#the last months I’ve mostly been busy with work but can say that I got through my first semester teaching successfully although struggled

[julykings]

the last bits of 2023

#the last months I’ve mostly been busy with work but can say that I got through my first semester teaching successfully although struggled #along the way. my anxiety is at an all time high + I’m dealing with some medical stuff so I’m just trying to stayyy appreciative of every #day I feel good u kno. ugh. #I’m working on quitting my excessive weed usage lol. otherwise working out and doing pole when I can. #and watching lots of movies and doing lots of art . at least this past week since school is out #personal

[strawberrysturniolo]

i love the whole ‘best friends who ‘accidentally’ had sex’ type of concept and it really fits chris 😭 like imagine attending the end of the summer cookout marylou and jimmy have every year, you and chris decide to have wine coolers because why not?

next thing you know….

never grow up // chris sturniolo

summary: you and your childhood best friend reunite after months apart. after a couple of drinks, secrets start spilling, leading to lust that has been put on the back burner for years part 2

Chris and I have been inseparable since the day we met. With us living on the same street growing up, we were always together. If there was a picture taken of one of us as a kid, chances are the other one was in the background trying to photobomb. 

Watching Chris and his brothers make the move to LA was hard. I sat back and supported my best friend, but it sucked knowing that our fault routine of being together after school and having sleepovers was coming to an end.

It all happened so fast. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone. 

The love I have for Chris is unlike anything else in the world. I love Nick, and I adore Matt, but it’s different with Chris. We connect in different ways. We trust each other differently. I’ve never had a friendship like it, and I don’t think I ever will. We always joked about being in each other's weddings. He wanted me to stand with all the groomsmen, and I told him he could stand with the girls. 

We had our lives planned together, and I never thought I’d have to see us fade away from each other. 

We try to talk as much as possible, but with his ridiculous sleep schedule mixed with his work life and time zones, it’s mostly scattered snapchats that keep us from forgetting what the other person looks like. 

A tradition growing up was going to his house for the end of the year cookout. When we were little we would play in the pool, seeing who could collect the most shark toys and torpedoes that we launched into the bottom, and as we got older it turned into chicken fights, then us floating around the pool, asking each other questions about life. 

“Do you ever think about what would happen if your husband didn’t like me?” he had asked me on a sunny day in Massachusetts when we were 16. 

“Yeah,” I said, dragging my hand through the water to cool myself down. “I’d tell him to fuck himself, and if he doesn’t love my best friend like a brother, then I want no part of him. You’ll always come first.”

He gave me that classic, cheesy grin of his and then splashed a wave of water against me, knocking me from my float. 

He’s not coming this year. He’s busy at work in LA. I can feel him drifting away. 

As I help his parents set up some of the food trays, I hear their side door open by the kitchen. I don’t bother looking up, knowing guests have been coming and going all day. It isn’t until two arms wrap around me from behind that my eyes shoot open. 

“Miss me?”

Chris. 

I spin around, staring at him with my jaw dropped. I can see his mom out of the corner of my eye, smiling at us. She must have known about this. I’m sure he told his mom. 

“Oh my god,” is all I can bring myself to say. My eyes start to well with tears. I haven’t seen him since last Christmas. I missed his birthday. He missed me. Our times were always off. 

He squeezed me as our bodies clung to each other. “Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry, Sunny.”

Sunny. The nickname he gave me when we were little, which came from Sunshine. We were 8, swinging on a playground. He had a bad day. We played together after school and he told me whenever he feels sad, his day always gets sunnier with me around. He always was able to make me feel loved and appreciated as his friend, and as we got older, that only grew. 

I know he loves me. He just needed to chase his dream. That doesn’t mean he loves me any less than he ever did. 

“I missed you so much,” he says, holding me even tighter than before. 

“I missed your voice.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I need to make an effort to call you more. I’m just so-“

“Busy,” I finish for him. “I know.”

His face falls. “Yeah.”

I don’t want him to feel bad for what he’s doing. He deserves something so amazing. He’s worked so hard for it. 

“You’re here now though,” I smile. “Can we just pretend like you’ve been here and you never left?”

He smiles softly, nodding. “Yeah.”

I sit by his side for hours, smiling at him as he fills everyone in on what’s he’s been up to. He’s the talk of the town. Everyone is amazed to see him and his brothers do such big things. 

Everyone erupts into laughter when Chris tells his stories, and when Matt and Nick add on more anecdotes, the house is filled with pure joy and love for these boys we watched grow up. 

“I’m gonna get a drink,” Chris says, excusing himself. “You want anything?” he points to me. 

“Whatever you get for yourself is fine,” I nod, adding on a thank you before he leaves. 

He comes back with two Pepsi cans. I notice they’re already opened, but I don’t think anything of it. Knowing Chris, I fully expect him to have drank some of mine, and that’s him trying to be funny. 

My face puckers at the taste of wine in my can. 

He emptied the Pepsi out and poured wine in it instead. 

He smiles next to me, trying not to laugh. 

A memory of us from when we were 14 comes back to me, and I know that’s what he’s trying not to laugh about. 

“Chris! We can’t take their wine!”

“My parents have like 20 bottles. They never drink. These are all Christmas gifts from other people. I promise they won’t notice,” he assured me. 

I watched as he poured the glasses half full. It seemed like far too much. 

“Try it,” he said, nudging a glass to me. “It’s disgusting.”

I took a hesitant sip. This was fucking awful, but I found myself drinking more at the idea of the thrill. We were doing something we weren’t supposed to, which made the alcohol taste even better. 

A half hour later we were both stumbling up to his bedroom, and I managed to make it to the bathroom before throwing up, almost missing his toilet. 

He held my hair back and apologized for giving me alcohol. He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone we drank. And he never did. 

“Doesn’t taste as bad now, huh?” he asks, snapping me out of my memory. 

I roll my eyes and take another sip. He’s right. 

Once everyone leaves for the night, my family stays back to help Chris’ parents clean up, and my parents were offered a plethora of leftovers.

When Chris showed up, it was a no-brainer that I would be staying here tonight, so he led me upstairs while everyone else said their goodbyes. 

“Shhh,” he hushed me as my giggles flooded the hallway. I’m definitely tipsy, but I’m completely coherent. I think most of my giggles come from the fact that he’s back in Boston. I’m just giddy and happy. 

“Sorry!” I apologize anyway, even though he’s not bothered by the sound of my laughter. He smiles at it. He loves it. 

He lays out a pair of pajamas for me like he always used to. It’s an old shirt from our high school with his lacrosse number on it, and a pair of his boxers. 

I find myself thinking about the girls he had been with that were jealous of what I had with him. Me and Chris had never even kissed, so to think he would be accused of so much more with me was ridiculous. He never failed to stand up for me though. He could have the number one girl, someone perfect for him, and he’d say goodbye to him if they said one bad thing about me. 

We will always be rooting for each other no matter what. 

“Tomorrow we should actually do some stuff around town,” he says as he changes into something to sleep in. “I’ve been traveling all day and I’m so fucking tired. I just want to lay in bed.” He finishes his statement and flops down on the bed, laying his head next to my thighs.

“I really missed you, Chris. A lot,” I respond, ignoring his suggestion. 

He sits up next to me, looking down at me in his clothing. “I know, Sunshine. I missed you just as much. More, probably.” 

I felt safe with him again, a feeling that had been lost as we spent months and months apart. I craved moments like these, where we would stay up together and laugh. 

The mood in his room shifts when he says, “What ever happened with you and Aaron?”

He knows what happened. I told him before I told anyone else. 

He broke up with me with no explanation, and I was left heartbroken and confused. I wanted nothing more than a hug from Chris, but 3,000 miles kept that from happening. 

“We’re not talking anymore,” I remind him. I really don’t want to be talking about boys right now, but it seems that’s the topic of conversation that is interesting to him most. “Any girls that have your attention in LA?”

He shrugs. “Not really. They’re cool, some are cute, but I don’t know. I don’t think I wanna do anything with any of them.”

Chris has always been very anti-relationships, but that never stopped him from having his fair share of fun. He always made sure they were on the same page that it was just benefits, sometimes not even friends. I am curious what turns him away from exploring with girls in LA. “Why not?” 

“They just don’t have what I’m looking for. I want someone who understands me and what I want, but only a few people get that,” he explains. “I don’t know. I don’t want to waste my time with someone if I know from the jump that it feels like a waste. And I think about you, and how we are, and I don’t think I’ll ever be that close with anyone else. I don’t want to be. I don’t want to think about someone ever taking your place.”

“You can set limits,” I suggest. “But don’t keep yourself from meeting people because you’re worried about me feeling replaced. I won’t ever feel that way. I just want you to be happy.”

“Well, that’s not the only reason you’re a problem in it.”

There’s an ache in my chest at the thought of me being a part of a problem in his life. 

“What?”

“I just– There have been issues before… in the past… where girls have felt threatened by you,” he says, looking down at his fingers, where he picks at the dead skin nervously. “That’s not your fault by the way. It’s dumb. I just… I don’t know.”

I pull his hands away from him. “I love you, Chris.”

He smiles at me and says, “I love you too.”

Somehow, his feels different. 

I check the time on my phone, putting in beside me and announcing to him, “I’m gonna go to bed.”

Just like we always did, innocently of course, I placed the softest and quickest peck to his cheek closest to me. 

I did this as a kid, mostly because Chris would freak out if his mom didn’t give him a kiss goodnight. He insisted that it kept the bad dreams away, and he would ask me to do the same for him when he spent the night at my house. 

So I kissed his cheek like always. 

I tried to.

But Chris moved his head.

His lips graze mine. There isn’t much contact, but there’s enough for me to know that we just kissed, barely. 

He knows exactly what he just did, yet he’s looking at me like he’s shocked. 

I’m not drunk, but maybe this is acting as liquid courage. That’s what I tell myself when I fully grab my best friend’s cheeks and press my lips to his. He lets out a deep breath against me, holding the back of my neck and fisting a handful of my hair. 

What are we doing? I’m kissing my best fucking friend. My best friend of 15 years. 

I’m lost in my own head, completely out of it until I feel him lay on top of me, pinning my arms over my head with one hand as he kisses down my neck with the other. 

I lift my chin, giving him more room to kiss me.

He finishes placing wet kisses to my skin, then puts his lips back on mine. His full lips overtake mine, but we form a rhythm that has my chest tightening. He kisses me slowly, but the more tongue we add to the mix, the louder it sounds. 

We make out for some time. I lose all track of it. I don’t even know if I’m in reality anymore. My hips aimlessly lift up to try to find something to create friction against. I almost forgot who I was kissing until he pulled back and said, “We’re entering dangerous territory here, Sunshine.”

“What do you want to do then?”

He falls silent, and I fully expect him to lay down next to me and pretend this never happened.

He does the opposite. 

“I would never be doing this if it wasn’t something I had thought about for years.”

My heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest. 

Everyone who watched us grow up together is in this house. 

And he’s pinning me down to the bed kissing me in the same room we used to play in. 

“Then do something about it,” I taunt.

He loves this invitation.

Going zero to one hundred, Chris sits up, pulling his shirt off and tossing it beside me. I’ve seen him shirtless a million times. Hell, I’ve seen his bare ass. This is different though. So much different. 

He puts his lips back on mine as his hands slide to the bare skin under my shirt. Without a second thought, I remove it, completely forgetting that I don’t have a bra on. 

His eyes focus on my body, his jaw slacked and his cheeks turning red. 

“Holy shit.”

I instinctively try to cover myself somehow. He grabs my arms and pulls them back down. 

“No no,” he shakes his head. “Let me admire you, pretty girl.”

He kisses me softly down my chest, flicking his tongue over my nipples before sucking them into his mouth, all while he’s rubbing his hand on my inner thigh.

I shift my hips, positioning his hand right over where I need him the most. He stares up at me in awe as I give him this sign of approval, and without wasting any time, he dives his hand into the boxers around me. His underwear. I mimic his movements, dropping my hand through the waistband of his shorts and swiping my thumb over the tip of his hardened cock. He winces at my touch, gasping out of desperation. 

“Please,” he whines. “Don’t start something you can’t finish. I’m begging you.”

I yank his shorts down, having the same reaction to his dick that he did to my boobs. I lay below him in shock, mostly baffled by the fact that he’s hung, but also the fact that we’re in this situation. 

When he gets nervous from my staring, he places soft kisses to my lips again, like he’s trying to put my attention elsewhere. 

“Sunshine,” he pants. “I can’t… If we’re gonna do this… I can’t wait,” he breathes out. “I need you now.”

I stroke him slowly, watching his stomach heave. “Have me then.”

In an instant he has my boxers and underwear on the floor in one fluid motion, spreading my legs and laying between them.

“Can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me,” he whispers. He touches my dripping folds carefully, then licks his finger clean. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Always have been.”

I’m in my most vulnerable state. Not only am I naked in front of a man, but this is the guy who has watched me grow up. He has seen me through every stage of life, and now he’s about to be touching me, fucking me. 

“Chris,” I say his name quickly, urgently, like I’m running out of time to say anything.

He looks down at me, pausing from where he was lining himself up between my legs. 

I love you.

He smiles and says, “I know,” before putting my legs over his shoulders and pushing himself inside of me. 

My fist clenches a nearby pillow as my body adjusts to him stretching me out. Chris gasps out in pleasure and shock from this entire experience. He drops his face into my neck, letting me hear his soft moans as he feels me clenching, throbbing around him. 

When I give him the okay, he starts thrusting into me slowly, both of us silent, letting the sound of our skin finding each other ring in our ears. 

I’m having sex with my best friend. 

He places a kiss on my thigh, where it rests next to his face. Then, he pushes one of my legs out, spreading me open more.

“Fuck!” I cry out, the sound quickly masked by Chris’ mouth, where he places his lips over mine again to shut me up. 

“Gotta be quiet, Sunny,” he warns me. I nod, and he puts his hand over my mouth, making sure I keep the volume down. 

His dick hits every spot perfectly. His body clings to mine as our orgasms are in sight. I find myself begging for him, moaning his name, something I never would have expected from us. 

Chris sits up on his knees, pressing my knees to my chest as he pounds into me, his face staring down with a dominant gaze, watching his dick fill me as my cum drips around him.

“Fuckkk,” he groans. “Such a dirty girl.”

All self control leaves me when I don’t bother hesitating as I respond with, “Yours.”

He nods, speeding up his pace. His thrusts become sloppier, much sloppier. “All fucking mine,” he reminds me, then pulls himself out of my pussy and strokes himself through his orgasm, letting himself finish on my lower stomach.

He quickly gets a towel and cleans me up before he places his head on my boobs. My hands dig into his hair, running my hands through his loose curls. 

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Sunshine, you know that?”

I smile to myself, but I also know that we completely fucked up us ever having a normal friendship after this. 

My best friend and I fucked. 

And he doesn’t do relationships. 

“You’re my favorite,” I whisper back. 

He places a kiss to my stomach, and I can feel the smile on his face when he does so.

I don’t smile. I know that with our decision tonight, we lost one side of our relationship. 

We either become romantic and it gets fucked up and we lose a friendship too, or our friendship becomes awkward and crumbles because of this. 

Neither of us thought about that before we got ourselves tangled up in each other, and I’m doing everything I can to forget about that fear and focus on the boy I’ve been in love with for years laying on my chest. 

tag list: @secret-sturniolo @chrisloyalgf @strnilo @draculaura123 @jellybeanbby @qwertytit @55sturn @sleepysturnss @creamoncreamoncream2 @sturnvvz @swaggygirlboss123 @angelworldspost @patscorner @ducksturniolo @mattitties @luv4kozume @mbbsgf @freshloveforthefit @ripmattitude @gamermattsgf @strniololoverr @urmom2bitch @sturnitup @luvmila444 @st7rnioioss @sturniolosreads @pepsiskiess @alorsxsturn @sturniolopepsi @sturnsgasoline @sturns-posts@sstvrnioloo @strawberrymilk4k @ratatioulle @kiibichio @nickmillersn1gf @milesfordays11 @l9vesick @mattsturnzzz09 @mattnchrisworld

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you

[kolsmikaelson]

— MIKE SCHMIDT NSFW ALPHABET

— a/n - like everyone else the josh hutcherson renaissance got me too and i’ve been obsessed with him and this was a product of that, hope you enjoy!

— warning(s) - 18+ mdni, somewhat implied afab!reader, not proofread

join my taglist or follow @rodrickhefley to see when i post!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

doesn’t know much about aftercare at the beginning of your relationship but a few months in you’ve figured out what works best for the both of you which is usually a warm washcloth some water and a sometimes a nice bath if you’re both up for it but if not cuddles it is

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

his arms and hands would probably be his favorite (because he knows how much you like them) and his favorite body part of yours would probably be your eyes

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he’s gotten off multiple times just by pleasuring you, it could be him going down on you or fingering you or something else it doesn’t matter just making you feel good makes him feel good

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

has gotten turned on by the way that you take care of him so well, he’s always busy taking care of abby but who's there to take care of him?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he wasn’t a virgin when the two of you got together but he also wasn’t the most experienced. sure he’d fucked around some but he was always too busy

F = Favorite position ( goes without saying)

anything where he can see your face clearly so he can see how good he can make you feel and so that he can kiss you easier

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he doesn’t try to be goofy but in the beginning he was more often than not

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

not super groomed but not incredibly messy either, again something you helped him figure out because it was something he didn’t care about before you

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

so sweet and giving and loving. he’s always making sure you’re alright, makes sure you remember the safe word you put in place before anything really starts, checks on you throughout the entire thing no matter what

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

used to jack off because it was all he had the time for until he met you and there still isn't always a lot of time for anything more but you have no issue helping him out

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

mommy kink, spit (giving or receiving but mostly receiving), praise (giving and receiving)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

his room or the shower mostly because of the privacy it gives you but he’s brought you to the pizzeria once of twice for some fun

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

genuinely everything about you gets him going it’s so easy to rile him up

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

nothing too dark, no bodily fluids (minus spit and cum)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

loves giving but loves receiving more

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

really depends. sometimes it’s fast and needy and messy other times it’s soft and slow and incredibly intimate

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

loves taking his time but quickies are all you two have time for more often than not, whether it be in the mornings in bed before you get up for the day or right before a date night that rare time vanessa is able to watch abby for a couple of hours

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

yes and no. depending on what it is he’s hesitant because he’s nervous of hurting you

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

judging by how little he sleeps, probably 2, 3 if you're lucky. if you want more then you’ll have to wait a little while

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he owns a few but he rarely uses any on himself he much prefers using a vibrator on you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

doesn’t hate being teased but loves to be the one doing the teasing

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

oh he’s so loud, he’s whiny and is always whimpering

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

this wouldn’t happen often but one time after he sees the way you look at her, he asks if you’d want to have a threesome with vanessa. the two of them would be so focused on you and little to nothing would actually happen between them because all their attention is on you but vanessa ended up in your bed a few more times after that

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s a bit above average but makes up for it in girth

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

so high after so long of just using his hand or a toy but it dies down a little bit after a few months

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

if it had been a particularly rough day he might fall asleep within the hour but i can see him still taking a while to fall asleep

© kolsmikaelson : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

dividers made by : @.cafekitsune

#◜ caitee’𝗌 works ✎ ˚✧ ꜝ #mike schmidt #five nights at freddy's #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt headcanon #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt smut #five nights at freddy’s x reader #five nights at freddy’s imagine #five nights at freddy’s smut #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson smut

[runningfrom2am]

Protective!Rafe with Y/N saves her from her dad

tysm for requesting this!! i hope it’s what you pictured!!

too much to drink - (r.c)

tags/warnings: underage drinking, violence, abuse, drugging (not done by rafe), sexual content (implied, not explicit), strong language, slut-shaming/derogatory term (again, not by rafe)

pairing: rafe x reader

wc: 2.9k

note!!: this is like the darkest thing i’ve probably ever written, please PLEASE read the warnings and look out for yourselves, i know this carries some sensitive topics so if any of those things bother you PLEASE DONT READ THIS!! i care about you all and really want you to stay safe.

Midsummers comes and goes every year, and every year you have the most fun while hiding from the watchful eye of your dad, sneaking in a few (too many) drinks when you can, ever since you were fifteen. You and Sarah Cameron would rotate covering for each other, slipping away from the large groups of adults talking about business and boring nonsense to spend alone time with your boy of the month. You always looked forward to it.

This year, you're finally eighteen. Typically, girls your age would be making their debut with their summer flings, never lasting far into the fall- but since you just graduated, a serious relationship is far from your mind. You're having too much time seizing the day- carpe diem, or whatever that saying is. You've got your flask, and a nifty belt to attach it to your leg under your dress- courtesy of Sarah for your recent birthday. You're more than ready to seize your favourite holiday, the summer solstice.

You walk in with your family, and are almost immediately joined by the Cameron's- your standard routine. Your parents have always been close, your dad's in particular like to spend a lot of time together- allegedly working on some kind of big project, but neither one of them have ever spared a single detail as to what it is, despite it being years in the making.

"Y/N, Darling, you look stunning." Rose greets you with a hug and you smile, politely hugging her back and laughing a little bit as your families make similar greetings to one another.

"You're too kind, Rose. It's lovely to see you again." You grin as you pull away and she looks you over, rubbing your arm gently.

"Oh, nonsense. You look beautiful." She insists. "Rafe, don't you agree? Y/N looks amazing. This dress is something else!" She turns to her stepson, gesturing back at you.

"Mhm. That she does." He agrees flatly, taking a sip of his drink as he looks you up and down. 

You blush only slightly, hoping your makeup covers it. You and Rafe had had a somewhat on-and-off thing going on for some time now, but not something you were ready to admit to either of your families. Occasionally going out for coffee, but mostly you would meet in private. It was awfully convenient for the two of you that your dads did so much work together, you always knew where both of them were, and could more or less run the other way.

"Rafe, take Y/N to grab a drink, yeah?" Rose suggests and he nods, holding his arm out to you. You smile as you take it, trying to avoid leaning too much into him considering your already tipsy state.

"You do look stunning." He leans in to whisper to you, making you blush furiously. 

You lightly smack his chest. "Where are you taking me?" You giggle, following as he leads you past the bar in the crowd, in the general direction of the country clubs locker rooms. 

"There's a bar back here, you didn't know? A private one, kind of a well-kept secret, you know." He smirks, looking down at you only briefly.

"Oh, of course." You agree, gently nudging his shoulder with yours. "Please, lead the way, Mister Cameron."

You make your way through the crowd, blissfully unaware of your father's eyes trailing you the whole way, a scowl on his face as he takes the first sip of his whiskey.

"Come on, we have time for one more- yeah?" Rafe asks against the skin of your neck, kissing it softly while you attempt to get your dress back on.

"We don't and you know that." You chuckle, pointing to the back of your dress where he stands behind you. "Zip?" You ask and he sighs, obliging and pulling the zipper up for you. You adjust the fabric where it sits around your waist, looking in the mirror briefly before turning around to face him. 

Rafe is quick to settle his hands on your hips, pushing you gently back against the counter and pressing his lips to yours. It's gentle, this time, making you ponder the thought of maybe one-day making things official between you two- you'd be a fool to deny the feelings you have for him, and he would admit the same, but right now is just not a good time for either of you. That much goes unspoken.

"You're beautiful, you know." He mumbles, muffled by your lips against his. You giggle, draping your arms over his shoulders and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"So I've been told." You reply quietly, pulling back a little to look him over, eyes inevitably locking with his. "You're not so bad yourself."

"So I've been told." He chuckles, mocking you as he presses another kiss to your lips. 

"Alright, we really gotta go. We've disappeared long enough." You sigh, wiggling out of his grasp and ducking under his arm.

"Come find me later, yeah?" Rafe asks and you nod, humming your agreement as you step out of the locker room, doing your best to look around, feigning confusion in case someone sees you. Not like looking lost will truly work when you spend so much time in this country club recreationally.

You make your way to the bar and grab a soda, careful as you pull the slit of your dress to pour your liquor into it under the counter. You think you've succeeded, lifting the glass up as you turn around, looking to find your family again, or maybe Sarah.

Making small talk with people isn't your favourite thing, but it's always fun to catch up with other kids around your age, who you normally don't see so dressed up. Especially after a few drinks, and especially, kids you don't see so often. This is why your face just lights up with excitement when you see Pope Heyward. He's working the event, as usual, but he's always been kind to you- which you know isn't easy for him considering the treatment him and some of his friends get from other kooks.

"Pope!" You grin as you see him behind a counter in the corner, making him lift his head from what he was doing. 

"Y/N! Hey! How's it going?" He asks, stepping around the counter as you hold out your arms for a hug.

"I'm so good.." You smile, swaying lightly with your arms around each other. "How are you, though? Tell me what's going on in your world!" 

"Not much, just wrangling drunk girls tonight apparently." He chuckles, steadying you as you both let go of each other at the same time.

"Hey! I am not drunk, how dare you." You whisper, laughing and shoving his shoulder playfully.

"Oh, you? Never. Only everyone else." He nods, clearly not believing you anyway.

"I'm glad you agree." You take a step back to take the weight off one of your feet, wearing heels always has been a pain in the ass for you. You're about to say something else when you bump into someone, jumping a little as it startles you and their hand lands on your arm, steadying your glass for you.

"Hey, sweetheart." Your dad chuckles. "Didn't mean to scare you, I've got some friends who'd love to chat with you. Come with me." He says, quickly ushering you away and hardly sparing a glance at Pope. You look back over your shoulder at him, giving him an apologetic smile and a quick wave as your dad pushes you along.

It's not long before you're swaying on your feet, feeling a little lightheaded. You must have put too much vodka in your drink- which is unusual, you have a decently high tolerance.

You politely excuse yourself, making an effort to get to the bathroom. You suddenly really aren’t feeling well- and you need some space away from everybody else. The room spins around you and you hold your arms out to brace yourself on the nearest surface, the mumbling of people around you only echoing in your ears and you can’t make anything out. Your unsteadiness leads you to twisting your ankle in your platform heel, stumbling forward and someone catches you. Strong arms wrap around your back under your arms and hold onto your ribcage, trying to ease you down. They’re talking to you, but you can hardly make it out.

“Woah, woah- Y/N, are you okay?” Rafe’s voice is echoey, distant, even, and you try and nod.

“Yeah, yeah I just don’t feel too hot..” You mumble, tongue too thick for your mouth.

“Let’s get you some fresh air. Water, please.” Rafe snaps at a waiter walking by, lifting you up and getting you back on your feet.

“Rafe..” You try and speak, truly just surprised to see him. You don’t know why- you knew he was there.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you.” He says, taking the glass from the waiter who quickly returned and holding it up to your lips. Rafe knows he has to get you out of the public eye, and quickly- before your dad sees your state. He assumes you’re just way too drunk.

“Y/N, come on- I’ll take you home.” Your father is there suddenly, carefully but firmly taking you from Rafe’s grasp.

“Do you need help, Mr. Y/L/N?” He offers, your arm settling around your dads shoulder as Rafe stands there helplessly with your glass of water.

“I’ve got her, Rafe. You go have fun.” Your dad chuckles, nodding to the younger boy and carrying you toward the exit. Rafe knows there’s something not right about this- something off about the look in your fathers eye.

He lets him take you outside, deciding just to go and get another drink and send you a text. It’s your dad, for gods sake, he wouldn’t hurt you. As he stands by the bar, only for a few moments, he isn’t comfortable with his decision. He quickly abandons his drink, beelining straight for the door in quick strides, shoving it open and jogging out to the parking lot.

“I am sick of you coming to these networking events and embarrassing our family by throwing yourself at any boy who looks your way! Seriously, Y/N, no daughter of mine should be acting like this- like a damn whore!” Your dad is screaming at you now as you lean against the side of his car, holding onto it to stay upright. You’re hardly processing what he’s saying, tears streaming down your face regardless.

“Dad, wait- I didn’t, no, it’s not-“ You stammer, trying desperately to understand what you were trying to say.

“Don’t act like I don’t know! You’re lucky I even let you live under my roof after the rumours I’ve heard! I’m sick of you sneaking off to sleep with every boy on the island! I mean, pogues? Seriously? I’ve had enough.”

“I don’t-“ You try and protest, but your cut off with a hard smack across the face, leaving your ears ringing as your knees give out.

“Hey, hey- hey!” Rafe shouts, running up and shoving your dad back away from you, eyes dark with anger over what he’s just heard and seen. “Don’t touch her!” He stands between you and your dad, pushing him back again.

“Son, mind your business and get back inside. Now.” Your dad glares at him, pointing to the building.

“No. Absolutely not.” Rafe shakes his head in response. “I’m taking her home. You go back in and enjoy your stupid networking party.” He insists, turning to help you up as you reach out for him, still stunned.

“Jesus, Y/N/N..” He mutters, looking you over as he helps you get your bearings against the side of the truck. “What did you do to her?” He asks your father, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Rafe, leave.” Your dad chuckles a little, trying to save face as best he can. “She’s just had too much to drink- I’ll get her home and-“

“Did you drug your own daughter?” Rafe asks him, looking in disbelief between the two of you.

“When you have a daughter of your own you’ll understand. I did what I had to do to-“

“No, no way. That’s beyond fucked up.” Rafe scoffs, shaking his head as your dad keeps talking.

“To keep her from embarrassing this family even further.” He finishes saying, committing to the idea that what he did was right.

“Let’s go.. let’s just go…” You slur out, holding onto the side of the truck as you try and walk away.

Rafe shakes his head at your dad, backing away from him to get to you. As much as he wants to pummel him into nothing, it’s more important that he gets you somewhere safe.

“Y/N Y/M/N if you walk away right now don’t bother ever coming home!” Your dad shouts at you as Rafe gets to you, supporting you with an arm around your waist as he stares back at your dad. “You can kiss your trust fund goodbye! If you want to sleep with pogues you can live like one for all I care!”

Rafe bites his tongue as he guides you back to his own car, fishing in his pocket for the keys with his free hand. He gets you in the passengers seat and buckles you in as your head drops back against the headrest, hardly able to support its own weight.

“Y/N/N, hey, can you hear me?” Rafe asks, reaching up and grabbing your head gently to look at your cheek, checking for cuts or bruises. He frowns when he sees your cheek red and feels it burning under his fingers- it’ll have a nasty bruise tomorrow. He pulls out his phone and texts Sarah, telling her they have to go- right now. She had been looking for you most of the night too, surprised when you disappeared more than usual.

You just hum in response. You know you’re safe now, and you don’t have to exert as much energy to say anything at all.

“I’m gonna take you back to my house. We’ll get you cleaned up, and, uh, yeah. We’ll figure shit out.” He nods, more to himself than to you. He gently lets your head rest back and he shuts the door, seeing Sarah running over from the building, a confused and worried look on her face.

“What happened? Is that Y/N?” Sarah asks her brother, looking in the window.

“Yeah, her dad fucking drugged her. I walked out to him hitting her and yelling at her about shit that didn’t even happen.” He explains, opening the drivers side door.

“What? Oh my god.” Sarah replies, opening the back door and climbing in. “Oh my god, should we take her to the hospital?”

“I think she’s fine… Let’s just go back home and figure out what to do.” Rafe says, quickly starting the car and driving out of the lot being careful to avoid any potholes. He’s never driven so carefully.

Sarah helps carry you in, quick to grab water, some towels, and a bucket to place by your side of Rafe’s bed. It’s not likely to be pretty when you wake up. By the time you get back to Tannyhill, you’re hardly conscious, and Sarah has to hold every door for Rafe as he carries you in.

They don’t know what to do besides get you into bed when you get back to their house. Sarah helps you change into some of her pyjamas while Rafe decides to wait outside the door. He wishes he could get you something to eat, watch a movie together, do something normal, but you can hardly keep your eyes open. It would honestly surprise him if you knew where you were.

“What do we do?” Sarah whispers to him as he walks back in, both of them standing over you passed out in his bed.

“I don’t know.” Rafe mumbles, shaking his head. He can’t take his eyes off you.

“Should we call the cops?”

“They wouldn’t do shit. They’re as much in Y/D/N’s pocket as they are dads.”

“Well, we can’t take her home.” Sarah thinks out loud. “I don’t know how long she can stay here, dad will take his side for sure. I could bring her to John B’s tomorrow?”

“No.” Rafe shuts that idea down. “I’ll figure it out… You go to bed, Sare.”

“You can’t protect her here, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then I’ll leave too. Get us our own place, I don’t give a fuck.”

“What? You guys aren’t even official- how do you think she’ll feel about moving in with you?”

“We’ll figure it out, okay? Just leave us alone. Please.” He sighs, rubbing the sides of his head. He doesn’t know what to do. He really doesn’t. All he knows is that he has to keep you safe.

Sarah rolls her eyes at him and leaves, giving you a worried glance over her shoulder before shutting the door quietly behind herself.

Rafe crawls in bed next to you after taking his suit off, watching you sleep and trying to pretend everything is normal; trying to pretend that he was allowed to bring you home after Midsummers because this is where you wanted to be.

You look so peaceful, but as the bruise starts to develop on the normally soft and unscathed skin of your cheek, Rafe dreads having to explain what happened to his parents in the morning. He doubts anyone will even believe him.

taglist: @bookishbabyyy @madelynie , @mutual-mendes , @slut4drudy , @winterrrnight , @totalswag, @sadfury @fullfledgedemo @rafemotherfuckingcameron , @urfaveluvr , @chenslucy , @hxnnah-397, @s-we-e-t-t-ea

#obx fanfic #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe fic #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x kook!reader

[woso-fan13]

Whumptober 2023: 24 (Arsenal)

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

Football has been everything for as long as you can remember. You were good when you were younger, and your parents kept pushing you to be better. It took sacrifices from all of you, but it made you a better player. It doesn’t matter if you missed out on birthday parties for training or if you never had time for a sleepover. If you wanted to be the best, this is what you had to do. 

Your parents were right, and your hard work paid off. At age 17, you signed with Arsenal’s first team. Just a month later, you made your debut. Every sacrifice was worth it at that moment. 

It didn’t stop there though, your parents continuing to push you. Extra training, early runs, it was all part of being the best. If you wanted to get better, you needed to pick apart every mistake you made. Real winners don’t make mistakes. 

—-

You adopted this mindset, continuously pushing yourself. You kept up with players older than you with ease, could control the ball without paying attention, could score a goal without looking. But it wasn’t enough. Because you still made mistakes. 

So you started working even harder. You stopped getting a coffee on your drive in in the morning, deciding that it made more sense to run to the stadium before practice. You stopped accepting invites from your teammates, using this time to train instead. You could almost always be found on the pitch or in the gym, only leaving overnight.

You had stopped eating as well as you should, scared to gain extra weight. It would slow you down, make you sloppy. You weren’t sleeping much, finding the quiet hours of the night were best filled with training. You avoided social media, you avoided your friends. Every part of you went to football. 

—-

“Hey, Y/N, can we talk?” Leah asks. 

She’s just finished her rehab for the day, making her way over to you on the pitch. You go to protest, but you see Jonas standing behind her. This doesn’t seem like a conversation you can get out of. 

“Can it wait until after practice?” you ask hopefully, “I don’t want to miss anything.”

Leah shakes her head, “nah, I don’t think you’ll miss anything. C’mon.”

You shoot Jonas a pleading look, begging him to talk Leah into pushing the conversation. He doesn’t say a word. Firing one last shot at the net, you nod. 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Leah nods, waiting for you to grab a water bottle before leading you to an empty room. It’s not one you’re in frequently, it’s an old media room that was mostly used for storage now. But it had a comfortable sofa and was quiet, and Leah figured that was all you needed. 

Leah pops onto the sofa, motioning you over. Hesitantly, you take a seat on the other half. 

“Good,” Leah starts, “I want to start by saying that whatever we talk about stays in this room. Unless it’s a major concern, it’s between me and you.”

You nod, staying silent. 

“Okay. I was talking with some of the team and we’ve noticed that you’ve been acting differently. I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was alright, see if there was anything we could do to help.”

“I’m fine,” you instantly insist, “I’ve just been busy. Busy is good though, and I think I’ve been improving. If you look at a comparison from the last few games…”

“You’ve been playing very well,” Leah cuts you off, “but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not worried about you as a teammate, I’m worried about you as a friend.”

You’re quiet, unsure as to what to say. 

“You’ve been here constantly, and you haven’t been hanging out with any of us. I just want you to know that if something is happening, I can help.”

“Everything’s fine, really. I’ve just been sloppy recently, but I’m working on it.”

It’s Leah’s turn to be quiet now, clearly trying to plan her next words carefully. 

“Would you be open to some advice?”

You nod instantly. 

“I’ve been doing this for a while, and I’ve seen a lot of good players. All of the best players, though, love what they do.”

“I do love football,” you interrupt passionately, “I do, I promise. It’s the most important thing in my life.”

“I think that’s the issue. Right now, you don’t love football, but it’s the most important thing in your life. Right now, it's more important than socializing, eating, and sleeping. You’re neglecting yourself to prioritize football. Do you see what the problem is?”

You’re fumbling for an answer, “if I loved football more, I would be even better?”

“Maybe,” Leah says simply, “if you keep going on this path, you might be the best.”

“That’s what I want.”

Ignoring you, Leah continues, “you might also fail. At this point, I’m not sure if your body or your mind is going to fail first. Honestly, it might be both. Then what’s left?”

“What are you talking about, Leah? Football’s important to me and I love it. I’m fine.”

You move to stand up, Leah’s hand stopping you. She asks one question, a question which will undoubtedly change the course of your future. 

“Are you?”

You’re not. 

#womens soccer #woso imagines #woso imagine #reader insert #woso x reader #woso #woso soccer #woso fanfics #woso community #arsenal wfc #arsenal x reader #arsenal women #awfc #leah williamson #arsenalwfc

[annerbhp]

So who remembers the Four Seasons Landscaping press conference debacle of November 7th, 2020? You know, the one held across the street from the sex shop. And the endless memes after of “imagine your OTP: who owns the landscaping company and who owns the sex shop”?

Well, yeah, I wrote this thing for it a long while back. And yes, of course I made Harry work at the sex shop and Ginny at the landscaping company. Decided I should just schedule it to post on the next November 7th. Enjoy!

Come Again (Harry/Ginny, meet-cute, Harry works at a sex shop, bad flirting, Ginny’s into it anyway, non-magic world, Teen, no content warnings. Other than, you know, sex shop inventory!)

Harry glances up from his magazine at the sound of the shop door opening. He cursorily looks over the customer—young woman, mid-twenties, red hair, short, athletic build—before returning his attention to the magazine. He’s noticed most customers don’t particularly like the feeling of being watched. Some people flee immediately upon catching him watching them. Especially women.

Sure enough, out of the corner of his eye, he can see her slip down the aisle furthest from the cashier counter, the one full of costumes and larger objects far too difficult for anyone to steal.

“Harry?”

He looks over at Tara near the breakroom at the back where she’s pulling on her coat. “Are you off?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “Are you sure it’s okay if I take Tuesday morning off?” She’s biting at her lower lip, as thinking his offer was somehow a trap. He wonders what kind of shit she had to put up with at her last job. Or it could just be him. Maybe she’s still trying to get used to him as their manager or something.

“Yes,” he says, forcing his voice patient. “Go get your tooth looked at. I’ll cover the shift, no problem.”

“Thank you,” she says in a rush. She glances over, catching sight of the ginger. “Want me to cover this one before I go?”

“I’ve got it,” he says, and it occurs to him that maybe she’s more nervous about leaving him to do the shift on his own than she is that he’s going to get mad at her for taking the time off.

He’d be offended by that if he hadn’t spent the last three weeks completely in over his head. But he’s starting to get the hang of it now.

Tara waves and leaves out the back.

“So you’re the owner then? You don’t look like a Luna.”

He turns to find the customer standing in front of him. He glances at the big sign out front declaring this store as Luna’s sex toys and more store.

“What? Oh,” he says. “No. I’m just filling in for her for a few months. She’s out on maternity leave. Twins.”

“Ah, so you’re just the understudy,” she says.

“Something like that.”

Pull yourself together, Potter.

“Then you’re…” She waves a finger around in a circle, encompassing the whole store. “In the business?”

He laughs. “No.” He realizes a moment too late how bad that sounded, and rushes on. “She was going to have to shut the shop down or cut her time home, but I’m between careers at the moment, so I figured I could cover for her.” He has no idea why he is spilling his life story out at her, and he considers that maybe Tara had seen what he hadn’t when she’d been so reluctant to leave him on his own. “It’s been a bit of a learning curve, I admit. Though mostly it seems to be about putting customers in categories and treating them accordingly.”

Her eyes narrow, as if sensing an insult towards the kind of people who might come to a shop like this. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“No,” he says, desperately trying to backpedal. “It’s just… Look. It’s like setting expectations? There’s people who come for joke gifts, the people who pretend they are here for joke gifts because they are too embarrassed to want to buy something, the people who know exactly what they want and get right to it, and the people who are here because of rebounds. Each kind of person would prefer to be treated differently: ignored, helped, given stern looks. So it’s just about figuring out which kind of customer they are, so I can make this easiest for them.”

The customer is now frowning at him. “You know that still sounds kind of creepy, even if it makes sense.”

“Studying people is kind of my thing.”

She only looks more alarmed.

“Not in a creepy stalker way! Or in a ‘I want to draw your picture’ way. I was a profiler. You know, criminals?”

“Ah, so now the customers are criminals.”

He would think he just can’t win with this maniacal customer, but she was smiling now, clearly teasing him. “Only if you try to walk off with Gary shoved down your shirt,” he gamely replies.

She turns to follow his gesture, letting out a low laugh at the sight of an enormous oversized novelty cock with a face on the tip. It’s not a ‘I’m nervous and about to break down into a fit of giggles’ laugh either, so Harry is pretty sure this is a customer who won’t mind being offered help.

“So is there anything in particular I can help you find?” he asks.

“You tell me.”

Said in any other tone, that might sound like a come on, but it was more challenging than coy. “Excuse me?” he asks.

“Am I here for a joke gift? Profile me.”

He looks her over, eyes lingering on the details. A new sweater (he could see the strip where the sticker had been removed very recently). Her hair looked freshly cut, the way she touched it said it was not the length she was used to, maybe having cut it off recently. There was the slightest indentation on her ring finger, a faint tan line.

“You’ve recently broken off a long-term relationship, either started when you were both very young, with someone who likes vanilla sex that you found boring, or with someone who was offended by the idea of you using any toys because it felt like cheating and made you get rid of them.”

She stares back at him, eyes wide.

He said it all without thinking, really, just speaking as it came to him, these thoughts about who she was that he might come up with about a case.

“Sorry,” he says, certain he’s just cost Luna a customer. “I’m sure I’m way off.”

“No,” she says, “you’re annoyingly on-point.”

He winces, realizing that’s probably even worse.

Definitely time to try to make a tactful retreat, if at all possible. But before he can back away, she’s speaking again.

“I used to have a Shibari before he made me toss it. Any thoughts on what might be like that? Only better. And bigger. Longer battery life.”

“Uh,” he says, floundering for a moment. Then he walks over to a shelf, pointing at a slim lavender-colored wand vibrator. “I can tell you the mini halo is really popular. But Luna always says it depends on what you’re looking for, not what other people want.”

Her eyebrow lifts, and it occurs to him that he has basically just asked for detail about her sex life. Yup. It’s possible he’s out of his element. He ends up texting Luna, for some reason not wanting to lead this particular customer astray. Not just because she seems pretty great. She deserves to get what she wants after all! Everyone does!

Getting tired of the back and forth, the customer eventually just grabs his phone and texts Luna directly, debating the finer points of the Soul Sucker. The woman’s smile—stupidly lovely, really—No, not appropriate, Harry!—is wider and wider as she gets into a really long exchange with Luna. Ending with a gasp of adoration when Luna apparently texts a picture of her sons.

The text exchange eventually dies down, the customer giving Harry a bald, assessing look.

“What?” he asks, refusing to shift back and forth on his feet, reminding himself of his long career as a criminal investigator—which would mean more if he hadn’t burned out and left with no real plans for anything else he’s going to do instead. Other than manage a sex toy store, apparently.

“She wants to know how you’re doing,” the woman asks. Her eyes narrow as she studies him a bit longer, and, shit, she should consider a career as an interrogator. She nods her head, like coming to a decision and then starts typing away again, this time narrating as she does.  “Approachable, only slightly creepy, blushes at a minimum, non-judgmental, but needs an education.”

He lets out a startled laugh, not offended in the least. Actually a better rating than he’d expect. “Trust me, every day in this shop is an education.”

Her eyebrow lifts. “I can only imagine.” She hands his phone back and sweeps up the Soul Sucker and the mini halo too.

Harry helpfully points out the displays of various lubes, letting her head over there by herself as he steps back behind the counter.

A guy comes in then, picking up a pre-order which is thankfully much more straight forward, a package already put together by Tara before she left.

By the time he’s done ringing him up, the woman has made her final selections, putting them down on the counter. He scans each one, slipping them into a bag without looking at them. Not his business!

“And with the five percent break up discount, that comes to….”

“Discount?” she asks. “I don’t need your pity.”

“What?” he asks, feeling like he’s messed up yet another thing. “No, seriously. It’s a thing.” He flips the card with five different set barcodes on it, handing it over to her.

You’re better off without them! – 5% Never too late to figure out what you like! – 5% Congrats on embracing your sexual identity! – 5% You’re a few bucks short, but still deserve joy – 5%

She looks at him in surprise.

He shrugs. “Luna.”

She seems to relax then. “Which one am I getting?”

“Does it matter?” he asks.

She lets out a huff. “Guess not.” She hands over a credit card and he really does his best not to look at her name or anything, but it is sort of a part of credit safety? Or something?

Ginny Weasley. Is her name. It sounds vaguely familiar, though he can’t quite place it.

She signs the receipt, and he passes over the bag. “Have a nice day,” he says, almost automatically.

“Oh, I’d better,” she says, lifting the bag.

He really tries not to blush. He really does. Professional, Potter. Real professional.

Only then she’s giving him a wink and walking towards the door. “Let me know if you ever need help with landscaping,” she says, “so I can return the favor.” 

Harry pauses at the strange words, frowning, resisting the urge to look down at his body.

She’s definitely laughing at him now. “The landscaping company next door? Weasley’s Landscaping? It’s where I work. The family business.”

“Oh,” Harry says with a sudden rush of understanding. She works right next door. Where he will likely see her. Again. Quite often. “Right. I definitely will.” 

“Great. See you around.”

He can’t help grinning. “Come again!” he calls out after her.

He can hear her laughter as the door shuts behind her.

It takes Harry a while to realize he’s humming as he starts taking stock of the strap-ons inventory.

Just another lovely day in Luna’s shop.

#annerbfic #harry/ginny #ficlet #sex shop au #happy november 7th #four seasons landscaping

[pagesfromthevoid]

Darling, Don’t You Cry | j.m.

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Only you have shown me how to love being alive.

Word Count: 8.4k (ahahah)

Warnings: Canon violence. Mild SA mention (nothing explicit). Murder. Mentions of being drugged and kidnapped, hunted by people. Softie Joel.

Author’s Note: I…don’t know what came over me. Might I recommend listening to Darling by Halsey as you read?

Talk to Me! | Read on AO3

1993 —Austin, Texas

Two years after Tommy joined the military; two years after Sarah’s mom left

“I can’t stay,” she argued, shoving clothes into a suitcase.

Joel stood in the doorway, arms crossed, but made no move to stop her. “Can we at least talk about it?”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Now you wanna talk, Miller? I’ve been trying to talk for months.”

Joel heaved a sigh, running his hands over his jaw. “I know —I’m sorry, okay? It’s complicated —,”

“You think I didn’t know that going into this?” She asked, turning to finally look at him. “You think that I didn’t know how hard this would be, between you having a baby and a wife that just up and left? I knew it would be complicated, Joel.”

“Then I don’t get why you’re leaving,” he pressed, finally stepping into the room. “You’ve lived here your whole life —,”

“I’ve lived here since I was fifteen,” she countered, looking at him with annoyance. “And have had feelings for you since I moved here.”

“Don’t say that,” he warned, crossing his arms. “You’ve had plenty of boyfriends; shit, you dated Tommy.”

“Oh my god, when we were sixteen,” she groaned, throwing her hands in the air. Then she stopped, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. I got accepted into a great program in Seattle. I have deferred that acceptance for two years to help take care of Sarah since Tommy left for basic, under the condition that I would go when he got home.

“Just because you have been dancing around whether or not you have feelings for me doesn’t mean I don’t know what I feel. And it damn well doesn’t give you the right to tell me I cannot go.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” he countered, reaching out to take the shirt she had in her hands. “I just —what’s so special about Seattle that you can’t have here?”

“My family is there. That’s what’s in Seattle, Joel. And a damn good aerospace program that wants me. Do you not get how big a deal that is?” She stared up at him, frowning deeply. “I have spent years being told I wasn’t good enough by every fucking teacher I’ve ever had —and now Boeing fucking wants me. I can’t keep blowing them off. Tommy comes home tomorrow, and my flight is booked for the day after. If I don’t go now —I won’t ever go.”

They stared each other down for a long time, Joel’s eyes pleading with her to stay. But she has spent the last two years helping take care of a child that wasn’t her’s, deferring an acceptance that never should have been deferred, and loving a man who couldn’t decide what he wanted. There were a million reasons for her to go; she just needed one good one to stay. 

But she knew he’d never give her that reason. 

“Tell me why I should stay, Joel,” she finally demanded, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. “Tell me what I know you want and I’ll stay.”

“Darlin’, I can’t —,”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, pointing at the door. “Just…just get out of my house, Joel.”

She watched him turn and leave, taking her heart with him. 

2003 —Austin, Texas

Two weeks before the outbreak 

“When are you gonna let me take you back out?” Tommy asked, leaning against the bar. 

The dive bar wasn’t terribly busy; just a handful of people that knew she was back in town for a few days. Boeing was working with Johnson Space Center in Houston on a new project and she was sent down to work with the teams at NASA. It felt a bit surreal, being the lead on such a huge project. 

She’d been back a handful of times since moving back to Seattle; mostly to visit Tommy and other friends. Life got busy, things changed, and it was never easy to just hop on a plane and visit. But now, with this new program, she was going to be settling down in Houston. Austin was a bit of a trek, but she missed her friends and time heals all wounds. 

“We’ve been down that road, Miller,” she reminded him with a teasing grin. “If I recall, you cheated on me with Danielle.”

“And Noelle. And Gina.”

She looked up from the bar at the familiar voice, turning around to see Joel sauntering in with a soft smile on his face. Leaning back against the bar, she lifted her beer in greeting. 

Maybe time didn’t heal all wounds. 

But it sure as hell made the heart grow fonder. 

“Joel Miller, as I live and breathe,” she greeted, though remained seated. “Still out here ruining Tommy’s life, I see. Didn’t know about the other two.” She gave Tommy a pointed look, but there was a grin on her face. 

“Someone’s gotta keep’em humble,” Joel answered easily, taking the empty seat beside her. “How long you in town, darlin’?”

If he saw her flinch at the nickname, he didn’t react. 

“Austin, a week,” she explained, lifting the beer to her lips. Her eyes dragged over his face, taking in every little change she’d missed in him. “Houston, at least a year.”

He raised a brow, sitting up a bit straighter. “Moving back, then? Seattle not cuttin’ it?”

“Seattle is just fine,” she countered, turning back in her seat to face the bar. “I’m working out at the Space Center, with the shuttle program. Lead engineer.”

“Shit,” he chuckled, shaking his head as the bartender handed him a beer of his own. “That’s impressive.”

She just shrugged in response, smiling behind her beer now. It was easy to fall back into it with Joel; like no time had passed at all. But that’s how it always was. Joel was an easy friend to make, and an even easier person to fall for. 

What started as a stupid crush on the older neighbor boy had turned into so much more —ending just like she expected it would. Him not realizing she even existed until she was old enough to make a move herself, and by then he had a little girl and a wife. And even when his wife up and left, Joel couldn’t make up his mind about what he wanted from her. 

“I’ve always been impressive,” she teased, glancing over at him. “Not my fault you’re blind in your old age.”

Joel scoffed, taking a swig of his beer. “I’m almost certain you and I are barely five years apart.”

“Feels like decades.”

They fell into a silence as the bar started to liven up, people wandering in and getting the party started. Her fingers fiddled with a bracelet on her wrist —one that Joel had given her the first Christmas she spent with him and Sarah. She couldn’t find herself parting with it; as much as she knew she should, she just couldn’t. The charm —a single star —was loose and she tried tightening it while she fiddled. 

She stole a glance at Joel, who was looking at her with a small frown on his face. He reached over, taking her wrist without a word to fix the charm himself. His touch on her skin lit a fire that she had to put out immediately. She couldn’t keep looking at him; refused to. The look in his eyes reminded her of the one he gave when she left. 

And she couldn’t fall for it again. 

“I gotta get home,” she announced, hopping off her barstool. “My dad is waiting for me; promised I’d stay with him while I was in town.”

Joel nodded once, looking away from her finally. “Don’t be a stranger; Sarah’s soccer season ended so she’s home in the evenings. Doubt she remembers ya, but I’m sure you remember her.”

It was a subtle dig; a reminder that she had left and tried her damnedest not to come back. But she wouldn’t let him see how it bothered her, giving him a polite smile. 

“I’ll try to stop by.”

Both of them knew she wouldn’t though.

2003 —Somewhere in east Texas

One month after the outbreak

“You sure that’s the address?” Joel asked, looking up at a building.

Just like most places, it seemed abandoned aside from a handful of looters trying to get whatever they could. One of the many luxury apartments of Houston, left to the elements and whatever else found its way into the building. 

Tommy held out a worn out piece of paper to him, the ink faded from being folded over so many times. Joel took it, looked it over a few times, before he cast his gaze up. 

“We gotta get to the eighth floor then.”

“Leave it to her to live on the fuckin’ top floor,” Joel grumbled, shaking his head. 

“If she’s even there,” Tommy reminded him, looking up at the building. 

He glanced at his brother, frowning deeply as Tommy fell prey to the thought that she was dead. Tommy was the one to assume the best; to assume she was alive. 

Joel assumed she wasn’t.

It was easier to assume the worst than hope for the best. 

Trekking up eight flights of stairs was living hell, given that at any moment someone —something could attack. Guns drawn, backing up stairs to cover each other…it was something that the two had grown used to doing over the last month. But silence enveloped the building, and by the time they made it to the top floor unscathed, things seemed…fine.

“Apartment 818E,” Tommy reminded him, motioning for him to follow down the hall. 

Joel had an uneasy feeling as he peered into open apartments, checking for threats. It seemed that looters hadn’t made it up eight flights of stairs, leaving many of the apartments alone. But it was too quiet; too easy. Nothing in this new hell was easy. 

Tommy stopped, standing in front of a closed apartment door. The numbers were eschew, like someone tried prying them off. But the door was unlocked when he reached for it, gun drawn. Joel followed close behind as they pushed open the door. And it was like walking into a memory. 

Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust, but it was clearly still her home. Pictures on the walls, books stacked on the coffee table. Dishes were still in the sink, and the upturned faucet suggested that the water had been running when she left. Joel stepped through the living room, glancing over the photos that littered the space. 

But he stopped in front of one —staring at him through dust and cobwebs. It was a photo of him and Sarah, right after Sarah’s first birthday, not long after his ex left. He remembered that day; she had insisted on taking a new family photo because fuck her, who needs her? And when Joel tried to argue that Sarah needed her mother —she reminded him that Sarah had her, and did he.

There was a photo next to it, one he didn’t remember taking. Tommy had his arm around her shoulders, and Joel had his around her waist. The photo was snapped as she looked up at Joel —like she was caught staring at him instead of smiling at the camera. It was right before Tommy had left for basic, at his going away party. She looked up at him like she was seeing the stars for the first time.  

And Joel wondered, briefly, how he had been so fucking stupid not to notice. 

He lifted the photo off the wall, wiping away the grime. There was a hole in his heart where Sarah was missing; and now another hole where she was too. He glanced at the photo of him and Sarah, taking it down next. Tommy was still searching the house, but Joel was prying the backs of the frames off and taking the photos out. He couldn’t leave them behind. 

“Find anything?” He asked, taking a breath to calm himself down. Feelings didn’t mean shit at the end of the world, anyway.

When Tommy didn’t answer, Joel pushed the photos into his back pocket and returned to searching. He found Tommy standing in her bedroom, staring at the floor. Joel’s gaze followed, and even though he had assumed the worst —seeing the blood stains on the carpet twisted everything inside him until it ached. 

“Maybe it’s not hers,” Tommy mumbled, kneeling down to look the stain over. Joel was about to argue, but Tommy’s voice cracked as he spoke again. “She was always fighting, she probably got away —,”

“Tommy,” Joel scolded gently, kneeling beside his brother. “Tommy, we need to go.”

But Tommy just shook his head, staring blankly at the blood stain. Joel huffed in frustration, pushing himself off the floor. He’d give his brother a few minutes; let him accept that she was really gone. It was easier that way —Joel had accepted she was dead weeks ago. 

He took a moment, looking around her bedroom. It was a mess; like she was in the middle of cleaning up when everything went wrong. Clothes were hanging from her drawers and her curtains were drawn. The bed wasn’t made, with the covers practically pushed onto the floor. The pictures on her nightstand were knocked over from the blankets being thrown, and Joel moved over to set them back up. 

Sitting on the nightstand was a worn, silver star. The jump ring was twisted open, and the star itself had a copper tint from being worn down over years. Joel hesitated just a moment before picking it up, looking it over. He’d tried to fix it last month, but she wouldn’t let him get too close. And now, he held the charm in the palm of his hand, throat closing up. 

“Tommy, we need to go,” Joel finally decided, trying to keep himself together. “We gotta get moving. She’s gone.”

Reluctantly, his brother stood and rubbed a hand over his face. Then, after composing himself, he and Tommy left what was left of their old life behind. 

Joel, however, pocketed the charm. 

2023 —Present Day

Somewhere near the border of Wyoming

“Why couldn't the skeleton share the bad news?” Ellie asked, kicking her feet out in front of her. 

Joel rubbed his face, groaning as she giggled to herself, holding the joke book. “God, why?”

“Because he didn’t have the heart!”

He hunched over, closer to the fire, giving her an unamused look as he shook his head. “Fuckin’ terrible, kid.”

“You’re just not funny.”

As Joel was about to argue, a gunshot rang out in the distance. Both of them went silent, with Joel smothering the campfire and him pushing Ellie behind rocks that they had taken refuge in for the evening. Joel stayed low, pulling out his own pistol. He glanced back at Ellie, who was peering out from behind the rocks, clutching her pocket knife. 

“Stay here,” Joel ordered, giving the girl a hard look. 

“But —,”

“No,” he interrupted, pointing at her. “Stay. Here.”

Ellie huffed in anger, but fell against the rock. Joel took a breath, shaking his head for a moment before he began making his way towards the gunshot. Another rang out —then another. The shots were getting closer —too close, and he was readying himself for a fight as he inched closer to the woods. 

The sound of snowing and ice crunching under boots was loud enough that it pierced the silence of the night like a knife. Someone was being chased, and Joel feared the worst. There were too many possibilities of what could be running towards him, and he wasn’t about to take any chances as he pushed up against a tree, pistol at the ready. 

Another shot rang out, and a high pitch scream came next. 

“Son of a bitch.”

Joel blinked, that overwhelming pain in his chest suddenly taking over as he listened. The voice was painfully familiar —older, hoarse, but familiar. He peered around the base of the tree, catching just a glimpse of a woman, holding her shoulder as it bleed into her hands. Her gun lay on the ground beside her. 

But it was her. 

Twenty years —twenty goddamn years, and there she stood in front of him. Covered in blood —fresh and old —and being shot at in the wilderness of Wyoming. Older too; but they both were. Her lip was busted, bruised and bleeding. But it was her.

He wondered if she had looked for him and Tommy, like they had for her. 

“You can’t run,” a voice called from further away. Joel, unable to catch his breath, leaned back against the tree. 

“Thought that was the fucking point,” she snapped back, reaching down to snatch her gun back up, pointing it hastily into the woods. Joel couldn’t see where she was aiming. “I thought you were hunting me —prey runs, you dipshit.”

“Didn’t think you’d run so damn far.”

The other voice, distinctly male, emerged a few feet away from where Joel hid. He peered around one more time, making sure that it was just her and him. Her gun turned to her attacker, bad arm tucked into her side as she practically bared her teeth in a growl. 

“One more step,” she warned, hand trembling as she held the gun. “And I’ll shoot you.”

“You can barely aim with your good arm, what makes you think you’ll hit me now?”

“Fuck you,” she spat. 

“I gave you that option.”

“And yet I still chose being hunted over your dick.”

Joel had heard enough, turning from behind the tree and taking aim. There was no pause; he did not hesitate. He just pulled the trigger and watched her assailant drop like the fly he was. He didn’t stop, though, emptying his clip until the man was a bloody, unrecognizable mess. Even with it emptied, he pulled the trigger several more times as he saw red. 

She had whipped around, gun pointed at Joel now. Her movements were sluggish, and she was wincing from the wound in her arm. But he put his hands up, finger off the trigger. Her eyes widened as her hand shook, dropping her gun in the snow. It was littered in blood stains, and Joel thought back to that day they had found her apartment empty. 

“Joel?”

Hearing her say his name —after twenty years —felt surreal. Almost like he was hallucinating. How many nightmares and dreams did he have about her? Begging her to stay, trying to find her only to watch her disappear again? He’d forgotten the sound of her voice, how sweet it was —even now, broken and older. But hearing his name from her lips took him back and suddenly he was in the house again, laughing in the backyard with Sarah and her. 

He lowered his hands, slipping the pistol into his holster. She stared at him with wide eyes, as if she was seeing a ghost. Joel hesitated, but took half a step forward. She took a step back, breathing heavily as she watched him. It was like she was a feral animal, afraid to let him near. 

“Joel!”

He turned at the sound of Ellie’s voice, who was running up on him. When he turned back around, she was taking off back into the woods, clutching her arm and holding her gun. 

“Where the hell are you going?” Joel called after her, and she briefly paused —glanced over her shoulder at him —then kept going. 

For a moment, Joel considered going after her. How could she just take off like that? But Ellie sidled up to his side, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket as she watched the woman walk away through the snow. Then he decided he couldn’t. 

“You know her?” Ellie asked, brow furrowed. 

“I…yeah,” was all Joel could muster up saying. “Yeah, I do.”

*****

The remainder of their trip to Jackson was filled with questions from Ellie about the woman in the woods. Who is she? Why didn’t we go after her? Was that your girlfriend? Oh my fucking god it was.

By the time they had called it for the night the first day after seeing her, Joel had given the bare minimum he could to answer Ellie. Admitting anything more would just trudge up memories he didn’t want to relive, and make it harder to not go after her. She clearly didn’t want their help, and he knew well enough that meant she’d fight them tooth and nail to avoid it. It’s what he would have done too. It wasn’t worth the risk to Ellie. Not when they were so close to getting her to Tommy and to safety. 

After two weeks worth of walking and finally arriving in Jackson, Joel had tried to forget he had even seen her. There was no reason to tell Tommy; no reason to give him any hope that he had seen their old friend. Tommy had enough going on —with Maria being pregnant, there wasn’t a good excuse to bring it up anyway. 

Following dinner —where they enjoyed a meal that wasn’t expired, and Joel thanked God for that —Tommy offered to show them down to the stables. Ellie was overjoyed, ready to interact with any and all animals she could. Joel just followed along as Maria explained the different posts that Ellie could help with if they stayed, all working with the different animals the community raised. Joel and Tommy fell back some, though Joel kept his eyes on Ellie. 

“You know, I wanted to wait to tell you,” Tommy started, slipping his hands in his pockets as they both watched Ellie pet the horse in front of her. “But about a week ago, someone showed up at the gate —I don’t think you’ll believe me —,”

But Joel interrupted, whispering her name, before looking at Tommy. The younger man looked surprised that Joel knew. 

“How did you —,”

“We ran into her a few weeks ago,” Joel explained, crossing his arms over his chest. “She was…shit, I don’t know. Being hunted. I killed the guy, but she took off.”

“Explains the shitty stitch job she had when she got here.”

Joel just nodded, trying not to think about her stitching herself up in the middle of the woods, alone. Though he had tried hard not to think about the other things she had experienced, alone, over the last two decades.

“She spent a couple nights in quarantine but we got’er set up in one of the apartments in the center. I’ve been checkin’ on her, but she hasn’t said much; didn’t even mention seeing you.”

Joel just shrugged, watching Ellie still. But he decided it was for the best to change the subject; for now anyway. “I need your help, Tommy.”

*****

When she had arrived in Jackson, she was certain that she was going to die at the gate. Her shoulder was infected —not from a bite, but from lack of taking care of it. She had stitched herself together with a dirty needle and thread she had tucked away in an abandoned cabin not far from where Ryan —her attacker —had died. Her supplies were still there when she returned, and she thanked the universe for not fucking her over even more. 

With Ryan and his brothers gone, she was finally free from the nightmare she had been living in. Even if it meant dying at the gates of the community she’d only heard stories about…she died free.

But when the gate opened and she dropped to her knees in front of the masked guards, she heard her name being yelled. Frantic, shocked, terrified. But goddamn, she knew that voice. 

“Tommy,” she breathed as he froze in front of her. She was covered in blood, worse for wear, and she knew what he was thinking. “I-I’m not infected, I swear, I was shot —,”

“We’re gonna get you to the clinic, okay?” He promised, motioning for the guards to help her up. A dog approached her, sniffing her over for several minutes, before returning to Tommy’s side. “See? Not infected; the dogs can tell.”

He ended up lifting her into his arms and carrying her through the gates. It felt like every part of her was just getting heavy, and her eyes wouldn’t focus on anything around her. But she was with Tommy; she was with someone she knew. And he was safe, and he was there. And when she woke up —if she woke up —she’d tell him she was saved by who she thought was Joel.

“I gotcha,” he promised, “You just gotta stay awake for me. Can you do that?”

She hummed in response, but her eyelids were too heavy and soon, the world had turned to black. 

*****

When she woke, Tommy was sitting next to her bed with another woman. They didn’t notice her staring at them through half closed eyes, taking a moment to consider if she was dead and this was heaven. But then, she moved just enough and she gasped in pain. Her shoulder stung, her head ached, and Christ, she was thirsty. 

“Hey, hey, don’t move,” Tommy ordered softly, pushing her good shoulder down into the pillows. “You’re just fine; you’re safe.”

She stared at him for a long time, reaching out to touch his face. Twenty years was such a long time, and he had changed so much. Everyone changed, of course. The world was nothing like it was when they were kids, but he was still Tommy Miller; still her friend and the boy next door. And as he touched her hand, she started crying. 

*****

After a week in the clinic, Tommy set her up with a small apartment in the center of the community. He tried apologizing for how small it was, but she waved him off, insisting that it was far better than anything she’d experienced in years. When he tried to push for more, she told him she wanted to settle in and that she would tell him more later. 

He left it at that, and left her alone. 

It was a small space, but it was her space. She had a bed, a bathroom, and a kitchen. And for a very short moment, she thought it was some semblance of normal. But when she got into the shower —washed out the grease and grime and remaining blood from her fight —and watched that faded crimson circle the drain…well, it wasn’t normal. It never would be. 

And when she stepped out, feeling cleaner than she had in nearly two decades, she finally saw her reflection. Her lips were bruised and split, with a scar across her cheek to her ear. Bruises littered her skin, enough so that her entire chest and shoulder were completely discolored. The bags under her eyes —not from being hit, shockingly, but from pure exhaustion —made her look sick. Though god forbid, she was incredibly malnourished as it was. 

Maria —Tommy’s wife, she had explained —came by with containers of food. She explained she and Tommy led the community, and that usually people ate the mess hall. But of course, no one expected her to right away. She wanted to joke, to tell Maria that she seemed too good for Tommy. But she stopped herself, because how would she know that? The Tommy she knew before the outbreak and the Tommy Maria knew were two completely different people. 

By the end of her first week, she was finally finding herself trying to explore Jackson. Tommy had offered to give her a tour, but she told him to go help Maria with whatever she was doing. He had hesitated, but eventually left her to her own devices. 

The remainder of her day was spent alone, wandering through the community. People greeted her, and she offered them soft smiles in response, but didn’t linger long enough to talk more. Exploring and socializing were two very different things, and she wasn’t ready for the socialization part of being there yet. 

So she wandered the perimeter, counting her steps as she memorized each entry point. Nodded to the guards and thanked them. Then she made her way back around the other way. It’s what she had done in the Dallas QZ; memorized every weak point that she could sneak out of. It was the only thing that kept her sane for the first few years, before she finally managed to get the hell out. 

Two twenty-three, two twenty-four, two twenty-five, two —

Her name was called, disrupting her counting, and she froze mid-step. Her name was yelled again, and that same familiar drawl that she had heard in the woods —that she thought she heard. 

Slowly, she turned.

Twenty steps away stood Joel Miller, watching her. 

She hadn’t been seeing things. It wasn’t blood loss or drug induced hallucinations —Joel was really eighteen steps away from her. 

Seventeen. 

He said her name again, and she took two steps towards him. 

Fifteen. 

“Joel,” she managed to croak out as she took three more steps.

Ten. 

Eight. 

Joel took four more; she took four. They met in the middle, and her arms were around his middle before she could stop herself. His snaked around her shoulders, pulling her into him without another word and she gasped as she started crying into his jacket. Joel pressed his lips to her hair, and she sobbed harder, clinging to him. 

“It’s okay,” he promised, holding her close to him. “It’s alright, darlin’. Don’t you cry; it’s okay.”

How many nights did she dream of him calling her that again? Even after she accepted he didn’t want her, that he let her leave —she dreamed of it for years, wishing she could see him one more time. Apologize for leaving, and tell him she missed him. Tell him how she wished she had asked him to come with her, to bring Sarah and they could be a family together properly. 

It was too late for that; too late to apologize. To have a family, and a life like what they had before. But he was there, and he was real. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice muffled by his jacket. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

He hushed her, promising her again that everything was going to be okay. “C’mon —sun’s setting. Let’s get inside before it’s dark.”

She nodded, letting him pull away. But his touch didn’t disappear, instead turning into him wrapping his arm around her shoulders to lead her back into town. Nobody said a word to them as she sobbed into her hands, letting Joel guide her wherever they were going. 

She would have let him guide her to hell if it meant being close again though. 

*****

They didn’t actually say anything to one another for a long time. Joel had brought her to the hole in the wall Tommy had given him and Ellie to stay, and when they sat down —she just cried. He didn’t know how to console her, or calm her down. So instead he simply let her cry, and held her while she did so. As Joel held her, he could feel her body shake with sobs. He could tell that she was struggling with something deep and personal, and he didn't want to intrude on her emotions by prying or trying to speak too soon. So he just held her tightly and waited for her to open up when she was ready.

Ellie had come out of her room at the intrusion, no doubt about to make a snarky comment, but Joel gave her a pointed look. It was a warning, and Ellie backed away as soon as the woman let out another broken sob. 

But as her crying slowly subsided, and her tears stopped streaking down her cheeks, she pulled away from him. Joel leaned forward on the sofa, clasping his hands together as she fell against cushions. He wondered how long she’d kept herself from crying; how long she buried all those feelings. 

“Feel better?” He asked, leaning back now to properly look at her. 

She just nodded, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I’m sorry —Christ, I’m pathetic —,”

“None of that,” he scolded, but he tried to keep his voice soft. 

Ellie peered around the corner, and before Joel could say anything, she followed his gaze to the child. Her brow furrowed, staring at Ellie like she was trying to pick her apart.

“That’s not…,” she trailed off, looking back at Joel in confusion. “Did you…Did I miss you having another kid?”

Ellie suddenly snorted, laughing at her question as she finally joined the two in the living room. Joel gave Ellie a careful scowl, frowning deeply as she sat on the floor in front of the two adults. While he never thought he’d have a private moment with her again, he needed Ellie to not interrupt him trying to figure out what was going on.

“I’m not his kid,” Ellie announced, sitting crisscrossed before her now. “I’m his cargo.”

“Don’t say that shit,” he warned, giving Ellie a pointed look. “You’re not –not anymore.”

“But…she was?” She asked, looking between the two curiously. 

“Long story,” was all Joel could manage to say, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll…explain it later.”

She looked between Ellie and Joel for a moment, trying to draw connections between the two before she seemed to give up. Her hands rubbed her eyes again, taking a deep breath as she settled into the couch further. Joel simply stared at her, watching her movements. Her fingers tapped against her thigh, a pattern that he was certain she didn’t realize she was making. Her mouth was bruised, with a split lip that was still healing. 

“Why’d you run from us?” Ellie suddenly demanded, leaning forward.

“Ellie –,”

But she let out a huff that sounded like a laugh, and Joel turned his attention to her instead of the kid in front of them. He wanted to know too; wanted to understand why she took off when she clearly knew it was him. She’d said his name, after all. But Ellie was too blunt for her own good.

“I…,” she trailed off, trying to think of her explanation. “Do you want the actual answer, or the less terrible one?”

Joel and Ellie glanced at one another, both frowning now. It was Joel who spoke. “The real answer. Please.”

She nodded once, looking down at her hands for a moment. “I thought I was hallucinating, that’s all. Twenty years –what are the odds of you being in the same stretch of woods as me, twenty years after the last time we saw each other?”

“Fucking slim,” Ellie mumbled, looking between the two.

She gave Ellie a surprised look, as if not expecting her to curse. But she shook her head, returning to her story. “I…I’d lost a lot of blood, I think. And I was drugged. Been running for days without eating or sleeping, so I…I saw you, and I really did think it was you. But then…well, she…” She motioned to Ellie then to Joel, frowning still. “I thought, ‘That’s not Sarah; that’s not Sarah so that can’t be Joel,’ and I…figured I was just hallucinating from the drugs and lack of sleep. It wouldn’t have been the first time, honestly. But then…I took off before I could think straight.”

Joel stared at her for a long time, taking her explanation for what it was. In a fucked up way, he liked the thought that she had been seeing him in her delirious state. Maybe it was wrong; maybe it was the worst thing to think of. But she thought of him, and he wondered if that meant what he thought it did.

“How’d you end up in the woods?” He asked, eyes roaming over the scars that she had picked up over the years. “Sounded like you knew the fucker that attacked you.”

“That’s…a whole different story,” she sighed then glanced at Ellie. “One I don’t think I can share with a kid.”

“Bullshit,” Ellie complained, throwing her hands in the air. “I’ve seen and heard so much worse –,”

“Ellie, please,” Joel scolded, pointing to the bedroom. “I need you to go find something else to do.”

“What the hell am I gonna do?”

“Literally anything. Go.” Joel's voice was stern, and he knew that Ellie was feeling frustrated not being involved. "Ellie, I mean it. Anything else. Just keep yourself busy and stay safe," Joel said firmly.

Ellie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Fine," she grumbled, turning to head to the bedroom. 

As she disappeared from view, Joel let out a sigh of relief. He didn't want to hurt Ellie's feelings, but sometimes she was too stubborn for her good, and while he didn’t expect too long a moment alone with her, he wanted her to feel safe telling him what happened to her. And if that meant having Ellie go occupy herself for ten minutes, then he would make it up to her later. 

She watched Ellie walk away, waiting to speak until she heard the slam of the bedroom door. She flinched at the sound, closing her eyes for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, she can stay out here –,”

Joel shook his head, waving off her concerns. “She’ll be fine,” he promised, moving now to sit closer to her. “Sometimes she thinks she’s more grown than she is.”

“I think all teenagers think that way.”

He thought back to Sarah for a moment; how she insisted on doing things on her own only to realize she needed help when it was too late. It was a teenager thing to do, even in the middle of the apocalypse. The thought of Sarah hurt though, and he shook his head to bring him back. He knew that dwelling on the past wouldn't do any good, especially now that he had part of his past sitting in front of him.

“Talk to me,” he ordered, keeping that same stern but soft tone he gave her earlier. It was easier to move forward; keep the conversation going. Even if it meant talking about her past over his. “What happened?”

She bit at her lip, though stopped herself when she remembered the split and the bruise. Instead she opted to pick at the skin around her nails, trying to keep herself occupied. Joel waited patiently, frowning as time wore on. He could sense her unease and wanted to help, but he also knew better than to push her. He shifted his weight on the couch, leaning forward some, feeling the weight of the silence between them.

“Where do I even start?” She finally asked, covering her face with her hands. 

“Why not the beginning?” He suggested, reaching out to take her hand. “Tell me what happened, darlin’.”

She hesitated again, looking at their hands. His were a scarred, calloused disaster. Worn and torn from years of violence and labor. Even before the world had gone to shit, they were worked hard from construction. Joel couldn't help but notice the way she hesitated, her eyes darting back and forth between their hands. 

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with the memory of the last time they touched like this. It was the morning before she kicked him out of her house. She’d stayed the night, having watched Sarah for him while he had gone out to help a friend get their car back and running. It wasn’t the first night they’d spent together, with her waking up in his bed and his lips on hers, lazy in the sunrise. She’d taken his hand, pressing their finger tips together, and asked him if he wanted to talk about her offer to Boeing. 

He didn’t want to talk about it then, promising they could later. He remembered her sighing, burying her face back into her pillow even though she still held his hand in hers. He had been avoiding the conversation for weeks at that point —knew he was pushing his luck in her staying with him without talking about it. They hadn’t talked about what had been going on between them; hadn’t put a label to it. She was young and had a life ahead of her. And Joel…well, he was the father of a four year old and too jaded from his ex to put his heart on the line again. He had been afraid to tell her the truth, and by the time she tried to force it out of him, it was too late. 

Christ. Had it really been thirty years? 

“Joel?”

Her voice broke him from his thoughts, and he focused on her face again. “Sorry, darlin’. I’m listening, promise.”

She nodded again, taking a moment before she finally started to speak. Her free hand ran over her hair as she put into words the last twenty years.

“Uh, so most of the last two decades were in the Dallas QZ,” she explained, “I stopped keeping track around fifteen. Most of my team from the Space Center ended up with me there, and FEDRA had us work on putting the zone together. Guess they thought all engineers were builders –but we basically directed people on how to make shuttles and parts of the shuttle; buildings are completely different.”

“I still can’t believe you were an engineer for NASA,” he admitted, smiling softly at her. “Makes sense since you were always takin’ shit apart and putting it back together, just to see how it worked.”

“I never thought it was an option, but that’s how I managed to get a radio that worked right; I managed to jerry rig something that could pick up on the towers communicating back and forth.” She just shrugged though, looking back down at her hands. “That’s how I found out about this place. Overheard someone passing along the message, and I started to map it out the best I could. I have a shit sense of direction, though.”

“You always did,” he recalled, giving her another small grin. “Remember when you convinced me to drive you and Tommy to Galveston for some concert and you got us lost?”

She smiled, and Joel was certain she was thinking back on it. He remembered that trip well; she’d just turned eighteen, and Tommy was about to head out to basic. They wanted to do something exciting before he left, having asked her parents to watch Sarah for the weekend. Halfway through the trip, she offered to help with Sarah; she hadn’t mentioned getting an offer to go to school in Seattle at that point. He was just happy to have someone who wanted to be there. 

He remembered how packed the cab of the truck was, and how she was practically in his lap the entire trip there. At the time, it was like he was suddenly seeing her for more than the girl who hung out with his little brother. She was lively, and excited. Her laughter filled the cab, and he couldn't help but feel drawn to her energy. He wanted to spend more time with her, to hear her laugh and chat his ear off. Even when he realized they were lost as shit, it didn’t matter because he was just content with her beside him. Until Tommy reminded them they missed the concert, of course.

“We ended up there eventually!” 

“After the fucking concert was over, a day late.”

“We still got there,” she argued, and Joel appreciated that the memory got her to smile just a little. But it faded as she continued to speak. “I told my team, and we were gonna get out of there. After a while though, it's like…like my team just started to disappear. Couple were killed by FEDRA for breaking rules; two others got sick. Then it was just me and…I figured if I was gonna go, I had to go then or never. Think that was, shit. I don’t know? Three years ago?

“I was fine for a year and half, on my own. Didn’t have a fucking clue where I was going, but I was doing okay. And then…I stumbled on this group of survivors –two women, three men. I offered them some supplies to show I wasn’t there to hurt them, and they told me they were headed here too. So I joined them. That’s…that’s when it got bad.

“Lilla, one of the ladies, got infected and attacked us. She bit one of the men, Travis. Obviously we killed them, and got away. But then, I don’t know, the leader of the group –his name was Ryan, he’s the one that you killed –got this sick idea that hunting people was the best way to survive. His wife agreed, and his brother just went along with it. I thought they were psycho, told them and that’s when…well, they decided it was me they would hunt.”

“What the fuck,” Joel mumbled, brow furrowing as he listened to her. Her hand was trembling now, and he reached out to take both her hands in his now. She closed her eyes, tears falling again as she clutched his hands tight. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“Long story short, I managed to kill the wife and brother about six months into their stupid ass game; Ryan just kept…he kept finding me. Every time I got away, he showed up. He’d get close enough, get a hold of me –drug me, stab me, whatever he could to slow me down –then let me go again. When you found me…that was, I don’t know, I think the third or fourth time he’d caught me and threw me back out. Like I was some game piece. Then…then you killed him and suddenly, I was free again but I thought I was dying, and…and…”

Finally, he pulled her into his arms, holding her close to him as she started to cry again. Joel’s stomach churned, the thought of her being hunted for nearly two years. He couldn't imagine what she must have gone through, the fear and uncertainty that must have plagued her every waking moment. He had always known that she was strong, but now he realized just how resilient she truly was. Despite the being fucking hunted, she had never given up. He felt a deep sense of respect and admiration for her, and he knew that he would do anything to make sure that she felt safe again. He’d failed her once before; he wouldn’t do so again.

As she cried in his arms, he whispered words of comfort to her, promising her that he would always be there for her. He knew that it would take time for her to heal, to overcome the trauma she had experienced, but he was healing too; he was just as broken as she was. And he wanted to heal with her –with Ellie too. In that moment, as he held her close, he realized he had to keep both her and Ellie safe; that he couldn’t fail them both.

He also realized, then, that he had to continue with Ellie to the university.

Joel pulled back, just enough to take her face in his hands. Tears were in her eyes as she looked up at him, and he couldn’t hold his back anymore. There was hesitation; a fear that lingered before he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, feeling the weight of all the emotions between them. It was a kiss born out of sadness; trauma. But also one of comfort and understanding. It took a moment for her to respond to the kiss, but when she did, she returned with a fierceness that surprised them both. Their lips molded together, and their bodies pressed closer as the intensity of their emotions heightened. They both needed this connection, this moment of shared vulnerability, to ease the pain of their past. 

They stayed that way for a long moment, lost in each other, before finally pulling away, breathless. Joel rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, feeling grateful for the connection they shared. As they finally broke apart, gasping for air, she looked up at him with tears still in her eyes. But they were different tears now, ones of relief and hope. 

“I have to leave,” he whispered, searching her eyes as he pulled back, taking her face in his hands. “I have to take Ellie to Colorado –there’s doctors there; she’s immune somehow. They…they think they can make a cure.”

Her brow furrowed as she processed what he was saying, trying to understand what he was trying to get at. Her hand fingers wrapped around his wrists, holding him in place. Her eyes dropped, just briefly, on the string around his wrist –to the charm he’d taken years ago. Her tears fell even harder as she realized what it was. “Joel, I-I don’t –,”

“Come with us,” he practically begged, his voice breaking as he did. “I…I can’t lose you again. I won’t. Come with us, and help me get her there. Then we can come back here when the doctors get what they need, and you and I…we can try again; make up for the time we lost.”

She nodded frantically, tears falling over his hands as she started to cry again. He wiped her tears away, pulling her close to rest his forehead against hers once more.

“Yes!” Ellie suddenly exclaimed, running into the room again. 

Joel pulled back, though her hands found his to keep him close. “Ellie –,”

“I knew you wouldn’t let go with Tommy!” Ellie continued, throwing her arms around Joel’s neck from behind. “You fucking softie, I knew it!”

One of Joel’s hands reached up, patting Ellie’s arm with a small chuckle. She looked between the two for a moment, a soft smile coming to her lips. Joel looked back at her, unable to help the smile that came to him either. 

Maybe they’d be okay after all.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot

[milfgyuu]

Satellite  Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x Fem!Reader Series: Svt x Harry’s House Tags: 3.1k, Complicated Lovers, Angst, Comfort. Warnings: Rated PG-13. Mostly angst in this piece, mc is a hot mess (non-descript familial, health, financial issues) and highly self-critical, brief nudity but no explicit content. Summary: Wonwoo is tending the bar on a stormy summer evening when you walk back into his life and though he’s been patiently allowing you the space to work things out on your own - he’s not sure he can watch you walk right back out that door again.

The bar is quiet today and Wonwoo could not be happier to spend his time cleaning glasses, restocking, and watching the rain outside the tall glass windows. 

It had been pouring all afternoon and well into the evening which either drove folks inside or kept them home and today seemed to be the latter. The few patrons he had were easy keepers and so he minded his workspace - meticulously scrubbing and polishing. 

Something to keep his hands busy to pass the time.

A sudden rush of sound enters the quiet space signifying another arrival. Wonwoo glances up with a generic greeting on his tongue but quickly notices you’ve come without an umbrella and are soaked to the bone. That much he can tell even as you’re facing away, cursing at your reflection in the door so instead of waiting, he takes off to the supply closet to search of a few handtowels to dry yourself a bit.

The tiny room is a mess, of course, but he manages to find a few clean towels and vows to restructure this dysfunctional system another day.

He almost walks right past you, having found the corner seat far from everyone else, but there is a slight sniffle and he turns on heels to follow the sound finding his mystery patron shivering and dripping water onto his clean bartop. His words fail him at the sight because it’s a rather pitiful one.

Your suit jacket is soaked through, your hair is slick and dripping from the ends, and your chin is tucked in defeat like you’ve been dealt a poor hand over and over and this is just the final straw. Like all of the fire and fight you had left had been smothered once and for all. He takes a tentative step forward and then you raise your head. Meeting his eyes, he’s now convinced require another exam, he is sure there is no way you’re looking back at him.

Your name is heard through a whisper of disbelief and your shoulders hike up, spine going ramrod straight. Of all the bars, restaurants, and cafes along this street surely you could have chosen somewhere know one would recognize you but instead you look back at the one person you hadn’t ever been able to fool. The one person you could not hide the truth from no matter how hard you tried.

Someone you ran from if only to save him from the disaster that is you.

“Wonwoo,” you quickly clear your throat and throw on a fake smile, “Hi.”

Its been four months since you disappeared and yet he doesn’t appear enraged or flood you with questions even though all you offer is ‘Hi’. He doesn’t bring up the fight that you started and subsequently walked out on the last night you were together. The night you finally realized you had to let him go before you hurt him anymore than you already have.

He instead pushes the towels into your hands and sputters his thoughts allowed, “I think I’ve got a towel and extra clothes in my gym bag in the car…give me a min-”

Wonwoo looks down at the hand suddenly clasped over his for a moment and then up at your soft stare. “It’s okay, really, you don’t need to do that for me.”

His brows furrow because of course he does and he will but again, you squeeze his hand. “Wonwoo,” you repeat slowly and it aches just to say his name again, “Don’t worry about it. Its okay.”

Wonwoo bites his lip and concedes, as usual. He slips his hand from your grip slowly, “Let me get you a drink at least.”

You nod and he doesn’t ask what you want, he already knows. 

The shame that’s always sat heavily in your gut eats away at you as you watch him pour. A man that you’ve so selfishly loved since the moment you met him, Wonwoo has picked you up and put you back to together too many times to look at him now without the guilt of everything you’ve put him through threatening to tear you apart.

He sets the glass down and slides it across the bar toward you. Pulling it into your grip weakly, you just look down at the liquid with regret.

Wonwoo misreads the action and fusses with his glasses. “I probably should have asked what you wanted. I’m sorry I assum-”

“No! This is good!” you reassure him, taking a hardy sip from the glass - hardly wincing at the burn in your throat. Nothing is more painful than lying to him. “Everything is…good. I’m really happy to see you! You’ve obviously left the old bar near campus.”

He rests a hand on the counter, settling against it. “Not really my scene anymore.”

“Of course not,” you smile softly, shrugging out of your wet coat. 

This place is so perfectly Wonwoo. It’s quiet and warm - comforting. 

Wonwoo is frowning when you settle back into your seat and look up at him. You know its because you’re a wreck and your hand automatically reaches for your drink, downing another unsavory gulp to deal with your inherent urge to let him take care of you. The heat remains in your throat this time and makes speaking nearly unbearable. 

“How, um…how have you been?” you try. Its better to focus on him. 

Wonwoo just shrugs though. “I don’t do much - you know me. I come to work and I go home. Not much keeping me busy these days.”

You’re not sure how to take that last bit but his face is open and honest as always. No underlying accusations even though you know how ‘busy’ you kept him. Running to him first with every problem in your life, hanging onto him for support like a lifeline, slowly sinking him like a sailor on a ship with too many holes in the hull to patch. 

Taking and taking and taking with nothing to give in return. 

You muster some sort of wry smile though it feels like a grimace. “Sounds peaceful.”

“Maybe,” he glances down, “It’s a little too quiet for me though.”

Just then the door opens and both your eyes flit in the direction of the incoming patrons. 

Wonwoo hesitates for a moment like he knows how easily you could disappear again but you encourage him, grip tight on your glass, and whisper, “Its ok, go.”

Still he lingers for a moment and then walks to the other side of the bar.

You watch him, weary of being caught, but its so good to see him - to be near him.

It feels greedy to take in the sight of him, to think about how much you’ve missed Wonwoo because you know you can’t think about it without breaking down and it’s your fault in the first place. You left him, not the other way around.

You miss his gentle hands and soothing voice. You miss the way he’d hug you and hold you for however long you needed and then some. You miss the way he made all the big things in life seem so very small and powerless when they loomed over you.

Wonwoo was…love, and warmth, and shelter from the storm but one day you realized you were the storm and coudn’t bear to keep dragging him through the muddied path you followed. Life was cruel but to hold onto Wonwoo was crueler. 

Across the bar, Wonwoo notices the way you’re staring down at the counter, swirling the contents of your drink without really touching it. He can feel your anguish like a knife in his chest, he always could, but it twists painfully knowing you won’t let him help. 

Boundaries. That’s what tethers him. Ones you put in place and held the line so furiociously he hadn’t dare crossed it in fear of losing you for once and all.

Instead he hovers like a satellite in your universe waiting for you to let him back in the way you both so desperately need. However long it may take. Months…years…he doesn’t care. He will wait right here for you forever.

He just hopes and prays it comes sooner than later. Neither of you seem to fair well without the other.

A loud crack of thunder rumbles through the bar and Wonwoo is thankful for the ongoing storm that drove you inside, hoping it might keep you here longer.

Unfortunately, it brings in more of a crowd than he’d been expectating and it left him running around cleaning and serving drinks instead of talking to you but he’s always watching - waiting for you to run.

You don’t though and Wonwoo’s ache eases a little at your close proximity. At the fact that you’re only a few feet away. Safe, he thinks. You’re safe while you’re in here with him, even if you offer nothing more than false smiles and small talk. Here he can make you laugh and tell its genuine. Here he can care for you in the only way you’ll let him - in only the ways you deem safe, for him.

Shortly after two drinks, you switched to something non-alcoholic and with the storm raging on outside, you stayed put long enough to mostly dry your clothes and sober right back up. Even liquor couldn’t quite keep a hold on you.

You keep yourself busy either quietly conversing with Wonwoo when he was free or watching him work when he’s busy. Mentally catalogging each image of him, every word spoken in his deep, familiar voice. Filing it away for the inevitable plummet when you leave him again.

Nearly eleven o’clock you notice people filing out of the bar, back into the rain. Each minute passes and more people gather up and head out until you’re alone, glancing around like someone else might be lingering much like you are. 

Wonwoo dutifully wipes down all the tables and says goodnight to his co-worker, letting him know he can close up by himself at this point and panic floods your viens. You quickly gather your things and Wonwoo turns to you curiously. Seeing your bag strap looped over your shoulder, his heart drops.

“You can stay,” he says quickly emptying his hands, “It’ll just take me a few minutes to lock up and it’s pouring still.”

You smile sadly, shaking your head. “Don’t worry about me,” you urge, putting more space between you, “It was good to see you.”

“Wait,” he attempts to maneuver the counter but you’re so close to the door, “When can I see you again?”

You grip the door handle so tightly it cuts into your hand.

“I don’t…I don’t know. This wasn’t…seeing you tonight wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You quickly glance down at the floor, the pain in his face so open and obvious.

“At least let me drive you home,” he pleads but each step closer has you wrenching the door open, “Please, I just want to make sure you make it home safely.”

You can’t. You cannot even look at him.

You don’t even have a home right now and he doesn’t need to know that. He needs to stay here and forget about you. “I can take the bus,” you argue, “I’ll be fine. I’ve been fine, Wonwoo.”

You’re a liar and a coward.

Wonwoo looks helpless when you take a step out of the door and he can only whisper another desperate, “Please,” before you look back at him.

“Goodbye, Wonwoo.”

And you’re gone.

Hot tears streak down your face as you battle the onslaught of rain, thick droplets pelting your body as you run across the street. The bus stop is still a little ways away but you slow your steps, using the rain as camouflage to let yourself fall apart. There isn’t a soul on the streets and you let the emptiness swallow you whole until your knees are buckling, threatening to sink you into a puddle and let you drown.

Thats when you hear it.

A voice in the distance, strained and restless, calling out your name.

You turn to find Wonwoo running after you and another choked sob falls from your lips as you call back to him. “What are you doing?!”

Like a magnetic force, you close the distance between you and he grabs both your arms, dragging you against his chest. “Don’t leave again,” he shouts over the volume of the storm and adrenaline thumping in your ears, “Don’t walk away from me, please.”

Sorrow grips your heart in a vice, squeezing the last bits of light from you.

“You should be the one walking away from me! Don’t you get it?!” 

You grit your teeth so angry at the way emotion chops your words up when you’re begging him to understand. “I’m like poison, Wonwoo! My life is misery, and pain, and endless fucking disaster! Why can’t you see that? Why would you want me? I’m a broken, angry, selfish person. Why won’t you let me save you from me?!”

The last sentence hardly makes it out because Wonwoo’s lips crash against yours. He kisses you tenderly but with a firmness that tells you he won’t go. He won’t leave and let you crash and burn on your own. Cold, wet hands cradle your face, so gently, and make their way down to your shoulders and the middle of your back, anything he can do to keep you anchored right here in his arms. 

He kisses you in the rain for what feels like forever and you chase him when he pulls away for air because you’ve spiraled so far out of control you’re not sure how to bring yourself back to reality. You’re easily reconnected because he doesn’t care that its pouring and you’re both drenched. He doesn’t care that he’ll probably be sick tomorrow because he’s needed this, needed you, for so long now.

You tremble under his touch, fingers gripping and twisting into his shirt, holding him close. 

With his forehead rested against yours, he tries to shield you from the rain.

“Come back inside with me,” he pants, “We’re going home.”

You try to shake your head, pleading with him to let you go but he tightens his grip and stares back at you. “I’m not asking anymore,” he says resolutely, “I love you and we’re going back home, together.”

A fresh sob springs from your throat at the memory of home. 

He moves slowly as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together, and begins pulling you back toward the bar. You follow him, no energy or willpower to pull your hand from his and do the right thing. To spare him from inevitable heartbreak.

Wonwoo doesn’t let go of you once as he pulls you back inside, locking the front doors behind you. You follow him in silence as he flicks off lights and leads you out the back door, still working with only one hand to lock up and then he’s opening the passenger door to his car and you’re slipping inside. 

When he gets into the driver’s seat, he turns on the heat and then takes your hand again, holding it the entire fifteen minute drive back to his apartment.

What was once also your apartment.

Pushing inside the front door, you notice it looks exactly the same. As if time froze the moment you walked out and only the sound of the door shutting and locking behind you allowed it to resume. 

Wonwoo stands behind you, waiting for you to move or speak but when you can’t seem to do either, he takes your hand and you look up at him - conflicting emotions so evident on your face - and he guides you back into the bedroom and adjoining bathroom to start the shower because you’re both still soaked and you haven’t stopped shaking. 

“Come on,” he urges gently, “Let’s warm you up.”

Numb physically and emotionally, you don’t react when Wonwoo carefully begins removing your clothing and his, tossing them into the corner. He sticks his hand under the water and adjusts the temperature before walking you inside closest to the spray. You stand there motionless, staring at a spot over his shoulder as he reaches up to wash your hair quietly.

Everything is fuzzy and out of focus until your vision shifts to find a small freckle on his collarbones and it’s then that you finally speak. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

It’s not a question about his physical state and he knows this. He knows what you mean. 

‘Aren’t you tired of me?’

Wonwoo hums to himself, shaking his head and rinsing soap from your shoulders as he looks down at you. “Aren’t you, though?” he asks, stroking his thumbs against your skin, “The weight you’re trying to carry alone is crushing you - I know you’re exhausted.”

You are exhausted in every way, shape, and form. 

Your familial trauma and responsibilities, your failing career, your health, and the endless debt that keeps growing with each day - it’s killing you.

With another crackling sob, you fall against his chest, wrapping your arms around his bare torso until your fingernails dig into the soft skin of his back slightly. He tucks you in closer, bracing your trembling body against his own with one hand cradling the back of your head and the other rubbing your back as the showerhead continues warming you both.

“Allowing me to shoulder a little bit of your burdens will not hurt me,” he says softly, “I am tired of silence. I am tired of going to sleep and waking up in an empty bed. I am tired of watching you struggle to do it all alone with a fake smile to hide your pain but I am never tired of you.”

“Look at me,” he says after a moment and you pull yourself off his chest to meet his gentle eyes. “I’ve been waiting every single day of the last four months for you to come home. You told me to give you space and I’ve done all I can to stay and be patient, wait for you to finally let me in, but I am terrified that day may never come.”

“Wonwoo…”

He presses your foreheads together and lets out a shaky breath.

“I am begging,” he whispers painfully, “Let me love you. Let me help you.”

“Please.”

“I’m sorry,” you kiss him, “I’m so sorry for leaving.”

“I know,” he whispers back, kissing your lips and then the space between your eyes, “Just stay with me, okay? Come home and we’ll get through it together.”

Wonwoo has never once lied to you and you’re nodding before you can even form words but that’s all he needs as reassurance that in in the very least, you won’t slip from his arms and disapear in the middle of the night. He’d hold onto you until the sun rose and if you told him you weren’t ready, he’d wait but he hopes you’ll stay. 

Forever and a day could go by and he’d still be waiting for you.

Thanks for reading! 💗

SVT M.List | Main M.List |

→ Please do NOT copy, repost, or translate, any of my works here on tumblr or on any other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, Milfguu, 2019. ©️

#Wonwoo fanfic #Jeon Wonwoo fanfic #SVT Fanfic #svthub #caratwritersclub #kdiarynet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #svt fanfiction #svt oneshot #svt series #jeon wonwoo x reader #svt angst #wonwoo angst #kpop fanfic #kpop series #kpop oneshot #lana writes #SVT X Harry's House

[preservationofnormalcy]

[It is January of 2022. I’m entering a wing of the DC Office site that looks older than the others. The carpets are a strange brown, vintage looking, and the lighting casts an almost yellow pallor over the wood paneled walls. I can practically smell the cigarettes. I pass by an empty room labeled “social media office” - boxes piled up by the door. Maybe they’re going to be using it soon. They’ll need it.

I approach a door labeled Necrocommunications, knock lightly twice, then enter. 

I am greeted with the sound of a voice drifting softly across the room. A few chairs and tables sit around me, the same vintage style as the hallway before, the same browns and yellows. A high desk is across the room, and a woman is seated at a control panel. She has black curly hair, done up in an old fashioned style, a polka dotted blouse, and though she’s facing away from me, I can see the edges of cats-eye glasses. 

The panel she’s working at is huge, and resembles the type of switchboards they used to use in the ‘50s, dozens of physical wire connections crisscrossing the device and attaching via plugs. The woman has a headset, one ear covered in a bulky speaker, with a microphone near her mouth. She speaks casually, with an incredibly heavy New Jersey accent.]

I] Oh, him? He’s circled, babe. Taken as hell. Mhmm. And he still asked you? Ain't that a bite. So now you know he’s out of the question and yarding on. Dodged a bullet, hun.

M] Irene? 

I] Oh, god, hold on. My appointment is here. Yeah. I’ll call you later, beautiful. Caio. 

[She hung up the call, taking her headset off and turning to me. She looked like she was straight out of my grandfather’s high school photo album, including the color. Her skin was almost grey, it was so pale, but she didn’t seem like she was sick. She looked me over with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, leaning forward on her desk.]

I] Well, hello Miss Meghan Hendricks. What can I do for you, sugar? 

M] I’m here to interview you for my audit, Ms Donofrio. 

I] All business, aincha? 

M] This is my job.  

I] ….yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I don’t get cute visitors much. 

M] Right. 

I] Pull up a chair, hun. 

M] I’ll just stand. This won’t be long. I came here because of your Occult Communication Tools poster. 

[She sits back with a dramatic sigh.]

I] Yeah, took me forever to convince them to let me do that. We had agents using spirit boards, pendulums, casting runes, tarot cards, ghost boxes, all kinds of shit they brought from home. Bought from Walmart, or worse, a thrift store. I was always telling them, honey, baby, you gotta use our stuff, we maintain it, we disinfect it of ectoplasmic residue, lockout-tagout procedures, the works. It’s so, so unsafe to use anything but our tools. Sure, you gotta do paperwork when you check it out, but it’s better than somethin’ following you home…

M] Right into it, I guess. That’s what Necrocommunications does, right? Talk to the dead? 

I] You bet, sugar. The dead, demons, angels sometimes when they ain’t on our plane or in realspace. Other little spiritual twerps and bugaboos. 

M] I’ve been asking this a lot in the last few months, but…you can do that? Consistently? 

I] Consistent enough to make it worthwhile. S’not perfect. Fails most of the time, depending on who you’re calling. 

M] How so? 

I] Well, some people don’t wanna be called. Some people are chatterboxes. We got a list of likely contacts who we suggest people contact, but…we do other people sometimes, too. Always worth a shot, I say.

M] How does it work? 

[At that, Irene winced slightly and wagged her head from side to side.]

I] We got theories, but more importantly we got procedures. We know different things work for different people. Sometimes it’s cultural. The method that contacts Mr Smith may not work for Mr Chan, y’know? 

M] It’s mostly for information gathering, then. Like the Board of Infernal Affairs.

I] Information gathering’s a big part of it. Someone died with a secret? See if they got loose lips now. Also, y’know, helps with hauntings or gettin’ rid of little jerk spirits. 

M] You mentioned disinfection….

I] Yeah, yeah, there’s….risks, y’know. Sometimes the person you contact ain’t a fink, you know, and they start a whole new haunting. Sometimes one spirit’ll lie and say they’re another. Then they follow you home, start leeching your energy. Happens less when we cleanse the tools. Which is why there’s procedures for this, and every Office staff member in the building is trained on at least the basics.

M] Is it….is it only for Office personnel? Is it something I could…

[Irene’s face grows into a playful smirk as she hears the hesitation in my voice, leaning her face in her hand.] 

I] You got fifty cents? 

[She leads me into a back area of the office. Lining the walls in storage containers are row upon row of spirit boards, each box with a paper listing the dates each was used and then cleaned, along with the name of the person who did it. There are other items, too - pendulums, bags of runes, spirit boxes like you see on ghost hunting shows, and other devices and artifacts I don’t recognize. Irene’s attention, however, is on a phone booth at the end of the room. It’s clean but battered, clearly old and used. It has no door, but an open front, and above the phone itself is a depiction of a figure on a boat, with one word beside it: “Charon.”]

I] We confiscated these in the 80’s. It’s easier to use this one than have to sign out spirit board, y’know.

M] Weren’t you just complaining about that?

I] I complain about a lot of things, sugar. 

[I approach, standing before the phone in disbelief. Irene senses my hesitation.] 

I] Put in the money, then use the keypad to type out the person’s name. It’ll take it from there. Who you gonna call? Grandma? Mom?

M] My brother. 

I] Ah. Shit, honey.

M] He died in California. Two summers ago.

[As I reach for the receiver, I see Irene’s face freeze in some sort of concern.]

I] H-honey, that…was he in—

M] Yes. 

[I put my hand on the receiver, and I feel her hand on mine. She’s cold. She’s so cold and clammy that I jump slightly and look her in the eyes. Her face is sorrowful and scared, searching me.]

I] Honey…you won’t be able to—

M] You said—

I] If he was in…there’s no one there, sugar. He’s gone. 

M] I know he’s gone, but you said I could—

I] No, no, he’s…if he was…he’s gone, gone. There’s nothing left of him. You can pump quarters into that thing all night long and you won’t get anyone.  

M] H…how? I was…I was on the phone with him when it—

[As I watch, her eyes go wide, and she covers her mouth.]

I] Th-that’s how you remember, isn’t it? Thought you were just…in the Office but you hadn’t known about…that’s how you remember.

[I let go of the receiver. I can’t feel my fingers. I’m shivering, but not from the cold.]

M] I know how I remember. What I want to know is why everyone else forgot.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #interview #necrocommications #necromancy #microfiction #sci fi #horror #writers on tumblr

[rollingaroundin-bread]

Hi 🥺 what if they- 👉👈 what if they got mawwied???? 💕💕💕

Okay hi I’ve been working on these on and off all month (mostly off I got really busy whoops) and I have A LOT of thoughts about a Legbone wedding (ft. the drawtectives cause they really are my blorbos) 

Anyways here’s a list of headcannons that I didn’t get to draw:

So right off the bat let’s talk OUTFITS

To me Legzi and Ryjinah had gone looking for dresses but Legzi wasn’t really pumped about any of them 

So maybe they went on a road trip (because ladies bookclub road trips my beloved) to either go look in a different boutique or to do other wedding related shenanigans 

And on the side of the road Legzi spots this rag 

And of course it’s a torn up wedding dress and suddenly she has a Vision^TM

Just Legzi being more excited about fixing up this dress than anything she could have just bought up to that point 

Because to me Legzi is someone who loves to feel like a part of the process and having all her random skills she picked up from Darkmouth 

Then design wise I wanted something puffy so I could hide how much taller I made her 

Because personally I think her using the leg stilts on her wedding day is not only very Legzi^TM but I also made myself laugh with the concept :) 

And florals because those are fun, green, and easy to make by hand (as someone who’s made a lot of ribbon flowers)!! The vines were places where the dress was really torn and needed more structural stitching 

Ryjinahs dress on the other hand I wanted to take some inspiration from her season 1 design (even though I haven’t seen it) 

Also I love a chance to draw some boob 

so anyways York’s invitation

I’ve said it before but “artists draw fan art of each other’s art” where Karina drew Ryjinah, York, Rowan, and Jacob horse all hanging out is CANON TO ME

Which is why all of those characters were invited!! :)

Anyways I imagine all the invitations had your standard stuff- names, dates, rsvp section

But where it would’ve said +1 I think Ryjinah scribbled that out and hand wrote “+2 ;)” 

Which of course Grandma would be slightly flustered by meanwhile York is like “AWESOME you guys can come!!!” 

I believe in drawtectives polycule supremacy and also York is aroace

Which also lead to my miniature leg wrestling joke :)

Oh but the second York and Rah’ōxah lock eyes they’re going to leg wrestle (Pokémon rules) 

Then they can become friends too and we can make Julia’s drawing in “pro artists redraw their old OCs” canon!!! 

Rah’ōxah is both Legzi and Ryjinahs maid of honor :) 

She’s awesome of course she can do both!!!!!!

I wish I had drawn this but to me Parker the cat officiated :)

Maybe while standing on top of Parker the horse 

Ryjinah was not pleased with this but also couldn’t say no to the combined force of Legzi and Rah’ōxah’s puppy dog eyes 

Plus Parker the cat is the only person (cat) they know who’s ordained

Oh last thing I wanted to but didn’t draw was a Rosé & Rowan interaction 

Or not even so much of an interaction but they catch each other’s gaze from across the room and freeze 

Oh more headcannons but they’re siblings to me 

I mean dyed hair? Knives? Mysterious pasts? Color schemes?? Attracted to himbos??? 

Anyways they both have moved on from their family in different directions 

So to suddenly meet again even from across the room 

Then York or Gramdma calls for Rosé and she looks away and they’re gone

But I digress 

Tbh for everyone’s outfits I kinda just went “you know what would be cute???” 

So floral dress for grandma (obviously) 

Jumpsuit + long gloves for Rosé because vibes 

Unbuttoned shirt and double breasted vest for York so he doesn’t have sleeves 

Similar thought process for Rah’ōxah because they give off similar vibes BUT I made Rah’ōxah’s the same colors as Ryjinah and Legzi so she could match both :)

Then a demon Johnny button on her outer vest kinda like the pin/broach she has in Julia’s drawing in pro artists redraw old OCs 

Rowan I just wanted to look swanky and what’s more swanky than a tailcoat? 

And for everyone but Rah’ōxah I tried to keep to their normal color schemes!! :) 

Are all these outfits practical for what I made a beach wedding on a whim? Absolutely not 

I gave pretty much all of them some sort of heels even if they are technically wedges which is better but STILL 

Beaches are fun and easy ish to draw and I never do backgrounds anyways give me a break lol 

But anyways I think that’s all my thoughts!!!

So Legzi & Ryjinah ride into the sunset on their noble steed Jacob Horse :)

#a shit ton of headcanons + a bonus image under the keep reading #meant to post during June for optimal Gay but hey it didn’t quite work out so here’s this today!! #drawga #drawtectives #drawfee #legbone #legbone drawga #legzi x ryjinah #ryjinah x legzi #legzi shortstakk #ryjinah drawga #rah'ōxah #rah'ōxah drawga #rosé drawtectives #york rogdul #gyorik rogdul #grendan highforge #rowan drawfee #jacob horse #my art stuff #I think thats all!! bye! :)

[spadesolace]

the idea of yoo - 1.4. what even is love? (written)

previous | next

“you sure about joining me for this service?” you looked at rei who was also putting her shoes on. nodding in confirmation that she does want to do this.

“i wouldn’t worry much about you being bored. father lee would keep you entertained.”

“why?”

“he says some… out of pocket things.”

rei looks at you confused as you fix her top. the sad smile is still evident in your features but not quite like the weeks before. an entire month, you were busy to say the least; working on backlogs and gaining extra for you and rei - mostly for rei.

the mass was quite the usual, you did have a responsibility for being the pianist to which you have to start looking for a new one.

your gaze travels around the people sitting below, rei is right next to you, looking around the amount of instruments just for you.

there’s jimin… i really messed up.

jimin lost her spark, the same gleam you saw when first meeting had been gone - like a star after a supernova, becoming a black hole. hoping that wasn’t the case for the shining star that is yoo jimin.

yeonjun was late, sitting next to his dad, who had quite the expression for whatever they were talking about. he still looked the same from the day he found out - disappointed, sad, and confused.

deacon yoo became white noise to you, you’ve heard the same message time and time again but you weren’t expecting jeno to stand in front. if rei was bored, this got her attention.

“thank you. love! what is love? love is patient, it is kind. it does not envy nor boast, it is not proud… which is why i love this little lady.”

if the heartbreak from the past month didn’t hurt, what jeno would say next will.

“and why - she’d make me a fantastic wife. Jimin, will you-“

“NO!” 

everyone turns around, yeonjun and jimin finally looks at you after a month. you were hoping not in this way, not letting your emotions get the best of you.

“i- uh- i just wanted to add that…” you maintained eye contact with jimin, within the friendship you had developed with yeonjun within the past months you learned one phrase. fuck it, we ball.

“love is-”

“love isn’t pretending.” yeonjun cut you off, taking a deep breath and a quick glance at deacon yoo then to jimin, looking at him so intently. “i know because i’ve been pretending. only for a few months, but it sucks.”

“yeon…” he’s being careful with his wording - not to cause mayhem in the small chapel. one that would make everyone question life and the little town that is kwangya.

“what sucks more is having to pretend to be - not you - your whole life.” that was directed at you, only yeonjun and rei know about it. 

“my whole life, i thought there was only one way to love, but there’s more. so many more - and i don’t wanna be the guy that stops someone loving… the way they want to love.” the yeonjun you first met months ago wasn’t like this. you knew him as the tall guy with pink hair and dances every now and then. he’s matured, understood where you were coming from, and he accepted it.

deacon yoo cuts him off, assuming this whole fiasco is done and getting ready to bring the attention back to jeno, the star of the show, the golden boy of the town, the one who everyone believed jimin is destined for. within years of observing, you learned one thing from yeonjun and jeno; fuck it, we ball.

“i also have been pretending…” gasps throughout the chapel, deacon yoo has given up at this point.

“i know where this is going, naoi y/n. i’m flattered, really, but you and i wo-”

“jeno, for once in your life - can it. i’ve been writing your assignments for the entirety of high school so stop acting like the hero in this story.” he shuts up, backs away and sits down next to father lee. taking a deep breath, you look back at jimin who has been looking at you for a while now.

“if you’ll forgive me, i will just rewrite you one last time.” you look at yeonjun who finally looks up at you, a sad smile, teary eyes, and flushed cheeks - nodding to let you continue on.

“love isn’t patient, kind, humble… love is messy, deceiving, selfish, and… bold.” jimin is confused as you walk down the stairs from the balcony. rei recording everything that is happening and you just let it.

“it’s not finding your perfect half. it’s about trying and reaching, and failing - despite the effort you put in with no promise of success. love is being willing to try something new.” a quick glance at yeonjun, he smiles at you, urging you to continue on.

“love is admiring your favorite art, despite it being overrated - but despite everyone looking your way and admitting that you are no different from the rest. yet, you are. the good thing about being different is that no one expects you to be like them.” everything finally clicks to jimin, from the letters, your actions, how different yeonjun is compared to the letters and conversations she had with him.

“love is accepting them for who they are despite the deception - making them fall for the idea of you.”

“you.”

“... yeah.”

you hold your breath, jimin makes her way. assuming she’d go after you - slap you, scream even, but no. she walks towards yeonjun, somewhat apologetic eyes and a loud smack was all you heard as she leaves. everything goes into mayhem. you started this.

“AMEN!” father lee shouted as everyone started screaming, fighting, having some bits and pieces of realization. yeonjun and his father talking, you couldn’t hear it but all you could is them hugging each other then the sudden scream from mr. choi.

“ARE YOU INSANE?!” yeonjun turn his head away from his father smacking him in the head, a smile towards you and a thumbs up. mouthing we good? you nod as you sign him to cover his head for another smack from his father.

“come on, let’s get going. that’s enough of this chaotic mess.” rei pulls you out of the chapel, letting the noise die down as you walk out and head on home.

taglist [CLOSED]:

@1luvkarina @beawolfbealionbeyou @pandafuriosa60 @txtbrainrot @rinapomu @limbforalimb @yoontoonwhs @noascats @thefckghost @petruchiosstuff

#aespa x fem reader #aespa smau #aespa x reader #karina aespa #aespa #aespa karina #karina x reader #karina imagines #karina #yoo jimin x reader #yu jimin #yoo jimin #the idea of yoo smau #SHE SAID THE TITLE WHAT?!?!

[natspookie]

back to december

inspired by back to december ;)

natasha romanoff x fem!reader

☆ summary : natasha accepts the hard truth that things wont be the same as they were last december

☆ warning : short & not so happy ending? kind of for reader though

——————-

natasha tapped her finger nervously against the steering wheel, wondering if this was a good idea.

she pushed all the thoughts aside and got out of the car, walking up to the front porch.

she knocked thrice, you opened the door approximately 12 seconds after, letting your hair down.

“natasha, hi” you smiled softly, opening the door.

“hey” natasha softened upon seeing you after all this time.

she made a call 4 days ago, wanting to meet up after 9 months. you told her all you could do was a meet up at your house at the suburbs.

“oh come in, you can sit there” you nodded to the table.

natasha nodded and took her seat, nervously tapping on it as she glanced at you in the kitchen.

“do you want anything? i made some mac and cheese” you called out

“sounds good” she said “coffee?” “yup” she eyed the vase of fresh roses in front of her.

“ugh y/n! i just need to be free from you for a second! would you just wait?” it came out too fast for natasha to process what she was saying.

“free? what am i some mission report that’s holding you hostage for living your life?” you tossed the towel aside after drying your hands, tilting your head at natasha.

“i cant do this anymore” she shook her head with a sigh, rubbing her temples. you bit back your tongue from telling her to stay, to work it out. why would you want someone who said she wanted to be ‘free from you’ to stay?

you shut the door of your shared room, immediately feeling hot tears roll down your face. you heard the front door shut as well when you opened up your suitcase and duffle bag.

at some point the salt lamp was shoved in. all that was left in your side of the closet was the shirts of natasha that you loved, now tainted with her words.

you opened the door to silence. you rolled the suitcase through the living room, sparing a glance at the dead roses in the middle of the dining table.

with one last breath, you shut the door, not looking back.

natasha snapped out of the flashback when you came back with two bowls of mac and cheese, running back to get the drinks.

“sorry, i’ve been a little busy” you smiled sitting across her. “thanks for makin time to see me” natasha looked up from her bowl to look at you nodding in acknowledgment. “how’s life, hows work?” “stressful but good, just busier than ever. what about you?” you gave a short answer

“work is good. i missed you” you pursed your lips, unsure what to do with that. “i missed talking to you, natasha” you sipped your coffee

there was some conversation here and there but mostly natasha looking at you.

it didn’t hit natasha till when she arrived home the next week to your stuff being gone.

the pain that hit her didn’t compare to all the fresh bruises she got from her mission.

she immediately called you to see that you had blocked her and changed your number

she understood then, what she had lost on that one january night.

of course, natasha eventually had to leave. you were standing face to face beside the door when natasha sighed “i’m sorry for that night, y/n/n”

“i- i didn’t mean it okay? if only i knew this ‘freedom’ is nothing but missing you everyday. i can’t close my eyes without thinking about you” natasha swallowed her pride as she looked at you while you shifted awkwardly on your feet.

“natasha, it’s all in the past, okay?” “please give me another chance?” you shifted right after she said that “i can’t” natasha frowned, nodding.

“i’m sorry, again” she whispered, opening the door “nat?” she turned around “don’t beat yourself up okay?” with one last hug, natasha walked out, not before looking back twice.

#natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romonova

[elusivewildflower]

Just Another Case | Holland March x Reader

Pairings: Holland March x F! Reader

Summary: You and Holland have been partners for the last year, solving case after ridiculous case together. Even though you’ve been mistaken as a couple countless times while working, the two of you are simply close friends. You might have feelings for him, but you’re sure he doesn’t feel the same. That is, until one particular case comes along on your laundry day, where you’re down to your last piece of clean clothing---a dress and no underwear. 

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sex, the case is about catching a husband cheating. Mostly turns out to be pretty sweet. 

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve written or posted anything, but I hope I’ll be able to get back on track soon! Work and life has been pretty busy lately. I know in the movie Holland mentions that a “no-fault” law ended a lot of his cases like this, but let’s just say one pops up every now and then. (Because let’s be honest, even if I could divorce with no fault, I’d still like to have proof my spouse is cheating). Thank you to @ninjathrowingstork & another friend for beta-ing this for me! Based on the scene idea I had last week and the request I had sitting in my inbox by @wndawtch​.

You press your back against the wall in your kitchen, holding the phone to your ear as your fingers twirl the cord impatiently. The line rang once, twice, and then a third time before you cursed under your breath. If he hadn’t answered by the third ring, you knew he wasn’t going to. It rang two more times before you were greeted with the familiar message of Holland’s answering machine. 

“You have reached March & Co Investigations. This machine records messages. Wait for the tone and speak clearly.” 

The answering machine beeps and you begin speaking. 

“Holland, did you forget you’re supposed to be working today? We were scheduled to meet Mrs. Jenkins at noon and you never showed.” You paused, heaving a sigh. “I swear, if you’re fully dressed and asleep in the tub again—“

The other line picked up and Holland’s groggy voice reached your ears, cutting you off. “What’s so bad about sleeping in the tub?” 

“Aside from the chance of drowning?” You asked rhetorically before continuing, “because you think that sitting in a tub full of water washes both you and what you’re wearing. Which is so not true, by the way.” 

“Oh yeah, says who?” He retorted defiantly.

“I do—and probably a lot of other people if we asked.” You responded quickly, not even waiting for Holland to come up with a response before you began speaking once more. “Get yourself dried off and ready to go. I’ll pick you up in an hour so we can actually start working—I’ve got a lead.” 

Holland gave a grumble of agreement and you slammed the receiver back onto the base to hang up. Sometimes you couldn’t understand why you had agreed to be Holland’s partner over a year ago. He had a serious drinking problem and always seemed to get himself into trouble. On the other hand, he was also extremely intelligent—one of the best private investigator’s you had ever seen on his good days—and he was quite attractive. Throw in his sob story about being a single father to a teenage daughter who lost his wife in a house fire and you were hooked. 

Not that the two of you had ever crossed over the line of being business partners and friends aside from a few flirtatious remarks, but honestly you wouldn’t mind it. You had grown rather close to the young widower and his daughter, Holly, over the last year. Hell, when Holly started her period a few months ago, she called and told you first before mentioning it to her father. You spent more time at their rental home than at your own, and you honestly lost count of the times people had mistaken you for a couple when you were on a case.

You glanced up at the clock on the wall before heaving a sigh and pushing yourself from the wall you were leaning against to call Holland. There was enough time to start a load of laundry, but it wouldn’t finish drying before you had to leave. As you rounded up the hamper from your bedroom filled to the brim with dirty clothes, you cursed yourself for not waking up earlier in the morning—and also cursed your past self for not doing laundry sooner. You had donned your last piece of clean clothing this morning before meeting Mrs. Jenkins, which was a knee-length floral dress. Its color complimented your skin tone nicely, and the deeply cut neckline made your breasts look fantastic. It wasn't exactly what you'd wear on a normal day of work---unless the day consisted of trying to catch a man cheating on his wife. Which, technically you were, but today's lead included the address of his supposed mistress. You and Holland would simply need to do a bit of a stake out to see if you could catch Mrs. Jenkins' husband coming or going from the property, and the dress was definitely not needed.

Before you knew it, an hour had ticked by. You grabbed your purse, slid your heels back on, and locked the door behind you as you exited your house. You told Holland you’d pick him up in an hour, but you only lived a few streets away and he was never ready on time, so you didn’t care that you were late. Honestly, you weren’t the best with time management either, so you were thankful you had a partner that ran late. A few minutes later, and you were pulling into March's driveway, honking your horn to announce your arrival.

About ten minutes later, Holland finally emerges from his home, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. As he climbs into the passenger seat he glances over at you, doing a double take as he realizes what you’re wearing. “What bar or club are we going to?” He questions curiously.

You shake your head as you reverse out of his driveway. “We’re not going to a bar or club.” 

Holland’s brows furrowed in confusion as he ashes his cigarette out the window. “But you’re wearing the dress.” 

You should have known he’d recognize the dress. “I have the address to the alleged mistress, we don’t need to go to a bar. We’re gonna do a stake out.” You explained.

Holland still seemed confused, a frown forming on his face as he eyed you over. “What, do you have a hot date after this or something?” 

He was clearly not letting this go, and did he seem a bit upset at the thought of you having a hot date? You had to be imagining that. 

“No, no hot date. I just felt like wearing a dress,” You gave a shrug as you lied. After criticizing his method of laundry—the thought of sitting fully dressed in a tub still made you shudder—you didn’t feel like admitting that you didn’t have anything else clean. 

Holland must’ve believed you, because he stopped badgering you with questions about it. He did, however, start asking about the case. You spent the rest of the drive filling him in on the details he missed when he overslept the meeting you had with your client.

As you pulled off to the side of the road to park, your heart dropped to your stomach. Your client neglected to mention that the mistress’s house had a seven-foot tall fence all of the way around and a gated driveway. You could feel Holland’s eyes boring into the side of your head. Ignoring him, you grabbed the binoculars from the back seats and simply exited the car. You walked up to the gate at the driveway, double checking that you had the right address. Your shoulders slumped when you realized that you were at the correct address. This was going to make capturing photos for proof of his cheating more difficult. 

You heard the passenger side door slam shut as Holland joined you. “Well, this is great.” He deadpanned, placing his hands upon his hips as he surveyed the fence. 

You sighed, nodding your head in agreement. “Yep.” 

A moment of silence passed between you until Holland broke it with a click of his tongue. “Alright, come on. I’ve got an idea.” He ushered, moving to kneel down beside the fence.

Your brows furrowed as you watched him, unsure of what he was planning. 

He noticed your look of confusion and sighed, beckoning you closer. “Come on, I’m gonna lift you up there.” 

“What?” The question tumbled out of your lips before you realized it, your heart rate rising as fear coursed through you. Holland wasn’t exactly the strongest man in the world, and he tended to be clumsy. You trusted him with a lot of things, but being capable of not dropping you wasn’t one of them. Not to mention that you ran out of clean underwear this morning and were currently going commando under your dress. You swore to yourself that this was the last time you’d ever wait so long to wash clothes.

“Well, I don’t see you lifting me, and someone needs to be able to see over the fence.” He explained as if his idea made perfect sense. Which, in fairness, it did. Except for the two things you were currently worried about; Holland dropping you and seeing up your dress. 

You remained still for a few more moments, your feet refusing to move from where you stood as you mulled over your options—or lack thereof. 

Holland rolled his eyes at you as he grew impatient. “Oh, come on.” He beckoned you again, “before someone sees us!” 

Taking a deep breath, you finally agreed. “Fine,” you began, “But do not look up my dress, Holland.” You warned him sternly, pointing a finger at him. 

Holland looked insulted. “Why would I look up your dress?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, your finger now wagging at him. “Because I know you.” 

Holland raised his hands in surrender, dropping his insulted act. “Alright, alright, I won’t look up your dress.” 

Appeased by his answer, you close the distance between you. Holland laces his fingers together, giving you a spot to place your foot. You hold onto his shoulder as you step into his hands, and he lifts you up as he moves to stand. He lifts you a bit too high too fast and you’re suddenly scrambling to grab hold of the fence so you don’t fall. 

“Jesus! Not that high!” You scold him as you struggle to find your balance. 

Holland mutters out an apology and lowers you slightly. 

Leaning yourself against the fence, you raise your binoculars to your eyes. You scan the windows of the house, starting with the first floor. Disappointment flooded your veins as you were coming up empty-handed, that is until you panned to the last window on the second floor. A nude woman was pressed against the window getting railed from behind. You couldn’t tell by who, but you assumed it was your client’s husband. You let out a gasp. Jesus Christ. That must be nice. Just as you opened your mouth to tell Holland what you had found, you heard his voice below you. 

“Holy fuck—You’re not wearing any underwear!” 

Holland’s words caused you to release your grip on the fence in a panic, snapping your attention towards him. You find him still staring up your dress in shock, his jaw dropped open. You reach out to swat at him, shouting his name in an annoyed tone. “I told you not to look!”

Your words seemed to shake Holland out of his stupor, but your swat only backfired on you. Holland tried to dodge your hand out of instinct, which only served to make him lose his balance and send the both of you toppling to the ground. It happened so quickly you don’t even remember falling, but you definitely felt the pain of the impact. Every part of your body ached, but it didn’t feel like you had broken or sprained anything, so that was good. Your head may have been pounding from smacking the ground, but it was better than your skull being cracked open by the sidewalk. You had missed that by just a few inches, you realized as you rolled onto your side. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you lift me,” you groaned out, looking over at Holland.

Clearly, you had taken the brunt of the fall, as Holland was already sitting up and staring at you. “Why aren’t you wearing any underwear?!” He asked incredulously, ignoring your previous comment.

“It’s laundry day and I didn’t have any clean!” You admitted.

Holland shook his head unbelievingly. “Jesus Christ, I need a cigarette…” He spoke as he reached into his jacket, pulling out his lighter and a cigarette just a moment later. After pulling the first drag, he regarded you once more. This time it seemed like he was checking you for any injuries, rather than staring at you like a deer in headlights. “I’m sorry for dropping you. Are you alright?” He asked sincerely, gesturing towards you with his hand.

You nodded and moved to sit up, another groan tumbled from your lips as your body ached in protest. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You assured him. You may wind up with several bruises and have a hard time getting out of bed tomorrow, but you’d survive. 

A comfortable silence fell between you once more as Holland smoked and you let the pounding in your head subside. After a few moments, Holland snuffed out his cigarette in the grass. “That’s why you’re wearing the dress,” he announced, having put together that you lied to him earlier. “You didn’t want to wear that, you just didn’t have anything else to wear today.” 

Your eyes snapped up from the grass to meet his as he broke the silence, but you didn’t bother giving him a response, your facial expression was enough. He was right and he knew it, you didn’t need to confirm it with words. 

“I may bathe in my clothes, but at least I always have clean underwear.” He spoke in a chastising tone that had you rolling your eyes. “So, did you see anything?” He asked after a moment, gesturing towards the binoculars that were lying on the grass. 

As you glanced at where he gestured, you remembered what you had witnessed right before Holland dropped you. “Yeah, I saw a naked woman being railed against her bedroom window.” You shrugged and continued speaking as Holland reached for the binoculars. “I couldn’t see by who, though, so we’ll just have to wait until he leaves.” 

Springing up to his feet, Holland tried his best to see over the fence, hoping to catch a glimpse of the action. It was no use, though, as he wasn’t tall enough to see over it unless he backed all of the way up into the street—and then he’d likely be hit by a car. He sighed defeatedly and turned back to you. “When does Mrs. Jenkins say her husband comes home after this?” 

You looked down at your watch, your eyes widening as you realized what time it was. 1:54 p.m. Mrs. Jenkins said her husband usually got home around 2:30 p.m. and you were about thirty minutes away from where she lived. As if on cue, you hear the sound of an engine starting up in the driveway. Your attention turns back to Holland, his blue eyes connecting with yours. “Right now.” You spoke hurriedly, rushing to get yourself up from the ground. Like the gentleman he is, Holland helped you to your feet and the two of you took off running towards your car. 

“Why is our timing always so terrible?” Holland asked exasperatedly as you ran. 

“I don’t know, but I blame you.” You replied, slamming the door shut behind you as you hopped into the car. 

Holland’s door slammed shut right after yours. “You blame me? Why?” 

You’re digging around in the backseat for your camera, not even looking at Holland as you respond. “Because you distract me,” you admit carelessly, not paying attention to the words that fall from your mouth until it’s too late. The car in the driveway is growing closer to the gate, and if it was your client’s husband that was leaving, you needed to capture a picture of it in order to be paid. As you return to your seat, fiddling with the camera to turn it on, you realize what you just said to Holland and your heart hammers in your chest. 

Holland shakes his head in disbelief. “I distract you? No, no, it’s you who distracts me.” 

Your brows furrow as you glance over at him . “How do I distract you?”

“Are you kidding me? Did you forget what happened not even fifteen minutes ago?” Holland gestures towards the spot the two of you were standing previously. “I just saw up your dress and you’re not wearing any fucking underwear! Do you know what that did to me?”

His question seemed rhetorical, or maybe you had just lost all function in your brain at the implication of his words. 

“And don’t even get me started on that dress. You look so god damn sexy in that, and I hate that you only wear it to lure married men into flirting with you for a case.” Holland admitted, only pausing long enough to suck in a breath of air before he continued. “I get so fucking jealous watching those men think they have a chance with you, and you don’t even notice!” Holland stares at you as he finishes, waiting for a response as your brain tries to wrap around what he just confessed. 

Your thoughts are running a mile a minute, trying to remember every time you’ve had to flirt with a married man for a case. Did you really not notice that Holland was jealous? Or did you just try to shrug it off because you didn’t believe he could ever feel that way for you? Your mouth suddenly feels dry at the realization, but eventually you speak. “I didn’t realize you felt that way about me….” 

“Of course I do, how couldn’t I?” Holland spoke as if he couldn’t believe you didn’t notice sooner. “You’re gorgeous, extremely smart,” he then gestured towards himself, “you put up with my bullshit, and you’re so good to Holly.” A small smile spread across his face as he spoke of his daughter. “She loves you, you know?”  

You returned his smile and nodded, leaning in closer to the center console. “Yeah, I know.” 

Holland closed the short distance between you, his face mere inches from yours as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, hesitatingly whispering his confession. “And I love you, too.” 

Gazing into his cool blue eyes, you couldn’t help the blinding smile that grew on your face. “I love you, too, Holland.” You admitted before capturing his lips. Holland’s hand rose to your neck, gripping the back of it as he locked you in a passionate kiss. His tongue prodded against your lips for entrance, but the sound of a gate opening made him pull away. 

“Mrs. Jenkin’s husband, Mrs. Jenkin’s husband!” He cried out, pointing at the car that was pulling out of the driveway right in front of you.

“Oh, shit!” You exclaimed, pulling yourself away from Holland and quickly grabbing the camera from your lap. You raised it to your eye and managed to snap a few incriminating photos of the man who matched the description of your client’s husband driving away. 

You placed the camera back into the floor of the back seat and turned towards Holland with a grin. “Well, let’s go get paid.” 

Holland leaned over, gently grabbing your jaw and pulling your lips to meet his. “As soon as the check’s in the bank, I’m taking you on a date.” He promised, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek.

“I’m looking forward to it. I’ll even buy a new dress.” You spoke softly, nuzzling your nose against his before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

A smirk spread across Holland’s face. “Any chance you won’t be wearing any underwear then, too?” 

You scoff and swat at his chest with a laugh. “Holland!” You shout his name in a scolding tone, turning back to face the steering wheel as you turn the keys in the ignition. 

“Well, that’s not a no….” He trails off as you start the drive back to your client’s home, eliciting a giggle from you. 

#holland march #holland march fic #the nice guys fic #holland march x reader #the nice guys #ryan gosling fic #ryan gosling #myfics #requests #holland march fanfic

[phoenixyfriend]

Entry of the Gladiators 5

Chapter 5: Kings of Crime

That is so much spice.

This is the last of the already-completed chapters, so the updates will be slowing down drastically from here lol

--------------------

Ahsoka doesn’t like Bruklinn very much, but she can admit that it is, in fact, a great base of operations for the kind of bullshit they end up doing.

She’s not actually allowed to be too involved in the crime side of things. Mostly, she goes out on her own, in disguise, and plays at being a vigilante. It’s comparatively small-scale work, but it makes her feel better, and it’s fun. When she is in the mansion that Master Kenobi managed to secure for them, she’s usually either practicing her forms with Skyguy while he monologues at her to work on the Maul impression, or helping teach Skykid how to meditate or something. Her masters are a little too busy to teach him, most of the time, and it’s not like she minds. She’s done crèche duty before. Kids are fine, and this one is mini Skyguy.

Her lack of inclusion does mean that, after a few months, she’s actually a little surprised to learn that Master Kenobi has basically taken over all organized crime operations in Bruklinn, and through that, the Five Stations as a whole.

(He uses the Ringo Vindan accent more than his real one, these days. She doesn’t entirely like it.)

“Now, for all that I may have intended it, I am shocked to admit that we’ve managed to take the station,” Master Kenobi tells her. Skyguy looks pretty gleeful about it all. “Not officially, o’ course, but the main families have all fallen into line.”

“And we’ve got minions,” Anakin adds.

Ahsoka knows about the minions. Some of them bow to her when she passes, and not like a Jedi bows, but like… like a courtier to royalty or something. It’s weird.

Most of them are crime people that followed them from one of the planets deeper in the sector. Some are Bruklinn locals. Turns out their little fake Sith operation is better than the competition for a lot of these people. They’ve been real popular as employers for the folk that do night work. One of the girls joked that she could teach Ahsoka how to stage dance… and then Skyguy’s mom ushered Ahsoka away before she could answer.

She knows what the lady meant by ‘stage dance;’ she’s not stupid. It could be useful, if she does undercover work. Or gets a boyfriend or a girlfriend or something. Maybe she’ll want to show off. Sixteen is totally old enough to learn how to dance sexy.

“I just wanted to keep you up to date on what’s been happening in this here city,” Master Kenobi tells her. “You need to know what’s going on, just in case things change on your… jaunts about.”

“Also, I’ve got a mission if you want it,” Anakin adds. “Could be me and you, could be you and Rex, could be all three, depends on what you want.”

Oh, heck yeah. “I’ll take it.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” Rex points out drily.

“I need a real mission,” Ahsoka insists. She’s bored. “What are we doing?”

“By chance,” Master Kenobi says, just a little too slowly, “we have come into control of what used to be the Pyke Syndicate.”

“It wasn’t chance,” Anakin stage-whispers.

“We haven’t taken the people on,” Master Kenobi says, deliberately ignoring the muttered ‘because they’re dicks,’ from Rex, “but we’ve ended up with quite the collection of, ah… warehouses ‘n real estate. Offices, housing, ships.”

“Drugs,” Anakin finishes. “We ended up with their drugs.”

“There are so many drugs,” Rex adds. “So many.”

“Yes,” Master Kenobi allows, “we have admittedly come into possession of many, many shipping containers of smuggled spice.” He sighs, not a little theatricrally. “We do need to rid ourselves of it, and simply burning or burying would cause more problems than it solves.”

Ahsoka blinks. “So… we’re smuggling drugs? Where to?”

Anakin grins.

(Continue on AO3)

#star wars #the clone wars #time travel #phoenix files #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #obi wan kenobi #captain rex #commander cody #fake sith au #one sided: #obikin #I promise it makes sense in context lmao #drugs mention

[thoroughlymodernminutia]

This Christmas - Prequel

Pairing: Benny "Borracho" Magalon x F!Reader

Word count: 8,219

Summary: This is a prequel of sorts to this from last year. It’s basically the how Benny and the reader met, etc

Warnings: Mostly Hallmark-style fluffy stuff, lots of pining, but brief mention of loss, guilt, some foul language. If I missed anything else let me know and I'll add it in. 

A/N: I don’t know folks, I started writing this and was really chugging along and had a whole plan for how I wanted this to be. Then I got sick with everyone’s favorite illness from 2020 and lost a lot steam. I found, I think, a happy compromise with myself because I wanted to post this before Christmas (self imposed deadlines am I right?) and realized I can always I don’t know, post more parts of it later?? I am my own worst critic so if you read this and it isn’t your jam, please don’t say anything lol I’ve probably already thought it, so it would be redundant! Also, clearly, I do not know the proper use of a semicolon, or an em dash and I don't have an editor, so we'll all just have to deal. Anyways, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, all that jazz

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It’s a little after six in the morning and they still haven’t rolled in. Usually, the five of them would have been here for an hour already; a few hungover, one still drunk, and the fifth one acting like an adult babysitter for the other four. It’s weird how this happens–people come into your little donut shop and after a while, instead of you becoming part of their routine, they become part of yours. Eventually they start to feel like stand-ins for the friends you hardly ever get to see. You’re busy with your business and they’re busy with their jobs and families.

It could feel lonely, but you have people like Noreen, who comes in every Friday to buy three dozen assorted donuts for her team. Noreen is kind and not the type of person you envision working at a private equity firm. When you were thinking about expanding into the small space next door, she looked at your plan and helped you figure out where you were being too aggressive and in some cases too shortsighted. She didn’t ask for anything in return, but you made sure her next three dozen donuts were on the house. 

There’s Will, a retired teacher, who comes in every Sunday. He used to come in with his partner, Charles, and they would sit at the table you have set up near the front window. They traded off different sections of the newspaper while drinking their coffee and sharing one old-fashioned donut and one raspberry jelly donut; they never strayed from those. Charles passed away six months ago and it was unexpected. You didn’t expect to see Will for a while, but routine is hard to give up especially when it’s the only thing you have left. Every Sunday morning you set a 'reserved' sign on the table near the window. 

There’s Stuart, who hangs out in the plaza your shop is located in. You’re not sure if he’s unhoused or just likes to spend his day outside, but it felt strange to always see him and not interact with him. One day you invited him to come by for coffee and a donut but he turned you down. You told him the offer was good for any time and that you hoped you’d see him in there soon. He came in a few days later and it made you feel like you were doing some good; and then you felt bad for feeling like that. Stuart’s reserved and not much of a talker so you just let him sit at a table while you go about your work. Some days he’ll start a conversation; it’s rare but it feels like you both trust each other enough to make more than small talk. If you don’t see him in his usual spot outside, you worry. He usually turns up a few days later, but you're concerned that at some point he won’t turn up and what are you supposed to do then?

There’s a handful of people that fall into this category of if they never came back you would notice. It’s because some of them are smart and kind like Noreen. Some because they sit in the same spot, newspaper sections still divided in two, like Will. Some because their silence fills your little shop, like Stuart. And some whose absence you would notice because they don’t fit into these boxes. Sometimes they can be loud or irritating; but they can also be entertaining. And they’re are always five of them, but only one that makes you feel like you’re thirteen and just saw your middle school crush.

They started coming in sometime in February. You only remember because the biggest one said he’s 'not eating a fucking, prissy, heart-shaped donut.' Some men are like that, afraid if they come in contact with something feminine that’s not a woman, that their dick will fall off. He was loud and obnoxious and only one of the other four looked truly embarrassed for the guy and for himself. He apologized for his friend and ordered five large coffees and a dozen glazed donuts. 

“You sure glazed are going to be manly enough for your friend over there?” 

You ticked your head over towards the table where his friends were sitting. He laughed and it was a surprisingly warm laugh for a man with neck tattoos. 

“He won’t even remember being here, let alone what kind of donuts he ate.”

He sounded annoyed but used to the behavior. You remembered having friends like that, in your twenties, but you were well past that age and so were these guys by the look of it. You saw him eyeing an apple fritter so you grabbed it from the case, put it on a plate, and set it on the counter next to the box of donuts. 

“On the house, since it doesn’t look like you’re getting paid for your babysitting duties.”

He smiled, said thank you, and then went to sit with his loud friends. You noticed he was quiet in comparison and thought it would be nice if they were all quiet like that. 

When they were getting ready to leave you saw that the quiet one made sure all the trash was thrown away and all the dishes went into the right bin. At the door as they were leaving he gave you a small wave thanking you again. There was something about his smile that made it feel like flowers were blooming in your stomach. That feeling carried you for a week. You’d think of that moment of him at the door and a fog would enter your brain and the flowers in your stomach would grow larger. 

The feeling would start to subside after a while and you would get caught up in your real life–your business, the rare time with your friends, the occasional bad date. It would slowly drift from the front of your mind to the back. Then they would show up and the cycle would continue. 

The one who had the soft smile and neck tattoo, you learned his name was Benny. And that if you gave him a choice between the apple fritter and anything else, he would choose the apple fritter one hundred percent of the time. The loud drunk, that was Big Nick and he’s only been not drunk five percent of the time they’ve come in. There’s Connors, Zapata, and Henderson–you’ve only heard them referred to by their last names. A thing that you’ve only ever heard men do. They all come in once or twice a month–usually early, usually hungover. It makes you wonder what they do before they end up at your place. You never ask because to know would be to probably ruin your crush on Benny.

Benny always pays and there’s a part of you that hopes he’s doing it just for the chance to talk to you. When he leaves he always gives you a wave goodbye and a thanks again. The flowers in your stomach have bloomed and blossomed to an embarrassing degree by the end of May. And that’s when they stopped coming in. 

—-

Benny shakes his head no at Connor’s who’s trying to hand him a beer, “Not feeling it tonight.”

Benny isn’t feeling it any night, but he keeps that to himself. The drinking, the cocaine, the women, none of it interests him and it hasn’t for a while. Since February if he’s being honest with himself. 

They had ended up at your donut shop, Glazy for You under random circumstances. The usual place they would go to sober up after one of these parties had been closed down by the health department. He should have known it was bound to happen, the place was dim and oddly seedy for a diner. Benny was the designated driver that night, since he hadn’t been feeling well he didn’t drink and spent most of the night ushering random women out of a grim motel room. When he saw Glazy for You as he was driving by, it looked like the complete opposite of his evening; it was bright, there were Valentine’s decorations on the window. It looked comforting and warm, two things he felt like he was missing in his life.

Nick of course was an asshole and Benny felt like he spent a lot of time silently apologizing to you. His apologies must have entered you mind telepathically because you gave him an apple fritter–the best apple fritter he’s ever had in his whole fucking life. There must have been some kind of magic in because that moment lodged itself somewhere in his heart and reappears when he’s feeling low. Like now–sitting in this motel room, on this couch that probably hasn’t been cleaned in two decades, watching his friends lose their fucking minds over shit they should have outgrown. 

Benny hasn’t seen you in months, ninety-seven days to be exact, not that he’s counting. They’ve been working on one case after the next and it’s left time for little else. No post drug test parties, no early mornings sitting in a donut shop waiting for everyone to sober up, no you. It’s been sleep and work for three months straight. Last time he saw you, it seemed like you were happy to see him. Maybe he imagined that feeling; misunderstood the warmth in your smile. Maybe that’s the smile that you’ve practiced in order to be able to perform it for everyone. Maybe everyone feels what he feels when they see you.

Benny sinks further into the couch and looks up at the ceiling. It’s a drop ceiling which brings back memories of a case he had worked on. While securing a crime scene, they were in the living room of a run down apartment. It had this same type of ceiling and a body fell right through it onto the floor. He thinks that maybe this is how it ended up being called a drop ceiling, because shit just drops right out. That thought, that memory makes him realize that he doesn’t want to be in this room anymore. He gets up, grabs his jacket off the back of the couch, and leaves. He hears Connors call after him as he’s closing the door but he doesn’t care. He only has one place that he wants to be right now.

—-

You’re putting a tray of bear claws in the display case when you hear the door open. It’s still early, the sun is barely up, pink and purple hues are still in the sky. You get a lot of municipal workers that come in at this time, barely past opening. So it’s a little bit of a surprise when you get a glimpse through the display case of Benny walking in, alone.

There’s a second while you’re crouched down, adjusting the tray that you let yourself be excited; allow yourself to give into the childish feeling of getting a glimpse of your crush. Your knees are wobbly as you stand up–unsure if it’s because you’re getting old or because he’s looking right at you.

“Oh hey, how’ve you been?” You wipe your palms on the front of the apron you’re wearing. “It’s been a while.”

You try to sound neutral, neither excited to see him or disappointed that it's been so long. He smiles and that familiar sensation of flowers blooming returns. 

“We’ve been working on a lot of cases and it’s been hard to find time for anything else.” 

You lean forward and rest your arms on top of the bakery case. 

“Cases? You guys are lawyers?” As the words leave your mouth you realize how truly stupid it sounds. You’ve never in your life seen any lawyers that look like these guys. 

Benny chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, something he does when feels embarrassed or self conscious.

“No, definitely not lawyers. Detectives. We work for the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department.”

You fail at suppressing a laugh, “I’m sorry. All of you are detectives? Even your friend Nick?”

Benny knows your laugh isn’t mean spirited and if he were you, he’d probably laugh too, knowing what he knows about the people he works with. He moves closer to display case and leans in. 

“Even Nick. You seem surprised.”

“It’s just. I.” You pause, trying to choose your words with care, because you like Benny and you don’t want to insult him, “I mean, it’s hard to imagine being a victim of a crime or something and like Nick is the person taking your statement, trying to help you. That is my nightmare.”

You hope you don’t sound like an asshole, but the idea of Nick serving and protecting seems like a stretch. If you offend Benny, he doesn’t show it, he just laughs.

“The way that you’ve seen him, I can understand the sentiment. He’s not like that a hundred percent of the time. I promise.” 

You give Benny a joking look, “Okay, but what percentage are we talking here?”

You’re both laughing when the rest of the guys walk in. The rowdiness is a shock to your system after not dealing with it for a while. You look at Benny and he’s no longer leaning in towards you and maybe you’re projecting, but you think he looks a little disappointed too.

Benny’s disappointed, but he tries his best to hide it. The guys may be drunk, but they are cops and they are perceptive. Benny already knows he has a reputation among them as being soft. It used to bother him, but it hasn’t for a while. He knows he would rather be soft than be the type of man that can’t feel anything other than bitterness and rage. 

“Borracho, you fucking asshole, you left us.”

Nick, is of course loud and slurring his words. Benny hopes you can’t understand Spanish–he doesn’t want to be known as a ‘drunk’ to you.

Benny turns from you to look at the guys. Connors is propping Nick up; Henderson and Zapata are stumbling towards a table. 

“I was hungry.”

Benny hopes it’s enough to shut Nick up. He knows it’s not because he sees Nick loosen himself from Connors and stumble towards him. He claps a large, drunk hand on Benny’s shoulder and the force almost knocks him backwards. 

“Fuck, Borracho. You’re no fun anymore.”

Nick is a mess and that’s not really that surprising to you. What is surprising is how uncomfortable Benny looks. He has the look of a man who would give anything to disappear. You can’t really blame him, these guys, Nick especially, are exhausting to be around and you only deal with them for a few hours a month.

“Can I get you guys something or are you just going to loiter?”

Benny looks towards you and you give him a sympathetic smile. He shakes Nick off of him and is about to order when Nick lurchers towards the counter that you’re standing behind. You step back as he unsuccessfully tries to paw at you.

“I know what you can get me, sweetheart.”

Benny groans and runs a hand over his face, “Jesus Christ, Nick. Shut the fuck up.”

You step closer to the counter and lean forward, putting a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

“What did I tell you about calling me ‘sweetheart’?”

Nick tilts his head to the side and mutters, “That the next time I do it, you’ll put my head in the deep fryer.”

You pat his shoulder, “Good, you remember.”

You hear Zapata, Henderson, and Connors–who’s joined them at their table laughing and chanting do it, do it.

You gently push Nick away from the counter, “Go sit down unless you’re willing to see if I’m serious.” You look over at Benny, who no longer looks like he wants to disappear. “Benny, five coffees and a dozen glazed, right?”

Benny nods his head, “Yeah, that’s good.”

Nick turns around and starts walking towards where Connors, Zapata, and Henderson are sitting. He jerks his thumb back towards you, “She’s no fun either.”

Benny feels awkward standing here, watching you gingerly place twelve glazed donuts in a box and then pour five large coffees. It’s calming though, watching you do routine things, like you’re slowly rooting out the anxiety of being around drunk idiots. You put the coffees in a tray and place it down on the counter next to the donuts. 

Benny pulls out his wallet to pay, “Uh, sorry,” he pauses, he’s sorry about a lot suddenly, “sorry about Nick. He was acting like an asshole.”

You shrug and hand Benny his change, “Don’t worry about it.”

Benny is sitting with the guys and can’t help feeling like he’s messed something up. You didn’t give him an apple fritter like you normally do. He wonders if you’re mad that he didn’t do something more when Nick was acting like an asshole. Maybe he’s overthinking it–he can’t expect you to give him a free donut every time you see him. It’s possible he’s misread the situation entirely, that you’re just friendly and nothing more. He watches you behind the counter adjusting things, bagging up donuts for customers that have come in. When Benny checks his watch for the time, he misses seeing you slip an apple fritter in a bag and write 'Benny' in a tidy script. 

You watch the guys start filtering out of your place; Nick and Connors are first and from the store window you can see them getting into separate cabs. Benny is still throwing trash away as Henderson and Zapata leave. They share a cab and you imagine that maybe they rallied enough to start drinking again at 7:30am. You see Benny heading towards the door and it looks like he’s leaving without giving his usual wave goodbye. Your stomach sinks a little–maybe he’s mad at you for not joking around more with Nick or the other guys. Or it could just be that he’s tired and wants to go home and you’re creating feelings that aren’t there. 

You grab the bag with the apple fritter from below the counter and hold it up, “Hey, you forgot something.”

Benny looks at the bag with his name on it–it’s the nicest handwriting he’s ever seen. He walks over to the counter and takes the bag from your hand, your fingers overlapping for a fraction of a second. 

“So this means you’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you? Wait, you think because of Nick?” You look at him strangely as he nods his head yes, “He’s the idiot, I’m not going to hold that against you.”

Benny smiles, “That’s good to know.” He starts walking away, but stops when he gets to the door, holding up the bag with the donut, “Thanks again. I’ll see you later.”

“Take care, Benny.”

—-

“You like that girl at the donut place?”

It sounds less like Connors is asking you a question and more like stating a fact. Benny’s a little caught off guard and pretends to start looking for something on his desk.

“What?” 

Benny tries to sound confused, like he’s never even heard the word donut before.

“At the donut place. The girl who runs it, are you into her or something? You always act fucking weird when we’re in there.”

Benny thinks back to all the times they’ve been at Glazy for You, trying to remember his behavior. Did he look at you for too long? Say ‘goodbye’ in a way that sounded like he didn’t want to leave. Benny opens the bottom drawer of his desk and pretends to look for something. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Benny knows he doesn’t sound convincing and Connors must hear it too because he keeps going.

“Really?” Connors sounds incredulous. “You’re always lingering at the counter. She’s always giving you free donuts. Any of this ringing a bell for you?”

Benny can feel Connors staring at him. He closes the desk drawer and goes back to looking at the file on his desk.

“Maybe she likes giving away free donuts. I really couldn’t tell you.”

Connors crumbles a piece of paper into a ball and lobs it at Benny’s head, hitting him just behind the ear. 

“Whatever you say asshole.”

—-

The summer goes by quickly–it’s one of your busier seasons. School is out, the weather is nice–there are day camps, company off-sites, and sleepovers. All the types of occasions where the people in charge don’t want to make breakfast but need to provide it. Benny and the guys come in a few times throughout the summer. It feels a little different from before. Benny doesn’t linger at the counter as much anymore and sometimes one of the other guys pays. It’s stupid little things that you shouldn’t notice, but you do, because they used to be part of your routine. It’s embarrassing thinking you let this crush on Benny become such a big part of your life that you’d notice he didn’t pay last time or the time before that. It’s that embarrassment that makes you start building a wall around that garden in your stomach so the flowers can’t reach your heart.

It’s the end of October when you’re opening up one morning and it registers for you that you haven’t seen Stuart since some time around June or July. His absence gnaws at you. You feel like a bad person for not noticing sooner; that feeling that you failed someone even though they weren’t your responsibility. You don’t know what to do or if there’s anything you actually can do. So when you see Benny a few weeks later it feels like a little bit of a last resort when you ask for his help.

—-

You were hoping that Benny would be the person paying this time when they all came in, so you could mention Stuart without having to pull him aside. But he doesn’t and it makes you a little anxious trying to figure out the best way to talk to him about something serious. So it’s a relief when it looks like he’s going to be the last one to leave. He’s behind Connors and when Connors makes it out the door, you stop Benny who’s close behind.

“Benny, hey. Do you have a second?”

You come out from behind the counter, nervously smoothing the apron tied around your waist in short downward strokes. Benny stops and lets the door go from his hand. You look upset and he hopes it’s not because he’s been acting standoffish lately. Ever since Connors asked about you, he’s been trying his best to act normal–whatever that means–around you. 

“Did Connors’s card get declined again?”

You let out a small laugh, “No. Um, I was actually wondering if you could help me with something.”

Benny steps a little closer to you. You have some powdered sugar on your cheek and he has to stop himself from brushing it off. 

“Yeah, of course. What’s going on?”

“This is probably going to sound weird, or stupid. Maybe both. But there’s this  guy who h—”

Benny cuts you off; his voice is a little rougher, “If someone is bothering you, I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh awkwardly, “Oh no, it’s nothing like that. It’s this guy, Stuart. He usually hangs out around here and I have him come in sometimes for coffee or donuts and I haven’t seen him in…since maybe July, I think? I’m just a little worried.” You pause and try to read Benny’s face to see what he’s thinking, “Sorry, this probably sounds stupid to you. I don’t even know what I’m asking.”

Benny scratches his jaw piecing together what he thinks you’re getting at, “Do you know his last name?”

You notice that Benny’s voice has gone back to the soft tone that you’re used to. He’s looking at you with compassion and not like you’re stupid or some kind of burden. Benny is the kind of person that you would want helping you in a crisis and it makes you wish there were more people like him in his line of work.

“I don’t, but I printed a photo from the security camera I have.” You walk over to the counter and lean over, grabbing the photo from under the register. “I don’t even know if you can do anything with that. I watch a lot of crime shows. Don’t judge me.”

Benny laughs and shakes his head as you hand him the photo.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Yeah of course. It’s…I don’t know. I’d feel like a bad person if something were to happen to him and I could have helped.”

Benny feels bad because he knows how these things generally end up. Usually there are no happy endings.

“You can’t put that on yourself.”

You nod your head, “I know, but still, you know?”

Benny understands the feeling and also understands it’s easier to tell someone something isn’t their fault than to know it yourself. 

As Benny leaves you start to feel a bit lighter. Like someone has taken some of your worry, some of your concern and is carrying it for you; so you aren’t so weighed down.

—-

“What was that about?”

Benny is surprised to see Connors waiting for him in the parking lot. 

“Nothing. Well, I guess there’s some guy, homeless, I don’t know. He usually hangs out around here. She hasn’t seen him for a while. She’s worried.”

Connors flicks a cigarette on to the pavement, “Figures she’s one of those bleeding heart types. What did you tell her?”

Benny pats his jacket and then his pants pockets feeling around for a pack of cigarettes, forgetting briefly that he’s trying to quit. Connors pulls his pack from his pocket and tosses them to Benny.

Benny pulls a cigarette out, “I told her I’d look into it.”

Connors laughs and hands Benny a lighter, “Chump.” He waits a beat for Benny to light his cigarette, “But, if you want. We can start looking into it now.”

Benny’s grateful it’s Connors out here and not one of the other guys. Benny and Connors go back further than just Major Crimes and he’s someone Benny would trust with his life.

—-

Benny’s worried that he’s going to have to deliver you bad news. Best case scenario seems like Stuart is in jail. Not great, but it would mean that he’s alive. Worst case scenario is that he can’t find Stuart and that usually doesn’t mean anything good. Benny is suddenly hoping for some kind of miracle for a person he doesn’t even know. 

The photo you gave him does turn out to be useful. Connors is able to find him in the system through facial recognition. Stuart Morton has a record; a few arrests for driving while under the influence and some time in a county jail. Benny is able to get a last known address but it’s over a year old. It’s a sober living house that’s not actually that far from Glazy for You. He doesn’t have much hope that going there will bring him any closer to finding Stuart. 

It takes a couple of weeks, but Benny is finally able to meet with David, the director of the sober living facility. He finds it’s better to meet with people in person. Talking with people over the phone, he’s learned, makes it easier for them to not give you the information you need. David of course is a little guarded at first with Benny; not wanting to share anything that could get Stuart in trouble, which Benny can’t really fault him for. Benny explains the situation, that the owner of a donut shop near here is worried because they haven’t seen him in a while. When Benny mentions your name to David, he lights up.

“Her glazed old fashioneds are the best ones in this entire state.” He pauses and to Benny it looks like he’s getting lost in the memory of a donut, a feeling he knows well. 

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other.” 

David turns away from Benny to look through a drawer in a filing cabinet, “Just this year we got to talking and she’s been generous enough to donate breakfast here every month. And recently she’s been working with us on a job training program at her bakery.” 

Benny thinks back to Connors calling you a ‘bleeding heart’ and is glad he came here by himself. 

“She didn’t mention anything about knowing Stuart lived here.”

David pulls a folder from the cabinet and thumbs through it, “Stuart is the type to not overshare, so that doesn’t surprise me.” He pauses to write something down on a piece of paper and hands it to Benny, “Here. This is his sister Noreen’s information. When he left, he was going to be staying with her for a while. Might still be there.”

Benny barely makes it to his car before calling the number that David gave him. 

—-

“Wait, so you’re saying that Noreen, the Noreen that comes in here, is Stuart’s sister?”

It’s late in the day, near the time that you close up. You and Benny are sitting across from each other at the table near the window. It’s hard to believe what he’s telling you, that Stuart used to be a resident at the sober living facility, the one where David works; that Noreen is Stuart’s sister and somehow all these dots never got connected for you.

“She didn’t realize that you two were,” Benny pauses looking for the right word, “friends. She feels terrible that you didn’t know he had moved out of the state and were worried. She said he’s doing well.”

You’re quiet for a moment, trying to take in everything Benny has been telling  you. It’s a lot to process, considering you had been preparing yourself to hear bad news. You can feel your eyes fuzzy with a few tears and feel a little embarrassed to be getting so emotional over the good news.

“It’s such a relief to know that he’s doing okay.” You feel a tear slide down your cheek and quickly brush it away hoping that Benny didn’t see it.

Benny can tell you’re trying to keep yourself from crying and he wants to tell you that it’s okay, that there wouldn’t be any judgment from him. He has the overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around you, but he knows it would be wildly inappropriate. He feels awkward sitting here, looking around, trying to figure out what he should say.

“I like the Christmas decorations you have up.” It’s lame and he knows it, but it seems better than freaking you out with a hug. You smile at him and that feels reassuring.

“You do?” You look over at Benny, nodding his head, “I know it makes me basic, but I love Christmas. The lights, the decorations, the movies, the music. Expect to see a lot of green and red frosted donuts until December 31st.” 

Benny laughs, “I’m looking forward to it.” He looks at his watch and starts to get up, “I should probably leave, so you can close up.”

You get up and follow Benny to the door, you put your hand on Benny’s forearm to stop him for a second and he feels a little spark through this jacket.

“Thank you, again, for everything.”

“I’m glad I could help. And that everything turned out okay.”

You’re not sure what it is that compels you to hug him, but you do. Maybe it’s the gentleness of his voice, or how he’s looking at you in a way he hasn’t before. It feels intimate and dreamy and it’s hard for you to recall the last time anyone has looked at you like that. It happens so fast that Benny barely has time to register what happened.

It hits him as he’s walking to his car–the delayed feeling of your arms around him. It strikes Benny that maybe there’s a chance you like him, that maybe you’re both kind of stupid and clumsy, and afraid to ask the other one out. There’s the realization that one of you will have to make the first move or it will go on like this forever. That he will see you every few months at your job, that he’ll get a free donut occasionally. It’s not enough for Benny and he knows that he can’t be stupid about this much longer.

—-

It’s the last piss test party of the year–the week before Christmas. The concept is idiotic–sure it made sense at one point when Benny wasn’t wading into the deep end of forty. Going to a cheap hotel to get drunk and high, have sex with women that Nick found God knows where. It was never appealing to Benny but he used to understand the idea of celebrating after your mandatory drug test. Now he usually just sits, drinks a beer or two, and tries to avoid contact with everyone. There’s something especially depressing about it during this time of year.

Benny’s spent the last few days mulling over the best way to ask you out. He regrets not asking you when he was giving you the news about Stuart. Although there’s a part of him that thinks maybe you would have felt obligated to say yes given the circumstances. He thinks about asking you tonight, if they end up there, but he doesn’t want to do it in front of the guys because you might feel obligated then too, maybe even feeling sorry for him and not wanting to embarrass him in front of everyone by saying no. If you say yes, he wants it to be because you actually mean it, he doesn’t want there to be any room for doubt.

His decision is made for him, because when they get to Glazy for You, you aren’t there. Benny can’t remember if there’s ever been a time when you haven’t been there, behind the counter, greeting him warmly. It’s a little bit of a shock to his system to see a middle-aged man in a goofy Christmas sweater in your place. Benny’s good at thinking up doomsday scenarios and imagines one in which you’re trying to avoid him, so you no longer work this early in the morning. But then he thinks of when you hugged him and that even though it was quick, it was like your touch had gone directly to his heart. He doesn’t stay much longer, opting to go home, lay in his bed, and try to figure out what he’s going to do.

—- 

You used to hate working during the holidays. Maybe it’s because you were working for other people and not yourself. Maybe it was because the work you were doing felt unimportant and people expected you to care even when everything else around you was winding down. Five years ago the thought of working on Christmas Eve would have made you want to walk into traffic. Now it feels different, like maybe you’re contributing to the holiday experience versus missing out on it entirely. You’ve always loved Christmas, but Christmas Eve is your favorite day of the year. It just feels more special somehow. There’s anticipation and excitement in the air. It’s possible it’s a product of all the Christmas movies you’ve watched over the years where there’s the idea that anything seems possible on this day. There’s something about the idea of your life changing for the better, surrounded by twinkle lights and ornaments that you find very appealing.

The morning is kind of slow–you spend most of it watching holiday episodes of tv shows on your phone. Around 11am you start cleaning up–taking trays out of cases, boxing up the donuts that are left to drop off at the comic book shop next door. You’re looking forward to going home and laying on the couch the rest of the day, queuing up your standard Christmas Eve movies. You’re ready to watch Scrooged and feel abnormally homesick, but then put on Christmas Vacation and remember why it’s never a good idea to spend Christmas with your entire family.

You’re in the back when you hear the bell on the door jingle, letting you know someone is out front. You consider just staying where you are, pretending no one is here so you can wrap up your day. You don’t want to have to tell anyone that you can’t help them with their donut emergency–getting yelled at on Christmas Eve is not something you’ve prepared yourself for today. So it’s a pleasant surprise when you make your way back out to the front and you see Benny.

“Hey, this is a—hi.” You’re not sure why you’re suddenly unable to put together a decent sentence.

Benny rubs the back of his neck with his hand, “Is this a bad time?”

“No. No, well. I mean, unless you were looking for a few dozen donuts. Then it definitely is.”

Benny smiles, “Actually,  I, um, was,” he pauses and tries to collect himself, he can suddenly feel his heart beating in his ears, “I wanted to ask you out. On a date.” The feeling has spread to his skull.

When he says it, it’s almost like the words traveled through your brain and you can’t comprehend what’s actually happening. Benny, the guy you’ve been harboring your fragile middle school crush on, is here asking you out. It makes little, if any sense to you.

“Are you just trying to get more free donuts?”

Benny shakes his head no, “I promise I’m not.”

You’re quiet as you consider what he’s asked–trying to reprocess the information in your mind so that it makes sense. When all the words are finally in place and you repeat them in your mind, you feel some of those flowers that you’d walled up in your stomach starting to push through the cracks.

“Yeah, okay.” You grab a business card from the counter, write your number on the back, and hand it to Benny.

Benny’s not sure he’s ever heard anything better than yeah, okay in his life, it’s like a bolt of lightning right to his core. He puts the card with your number in the chest pocket of his jacket, the safest place he can think of.

“Great. Amazing.” Benny laughs nervously. “I need to get back to work. I’ll text you.” 

“Okay. Well, have a good Christmas, Benny.” 

“You too.” 

Benny gives his standard small wave as he leaves and you lock the door after him. When he’s out of sight you let out a squeal and excitedly dance in place. Your phone vibrating in your back pocket interrupts you mid-happy dance. 

Hey, it’s Benny. Are you free for dinner on the 27th at 7?

Benny watches dots appear and then disappear on his phone. It feels a little bit like torture as he sits in his truck waiting for you to respond.

 Dinner on the 27th at 7 sounds great

Benny releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Let me think of a place and I’ll text you the address

Sounds good. And you meant Dec 27th right?

Benny laughs to himself, Yes dec 27. I’m not going to wait until jan to take you to dinner

Just making sure 🙂

You read his last text at least ten more times before finally going back into the kitchen like you had intended. Each time you read it, there’s a sensation in your stomach like bricks dissolving and flowers blooming again.

—-

Benny texts you on the morning of the 26th with a restaurant name and an address. You already have the sense that he’s different, the type of person who has follow-through. You try to temper your excitement about dinner with him, not wanting to do that thing you sometimes do where you make something out to be more than it is. You keep telling yourself that it’s just dinner, nothing more. But as you pull up to the restaurant a few minutes late and see Benny standing outside, looking nervous in dark denim and a green flannel, you let yourself think that maybe it could be a little more than just dinner. 

“Sorry I’m a little late, I hope you weren’t waiting long?”

Benny smiles when he sees you standing in front of him, “I just got here a few minutes ago.” 

It’s a lie; the last one he’ll tell tonight; but he doesn’t want you to know that he was so amped up about this evening that he got to the restaurant thirty minutes early. On the way in, when you pass in front of him, your perfume delicately floats by him. It’s earthy, but slightly sweet, with cinnamon and vanilla blending neatly in–he’s sure it’s the most beautiful thing that he’s ever smelled. 

It’s a French restaurant, one that you’ve never been to before, but it’s cozy and still in the Christmas spirit. There are multicolored lights strung up and silver tinsel hanging from the ceiling. 

“Have you been here before?” Looking at Benny from across the table and you can see flecks of silver in his facial hair catching the light of the candle on the table. 

“My sister and her husband had their tenth anniversary party here last year. Most of my restaurant choices come from wherever she has an anniversary party.” 

You laugh, “Nice. Do you just have the one sister?”

Benny has just the one sister, you learn, among other things. You find talking to Benny is easy, he doesn’t give one word answers to questions like some men you’ve gone out with. Where trying to get to know them is like trying to get to know a slab of pavement. He’s funnier than you thought, something that you didn’t expect, but is a nice surprise.

“Did you always want to be a detective?”

Benny butters a piece of bread, “To be honest, the only thing I wanted to be growing up was a magician. I guess I saw one too many David Copperfield specials as a kid.”

You start laughing, “Do you know any magic tricks?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. What about you?”

“I don’t know any, no.” You shrug jokingly as Benny laughs. “But, yeah, I guess I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to be doing. I’m lucky that things have worked out how they have.” 

Benny’s curious now, “You didn’t always work in a bakery?”

“Nope. I actually used to work in tech. It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well, I’m not in any hurry to end the evening.”

There’s something about Benny that puts you at ease, that makes you comfortable enough to want to open up to him. Something that you would never normally consider doing on a first date. You don’t feel the need to downplay that you made a lot of money when a company you worked for in New York was bought out. He doesn’t flinch when you tell him that the reason you moved to California was because of your now ex-husband. He tells you about his own divorce and for the first time in a long time you don’t feel so unlike yourself on a first date. It doesn’t feel scary telling him that you felt insignificant in your own life because of your work and your marriage. That every conversation with your husband made you feel like a burden.There’s a moment when you start to apologize, out of habit, but he stops you. He smiles when you say that the divorce was the best thing to happen to you because it–and you hate to say it like this–gave you your power back. 

“I always wanted to own my own business and I love donuts, so when the divorce happened, I just said fuck it, and went for it. Just threw myself into it.”

“I’m glad you did, I don’t know where else I’d get an apple fritter that good. And for free.” 

“Yeah, about that.” You smile playfully, “I’m going to have to start charging you before you put me out of business.” 

Benny makes a show of looking at his watch, pretending to want to leave, “I guess we should probably call it an evening then?”

He likes the way you laugh, how it’s kind of loud and fills the room. It makes him feel good, to hear you laugh, to see you smile; like he’s responsible for some bit of happiness you’re experiencing.

“See, I knew this was a scam.”

As the waiter clears the table and they wait for the check, Benny asks you what your favorite donut is. 

You don’t even have to think about it, “Definitely a maple bar.”

Benny watches as your eyes light up, telling him how you first had one when you spent the summer between fifth and sixth grade visiting your aunt in Seattle. He listens to you describe how your mom was, in the nicest terms you can find, an extreme dieter, who tried her best to pass all of her food issues down to you, and never let donuts in the house. But your aunt didn’t care and the first thing she did once she would pick you up from the airport was take you to her favorite bakery. It was the highlight of every summer after that until you graduated high school. It was the first donut you learned how to make because on the east coast they’re hard to find. You laugh when you say the best part of moving to the west coast is that every donut place has maple bars, but you’d like to think that yours are the best. Benny can’t help but think it’s cute.

Benny doesn’t want the night to end; he knows that you took a cab to the restaurant so he offers to drive you home. You try not to sound too eager in accepting his offer, but fail.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

You ask him if he wants you to put your address into google maps for directions, but he doesn’t need them. Benny spends so much time driving all over the city that he knows every street, every highway, every interstate. The map exists in his head; he can get anywhere without really having to think about it. Benny drives you through some unfamiliar, but beautiful neighborhoods. The homes are still decorated and lit up, it’s like driving through the set of a Christmas movie–the only thing missing is snow.

You ask him more about his job, the guys he works with. You like hearing the stories that Benny has about them. You can tell by the way he talks about him, that he’s closest with Connors. You finally learn everyone’s first names and how Benny got his nickname–which you had previously googled out of curiosity. You ask if it bothers him to be called a drunk.

“Knowing the shit they all get into, not really.”

He says that it doesn’t matter what they call him because he knows that in any situation they’ll have his back and he’ll have theirs. That’s what he cares about.

When he pulls up to your house; a small, one-story home, string lights along the frame and around the windows; it looks exactly like he’d imagined. You both sit quietly for a few minutes unsure what to do next. 

Eventually you unbuckle your seatbelt, “I had a really good time tonight, Benny.”

“Me too. Come on, I’ll walk you to your door.” he looks over at you, “protect and serve, you know.” Benny knows it’s a dumb joke, but you laugh anyway.

When you get to the top of your steps, you find it hard to say goodbye. His face is illuminated by the Christmas lights and you can tell he doesn’t want to say goodbye either. You start to say something, you’re not even sure what, but no words come out because Benny’s mouth is on yours, his hands gently cradling your face. His lips are soft and you can feel the warmth of his tongue asking for permission. You drop your keys onto the porch and pull him closer to you by his belt loops.

It feels like hours have passed when Benny finally pulls away, “Sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”

You rest your hands on his chest, “Next time,” you gently tug on his shirt collar, “don’t wait so long.”

Benny smiles as he watches you crouch down to pick up the keys you dropped. When you stand back up, he reaches towards your face, his fingers grazing behind your ear, “Hold on, you have something in your—” Benny sweeps his fingers against your hair and when he brings his hand in front of you, he’s holding a small, folded piece of paper. 

You take it from him, unfolding it. When you see the words ‘what are you doing for new years?’ written down you start grinning, “So you do still know some magic tricks.”

Benny places his hand on your neck, his thumb stroking your cheek, “A few.”

#benny magalon x reader #benny magalon x f!reader #benny borracho magalon x reader #benny borracho magalon x f!reader #borracho magalon x reader #den of thieves fic #christmas fic #holiday fic #this christmas fic

[aerodaltonimperial]

(Junglecorpse, 1.4k ish. In my defense, and I know I say this a lot but it's actually true this time, I am very legitimately going through a lot right now, and I don't know if my therapist would approve of this method of self-soothing or no, BUT whatever, Junglecorpse is one of the few pairings that activates my "MUST HAVE FLUFF NOW" toggles when normally I avoid fluff like the plague. I wrote this snippet a few months back or so for Vamp via chat and expanded it today for Myself™️ so I'm posting it here so I can save it on the masterlist. You do not have to read this.)

“Do you think Tony’s gonna lose his mind and create a new pay-per-view every week?” Jack asks, while thumbing up through his Twitter feed somewhat absently. He’s only got his right hand, as Darby has stolen his left. Darby’s got one of his ink pens, the felt-tipped kind he uses to doodle sometimes, and the brush of the tip against the skin on the back of Jack’s hand is calming. Sometimes Jack ends up with skulls littering his knuckles, other times with swoops and flourishes; mostly, he just lets Darby do his thing. It’s familiar.

“Seems like a bad business model,” Darby replies. His head is bowed, chin turned down as he works. Last week, Jack went out to lunch with his sister with a stylized skateboard heading up against the bump in his wrist bone, and she’d laughed for about three minutes straight.

Jack snorts a little, still scrolling. Doom-scrolling, really, though he’ll never admit that to his therapist. “Yeah, people are gonna stop paying if all they ever see is Hanger and Swerve stapling each other’s chests every single month, over and over again.”

“You may be greatly underestimating the public interest in that.” Darby laughs.

“Oh.” Jack frowns at the back glow, squinting a little. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Man. Should I start up a homoerotic feud with somebody with the sole goal of getting some really violent death matches?”

“Please don’t let anyone else staple your chest,” Darby says, a bit muffled. The brush pen curls along Jack’s skin.

“Anyone else? Whoa, buddy, stapling me was not on the to-do list for this week.”

Darby snorts. “I like you in one piece, thanks. And I’m not a big fan of watching you bleed all over the mats.”

“Oh, sure, but I have to watch you toss yourself spine first off the posts every Wednesday,” Jack says. He taps the screen again with his thumb, pulling down. Something something official AEW twitter, five clips from the last show, and Stokely buying another celebrity Cameo to woo Kris Statlander. Actually, that one’s pretty funny. He got Barack Obama to do it. Jack didn’t even know Obama had a Cameo.

The brush tip swirls, then taps a few times. “Aw. You gettin’ anxious over me?”

“Well, if you die, who’s going to keep my feet warm at night?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you: wear socks. Your feet are fucking freezing.”

Jack huffs out another laugh. The Obama cameo was hilarious. Stokely deserves managing her at this point. “I don’t need socks, I have your legs.”

“Dick,” Darby grumbles.

“But back to this pay-per-view thing. This is a lot of matches. Having even more on Sunday, every month, feels kind of overwhelming. Like, I need to have the roofing guy come look at my place? And I can’t schedule it because Tony keeps creating new shows.”

“Mm.” Another swoop of the brush, then some lines. Jack glides through an update from Prince Nana that reads truly bizarre, a reblog from Bowens that reads genuinely excited, and a post from Danhausen that’s mostly nonsense ending with ‘you’re cursed.’ “Maybe next week. Your shingles? Or the gutters? I don’t think I remember you talking about any other issues.”

“Just the shingles. After that last wind storm, I think a few came off, and now I’m worried the whole damn thing will come down around me one night.”

Darby huffs out a laugh, but the doodling ministrations on the back of Jack’s hand don’t pause. “I think you’d get a bit of a heads up before that happens.”

“Only if someone is physically there to yell ‘heads up’ at all times,” Jack jokes. Another tweet from the official AEW account, and then a reblog. Sammy posted. Ricky posted. Sammy tweeted at Ricky with a bunch of capslock, Ricky quote-retweeted with a gif of a dancing middle finger, and Jack skips all of that. Let them argue on main if they want to. Sammy’s just gonna try to fall on Ricky from the scaffolding again.

“I’ll do it.”

The drawing on the back of his hand stops. “Oh, yeah?” Jack smiles. “Are you volunteering to always…” He looks down at the doodles on his skin, and freezes.

Adorning his knuckles are a series of curves, vine-like, that curl up towards his ring finger where they create a solid horizontal line, and in the middle of his hand, somewhat shaky, given they were written upside down to be read from Jack’s direction, blocky letters spell WILL YOU MARRY ME.

Jack’s chest constricts. He can’t breathe. With his heart roaring against his ears, he whips his gaze up to stare at Darby, whose expression is maddeningly neutral. “Darby. What the fuck?”

“Okay, that’s… a response,” Darby says, with the tiniest of shrugs and a pinch to his lips. “Think it’s pretty clear.”

“Are you… are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Darby replies, mouth quirking up at the corners. “Yeah, I am.”

“You…” Jack’s tongue is ungainly, swollen. “Oh my god.”

“I’m not hearing an answer.”

“But… why would you…”

Darby drops his eyes, dragging his thumb over the topmost part of his impromptu design in a caress, and his smile never really diminishes. “Jack, what did you think this was? What did you think this was going to be? I don’t do things in halves, I told you that from the get-go. You know me. It’s you and me, and that’s what I want. Forever.”

“Are… are you sure?” Jack’s gonna choke on everything bubbling up from his chest.

Darby’s eyes slide back up. They reflect the lamplight, bright shiny starbursts. “Yeah, Jack, I’m really fucking sure. And if you don’t—”

“Yes.”

Darby pauses, tongue slipping out to press into the corner of his mouth. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Jack laughs, the sound bubbling up through his throat. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Holy shit.” Darby’s smile widens, impossibly stretched. “Holy shit. Really?”

Jack grabs for Darby’s face, clutching the sides of his head. He mashes their mouths together with way too much force, but he can’t stop it, because the rattling in his veins has started to sing. Then he pulls away. “You asked, you absolute loon, how did you not expect an answer? Yes, really. Really.”

And then he’s not really sure of much other than the fact that they’re both laughing, euphoric, and Jack doesn’t care about the roof anymore, or the idea of someone stapling his chest, because all that really pales in comparison to everything else, and he thinks ah, that’s exactly how it should be.

His brain starts to catch up with reality, sluggish. “Where are we gonna live? My place, or your place? This is opposite sides of the country, you know. Oh, wow. We’re gonna have to file taxes together.”

Darby laughs, features pulled incredulous. “What?”

“Should we hyphenate our last names?” Jack’s eyes track over Darby’s face: blue, blue, blue, his eyes are so blue. Should they have blue in their wedding? Should they have a wedding? “Should we hyphenate them in the ring? Wait, I have to go to the grocery store today, and I don’t want to wash this off my hand. Should I take a photo? Or wear a glove? Am I gonna look like Michael Jackson?”

“Jack,” Darby laughs again, high and bright. “Darling. Light of my life. You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m seventeen steps ahead again, aren’t I.”

Darby grabs his face between his palms. “Yes. Yes, you are. Honestly, I don’t know where we’re gonna live. We’ll probably just keep both places. Yes, we’re gonna have to file taxes together. No, I don’t know if we’ll hyphenate our names; I really don’t give a shit. Yes, you can take a photo. No, you will never look like Michael Jackson.”

“You don’t have an opinion about our names?” Jack asks.

Darby hauls him closer, until their noses touch. He’s smiling, smiling, and Jack’s smiling, the expression too wide and aching on his face. “Jack, I don’t fucking care. I just want to be with you and your stupidly cold feet.”

“Does this proposal come with the condition that I have to buy some socks?”

“Don’t you even dare,” Darby replies, his thumb gliding along Jack’s cheek a little. “You’re gonna shove your feet between my legs in the middle of the night and jolt me awake like you always do, and I’m gonna fuckin’ love it, every damn time.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a sap,” Jack says.

“Get to used to that, ‘cause you’re gonna be legally stuck with me after this.”

“Awesome,” Jack breathes, and kisses him again.

#Junglecorpse #tag so you don't lose this shit #This is not worth reading lol #I just needed it here for me