, witnessed multiple times where you both would constantly argue over the smallest things, even witnessed how he had brought your insecurities even lower, causing you to dig yourself into a dark hole, which took a lot of convincing and patience to bring you out of.

Your relationship wasn’t always fucked. In the beginning everything was fine, great, perfect, he was perfect, in your eyes at least. He would do everything for you, would show you love, affection, the two years were just absolutely amazing, until it wasn’t. Things went downhill as soon as he began drinking nearly every weekend, then the drinking switched from twice of the week to drinking nearly every day. Then came the arguments, then the harassment, not physical, but verbally, which ruined you mentally. Things between you two were just fucked at that point, no better word for it, it was just too toxic, it wasn’t healthy by any means, not anymore at least.

Family and friends begged you to leave him, to leave that toxic environment, but you couldn’t, you felt trapped by blind love, until you finally drew the line. One night, after a terrible “date night” you had stormed out of the restaurant after he had insulted you once again and demanded you to stop being so dramatic about your mental issues, claiming ‘you are not a child so stop seeking attention’ not only did he receive a list of profanities but he also received your glass of whine poured onto his head. Luckily for you, the security guards were able to step in between you two before he even got the chance to actually do something. One of them escorted you outside while the other kept Mason inside as you waited for your ride.

It was Karl who had picked you up. And it was that night that you had cried in his chest before falling into a peaceful sleep in his arms.

“Even after all these years, you still look good,” He gives you an unwelcoming compliment,

You give him a scoff with a disbelief smile, “Thanks,” You tell him, taking a step to walk away but a cold hand stops you by the elbow, halting your steps,

“Hey c’mon, can we please just talk?” He asks you, hand still firm around your elbow,

Talk? Seriously? Bold of him to assume talking to him was the last thing on my mind. You mentally tell yourself.

“There’s nothing to talk about and there never will be,” You try walking away again but his grip on your elbow only tightens as he maneuvers his body in front of you, blocking you from walking away,

“Despite looking good, you’re acting like a goddamn child still,” His light brown eyes were filled with that same old annoyance, irritation as he stared at you,

And oh how you wanted nothing more than to punch the shit out of him. You were seconds away from doing so, your free hand was curled into a fist by your side, you were just waiting for him to give you a reason, but before he could give you one, an all too familiar deep, loving voice settles behind you.

“We all good here?” You quickly turn around at his voice, watching the way his hazel orbs drop down to yours for a split second before once again averting them back to Mason, who had long since then released your elbow from his grip,

The look that was written in his eyes was the same look he displayed while playing his iconic role, Billy Butcher. Seeing it through a screen was absolutely incredible, but now, with him only an inch away from you and having that look in his eyes was pure intimidation, yet, arousing. But her didn’t need to know that. Ever.

“Karl. It’s been a minute,”

“Sure has,” Karl responds, tone flat and still, then slightly motions his head to the side, “Now how bout we leg it, yeah?”

In other words, fuck off. You mentally say as you stood between both men. Mason must’ve understood the true definition behind the taller man’s words because he softly chuckles before taking a step forward, but before he can even take another you quickly settle in front of him, stopping him from inching closer to the man behind you, who now had his chest pressed against your back. Not because he was going to launch at the other man, not that he didn’t want to, but because he saw how close the dickhead had gotten to you.

“Just leave, Mason,” You firmly tell him, (E/c) glaring into his own eyes as you continue with, “You’re really gonna cause a scene at your best friends wedding?”

That got him to avert his eyes from the man behind you to stare into your own. That’s the only reason why he’s even here, he was good friends with Tomas, they were like brothers so of course he was going to attend his brothers wedding, but if it wasn’t for him knowing Tomas, he wouldn’t have been there.

Something switches in eyes as he locked gazes with you, a habit that apparently never left from him. An effect that you just had on him, despite of everything that he’d done, you just had a way in bringing him down without even trying. He’d never admit it, but you were, and will always be his weakness.

Still keeping his eyes locked with yours, he inhales deeply through his nose before averting his eyes back towards Karl, who was still keeping a close eye on him. Then after a minute, maybe less, Mason gives you a small glance before finally leaving without another word.

“Never did understand what you saw in that cunt,” Karl comments once Mason was out of earshot, hazel orbs still following his frame as he made his way across the venue,

You chuckle as you turn to face him, “It’s called blind love,”

Karl remained keeping his eyes on Mason, watching as he made his way back to a group of men, then cheering and laughing with them as if he wasn’t just seconds away from causing a fight. As he kept his eyes on the group of men, Mason specifically, he didn’t notice the way you were observing— admiring—him. Dark hair neatly styled upwards, beard neatly trimmed, skin glowing perfectly—beautifully under the venues lights, then you let your eyes wonder throughout his entire frame. Dark blazer and jeans with a turquoise button up underneath— which you realized matched with your dress perfectly— and of course he had the first three buttons undone revealing his chest and St. Christopher necklace that you had gotten him a couple years back, causing a warming sensation to build at the pit of your stomach whenever you see it on him.

He really does not take it off. You tell yourself, remembering when you had given him the necklace as an early birthday gift where he then took it with a large, appreciative smile before slipping it over his head without hesitation. If you were being completely honest, that moment plays rent free in your mind at any given time, he plays rent free at any given time, but you’re not complaining nor will you ever admit it to him.

“You came,” You softly say, small smile forming on your mouth when those hazel orbs of his finally land on yours,

His entire demeanor changes as he locks eyes with you. Pure relief, joy, and happiness replace his anger as he stares at you. God how he missed your eyes, your smile, you.

“You called,” He simply states, then adds, “Plus, I did say we’d crash the wedding together right?”

A soft chuckle escapes from you, smile widening as you close the little gap between you two where two large arms wrap around your frame and tug you closer to his firm body. Your own arms wrap around his waist, fingers interlocking behind his back, trapping him there as your cheek rests against his chest. Despite the music playing loudly through the speakers, his soothing heartbeat still sounded beautifully in your ear, making your hold on him to tighten, which only widens his own smile. Hugging you tighter as well, he places a gentle kiss on top of your head.

“Sorry I’m late,” Karl whispers, lips slightly moving against the crown of your head,

You shake your head against his chest, “Doesn’t matter. Everything’s perfect now,”

The two of you remain in each others arms for another couple of minutes, just cherishing the moment for a little while longer until the sounds of cheering breaks the moment. Glancing over to the dance floor you watch as both Rubie and Tomas become the center of attention, a smile and chuckle escaping from you when they both show their moves to the upbeat music. Then you feel a hand interlocking with your own, glancing back at Karl you see him motioning his head to the side with a smile before gently guiding you to the table where the rest of your friends sat and cheered.

After greeting and hugging each one of your friends, he sits down next to you, hand once again interlocking with your own. You stare down at your hands then back up to meet his eyes, he only spares you a small smile before turning around to spark a conversation with one of the guys at the table, however, what made a smile form on your lips was the way his thumb would rub soothing circles against your skin, causing a warming sensation to rise in your chest and causing you to inch closer to him in your chair.

He’s just holding my hand because we haven’t seen each other for a couple months, nothing else. You tell yourself as you listened in on a conversation on your left but couldn’t seem to focus since your mind kept wondering back to his thumb rubbing small circles against your skin. You wanted to believe it was more than a ‘I miss you, I haven’t seen you for a while, so I’m going to hold your hand for as long as I can’ type of thing, but you also didn’t want to believe in such a thing, you feared it, feared of getting hurt. But the longer he held your hand in his, the harder it was to push the thought away.

Just stop! He’s only here for the night, possibly for a couple of hours, just enjoy the night, enjoy him while you can! You mentally curse at yourself when you start overthinking things, which is an annoying tick of yours, but as annoying as it is, you can’t just stop yourself. Thankfully, before you can even dive deeper in your thoughts, Rubie comes strolling over to your table with a wide smile, which only widens when she spots Karl by your side. Once thanking and hugging him for attending her wedding, she goes ahead and demands everyone at the table to join her at the dance floor, words slightly slurring, causing a few chuckles and cheers as she turns back around. Dancing her way back to the floor.

While everyone indeed gets up from the table to follow the married woman, you and Karl remain sitting down, watching everybody cheering as they make their to the dance floor with a smile. Then, before you know it, Karl himself is standing up as well, pulling your interlocked hands, a motion for you to go dancing with him.

Your eyes grow wide, “You know I suck at dancing,”

Karl softly chuckles, “That makes two love,”

With another small tug on your hand, you rise from your chair with a wide smile. At least you won’t be alone when it comes to making a fool of yourself.

You let him guide you to the dance floor, hand tightening around his own as he moves through dancing bodies, after what seemed like a minute of walking through a crowded maze, Karl is pulling you in front of him. A large smile spreads on your face as you two move with the music, even if both of you were definitely not meant for dancing, you both still were giving it all. Not caring if both your steps were off beat, not caring if you two were possibly making a fool of yourselves, you both were simply enjoying the moment. Together.

Yet, the night only seemed to get younger. As you two were dancing and just as Karl twirls you around, the DJ switches the song, causing the entire venue to erupt in loud, excited cheers as the next song blares through the speakers. Karl watches the way your eyes and smile grow wide the same time Rubie suddenly appears right next to you, then watches the way you both sing the lyrics to the song as loud as you both can.

‘Coming out of my cage,

And I’ve been doing just fine,

Gotta gotta be down,

Because I want it all,

It started out with a kiss,

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss,

Now I’m falling asleep,

And she’s calling a cab,

While he’s having a smoke,

And she’s taking a drag,

Now they're going to bed,

And my stomach is sick,

And it's all in my head,

But she's touching his chest now,

He takes off her dress now

Let me go,

And I just can't look, it's killing me,

And taking control,’

Karl remains standing still, quietly, just admiring you from his position on the dance floor, completely awestruck by you at the moment. Wide smile plastered on your lips as you sing the lyrics with pure energy, joyfulness, admiration, excitement, love. His hazel orbs never leaves your form. They were glued to you. He felt as if he’d look away, he miss the best moment, and that was you, dancing, jumping, screaming your lungs out to the song, hair going absolute wild from jumping with Rubie by your side. It was a fucking sight to his eyes. A sight he knew he always wanted to see, forever. Your smile, the bright light in your beautiful (E/c) eyes, just you. He wanted to see that happiness in you till the end of time. You out of all people deserved it and he was damn sure he was going to do everything in his power to bring you that same happiness you felt at the moment for as long as he lived.

It was that same happiness that made him realize just how much he loves you. Not that he didn’t know it already, hell, he’s been in love with you, but the way you danced and jumped around singing your lungs out only filled that love for you. Made it stronger, harder to push down, and that alone was enough for him to let go. He’s waited too long, has kept it hidden too long, fear and anxiety rested heavily at the pit of his stomach for what his heart has decided. He knew whatever he was about to do was either going to go really well, or he was heading back to the airport with a devastated heart.

Then you turned his way, wide smile, teeth and gum showing as you continue to scream the lyrics.

Oh fuck it.

With two long steps Karl towers over you, immediately holding either side of your face to roughly, but carefully, connect your lips. The sudden action made you freeze, body going completely rigid, eyes wide as your mind tries to process what the fuck just happened. Feeling the way your entire body goes stiff, Karl slowly peels away from you, scared hazel orbs scanning your entire face. His anxiety grows stronger when he still sees that same shocked expression on you, but then sees how a small smile starts forming on your lips, and before he knows it he’s being pulled back into your space, your own lips latching on to his.

A large wave of relief washes over both of you. Wide smile forming on your guys’ lips as you two melt into the kiss. Everything you both have been hiding, keeping it in a locked door, was now being poured into the kiss. Both your bodies were flushed against each other, your fingers tangled in his hair at the base of his neck while one of his hands cradled your cheek and the other gripped firmly on your hip. Keeping you in place as he only deepened the kiss. However, a loud popping sound has you both flinching away from each other, causing a large grin to spread on each others lips when you see confetti falling from the ceiling. Karl looks back down at you with the same grin, hand still holding its place by your cheek as his thumb gently rubs your skin, then drops his head low enough to softly rub his nose with yours, causing your smile to widen. It never leaves even when he latched his lips on yours once again, even when a roar of cheers is heard next to you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t shy away from the kiss and hide your face into his chest when you know the cheers are directed to you and Karl.

A deep chuckle rumbles from Karl’s chest, finding your shyness adorable, but only hugs you tighter before once again bringing your head to peck you on the lips once again. Definitely feeling the way your cheeks burn under his palms.

“Wanna get out of here?” Karl asks you with a smile, lips moving against yours,

Your smile widens as you nod your head, which he only chuckles as he pecks your lips once more before guiding you out of the dance floor. You shake your head with a large smile when you see all of your friends, including Rubie, still cheering for you as you make your way out of the crowd. You knew whenever they see you again they would demand you details and would give you the ‘I told you so’ lecture, which only widen your smile and brought a warming sensation across your chest.

Looks like you were proved wrong.

*******

Saturday

2:30 am

“When do you go back?” You ask, head leaning against his naked chest, fingers playing with his own,

You have been avoiding that question for obvious reasons, not wanting to know the answer when you knew it already. You wished you had more time, wished you could cherished this moment much longer, wish you could keep him in your arms, in your bed with nothing but your silver sheets covering your bodies, but you knew reality would sweep in. He had to head back to Chicago to finish filming while you had to head back to the theater where you currently were working as the makeup artist. As much as you wanted this moment to last, you both had to head back to work, back to reality, back to long distance, and that alone saddened you.

“Was actually supposed to catch a red-eye but..your worth rescheduling,” Karl mumbles behind you, causing your smile to widen against his chest,

“Am I?” You ask, raising your head to look into his eyes, small smirk displayed on your lips,

Karl stares at you, small smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he brings his free hand to place a strand of hair behind your ear, “You’re worth all of it love,”

You remain smiling at him, your (E/c) eyes scanning his entire face, embracing and enjoying the way he looks at the moment. His dark hair that was once neatly styled was now sticking out from every angle, his eyes and skin illuminating perfectly from the moon light coming from your window, everything about him, in that moment, was just perfect. Bringing your hand, the one that was fiddling with his fingers, you let them cradle the side of his jaw, fingers gently massaging his beard, earning a slight head tilt from the man.

Staring deep in his eyes, you let the words slip out, “I love you,”

A smile forms on his lips, hazel orbs growing warmer, “I love you. Always have and always will,”

“Always?” You question with a smirk,

Karl scrunches his face, lips forming into a small pout, “Maybe not always,”

That earned him a smack on the chest, causing a deep chuckle to erupt from his throat. Then after a few seconds, he goes ahead and places a warm hand on the side of your face, hazel eyes staring into your beautiful eyes, that he’s grown to love throughout the years, and not once breaking eye contact with his next words. His promise to you.

“Yes, always. To 10 years and More,”

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Tag List: @tiannamortis @lmarina2000 @would-die-for-bucky-barnes @strangesgirl

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-Hope y’all enjoyed it! Definitely enjoyed writing this one! If I’m being completely honest, this might be my longest fic I’ve ever written for Tumblr and I couldn’t be more proud!

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#the boys tv #the boys #the boys imagine #billy butcher x ofc #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x you #Billy Butcher #billy butcher x y/n #karl urban x ofc #karl urban x reader #Karl urban

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸𝚅. 𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, flirting, fluff, angst, pining, soft!Joel, protective!Joel, girldad!Joel, tipsy!Joel, heteronormative bullshit, inherent power imbalance due to boss/employee dynamic, Sad During the Holidays™, financial/mental/emotional/physical abuse, high functioning alcoholism | WORD COUNT: 9k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: The more settled you get into your new job, the more your home life frays at the edges. When Joel asks you for a favor, you both struggle to keep from crossing the line between professional and personal.

“Blue Plate Diner?” you read aloud. The flickering bulbs of the neon blue sign added to the Mom & Pop charm of the breakfast place Joel had picked.

“It’s good, I swear. Just give it a chance and you’ll love it,” he promises.

You’re craving the proximity of last night on the bench together passing out candy, so you choose a booth when the waitress asks if you have a preference. Joel picks up a menu and hands it to you, and you take the opportunity to scoot closer to him when he grabs one of his own.

“So what do you normally like for breakfast?” he asks.

“Um, I dunno. Just whatever is around, I guess.”

“What sorta answer is that? You don’t have a favorite breakfast food?”

“I dunno. Do you?” You glance over to see what he’s considering on the menu, only to find he’s ignoring it completely and has his eyes set on you.

“Yeah, I got some classics on deck, but I wanna make sure you get somethin’ you like.”

“Well what’s the fan favorite?” You take a look around at the other patrons and find not a single one of them looks to be under 70 years old. “Other than maybe applesauce and prune juice,” you add.

“Very funny,” Joel laughs under his breath. “You’ll be old one day, too, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’ll get there first, so you can tell me all about it so I can be prepared,” you shoot back with a devilish smirk.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re nothin’ but trouble?” he teases with a full body bump to your side.

You quickly look back down to the menu and wonder what he would say if you told him that yes you had in fact been told many times in many different ways that you were nothing but trouble – except not in the fun, lighthearted way that he’d just said it. 

“Yeah, but I’ve heard worse,” you settle on.

When he seems to be sizing up your response, you give him a full body nudge of your own, which draws a soft chuckle from him. “So,” you say brightly. “What do you recommend since we don’t have to worry about our dentures popping out?”

He rests his arm along the back of the booth behind you and pins you with a put on stern expression. “Speak for yourself,” he huffs. He’s so broad and open sitting next to you like this. You could curl right into his side and fit so snug and perfect, you just know it. Somehow you just know it’d feel like his body was meant to curve around yours.

You giggle and turn to him, your hand finding it’s way to his lips before you can really register what the fuck you’re even doing. He stills, eyelids falling half-lidded for a moment as he watches you, and leans into your touch. The scruff of his beard is coarse and scratchy. You wonder what it would feel like against your neck, your lips, in between your legs. You tap his front teeth when his mouth opens into a smile. “Your denture guy does some real good work. Can’t even tell they’re fake,” you mock observe.

You want to touch his dimple so, so bad. It’s right there. Would he let you? Would it be weird? He still hasn’t moved, just sitting there letting you touch and poke and prod as you please. Your hand gently curves against his jawline, and your fingertip grazes against his dimple. “Is this your real hair or do you have a wig guy, too?” You meant for it to come out as a playful jab, but instead it was a breathy sort of question that betrayed the farce of innocent levity.

“I’m gatekeeping my wig guy, sorry,” he teases. “I’ll give you my denture guy’s contact if you want it, though.”

“Should I come back?” the waitress asks no one in particular.

You and Joel both missed her return to your table. Gravity feels stronger with how quickly your hand drops from his face. You situate yourself forward again to face the server. Joel still keeps his hand along your back where it rests on the booth. “You need a minute?” he asks you softly. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice even though it hasn’t emerged onto his face quite yet.

You know he means do you need more time to look at the menu, but all your brain can recognize as needing a moment to process is the insanely flirtatious banter that’s definitely crossed over into inappropriately touching your boss territory. “Um, can you just order for us both?”

“I got you,” he assures you with a smile. Your tummy flips because again there’s so much more to his words than their surface value. He does have you. He has you in ways you haven’t even begun to openly admit to yourself despite feeling it. 

He has you in the way that he’s always been on your side since you first met. Taking up for you when Jeremy was being an asshole. Recognizing and having faith in your abilities to do a job you have zero experience for. Driving you to and from work every day so you had safe, reliable transportation. Calling to check in on you whenever he wasn’t in the office. Texting you on the weekends. Taking the time and the effort to explain things to you until you got the hang of it and never making you feel dumb about it no matter how many times or how long it took. Letting you come over to his house when you said you were alone at your own. And even the little things that might not matter to most people – getting the door for you, making sure the temperature in the car was comfortable, asking if the music playing was okay or if you wanted to change it.

Joel takes care of you in so many ways that on their own might seem insignificant or standard but all add up to one overwhelming sense of being looked after. 

He orders for you both – a monte cristo sandwich and chicken and waffles - and you settle into easy conversation again. You’ve never tried either dish, and you soak in the eager way Joel explains them to you in detail and what he thinks you might like about them. You end up preferring the raspberry jam to dip the sandwich into over the strawberry jam that Joel liked better. The chicken and waffles are absolute perfection, and Joel is nice enough to let you have the last bite.

Your stomach was uncomfortable with fullness, but you’d have to wait until you were alone in the office to unbutton your jeans for more room. You lean back with a heavy sigh against the booth and mindlessly snuggle against Joel’s arm there. You don’t remember when he put it back after the food had come.

“Not a breakfast person, huh?” The curve of a self-satisfied grin slips onto his mouth.

“Did I eat too much?” You feel self-conscious now. Maybe he’d meant to save some of it for later? You didn’t realize how hungry you actually were. It occurs to you that you didn’t eat dinner last night. You sometimes forgot to eat if you weren’t preparing a meal for your dad.

“Oh quit it,” he gently chides. “You know damn well I’m over the moon that you liked the food. I was nervous I’d oversold it to you.”

You relax again knowing that he wasn’t upset with you for helping eat the plates clean. “You always pick good stuff. I knew whatever you picked was gonna be good.”

His entire face beams with a deliriously pleased grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe a little laugh.

He turns his head from you to look out the front of the diner, and you swear the tips of his ears are pinking just like the apples of his cheeks.

“So, can I ask a favor now that I got you all comatose with sugar?” he lobs at you and makes eye contact again.

“Ask away, Sugar Booger,” you giggle, feeling a little giddy and high off the carb and glucose laden foods. And maybe making him blush. And possibly also the prolonged proximity to him.

“Oh wow. No more syrup for you,” he jokes. “You sure you’re of sound mind? Don’t want you claimin’ an altered state later on and try to get outta it.”

“Is the favor that bad?”

Joel winces at the unintentional negative setup he’d created for his impending request. “No, I mean, it’s not– No, it’s not that bad. More just like I’m not the best with those sorts of things and could use some guidance.”

Your eyebrows lift in curiosity, and you wait for him to continue.

“So, there’s a guy on our crew – you’ve met him, I think? Paul?– and he’s been with us for 10 years this December. So me ‘n Tommy wanted to do a sort of, not like a party, but more of like a sit down dinner sort of thing? And invite all the employees to come celebrate.”

You stare blankly at him, wondering how this was supposed to be something you’d have a better hand at than Joel or Tommy.

“I know it ain’t your job duties, but I could use a little help,” he admits. “Jenn always sorta just handled this stuff, and I shoulda paid more attention to it when she was—”

“I can do it,” you answer quickly. If Jennifer had done it, you could do it. You had to do it. You weren’t going to come into this position with none of the experience she had and none of the work ethic, too.

“You don’t have to. I can do most of it, but I just need a little help organizing it and whatnot.”

“I can do it.”

“Well alright then,” he says like he’s relieved it’s settled and didn’t take too much convincing.

He pays for the meal, and you both head to the car to start your work day.

Kenzie: sssooooo the job???

Her text comes through, and your eyebrows shoot to your hairline in pleasant surprise. You’re shocked she even remembered you’d quit the grocery store and started full time with Miller Contracting. After ten seconds of consideration, you realize she probably had a little more incentive to recall more of what’s going on in your life because she wanted the dirt on you and Joel. You can’t really blame her, though. You’d be the same way.

You: omg hi! yes, it’s been really good! hbu

Kenzie: caught up w my study buddy friend again this past weekend

Kenzie: he did better this time around

Kenzie: might have to give him a better dicking down score tbh

You: gotta love a fast learner right lol

Kenzie: no fr haha

Kenzie: so have u and joel fucked yet or what

You roll your eyes. Of course she probably would’ve already had this figured out and been fucking Joel on the regular if she was in your shoes, but you didn’t have the sort of inherent charm and finesse that Kenzie seemed to possess when it came to hooking up and relationships.

You: he’s literally my boss

Kenzie: ok but im not hearing a no…..

You: you are trying to get me fired 😐

Kenzie: no im trying to get u FUCKED

Kenzie: which btw whens the last time somebody knocked the cobwebs outta that pussy 

You: omfg

Kenzie: 🎤🎤🎤 lets hear it bitch i need to know what im working with

You groan and scrub a hand over your face. You really, really weren’t in the mood for this particular conversation. It had been a long time since you’d been with anybody, but that wasn’t what made you reluctant to dive into the topic. You’d told her about your past experiences, but she never picked up on the fact that you didn’t mention who they had been with. Pretty much everything you knew about having a sex with a guy you’d learned from Kenzie’s extensive and detailed exploits. She would typically take the lead on conversations around hookups and whiskey dick and bad dating app matches, and you were happy to just listen along and live a little through her tellings.

You: don’t laugh

Kenzie: oh god ok hold on

Kenzie: ok im ready

You: it’s been like 3 years ish

Kenzie: WHAT

Kenzie: u didnt tell em this was an emegenyc!!!!!!!

You: are the typos for dramatic effect or are you legit that worked up

Kenzie: 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Kenzie: if i wasnt in class right now id be calling you asap im so serious 

Kenzie: omfg ur poor kitty wtf that is actually tragic

You: ok actually I think I’d just prefer you to laugh at this point instead of whatever this is 💀

Kenzie: ok ok sorry

Kenzie: im just in a state of shock let me pull it together

Kenzie: ok

You: you have to remember I haven’t been with a ton of ppl

Kenzie: pure and innocent okay mary mother of jesus 🙏⛪

You: it’s not like I don’t want to!

You: you’re supposed to be helping me rn 😒

Kenzie: ok well what was he like?

You: who?

Kenzie: the last guy you were with? 3 years ago?

Ah, there it was. The default assumption. It wasn’t usually intended to be rude or presumptuous, but it put you in a position of having to explain your departure from the “norm.” You sigh and decide to give Kenzie a chance. She was super open when it came to sex and all that, so maybe she wouldn’t be like every other person you’d had this conversation with, which thankfully had been very few.

You: nope never been w a guy

Kenzie: …..

Kenzie: im so confused rn

You: well kenz when two ppl like each other a whole bunch, sometimes their crotches get all hot and tingly

Kenzie: ppfffttttt dont have to explain that part to me

Kenzie: ok so ur a virgin?!

Kenzie: 👁️👄👁️

You: nope just never had dick or dick shaped things inside me

Kenzie: hmmm ok idk if thats how that works but im gonna roll w it bc i really dont know lol

You sigh again. You know she’s probably genuinely confused and probably also trying to halfway pay attention to whatever lecture she’s in, but it’s still frustrating nonetheless. This idea that sex had to be penetrative to “count” never made a whole lot of sense to you, but over the years you’d found out that you were in the minority with that viewpoint.

You: wow ty for your grace and understanding 😐

Kenzie: i mean it could be worse we could be starting from square 1 so at least youve got some experience under your belt we can work with that

You: I’m really not trying to fuck up this job like obviously Joel is hot but I don’t want to lose this job bc I cross a line and do something stupid

Kenzie: i bet hes huge 😮‍💨

You: that’s not helpful!

Kenzie: ok ok!!! sorry i literally cant help it hes hot and has bde like its not my fault im thinking about it

You laugh at that. Joel did in fact carry himself with the confidence of a guy who was “blessed below the belt,” and the thick, broad physique he had also had all signs pointing to big. You tried your hardest not to think about that, though, because once you got fixated on it that was it. His body always felt so nice and warm next to yours, and you’d put a firm boundary in your mind to not let your imagination run wild about what was beneath the clothes.

You: ok I gotta get back to work

You: text me soon! I want to stay in the loop with everything!

Kenzie: same! 💖

You: ❤️

You’d always preferred pants, but a dress was a single item and cheaper than buying a decent pair of slacks and an appropriate but not boring top for this dinner you were organizing. There was a steakhouse that wasn’t too upscale but still landed in that clean, woodsy tavern type of environment you felt was a good fit for the crew. You knew your usual jeans and t-shirts weren’t going to cut it, so you carved out a little time to bike up to a few thrift stores in the area.

The wrap dress you’d picked had a sort of matronly floral pattern, but beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, it looked better on a body than dangling from a hanger, so it wasn’t a total loss. You used a few carefully placed pins to make sure it wasn’t going to fly open in the middle of the dinner, and, voila! you had a sort of cute outfit to wear to this thing.

The Sunday of the event finally rolled around, and your nerves were at an all time high. You worried that you had forgotten something or that people weren’t going to like the party or that you were going to embarrass yourself in some way. You ignored the catastrophizing as much as possible, but even your favorite, softest t-shirt was feeling itchy around the color while you waited near the front hallway to listen out for Joel’s truck.

You couldn’t leave the house in your dress without your dad demanding to know when and how you’d gotten it. He’d never approve a new dress for just one singular work function. It’s tucked away in your bag until you can change into it later. You make a beeline for the door when you hear Joel’s truck pull up. You absolutely do not want him to interact with your dad. The idea of him confronting Joel about your pay sets your panic on edge.

“When are you gonna be back?” he barks out. He’d agreed to let you go to this work event, but he wasn’t happy about it.

“It’s supposed to be from 1 to 3, dad. I might have to help clean up after, but I don’t think it’ll take too long.” Your hand grips on the doorknob when you hear Joel’s truck come to a complete stop. Bits of imagined images flash in your mind of your dad finding out you’d been lying to him this whole time about how much you made. Your stomach clenches.

“Clean up after? You’re not even getting paid for this thing. Why the fuck would you— You know what, nevermind. If you’re stupid enough to work this thing for free on a weekend, there’s no point trying to explain to you why that’s fucking ridiculous.” He huffs and shakes his head with an incredulous, aggravated smile.

“I’ll be back soon. Bye, dad.”

He settles back into his chair and flicks through the TV channels. “Fucking moron,” he mumbles loud enough for you to hear.

You pretend like you didn’t hear him even though you both know you did. Joel is approaching your front door when you bound down the steps towards him. “Hey, ready to go?” You don’t wait for an answer as you scurry to the passenger side. Joel rushes to open the door for you, and you feel bad about making him hurry. You just need to get off your street, and then your nerves might settle.

Joel hops into the driver’s seat and greets you with a smile. “Well hello to you, too.”

You force a smile back. “Sorry. Just don’t want to be late. I’d never forgive myself if I ruined this whole thing by being late.” He motions for you to put your seatbelt on, and it’s only then you realize he’s got on a nice pressed button up with dark wash jeans. His hair is lightly gelled and combed back.

“What the fuck,” you exhale.

“What?” He pulls back, brow knitted in confusion. 

“You– You look so handsome.” It jumps out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

He bursts into a deep belly laugh and shakes his head. “Well you don’t have to sound so surprised about it.” He puts the gear in reverse. “Get your seatbelt on, sweetie.”

“‘Kay,” you mumble absently. When had the inside of the car gotten to 500 degrees? Were you sweaty or clammy? It was hard to tell. You shove the seatbelt into the lock and slump back, all while stealing glances at Joel. He pulls out of the driveway and heads down the street. You suddenly realize you look like an absolute dumpster fire in comparison. “I, um, I do have a different outfit. It’s in my bag.”

“Oh? You can wear what you’ve got on if you’re more comfortable in it,” he offers. “It’s just the guys. Nobody there to impress. I just figured I should put somethin’ on since I’m the big important boss, right?” He flashes a small grin your direction.

“No. I, um, I actually got, like, a real outfit for this. So. You don’t have to worry about me looking like a complete slob.”

He turns his head your direction fully now with a disapproving frown. “You look nice. Why’re you sayin’ that?”

You shrug and look out your window. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Sounds like you did,” he contends.

“Sorr–” You clamp your mouth shut before the word can leave it. “I’ll word it better next time.”

The drive is quiet for a few minutes.

“Hey, you doin’ okay? S’everything alright?”

You hug your arms tighter around yourself. “Yeah, why?”

“Just seem bothered or somethin’. You sure nothin’s wrong?” he presses.

“Just nervous I guess about the party,” you half-lie.

He reaches a hand over without taking his eyes off the road, and your throat squeezes tight when his hand settles gently against the top of your thigh. “You have no reason to be nervous, okay? You did a great job, I just know it. And if anybody doesn’t like somethin’ — even though I doubt that’ll happen — we’re gonna say that I did it or chose it, okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s our plan, okay?” he interjects. He stops at a red light and turns to look at you, pinning you with a tender but firm expression. “You’re an employee, too, remember? So you should have a good time just like everybody else, you hear?”

You nod and slowly put your hand atop his. You graze your fingers against the solid shape of it and feel grounded for the first time all day. “Okay. I’ll try to enjoy myself.”

“Good,” he approves with a gentle squeeze to your leg before putting both hands on the steering wheel again.

The steakhouse has a private room that you booked, and you get another boost of encouragement when you see that the setup they did is really nice. Joel appraises and compliments every balloon, confetti, tablecloth color,  banner you picked, and so on until he starts repeating himself. You were worlds away from the stress of your house by now, and you slipped away to the bathrooms to change before people started arriving. You situate your dress so it hangs just right, double check the pins are in place, and give your hair a quick pat down.

“Oh good, no one’s here yet,” you sigh when you rush back into the private party room.

Joel’s hands are in his pockets as he casually stands admiring your efforts for the party. He turned when you spoke and stopped dead in his tracks. “Wow!”

“Oh, you don’t have to do all that just because I was an idiot in the truck,” you dismiss.

“You look incredible!” he raves. He pulls his hands from his pockets and holds them out low to his sides as he approaches you with an open appraisal of your form. He’s standing so close now you feel a bit dizzy. It doesn’t help matters when he slides his hands to cup your elbows. “That’s a really nice dress. You look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you mumble. Your chest might as well be on fire, and your ears were throbbing with a pulsing drum.

“And you’re not an idiot. I really wish you’d quit sayin’ that stuff,” he adds gently. His face is open, imploring you to stop the ingrained habit of tearing yourself down with simple but hurtful self-directed words.

“I don’t mean to,” you admit in a soft hush. You rest a hand on his stomach and fiddle with the small buttons there.

“I know you don’t,” he says just as soft. He smooths a cluster of stray hairs to sit behind your ear.

He nudges your chin before putting his hands back in his pockets. “Chin up, alright? Let’s have a good time.”

Your mouth twitches to the side in a little half smile. “Okay,” you agree.

You keep your word for the most part. The rest of the employees filter in one by one, all dressed in varying degrees of special occasion attire. You feel a bit better about your dress now seeing a few others wearing pretty much what you’d consider “elevated loungewear.” You recognize the names and a few faces, but you’ve never really had a chance to actually sit down and talk with most of them. They all seem friendly and easygoing. The back and forth between everybody feels like one of those scenes in a movie or TV show where everybody is sitting around for a holiday meal while the camera pans through all the boisterous, joyful interactions.

You surprise yourself by enjoying all of it and glancing around at all the happy energy zipping through the room. Normally you’d probably feel like the odd man out for not really knowing anybody that well, but the atmosphere is so warm and friendly that it feels perfectly acceptable to just be a content fly on the wall. It probably helps that Joel keeps checking in on you as he’s taken to doing.

You’re sat near the end with him and Tommy – prime positioning for whoever needs to get up and grab something or stand to make an announcement. The man of the hour Paul is seated near the other end of the table, which actually turns out perfect since most people’s attention keeps focusing his way. You make sure to keep the physical and verbal boundaries with Joel in check even though you wish you could just reach out and hold his hand.

The first snag comes when the drink orders are being taken. Everyone is getting beer or wine, and you feel a bit of panic rise up. You can’t remember the last time you drank, and you don’t want to make a fool of yourself or be the only person not drinking. It was a celebration after all, and the pressure to just pick something and deal with the consequences were weighing on you more and more the closer the wait staff got to you. You fumble with the drink menu and pray to god your hands don’t shake too much or heaven forbid your voice when you actually have to speak.

“And for you, ma’am?” the waiter asks politely.

“Um. Um… I … I, um…..”

“Oh, what about that peach moscato I was tellin’ you that Sarah won’t shut up about? You said you like moscato, right?” Joel pipes up.

You turn to him and try to hide the surprise on your face. You’d never had any such conversation. It dawns on you that he’s trying to help. “Oh, yeah! Perfect. Um. I can’t remember what it’s called, though?”

Joel pretends to be in thought for a moment trying to recall. “Hm, I think the label has a flower on it? A peach flower maybe?”

The waiter “regretfully informs” Joel that he isn’t familiar with the moscato in question. You feel a bit bad for him knowing all of it was just something Joel had pulled out of his ass to save yours. Joel shrugs and says whatever peach moscato they’ve got would do. The waiter nods and scribbles down your order before excusing himself and taking Joel and Tommy’s orders for beers. Everyone is served their beverage, and you actually think your fizzy pink drink looks pretty with all the peach slices floating around in it.

“Mind if I try some?” Joel asks when you haven’t taken a sip after several minutes.

“Oh, go ahead.” You hope he takes a big gulp so you have less alcohol to get through. When he does just that, it takes all your effort to not jump into his arms. He makes an approving face at the taste of it before setting it back down in front of you. He leans closer to you and quietly says, “Weak as shit just like I figured. You should be good with what’s left.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He leans back into his own space and gives your lower back a quick, encouraging rub.

Everyone is ordering steak and seafood and some of the fanciest food you think you’ve ever heard of. You choose the peppered mustard salmon filet at the waiter’s suggestion that it would pair nicely with your moscato. You finally do take a sip and whip your head Joel’s direction.

His eyebrows raise in question, and he breaks into a soft grin when he recognizes your pleased reaction. “You like it? S’good, huh?”

You bite your bottom lip and nod. “It’s actually really good. Thank you.”

He leans in again so just you can hear him. “Sorry I cleared most of it already. Was just tryna let you off the hook. You want me to order you another one?”

“No, that’s okay. I really appreciated that, by the way.”

“Of course, hon.” He pulls away and cuts through his medium rare steak. He offers you a slice, and you take a bite. It’s delicious. You all share a laugh when he asks if you want to try some of Tommy’s medium well steak, just so you can see the difference of how steak should actually be eaten. “Whatever, man. If not wantin’ your food to bleed out all over your plate is wrong, then I don’t wanna be right,” Tommy asserts with a sparkly eyed grin.

After dinner, a few of the crew stand to make their toasts and reminisce on times Paul made an ass out of himself or dropped a really expensive power tool and broke it or found himself in the awkward position of being pursued by both the husband and wife – separately – on a kitchen remodel job he worked. Tommy stands and says a few words about Paul’s work ethic and great attitude that keeps the hard days from being unbearable. Joel stands and offers a few words of his own and then detours a little.

“And we’ve been so lucky to have a guy like Paul with us for these past 10 years. We always wanna show our thanks to him and to all of you for showin’ up every day and just gettin’ shit done.”

The table murmurs in agreement with a few people making exaggerated whooping sounds.

“And I also wanna say,” Joel continues, looking down at you and gesturing for you to stand with him. Your legs feel like jelly as you rise and let him wrap a loose arm around your shoulders. “That this one right here put all

this together, so a special thanks to her for that.” Most of the table gives their cheers! or their quiet golf claps, and you fight the urge to run away and hide under the table. “She’s also the reason why y’all’s paychecks didn’t get fucked up when Jennifer had to leave us so quick—” Joel gives a pointed look to Corey, an employee and Jennifer’s ex-fiance once she discovered his cheating, who blushes and drops his gaze “—so let’s all make sure to let her know we appreciate her coming on board in the middle of all that mess and helpin’ to keep things on track.”

The table collectively gives a genuine round of cheering and laughter in praise of you and your role in their undisturbed paychecks. You nervously smile and wave in acknowledgment. Joel gestures that you can take a seat again, which you gratefully accept.

“So here’s to all of you from me and Tommy both. Don’t matter if you’ve been here 10 years or 10 months, we wanna say we appreciate the work y’all do. Thanks everybody for comin’ out today to celebrate.” With that, Joel tips his beer in the air to toast with everyone, and you sip down the rest of your drink.

As things start to wind down, you excuse yourself to the restroom and pluck your phone from your bag to check it before coming back. Just another reason why you could never truly be a dress sort of girl: the lack of pockets. You have a warm glow about you as you assess your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and you know it’s not just the few sips of moscato you’ve had. This had been fun. Being out with other people – and even with everyone drinking – it never got too rowdy or uncomfortable. Your chest pangs at the thought of how much you wish you could do something like this more often.

But that wasn’t your life, so you quickly brush those feelings away. You’d learned long ago that lingering on the impossible only made you feel worse. You sigh and pull your flip phone from where you’d ungracefully shoved it into your top. Your heart drops when you see you’ve missed 7 calls from your father. It drops even more when you see he hadn’t bothered texting. It signaled one of those moods he got into where he’d get indignant over the thought of having to exert too much energy to access you. You should be the one checking to make sure he didn’t want to say something or need something.

Your hands are shaking as you exit the bathroom to get a better signal in the hallway. The phone only rings twice before your father picks up.

“If you aren’t going to answer my calls, there’s no need for you to have a phone at all,” his cutting voice comes through.

“Dad, I’m so sorry, I was just—”

“Do you even know what time it is? Have you even been keeping track of it?” he interrupts.

You regretfully haven’t. You’d been having such a good time that you hadn’t thought about how long it’d been. You’d booked the room for 12-4. Hadn’t you told him you’d be staying behind to help clean up? It couldn’t be that far out of the window, could it?

“Dad, it’s a work–”

“Bullshit!” he snaps. “You have other responsibilities! You know all the shit that needs to be done around the house before the week starts!”

You flinch even though he’s not present. You knew that tone all too well.

“Dad, I swear I’ll—”

“You can’t just leave all your responsibilities in the dust just because you want to go out and get rowdy with coworkers!”

“I’m not, dad! Please just let me—”

“GET YOUR ASS HOME IMMEDIATELY!”

“I-I’ll stay up to get everything done, dad. I swear! I’ll get started right when I get home!”

You imagine he must mean pressing his shirts, cleaning the kitchen, and tidying up in general. And whatever other chore he dreamt up on the spot that you were expected to jump up and do without question.

“If you don’t get home soon, I’m gonna lock your ass out. See if you lose track of time again after that.”

“Dad! I’m leaving soon! I–”

The other end goes dead, and you pull your phone away to see the home screen. He hung up on you. The clock reads 4:37.

Joel is happy to see his employees getting some downtime, an opportunity to throw back some beers and shoot the shit with each other. They all worked so hard. It felt good to be able to do things like this for them. 

You’d slipped away to the bathroom several minutes ago, and Joel excuses himself with the intent of thanking you without anyone else around. He figures he could use a bathroom break himself, and he winds through the restaurant towards them. He stops just short of the hallway when he hears your voice, but it’s not your usual tone. There’s a shakiness to it that Joel immediately clocks. 

“I’m not, dad! Please just let me—”

Why do you sound so panicked? Did you say ‘dad’? Why would talking to your dad have you so frazzled?

“I-I’ll stay up to get everything done, dad. I swear! I’ll get started right when I get home!”

What did you have to stay up to do? Why did you have to get home to get started on it? How much of it was there? You hadn’t even been gone that long.

“Dad! I’m leaving soon! I–”

There’s just quiet after that. Joel immediately thinks back  to a conversation he’d had with you earlier this week after you’d finished a call with a particularly disgruntled client.

“You sure you never worked at a call center or somethin’?” Joel laughed.

“No, never. Why?”

“S’just you don’t seem fazed at all by people bitin’ your head off. It’s the sorta thing you think seasoned debt collectors would be used to, not somebody workin’ at the supermarket.”

He then thinks about the way your dad spoke about you when he’d run into him at the car shop. Joel starts to wonder if it’s the same way he talks to you.

He slowly rounds the corner to find you staring blankly at your phone. Your head snaps up when you notice him.

“Oh! Joel, hi. You scared me,” you breathily laugh.

“Hey, you okay?” He can’t help himself. He considered playing it off like he hadn’t heard anything – to just mind his own business for once when it came to you – but he had to know if there was something wrong, if there was something he could help with.

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. My dad just gets really worried when I’m out by myself.”

“You’re not by yourself,” he contends, a little offended by the notion that your dad didn’t trust him for some reason. Joel reminded himself that he was protective of Sarah and that your dad was probably just coming from the same place. He couldn’t blame a dad for being protective over his baby girl.

“You know what I mean,” you breathe with a shake of your head. The undercurrent of your words came through clear as day: please don’t make me explain it because I’m so, so tired.

“Yeah, alright. I, uh, overheard a little bit when I came ‘round the corner. You, uh, need to get home soon?”

Your sad eyes locked onto Joel, and it took everything in him to not scoop you up into a tight hug and tell you that he’d do anything right now to see you as carefree and happy as you’d been not that long ago at the table.

“Yeah, sorry. I can call a cab if you–”

“No. We can get goin’ if that’s what you wanna do,” he assures you. “Let me just use the bathroom real quick and say bye to everybody. We’ll get goin’ quick, alright?”

Your frown added to the contradiction of the entire situation. It didn’t seem much like you wanted to go home at all despite insisting you did. Joel knew he’d be replaying the entire day over and over in his head to figure it out.

Joel had offered to walk you inside after getting the car door for you, but you managed to talk him out of it, saying how he’d done plenty for today and that you’d see him in the morning. He waved and reversed out the drive before disappearing around the corner.

The front door was unlocked. You breathe a sigh of relief. One obstacle down, one million to go.

Your father is waiting in the foyer for you, tall and imposing. “Took you long enough.”

“Dad, I’m so sorry.”

“What’re you wearing?” He rounds on you now like a buzzard on rotting flesh.

Your gut turns when you realize you’d forgotten to change out of your dress. He pulls at the sleeve as if to inspect it.

“Dad, be careful! That’s Kenzie’s dress!” you lie. “If I mess it up I’m gonna have to replace it!”

“Oh, is that so?” he sneers. He yanks your bag from your shoulder and flips it upside down, emptying its contents all over the floor. You stay frozen in place as he uses his foot to kick around your things and search for some incriminating item. You almost lurch forward when he toes your clothes to the side and sees your work phone.

“And I guess this is Kenzie’s phone, too? Just borrowing a brand new phone from a friend?” he mocks as he leans down to pick it up and shove it in your face.

You shake your head, your tongue heavy and inoperative, and a black fit of rage clouds over his eyes.

“So, you’re stealing money from the account somehow, huh? Spending it on ridiculous things for yourself? How long has that been going on?” he demands.

“No, I’m not! It’s for work!” you plead.

“Oh yeah, just like this little function today was for work, huh? BULLSHIT!”

It happens before you can stop him. You watch in horror as he throws your work phone into the wall. It thuds to the floor with cracks throughout the screen in several places.

“Dad, stop! I need that for work!” you cry. You scramble to the floor to salvage what you can.

Something in your voice must tell him you’re not lying. He seems to realize you’re telling the truth: it is a work phone. You hadn’t been hiding anything or spending money – your own money from your own account.

“See what happens when you keep secrets? Makes me feel like I can’t trust you at all.” 

It’s as close to an admission of error that you’re going to get. He certainly wasn’t going to outright apologize. You hold back tears until he stomps off into the living room and plops down in his chair, just where you’d left him earlier today. You gather your mess of things from the floor and try to pull yourself together enough for the hours of chores ahead of you.

You’d been close to your normal self on Monday morning when Joel picked you up. He was waiting for some somber mood or vague mention of yesterday���s hasty departure. But, you were acting like nothing had happened. So, Joel did, too. He’d found that taking your lead with these strange situations was the only thing that kept your guard down. He’d have to just work the information out of you slowly and gently.

The entire thing had left a sour taste in his mouth. Maybe your dad had really just been worried about you being out past when you’d said you’d be home, but was it really necessary for him to get so upset over it? You couldn’t just up and leave of your own accord since Joel had driven you both, so why did it seem like your dad was blaming you for something you had no control over?

It wasn’t until Wednesday when he saw your broken work phone that the uneasy feelings came back tenfold. You’d sworn up and down that you’d dropped it a couple days ago and that you’d meant to tell him about it but forgotten. You’d apologized profusely for it and urged him to deduct the amount from your paycheck.

It just added to that nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. First the apparent relief of being paid cash. The fact that your dad was on all your accounts. The condescending, sharp way he’d held himself when Joel ran into him at the auto shop. The way you always seemed to change the topic whenever family or home came up. The way you sounded upset on the phone with your dad on Sunday. And now your work phone had been “dropped and cracked.” 

It all gave Joel a bad feeling he couldn’t quite pin, but he couldn’t root it on any one thing in particular. All he could do was keep a closer eye on you and watch for more indications.

He takes you to get a new work phone and doesn’t leave until you’ve picked out the color you want of the newest version available. He doesn’t entertain your hesitance at accepting such a “nice gift.” He downplays it for your benefit. “Nah, quit it. It’s a work thing, but, hey, if it feels like a gift, I ain’t gonna argue with that.”

You were supposed to be getting direct deposits just like every other employee starting next month after Tommy had pressed him about it, but Joel wanted to keep that on hold until he got a better idea of what this bad feeling was that had taken hold of him. He’d been paying you in cash and driving you to the bank every other week, and he suggested doing that for “a little while longer” until he “could get some other things sorted out.”

To no surprise, you had no qualms with the offering.

You’d faked your excitement with everyone else around the office about the days off coming up for the holiday. Now here you were up at the crack of dawn trying to scrounge up whatever you could to put together something for today. It wasn’t going to be a Thanksgiving feast, that’s for sure. Part of you is relieved when your dad wakes up and tells you he’s going to Denise’s for the day. He’d been standoffish since he’d thrown your phone, but you didn’t dare acknowledge his almost rueful demeanor. If he didn’t directly address it, you knew better than to bring it up.

Just for good measure and to keep you in line, your dad explains that Denise’s parents are going to be there today, and he’s not willing to risk you tagging along and making some sort of scene. He wants to make a good impression, and it’s abundantly clear he doesn’t consider you someone that would make him look good. If you’re not an asset, you’re just in the way.

He takes the one decent dish you’d managed to produce and tells you not to wait up.

The quiet and calmness of an empty house is a rarity – a nice change of scenery – but you can’t pretend you’re not a little lonely. Something about the holiday where you’re meant to gather around family and friends and express your gratitude for them and everything else. It all amplified your solitude. You can’t keep your mind from drifting to your younger brother Calum who you hadn’t heard from properly in months. 

He’d made the choice to leave almost a year ago. In truth, you’d never really felt lonely until he left. And as much as it hurt to no longer have him here with you, you understood. The least you could do was respect his choice and give him the gift of leaving this awful place behind. He didn’t need reminders of his past, what he’d decidedly departed from, when he was probably enjoying himself on Thanksgiving for the first time ever. You smiled as

you imagined the friends he might be having a meal with. At least one of you got out. You don’t begrudge him, but you do wish there was some way to know if he ever missed you.

A blanket work text comes through on your work phone. Some sparkly cornucopia graphic with even more sparkly text that read Happy Thanksgiving! It was sent by Joel, but you had a feeling the graphic was more of Tommy’s doing. You respond back to Joel on a private text.

You: happy thanksgiving :) shame you didn’t send out one of your famous emoji stories tho

Joel: Tommy made me send that ugly thing.

Joel: Thought of you earlier, by the way.

You: oh?

Joel: Yeah the parade was on, and I saw the Jolly Green Giant. Creepy fucker. Don’t remember him looking like that.

You: and that made you think of me? 😐

You snort at the inadvertently rude comment and break into a wide smile when his contact takes up the screen.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you assure him.

He groans on the other end. “Listen, I was tryna say that I thought of you ‘cause of the grocery store, you know? Canned green beans at the store? And you used to work at the supermarket, so… And the float was ugly – I don’t think you’re ugly, not in the slightest — I, well— now that came out wrong, goddammit—” You openly giggle at his floundering, and he lets out a nervous, self-deprecating chuckle.

“Been making merry it sounds like,” you lightheartedly tease. 

He makes a sheepish sort of sound and admits to “having been bullied into a coupla bottles of beer by Tommy” but is quick to assure you he’s going to “stuff myself with some appetizers to soak some of it up before talking to any other employees.” You grimace at the reminder that this is not in fact some friendly call but rather your boss just sending out a mass text wishing everybody a nice holiday. 

You wish you were there with him. His warmth and kindness feels like it was meant to be shared on days like this, surrounded by a good meal and a happy family. Even this somewhat inebriated version of him is so different from what you’ve grown up with.

“Sure is quiet over there,” he notes.

“Yeah, I just stepped outside for a minute when I saw you were calling.”

“Ah, well don’t let me keep you from it, sweetheart.”

“Okay. Thanks for calling, Joel. Say hi to Tommy for me.”

“Will do. And, uh, sorry about the green beans thing again.”

“Yeah, yeah. You owe me a trip to Blue Plate Diner for that one.”

He laughs and agrees that the “punishment fits the crime.” Your heart stutters at the promise of getting to cuddle up next to him in a booth again.

“So, you ate good and all that?” Joel asks as he turns the wheel.

“Oh yeah. Probably gained five pounds,” you lie with a fake laugh. “How about you? Tommy bully you some more after we talked?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Gotta remind myself that alcohol hits different the older you get. Gotta have some food in me first before I start sayin’ crazy things.” He grumbles to himself when he pulls into the office parking lot and finds a large portion of it sectioned off with cones. He spots somebody in a high visibility vest and hops out to talk to him.

You watch on as he points to the various cones and then to your office door. The worker nods and gestures to something down the road. You try to follow along to where he’s pointing, but his hand drops before you get a good look. After another moment of discussion, Joel shakes the guy’s hand and moves a few cones aside. To your horror, he motions for you to drive through.

It’s a short, straight path. You don’t have a license, but this was as simple as it got in terms of driving without hitting anything. The entire lot was empty except for the cones Joel had moved aside for you. You shakily scoot over to the driver’s side but can’t make yourself shift the gear. You’re suddenly cold and clammy, staring blindly at the wheel and the gearshift. Why can’t you just do this simple thing?

You jump at the door opening. You hadn’t even noticed Joel making his way back over to you. “Hey, you’re alright. I got it.” He hops into the truck without another word, and you barely shift over enough to make space for him. You wait for the insults to fly, but they don’t come.

No why you couldn’t manage such a simple request?! barked at you

No I have to do everything myself! hurtled your way.

Instead, he pulled into a space and put it in park. Before you’d even opened your mouth to apologize, he waved you off.  “Nah, shouldn’t have assumed you were comfortable with it. That’s my fault,” he offers casually. 

“It’s so stupid, I should’ve just–”

“Shouldn’t have asked ya in the first place. Not right. I know you don’t have your license, and I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be comfortable even if I thought it wasn’t a big deal. I’m sorry for puttin’ you in that spot.”

Your mouth feels dry, adrenaline coursing with the stress of a reprimand that wasn’t going to come but you’d been trained to expect. He hops out and gets the door for you, just like he always does. You take his hand as you step down from the truck and hate how you have to let it go.

“You know, uh, if you ever wanted to, I could take you to get your learner’s. I could take you to practice – you know, just learn the basics. If it’d make you feel more comfortable….”

“Yeah, okay.”

You had to learn to drive eventually, right? And you weren’t about to turn down more time alone with Joel.

You listen as he rattles on about all the abandoned parking lots and empty job sites he has in mind for you to practice without the stress of people or cars around. You want to tell him that if you were with him you knew you’d be alright. You settle for a “thank you.”

◦ ty to @jupiter-soups for looking this over ◦ posting this a tad earlier than planned bc I'm going to be offline towards the end of the week and want to make sure this goes up without any issues ◦ ty for all the love thus far on this series!

tagging those who have shown interest (lmk if you want be removed):

@verybigvag @drunk-and-capable @bizarrelove-triangle @dontjudgemyobsessionpls @cumberpegg @koshkaj-blog @survivingandenduring @umnitsa @ellenmunn @zooty-and-fruity @walw1017 @keylimebeag @beelzebeth87 @janaispunk @wand-erer5 @0vix0 @pastelnap @goodwithcheese @akah565 @fadajnaoqkzalq @confusedpuffin

#fic: chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #hurt/comfort #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller fluff

[wrenreid]

Off Limits

Spencer Reid x fem oc

Content warnings: talk of death, violence, daddy issues, alcohol consumption (legal age), guns…

Part One

College life has been great… is what I would say if just six months ago I didn’t get a call from my father saying my mom died because he didn’t catch some criminal. I’d known a little bit about the jackass who’d been hunting and tormenting my father only because Dad bothered to share minor details for my safety.

When I had refused to put my last year of undergrad on halt because the great Aaron Hotchner had pissed off an unsub so bad that he began hunting my family, I was granted a body guard instead. Granted isn’t exactly the word I would use though. I would say forced to have some big guy follow me around while my mom and little brother hid out in an undisclosed location. But Dad told me it was either that or I join my family and put graduating on pause.

For the two months I had Marcus following me around and not letting any cute guys near me - which I thought was ridiculous because clearly the gorgeous basketball player from the neighboring housing dorm, Andre Taylor was not George Foyet - I had the audacity to feel sorry for myself. But then that self pity turned to rage and despair when Dad called me crying and told me what happened to my poor mother.

Haley Hotchner was not just my mom; she was my friend, my confidant, my lifeline. My dad and I have always been close, but I could tell Mom things I could never have him knowing.

I moved back home for the rest of that month and well into the next. I did my college work online; luckily my professors were lenient with me given the situation I was in.

Come mid October, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to go back to New York. My dorm room was waiting for me, and the house I grew up in was suffocating my entire being. Everything in there was sad, not just my father and Jack. Mom’s things that remained untouched would taunt me, making me miss her even more. The house reeked of depression and death.

Dad was upset when I told him I was going back to the university, but he understood. He knew he couldn’t lock his 21 year old daughter in a depressing household and use her as a baby sitter while he avoided his sadness by diving into work. He also knew that if he did, I would’ve grown to resent him even more than I already had.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my father. We had a great relationship while I was growing up. However, there had always been a hole in the house, a hole in my life. He was always gone for work, especially when he started at the BAU when I was ten. He started missing more and more important days in mine and my mother’s lives. My twelve birthday for example: Dad was supposed to pick up the big surprise present my parents had bought for me, but he answered the call from Agent Gideon and headed to Oregon instead.

My mother left some very “nice” words for him on his voicemail that day. I didn’t cry though, or even tell Mom I was sad. I just sat beside her and watched all my friends play while I secretly and silently hoped my father was planning some big surprise and a case was his cover up. But the real “surprise” was that my hopes were horribly crushed as I waited hour by hour at the door for him to show up.

“C’mon, baby,” my mother brushed my hair out of my face with gentle strokes. “It’s passed your bedtime.”

I had fallen asleep in my hopeless wait. I nodded to my mom and stood up, half consciously letting her guide me to my bedroom upstairs.

I began to grow some sort of spite for my dad that day. Of course he was still my father, and I loved him, but I never quite saw him the same. Sometimes I would feel as though me, his baby girl, was less important than work.

I thought that this would end when my baby brother Jack was born. Dad was home for a while, and the four of us were a happy, functioning family. I was a senior in high school, so my father was running out of chances to be with me, my mother made sure he knew that. I thought I would get to have my dad back.

But soon enough, he went back to work and was only there 2-3 days a week most of the time. I think Mom grew to have spite for him as well. Actually, I know she did because she called me one day after class and told me she was divorcing my father. I felt sick to my stomach. Our family was falling apart, and I was at university 230 miles away. And my poor baby brother was only 2.

Anyway, after going back to school things started to get a little better. My aunt became Jack’s practically live in nanny, and Dad seemed to be doing much better after a few months.

Now, it’s March, six months after my mother’s gut-wrenching death, and I think our family’s going to make it. We’re the Hotchners after all, and we’re nothing if not stubborn, so I think we’ll survive this just out of spite of George Foyet and everything he stands for.

Sometimes, when I drink a little too much (or not enough), I can imagine the horror of the moment Foyet almost took my father from me too. He told me a little about both times he was attacked, and every time I think too much about it, my stomach hurts, and I feel sick.

I’ve been asked before what if I think my dad killing Foyet was too harsh, but I don’t. I don’t find it harsh enough for what that evil thing deserved. It’s obvious that he would’ve gotten to Jack then maybe even me - I’ve seen his female victims, I’m just his type - if Dad hadn’t finished him off.

“Jade,” my best friend since middle school waves her hand in front of me. “Jade, you’re doing that thing again where you drift off into space.”

I shake my head a bit then look at her. “Hm? Oh sorry, I was doing that again.”

“Where’d you go this time?” She asks, a look of concern on her face.

“It’s not important,” I shrug her question off. “Let’s do body shots!”

I grab her hand and drag her to the living room of some guy we’ve never even met. The too-loud music guides my hip swaying as I lead CeCe to the crowd of people cheering and laughing. Two hot guys lay on the table as some chick older than me places a shot class full of clear liquid, Tequila, on top of his belly button.

“Who’s next?” She asks with a drunken smile.

“Me,” I say and step forward as annoyed sorority girls whine about me ‘cutting in front of them’, which is an elementary term for it, but the only one I can see fit.

The girl grins and looks me up and down. “Brave of you to go against these cult chicks,” she tells me. I make the safe assumption that she’s not a fan of sororities.

I shrug and move my hair out of my face as I lick the salt from the guy’s abs, take the shot of tequila, then take the lime from the girls teeth, all in one pretty smooth motion I think. I suck the juice off the lime and make a scrunched up face before opening my eyes again. I see CeCe laughing at me and shaking her head.

“You are something, Jade,” she chuckles as I walk back over to her with a little skip in my step.

“I’m a fun- haverer,” I say then laugh at my stupid made up word. “Why aren’t you having fun? You’re being so lame.”

“I am having fun. I’m just worried about you.”

“Don’t be! I’m just making this spring break amazing,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.

“But I j-“

“Nope. Do not pull the dead mom card. Only I can pull the dead mom card because It’s my mom who’s dead,” I say. I know she’s worried about me because I’m back in DC for the first time since my mom’s funeral, but I don’t need her worries.

CeCe sighs but nods. “Okay. I won’t pull that card.”

“Thank you. Now I need some fucking beer,” I say, heading to the kitchen.

“Don’t you think you’ve had too much to drink?” my best friend asks.

“You sound like my dad.”

“Actually, I have not warned off every guy here, thank you very much,” CeCe laughs softly.

I join in on the chuckle, rolling my eyes. “As funny as that is, it’s not inaccurate.”

Protectiveness is not a word used lightly when used to describe my father. I know he’s showing his love in his own way, but it’s overbearing at times. I wasn’t allowed to date until I was 16, and even then he let every possible suitor know that he was fully trained and armed.

Basically, no guy wanted to go out with me because they were scared my dad may ring them by their necks. And I suppose my father can be kind of intimidating when he wants to be, but I don’t quite see it. Sure, he’s serious a lot, especially now that my mother is gone, but I’ve seen his soft, goofy, smily side. I guess the bitch boys I tried to date hadn’t, so they were on the verge of pissing their pants when thinking about what FBI agent, Aaron Hotchner would do to them if they even just kissed my cheek.

Even when I moved off to college, the guys still were scared to do anything with me because they knew who my dad is.

“No way, dude. She’s an FBI agent’s daughter, your balls would be shot off and stuffed into your mouth if you tried to tap that.”

That is a literal quote from a frat boy I heard talking to his friend in the common area. It was quite the visual and quite the obnoxious thing to hear.

I take a swig from a bottle I dug from the cooler. As the liquid hits my taste buds, my stomach does an unsettling flop. “You know what? You’re right, I’ve had too much to drink,” I tell CeCe and hand her the beer.

“Let’s just dance instead?” She suggests.

“I like your thinking!”

The two of us head over to a group of people and dance with each other and the cute guys we’re around.

A guy with straight blonde hair makes eye contact with me, and I smile bashfully. He makes his way over to me and asks if I would dance with him.

“Well, I’m already dancing, so why not?” I shout teasingly over the music.

He chuckles and moves to the beat along with me. Feeling a little flirty, I wrap my arms around his neck.

“You’re a pretty little thing,” he says to me.

“Thanks.” I say, but it’s more like a question because he called me a thing when I am, if it wasn’t obvious, a human being.

“So what brings you to this party?”

“Oh you know, just wanting to have some spring break fun. I just got back in town fro-” My sentence is cut off my lips crashing onto mine. His mouth is hot and taste like alcohol, but then again that could also be my mouth. His hands roam too far down my back, and I free myself from his grasp.

My hand connects with his cheek with a satisfying sound. “You can’t just-”

I’m cut off once again by the man who’s now holding his redden face, my hand print on it. “You bitch!”

“Maybe that’ll teach you something, jackass,” I huff and make my way out of the house.

I can hear guys “oh”-ing dramatically, half laughs in their voices.

The music is getting way too loud; I can barely hear my heart pounding in my chest even though it feels so harsh and loud.

My name is being called from behind me, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I sit on the porch of the house and take a deep breath.

CeCe finally pushes her way past the crowd of people and catches up to me. “Jade,” she says. She sits down next to me but doesn’t say anything else for a moment.

“That was pretty badass of you to stick up for yourself like that,” she finally says, a small grin on her face.

“I don’t have a law enforcement dad for nothing,” I chuckle softly. “Plus he had it coming.”

“He for sure did. Someone definitely needed to smack that cocky grin right off his face.”

I grin faintly and run a hand through my now extremely loosely curled hair.

The two of us sit on the porch for a while until I feel sober enough to go home. CeCe, who was kind enough to be DD tonight, drives me back to my dad’s.

He moved into a two story apartment when Mom filed for a divorce. We stayed in the house for a while after her death, but eventually Dad moved him and Jack into his apartment. I think that was the best for all of us, so we weren’t surrounded by the memories of what happened between those very walls.

“You sure you’re good to walk up there on your own?” CeCe asks me.

“Yes. I’m mostly sober now,” I say, grabbing the empty bottle of water she made me drink on the car ride here. I’m not lying to her, the affects of the alcohol have lessened tremendously since it’s been a while since I had my last drink.

“Be safe! I’ll see you later,” she says.

“You too.” I walk up to the apartment complex’s front door, use the extra key my dad gave me, and make my way to the lobby’s elevator. I wave to CeCe who’s waiting on me to get safely to the elevator as I step into it. She waved back and begins pulling out of the parking lot.

I press the button “7” and feel the elevator take me up to the seventh floor. I find my dad’s apartment number, unlock the door, and walk in.

Luckily, no one is here to scold me for being home so late because Dad is at a five-day-long conference with Agent Rossi, and Jack is staying with Aunt Jessica.

I put my keys on the ring my dad has beside the door and kick off my docs. I notice the kitchen and living room lights are on, which is strange. No lights are on upstairs.

I look around, making sure nothing is out of place. Which is kind of hard since I haven’t been in this apartment in months. I freeze in my place by the couch as I hear something in the kitchen. Shit. Of course something like this would happen when I’m the only one home.

I sneak on my tippy toes, careful not to make a sound as I go to the safe my father has hidden behind a family picture. I pinch in the key, my birthday, and grab the gun Dad bought for me when I was 18. I’ve never used it, and never planned to use it, but tonight it seems like it could come in handy. I load it quickly and proceed toward the sound of footsteps and clinging in the kitchen.

Gun pointed, I sneak into the kitchen to see the back side of a man at the counter.

“Hands up!” I yell as if I’m a cop.

The man whips around immediately, obviously startled. I’ve caught him off guard. Good.

“Hands up! This thing is loaded, and I will shoot if you try anything.”

“Woah, woah, woah! Put that down,” he says, hands up and eyes wide.

“What? No. You can’t just break in without consequences!” I say, keeping my sim at his leg.

“Break in? Wh-”

Suddenly, I know where I recognize that raspy, almost high pitched voice from. I recognize the face too even though it’s changed since I’ve last laid eyes on it. “Dr. Reid?” I ask, baffled.

I see the recognition click in his eyes as well. “Wait, Jade?”

two

tags: @pauline5525mgg @theintimatewriter @lilibet261 @greysviolets @jazzymariexoxoc @one-sweet-gubler @thatsonezesty13 @necromaniackat @reidsprettygirl @awhoreforspencerreid @sebs-oxygen @yazzyu @crynroom @scarredelirium @lena-1895 @preciousbabypeter <3

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg x you #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #mgg angst #mgg fic #spencer reid and reader #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x fanfiction #dilf spencerreid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x original female character #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #spencer reid series #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x y/n

[mvnsvn6]

have we talked about burn out student Eddie?? (cw: brief mention of alcohol abuse, ED's, drug use)

wc:782

oh yeah dude. kid was a straight a student, honor roll, did safety patrol, was on student council, and everything. his English was his best subject, reading level of a 6th graders when he was in 2nd grade. had amazing attendance. loads of friends. loved school, really really enjoyed learning.

then his mom died. and his dad, well. yeah he died, too, in a way.

his dad stopped caring about things like reading logs and report cards. only cared about having cold beer and if Eddie was around. his dad missed him so much when he was gone, was one of the only things that made his dad ever feel better. and yeah, Eddie was too young to know that it wasn't normal for your dad to need you around. to literally not be able to function without him.

so he started staying home. school days flew by but it was fine because his dad approved. he loved his dad, his dad was his best friend, right after his mom, so of course he wanted to stay home. he was sad and he felt like the only other person who could understand that was his father.

teachers don't get it. his friends don't get it. no one understands him. so he still does alright in school but he's distracted. gets his card pulled to red more often than not for talking too much to the kids in the desks next to him. or for being too focused, on a book, on doodling, something that wasn't part of the curriculum. he starts getting these cards that sort of grade his behavior. and he has to get them signed every single night by his dad.

his dad doesn't care either way. stopped caring a few years ago about things like that. and his drinking gets worse.

so now he doesn't really feel like a best friend to Eddie anymore. he feels like another person that doesn't get Eddie. he scares Eddie honestly. locks himself in his room and holds his breath, praying to God his dad's booming footsteps don't creep closer to his door in the night. just politely stays out of his way when he's at home.

which is almost all the time now. no more binging tv shows together. going to the gas station so Eddie can get a treat and his dad can get another 24-pack. no more talking about things that matter to Eddie anymore.

he doesn't wanna be at home, but he doesn't wanna be at school. so he starts ditching. hiding beneath bleachers. hiding himself in the boys locker room.

doing the bare minimum to get by in school. and he can feel the judgement rolling off of his teachers, it almost makes him sick. what were once straight A+'s have turned into straight D's. all of his potential has spun straight down the toilet.

right about where his lunch starts ending up. he's too sick to eat most days. gets stuck in bed more often than not.

he hits high school and it hits right back.

teachers fucking hate him and most of the student body does too. no one gets surprised by his fuck ups anymore.

and it fucking digs a hole so deep inside of him where passion once bloomed and now pitch black depression eats at it. the only thing that gets him by is getting high now.

he gets high with other burn out kids whose parents don't know what to do with them anymore. sometimes when Eddie parties, he'll talk about old passions and the stuff he was good at. laugh about this old anecdote, this old friend, this great teacher he had, about his dad. his mom.

and he really is fine talking about it until the next morning. and the next morning he fucking feels soul punched because he just wants to feel good at something again. agonizes over the wasted potential and wasted time doing stupid shit instead of keeping his head down and putting in the work. missed his mom and his dad. knows that he could do all of these amazing things if someone gave him a chance. but he dug his fucking grave.

it's way too late now.

he didn't graduate. missed his SATs, ACTs, all these stupid fucking tests. doesn't have the support system you need to get into college. doesn't have money at all. he's stuck working stupid jobs that make him want to evaporate.

way, way too fucking late.

#sorry i didnt mean to order whump today #idk where this came from but here you go #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #stranger things fic #steddie ficlet #my writing

[sadgirlsimsss]

My little Lotus is finally all grown up

Lotus Shi Emotional, Loyal, Soft Distinguished Degree (in progress): Language & Literature | Career: Librarian Aspiration: Living Life Location: Evergreen Harbour - Tomerang

Lotus is a third generation townie who's family started in Moonwood Mill. Her dad was a grumpy trucker when he met Kaia, who at the time was a non-commital traveller who made a living as a freelance flower arranger. The pair quickly became inseparable and the once free spirit was soon a wife and mother. By the time Lotus was a child, her family owned a flower shop in Evergreen Harbour. When she became a teen, her parents finally conceived another child, however, things took a tragic turn when Kaia died of a haemorrhage in her third trimester (thanks healthcare redux). Unable to bear the grief, her dad sold the shop (while becoming a functioning alcoholic) and moved his daughter into a small apartment instead. Despite the turmoil, Lotus graduated high-school early and began working part time to fund her degree. She's a sweet, kind, bookworm who plans on moving to her mothers home, Tomerang in search of her grandfather as soon as her course is over.

I've been low-key been planning on using her to explore the new pack since she was a child, her mom already had a fully set up dad for her to find, all I have to do is move him from Selvadora to Tomerang, her dying was low-key perfect because now she has a cannon reason to want to go and explore.

WCIF always open | Gshade preset is my wipSunny Side Up | Sunblind | lighting mod by softerhaze | CAS background Sand by biancml |

#ts4 #sims 4 cc #simblr #sims 4 #sims 4 custom content #sims 4 screenshots #ts4 cc #wcif #my sims #ts4 townies