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alwaysmicado · 1 day

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Callisto I

10.2k | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 9

Series Masterlist | Joel Masterlist | previous | AO3

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, emotional hurt/comfort, weed, mention of domestic violence, toxic dynamic, graphic vomiting, emotional rollercoaster, fluff Summary: Your car ride home from the beach is...eventful. Joel does something special for you to express his feelings. A/N: This part was going to be much too long, so I split it in two. It was important for me to post part I of Callisto before my birthday, and I’m so excited that I finally get to share it with you. Happy reading & please let me know your thoughts if you’re up for it. Thank you for your continued support, guys! ♡ Dividers by @/cafekitsune. Songs: Backburner by NIKI & My Exes by Snake City

“Why do you keep coming back?”

You bring the joint to your lips, your fingers brushing lightly against his as he passes it over. You take a deep drag, letting the familiar burn of the weed settle into your lungs before you exhale, slowly, the smoke curling into the night air. It’s a slow haze, softening your anger, making it easier to breathe even if only for a little while.

The pressure in your chest doesn’t lift—it never does, not really—but the weed at least dulls the edges.

For now, anyway.

The streetlight casts long shadows on the chipped concrete, bathing you both in a murky orange hue. You sit side by side on the curb, the shared joint passing lazily between you, the quiet of the night only disturbed by a dog barking further down the road.

Simon leans back, his shoulders slumped, the hood of his jacket pulled up, obscuring most of his face. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, tracing the outline of his jaw, the way his lips curl around the joint. You hate how he still looks good to you, even after his latest stunt.

“Why do you keep coming back?” he asks again, his voice low and gravelly, as if he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it. “If all we do is hurt each other?”

You shrug, looking up at the stars, or what little of them you can see through the haze of city smog. You know the answer, but it feels too pathetic to admit out loud. The truth? It’s not that simple. It never has been.

“Maybe because the pain is addicting,” you whisper, your voice barely cutting through the stillness. “It’s like…a twisted dance, and we can’t stop stepping on each other’s toes.”

Simon smirks, and you catch the briefest glimpse of that crooked smile that makes your heart race. “You always were poetic,” he mutters, his tone tinged with both affection and scorn. He passes you the joint again, and this time, when your fingers brush, it sends a jolt through you—familiar, electric, dangerous.

You take a drag, letting the smoke cloud your thoughts, dull the ache. “I mean it, Simon,” you say, the words coming out slower now, heavy from both the high and the weight of them. “We know how to hurt each other in all the right ways. It’s almost like…we’re better at hurting than loving.”

He chuckles, but it’s empty, hollow. “Maybe we were never supposed to love in the first place,” he says, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe all we’re good at is fucking things up.”

There’s no denying the truth in his words. You’ve been here before, countless times, caught in this cycle of destruction, breaking each other apart piece by piece, only to come back together, craving the chaos more than the calm. Simon would get restless after a while, he’d cheat and lie, you’d find out, you’d scream, cry, threaten to leave, and then—somehow—you’d end up in his arms again.

It was exhausting, suffocating, but it was also magnetic. You didn’t know how to leave. And neither did he.

You sigh, flicking the ashes of the joint onto the ground, your hand trembling slightly. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it?” you say, more to yourself than to him. “The way I can’t seem to let you go, even though I know you’re bad for me.”

He tilts his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he studies your face for a moment. “Have you ever considered that you’d be a lot happier if you just admitted to yourself that you like it?”

He reaches for the joint, his fingers brushing yours for longer this time, deliberate. “You can keep telling yourself I’m the bad guy all you want, babe,” he says, his voice low, “but we both know you ain’t innocent in this either. You like it. The fighting, the drama, the sex. You like what we have.”

Your stomach tightens at his words, because there’s a part of you that knows he’s right.

You’ve said things, done things, you’re not proud of. Screamed in his face, hurled insults meant to wound, thrown plates that shattered like the fragile remains of your relationship. And then, when the storm passed, you’d pull him into bed, your anger melting into a desperate kind of need. It was all you knew—this toxic spiral that twisted love and pain together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Maybe,” you admit softly, feeling the weight of your own guilt settle on your shoulders. “Maybe I do.”

Simon turns to you then, his gaze locking with yours, and for a moment, you can see the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he never lets anyone else see. “So, what are we doing here?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “We’re just gonna keep doing this? Over and over?”

You swallow hard, the question hanging between you like a knife. You know the answer, even if you don’t want to admit it. You’re stuck in this loop, and neither of you knows how to break free.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Simon leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and for a second, your heart races with that familiar, dangerous anticipation. “We don’t have to stop,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “We can keep this going; keep fucking up, keep hurting, keep loving. It’s what we do.”

You let out a small, tired laugh, and shake your head. “Yeah, Simon, great plan,” you say, your tone light, almost condescending, though there’s no real bite behind it. “Let’s just keep breaking each other into pieces. That’s gonna end well.”

You don’t even have the energy to fight properly. It’s all too much, and you’re too tired. Tired of the fights, the back-and-forth, the constant cycling through pain and passion like it’s the only way you know how to exist together.

He watches you closely, his gaze unwavering, as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking, waiting for you to snap at him, to tell him off. But you don’t. You can’t. You feel the exhaustion settle in your bones, making it impossible to muster up any anger.

Why is it so difficult?

What the hell is wrong with you that it’s so difficult for him to love you? To not hurt you? You wonder if it’s something about you, something broken deep inside, something that makes you impossible to love.

You’ve tried, haven’t you? You’ve bent yourself to fit the version of you he seems to want, the version that’s easier, less complicated, less demanding. But no matter how much you bend, no matter how much you give, it’s never enough.

What is it about you that’s so unlovable?

“I’m sorry, you know,” Simon murmurs, taking a long drag from the joint.

You blink, your head feeling light, detached, like you’re floating just above the surface of yourself. The words come slower now, softer, like you have to pull them from some faraway place.

“For what?”

You hear yourself ask the question, but it feels distant, like it’s not really you speaking. The world around you is muffled, like you’re wrapped in cotton, the sounds, the lights, all muted. Simon’s face swims in your vision, and for a moment, you focus on the way his lips curve as he exhales, the smoke curling lazily from his mouth. You watch it drift up, swirling in the air between you, and it’s almost beautiful, the way it moves, weightless and free.

Simon glances at you, his eyes half-lidded, bloodshot, but there’s something in his gaze—something that makes you feel a tug of recognition, though your mind is too foggy to grasp what it is. He takes another drag, slower this time, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft.

“You know what.” He hands you back the joint and you take it, and you inhale deeply, the burn in your lungs calming your nerves.

“Then why’d you do it?”

He hadn’t even tried to hide it this time. You heard the story from someone else first, a smug, offhand comment meant as a joke. Simon, with his arm slung over your shoulder, laughing along like it was nothing, like you weren’t standing right there, feeling the ground crumble beneath your feet.

“I was drunk as fuck ‘cause they kept bringing shots after shots after shots, and she took advantage of that like you wouldn’t believe. That’s what those girls do, and shit, I wasn’t the only one they got like that—Ben, Jake, Alex, Teddy too, I think.”

All of them in relationships, one to be married in two weeks, one with a baby on the way.

Disgusting.

“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Simon furrows his brow, turning to you, confusion flashing across his face. “What do you mean?”

You shake your head, unable to look at him directly, your gaze fixed on the joint between your fingers. “Going through life, knowing nothing is ever your fault,” you murmur. There’s no anger in your tone, just a tired sort of resignation, like you’re saying something you’ve known all along.

“What are you talking about?” he scoffs. “Nothing’s ever been easy for me. I fucked up royally, yeah, I get that, but it wasn’t my fucking fault. I didn’t even wanna go to the damn club, but Alex wouldn’t stop begging, so I gave in.”

“You see?” you say, your voice quiet, but firm. “You’re fine as long as Alex was the one who made you cheat. It’s all good ‘cause the stripper took advantage of you, right?” You can hear the bitterness in your own voice.

“You don’t need to change or grow, ‘cause, what’s the point, your parents fucked you up anyway. It’s your boss’s fault your coworkers complain about you, it’s the cops’ fault that you got a DUI, and it’s my fault that you resent me.”

You watch Simon’s face as the words sink in, the flicker of defensiveness in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens.

“And I know that deep down you really do believe all that.” You pause, staring at him through the thick fog clouding your mind, your body sinking deeper into the concrete. “So, I guess my question is…why even bother with me anymore?”

“Baby…”

“No, I’m serious,” you say, cutting him off, but there’s no fire in your voice, just a dull weariness that matches the slow pulse of your heartbeat. “Why? Why keep me around when you could be happy, doing what you wanna do, without me holding you back?”

Simon sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “I wouldn’t be happy without you.”

“But I’m not enough for you,” you whisper, tears inadvertently filling your eyes. “I’ve never been enough. Despite trying everything in my power. I’m not enough for you.”

Simon doesn’t answer right away. He takes the joint from your hand, inhaling deeply, staring at some distant point in the darkened parking lot. The quiet stretches, thick and uncomfortable, and for a moment, you think he’s not going to answer at all. But then he finally sighs, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to buy himself more time.

“What do you want me to say?” he mutters. “You know I’m not always good with words or expressing feelings and all that shit…but you’re wrong. You’re everything to me.”

He hands you the joint and you shake your head, a mirthless laugh bubbling to the surface. “Yeah, that’s why you fucked a stripper and had unprotected sex with me right after. Do you hear yourself?”

He exhales exasperatedly as he leans back, palms pressed against the cool concrete. “It’s not– it didn’t mean anything,” he says, his voice defensive. “It’s not like I’m looking for someone better than you.”

“Then why?” you press, your voice shaking now. “If I’m so important to you, why do you keep lying and sneaking around? What’s the point?”

He sighs again, louder this time, like he’s tired of this conversation before it’s even really begun. “I don’t know, okay? I get restless sometimes. I’m not…thinking when I do it.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, a small, almost absent-minded gesture that makes your heart clench. “It’s not like I’m trying to hurt you. I’m really not, baby. And It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

His hand tightens around yours, grounding you in the moment, and for a second, you almost feel comforted.

Almost.

But then, like a flash, the memory hits you—sharp, vivid, paralyzing.

The pain shoots through your wrist all over again, that awful, sickening crunch echoing in your ears. You’re back in the ER, the blinding white lights overhead making your eyes burn, your head pounding as you sit there, staring at the sterile walls. You’d made up some story, but the nurse looked right through you, her eyes filled with pity.

You remember how you sat there, waiting, your body aching but your mind empty, not even able to cry a single tear. Just numb. Completely detached from yourself, like you were watching it all from the outside.

You remember the young doctor, the one who stitched you up. His voice was light, conversational, doing his best to distract you from the deep gash in your wrist. He told you about how his daughter had just started kindergarten that day. How proud and terrified he and his wife were, how they’d taken a hundred pictures of her in her little backpack. How she was such a happy, bright girl, full of curiosity and excitement.

You could barely listen, but you remember the way his voice softened when he said, “I just hope she always knows how loved she is.”

That was the part that stuck with you.

The way his voice cracked just slightly when he said it, like he was imagining all the ways the world could break her. How someone could end up hurting her like someone hurt you. And as you sat there, the needle pulling your skin back together, all you could think about was how far away that feeling was—how you had no idea what it felt like to be that loved, that safe.

You swallow hard, looking down at your intertwined hands. “You’ve said that before, you know. When you drove me home from the hospital.” Your voice is soft, almost too quiet, but the accusation is there.

Simon stiffens. His grip loosens slightly, and you can see the flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it’s the kind of guilt that runs shallow, just skimming the surface. His jaw clenches, and he pulls his hand away.

“I thought you were over that,” he mutters.

You stare at him for a moment, then let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah, sure,” you say with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You hold out your hand to him, the small scar visible on your wrist, faded but undeniable. “Totally over it. Look, it’s almost like it never happened.”

Simon’s face falters as he hesitates, then takes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over the scar as though trying to erase it with that simple touch.

“I wasn’t right that night,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on your hand before you pull away. “You know I’m not…I wasn’t right.”

You chuckle and take the joint from him. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s silent beside you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you again but doesn’t know how. You can feel his eyes on you, heavy with unspoken words, but you don’t look at him. Instead, you take a slow drag from the joint, letting the smoke fill your lungs.

“I’m not doing that anymore,” Simon says quietly.

You don’t respond. You don’t even look at him. You smoke in silence, absentmindedly rubbing over a faded bruise on your leg.

“The past few months were nice, weren’t they?” Simon’s voice cuts through the silence, tentative, like he’s testing the waters. “I mean, we were fine, right? You were happy?”

You nod, exhaling slowly as the smoke leaves your lips. “I was happy, yeah.”

“Then let’s go back to that. I don’t wanna fall asleep without you in my arms again.” He moves closer, his hand reaching for your chin, gripping it gently, so you’ll look at him. His eyes are wide, pleading, the same look he always gives you when he’s trying to pull you back in. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Which time?

“Hey, I mean it.” He turns your head back, his grip tighter now. “I’m trying to be better for you, I really am. Just…tell me what you want me to do to make it right and I’ll do it. Anything.”

“You know, I never wanted you to become a better person for me, Simon,” you say softly, removing his hand from your chin, and letting it fall to his side. “I wanted you to look in the mirror, and realize that you’re a fucking asshole, and change for yourself. I wanted you to realize you’re turning into the very man you always told me you’d rather die than become.”

He stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head as the mask he so carefully wears is slipping. “You love doing this, don’t you?” he mutters. “Pushing, prodding, trying to make me feel like shit.”

You curl your arms around your legs, pulling them close to your chest, your voice calm. “If the shoe fits…”

“Oh, really?” he scoffs, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re so much fucking better than me, don’t you? Well, let me tell you this, princess. You’re not as fucking perfect as you think you are, and if you think other people can’t see that, you’re hallucinating.”

“I don’t think I’m perfect, Simon. I wouldn’t be here if I did.” Your voice is softer than you intend, like the weed is suppressing your strength to yell. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“Then why the fuck are you here if you hate me so much?”

“‘Cause I’m an idiot.” You bring the joint to your lips and inhale deeply. “I’m an idiot who can’t let go. ‘Cause I still think you could be better if you just tried. If you stopped listening to your friends, if you stopped drinking, if you stopped blaming me for every shitty thing that’s happened to you in the last five years.”

He’s shaking his head before you even finish. “I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And your solution is to just up and leave without telling me where you are? Very mature.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t talk to you, Simon. Every time I try, it’s like I’m talking to a wall.”

“You could talk to me if you actually wanted to,” he snaps back. “But it fits your narrative better when you can storm out, make your big scene, and go enjoy your little power trip. That’s what you do, right? It’s easier than actually being a grown-up and talking things out with me.”

“You’re delusional,” you mutter, brow furrowed.

“I’m delusional?” Simon’s laugh is hollow, his eyes flashing. “Yeah, right. I think you’re the one who’s lost it.”

You feel the words leaving his mouth before he even says them, the familiar sting of what’s next, and it’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. “Like you’re any better than me. Look who the fuck’s talking. Her mother’s daughter.”

There it is. The blow he always lands when he’s desperate to hit you where it hurts.

It’s his ace, the easiest way to throw you off-balance, to bring you down to the level where you feel vulnerable and he can control the conversation again.

You feel an old pain rising to the surface, but instead of letting it show, you smile. It’s not a real smile, but a small, knowing curve of your lips, the kind that hides everything you refuse to let him see. You’re not taking the bait this time.

“She had to go to the hospital again,” you murmur, your eyes on the joint as you bring it to your lips for one last drag. Then, you stub it out on the curb, watching the ember fade. “Thanks for asking.”

Simon’s face falls, the sharp edge of his anger crumbling away. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“Oh, you know,” you cut him off with a casual shrug. “It is what it is.”

“Why didn’t you–”

“‘Cause you were balls deep in a goddamn stripper, Simon,” you interrupt, your voice cold and flat. “I can’t rely on you.”

His face twists in frustration, but his eyes soften, and if you weren’t as high as you are, you’d see the little lines of guilt written all over his face. He reaches out to touch your shoulder, his hand hovering for a second before he gently rests it there.

“Baby, you know you can rely on me,” he says softly. “We have our problems, sure, but I always have your back.”

You roll your eyes, but he presses on, his voice earnest. “Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not true.”

Your eyes meet his. You know exactly what he’s referring to.

That one thing he holds onto as proof, as his trump card, the one time he truly came through for you when it mattered most. The time you thought you’d lose everything. If it’s not your histrionic mother he uses against you, it’s this.

“You can’t hold that over my head for the rest of my life,” you say, your voice steady but sharp. “You don’t get to help me when I need you most and then throw it in my face every time things get hard. That’s not how this works.”

His hand falls from your shoulder. He knows you’re right, but he doesn’t want to admit it. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m agitated. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

He shifts uncomfortably beside you, his fingers twitching in his lap as he glances away. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, hesitant. “Is she gonna be alright?”

You nod, but there’s no relief in it. “Mhm.”

There’s a long pause, heavy and suffocating, like an unseen barrier between you two. The night air is crisp, and your bare legs peeking out beneath your skirt are starting to get cold. Simon breaks the silence first.

“Baby, look at me. Please.”

You blink slowly, your eyes struggling to focus as everything around you starts to blur. The edges of Simon’s face seem to dissolve into the night, his features soft and indistinct, almost like he’s not really there. But you find him again, his eyes, his nose, his lips, his disheveled hair. He looks…lost. It’s rare to see him this vulnerable, this unsure.

How beautiful.

“Can we go home?”

You don’t hear him, not really. All you hear is the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor echoing in your ears. It’s distant but persistent, a steady pulse that reminds you of things you’d rather forget. Then, a disembodied voice, calmly announcing that, “This could have been prevented. This is your fault.”

The words float through your mind, circling, wrapping tighter and tighter around you.

“Baby?”

You try to focus on Simon’s face again, but it’s hard to think, hard to find the words. Everything feels slow, muffled, like you’re moving underwater.

“I have to go,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, like the words are slipping away from you even as you say them.

He tenses up immediately, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean, ‘go’?”

“It means I’m tired, Simon. It means I can’t do this anymore.”

The silence that follows is deafening, like the world has suddenly come to a standstill, waiting for the inevitable fallout. You can practically feel Simon’s frustration pulsing off him.

But as you tilt your head, your gaze wandering over his face, the familiar lines of anger are there, yes. But beneath that, hidden in the set of his shoulders, in the way his hands rest uncertainly in his lap, you can sense something different. Fear. Real fear that this time, you might actually mean it. That this time, you might actually leave.

He doesn’t say anything as you stand up, your legs trembling beneath you, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of your chest. The world spins around you, dizzying, your vision blurred, and you stumble. Instinctively, Simon reaches out, steadying you with his hand.

But you shove him away immediately, your skin burning where his fingers brushed yours. You can’t let him touch you right now. If he touches you, you know you’ll crumble. You know you’ll fall back into his orbit like you always do.

And you may just be unable to afford that anymore.

But then, like a shadow moving through the haze of your high, Simon is suddenly in front of you—close, too close. His presence is disorienting, his words pouring over you before you can even process the distance he’s just closed.

“You don’t mean it,” he says, low and sure, like a statement of fact, as if he’s already decided this for you. His eyes lock onto yours, and it feels like you’re sinking into them, the pull of him as strong as ever, like gravity. He knows how to make you feel small, like your words hold no weight next to his certainty.

“I love you,” he whispers, and the tenderness in his voice makes you shiver, even though your mind screams for you to stay strong. His words wrap around you, weaving through the cracks in your resolve. His face is so close now, his breath warm against your skin, and you can’t tell if it’s the weed or the way he’s looking at you, but everything feels…slower. Softer. Like you’re slipping into a warm, dangerous comfort.

“You know how much I love you, don’t you? Yeah, I messed up, I know I did. But don’t let this ruin us. We’re too good together for that.” His voice is so gentle, hypnotic…irresistible.

“Simon…”

He steps even closer, the space between you disappearing as his hands find yours. His touch is warm, grounding, and despite the cold night air biting at your skin, his presence feels like shelter. He squeezes your hands softly, and your heart stumbles over itself.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he whispers, pleading. “Don’t walk away from us. We’re not perfect, but we belong together. You’re my family, baby. You’re all I have in this godforsaken world. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I matter…like I deserve love.”

It’s incredible, really, how easily he can break you down, how he can strip away all your defenses with just a few words. He knows exactly which buttons to push, how to weave his need for you into something that feels like love, something that feels like safety—even though you should know better.

He sees it, too. He sees the way your resolve falters, the way your eyes flicker with that familiar softness, and a satisfied smile curls on his lips. He knows he’s got you. He always knows when he’s won.

“C’mere,” he says gently, his hands sliding up your arms, pulling you toward him, and despite every instinct telling you to run, you let him. You let him hold you, let him wrap his arms around you like a protective shield against the world.

Your body sinks into his, your cheek resting against his chest, and you can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Each beat is a rhythm you’ve known for years, one that’s soothed you through your darkest moments, even as it’s caused some of them. His scent wraps around you, familiar and intoxicating, like the remnants of a home you’re desperate to return to. You let yourself drown in the warmth of him, in his steady presence that has helped you through so much. His hand strokes the back of your head, his touch soft, soothing.

It’s messed up how right it feels.

How comforting it is to be here in his arms, even when your heart is breaking inside.

“I love you,” Simon whispers again, his breath warm against your temple. “I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so fucking sorry. But you’re all I have, babe. I need you.”

You close your eyes, biting back the sob that threatens to escape. His words seep into your skin, and you want so desperately to believe him.

You love him. God, do you love him. Even when it hurts. Even when it breaks you. And right now, with his arms around you, you miss him so deeply it feels like a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t want to be without him. He’s the only thing that’s ever felt like family to you. The only person who knows all your scars, all your flaws, and still pulls you close.

“I need you too,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s the truth, as ugly as it is.

Simon holds you tighter, his arms enveloping you, and for now, you let yourself sink into the comfort of it. Into the warmth of his embrace, into the way his hand rubs slow circles on your back like he’s trying to erase all the hurt, all the broken pieces between you.

You let him tell you he loves you, let him soothe you with his words, let him promise you the world, even though deep down, you know you’ll both end up in the same place again.

And before you know it, you’re slipping into the passenger seat, the door closing behind you with a soft, final click.

“You okay, darlin’?”

Joel’s voice pulls you back, the deep rumble of his question cutting through the fog of memories clouding your mind.

You blink, taking in the familiar interior of his car, the hum of the road beneath the tires, the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminating his profile. The past feels too close, too heavy, pressing on your chest like you’re still stuck in it. But Joel is here, real and solid next to you, grounding you in the present.

“Yeah,” you answer quietly, your voice a little rougher than you mean for it to be. “Just tired.”

You see him glance over at you, concern evident in his eyes, but he doesn’t push. Not this time. He’s trying his hardest not to pry, not when he knows you need space. He just nods and keeps his eyes on the road, his hand resting on the gearshift, close but not touching.

“We’re almost there,” he says after a beat, his voice gentle, steady—so different from the frantic beat of your heart.

You nod, staring out the window at the darkened streets passing by. It’s quiet this late at night, and the drive back to your place feels longer than it should. The weight of the past few days lingers like a shadow, gnawing at the edges of your mind, making it hard to breathe.

You can still see Laura’s hand on her bump, the way her sad eyes looked at you like you were in the wrong. You can feel Simon’s arms around you, the way he pulled you in even when you should’ve pushed him away. The way you couldn’t help but let him.

But you’re not that person anymore. This is different. Joel’s different.

Your stomach churns, a wave of nausea rising so suddenly it feels like the world tilts. You grip your bandaged hand tighter, shift in your seat, trying to breathe through it, but the sensation intensifies. You can taste the bitterness of the meds in your mouth, the stress squeezing your chest like a vice as cold sweat starts spreading on your skin. The movement of the car only makes it worse, and you know what’s coming.

“Joel…” you manage, your voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Huh?” His head snaps toward you, eyes widening with concern as he sees how uncomfortable you are. “Shit. Hang on.”

Without hesitation, he tightens his grip on the steering wheel and scans the street for a place to pull over. It’s late, but the road is still lined with parked cars, neon signs glowing from nearby buildings. Finally, he spots a small gap along the curb. He turns on his blinker and slows down, smoothly guiding you toward the side of the street.

You fumble desperately with the seatbelt, your fingers trembling and uncoordinated as nausea hits you like a wave. Before you can manage it yourself, Joel leans over, his hands quick but gentle as he clicks the seat belt free. “Here,” he murmurs, and the moment the belt retracts, you’re already reaching for the door handle.

The second the door is open, you lurch out onto the sidewalk, the city air thick with petrichor from the short downpour that made you leave the beach earlier. The nausea hits hard, and you bend over, retching violently onto the pavement. It’s mostly bile, bitter and burning in your throat, and each wave of sickness feels like it’s tearing through your body. You grip the door for support, your hands shaking, your body trembling from the sheer force of it.

You hate this. The vulnerability, the pain, the utter helplessness of it all.

Joel moves quietly, reaching into the glove compartment for tissues. He doesn’t crowd you, just watches carefully, his expression tight with worry. He’s there, but giving you the space you need. After grabbing the tissues, he steps out of the car, making his way around to the back. You can hear him rummaging in the trunk, though your focus remains on trying not to accidentally cough up your lungs.

“Goddamnit,” you choke out, your voice strained as another wave of nausea forces the last of the bile from your body. It burns, raw and painful, your whole frame trembling as you lean over. Joel is next to you, hovering, trying to be there, but keeping his distance.

“I hate this,” you whine dramatically, your head pounding as you try catching your breath.

Once you feel like the worst is over and your stomach is settling, you straighten up and look at Joel through watery eyes. He’s smiling at you sympathetically, taking a step closer to wipe your mouth and chin with a couple of tissues.

You’re about to tell him not to touch you, but the concentrated look on his face and the deft but gentle motion of his fingers put you in a trance. He’s cleaned your mouth and wiped away your tears before you could even say anything.

“Do you remember how hot I looked in that short red dress?” you murmur, furrowing your brow at the unexpected pain coming from your sore throat.

“Yeah, how could I not?” Joel chuckles as he opens and hands you the water bottle he had waiting for you in his back pocket.

“Good,” you nod before swishing a mouthful of water, and spitting it out onto the concrete away from you. You take another sip, letting it cool your throat before you cap the bottle and look into Joel’s eyes. “I want you to think of that really hard and forget everything you just saw, okay?”

He just smiles at you, touching your shoulder with his warm hand. “Sweetheart, you’re vastly underestimating my attraction to you. You think a little puke’s gonna deter me? If you weren’t in pain, I’d kiss you no problem.” The way his eyebrow automatically twitches makes you roll your eyes. But it also warms your heart.

“You’re disgusting,” you say, trying your hardest not to smile.

“Says the girl who wiped snot off my face and kissed me while I was sweaty and gross after rolling around in bed with a fever. Guess we’re both disgusting, then.”

“Hm,” is all you manage to get out, a tiny smirk on your face, but it falters just as quickly as you suddenly feel like you’re going to throw up again.

“No, no, no, please, no,” you murmur, terrified, clutching the open car door for dear life. Your body tenses up, desperate to avoid another wave of sickness. You can’t do this again.

“I’m right here,” Joel whispers softly, his hand coming to rest on your back. He begins rubbing slow, soothing circles, his touch gentle and steady. There's a hint of helplessness in his voice, as if he wishes he could do more, but knows this is all he can offer right now. “It’s okay, just breathe.”

You focus on his hand, the warmth of it cutting through the cold sweat covering your skin. The nausea grips you, but Joel’s steady touch draws you back, grounding you. Your breath steadies, and when the sickness passes, you focus on the warmth of his hand, his touch comforting in a way you didn’t expect.

You’re usually not one for people being around, let alone touching you, when you’re vulnerable like this. The only time you’d allow anyone to get this close is during sex. But that’s different. Especially with Joel.

No one else gets to do the things he does with you. Not that you’ve ever admitted that to him.

He’s seen you at your most unguarded��tied up with your ankles behind your ears, covered in sweat, drooling, crying, bruised from his hands, begging for release, and confessing all the depraved things you’d let him do to you if he’d just finally let you come. He’s seen you laid bare, stripped down to nothing but raw desire and submission. And in those moments, there’s nothing but trust and desire between you two.

It’s freeing. Being able to let go of your body and mind so completely.

But this?

The idea of Joel witnessing you vomiting bile on the side of a dingy city street while your hand is bandaged, your face contorted, and your body shaking like you’ve been dragged through hell…

Not good. Especially after what happened.

You don’t know how to navigate this new territory with him, and the last thing you want is for him to see you weak like this. Not when you’re already feeling fragile.

You’re embarrassed, your cheeks burning from the humiliation of it all. You know this moment will haunt you on sleepless nights when your mind drags up every cringe-worthy memory. But right now, there’s an unexpected comfort in knowing he’s here.

“I think it’s over,” you say quietly, almost afraid to voice it, half-expecting your body to betray you again just because you dared to say it out loud. But it doesn’t. The nausea ebbs away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. It’s over.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “Just take your time. Don’t rush it.”

You inhale deeply, drawing in the cool night air. The city smells faintly of petrichor and there’s a soft hum from the distant traffic, cars rolling by on the nearby streets. It all feels surreal, like the world is far away from the small bubble you and Joel are in.

The steady circles he traces on your back continue, grounding you further. You let your eyes close for a moment, soaking in the calm of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, not looking at him.

He shakes his head, his brow furrowed in worry. “You got nothing to be sorry for. Do you think you’re okay to go on now?”

You nod and swallow hard, the sting in your throat making you wince. You manage a weak, half-hearted smile, though the world still feels off-kilter. “Yeah, I think so. But if I start dry-heaving again, just do us both a favor and push me out of the moving car, okay?”

He smirks, his lips curling in that familiar, teasing way. “As if I could ever deny you something,” he says softly, his humor not quite hiding the concern in his eyes. “Let’s get you home, darlin’.”

He pauses, like he wants to say more, his mouth opening slightly as if searching for the right words, but he holds back. Instead, he just watches you carefully as you make your way back into the passenger seat, waiting until you’re settled before gently closing the door behind you.

You lean your head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a heavy blanket as you continue your way home.

The words are there, inside you, loud, persistent, trying to break free; but you can’t. Where would you even start? What’s the point in revealing more of yourself? What good could come from it?

Nothing. That’s what.

Nothing.

You watch the city lights blur outside the window, your thoughts darker than the night. Your life feels like it’s crumbling, piece by piece, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold on. And once again, you know—deep down—it’s your own doing. It always is. No matter how many times you try to make things right, it always ends up the same way.

When Joel finally parks in front of your apartment building, the car idles quietly, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts. You can feel him looking at you, trying to find the right words. You don’t move, your mind still preoccupied with your own self-doubt.

“We’re here,” Joel says, a soft smile on his lips. He’s trying, you can tell, but you’re too far gone, too lost in your own spiral. When you don’t respond, his smile falters, but he presses on, determined to lift the weight between you.

“I was thinking…” he begins, his voice light. “I could cook for you tomorrow if you’re up for it? I remember I owe you a nice dinner, and no, it’s not just frozen pizza this time. It’s a frozen pizza with a side salad.”

He grins, hoping to coax a smile out of you, some kind of response. But you don’t laugh. You don’t even crack a smile.

Joel clears his throat and shifts slightly in his seat, his fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel. He’s trying to pull you out of whatever hole you’ve fallen into, but you can’t meet him halfway. You don’t have the strength.

He looks at you, his heart sinking as he takes in your sad, distant eyes. It’s like you’re not really here, like you’ve drifted somewhere far away, unreachable. How he wishes he could climb inside your mind and pull out whatever it is that’s weighing so heavily on you, take the burden for himself.

“Darlin’?” he repeats softly.

You blink, refocusing, but the smile you give him doesn’t reach your eyes. “Hm?”

“Can I cook for you tomorrow? You could come over to mine after work, or I can come here. Whatever you prefer.” There’s a hopeful smile on his face, a softness in his gaze, and the way he looks at you, almost like a puppy waiting for a treat, makes your stomach twist painfully.

You remember the dinner with Tommy and Maria, cursing yourself silently for agreeing to go. It’s not that you don’t love them—you do—but the thought of sitting through that dinner, of having that conversation with Tommy, feels like a nightmare.

“I can’t tomorrow.”

Joel’s smile falters the slightest bit, but he remains undeterred. “How about Saturday? I’ll plan something nice for us. Something I know you’ll love.”

Oh no.

You want to say it so badly it physically hurts.

You’ve been better, haven’t you? Over the past year or so. You’ve tried—really tried—to keep your cool, to express your feelings in a healthy way, or at least something close to it. You’ve worked hard to stop falling into that old mentality where uncomfortable emotions make you feel cornered and you end up lashing out. You’ve made progress.

You’re not the same person you used to be. He’s not Simon. You don’t act like this anymore. You’ve outgrown this. Don’t do it. Don’t say–

“You’re free on a Saturday?”

Joel blinks, the confusion clear on his face. “Yeah, like always when I’m not working,” he says, unsure where this is coming from.

“Oh,” you murmur. “Would’ve thought you already had plans with your, uh…with Jan.”

How subtle.

“I’m not planning on seeing her again,” Joel says simply.

You glance at him. “You should probably tell her that. Didn’t really seem like she knew when she was fondling you under the table.”

Joel exhales deeply and shifts slightly, turning his body toward you, trying to make sure you hear him. “I did tell her, and she does know,” he says firmly. His gaze softens as he looks at you, his voice gentler now. “Sweetheart…I’m not gonna pursue anything with her. And I wouldn’t have agreed to the date if I’d known it would hurt you.”

You shake your head, not wanting to let the conversation go where it’s headed, your thumb rubbing over your wrist brace. “Can we please not talk about this right now?” you murmur, your voice tight, barely holding it together. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. Thank you for driving me home, I’ll see you– “

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Joel interrupts, his voice firm. “We had a good time, but that’s it.”

You blink, furrowing your brow and tilting your head slightly as his words begin to sink in. He watches you, waiting for your response, but when it doesn’t come, he shifts again, trying to close the distance.

“Hey,” Joel says softly, reaching for your left hand, his fingers gently wrapping around yours. He rubs your skin with his thumb, more to soothe himself than you. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

He searches your face, waiting for a reaction, any reaction. But you just sit there, unmoved, your expression frozen in place. There’s no relief, no anger, no hint of anything. Just…nothing.

The silence stretches, and Joel’s heart sinks. He doesn’t know exactly what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Maybe he thought you’d smile, maybe he even hoped you’d fall into his arms, that this would be the moment things would start to feel okay again. But you’re distant, your face unreadable.

His eyes scan yours, searching desperately for something to hold on to, and what he finds hits him like a punch to the gut.

“You don’t believe me.”

You meet his eyes for just a second longer, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips before you nervously look away and whisper, “Look, I’m, uh– I’m extremely tired right now and this close to crying, so I’m gonna go upstairs and call it a night, okay?”

But Joel doesn’t let go of your hand. His grip tightens, just a little, his voice strained. “You really don’t believe me. You think I’m lying to you.”

“I don’t– Can we please do this another time?”

“I’d love to, but I feel like it’s important that we–”

“Joel.”

“–get this sorted out, so you don’t–”

“Joel, please.”

“–keep on thinking I’m a liar. I didn’t know you thought that ab–”

“Jesus Christ,” you snap, your voice trembling with frustration, “don’t you hear what I’m saying?” Without waiting for a response, you push open the car door and step out, the cool air hitting your skin. “I can’t fucking do this right now.”

The door slams shut behind you with a hard thud, cutting through the quiet of the parking lot.

Joel watches you for a moment, taken aback, then quickly follows, stepping out of the car. His eyes are full of concern, his brow furrowed as he watches you pace, but his voice is calm, steady, trying to reach you.

“Darlin’, I do hear you,” he says, taking a cautious step closer. “And I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it right now, I just…”

You spin around, exasperated. “You just what?”

“I just wanna know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” you say, rubbing your temples. “Why in the world wouldn’t I be?”

He opens his mouth, trying to form a response, but before he can say anything, you cut him off, the words spilling out like a dam breaking.

“But it doesn’t even matter, okay? It doesn’t matter if I’m fine or not. I don’t have time to think about it.” Your voice cracks slightly, your throat constricting as you try to keep control. “Because now I gotta get to bed, so I can go to the office early tomorrow, ‘cause afterwards I’ll be sitting at a table with Tommy, who probably fucking hates me now. Do you have any idea how much that fucking sucks?”

Your voice lowers, the vulnerability creeping in despite your efforts to hold it back. “What if he…doesn’t want me in his life anymore?”

Joel shakes his head, vehemently. “Darlin’, that’s nonsense. He’s not mad at you. If anything, he’s mad at me. And I’m sorry for not asking you first, but you gotta understand that I was worried about you and thought this was the best solution.”

“Oh sure, yeah,” you scoff, bitterness lacing your words. “You know so much fucking better than I do. That’s it, right? Yeah, of course. Don’t you get how fucking weird this all is? It’s exactly what I was afraid of. You all talking about me behind my back, pitying me, judging me, and figuring out that you’re better off without me. That I’m not who you thought I was. That I’m not able to give you what you want.”

Joel hears the panic in your voice like he did yesterday, the way it’s rising, how your words are becoming more frantic. He gets the sense you’re not hearing him anymore, not really. You’re caught up in your own head, lost in the whirlwind of your fears. His mind flashes back to Tommy’s words. He can see it now, the way your frustration, your hurt is morphing into something darker, more overwhelming.

God, how he wishes he could just pull you into his arms right now. Hold you, protect you from the weight of everything that’s crushing you. But he knows, deep down, that he’s part of that weight.

No matter how good his intentions might have been.

“That’s not what happened at all,” Joel says, his voice calm, measured, even though his heart is racing. “We didn’t talk about you like that. I just needed Tommy to help me figure out where you might be, and I’m so glad he did. It was nice…sitting with you, holding your hand…”

You shake your head. “Good night, Joel.”

“Look, I– I know you’re going through something right now that makes you think I’m insincere,” he blurts out, “but I need you to know that I’m really just trying to help you.”

Your body stiffens, his words hitting a nerve. “I don’t need you to help me,” you snap. “I don’t wanna be your little damsel in distress, that’s not who I am.”

Joel flinches at the bite in your words, but he doesn’t back down. “I know that. And that’s not how I see you. I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.” He pauses, his eyes searching yours, desperate for you to understand.

“But allowing help from the people who love us isn’t about being weak or incapable. You may not see it right now, but I’m on your side. And if anyone’s weak it’s me, ‘cause I can’t stand seeing you in pain like this.”

You sigh deeply and murmur, “I’m gonna go now,” your voice flat as you turn toward your apartment.

Joel steps forward cautiously, not wanting to push too hard, but he can’t just let you walk away without saying more. “I get it, it’s all too much. But please, just…don’t shut me out, okay? Call me if you need anything. Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night. I’ll be here.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his promise, but you’re too drained to respond. All you can do is nod.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly, his voice full of regret. “I wish I could take some of this off you, make it easier somehow. But I’m not leaving, alright? Not now, not ever. ”

You nod again, your throat too tight to speak, and turn away, walking toward your apartment. Joel watches you go with his hands falling uselessly to his sides, his heart heavy, knowing there’s so much left unsaid, but hoping—praying—you’ll let him know when you’re ready.

Wow, well done.

Sitting on your sofa, you stare blankly at the black TV as the silence of your apartment settles around you, your mind already starting its cruel commentary.

That’s for sure going to make him think you’re a mentally stable person. No, seriously, why wouldn’t he want to be with you?

The thought twists inside you like a knife, but you can’t help it. The voice in your head is relentless, mocking your every move, dissecting your behavior from earlier.

You think you’re slick, don’t you? Pushing him away so you don’t have to face your feelings. Aren’t we way past that?

You sigh deeply as if that would quiet the storm inside you, but it doesn’t. Your self-reproach lingers, heavy and biting.

Still, you drag yourself to the kitchen, forcing yourself to eat a few bites of the leftover pasta sitting in your fridge. It’s tasteless, going down like sandpaper, but you know you need something in your stomach before you can take the painkillers. Your body aches, every muscle tensing under the weight of the unresolved strain still coiled within you.

You wash the food and the pills down with iced tea, grateful for the cold sweetness, because water turns your stomach right now. The pasta, the tea, they’re just fuel—a necessary evil before you can move on and hopefully find some peace in your sleep.

After you’ve eaten, you strip off your clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water rush over you. You stand there for a while, eyes closed, trying to wash away everything. Joel’s concerned face, the hurt, the frustration, the embarrassment of how you acted. You let the water pound against your skin, hoping it’ll somehow cleanse more than just the sweat and grime from the day.

When you finally step out, you feel a little more like yourself, a little more human. Still shaky, but better.

By the time you crawl into bed, exhaustion drags you down like an anchor. You pull the blankets tight around you, hoping to find some comfort even though the dread of the day ahead lingers. Your phone is already in your hand, and you pull up Netflix, choosing something mindless to drown out the sound of your own thoughts. The chatter of the show hums in the background, but your mind barely registers it.

Your eyes grow heavier with each passing minute, and the warmth of your bed starts to pull you toward sleep. Everything starts to blur as the fatigue takes over.

But then, just as you’re about to drift off, your propped up phone vibrates loudly against the bedside lamp. The screen lights up, a small notification appearing at the top.

Joel Miller.

Your heart skips a beat, a strange mix of relief and anxiety rising in your chest. You blink away the sleep and swipe the notification open.

It’s a voice message, and the length—four minutes—makes your heart sink. You’re not sure you can handle whatever it is he has to say right now. It feels too heavy, too soon.

Your finger hovers over the play button, your mind running wild with possibilities.

What if something happened to him? What if he’s telling you he doesn’t want to see you anymore? What if you scared him off for good? Why else would the message be so long?

Before you can spiral further, another notification pops up.

Joel: Sleep well, baby 😘

You blink, staring at his message, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. He’s being sweet. Maybe this isn’t what you’re bracing for.

You take a deep breath, your heart still beating a little too fast, and press play.

At first, there’s a small pause, like he’s gathering his thoughts. Then you hear his voice coming through the speaker, soft and gentle, the familiar rasp of it cutting through the quiet of your bedroom.

“Hi darlin’. It’s me, Joel…Miller…obviously.”

Your smile widens. He’s such a dork.

“I know it’s late…and you’re probably already in bed. But I, uh…I wanted to say something. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I didn’t want you to go to sleep without hearing this.”

He sounds like he always does, calm, collected, but he’s being careful with his words. You shift under the covers, feeling more awake now, your body attuned to every note in his voice.

“I know you’ve been going through a lot on your own, and I don’t wanna make it worse by pushing or prying where I shouldn’t. But I just want you to know…I’m here. I’m here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to handle it alone, okay?”

There’s a small pause, and you hear him exhale, like he’s letting go of something he’s been holding in for too long.

“I don’t know if I always say the right things, and God knows I’ve messed up plenty…but you mean a lot to me. More than I can put into words right now. And I, uh, don’t expect you to have all the answers. Hell, I don’t even know if I do. But I wanna be there with you, figure it out together…if you’ll let me.”

Another deep breath.

“You’re never not on my mind, sweetheart, and I just…wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I felt it the first time I saw you, you know? You stood there, the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. And then you looked into my eyes. You looked into my eyes and that was it for me.”

Joel’s voice softens even more, almost like he’s afraid you’ll drift off before he’s finished. “I was thinking about Saturday, too. I got something in mind that I think’ll be good for both of us. Nothing big, just…I think you’ll like it.”

There’s a brief silence on the line as if he’s gathering himself, and then you hear it—the faint strum of a guitar. Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s playing for you.

His voice, low and gentle, hums the opening notes of a country tune you’ve never heard before. The sound drifts over you, warm and comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket of soft clouds and something that feels like home.

You close your eyes, letting the music take you, and as Joel begins to sing, his voice carries a depth of emotion that reaches deep inside you. The lyrics flow, full of a quiet tenderness, and you sink into the sound, letting it wash away your troubles:

“I’m just a lonesome traveler, Drifting down this road, But darlin’, when I’m near you, I know I’m not alone.”

You just listen, your heart swelling with the softness of it, with the fact that Joel is doing this for you. Never in a million years did you see this coming.

The song continues, the melody sweet and simple, his voice lulling you further into a sense of calm. It feels like everything else fades away—the weight of your past, the uncertainty of the future—and all that’s left is this moment, this gentle connection between you and him.

As he reaches the end of the song, his voice drops to an almost-whisper:

“But darlin’, when I hold you, I know I’ve found my home.”

The final note lingers in the air of your bedroom, and for a moment, you just lie there, your heart full, your body completely relaxed. You can barely keep your eyes open now, the edges of sleep tugging at you.

Still, you gather all of your remaining energy to text him back. You need to.

You: I’ll bring snacks on Saturday

You: Ever thought about switching careers btw? Cowboy boots, a hat and you’d make a fortune. Groupies, fame, rich old ladies letting you run wild with their credit cards…

You’ve barely pressed send when Joel responds.

Joel: Groupies, huh?

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. Another buzz.

Joel: Nah, sweetheart. My music comes from the heart. It’s only for the people I love. Not for anyone else.

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lesbehonestsstuff · 1 day

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I apologize for what I’m about to do 😀 remember when I posted about Casey going to visit Alex’s mom after Alex died ? well I took it and ran with it and out came a heartbreaking fic so here you go

Word count: 3882

Also @wild-fleurs you put the idea in my head to write this so now we can both be sad

Casey was trying, she was trying her best to keep going, but most days she couldn't even find the strength to get out of bed. Today though she had managed, managed to pull herself from the nest of grief she had made of their room, and somehow stumbled uptown. She stood in front of the heavy oak door, the night chill creeping through her bones despite the wool coat she had hastily thrown on. She raised her hand to knock but hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to bother Caroline. She felt hollowed out, like there was nothing left of her but grief and guilt, and showing up at this hour—it felt selfish. But where else could she go?

She had no one else in the city. Her parents didn’t talk to her anymore, her siblings lived in other states, she was all alone. Except for Caroline. Caroline, who had been stoic the day of the funeral letting tear after tear fall when her daughter's casket was lowered to the ground. Casey had been beside her and she barely managed to keep it together before she excused herself, sobs clawing out of her throat as she fled needing to get as far from the cemetery as she could.

She felt bad about it later but she couldn’t handle it and couldn't be there on the receiving end of people’s sympathy. She hadn’t seen Caroline since and quite frankly she didn’t know why she was currently standing in front of the brownstone; she just knew she had to get out of their apartment. Away from the reminders of what her life used to look like, Alex marking every part of it

Her hand hovered a second longer before she tapped lightly. The sound was so soft she worried it hadn’t registered, but within moments, the door creaked open. Caroline Cabot stood in the soft lamplight, dressed in her silk robe, her face apparently calm, but there was an exhaustion born not from physical tiredness, but from the endless weight of grief that Casey could see in her features. Caroline so poised graceful could very well be the only person who might understand what Casey was feeling.

"Casey," Caroline’s voice was low, carrying with it a warmth that broke something inside of Casey. That made her ache because not even her wife dying had gotten her own mother to at least pick up the phone and check on her. "What are you doing here, darling? It's so late."

“I—I didn’t know where else to go,” Casey whispered, the words catching in her throat. Her eyes stayed fixed on the threshold, unable to meet Caroline’s gaze. She was begining to regret her decision to come intrude on Caroline’s night.

Caroline however stepped aside immediately, the silent invitation giving Casey the slightest of comfort. "Come inside, sweetheart."

Casey walked in, her body stiff and uncertain, the warm, familiar smell of the house wrapping around her, pulling her back to all the times she and Alex had spent here. For Casey it had been awkward at first. The lavish home occupied by people she could never begin to pretend she could be. It had made her feel inferior but slowly the more Alex invited her over to see her mother in law the more comfortable Casey got. She started loving the place, always warm, always lingering with the smell of tea. But tonight, the memories were sharp, jagged. They cut into her, not as much as in her apartment but still so incredibly painful.

As Caroline closed the door behind them, Casey found herself shaking from the cold. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“You could never bother me,” Caroline said, her tone as soft as the hands she placed gently on Casey’s arm. “Sit down, dear.”

Casey shuffled toward the couch, she sank into the plush cushions, feeling small in the vast, elegant living room. The space was perfect, just like Caroline. Every detail, from the well-curated art to the perfectly arranged flowers on the mantel, it all showed Caroline’s refined taste. But tonight, it all felt like a reminder of how she didn’t belong here anymore. Without Alex, this world of grace and perfection seemed alien to her once more.

"I couldn’t stay at the apartment," Casey mumbled, her voice barely audible. "Everything... everything there reminds me of her."

Caroline nodded, sitting next to Casey, her face showing nothing but understanding. She had learned, in her grief, how to master that particular expression—the one that said, ‘I feel it too, but we must go on.’ But now, watching Casey, something felt wrong. Casey wasn’t just grieving; she was unraveling, bit by bit, and Caroline could see it in every hollowed-out shadow on her face, in the way her clothes hung loosely on her frame.

“Have you eaten?” Caroline asked gently, though she already knew the answer.

Casey shook her head. "I’m not very hungry anymore."

Caroline's lips pressed into a thin line, not wanting to push her, but unwilling to let her slip further away. "You should eat something. Just a little."

Casey barely responded, her gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the room. The emptiness in her eyes made Caroline worry. She looked so much smaller than she remembered—Alex had always told her how strong Casey was, how she could take on the world if she wanted to. But now? Now, she looked fragile, as if a strong wind could blow her away.

“You look exhausted, my dear. Why don’t you close your eyes for a little while, while I make dinner?” Caroline’s voice was soft, her hand stroking Casey’s hair slowly.

“I... I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her,”

“You need to try, your body needs it so just close your eyes and i'll stay here with you

Caroline watched as Casey’s eyes fluttered shut, her breathing evening out into soft, broken sighs. She looked so fragile, so heartbreakingly lost. Caroline’s own grief was constantly threatening to swallow her whole. But having Casey here, taking care of her,maybe it could give her something to hold on to, some piece of Alex still in her life.

Caroline reached for a nearby blanket and draped it gently over Casey’s thin form satisfyed when she saw her daughter in laws features relax. She could see how much weight Casey had lost, the dark circles under her eyes noticeable against her pale skin. Caroline felt her heart twist with worry. This girl, this beautiful, broken woman who had loved her daughter so fiercely, was fading before her eyes. And Caroline couldn’t let that happen. Not when Casey was a part of Alex.

She disappeared into the kitchen, her slippered feet barely making a sound. The act of preparing food, something warm, comforting was automatic. Tomato soup, the kind Alex had loved, the kind Caroline had made for years. As the broth simmered, the scent of garlic and thyme filled the house. It was strange, how the simple act of cooking could still feel grounding in the midst of everything, giving her back a sense of a routine she hadnt had since her daughter died.

Casey didn’t know how long she had been asleep, but when she woke, the room was dark and quiet. Caroline was seated nearby with a cup of tea in her hands reading a book with the soft glow of a lamp. The house smelled good and her stomach rumbled craving whatever Caroline had cooked.

Alex was still gone.

But Caroline… Caroline was still here.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep” Casey mumbled, attempting to sit up, but Caroline was next to her in a moment and stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Caroline said softly. “You needed the rest.”

She gave her a small smile and disappeared quickly into the kitchen bringing back a tray with soup and a grilled cheese. “You’ll have to forgive me dear, much like Alex. I'm not very good in the kitchen” Caroline said softly, setting the tray on the coffee table. "I know it feels like you can’t but you need to try. Just a few bites, sweetheart. Please.”

Casey’s eyes flicked to the bowl, the steam rising from the soup, but she didn’t move. “I can’t. It feels like I can’t swallow it down. She’s gone, and I...”

Caroline’s chest tightened. She sat down beside Casey, her voice steady but full of compassion. "She wouldn’t want you to starve yourself, to stop taking care of yourself. You know how stubborn Alex could be. She would hate to see you like this, Casey."

“I know.” Casey’s voice cracked, her body curling in on itself as though the weight of her sorrow was too much to bear. "I know she would, but I don’t know how to be without her. I don’t know how to keep going.”

Caroline reached out, gently brushing a tear from Casey’s cheek. “You don’t have to know how. You just have to take it one moment at a time.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy,” Casey admitted after a long pause. “Like I’ll never feel anything but this… numbness. Like I’m forgetting her already. Isn’t that horrible?”

Caroline looked at her with soft eyes, her own grief rippling through the room. “No, it’s not horrible. It’s part of the pain, darling. But you’re not forgetting her. She’s with you in everything you do. Grief… it doesn’t mean forgetting. It means learning to live with the love you still carry.”

Casey closed her eyes, tears spilling over her lashes as she leaned into Caroline’s shoulder, her body shaking with the sobs she had tried so hard to hold back. "I don’t know if I can do this."

“You can,” Caroline whispered, her hand cradling the back of Casey’s head. “I promise you, you can. And I’m here with you.”

"How... how do you keep it together so well?" Casey’s voice was barely more than a whisper, shaky and fragile. She didn't meet Caroline's gaze, instead staring into her bowl as though it held some hidden answer.

Caroline sighed softly, she took a deep breath, her hands resting in her lap, fingers trembling slightly. “I don't, dear.”

Casey looked up, her brow furrowing in confusion. She had always admired Caroline’s composure, the way she seemed to navigate grief with such grace, even when Casey herself was crumbling. “What do you mean? I came to check on you and you’re here comforting me.”

Caroline’s smile was faint, bittersweet, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I lost my husband years ago. That taught me how to grieve, I know what it feels like and yet it doesn’t make it any easier. I never thought I’d lose my daughter too.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she closed her eyes, as if trying to hold herself together. “I’m not strong, Casey. I struggle every day. I’m in pain every day. It’s hard to keep going because it isn’t fair that she’s gone.”

Tears welled up in Casey’s eyes, her heart pounding painfully in her chest as she watched Caroline, someone who had always seemed so poised, now breaking in front of her. She saw the lines of grief etched deeper into Caroline’s face, the quiet way her shoulders shook as she tried to keep her tears at bay.

“I thought losing Alexander was the hardest thing I’d ever go through,” Caroline continued, her voice tight, “but losing Alex... there are days I don’t know how I’m still standing.”

Casey reached out hesitantly, placing her hand on top of Caroline’s. The older woman squeezed back, her grip surprisingly firm, holding tightly to Casey.

“I’m sorry,” Casey whispered, guilt weighing heavily on her chest. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t,” Caroline interrupted softly, shaking her head. “You’re allowed to ask. And you’re allowed to feel like this.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft ticking of a clock on the wall. Caroline wiped at her tears, sniffing softly before her lips curled into a small smile.

“You know,” she started, her voice lighter now, “Alex was always so serious as a child. Proper, even. She had her nose in a book more than anything else. While other children played outside, she was inside reading, arranging her dollhouse or playing chess with her father. She was always in her own little world, so smart and stubborn.” Caroline chuckled softly, her eyes distant, lost in memories of her daughter.

Casey managed a small smile, a flash of warmth blooming in her chest. “That sounds like her.”

Caroline nodded, her gaze softening as she continued. “I knew early on that she wouldn’t end up with a boy. One day, she came home from school when she was about six years old and declared with such authority, ‘Boys are useless, Mama. They’re horrible.’” Caroline laughed, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, so did Casey.

It was a broken, quiet laugh, but it was real. The sound filled the room, easing some of the tension in the air.

Caroline smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “From that day, I had a feeling. I didn’t say anything, of course, but I always knew my daughter would end up with someone special. Someone who could match her, challenge her.” Her gaze softened as she looked at Casey. “And she found you.”

Caroline chuckled softly, her fingers brushing the stray hair from Casey’s face. “She always had such high expectations for herself. And when she met you, she told me she’d found the one”

Casey’s breath hitched in her throat, fresh tears burning her eyes. “She told you that?”

“She did,” Caroline whispered. “She loved you more than anything in this world, Casey.”

Caroline smiled faintly, wiping away a tear that had escaped down Casey’s cheek. “And you loved her more than anyone else ever could. And that makes you family.”

Casey swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion.“Thank you,” she whispered, the words barely audible. She wiped at her face quickly, trying to regain control, but it was impossible. “I miss her so much, Caroline,” she said, her voice cracking.

Caroline pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her as she sobbed. “I know, dear. I know. But we have each other. We’ll get through this together.”

The weight of those words settled between them, giving Casey something solid to cling to in the storm that had become her life.

For the first time in months, in this house full of memories, Casey let herself rest.

---

In the weeks that followed, Casey’s visits became more frequent. At first, they were always at night, always after she had spent hours drowning in work or staring at the walls of her empty apartment. But soon, it became routine, Caroline would make tea, Casey would sit quietly at the table, and they would talk. Not always about Alex, but about the small things. The weather. Books. Anything to fill the space between them.

Caroline watched Casey closely during these visits, noting the slight improvements, a little more color in her cheeks, a little less tension in her shoulders, but also the lingering sadness in her eyes. Casey’s grief was still a raw wound, but at least here, in this house, she wasn’t alone.

And in taking care of Casey, Caroline found a sense of purpose again, something to ground her in the face of her own unbearable loss.

---

When Caroline began to get sick, Casey noticed before anyone else. It was in the way her steps slowed, how her voice seemed quieter, weaker. But it wasn’t until Caroline collapsed one evening that Casey’s world shattered again.

Caroline was gone by winter.

Casey stood at the grave, her eyes hollow as she stared at the fresh dirt that covered Caroline’s casket. The air was cold, biting at her cheeks, but she didn’t feel it. Not really. She felt numb again, any progress she had made crumbling beneath her feet now that the woman that had loved her like a mother was gone. As if each loss had taken a piece of her, until there was almost nothing left. First Alex, and now Caroline—the one person who had understood, who had kept her grounded when everything else had fallen apart.

The flowers in her hand trembled as she knelt down, placing them gently on the grave, and then placing the others in front of Alex’s. She wanted to say something, anything, but no words came. How do you thank someone for giving you the only semblance of a family you had left, for helping you grieve their daughter when you couldn’t even grieve for yourself?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the wind. “I should have done more. I should have—”

Her breath hitched, and she stood up quickly, wiping the tears from her eyes. She couldn’t stay any longer.

She got a small comfort in knowing that at least Caroline would be with Alex now. But of course that wasn’t true

The day Alex came back was the best and worst day of Casey’s life.

She had grieved, convinced Alex was gone forever. Months of sleepless nights, empty days, and trying to piece together a life shattered by loss with the help of Caroline. And then suddenly Alex was back, standing in the doorway, alive but looking so broken, like she had been just as lost as Casey. All the anger, confusion, and hurt hit at once. Casey didn't know if she wanted to hold her or scream at her. But the devastation in Alex's eyes, the weight she carried—it made the anger fade, at least for the moment. So she clung to her, almost tackling her in a hug that was interrupted by sobs and tears and kisses that brought back a piece of Casey that she was sure was gone forever.

Days later, they stood together at Caroline’s grave. As much as Alex wanted to go visit her mother she couldn’t bring herself to do it at first, couldn’t face the reality that her mom was gone for good and Casey understood, so she gave her time as they figured out where they stood.

The wind blew through the cemetery, cold and sharp, stinging their skin. Spring was a few weeks away so the cold air was just another reminder of how cruel time had been for both of them. How much time they had lost. Alex stood still, staring at the grave, her face tight, like she was holding herself together by a thread. Casey watched her, unsure if she should reach out or let Alex face this moment alone.

“When they told me she was gone,” Alex finally said, her voice low and rough, “I… I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I kept thinking they had to be wrong, that somehow… it wasn’t real.” She clenched the flowers so tightly, petals broke off, floating down to the dirt.

Casey didn’t say anything, watching the tension build in Alex’s face.

“I was out there in the middle of nowhere, stuck, and all I could think was… she’s gone. My mom is dead, and I wasn’t there. I couldn’t even bury her. What kind of daughter does that?” Alex’s voice broke, and she turned her head, eyes filling with tears she fought to keep in.

“You didn’t have a choice,” Casey said softly. “They didn’t give you a choice, Alex.”

“But I should’ve listened to you!” Alex’s voice cracked, finally letting out what she’d been holding in for so long. “I should’ve listened. You told me not to push it, not to—” She shook her head, words tripping over each other. “And now I’m here, and she’s not. And you—you had to deal with all of this alone because I was too fucking stubborn.”

Casey’s chest tightened, seeing Alex unravel like this. She tried to step closer, but Alex pulled away, pacing in front of the grave like she couldn’t bear to stand still.

“I left you alone. I left her alone.” Alex wiped her face roughly with the back of her hand, her breath coming quicker. “And now… she’s dead. My mom is dead.”

Casey felt her heart shatter again, hearing the raw pain in Alex’s voice, and she reached for her. “Alex—”

“She’s gone. She’s gone, and I—” Alex’s knees gave out, and she crumbled before the grave, clutching the flowers she still held, her shoulders shaking with each sob. “I wasn’t here. I couldn’t even say goodbye.”

Tears streamed down Alex’s face as sob after sob tore through her, shaking her whole body. Casey dropped beside her, pulling her into her arms as Alex’s grief poured out, a flood of months of guilt, pain, and loss.

“She’s gone,” Alex gasped between sobs. “She’s gone, Casey. I’ll never get to see her again. I’ll never hear her voice, never—” She couldn’t finish. The words turned into another flood of choked sobs, her body trembling in Casey’s arms. “I want my mom” she sobbed out letting her head fall against Casey's chest.

Casey pressed her lips to the top of Alex’s head, rocking her gently. “I know. I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

For what felt like hours, Alex cried until her voice was hoarse, her tears soaking Casey’s coat. When the sobs finally slowed, Alex leaned back against Casey, utterly drained, her eyes red and swollen. She looked lost, like a little girl who had just lost her entire world.

Casey stroked her hair, whispering softly. “She wasn’t alone. She helped me, and I helped her. We got through it together.”

Alex closed her eyes, her breath still shaky. “I should’ve been the one here with her.”

Casey didn’t know what to say, because she knew no words could make Alex’s guilt go away.

Alex sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. “I don’t know how to forgive myself for not being there.”

Casey shifted so she could look into Alex’s eyes, her thumb brushing away the tears still clinging to her cheeks. “ You survived. That’s what matters. That’s what she would’ve wanted and she wouldn’t have wanted to see you drowning in guilt”

“But she’s not here,” Alex whispered, her voice so small it almost broke Casey’s heart all over again.

Casey stared into those beautiful blue eyes and brought Alex in closer as they both knelt by the grave in silence, holding each other in the quiet hurt of their grief. The flowers they’d brought lay in front of the headstone, peonies and daisies.

Alex laid her head on Casey’s shoulder. She just sat there, staring at the grave as the last of her tears dried on her cheeks. Finally, with a heavy sigh, she whispered, “Thank you. For being here. For… everything.”

Casey pressed her forehead to Alex’s. “You don’t have to thank me, Alex. I’m with you, always.”

They got up, hand in hand, there was nothing left to say, but they stood there for a moment longer, letting the quiet surround them. Trying to wake up from the nightmare that had tainted their lives.

#casey novak x alex cabot #might be one of the saddest ones I’ve written oops #law and order svu #alex cabot #casey novak #calex

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https-harlow · 5 hours

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By My Side

Summary: Despite his team's wishes, Jack has no desire to portray being single to his audience early on in his career. He wants you and your future daughter to be by his side through every step. You come in to meet his team, and bond with Neelam.

Jack signed his record deal when you were five months pregnant, and they didn’t know about you for the first month. Not because Jack was trying to hide you, but because when he met DJ Drama for the first time, you weren’t there, and at some point, Jack just assumed they knew about you. He didn’t keep you hidden, he had posted you several times on his Instagram and assumed someone looked up his Instagram at least once and knew about you and the baby, but somehow, they didn’t.

Jack had been at the studio for a couple of hours with Neelam, Chris, and DJ Drama, he had Urban stay with you. Jack was always nervous about leaving you even though you were now seven months pregnant and still had two months left, Jack was extremely anxious throughout your whole pregnancy, even more nervous than you had been. Even though he tried to hide it, one of the ways he did show it was not wanting you to be alone.

All four of them were discussing his schedule over the next month, Jack was about to leave for the day when you called him, Jack apologized before he answered the phone.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, are you on your way home?” You asked.

“Not yet, I’m almost done. Why? Did you go into labor? Do I need to come home now?” Jack asked, panicking, even though you just said everything was fine.

“I’m so sorry, I thought you were on your way home. No, I’m not in labor, I’m fine. I was just wondering if you could pick me up food on the way home, I asked Urban, but he said you’d be pissed if he left me alone and I don’t want to go.” You said and Jack laughed.

“Yeah, he’s right, I would be, but yes, I’ll bring food home, text me what you want okay?”

“Okay, take your time. I love you.” You told Jack.

“I love you too, I’ll be home soon,” Jack said before hanging up. “Sorry about that.” Jack apologized again. “What were you saying?”

“Last thing, then you can leave, promise.” Neelam smiled softly at Jack; she could tell that after your phone call, he was eager to leave. “There was a club that asked if you could do a show in April if you’re interested,” Neelam told Jack and Jack sighed softly.

“I’d love to, but I can’t do anything in April or May. I know it’s not exactly ideal, but I’m going to need some time off around then.” Jack said.

“Like how much time?” Drama asked.

“I’m not sure. My girlfriend’s due date is in April, not until the 19th, but I don’t want to schedule anything to close just in case. I can still come to the studio, but I don’t want to be too far away or playing a show if she needs me. Or have to cancel anything so soon.” Jack explained.

“Oh, you’re having a baby?” Drama asked and Jack nodded.

“Yeah, with my girlfriend, Y/N. I’d love for her to come in with me one day so everyone can meet her, but it just hasn’t worked out yet.”

“Okay, you’re good for the day, you’re going to be here tomorrow right?” Drama asked and Jack nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow, have a good night,” Jack said goodbye to everyone before Neelam walked him out.

“I can’t wait to meet your girlfriend, and I’m happy for you, I can tell you’re excited,” Neelam told Jack and he smiled.

“Yeah, I’m really excited to be a dad, I’m nervous but excited.”

“Let me know if either of you need anything, I know I’m just a part of your team, but I also know that you’re in Atlanta without your parents, and that’s probably terrifying for both of you,” Neelam told Jack before he thanked her and they went their separate ways for the day.

The next day, you tried to go to the studio with Jack, but due to your rough pregnancy and never-ending morning sickness, you stayed back at the apartment. Jack had a long day at the studio, but before he left Drama, Neelam, Chris, and a few other people on his team pulled him aside.

“We wanted to talk to you before you left.”

“Okay, about what?” Jack asked.

“Your girlfriend. We think it’s best if you keep her hidden, same with the baby. We have no problem with you having a girlfriend, or having a baby. We just think that it’s better for your career if you give off the image that you’re single,”

“Is that all necessary?” Neelam asked.

“Sometimes you have to choose your personal life or your career. Plus relationships don’t normally last at 18 anyway.”

“I’m not hiding Y/N or our daughter,” Jack said. “If I wanted the image of being single, I wouldn’t be in a relationship. I know we are young, but I know I want to marry her. We aren’t some stereotypical teenage relationship. She moved to Atlanta with me so I could pursue my dreams. I’m not going to ask her to do that after all she’s done to support me.”

“I just think that it could be better for your career right now, in the future, sure, make your relationship public-”

“No, my decision is final. I’m not hiding someone I love, and I’m not asking her to hide either. You will all realize how special of a person she is, especially to me, when you meet her. I was going to bring her today, but she didn’t feel good, and it was going to be such a long day, I didn’t want to drag her here. I think she’s going to come tomorrow, since I won’t be here as long.”

“I’m really excited to meet her,” Neelam said before anyone else could say anything. She knew why everyone was hesitant, but she wanted to be supportive.

The next day, you went to the studio to meet everyone. Urban walked a step ahead of you and Jack, Jack had his arm around your waist. You were nervous to meet everyone, even though Jack hadn’t told you that they wanted him to have a single public image, but you could tell he had been coming home stressed, so you had been worried something was wrong at the studio.

Urban walked in first, holding the door open for you and Jack. Neelam smiled as soon as she saw you and Jack. She wanted to be the first one to greet you as she didn’t know how everyone else was going to.

“Hi, I’ve been so excited to meet you!” Neelam said, completely ignoring Jack and Urban.

“Hi, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to come in and meet everyone sooner, Jack’s been trying to get me to come in since he was signed,” You explained, Neelam shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re doing something way more important by growing a literal human anyways, I’m Neelam by the way,”

“It’s like we don’t even exist,” Jack joked to Urban, making Neelam roll her eyes.

“I’ve met you before, plus it’s nice to have another girl around, someone who knows how annoying you two can be,” Neelam said, making you giggle, the four of you started walking down the hallway, you and Neelam making small talk, Jack walked into the studio room first, and as soon as everyone saw you it got awkwardly quiet.

“Hey, everyone, this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Jack said, sliding his hand from your hip to interlock his fingers with yours, gently but reassuringly squeezing your hand. Everyone went around the room and introduced themselves, but less enthusiastically than Neelam, which was fine. You didn’t expect anything crazy, you just felt more welcome by her then everyone else. One of the guys moved off of the couch so you and Jack could sit next to each other, which you appreciated.

After about 15 minutes of everyone figuring out what needed to be recorded today, Jack was in the booth, and Neelam had moved to where he had been previously sitting.

“So, Jack said you’re having a girl?”

“Yeah,” You said, smiling, “Jack always joked that he wants eight daughters, and after this pregnancy, I’m for sure not having eight kids, but we’ll have at least one daughter.”

“Do you have her name picked out?”

“Honestly, I wish I could say yes, but we don’t, we have a few options, but we can’t decide on one, every time we do, we change our minds.” You explained, Jack looking through the glass to check on you, you smiled softly at him to tell him you were okay.

“I’m just so curious about everything, so if I get annoying, you can just tell me to shut up, and I will. How did you guy’s meet? Jack hasn’t told us much, but I can tell how much he loves you already.”

“I introduced them,” Urban chimed in from your other side.

“And he never lets us forget it,” You joked. “And it’s not annoying, I promise. My family moved when I was in middle school and we ended up living next to Urban, but we didn’t go to the same school until high school, where Urban introduced us on the first day of freshman year, and then we started dating shortly after we turned 16.”

“You’re high school sweethearts? That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, we’ve been together since, we never even took a break after a fight or anything. It’s crazy to think about, but he’s one of the few things I’ve ever been 100 percent sure about. I know we’re young, but I feel like you know when you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, and that’s how I feel about Jack.”

“He’s really lucky to have you,” Neelam said as Jack walked out of the booth, he was just recording some ad libs so it was going to be a bunch of quick sessions.

“Let me have my girlfriend back,” Jack joked, standing in front of Neelam, she shook her head.

“Nope, she’s mine for the day, you have work to do, we’re going to sit here and gossip, she can tell me about all of your embarrassing high school stories,” Neelam joked back, Jack looked at you.

“Please, not the embarrassing high school stories.”

“I won’t tell any embarrassing stories, promise. But only because I’m probably involved in them too,” You promised Jack.

“Good enough for me, but don’t you also have work to do?” Jack asked Neelam and she shook her head.

“I’m done for the day, I just wanted to stay and meet my new best friend.”

“Damn, I’m already being replaced by my girlfriend.”

“I never said you were ever my best friend, to be fair,” Neelam said, and Jack fake gasped in shock.

Throughout the rest of the day, you and Neelam continued to get to know each other, and while you didn’t know how anyone else in the room felt about you, she made you feel welcome and comfortable. Jack was glad that you and Neelam were getting along, he watched you two bond throughout the day, sneaking glances at you while he was recording or even sitting in the chair next to the couch you two were sitting on. He was glad someone was making you feel welcome, though he didn’t care what anyone else thought of you, you were going to be right by his side for his entire career.

Tag list @jackharloww @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @hoodharlow @itsyagirljaz @heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @awhore4moree @harlowslefttoe @twerkforambrose @jackmans-poison @ilovenudy @taniapri @killatravtramp @easternparkway @macey234 @toocriticalharlow @lightsoutstyles @rachxc13 @iknowdatsrightbih @idktbh101 @blossomluvv @middlechild404 @hufflewhore128 @christinabae @lafavoritaangel @jackslilsecrett @savvusworld @mingis-wrld

#jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader

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oliversrarebooks · 5 hours

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The Rare Bookseller Part 68: Oliver's Speakeasy

Previous > Masterlist

tw: mind control, blood drinking

October 1925

"You have to relax a bit, Oliver," said Roger. "If you're holding your breath while I lace your corset, it will be dreadfully uncomfortable."

Oliver let out his breath and tried to calm his nerves. "I'm not used to corsets. It's not anything I thought I'd ever have to wear."

"That's how I felt as well, but vampires do love their low-necked ballgowns on men and women alike. It's another thing I've become accustomed to -- out of all the adjustments that come with being a vampire's thrall, dresses are minor."

"That's true enough. I can only hope I look acceptable in it."

"Given how your master looks at you, I believe he would think you're fetching in a flour sack." He began to lace the corset tight. "You're quite devoted to pleasing your master, aren't you?"

"I find that I can't help myself. Isn't that the effect of the enthrallment?"

"One effect, certainly. Although after twenty years, I hardly know where the enthrallment ends and I begin."

Oliver nodded. He didn't need twenty years to feel that way. He already felt as though he hardly remembered himself before enthrallment. "You seem very comfortable with your master."

"Comfortable, yes, you could say that. It's my duty to take care of him, and it's an easier life if you keep a sense of humor about it. I suspect I've become fond of him apart from the enthrallment. And I know my master appreciates my efforts." He finished lacing the corset and put a hand on Oliver's head. "Your master appreciates you as well, I'm sure of it."

"I can only hope so."

Roger helped him put the gown on, a turn-of-the-century style done in midnight blue with embroidered roses, one tailored to his exact measurements. He then fastened a delicate gold chain adorned with sapphires around his bare neck. Oliver stared into the mirror. He was dressed like a princess or a wealthy heiress, looking nothing like himself. It was a stark reminder of how much he'd been changed since the night of his capture.

It had only been weeks, and yet his former life was already receding away from him, never to return.

Oliver then assisted Roger in donning his own gown, an ostentatious red number that had very clearly been chosen by Roger's master and not Roger himself, and they made their way up the stairs to their masters' chamber to help them prepare as well.

Alexander and Fitz were lounging on the bed when they entered, but they both stood up, wide-eyed, at the sight of the thralls. Fitz whistled. "Fantastic. Lex, are you sure you want Oliver to go out like that? He's going to turn every head in the place."

"Let heads turn. If they touch my thrall, they'll pay the price," said Lex with startling fierceness. "It's no different from when I went out with you."

Fitz laughed. "Somehow, I don't think Oliver will end up grievously insulting and humiliating a vampire in front of an entire ballroom."

"It's almost a pity," said Alexander thoughtfully. "Come here, Oliver, I wish to take a better look at you."

Oliver stepped closer to his master, who took him by the shoulders and swept over him with an appraising eye. He tilted Oliver this way and that, and took his chin in his hand to meet his gaze. Oliver felt just like that fateful night in the auction house, when Alexander had decided to make his purchase, when Oliver first felt his hunger and desire. Even though his master had taken blood the night before, the undercurrent of hunger and desire was still pressing down on him.

"Master, hold still while I fasten your cummerbund," said Roger, who had started to assist Fitz while Oliver was losing himself in his master. "It's difficult to fasten when you squirm."

"You should be helping me with my attire as well," said Alexander, running his fingers down the side of Oliver's face.

"Yes, sir." Oliver felt as if he were in a dream as he began to help his master prepare, slipping the neatly pressed coat on his shoulders and tying a neat bow around his neck.

Just as the vampires were finishing their preparations, the doorbell buzzed, and Oliver ran down the stairs to answer, careful not to trip in his embroidered slippers. He flung the door open to Miss Lily, dressed in a floral pink frock and tall pink heels, the sort of fashionable thing Oliver saw in department store windows. Behind her, Miriam, also fashionably dressed, poked her head out shyly.

"Oh, Oliver, you look positively dashing! This dress suits you so well," said Miss Lily, cradling his chin in her hands. "Where are your masters? They had better be ready, because I don't want to leave the carriage waiting long."

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my bad luck charm," said Fitz, hanging over the balcony.

"Oh, Fitz, dear, thank goodness you're here. Lex hasn't cracked so much as a smile since you last left, even with this delightful thrall at his beck and call. You'd better have relieved him of his malaise."

"You want me to relieve Lex of his malaise?" said Fitz, sauntering down the stairs. "You might as well ask me to remove the water from the ocean."

"I do see your point," said Miss Lily. She leaned in towards him and whispered conspiratorially. "Has he told you about his plan?"

"His daft plan to get all of us tortured? Naturally. And I support it, of course, because I'm as daft as he is."

Miss Lily sighed. "Of course you do. I expected nothing less."

"My ears are burning. I think you must be talking about me." Lex was walking down the stairs now, with Roger following behind.

"Oh, Roger!" Miss Lily went to him and squeezed him, a fondly dazed smile appearing on the thrall's face. "I do hope you've been well."

"Never better, Miss Lily," he said dreamily. Oliver wondered if Roger had been enthralled by Miss Lily as well. And on that note…

"You look lovely, Miriam," he said politely to the thrall, who was clinging to her madam and looking perhaps a bit uneasy at all the commotion.

Her face lit up in a smile. "Oh, thank you, Oliver. You look very handsome as well!"

Miss Lily clapped her hands. "Now that we've got everyone here, let's all pile into the carriage, shall we?"

Next thing Oliver knew, he was crammed in next to Alexander in the carriage, which was only just barely large enough to hold all six people.

"I've been looking forward to this," said Fitz, shamelessly snuggled up to Alexander's other side. "It's been ages since we've been out to the Tiger's Eye."

"Lex and I were there not so long ago," said Miss Lily. "If Lex gets as drunk tonight as he was then, you're going to have to help me carry him home, Fitz."

"Oh, with pleasure."

"If I might ask, sirs…" said Oliver, fidgeting with his dress hem, "What sort of place is the Tiger's Eye?"

"Why, it's a social club for vampires and their thralls. One of the most popular in the city," said Miss Lily. "Everyone who is everyone puts in an appearance now and then, even recluses like your master, and we all bring our favorite thralls, all dressed to the nines. There's entertainment and stiff drinks and even h'ors doeuvres for the thralls. You'll just love it."

Oliver nodded, far less certain than Miss Lily that he would love it. He'd never frequented bars and clubs, finding them loud and awkward at best. At least he wouldn't be going there alone, but could stay by his master's side.

"Make sure you stay close to me," said Alexander, as though he read Oliver's mind. "Don't entertain any vampires who show an interest in you."

"Yes, sir."

They stepped out of the carriage in front of an unassuming restaurant that seemed as ordinary as any other. Clearly human patrons could be seen through the window, enjoying Italian dishes. "This is the Tiger's Eye, sir?" asked Oliver.

"It's in the basement. The restaurant is simply a front run by the same vampire who owns the club." Alexander pulled him close as they walked to the entrance. "It offers cover, and brings in human money and human blood."

"I see, sir."

A mouth-watering scent filled his nose as the group stood before the maitre'd's station. Miss Lily moved a flap on her dress to reveal a ruby pin, and the maitre'd waved them to the back. They all descended a rickety spiral staircase, the sound of music and laughter growing louder.

The Tiger's Eye club was much larger than the restaurant upstairs. All of the tables were low, with the patrons sitting on piles of cushions. While some of the crowd were wearing contemporary fashions, like Miss Lily and Fitz, a good number of them were dressed in formalwear from decades gone by, much like Oliver's ballgown. More alarmingly, some of the patrons were dressed in very little, as though they were burlesque dancers. It didn't take long for him to realize that these were thralls, kneeling on the cushions and gazing up at their vampiric masters with adoration.

There was a stage at the opposite end of the club where a jazz quartet was playing. Waitstaff flitted among the tables, and like many of the thralls, their outfits were absolutely scandalous. Their glassy eyes and sleepwalking mannerisms indicated that they were heavily enthralled as well, and there were prominent bite scars on their necks and shoulders. In one of the back corners, a well-dressed vampire was drinking from a waitress.

With Alexander, it was sometimes easy for Oliver to forget what sort of situation he was in, and feel like he was perhaps an ordinary servant to an eccentric rich man instead of thrall to a vampire. His current surroundings made him intensely aware of his situation, surrounded by potentially hostile vampires and semi-conscious human slaves. Alexander, of course, wasn't distressed at all, taking in the scene with a smile on his face.

All vampires are dangerous -- that's what Roger had told him.

Nonetheless, Alexander was by far Oliver's greatest chance at safety, and so he shamelessly clung to his master as they walked through the club. He could feel the eyes of leering vampires on him and see their hungry grins. His master's grip tightened. It seemed like an eternity before they arrived at a table with a "reserved" placard on it.

The vampires arranged the cushions and made themselves comfortable, Alexander beckoning Oliver close and pulling him halfway into his lap. Next to them, Fitz flopped over into Roger's lap as the latter sighed.

"The music's good tonight. Who's playing?" Fitz asked.

"They're regulars here. The trumpet player is an older vampire -- I've trained up a few of his thralls, and he has a great sense of humor. The others are all fledglings, more or less…"

Oliver found he couldn't really concentrate on what Lily was saying over the din of the crowd, deafened by the sound of his own heartbeat and blood rushing through his ears.

"Say there, I can't help but notice what an excellent thrall you've brought with you."

Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin. The vampire addressing Lex was a larger man in a checkered suit.

"Thank you," said Alexander with a hint of threat. "He's my most treasured possession." And Oliver's heart twisted to hear himself described that way.

"Where do you get a fine thrall like that? I'm new to the area, just moved from down south, and I'm looking for some fresh blood."

"Oh, then I'm the one you want to talk to," Miss Lily interjected. "I handle conditioning for all of the finest high-end auctions and private sales in the city. I can't promise you'll find one as good as Oliver here, as thralls like him are in short supply, but I'm sure I could help you find something to your taste."

Oliver felt Alexander's hold on him relax as the vampire in the checkered suit started to happily chatter to Miss Lily about thrall sales. He noticed that, in addition to Miriam sitting in her lap, Miss Lily was now surrounded by several other adoring thralls, draped contentedly against her shoulders and over her legs.

"Who are…?"

"The thralls Miss Lily conditions are often drawn to her," said Alexander, toying with Oliver's hair. "This happens whenever we go to a place openly frequented by vampires."

"Good evening, sirs."

Oliver looked up to see a waitress dressed in frills that barely covered her most private areas, her eyes dull and glassy. He blushed and looked away.

"We have many top quality spirits available, as well as an assortment of blood on tap, including rare specialties. If there's anything I can fetch for you, esteemed sirs, it would be my pleasure to serve."

Alexander didn't seem the slightest bit put off by the waitress's plight. "I'll have a dry red, whatever's recommended."

"Certainly, sir."

"A light white wine for me," said Miss Lily.

"I'll take a sidecar," added Fitz. "And whatever beer you have on tap for my thrall."

"Right away, sirs."

"I can order something for you when she returns with the wine," said Alexander, and Oliver realized that the waitress had, of course, only asked the vampires what they wanted.

Oliver looked up again now that the waitress had walked away. "I don't drink, sir, but if I could have some tea, that would --" His eyes went wide and his breath caught in his throat. No, it couldn't be. But it certainly was.

While Oliver had been busy trying not to stare at the waitress, another thrall had arrived to cuddle Miss Lily. She was wearing a highly fashionable teal evening dress with elaborate gray embroidery and fringe, her neck and wrists were dripping with gold, and her red hair was done up in a curled bob. She looked nothing at all like the last time Oliver had seen her, but Oliver knew he'd never forget that face, her fear burned into his mind.

"Emily!"

Previous > Masterlist

Next week: Emily!

Oliver last saw Emily all the way back in the auction house.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush

#whump #whump writing #vampires #vampire whump #mind control #rare bookseller #oliver #roger #alexander #fitz #lily #miriam #emily

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whiskyanndboots · 2 days

Text

Vertigo

Summary - You were kicking yourself, you were a coward, a hopelessly unrequited mess hung up on a time traveling genius who didn't end up with normal, boring girls like you.  Pairing - Five x Reader, OCxReader (briefly)

Warnings- Swearing, sexual innuendo, alcohol, canon divergence, pining

A/N - I didn’t edit this, sorry, but I got a little fic idea and ran with it. I’d never heard of Umbrella Academy until about a month ago when the series ended and the community was on fire, I only write for series 4 and Five is aged up in this one because it’s a travesty we didn’t get his family making jokes about him legally being able to drink now. Sloane is alive because so she should be.

You tilted your head back and finished your drink while the bartender was already making your next one, the pleasant buzz of alcohol thrummed through you easing the anxiety you'd had in coming here earlier tonight.   "He won't stop staring" Charlotte whispered in your ear, leaning into you so much you stumbled into the bar.   Charlotte was your favourite co-worker, she didn't seem to care much about your vague answers and the distance you kept from everyone at work.   "Who?" You answered with fake interest, you knew who.   "Oliver!" She exclaimed laughing into her drink still way too close to your face.   She was right, Oliver had been staring all night, aswell as flirting and buying you drinks. Oliver had asked you out once a few months ago and you'd rejected him, he took it on the chin and you'd been friends ever since. But you weren't blind, you seen the way he'd look at you, eyes flicking over your body before darting back up to your face when you'd walk by, his gaze always drifting to your mouth while you spoke. 

The only difference was that for the first time tonight you were flirting back.   "Come on, let's go dance" Charlotte tugged on your arm lightly gesturing at the packed dance floor.   "I'll get my drink and I'll meet you out there" You told her, she dropped your arm and practically bounced into the crowd, your gaze caught Oliver’s and you gave him a quick smile, ducking your head and turning to face the bar.   He was handsome, smart, funny, successful and he was very, very into you, you should have been over the moon, but there was one very crucial thing he was lacking when it came to your feelings.   He wasn't Five Hargreeves.  You'd been living with Five for two years now, you'd been surprised when he offered up his apartment while you were still reeling from having somehow, inexplicably, jumped timelines. He had said he was away working all the time and the place was empty anyway.   Considering you'd been staying with all the other Hargreeves siblings on a rotating roster the offer sounded like a dream. Five had eventually warmed up to you after he'd decided you weren't secretly trying to screw over him and his family, it took a few months longer than this siblings, you thought living with him would be awkward and you’d have this semi silent co-existence type of roommate relationship.   As it turned out living with Five was easy. Yes, he was snarky, bossy and arrogant, but he was an old man at heart and he acted like one. When he wasn't working he was home reading about things that made your brain hurt, watching jeopardy and random documentaries, he’d recently found his new hobby in building these little complex car sculptures he'd painstakingly put together for weeks at a time.   He liked walking too, the two of you often went for strolls, getting fresh air and finding new things to see, you were always excited about these little adventures and finding another hidden gem in the city. Five also had a love of classic cars and driving them very fast whenever he had occasion, the first time he asked if you wanted a spin in a 1983 Pontiac Firebird he’d acquired for a Saturday drive you spent most of it holding on for dear life. Five was an entirely sensible, though impatient, driver in the city, but he let loose when you traveled onto open roads. He liked to go see some of the weird wonders America had to offer, he had a list.

It was so easy to forget he was an old man on the inside while simultaneously forgetting his body was so young on the outside too.   Your favourite thing by far was drinking scotch at home on the couch just talking, laughing and listening to music as he tried to help you understand some complex theory on physics or his own time travel ones, he also told you stories of his life. Most of the time they were funny, but some nights it got somber and they were nights where you were brave enough to reach out and squeeze his hand as a comfort, he wasn't normally a very physically affectionate guy, but he always squeezed your hand back.   This was a problem because you'd very quickly fallen for Five, so quickly it was embarrassing, and Five had zero inclination towards you romantically.   You were helpless really, his tenacity, how incredibly intelligent he is, his arrogant charm and quick wit and how much he loved his family all made your heart flutter. There were times when he'd look up at you with mischievous green eyes, a slight smirk tilting his mouth and his dark hair falling so perfectly in his face that your heart would slam against your ribcage.   But as you had pointed out, this was all completely one sided.   Five saw you as a friend, a close friend, but there was nothing more. He'd never once made a move or even hinted at seeing you romantically in the last two and a half years you'd known him.   It was fine at first, it was enough for you just to be in his orbit, to live in your home together drinking coffee in the morning while he did crosswords in the newspaper and asked for your help occasionally, to be at family dinners or events and stand to the side to watch his incredible and weird family laughing and shouting while the both of you stole a moment for each other in the, usually, happy chaos.  It was enough to be cooking dinner and have Five come home muttering about the idiots he worked with, shrugging out of his jacket and coming to see what you were making. He'd lean against the kitchen counter venting while you were getting everything ready, he'd eventually sigh loudly and ask about your own day. You'd try not to get too distracted when he'd reach up and loosen his tie, long, tapered fingers plucking the knot expertly apart.   He'd always stand there until you were done cooking, hair messy, a slight smile on his face, sometimes teasing you as you tried to one up him with playful insults, you never could, but you still tried and the wide grin he'd give you when you inevitably were lost for words against him made your face flush.  It was all so domestic and you were far too comfortable with it.   The longer you indulged in the bubble you'd created with Five the deeper you were falling in and the more it was going to hurt when it ended.  You'd been thinking lately about the future, you wanted someone to love, maybe even a family, you'd spent over two years now in a kind of limbo not willing to accept you weren't going home to your old life. But you were getting older, you were watching everyone else's lives change and grow while yours stayed the same.   You dreaded the day Five told you he met someone, it was bound to happen eventually, if anything you were surprised it hadn't already. You'd see the way women looked at him, but he always brushed them off if they were brave enough to approach, atleast while you were with him. You didn't like to think about what happened when you weren't.  So you pushed yourself to do this, to have some fun and get to know your co-workers better, let your walls down and maybe even give Oliver a chance. Lila had even called and invited you out tonight and although you would much rather have spent time with Lila, Diego, Klaus, Luther and Sloane you declined. Lila sounded happy you were getting out of the house and making other friends.

You were glad you came, you were having fun and the more alcohol you drank the more free and giddy you felt. It felt amazing not to care so much about your problems.

You hadn't been with anyone since you found yourself stranded in this timeline and all the pent up frustration from living with the man who made your pulse quicken on a daily basis felt like it needed to be let out.   You grabbed your drink and made your way over to Oliver, he smiled widely as you approached, it felt good to have someone interested in you.  "Wanna dance?" He asked, there was a relaxed demeanour about him, he'd been drinking as much as you and you wondered if he could feel the same adrenaline about you as you were about him.   You nodded taking his outstretched hand as he led you onto the dance floor. The pub you all decided to visit had a band playing tonight, doing some pretty decent covers of some 80's rock and roll, you'd been here before with the others, it wasn't far from your apartment and Lila and Diego's house.   You saw Charlotte out there, swaying her hips with her arms around a mans neck, she winked at you with a wide smile when she saw Oliver pulling you further into the crowd of people.  You danced and sang , laughing and spinning around, everytime Oliver touched your skin it sent butterflies into your stomach, you don't remember the last time you felt this kind of nervous excitement, this exhilarated.  

A lie.

 You absolutely do remember.   It had been their birthday, all of their birthdays, but it was Five's second twenty first birthday, so naturally there was alot of alcohol involved. Five endured endless teasing about finally being able to drink and watching his cranky, snide banter with his family had you grinning all night.   You shook your head, you wouldn't let yourself think about that night. It was a year ago and you'd filed it firmly in the do not open part of your brain, you saved it for late nights when you couldn't sleep and you let yourself take a pathetic hit off the memory.   Oliver pulled you closer to him and out of your head, his hands were on your hips, he had an easy, boozy grin on his face while he held you tighter against his body, you could feel muscle and warmth, your breath quickened.  "You're so beautiful" He yelled over the music his hand sliding up to cup your face.   Your heart was racing as he leaned in, you'd been waiting for this all night.  His mouth clumsily pressed onto yours, you kissed him back with a vigour you didn't even know you had. This was what you needed to do, you had to get Five out of your head which was ironic considering its all you could think about now.   The kiss was messy, not unpleasant though, he pulled back to smile at you before smashing his lips back onto yours more forcefully now, his hands sliding down your body as you swayed to the music,   Your stomach turned flipped on itself, a sick feeling of guilt winding through you. It felt like cheating which was stupid, you weren't dating Five and Five wasn't in love with you. Five couldn’t have cared less you were doing this.   Suddenly everything was too overwhelming, you pulled back, but stayed in Olivers arms. His face was flushed and a goofy smile was plastered across it. You weren't sure you could do this, a kiss was one thing, but more felt like too much more.   You were kicking yourself, you were a coward, a hopelessly unrequited mess hung up on a time traveling genius who didn't end up with normal, boring girls like you.  You were abruptly pulled out of your mid makeout crisis when your arm was roughly yanked backwards and out of Oliver's arms. The alcohol made you unsteady and you'd almost tripped over stumbling into another body.  "Lila?" You blurted out confused when you turned to see the culprit, she looked furious.  "What the hell are you doing?" She barked at you loudly, you furrowed your brow at her, your mind trying to catch up with where Lila had just come from.  "(Y/N)?" Oliver asked moving closer, hand outstretched in concern.   "Back off wanker" She spat pulling you roughly through the crowd.   "Ow Lila!" You exclaimed, she was squeezing your wrist too hard. You quickly sent a reassuring wave and smile at Oliver behind you while Lila practically dragged you with her, your boozy legs not wanting to cooperate properly.   As you made it off the dancefloor you were greeted with a few of the other Hargreeves family members, you smiled before realising they looked didn't look happy to see you at all, Diego in particular looked furious.   "We're going home" Lila turned her head to tell you, not bothering to stop as she passed her family, even Luther and Sloane didn't meet your eye as you were tugged past.   "Why?" You tried to pull your arm back.   Lila turned to look at you with so much barely restrained fury you flinched, she didn't answer and you didn't fight her as she continued to pull you into the cold night air.  "I said I'm driving" You heard Diego arguing with Klaus as you tried to catch up with what the hell was happening. You were sitting in the back of Lila and Diego's van with Klaus, Sloane and Luther before you knew which way was up.   Klaus sat beside you, the side of his mouth lifted at your confused gaze, but his expression was pinched.   "Wait, I didn't tell them I was going!" You exclaimed looking back at the bar as the car jerked away from the curb throwing your body against your seatbelt.

“That’s what you’re worried about!?l Diego yelled, turning in his seat to glare at you, it made you flinch. You'd never been on the receiving end of a Hargreeves wrath before.

 You looked over to Luther and Sloane, their mouths were tight and they were pointedly not looking at you. You were so confused, you were willing your brain to sober up a enough to make sense of this.   "I can't believe this, how could you do this?!" Diego continued on driving the car faster than he should have been, white knuckle gripping the steering wheel, Lila was staring straight ahead seeming deep in thought.   You were definitely missing something because you had wracked your brain several times over and you were pretty positive you hadn't done anything at all to warrant this level of outrage.  "Are you gonna say something?" Diego once again turned to look over his shoulder at you.   "Just lay off, Diego" Klaus interjected "wait until we're home, she's drunk"   "Lay off?! I haven't even started" Diego fired back.   The car turned sharply and you grabbed onto the seat to steady yourself, you looked over to Klaus who's expression wasn't angry as he gazed down at you, it was worse, he looked disappointed.  "Has something happened?" You finally spoke up, as the words left your mouth you had a sudden scary thought "Is Five ok?"   "Oh, so now you give a damn about Five, huh?" Diego sounded exasperated even though he let out a chuckle, shaking his head muttering things you couldn’t hear.   The car pulled up in their driveway with a harsh jolt, you felt like the journey hear was way quicker than it should have been. You let yourself be led into the living room by Klaus who sat you down on the couch, the Hargreeves filed into the room each taking a seat, Lila pulled a chair from the kitchen into the room and planted herself down infront of you, Diego however was pacing back and forth looking like he was struggling not to explode.   Klaus appeared beside you with a glass of water, you hadn't realise how thirsty you were, "Thanks" you muttered taking a long gulp.   No one had answered you about Five yet and anxiety was building in your chest.   "How long?" Lila asked, the way she was staring into your eyes was intimidating the hell out of you.  "How long what?" You asked back creasing your brow.   "How long have you been fucking that guy?!" Diego exploded making your head snap towards him in surprise  "Diego, let me do the interrogating honey" Lila reprimanded, but turned to you expectantly.

"Oliver?" You asked quietly, what was their problem with Oliver?  "That the assholes name, huh? Oliver what a dumb ass name" Diego was muttering to himself.   "Well?" Lila widened her eyes at you expectantly. You suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable being stared at under a spotlight like this , this was your personal life and you could do whatever the hell you wanted.   "I don't see how thats any of your business" You replied steadily, Lila looked like she could have slapped you, the twitch in her hand made you pretty sure she wanted to.   "Our brother is our business" Diego stalked forward towards you "I never would have picked you for something like this, we all thought of you like family, Five worships the ground you walk on" You leaned back into the couch, Diego's voice was measured, but it felt oddly like being yelled at.   "It stops now. You tell him when he gets back or we will" Luther spoke for the first time, all business and no nonsense, nothing like the goofy big guy you'd come to know over the last few years. Sloane locked eyes with you before dropping them, a sullen look on her face.  "I'm sorry" You closed your eyes for a moment raising your hand up before running it across your face "why are you all so pissed?" You turned your confused gaze to Klaus.  "Well, I imagine it was having our night interrupted by our brothers girlfriend playing tonsil hockey with some guy who's definitely not our brother" Klaus answered, his delivery was light, but his tone was clipped.   "Five's gonna be devastated, is this what do while he's away at work? I just- I just- I just can't figure out why you'd do this to him, you guys are happy, aren’t you happy?” Diego was pacing again.  Your brain short circuited.   Girlfriend?  "Are you talking about me?" You asked bewildered. You weren't sober enough for this conversation because clearly you were missing something here.   "Well as far as I know there wasn't anyone else out cheating on Five tonight" Lila answered back sarcastically.   "You-" You couldn't even find the words, what in the actual hell was going on "I'm not Five's girlfriend"   The room went silent.  "You can't be that drunk, if this is your idea of a ruse, it's a shit one" Lila raised her eyebrow looking annoyed.  "Let me get this straight" you leaned back in your chair closing your eyes for a brief moment to organise your thoughts "you think I'm Five's girlfriend and you caught me cheating on him" You glanced at all the faces around the room.  "Yeah, obviously" Lila's face scrunched up in confusion.   "Well, you're missing one very important piece of that puzzle, I'm not his girlfriend" you shot back.  "You live together" Sloane suddenly piped up  "We're roommates"   "You're always together, you went on a date last Saturday" Luther joined in.   "We're friends, it wasn't a date it was a classic car show"

“You’re like a boring old married couple, I saw you arguing over whether to have blueberry or chocolate chip muffins with your afternoon tea last week! ” Klaus looked at you imploringly.

“I’m not boring” You spluttered

"You're definitely knocking boots" Lila raised an expectant eyebrow.   "No, absolutely not. Wait, you know that" You shook your head confused and turned to look at Sloane who also definitely knew that. You remembered the conversation with them about how you were most definitely not sleeping with Five despite everyone believing the contrary, but you cleared that up a year ago and no one ever brought it up again.  "But our birthday" Klaus sounded mystified, your heart started pounding.   How did they know about that night, did Five tell them what happened? You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.   "What about it?" You feigned innocence.   "Our master plan to make sure you two emotionally stunted sweethearts finally admitted you wanted to jump each others bones" Klaus looked at Lila who looked panicked at his admission.

“What plan?" You swivelled your head between them.  "Well, we thought Five was being a cowardly little shit and needed a nudge in the right direction " Lila's smile grew cheesy and fake, you were sure she could feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off you.  "It seemed like a giant success, I mean, when I drove you both home Allison and I were worried you were going to get it on in the back seat if I wasn't quick enough" Klaus replied laughing and nodding at his siblings, you were definitely red in the face.  "No!" You said borderline hysterical "that definitely did not happen" This was hands down the most embarrassing moment of your life.   "Wait, hold on, you aren't cheating on Five?" Diego asked with a hand in his hair.  "No, we're just friends" You desperately wanted to end this conversation “you can ask him if you don’t believe me” you offered.   "Holy shit" Diego looked equal parts stunned and horrified.

“But you two-“ Luther looked like he was struggling to find words “you’re both- you always-you know!” he exclaimed, his hands waving in front of himself.   "I need more water" you muttered going to the kitchen.   What an absolute nightmare, clearly the way you felt about Five was so obvious his own family thought you two were together, you were absolutely fucking tragic. You had to do damage control, the single worst thing you could think of happening in your life right now was the idea of Five looking at you with pity in is eyes if he found out about your feelings.   "Hey" Lila and Sloane both slunk into the kitchen as you were downing your water "I think we need to talk"   "What was this master plan Klaus was talking about?" You raised an annoyed eyebrow in their direction.  "Well, it all started last year on the twins birthday"   

A/N - thanks for reading if you got this far, most of this was a set up for another, hopefully, two parts to this series.

#five x you #five x reader #five hargreaves x reader

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