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macfrog · 9 months

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hits different cowboy like me chapter twelve

oh, my, love is a lie! are we all ready? do we have our coping strategies in place? have we prepared ourselves for impending doom? then gather round, my dear children, for i’ve a tale to tell. and it’s a SORE one

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: still reeling from your fight with joel, you seek out an effective way to deal with it: a night of sambuca shots and no second thoughts

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) alcohol + drug consumption (reader gets hammered), heartache, angst, unwanted touching, intended sexual assault, drink spiking, descriptions of blood and bruising, protective!joel gets into a quick barfight, more discussion of cheating(?), joel won't admit feelings, pain pain and more pain, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 10.9k

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Joel takes a beat to answer. Like he’s waiting for your voice to fill the space, the way it usually would. What’s up, old man? How hard is it to copy an address right? Lois not as good at typing as she is at sucking your – “You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.” The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

Of course he went to see Lois. He’s probably been seeing her for some time now. A nice lady, his own age, his line of work. You’re pretty sure she has a son, too. And your dad would love her, would love to think Joel was shacking up with some plant hire receptionist. She could turn your life around, son, he’d said. They fit together like a couple of jigsaw pieces. What the fuck would he have ever seen in you, past some young, tight thing for him to fuck? Just a placeholder. Just a time-waster.

A twenty-three-year-old; enough energy to keep him on his toes, cure his boredom. Fill his summer with something to do. And close enough to him, too, that he reeled you in with minimum effort. One stupid look at you – one stupid, stupid glance and you were hooked. High as a kite on him. All the touching, all the whispering. That fucking – the fucking bottle. The video. All of it, every second he ever spent near you – it all makes you cringe now.

And then, once the embarrassment of being played by your dad’s best friend passes, there’s the hurt. The aching. Fuck, the aching. The way your chest swells, feels like it might rip at the seams and burst open. The sting behind your eyes anytime you picture his smile, the way he’d look at you. The feeling of your throat closing up whenever you go to speak, windpipe constricting around any words that aren’t his name, and using them to choke you.

And it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it. Can’t have a heart-to-heart with your dad, have him make you a tea and sit him down by your window, ask for advice on heartbreak and getting over his best friend. You’ve been excusing your reclusiveness by telling him you’re on your period. That’s why you haven’t left your bed in four days.

It was just all so fucking believable, wasn’t it? So good, you thought you were dreaming the entire time.

And here he’d just proven you right. You dreamt it all up.

Has he fucked her yet? Lois. Is she one of the ten he told you about the other night? Has she touched him the way you have? Has he touched her, the way he did you?

Does she know how he sounds when he comes undone? How he looks? How he feels? Does she do it for him the way you do it? And what does he call her? Baby? Darlin’? Or something different entirely?

Now you’re wondering when he started seeing her, and then, if they have slept together, when the first time was. Whether or not you cross over with her. Maybe he went and fucked her after you argued. Let off some steam over at her place, while you sat in his house, smelling his shirts and reading his stupid fucking Alcatraz books. While you paced around, practicing the words you’d say to him when he came back.

All you wanted was for him to come back. You wanted him to come find you upstairs, take the book from your hands and lean his head down on your chest, mumble an apology into the material of your shirt and then kiss you, and kiss you again while he pulled the clothes from your body, and kiss you while you were naked underneath him, and kiss you while he rocked his hips into yours.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You think you hate her. You don’t even know her. Don’t know what she looks like, only heard her voice. She’s probably gorgeous. Probably a really sweet woman, helps out on the PTA, the type that stops to read missing dog posters so she can keep an eye out for them. Probably knows Joel well enough that she writes Sarah a birthday card every year. Just a real nice, Southern lady.

And you fucking hate her.

That’s not fair, though, and you know it. She didn’t do anything wrong. Joel’s the one who screwed you over – screwed you both over. Really, you and Lois are one and the same.

Except that she’s taken away the only thing to put a real smile on your face since you got home, and for that, you fucking hate her.

What had he said again? That night he drove you home from Sal’s, the night your dad asked him to stay for pizza. …said she’d like to go for a drink. I said maybe sometime. Maybe he’d organized that drink, in the midst of whatever you two had been doing. Thought nothing of it – you said it yourself: you were just messing around. Said it, like, three times to him. Good fucking job.

And that adds to the hurt. That neither of you seemed to care enough to call it anything more. Because now, sitting alone in your room, desperately checking your phone for a missed call or a text message from him, ears pricking at every sound your dad makes downstairs in case he’s answering a call from Joel or welcoming him in through the front door – you wish you had called it something.

Wish you had just fucking said it. Told him outright about the feelings you had. You were thinking about them enough – the thought circled your mind any time there was a moment’s silence between you.

Sometimes, the way he’d glance over to you, the way his hand would brush against yours, the way he’d say your name…he felt like…

Yours. He was yours. He was so fucking close to being yours.

You almost said it, once. Almost admitted it to him. Couple times you saw it flash behind his eyes, too. And it’s a damn good thing neither of you did say it, because it would’ve been a mistake. Would’ve been lies.

You don’t love him. You never did. You were in some fantasy, built by Joel. There ain’t no love between you. None from your side. And definitely none from him.

Definitely – none – from –

him.

----------

Anna’s been at you all week. She text you on Monday night, but you were about four layers of blanket deep in your bed, weeping into a box of dry cereal and listening to some sad girl playlist on repeat. You fished your cell out from under your mattress the next morning. Your dad had to call it to help you find it.

Anna: Frank’s again on Friday? Rodeo night round 2!!!

Tuesday, it was Please?? It was so fun on Sat. Cmon, Kara’s coming again. Sam’s working but that means free shots so.

On Wednesday, she tried a new approach. I’ll cover any shift you want.

Any two shifts……

Ok three????

Thursday, she started to get desperate. I’ll spill all your secrets to my dad if you don’t come. And you know he’ll tell them all to your dad lol

By Friday morning, though, she’d decided you had no say in the matter: you were going, and you’d be happy about it. And you didn’t have it in you to fight back.

She’s standing at the side of the mirror, scanning you from head to two.

“All black? Again?”

“I look good in black.”

“You look good in anything,” she agrees, turning to sift through your closet, “so why don’t we go for…?”

“No,” you clip, holding a finger up to the red dress in her hands. “No.”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s hot. C’mon.”

“Why do I gotta be hot?”

“I mean…is Mr. Miller gonna be pickin’ you up again, or…?”

You lob a previously discarded dress at her and she snorts, turning to slip it back onto a hanger.

Even his fucking surname sends a pang of pain through your body. Your heart jumps at the sound of it, like its hopes had risen for a second, but then it plummets with the realization that it’s not really Joel, and he’s still really gone.

You’re in a plain black slip dress, black denim jacket slung over your shoulders. Black lace-up boots, too. It’s like rodeo night, except without the fun and excitement of Joel waiting for you at the end of the night. It’s basically rodeo night’s funeral. And good fucking riddance.

Anna – always glittering, always in some sparkly getup – leads you out of your bedroom and down the stairs. Your dad agreed to drop you guys off, seeing as he’s out working later on.

He’s sat in his armchair, glasses on the tip of his nose, squinting down at the instruction booklet to that fucking Garmin he’s still wrestling with. He looks up and claps his hands once.

“Ready, girls?”

Anna nods eagerly and you lift your eyebrows, thinking about how Joel would laugh at the sight of his buddy still fighting a very obviously lost battle to a GPS. Then you think about how he’d tell you quietly, You look beautiful, darlin’, and ask you to text him when you got home safe.

And finally, you think about how much of an ass he is, and you blink the tears from your eyes before following the two blurry figures out to the car.

Anna snaps a couple selfies as the car winds out of the neighborhood, angling her phone to pull you into shot. The sun setting over the roofs of the houses dazzles your eyes. She tuts, tells you to Look like you actually wanna be goin’ out, and sends them to Kara, letting her know you’re on your way.

You’re watching her reply to a text from some boy she’s seeing when your dad’s ringtone echoes throughout the car, the name on the tiny digital screen the very last name you want to see right now.

Or maybe the very name you’ve been waiting all week to see. Just, on your screen instead of your dad’s.

“Hey, Joel,” your dad calls, and your body instinctively leans in to listen better. Drawn in like a magnet to just the sound of his voice.

“Hey, bud,” he replies. It’s like a punch to your chest. Hands around your throat. Salt behind your eyes. “I just got off the phone with Clark’s, they just dropped that equipment off at the site. Said there wasn’t nobody around to sign for it, so they just left it at the gate.”

“It’s a manned site, what do they mean there wasn’t–?”

“No idea,” Joel says, cutting across him. “Just said there wasn’t anybody to take the delivery.”

Anna’s head slowly turns in your direction, likely to take another dumb selfie or to ask some random question about your outfit, but you turn away, refusing to meet her hazel-eyed stare. Refusing to let her take your attention away from this phone call. From Joel.

Your dad sighs, runs a hand down his cheek. “I hope it’s still there when I get to it. Sure you gave ‘em the right address on Monday?”

“I wrote it down exactly how you text me it.”

Joel’s voice sounds flatter than normal. Less trademark Joel grumbly and more tired, deflated. A little irritated. It bruises your heart hearing him and not chiming in, not teasing him for potentially getting the street name wrong or something. Not letting him know you’re here.

Your dad does that anyway, though.

“Well,” he sighs again, hitting the turn signal, “I’m on my way to Frank’s – girls are havin’ another one of their wild nights out. I’ll head straight from there to the site ‘n make sure everything’s in place. Thanks, Joel.”

“You, uh…you got it. Call me if there’s anythin’ you need. I’m home all night.”

The call cuts before your dad gets the chance to say goodbye. Which doesn’t really matter, because he wasn’t talking to your dad. You know it, ‘n Joel knows it.

No. He was talking to you. He knew you’d be listening. Knew that conversation would mean much more to you than it ever could to your dad. And he knew you’d be hanging on to every word he spoke.

He’s home all night, which translates to: he’s only ever fifteen minutes away if you wind up needing him. If you end up wanting him.

You’ve spent the last four days purposefully stopping yourself from wanting him. Your thumb has hovered over his name in your contacts more times than you’d care to admit. Mostly at night, when your dad goes to bed and there’s eight hours of quiet – quiet you’d usually fill by annoying Joel, striking up a conversation at midnight when he’s about to sleep.

What the fuck would you even say if he did pick up? Would you be mad? Would you yell? Or would you just break down, sob a few incoherent sentences down the line to him and pray that he doesn’t hang up?

But then – would he even pick up? It’s not a thought you want to entertain much. That sound of ringing and ringing, and no gruff, Hey, baby, at the other end.

Your chest hurts. You take a gulp of air.

You’d happily have him never touch you again if he’d just come the fuck back.

Anna slaps your arm and Joel’s face is wiped clean from your mind. “C’mon,” she chirps, and nods out of your window.

You turn to see the faded blue brick walls of Frank’s, clusters of people outside clutching cigarettes and glasses, holding hands up to shield their eyes from the sunlight and tipping their heads back in laughter at one another. Kara stands among them, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. She waves when you catch her eye, stumbling out of the car in a daze.

Anna’s arm links through yours, almost violently, and she skips along the sidewalk to Kara, who joins your chain. The three of you stroll into the bar together and over to Sam, who smiles genially in welcome.

“Hello, ladies,” he sings, leaning in. “What can I do ya for?”

“Get us drunk, Sam!” Anna exclaims, rapping her knuckles on the bar top, and, for the first time tonight, you find yourself nodding in agreement with her.

Get me –

fucking –

hammered.

----------

You get your wish. Sam hands you a cold beer, and within twenty minutes you’re ordering a second. Anna and Kara opt for cocktails, some bright pink concoction that you don’t even bother to ask the name of, you just lean over the bar and tell Sam to make up a third.

And then there are the shots, two each, which are a hysterically terrible idea. You know it as you tip your head back, sickly taste of sambuca spilling down your throat and taking with it the very last of your good sense, apparently.

All the while, that phone call rattles through your head. Joel’s voice swings between your ears like a pendulum. His dry tone, the borderline contempt he spoke to your dad with. The thought of who he’s been with and what he’s been doing either side of that call burns like the drink in your belly, and forces you back up to the bar for another to wash him away with.

You rock against the dark wood, sticky with alcohol, and hoist yourself up onto a stool. “One peer, blease, sir,” you garble to Sam, one finger in the air. “Oh, wait…”

You throw your hand down onto the bar with a roar of laughter and lean back, forgetting there’s no back to your chair. It tilts back, and your hands fumble to grab the edge of the bar, but it’s too far, too late, and you land on the solid floor with a clatter – metal leg of the stool digging into your own.

“Fuck,” you hiss, dragging yourself back to your feet. A thin line of dark red blood cuts from halfway down your calf, streaming down into your boot.

“Are you okay?” Sam yells, stood frozen with the beer and bottle opener still in his hands.

“I’m fine,” you grumble, clambering to your feet. You don’t even convince yourself.

Sam doesn’t let go of the bottle when your fingers curve around it. He looks you dead in the eye and asks, “What’s goin’ on?” and you know he won’t let go until you answer him.

“Nothin’. I’m fine.”

Until you answer him truthfully, that is.

“I’m…It’s just…I got a lot goin’ on up here.” Your shaky finger draws a circle against your temple, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I can see that. Is this really a good ide–”

“Well, howdy, clumsy!”

The owner of whatever fucking annoying voice just shrieked through your ears slaps his hand down on your shoulder, almost toppling you for the second time in five minutes, and you twist around to find a pair of red, blotchy cheeks and almost equally red hair to match, stood before you.

“Hi…?” You squint your eyes to get a better look, the figure swaying with the room behind him.

“Hi.” He’s still smiling. Two huge front teeth, like a pair of overgrown Tic Tacs. “You have no idea who I am, do you? That’s…embarrassing for me.”

“Zack!” another voice screams over the bassline of the music. “Are you fucking coming or not, dude?”

A pale, jittery guy with a dark green t-shirt hanging off of his lean frame barges into the red-haired boy’s side, and a few seconds after his mouth stops moving, you register what he’s said.

“No – f-fucking – way,” you breathe, staring him up and down. His red flannel is tucked into his jeans, sealed by a brown leather belt. There’s a longhorn head on the buckle. “Zack? From Costco? What the fuck’d you do, stalk me?”

He laughs awkwardly, looking from you to over your shoulder, where Sam’s still holding your beer.

“Sorry–” you mutter, shaking your head. “I’m not at my best right now.”

“It’s cool,” he replies, grinning. “You look like you’re having a good night. I’m out with my buddies. This is Eric.”

Eric gives you a nod – his blond fringe jumps, and he jerks his head to sweep it back out of his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says, before rounding again on Zack. “Seriously, bro, he says he’s not waitin’ around this time. C’mon!”

“We were gonna head to the rooftop if you wanted to come?” Zack raises his eyebrows, pointing a thumb over his shoulder as Eric and another two figures make off for the stairs at the other end of the bar.

“Sure.” You blindly reach for your beer and Sam relents, letting it slip from his grasp. He calls your name as you trot off, and you turn for one second to give his worried stare a thumbs up, before swirling back toward the stairs. No second thought.

This isn’t the night for second thoughts.

The rooftop is quieter, less crowded. Background noise made up of passing cars, a siren in the distance, and the muffled music from downstairs. You wander over to where Zack stands with Eric and a couple others: a short guy with wireframe glasses, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, and someone you think you almost recognize.

His black V-neck looks like it might burst at the seams around his chest, swollen with muscle. Thick neck, holding up a square jawline, and a face heavy with features which mirror the broad body below.

And a thick smell of marijuana which follows his every move.

Zack shuffles to the side to let you into the circle. You shimmy in between him and Eric.

V-neck pulls a small metal case from his back pocket and fishes a cigarette out of it. Eyes start to shift around the group, the boys glancing over shoulders to check who’s watching.

“Are we…? Is that weed?” you blurt out.

“Shut the fuck up!” Eric hisses, jabbing his elbow into your ribcage.

V-neck eyes you down quickly. It’s the first he looks at you, and it puts a sickly feeling through your body. Sends the alcohol hurtling over itself in your stomach.

You raise your eyebrows and wrap your arms around yourself, your beer bottle against your lips. “Sorry, jeez…”

“This is Knox,” Zack mutters, as Knox lights the cigarette.

He takes one hit, inhaling deeply with his chin in the air, and passes it to the boy in the hoodie. Another cloud of smoke joins Knox’s, slowly dispersing above your heads, and then it’s Eric’s turn. With a cough, his fist against his lips, he passes it to Zack. Soon, the air around you is thick and white, and Zack’s handing you the joint.

You lift it to your lips and inhale. The feeling hits you instantly; your body feels light, your face warm, your eyes blink in and out of focus, watching as a blurry shadow begins to follow your hand when you pass the joint back to Knox.

A couple more circuits, and the roach is pressed into the ground by Knox’s boot. The group separates; Zack and his friends fall into some metal chairs around a table, sparking up a debate on the best Lord of the Rings film, and you float around nearby.

“You a friend of Zack’s?” Knox asks, downing what’s left of his whiskey.

“Hm…Not really. We met at Costco, ‘cause I was there to get some party stuff for my dad’s friend’s daughter’s– Well, she’s my friend, too, and she wanted this garden party, and my dad’s friend was like, What the fuck is a garden party? you know, so I had to go help ‘im get stuff for it, with my dad, who was kinda a buzzkill, but anyway…Z-Zack helped me lift some sodas into my cart.”

Knox nods once. Fingers locked tight around his empty glass. He’s staring you down like you’re fresh meat.

You purse your lips and stare back, but quickly get bored when he doesn’t speak, and you miss Anna and her selfies and her sambuca shots. As you’re about to wander back to the door, though, Knox steps in front of you.

“So, you’re here often, then?”

Your shoulder knocks into his. “Huh?”

“Saw you last week. You were pretty spaced, don’t know if you remember.”

The memory whips past your eyes quicker than you can catch it, frames lingering only long enough for you to see Knox’s thick arm linked with yours outside Frank’s, the smell of weed in your nostrils, and the bright lights of Joel’s truck. And then it’s gone, before you can get a good grip of it.

“I’m…I remember now. Yeah. No, I’m not here much, I just…Rough week.”

He nods again, and you suspect he hasn’t listened to a word you’ve said since he got you alone. “You want another drink?”

The way he’s looking at you makes you feel more and more nauseous. Makes you want to turn and run back downstairs, slot in beside Anna and Kara, bury yourself between their shoulders and stay there until they decide they want to go home.

It makes you feel the way it felt last week, when he halted you outside the bar on your way to Joel. And suddenly the memory is soaring in front of your eyes again.

Your hand on Joel’s elbow. The frown on his face. Whitened knuckles around the steering wheel. ‘s go, pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl. Pretty girl.

“Yeah,” you tell Knox. “Yeah, I do.”

You follow him downstairs where he nods to Sam at the bar.

Sam ignores him, instead glares at you. “Can we talk…?” he asks, but Knox cuts across him.

“Beer, right?” he checks with you, and you nod. “And another whiskey.”

Your friend hesitantly grabs the drinks, glancing up at you every five seconds in a question. You respond by nodding slowly, feeling your head bounce each time you do.

You lazily scan the room for Anna and Kara, who you spot in a booth over by the window. The spotlights overhead reflect in the sparkles of Anna’s dress; Kara’s holding the straw of her drink between her lips, bobbing her head to the music. You saunter over, twirling on your way.

“Where have you been, baby?” Anna calls, giggling when you fall against the booth, palms flat on the wooden table.

“Upstairs,” you mumble, and then feel a tap on your back.

“Forgot this,” Knox says, pushing the beer into your hand. “You wanna go dance?”

Anna’s face twists into one of worry, and you give her an apologetic smile and spin off, following the wide frame to a dark corner of the bar where he takes your wrist and pulls your body against his.

He’s not doing much dancing, rather, he’s just keeping a solid grip on your waist, watching as you rock side to side, taking a couple shallow sips of your drink. You pull on his arm, Fucking move, dude, but he only leans further back, until he’s shrouded in shadows and pulling you into them with him.

When he leans into your space and snakes a drunken arm tight around your neck, you don’t retreat. You lean in, too, and plant your lips on his.

It’s messy, it’s a little gross. He tastes sour, weed and alcohol on his tongue, and it makes you wish you’d never started kissing him. Still, you take it further. You open your mouth more, letting more of him in, soak your own tongue, wet your lips. You barely even feel it when his hands move south and cup your ass, and it’s only when he squeezes that you wriggle out of his grip.

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking hold of his sleeve to steady yourself. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, says something short that you don’t hear, and you lean back against him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s smaller, much shorter than Joel. Your shoulders almost match the height of his. But he’s more built, he’s bulkier, in an uncomfortable way. Like trying to put your arms around a giant balloon or something. There’s no softness, no enclosing feeling when your weight presses against his. Just the huge surface of his chest, the hollow feeling of two mismatched bodies unwillingly pushed together.

Not strong. Not safe. Not secure. Not him.

But you’re kissing him again, because it’s the first time in five days you’ve felt something other than your aching chest and heavy head. You’re kissing him because you feel unwanted and unloved and, even though he seems almost as hammered as you are, it feels good to have someone want to be on you.

You’re kissing him because you’re trying to pretend it’s Joel.

Only he tastes…well, disgusting, and he smells different. He’s sweating from the heat in the bar, and his arms aren’t placed somewhere to make you feel wrapped in his grasp, they’re placed anywhere that he can pinch, squeeze, or otherwise fondle.

Joel’s face swims in and out of your head; a smile as he pulls you in for a kiss, a smirk when he’s telling you off, soft eyes when he’s listening to you talk. It makes you want to throw up.

That might just be the drinks.

Someone taps you furiously on the shoulder, and you push Knox off your body.

When your eyes fail to meet Sam’s, he takes your wrist and drags you behind the bar, ripping the beer bottle from your grasp and almost launching it into the sink. It smashes, and the liquid pours down the drain.

“Hey, what the f–?”

“I’m gonna call your dad,” he yells, deafening to your numb ears.

“Do not fucking call my dad,” you slur, laughing a little. “I’m fine! I’m having fun.”

“You’re fucking wasted. And that guy – he’s bad news.”

“Does it matter?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Who even are–? What the fuck is up with you right now? Yes, it fucking matters!”

“Not my dad,” you repeat as you back away, staggering over to the booth where your friends sit.

Anna storms over to meet you, slipping her wrist around yours and bringing you to a halt. “Did Sam find you?” she asks. Her hands plant on your shoulders, and she dips her head until you’re eye to eye.

She’s blurry. She’s nothing but shapes, and movements, and noises. And she’s fucking pissing you off.

“Can everyone just – get the fuck off of me?” you groan, stumbling backwards, and Anna links her hands with yours to stop you from collapsing.

She pulls you back upright, leaning in close. Her head shakes, you can see that much. But her expression is cloudy, and her hands don’t let go of yours so easily when you try to pull away. The orb-like shapes in front of you mutter your name, only it’s not Anna’s voice, it’s his.

Anna’s babbling, panicked tone drives through your skull. “She’s been drinking, like, a lot, and I think she might’ve had some weed upstairs. But Sam said he saw –”

“C’mon, kid,” his voice says again, and there’s a heavy arm pulling you off to the door.

“Get – off – of – me.” You struggle in his grasp, pushing his body away from yours, fingers expecting to find the V-neck collar of a black shirt and instead finding –

Buttons. The edges of a green flannel shirt. And a soft cotton tee underneath. And then his scent washes over you: warm, sweet, earthy. Grounding.

“Joel…” you whisper, thick with fear and intoxication and need.

His jaw angles down, you catch one fleeting glimpse of his chin, graying beard, tight lips hidden beneath it, and then you’re shoving his chest again, attempting to push him as far away from your own body as he’ll go.

Only he doesn’t move.

“Fuck off,” you seethe, palms flat on his pecs. “Get the fuck away from me.”

He says your name in a hazy blur, says, “We’re goin’ home,” and you almost laugh in his face.

“I don’t f-fucking think so.”

“Yeah? Well, I do. Thanks, Anna, I got her.”

“Hey,” a fourth voice joins the chorus, “hey, you know this guy?”

Knox pushes past Joel’s arm, unlinking your fingers from his, and takes your shoulder with one rough hand. All your anger, all your rage at Joel, and yet, the second you’re separated from him, the only thing on your mind is having his hand back around yours.

Joel’s upper lip twitches, he stares at the back of Knox’s head and then scoffs, reaches by him again to take your wrist. You let him have it. “Come on,” he says.

Knox is rounding on him, holding Joel back with a palm flat to his chest. “I ain’t too comfortable lettin’ her head outta here with some random old man, dude…”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the –

Joel’s jaw ticks. His expression falls blank, narrowed eyes looking up and down Knox’s frame as you tremble behind it, Anna’s steady arm around your shoulders.

“Take your hand off of me, and move aside,” he snarls, voice dangerous. You can hear the threat, and at the same time, the desperate attempt from within himself to hold off.

“Hey,” Anna reaches forward, tapping Knox’s shoulder three times with a glittery nail, “she knows him. It’s fine. He’s fine.”

“Nah, man,” Knox hisses back, “who the fuck even are you? You ain’t takin’ her anywhere.”

You step forward, putting yourself between the two of them, hands clumsily landing on each of their shoulders. “He’s a f…my dad’s friend,” you slur, eyes unfocused.

Knox isn’t listening. He hasn’t listened the entire fucking night. His eyes are set on Joel’s as he wraps a tight fist around your free arm, trying to pull you closer to him. Only he’s hurting you, and your fingers struggle to pry yourself free, so you look up at Joel.

You couldn’t see Anna’s expression. Couldn’t make out the worry on her face that her voice clued you in on. You could barely even see Sam, when he dragged you out of the dark corner of the bar.

But you can see Joel. See the shadow his brows cast over his glower, see his thin lips, see the tightening of his jaw. See the rage inside him like it’s an alarm beacon, flashing red from behind his eyes.

Knox tugs angrily on your wrist. “You just gonna let this asshole ruin your night?”

“Let go of m-me,” you murmur, suddenly feeling the bar’s eyes on you. Your face reddens with heat from the alcohol, doubled by your embarrassment.

When he hears you, Joel’s face contorts into one you’ve never seen on his face in your life. Fury, disgust and fury, twisting his lip and tugging on his brows. He leans in and rips yours and Knox’s hands apart, pulling you free and shifting you behind his body with as much effort as it’d take him to click his fingers. Your weak hand reaches out to take a fistful of his shirt, holding onto him at his spine.

The men square up to one another, Joel at least four inches taller and, despite Knox’s built form, far broader. Knox takes a step forward and Joel matches.

“Joel…” you whisper, catching Anna’s gaping stare over his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, Mr. Miller?” Sam edges in from behind Knox. “I’m gonna have to ask that you…don’t…do this, but if you have to, can y’all maybe move it out to the street?”

“Do I gotta do somethin’?” Joel asks Knox. You pull in closer to his back, trying to hide your face from the spotlight cast on you by what feels like thousands of drunken eyes staring directly at you.

Knox thinks it over for a moment. You can see Zack watching like a deer in the headlights from behind his buddy. He’s seen Joel before, and you know from the way his eyes stick on him that he recognizes him. Remembers how briskly he swept you out of the soft drinks section, how blunt he was about it.

The V-neck swells with the deep inhale its wearer takes, and then he shakes his head, sighing. Smug smirk thick across his lips.

“Nah, man. I didn’t think she was gonna be worth the fuck anyways, so.”

Joel clicks his teeth, gives his head one quick shake, mutters a resigned, “Alright,” then reaches back, and nudges you gently by the stomach until you’re safely out of reach.

And then he swings.

Once, catching Knox across the corner of his jaw, sending his face skyward. The crowd around the three of you gasps. Knox’s burly chest twists, and he staggers backward. His hands come up to clutch his face before Joel’s taking the collar of his shirt in his fist, reeling him in and holding him steady.

“Joel!” you yell, but he doesn’t fucking hear you.

His second blow lands square on Knox’s nose with a crack loud enough even for your numb ears to hear over the thudding music. Blood sprays from his nostrils and floods down into his mouth, smearing across his cheek as Joel’s knuckles ricochet off the square face. The crimson pours down his chin, spattering onto his shirt, bright and shocking against the stretched black material.

Joel lets him drop and he collapses onto all fours, coughing blood and spit and whatever the fuck else onto the dark floor.

“Fuck!” Knox screams, fingers trembling over his burst nose – thick, dark droplets running down his hands. “You motherfucker, you broke my fucking nose!”

Joel stoops down, takes the back of Knox’s shirt in two rough hands and hauls him up until he’s limp on his knees.

“I ever see you around here again,” he growls, “I ever find out you’ve been anywhere near her, as much as looked in the same fuckin’ direction as her, I’ll do worse ‘n break your Goddamn nose. You hear me?”

Knox whimpers, more blood dribbles from between his lips, and Joel throws him down. He turns back to you, massaging his knuckles with his thumb, and grabs your hand.

Your voice is weak with shock. “What the f-uck was that?”

“Just – come on,” he says, dragging you out of Frank’s without another word.

He leads your wobbly form down the street, past chattering crowds toward his black truck, opening the door for you and helping your unsteady limbs up into the passenger side, before he closes the door over and strides around to the driver’s side.

When he shuts his door – more of a slam – he sighs, head leaning back. His hand clenches and then relaxes, loosening his knuckles, hissing anytime the quickly-darkening skin stretches.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“What you sorry for?”

You shrug. Your mouth trips over words. “…gettin’ you into a barfight.”

He doesn’t look over at you. Just Hms and switches the ignition on, pulling away from the busy curb.

“Where’s m-my dad?” you slur.

“Work. Site inspection, remember?”

You nod, turning back to the road when you start to feel motion sick. Your eyes feel like they’re spinning in their sockets, your stomach flips with the slightest turn. “He get that delivery?” you ask, letting Joel know you heard the phone call earlier.

His jaw turns in your direction. Letting you know he knows you heard it. “Yeah. He’ll be home in a couple hours.”

“Did Sam c-call him?”

“No. Why?”

You lean your head against the passenger window, the cold distracting your brain from the ache in your head. The streetlights sail by in a blur. The engine rattles through the glass.

“Asked ‘im not to.”

“Yeah? ‘n why’s that?”

Your head rolls back onto the headrest as you decide on an answer. I didn’t want him seeing me drunk and high. I don’t care about you seeing me drunk and high. I just wanted to see you.

“’s never seen me drunk.”

“Or high?”

You snort. “I’m not…”

When your head slants to the left to look at Joel, his face turns from yours. He was just looking at you, and you missed it. Probably had that look on his face, that Nice try, kid expression.

“Okay…” you admit, spiritless, “a little high, then.”

“Anna was the one who called,” Joel says. “Said you were hammered, some guy was all over you, ‘n Sam watched him put somethin’ in your drink. They couldn’t find you anywhere. She was fuckin’ hysterical.”

Your head bobs with the moving truck. “When’d he put someth…?”

Joel shrugs. “I dunno. But I believe it.”

So do I, you think. Knox was on you from the minute he saw you. Tight grip around your waist, your wrist, drawing you into him with beer and weed and whatever else he had in his pockets. The comment that had warranted him two bone-breaking punches from Joel all but confirmed the intentions he had in mind. And now you feel fucking stupid.

“I didn’t really…I only had a couple sips of it,” you hear yourself saying, head heating with embarrassment – an attempt to convince him, or maybe more yourself, that you’re not as dumb as leaving your drink to be roofied.

Your voice sounds pathetic, though, and Joel doesn’t say anything to make you feel better. Doesn’t say anything to make you feel worse, either – the silence does that by itself.

You bring your knees up to your chin, nestling a little into the seat. It could almost feel like nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed, except you’re intoxicated, and Joel’s hands are firmly by his person. Not on your thigh, or tangled between your fingers like they usually would be.

You study him. Stare at every part of him like it’s the last time you’ll ever get to see it, until the gentle curve of his nose and the glint of his watch face are burned into the back of your eyelids when you close them over. Face lit red from the brake lights in front, right hand sitting idly on his thigh.

He looks like your Joel. Almost. Just a little closed off. Distant.

But he came to get you, right? Damn near punched Knox’s lights out, took you by the hand, led you back to the safety of his truck. He came straight to Frank’s as soon as Anna called. And he’s taking you home. He’s looking out for you.

So why doesn’t he feel like your Joel?

Well. You can wager a pretty solid guess. It starts with L and ends with comma, Receptionist at Clark’s Plant Hire.

The dark silhouette of your house looms overhead as Joel pulls into your drive. Sure enough, your dad’s not home.

The engine cuts and your head drops, eyes fixing on your hands clasped in your lap. You know Joel’s watching you. What the fuck is he thinking about?

Fuck that. Don’t think about that. Let’s not dive into that pool of imagination.

“Well, thanks.” You do your best to smile, without really looking at him. Your fingers find the door handle and you tug on it, pushing it open and spilling out onto your driveway.

You hear Joel sniff behind you. “Need a hand?”

“I’m good,” you call back, only just managing to stay on your feet.

The cold air helps a little to waken you up, sharpen your senses, but the world around you is still a whir of dull color and shapelessness, and you wobble across to the house in a route of zig-zags, boots almost tripping over thin air as you go. When you reach your front door, you hear his truck lock and the shadow of him appears by your side.

“I said I’m good.”

“I ain’t leaving you, kid. You’re hammered.”

You roll your eyes and open your mouth to protest, but then he’s taking the keys out of your hand and unlocking the door himself, hand on your back as he ushers you into your own house.

“I’m f-fine,” you repeat, tripping over the doorway.

“Look it.”

You meander over to the stairs, and when your foot manages to find the first step, Joel says your name. Your gaze sweeps across the floor until it meets his boots, travels up his legs, and finally rests on his outstretched hand.

“Water,” he tells you.

“I’m fine,” you say, the word losing meaning the more you utter it. “I wanna go – to bed.”

He shakes his head, and then tilts it in the direction of the kitchen.

You groan, mumble something about him being such an asshole, and walk straight by his hand.

Joel doesn’t react. Just follows you and hits the lights, which burn your eyes when they flicker to life. You wince and point up to them.

“Off,” you bluntly order, and he grunts, stepping back to oblige. You’re plunged straight back into darkness.

You’re holding yourself unsteadily against the edge of the kitchen island, whole body swaying. The room is fucking spinning, the lights out back swirling with it in a blur of white motion before your eyes. You swallow dryly and turn around to focus on Joel.

He’s filling a glass over the sink. “What happened to your leg?” he asks over his shoulder.

You turn your knee, examining the dent in your calf where the stool leg cut into you. The dry burgundy stain like a backwards seam line on your skin, emerging from a bright red bruise slowly fading to deep purple.

“Fell off a stool,” you mutter, angling it in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Joel Hms again. “You got anything to cover it?”

You shrug, having lost any and all energy to barter back with him. He slides the glass across the countertop to you, followed by a bottle of painkillers, then turns back to the open drawer he pulled them from and begins rummaging for a band-aid.

Your shaky hand lifts the glass to your lips. It’s cold and slippery in your grasp, drops of condensation running over your fingers like the blood from Knox’s nose had run over his. The more you tighten your grip, the harder it becomes to hold, until it’s sliding from your clutch.

“Easy,” Joel murmurs, appearing at the side of you and placing his hands over yours, holding the glass still.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” you say, eyes focusing and then unfocusing on the marks at the base of his fingers, the dabs of dark red where the skin has burst.

He slowly lowers your hands until the glass is safely back on the counter, and then pulls away from you, drawing his swollen knuckles in to his body.

“They’re bleedin’,” you repeat, looking up at him.

“I know they’re bleedin’.”

“Let me see,” you step forward, “Joel. Let me–”

He catches your hands in his. Pushes them back down. Stares at the counter, sighs instead of replying.

Your eyes sting, filling with tears that crowd your already-blurred vision. The punch you feel to your gut brings you to your senses as if it drains you of every substance in your system all at once.

It’s like he’s broken up with you all over again. And it pisses you the fuck off.

“Fuck you,” you whisper into the dark, and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t lift his eyes, doesn’t even flinch. “Fuck you, so much.”

You’re staring him down, what little you can see of him in the pale light cascaded onto him through the shades. The crease between his brows, more prominent with the frown on his face; the line his lips form with the tight clench of his jaw.

Fucking look at me, you think. He can say something back – anything. You can stand and hiss horrible words at one another, yell at each other if that’s what he wants to do. Argue until you’re blue in the face, until the alcohol’s all dried up and the moonlight on his chest is replaced by sunlight. Just fucking look at me.

“You’re an asshole and a liar, you know that?”

“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Just stringing me along this whole time.”

You blink away the tears before they can fall, making room for more. They’re forming rapidly, each time heavier, and thicker, and angrier. But fuck it, right? This is over. He’s done, and you’re done. Just ignore the pain of it, stick your finger in the wound and keep pushing until you hit bone.

“That guy you punched? He was all over me. All fucking night.”

Joel’s voice is toneless. He’s already over the conversation before it’s begun. “I know he was, kid.”

“We kissed.”

“I know that, too.”

“Had his hands all over me. ‘n if it hadn’t been him, it woulda been literally any other guy in there.”

The words are starting to bleed into one another in your inebriated state. Anger turning to rage turning to fear turning to shame turning to hurt turning back into anger.

“Woulda kissed any one of ‘em. Mighta let them take me home, mighta let them fuck me.”

His head gives an involuntary shake and he blinks. Like he’s trying to wash the thought away. The image of you under someone else, moaning someone else’s name, pulling someone else into your body.

“That piss you off? It make you hate me?”

And then he looks up. Finally, his gaze locks with yours. And his eyes are just as glassy, just as fucking full of tears as yours. He replies with the worst thing he could possibly come up with. It forces the breath from your lungs in a painful exhale.

“There ain’t a thing in this world that you could do that would make me hate you, you know that.”

And then your tears start to fall. Your façade breaks. Stone crumbles. Dam bursts. They fall onto your cheeks, searing on your heated skin, rolling down onto the front of your dress in dark splatter marks.

Through a sob, you choke out another, “Fuck you, Joel,” and then, when you catch your breath, “you don’t get to – to sleep with someone else, and make me feel like the idiot for it.”

He looks up at you with a dark expression, lips locked tight like he’s refusing to let something slip. He shakes his head, and then says, “Can we not have this conversation right now?”

You scoff. A drunken, angry scoff. “You don’t wanna talk about her? When’s a good fuckin’ time, then? When suits you and f-fuckin’ – Lois?”

He falls quiet. Presses his fingers into his eyes. Sighs. “Baby,” he says into his palms.

“’m not your fucking baby,” you whisper between your teeth.

“Baby.” He drops his hands. Looks you dead in the eye. “I did not sleep with Lois.”

You’re frozen to the spot. Your lips fall apart, coated in salty tears. You’re holding your breath, though you’re not sure what for. The room stops spinning for all of ten seconds until he speaks again.

“I didn’t. I know what that message sounded like. Know how you musta heard it. But nothin’ happened, nothin’ has ever happened. Nothin’ would ever happen,” he says, a little more animated, tossing his hands in the air.

You stare between his eyes. He’s still enough that your fucked brain can focus on them, can see plain as day – even in the dark kitchen, even through your cloudy tears and all of the poison in your blood – that he’s telling the truth.

“Ex-plain,” you say dryly, looking down to his lips.

Joel sighs again. “I told you I had work to do. Had to head over to Clark’s to order that stuff for your dad. Saw her there, said hi. ‘n that’s all.”

Your eyes slowly close over, wet lashes on hot, dehydrated skin. Your ears are ringing, your body aching. You breathe a sigh as what he says sinks into your slow, throbbing brain, and then lull to one side, slumping against the counter.

“You didn’t…you didn’t think this was worth tellin’ me on Monday?”

“Tried, baby. You were gone. You were so angry; thought it’d be better if I let you cool off.”

“You’re – a fucking – idiot,” you seethe, shaking your head. It’s starting to pound again, sharp pain right behind your eyes like they’re being tugged backwards.

“Well, tonight, I guess that makes two of us.”

You grimace at him. “Lettin’ me go for four fuckin’ days thinking that –”

“– thinkin’ that I would actually cheat on ya? ‘s that what you think a’ me?”

“What did you ex-pect? You didn’t exactly try to – c-clear it up.” You step back, lifting a hand to cup your forehead with a groan. A mix of frustration, pain, and exhaustion in the form of a slow-moving ache hauls its way from one temple to the other.

“Baby, I gotta get you to bed,” Joel says, stepping forward. “We can talk about this when you’re able to see straight.”

“I’m fine,” you whimper, but it’s the least convincing you’ve sounded all night.

“Kid–”

“Don’t fucking call me kid. Like it’s some pet name, like you give a damn about me–”

“You think I don’t give a damn about you? You think I don’t care?”

Your head wobbles in response. It sends the room hurtling again, Joel’s figure swimming in and out of your vision. You grab the countertop again in attempt to freeze him in place.

He tuts and turns his jaw. “You know how much sleep I’ve had these last few days? Not a fuckin’ minute. I ain’t slept a single night, worryin’ about you ‘n what’s goin’ through your head. Like I give a damn about you. I wish I didn’t give a damn about you, baby. Make my life a whole lot easier.”

“Then, show me. Fucking prove it to me.”

“Prove it to you how? Break some asshole’s nose in a bar? Take you home when you’re wasted?”

Yeah. And also, no. Not just that.

You seethe. “You know what the fuck I mean. Do something about it.”

“I can’t,” he says, raising his voice. “Can’t take you out on dates, can’t put my arm around you, can’t kiss you ‘less there ain’t nobody watchin’. I can’t do none of what I wanna do. This is – it’s fuckin’…”

“…impossible,” you breathe, thick and slurred.

Joel lifts his head then, sees the look in your eye. He sniffs. “’s pretty damn hard, yeah.”

You tip your head back, feel the weight of your tears and your eyes and your brain slap against the back of your skull, a nauseating pull at the nape of your neck. You’re defeated. Nothing left in you to argue, talk, even so much as breathe.

Your words drag between one another, each one beginning with the remnants of the one before it.

“Just - take me to bed.”

He’s standing inches from you, hands hovering over your own, hesitant or unwilling or fucking afraid to touch you.

You ball your fists against his chest and give him one tiny, ineffective shove. But he’s bigger, stronger, sober. He doesn’t budge. Accepting defeat, you breathe one last, “Fuck you,” and brush past him, staggering out of the kitchen.

Joel – water and painkillers in hand – watches you like a hawk going upstairs, arms braced for you to lean on anytime you begin to tumble backward. When you do, his hand brushes your elbow, and you whip it out of his reach and reel it back in to your body.

He settles you on the bed just like he did six days ago, after your rodeo night. Only he doesn’t kneel, doesn’t take your boots off. Just walks away, grabs a tee from your chest of drawers and hands it to you to slip into by yourself.

You don’t even have to open your eyes. You know which one he’s given you. Can tell from the feel of the material, the cracked lettering on the chest, that it’s his Rangers shirt, the same one he put on you the first night you slept together. Smells more like you than it does him these days, but feels just like he always does. And as he waits a safe two-feet from you for you to change, no hands reaching out to help, to fix your hair, to stroke your cheek – you think the shirt will just have to do.

Everything he does is close enough for you to recognize him as Joel, and yet distant enough for him to be someone totally different. Every move he makes is pre-determined, all outcomes already analyzed and mapped, all risks carefully averted. It’s like he’s walking a minefield.

He hands you a couple of pills and helps with lifting the water to your lips. Then he sits at the end of your bed and applies the band-aid while you drag a makeup wipe clumsily over your face.

His thumbs linger on your fucked leg, rubbing over the padded dressing a few times after it’s stuck on, gentle and slow. Eyes never leaving the spot your skin broke open. And then, when you’re done with it, he takes the makeup wipe and quickly runs it down your calf, cleaning the dry blood from your skin.

Touch as delicate as though he were holding a rose – fingers brushing over your body like you might tear or fall apart at the slightest movement. When he’s done, he makes his way around to the opposite side of the bed.

“There’s a sleeping bag in the hall closet if you’d rather take the floor,” you tell him, rolling back and pulling your knees to your chin.

“Nah,” Joel says with the groan of a near-fifty-year-old man, kicking his boots off and propping his pillows up. “We’re close enough by now.”

He pulls the flannel from his shoulders and tosses it to the end of the bed, then slips in under the covers beside you, clasping his hands on his chest. His entire body a perfectly polite distance away.

Your wrist lifts, weak and limp, and your fingers ghost across his red wine knuckles. He winces a little, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he watches as you trace the curves of his hands, surfing the valleys where the bone drops, then back up to the peaks where the blood breaks from his skin.

“You didn’t have to…” you whisper. “He was just some dirtbag.”

He sniffs. Replies to you in his head, translated through the look in his eye. Wasn’t all about the dirtbag.

And you know it. Knox was just an asshole who took the hit for the last four days. Sure, he deserved it. But his big, ugly face and the uglier words which happened to tumble out of it were simply a punchbag full of sand; Joel’s fist hammering into it was as much about defending you as it was about punishing someone, anyone, the first fucker who wound up on the wrong side of him, for everything that had happened.

He's angry. At himself and at you and at this entire fucking mess. And you’re angry. At yourself and at him and at the very same thing. The two of you lie side by side in the dark, both broken and bruised and bleeding. You let out a small, pathetic sigh, and Joel echoes it.

His eyes close over and you stare at him. Stare at the faint lines on his face that slowly fade as he relaxes more, falls closer and closer to sleeping. Watch his chest slowly rising and falling, and his hands moving up and down with it. His entire body is still. Like it’s the first calm he’s had in a while. The first time he’s been able to settle.

And you stare at him. For hours, feels like. You stare at him until sleep, or alcohol, or something stronger coats over your vision and sweeps him out of focus.

----------

The wall opposite your window is lit with a single stripe of bright, nauseating orange, the sunrise staring in between your drapes. There are birds screaming outside. Your head is still throbbing and your throat feels like splintered wood and the other side of your bed is empty.

He can’t have left long ago. The mattress is still warm under the sheets he’s folded back over. His shirt is sat folded on the pillowcase.

You grab it and haul yourself out of bed – head still spinning, you trip out of your room.

He’s gotta be in the kitchen. He’ll be standing at the counter drinking a coffee, he’ll mumble a Mornin’, then pull you in and kiss the top of your head. He’ll ask how you’re feeling and if you want some breakfast. He’ll be Joel again.

“Joel…?” you call, rounding the bottom of the stairs toward the kitchen. No response.

The clock on the oven reads 5:57. The kitchen is deserted. When you loop around the island – as if he’d be crouched behind it or something – you notice an empty mug sitting in the sink, trails of black coffee at the bottom.

Your shaking hands cup around the ceramic. It’s cooling, but it’s warm.

He’s been in here.

“Joel!” you yell. Come out, now, this ain’t funny anymore.

You hear the squeak of wheels rolling to a stop outside and flee over to the living room windows, daybreak burning your eyes when you peer through the shades.

You’re frantically searching, going blind with the bright rays singeing your corneas, pacing back and forth between each window to get an angle on the street that will show you his truck. Show you him.

You don’t even notice the sound of keys in the door, or the rattle it makes as it pushes open.

“Hey, kiddo.”

You whip around. The owner of the voice lifts a hand to his puffy eyes and rubs them, yawning.

“H-hi, Dad.”

You look fucking insane. Hair all over the place, makeup haphazardly removed, Joel’s flannel shirt hanging from your fist. Wearing nothing but a long tee, a blood-seeped band-aid on your calf.

“Good night?” he says with a sleepy chuckle. “I am pooped. You want anythin’ before I head up to bed?”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“Alright, I’m gonn–”

“Where’s Joel?”

Your desperation has reached a new high. Your pride, a new low. You just want him back, don’t care who knows or thinks or suspects what. Just come back.

“Huh?”

“Joel? He brought me home and I woke up and he’s gone.”

“He – Well, I…I suppose he’ll be at work, hon. He can’t stick around here all day.” He smiles weakly, and then swivels on his heels.

“He text you?”

He sighs, his back still turned. “What has gotten into…? Here.”

Your dad twists and throws his phone toward you. It lands on the carpet at your feet. Then he turns back and begins climbing the stairs.

“See ya in a few hours.”

When he turns the corner on the landing and his footsteps fade out of earshot, you bend and your fingers clutch his phone.

He has one unread text from Joel.

You unlock the phone with a click and open up the message thread. Your half-drunk, half-sleepy eyes flit across the screen, leaning back against the arm of the couch to read every word he ever sent your dad.

Joel: She’s in bed. Sat with her for a bit to make sure she didn’t roll onto her back. She’s a little worse for wear. I got a job up in Waco I need to be at in an hour, so I gotta head.

You scroll further back.

Joel: She okay?

Joel: Sarah says she hasn’t heard from her in a few days. We can come over for dinner tonight if you reckon that might help?

Further back still.

Joel: Sure, not doing anything anyway. Sarah in Nashville. Tell her to text me when she’s ready to be picked up. Hope she enjoys her rodeo night 🤠

Joel: Table booked for 6. Get you both at 5:45. Looking forward to it.

You scroll until your eyes hurt.

Joel: No answer. She’ll be home soon I bet.

Joel: You ever seen Grey’s Anatomy? Pretty good TV

Joel: Your daughter available tonight to help me put up stuff for Sarah coming home? I fear what might happen if I attempt it myself

You read the final message, the first thing he sent your dad after you got home. Six days in. He’d driven you home from work.

Joel: No problem, wouldn’t have her walking home in the rain. Was nice to see her again. She’s a sweetheart.

You’re laid back across the couch, your legs hanging over the armrest. You drop the phone to your chest and stare up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling a lot more sober.

She’s a sweetheart.

Your throat tightens around a sob. Like a fist clenching around your neck, crushing your breath to nothing. Your eyes well, tears slowly flood across your vision and then spill over, running rapidly down to your ears and seeping into the fabric of the couch. You’re still silent. Still unable to open your mouth.

You’re doing everything you can to hold back. To stop it from happening. But your chest feels like it could burst, and your eyes are screwing shut tighter and tighter, and your body curls up like an animal succumbing to a mortal wound, and then –

Then, you break.

It forces its way from your throat, hammering against the sides of your mouth before it’s escaping, tearing away from your lips and hurtling skyward. A deep, violent exhale. Broken, and painful, and heavy.

There’s no one to hold back for. Just you, sat in your living room, clutching the flannel of a man who doesn’t want you anymore.

Your breath stammers, shudders against the palms of your hands as your fingertips massage your eyes. You’re crying like a little kid, and it’s not making you feel any better, but no matter what you do, it won’t stop.

And you don’t know why. You tell yourself that: I don’t know why I’m crying. Almost laugh when you think it through to yourself: sobbing at 6AM over someone you were sleeping with, for all of, what, four weeks? I don’t know why the fuck I’m crying.

Except – you do. You do. And you’re totally, completely, undeniably fucked.

You sigh and close your eyes.

You are – fucked.

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amourdivine · 7 months

Text

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 🦢 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄?

Hello, lovelies! I hope you're doing well. I bring you another romance topic today, found from the vault, forgotten in my Google Docs folder! Let me know how it resonates. If you liked this reading, please consider booking a paid reading or tipping me at @ [email protected]! xo. ♡

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none of the images are mine unless stated otherwise

how to choose your pile. take deep breaths for a few minutes & look at each and every one of the piles separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later.

♡ ♡ ♡ pick a card masterlist & information

disclaimer. this is a general reading for entertainment purposes. tarot is a divination tool & is not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i do not take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2023 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

PILE 01. 🕊️

who is this person? page of wands, the sun rx, seven of pentacles rx.

This person is very, very impatient. They tend to be more immature and on the feistier side, I definitely think they’re an extrovert or someone with Leo, Sagittarius or Aries in their big three. They might rush into things and have a bit of a self-sabotaging energy to them. Honestly, I think this person underestimates themselves and act out of passion and desire, so they’re not the most careful in love. They tend to be pessimistic because they wonder why their relationships go wrong, but they can rush into situations before they’re even ready and not always be willing to put the effort and time required for things to develop. Since they’re also being represented by the Page of Wands, you might question their feelings and motives towards you because they might seem fickle, even a bit childish for some of you. They have a lot of young energy, it could be in age or simply in their nature. By the way, this is definitely a new person, not someone from your past. I’m also getting more of a masculine vibe, but it doesn’t necessarily correlate to any specific gender.

how are they truly feeling? six of pentacles, two of wands, the sun.

They see a lot of potential in your relationship with them. Like I said, this person tends to rush into things, so they aren’t super in their feelings about it, but they’re feeling very positive and they’re already wanting to make a move. This person could simply have a crush on you at first, since I don’t get any deeper feelings involved here. However, this person enjoys your presence a lot! You might have started out as friends and they love being in your presence, it turns their frown upside down. Since we also got The Sun card in the last question but in reverse, I think you make them feel more positive, happier and lighter in general. They are imagining a lot of things in their head for your future, but they feel that this connection is balanced and it could go somewhere much better than where it’s at. That’s also why they’re rushing, because they don’t want to waste any time.

what are the circumstances regarding this confession? ten of swords rx, king of wands rx, two of cups.

They’re resisting these feelings. This person might be exhausted of all their thinking and imagining before they confess to you - they can’t wait any longer. They’re going to feel restricted and that’s why they’ll take action, so they’ll be super impulsive towards you. It might come out of the blue, at a totally random moment and it could shock you, but they’ll want to make sure to make it up to you later somehow. Maybe they’ll be venting to you and at one point they might kiss you recklessly or send a risky text. They’ll probably invite you to a date (especially dinner date) later on so that they can show you they’re interested and it’s not something that they told you just for the sake of it. They might be naturally flirty towards others, which is also why they’ll want to take you out, so you know that their feelings are romantic indeed, even if they’re at a very initial stage. They’ll be very, very nervous and fidgety (lol), might also stutter a bit and seem kind of random towards you. Honestly, there’s a lot of passion and you’ll seem even more attractive in their eyes. I can’t help but feel that they’ll try and plan everything out, only to be super hasty and clumsy with their confession (aw).

additional messages: summer breeze, “easy like sunday morning,” frat party, college roommates, sapphic/wlw, silk chiffon by muna & phoebe bridgers, 6:66, 222, light blue, hazy, champagne bubbles.

PILE 02. 🐇

who is this person? five of swords, the lovers, knight of cups.

This is someone whom you might have had a disagreement with. The intensity of this confrontation likely wasn’t anything light, so you could’ve had a falling out of sorts. They have a lot of air and Gemini energy, so there’s a duality to them that can be confusing and contradicting to you, because of their sharp wit and their spontaneous nature. This person seems like a lot! Not in a bad way, but they have a very proud and stubborn personality as well. With the Knight of Cups, this is someone who had and still has romantic feelings for you, whether you’ve known it or not. Even if you didn’t have any romantic involvement with this person, they nurse something very romantic and dreamy for you. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was an ex of yours, someone whom you were in a relationship with and ended things very badly. However, they’re not over you and no matter how difficult this situation must’ve been, they still love you very much.

how are they truly feeling? five of pentacles, nine of pentacles rx, strength.

It’s surprising to me that this Strength card came out upright, because they’re not actually feeling strong at all. This person might be putting up a front, honestly. They could have some significant Leo placements and they might have turned this thing into a competition of “who cares less.” Which is immature, of course, but they feel left out in the cold, like all the future they had with you was lost. Even if they’re determined to make it back to you somehow, they feel that all of their chances and options were wasted and in vain. However, since we’re talking about their feelings, I don’t think it’s true that there are no options left here. They could be stuck in a self pitying mentality and that’s also what’s making them so miserable, even if they want to make things right again so badly. This person could type it out their feelings in a billion unsent texts and still be too proud to make a move.

what are the circumstances regarding this confession? judgement, eight of wands rx, wheel of fortune rx.

Enough time will have passed you by and the dust will have settled. They’ll make this choice because I can almost hear them saying to themselves “enough is enough.” Things will feel stagnant and for some of you, you might have even forgotten or let go of this person after this time of silence. They’re going to make this call after a very long time because they’ll realize that they’ve wasted too much time agonizing over these feelings and their pain instead of solving it. I pulled another card for clarification and got the Knight of Cups again, so they’ll probably realize they’re still not over you and that’s something they need to get off their chest. Honestly, I think they’ll be much more humble and loving the next time you speak to them, not only because they want to tell you how they truly feel and show their vulnerable side, but also because they don’t really expect much out of you. They could feel that they’re out of luck and out of chances to be with you, so you’ll have to be really clear about your feelings with this person, pile two, because they’re very fearful, but they’re pouring their heart out into this confession because it’ll be anything but easy to them. Also, the Universe might have nudged them a little to make this call.

additional messages: broken strings by james morrison & nelly furtado, “i know i was wrong but i regret it now,” “i’ve been a fool,” leo, sagittarius, capricorn, gemini, “i regret what i said,” “our fight was really triggering,” sorry by justin bieber, 888, 999, 10:10, february, aquarius mars.

PILE 03. 🐻‍❄️

who is this person? the tower, two of swords, six of pentacles.

This is someone who’s been through a lot, pile three. I think they can come across as insecure or even indecisive. They may be hard to read or someone who isn’t quite your type, but since they’re your next/first partner, it’ll be a welcomed surprise. They may struggle with making decisions, especially when it comes to confessing their feelings for you, because they might’ve been through a lot of difficult moments - like I said, this Tower also makes me wonder if they’re resisting some sort of change or feeling towards you because of their own fears. However, they try their best to be balanced. I think they’re very generous, very giving and caring towards people, but they may be harsh on themselves at times. This person could be a Libra, a Taurus or a Capricorn. I feel like they’re quite stubborn and they don’t actually like to take many risks. Perhaps being in love with you is something they found quite shocking, so it might take them some time to understand it.

how are they truly feeling? king of swords, queen of cups, the hanged one.

So, I think after meditating on it for a little while, they’ll eventually evolve into a more mature, self-assured and calm energy. It may take them a while, as I said, but they’ll want to do this the right way, looking very steady and confident. This King of Swords is very logical and quite upfront, but they may be hiding their softer and more emotional side by the time they come forward. I think that the moment they confess to you, it won’t sound very emotional, but they’ll definitely be hiding this Queen of Cups underneath the King of Swords. The Hanged Man makes me think they’ll be patient with you, instead of demanding an answer right away, this person will want you to think about it, to really ponder over how you feel as well. But it also gives me the energy of someone who’s done enough contemplation over their feelings, hence why this King of Swords will come on strongly. They may seem more confident than what they actually feel, perhaps colder than intended, but they do have very strong feelings, they just don’t want to come off as too vulnerable or too emotional by the time they come clean about this.

what are the circumstances regarding this confession? page of pentacles, the high priestess, six of swords.

There’s some healing coming from this person’s end. I cannot help but wonder if this person is someone you study or work with, but in whichever case, their offer will be something small, but significant to them. It may not be a “full blown date”, like something super luxurious, but they may offer to grab a cup of coffee with you to talk about these feelings. Something more subtle rather than super out there. Even the High Priestess itself has a more lowkey energy, so it’s possible they’ll try to do it in a more private or secluded space. I think this person will want to have a more quiet one on one with you, so it doesn’t seem like it’ll be a grand gesture. You likely won’t see this coming, so by the time they confess, you’ll have to use your intuition in order to see through that King of Swords energy I mentioned. They truly just want to let you know - I don’t think they have any high expectations over this, because the Six of Swords here gives me the idea that they’ll want to heal and move forward in case you reject them. With or without you, they’ll want to embark on a healing journey and keep going either way. They might feel a sense of relief or calm afterwards, like they have finally let these feelings and secret thoughts of you out. It’s going to be something very revealing for the both of you, something which will help them progress, whether this connection progresses or not. Of course, since this is your next partner, it’ll help the both of you move forward with your relationship and develop something from there.

additional messages: libra/7th house stellium, “i’ve made up my mind”, throw it on the fire by jon mclaughlin, “my life without you is just time”, somewhere only we know by keane, “i just want to know how you feel,” “take your time.”

PILE 04. 🦢

who is this person? nine of swords, ten of wands, judgment.

I think this is someone who is always looking for “the light at the end of the tunnel.” It’s worth mentioning I am using the Vice Versa deck for your pile, so the imagery here is a little different than the original A.E. Waite deck. They’re likely a very hardworking and fierce person, but they’re also afraid of relying on others and asking for help. A little too proud, maybe? They could be an Aries or a Leo, but I’m more specifically getting Leo from this person. They’ve been through a lot, but still, they feel like life keeps throwing curveballs at them. Honestly, this person may suffer from burnout by the time you meet them, they may be a workaholic or someone very ambitious who wants to carve their own path in life. They may have had to start all over many times and have had a hard time finding their true calling in life, but they’ve begun to overcome these issues. This person can be very stubborn as well, maybe they don’t like hearing advice or asking for it somehow. I think you’ll recognize them by the way they try to tackle everything on their own and are a bit too proud to admit when something isn’t working or when they’re in the wrong, but they do mean well.

how are they truly feeling? three of cups, knight of cups, the emperor.

They might be friends with you, but the feelings are too strong for them to deny it. However, with The Emperor, it kind of confirms the fire energy for me, especially Aries as well. So they’re a little bit ashamed of how soft they truly feel for you. It’s interesting because despite wanting to look and feel in power, they just want to give you the world, even if you might reject them. This person is hopeful, though. They’ll want to look very confident and may even show off a little bit, but they want to impress you and that’s also why this Emperor is coming through. They can (and want to) give you everything you want, to be the kind of partner who honors you, someone you’re proud of. They’ve got great intentions, even though they’re not very good at communicating or explaining their feelings, they may have a little bit of a “rough edge” to them or have a very, very rational and inflexible approach about the way they feel. It’s almost like they’ll try to be very self-controlled and tough not to seem vulnerable, but deep down, these feelings are very real and they truly cherish your company. Again, I think this person will be friends with you - or at least try to remain friends before moving forward with their confession.

what are the circumstances regarding this confession? the star, queen of pentacles, two of pentacles.

They’re very hopeful! They may want to take you out somewhere fancy, give you the best of the best treatment and make you feel like a royal by their side. You may even find them to be a bit foolish? They’ll be so eager to please you, honestly. I even feel like the man in this Two of Pentacles card is juggling all things at once so he looks impressive or busy, when in fact, he’s struggling to keep up. I think this will be a very important and fancy date, something more.. official? Not something casual or anything you may take for granted. They want to make sure you’re comfortable and may even gawk at you a little bit. They find you really beautiful, pile four, that’s undeniable. There’s a lot of hope - they’re one hundred percent confident you’ll want them back (lol). I think both of you will be dressed up nicely, likely going somewhere to dine or walk? They think you’ve got everything, like you’re the full package, baby! It’s interesting that they’ll try to come off as The Emperor, but deep down I think they’ll try to find all of the ways in which they can “woo” you and make you theirs.

additional messages: “i’m worth it,” solar plexus chakra, if you want somebody by jon mclaughlin, poker face, “please notice”, the way you look tonight (cover) by shawn mendes, “can i kiss you?", fire signs, leo or aries venus/mars.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2023 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

#pick a card #tarotblr #tarot reading #pick a card reading #pac reading #tarot #tarot readings #tarot readers #tarot cards #tarotcommunity #divination #spirituality #future spouse #love reading #pick a pile #pick a pile reading #tarot pick a card #pick a picture #*

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anistarrose · 7 months

Text

This is my online accessibility (especially image descriptions) masterpost, which I update periodically whenever I find a new resource or guide. I worry this has the side effect of looking overwhelming in scope, so if you're learning about IDs and/or Tumblr-specific accessibility for the first time, I recommend you start with the first five starred posts. All post titles are clickable links!

*Why and how to write image descriptions (with examples linked)

*Accessibility on Tumblr for new users (has templates, also talks about how to tag for flashing lights to accommodate photosensitive folks)

*I see an image and want to describe it: a step by step guide

*Fanart-specific and Tumblr-specific advice for image descriptions

*How to describe screenshots of tags

Why a short ID is always better than no ID

I want to make my posts more accessible, but can’t write IDs myself: a guide

Google Doc full of template descriptions for memes

Online image to text converter

Describing skin tone and describing hair (heads up that the posts themselves are undescribed and were written with fiction writers in mind; potentially still very useful)

How to remember to write descriptions (spoiler: by putting yourself in situations where you see descriptions more often)

Related, a Google doc of described blogs (almost all the blogs linked earlier in this post have tons of described posts and resources too)

(In my opinion, writing IDs is easiest to learn by doing — but especially if combined with watching other people do so. So follow some described blogs!)

Why not to put image descriptions in small fonts/italics (also, some non-definitive thoughts on IDs vs alt text, and why "both" actually makes sense as an answer in many cases)

More on IDs vs alt text from a visually impaired Tumblr user

Alt text vs IDs vs Captions with examples

Brief Intro to Transcripts/Video Descriptions

The People's Accessibility Discord sever (a very friendly community for crowdsourcing image descriptions)

How to make your blog's colors visually accessible - one of the easiest thing on this list!

Other easy things: show love to artists who describe their work, edit descriptions into your original post when someone provides one in the notes, and copy-paste inaccessible (eg, small text or italicized) descriptions as plain text when you reblog!

Lastly, and maybe most importantly, how to continue writing image descriptions while avoiding burnout.

Let me know if any of these links break! I personally don't describe nearly as much audio/video (got those audio processing issues), so this list is sparse on those resources, but if anyone has good guides/blog recommendations for that too, feel free to add on!

#accessibility #image descriptions

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

Note

AITA for telling my friends i love them?

okay, hear me out before writing this off as fake or “trying to make the other party look bad”. i promise this is a genuine problem i need to have figured out.

i (20) am autistic so i have a hard time telling when i do something wrong, and it’s difficult for me to make friends. however, i was part of an online friend group for ~3-4 years. i was the oldest and the others (17-19) all knew each other irl, so it felt a little awkward (to me) for me to be there, but i considered them my closest friends and my only safe space to be myself.

in the time we were friends, i made some mistakes, some of which i’d rather not get into for personal reasons. but recently the group decided they didn’t want me there anymore, so i was kicked from the discord server and they all blocked me. i was sent a long message about why, and that’s where my confusion starts.

in the message, they brought up some things that didn’t make sense to me as a “bad” thing.

1. they said i’d talked to them about drugs and alcohol “while [they] were still minors”, which is true, but misleading when it’s just said like that. what i actually did was infodump about safe use, because it happened to be one of my fixations at the time, and sometimes mention being high in my channel, but nothing more than that. as for them being minors, some were 17 and some were 18, so it’s really not that different to having DARE come and talk to you about drugs, at least in my eyes. i never encouraged them to use, i never told them to use, and i never gave them resources to use. i only talked about safe use.

2. this is where my title comes in. they told me i was guilttripping and manipulating them by talking about them being my “longest friends” and telling them i loved them. point blank, nothing more to it, that’s what they said. along with that was an added “we know that’s not how you meant it but the effect was there”. this is what i don’t understand and why i need to know if i’m actually a bad person for this or not. yes, i’d talk about them being my longest friends, because i was grateful they had stuck around so long. i’d tell them i loved them just off the bat, whenever i wanted to tell them. it was never about guilttripping or manipulating them, it was always about wanting to show that i appreciated them.

3. this one is a hard one i think. they said that i’d “never disproven [my] ex’s accusations”. i don’t really want to get into what happened which my ex since i know i made mistakes in that relationship, but what’s important to note here is that i had sent my ex’s accusations to one member of the group who’d then sent me a text telling me that they believed i was different now.

this is the text copy-pasted:

“it's definitely a rough situation. but since i know *y'all*, i definitely believe your side. not to mention, you acknowledged your mistakes and the things you did. and i think for all the statements they made about "they knew we had [this traumal", they should've had proof of y'all discussing that. like i can say my girlfriend knows i have body image issues, but i could totally be pulling that out of my ass, you can't just take my word for it. they can't just say things without proof, especially if the things they say could *ruin* y'all's life.”

but in the message as to why i was no longer in the group, they said that actually they didn’t believe me at all, which completely contradicts that text.

and yeah, that’s my explanation of the situation. i genuinely don’t know if i’m the asshole or not, and i’ve been beating myself up about it. this whole situation has made my trust in friends go down, especially since i trusted that group with everything about me. any advice is welcome too.

thank you for listening. have a great day. :)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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missmonsters2 · 9 months

Text

Mirror, Mirror | Three

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART TWO

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Certain thoughts and feelings are starting to arise in Wanda whenver she looks at you (god forbid she touches you). Despite these feelings, Wanda has no idea how to shift the dynamic. Resigned, Wanda knows she needs to ask for help and the advice she gets is probably going to land her in another bizzare plan.

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: another wacky plan that probably is gonna get Wanda in trouble LOL

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~3.8k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda lays with her arm behind her head, staring at the ceiling while she waits for you to finish in the bathroom.

This was an opportunity, wasn't it?

Alone at night, in one bed, in close proximity—this would be the perfect opportunity for Wanda to make a move, isn't it? The perfect opportunity to create some sexual tension so that you'd look at Wanda differently.

So...so, should she—Wanda gulps—cuddle you?

You and Wanda have cuddled many times in the past. It was nice to have someone to snuggle up to when watching a movie; the habit slid right into place so easily.

But those times had been innocent. Wanda hadn't been thinking anything about it other than how comforting it was.

Now—Wanda's thinking about other things. Touching would be exciting—exhilarating, even.

Yet, the more Wanda thinks about it, the more rigid she becomes.

Should she...should she just try to wrap her arms around you like usual? Or should she try to get a little frisky and "accidentally" let her fingers trail underneath your shirt?

Wanda blushes so hard, rolling over completely, and pushes her face into her pillow. She screws her eyes shut.

God, she wanted to scream.

"Are you trying to suffocate yourself to go to sleep?"

The sudden voice makes Wanda turn over. You enter the room with a tiny smile on your lips as you toss your worn clothes onto a chair in the corner. Your PJs consist of a worn-in oversized t-shirt and shorts, though Wanda knows the shorts are mostly for her sake as you prefer to sleep without them.

Oh, if you only knew Wanda had absolutely no qualms about you sleeping without them. In fact, to be generous, Wanda could insist you sleep without your shirt, too.

Wanda takes a deep breath, trying to will the blood in her cheeks to leave. Her head is slightly dizzy from the thoughts.

"You know how I am if I wake up in the middle of the night," Wanda sits up and replies wryly, clearing her throat as it's suddenly dry.

You grab a water bottle from your desk, opening it to take a sip before you close it and toss it towards her. Wanda catches it, opening it immediately to take a gulp of water. She stares at you as you apply chapstick to your lips for the night before you shut off the lights and make your way toward the bed.

In the dark, Wanda feels her heart start to race with anticipation. The bed dips, and Wanda takes a shaky breath as she closes the water bottle and sets it aside. She lays back, staring at the ceiling, hearing your soft sigh of contentment of finally being in bed.

You're lying on your side facing Wanda, but when she turns her head to the side, your eyes are closed as you breathe steadily, trying to fall asleep.

Wanda swallows. She wants things to change so badly. Wanda wants you to look at her differently, to notice that as the blueprint to your type, you could just have the original—if that was what this is all about.

So, Wanda turns on her side, blood pumping in her ears, making it nearly impossible to hear anything as she shuffles closer to you. You've only been on one date with Raye, and it didn't even end with sex. It's not cheating, Wanda tells herself. It's really not.

When Wanda's face to face with you, her limbs almost feel numb. She wants to do something, but she doesn't even know what. The more she thinks about being bold, the shyer she's getting.

Wanda's starting to chicken out.

Wanda's hand pauses right in the middle of the space between you two.

This is so stupid, Wanda thinks. She's never going to be more to you than just a friend. You're never going to think about her the way she thinks about you. You—

Fingers slide between hers, grasping her hand flat against the bed.

"Do you remember the first time we had a sleepover?" Your voice carries through the quiet of the night, somehow gentle but crisp as it makes its way to Wanda's ears.

"You mean when I cried because I'd never slept anywhere other than at home and was scared of the dark?" Wanda replies wryly.

Those days were long gone, and right now, she's grateful the dark can hide her red cheeks.

You laugh. "Yeah, but then you still didn't want to leave and made me hold your hand the entire night."

Wanda groans, caught between wanting to pull her hand away in embarrassment but liking the feel of your hand too much.

"I remember holding your hand so seriously because I couldn't let my best friend be so sad, especially after she wanted to stay despite crying," you chuckle quieter this time. "I kind of miss those days; they were simpler."

"What do you mean?" Wanda feels you stroking the back of her hand with your index finger in a small line.

"Back then, you used to cry about the dark and scraped knees, and I could make it better by just holding your hand. Now, you cry about boys breaking your heart and homesickness, and you're still sad after I hold your hand," You sigh like it's your fault.

"I'm not sad," Wanda insists, a whine in her tone.

"That's why you crawled into my bed at midnight?" Even though Wanda can't see, she can tell you have your brow raised.

"Maybe I just want you to hold me," Wanda bravely says. Her heart is doing that thing again, and she thinks she might actually be entering into cardiac arrest. The cowardly part of her backs out and softens the statement. "Maybe at 14, hand-holding was enough to solve the dark and scraped knees, but as adults, we need something else."

It's quiet, and for a second, Wanda thinks she might've made a terrible decision and wants to burst out crying. Her words are caught in her throat, and her breathing feels shallow. Even though she doesn't really want to, she's about to tell you she's just joking, but you move closer.

It's slow as if you're trying to be careful not to make the wrong move, like accidentally kneeing her in the crotch. You move like you're trying to make sure everything slots together perfectly.

The hand-holding is gone with her arms over your waist, and yours are over hers. Your hand settles loosely against her back, the warmth of your palm seeping through her shirt. Her face is pressed against your chest, and the embrace is warm.

Wanda doesn't know what to feel; it's too much at once. She feels warm, nervous, horny, content, and mostly dizzy.

"So, you admit you are sad," you joke quietly in the dark. "I knew it, you lying brat."

Despite the dizziness, Wanda gumbles, "I'm not sad, you stinky accuser."

"So, you don't feel better then?"

There's a moment of silence again. Wanda doesn't know how to quite articulate how she's feeling. She is better, she supposes. But she also feels crazier.

"Yeah, this is better," Wanda manages to say. "14-year-old us wouldn't even be able to wrap our heads around this."

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession with laughter. "Oh my god, shut up and sleep."

Wanda mutters something, but it's completely unintelligible. Time passes too quickly, and Wanda slowly starts falling asleep again.

It's not quite the sexual tension she hoped for, but this was just as good.

"Just a heads up, I expect to be the little spoon at some point. Return the favor, brat."

Wanda smiles. No, this was perfect.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda takes a deep breath, letting her eyes flutter close momentarily.

She knows she can't delay this anymore. Wanda's hit a wall in her progress, and she needs to admit that she doesn't know what she's doing anymore—not that she really knew what she was doing in the first place.

This was going to change everything—somehow make it more real. The thought of it makes Wanda somewhat glum, but she resigns herself before she takes another breath and rings the doorbell.

Wanda hears footsteps approaching the door before it opens, and Natasha stands there with an iced coffee in her hand.

"Oh, Wanda," she blinks in surprise, "I didn't expect to see you."

"Really?" Wanda asks dryly. "Even after you texted me that you were bored with nothing to do today 6 times in a row this morning?"

"Yes, and like the terrible friend you are, you were pointedly ignoring it," Natasha raises her brow at Wanda.

"I wasn't ignoring it," Wanda denies. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Natasha snorts but then opens her door wider, stepping to the side to let Wanda in. Once inside, they make their way to the kitchen, and Natasha begins fixing Wanda a cup of cold brew.

"Want anything in it?"

"Do you have oat milk?"

Natasha hums absently, but Wanda knows the redhead heard her. As her drink is being made, Wanda taps her fingers against the counter, feeling the nerves thrum against her veins. She's unsure how to bring it up but doesn't want to beat around the bush. There's a time crunch, and Wanda can't afford to waste any more time.

"Natasha," Wanda says just as Natasha sets her cup down. "I'm in love with—"

"Bug?" Natasha cuts in. "Yeah, I know."

Wanda's jaw drops. "What?" She says before she slumps in her seat. "Is it because of our phone call a couple of weeks ago, or did you suspect all along?"

"No, I mean, kind of yes," Natasha scrunches her nose. "I don't know if I would say I suspected all along. You've always been close to Bug, but she was always quick to correct anyone back then that you were just friends, and to be fair, nothing happened. I think soulmates can exist as friends too."

Wanda purses her lips but nods, and Natasha gives her a smile.

"But," Natasha interjects. "I did start to suspect after our phone call. I mean, you and Bug do everything together, so honestly, I wasn't that shocked if you both wanted to get married at the same time and live in houses next to each other. I think it was more the fact of how upset you got."

"Yeah," Wanda sighs, rubbing her temples.

"But mostly, I knew because Yelena told me."

"What!?" Wanda squawks. "She wasn't supposed to tell anyone!"

"I'm not anyone," Natasha sticks her tongue out. "I'm her sister. We gossip almost daily."

"Ugh, did she tell you—"

"How you took her on the worst date of her life and stalked Bug and Raye? Yeah," Natasha looks sympathetic. "I'm glad you went home instead of waiting outside while they did it."

"They didn't do it!" Wanda jumps up in her seat. "Apparently Raye got hung up on a phone call, so it didn't happen and she came home."

"Oh, really?" Natasha's brow scrunches together. "Raye—"

"What?" Wanda interjects. "Is Raye saying they slept together? What a dirty liar—"

"God, no—" Natasha rolls her eyes. "Calm the fuck down, jeez. Raye didn't say they did, but she didn't say they didn't either. Unfortunately, you won't be able to use that as an excuse to break them up."

Wanda groans, slumping back into her chair again. She reaches for her cold brew and sips at it dejectedly.

"So, spill," Natasha prods. "After all these years, why did you suddenly get a change in feelings? Is that why you ended things with Vision on Yelena's birthday?"

"I don't know if it's sudden," Wanda mumbles but launches into a long monologue of everything that's happened since Stupid Steve dropped the information bomb on her and every single thought that accompanied each event.

45 long minutes pass before Wanda finishes with how she's been more cuddly the last week but is having trouble moving past that.

"Have you managed to create any sexual tension?"

"No," Wanda sighs frustratedly. "I don't know what to do! In our years of friendship, I've changed in front of her before and worn sexy outfits, and we already have physical affection between us. Nothing has ever happened and it was never weird. I don't know how to change things!"

"Why don't you just confess to her?" Natasha asks with a tilt of her head.

Wanda scoffs as if that's the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard. "Because she only sees me as a friend, so I can't confess until she sees me as a potential partner. It will clearly boost the odds of my confession being accepted, duh."

"Right," Natasha replies dryly.

"So?" Wanda taps her nails on the counter impatiently. "Do you have any advice or should I ask Yelena?"

"As if," Natasha snorts. "Yelena's idea of flirting is bullying. It's a miracle that Kate hasn't tried to cancel her on social media. I highly doubt Yelena's method will work for you."

"So, what should I do?" Wanda laments.

Natasha hums. "I guess it's true you've been friends so long that normal things other people would do wouldn't work for you. She has seen you in so many sexy clubbing outfits and hasn't done anything, and unless you start groping her private bits, I don't think physical touch will spark anything new."

"This is great advice," Wanda says sarcastically.

"But do you know how to make those things work?" Natasha asks, rolling her eyes at Wanda's tone. "You need to make her aware that you could potentially be hers."

"I've literally just said—"

"Right now, you're just her best friend that's probably going to end up dating another guy. And as long as she thinks that, those things will never work because in her brain, she can only see you as a friend," Natasha cuts Wanda off.

"Okay, so..." Wanda drags out so that Natasha will continue on. This was making sense and leading somewhere!

"So, there's two new things you need to add to your relationship," Natasha pauses. "Awareness and jealousy—and not the jealousy like 6 years ago when you thought that exchange student was replacing you as her best friend."

"In my defense, Shuri was trying to," Wanda gripes.

"You know what you need to do?" Natasha ignores Wanda's comment.

"What?" Wanda asks warily because Natasha has that smile on her face. And when she gets that smile, something crazy is about to come out of her mouth.

"Tony and Pepper's 10-year anniversary party is next Saturday, right? You need to bring a date. A girl date," Natasha grins.

"But I don't want to date other girls," Wanda groans. "Plus, how am I supposed to get a girl to go on a date with me if I need to tell her it's actually to make someone else jealous. That's literally terrible to hide."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Natasha waves her hand nonchalantly. "I have a coworker who can help. She owes me one, so she'll do it without actually expecting anything."

Wanda is in disbelief.

Natasha then perks up. "Actually, this is perfect because to really open up Bug's eyes, the person you go on a date with should be similar to her. Then, she'll think about how she could be dating you. This coworker is perfect for it; she's nice, if a little sarcastic, and has similar humor."

"Is she hot?" Wanda asks.

"Yeah, of course she is. I can't set you up with an uggo. That would never make her jealous."

"And she's into girls?"

"Yeah, she's single right now, though."

Wanda's eye twitches.

"What?"

Wanda tries to take a calming breath before nearly yelling, "Why didn't you set up Raye with your other coworker then!?"

"How the hell was I supposed to know you'd fallen for her at that point?" Natasha winces.

It's a fair point, a completely valid one to make, but Wanda still holds a grudge against Nat for putting Raye in your path.

"Also, why does your company have so many sad, single coworkers? I mean, I guess you're also single—"

"Don't get mean, or else I won't help you go shopping for a dress."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Another few days pass, and Wanda finds herself taking deep breaths to give herself courage again.

Natasha just texted her that the coworker, Darcy, confirmed she was available, and everything was set.

So now, Wanda just has to work up the nerve to tell you she has a date for Tony and Pepper's party. A girl date.

"So," Wanda's voice is slightly shaky. The two of you are eating dinner while watching some trashy reality TV show that Wanda can't even focus on right now. Wanda wishes she hadn't said anything because now she doesn't know what else to say. "Are you, uh, excited for Tony and Pepper's party?"

You don't take your eyes off the TV, completely invested in what is happening even though you never watch reality TV on your own.

"Yeah," you answer. "Raye will be back in town, and I'm bringing her along."

Wanda chokes on the potato that's just starting to slide down her throat. You turn over to look at her with concern as she grabs her drink.

"You okay?"

"Wrong pipe," Wanda gasps as she clears her throat. "What were you saying? Raye's coming with you?"

You smile, "Yeah, she's back in town later this week, but my photoshoots conflict with her schedule until the party."

"Awesome," Wanda grits out through her teeth with a forced smile. Suddenly, all that missing courage builds up in Wanda, along with pettiness. "That brings me to the fact I wanted to tell you I have a date to the party too."

"Oh?" You pause the TV, fully accepting that neither of you is watching it now with the conversation at hand. "Who's the lucky lad?"

Wanda actually hesitates. A part of her is nervous to tell you, even though she knows you'd never think of her differently or judge her. She sometimes wonders what's going on in her brain because if Wanda actually got with you, it would inevitably mean you'd know she was into girls.

Or was she just into you?

Now was so not the time to be trying to figure this out, Wanda swallows.

"Uh," Wanda starts, feeling a little sweaty. "It's actually with a girl. Natasha is introducing me to someone."

There's silence for a moment, and Wanda's gripping her plate of food so hard, even if she's trying to pretend she's not. In an attempt to take the pressure off herself, she stares pointedly down at her plate.

Wanda's heart still feels like it will leap out of her chest and run to her bedroom to hide under her pillow.

"You're into girls?" You finally say after a long moment of silence.

"I think so," Wanda mumbles weakly. Well, she was definitely for sure into you. "I think I've always been but never really given it too much thought since I was dating Vis for a long time." AKA, Wanda's always been into you but never realized until recently.

"So...now that it's really over between you and Vis, you want to try dating girls?" Your tone is careful, and Wanda wishes she could dive straight into your brain to find out what you were thinking.

"Yeah," Wanda says, still looking at her plate.

"I'm a little hurt."

The words make Wanda's head snap up. Your face does look a little crestfallen, even if you're smiling.

"I guess you told Natasha first since she's setting you up on a date?"

"Oh," Wanda is caught off guard. "I mean, kind of? It just...sort of came out when I was with Natasha last. I wanted to tell you first, I just didn't know how. I think I was nervous. But I swear—"

"Relax," you smile at her. "You don't need to explain it."

"No," Wanda insists. "I did really want to tell you, but I just didn't know how to broach the subject, and I was trying to ask Nat for advice on what to do, and then it just spiraled."

You start laughing, which stuns Wanda.

"Man," you laugh into your fist, trying to balance your plate with one hand on your thighs. "Sometimes I forget how spastic you can be."

"Shut up," Wanda would throw a cushion at you, but you'd probably spill your food everywhere.

"It's fine," you tell her sincerely. "I'm just...shocked is all."

"How come?" Wanda asks carefully, cutting up her already bite-sized potatoes even smaller to seem nonchalant.

There's a pause, and Wanda peers through her eyelashes at you. You're lost in thought, trying to absorb the information.

"I guess...I just never thought about it either," you shrug. "I always thought you'd marry Vision and if not him, then another guy who is just barely good enough for you."

Wanda can't help but laugh at that because you've been somewhat vocal throughout the years that while you didn't mind Vision, you didn't think he was good enough for her. You got more vocal each time they broke up after getting back together.

"So," Wanda says after the laughter dies down. "Do you think it'd be weird? Seeing me with another girl?"

You shift your weight, adjusting on the couch. Your face doesn't show much of what you're thinking, and Wanda's wondering if you're doing it to spare her feelings in any way.

"I don't know," you finally say. "I guess maybe it depends on the girl."

The words give Wanda something to think about as you take it that the conversation has ended. You resume the TV, quietly eating your dinner, just as Wanda does.

Wanda wonders if you're imagining yourself with her. She could definitely feel the shift in your thoughts as you process the information.

It was out there. It was really out there that Wanda didn't just date boys. A part of her is actually curious about her date with Darcy, even though she knows that it's not really real. Wanda wants to know if she actually would enjoy dating other women or if she's only in love with you.

Natasha's right, Wanda thinks listlessly. If Darcy was anything like you personality-wise, as Natasha suggested, would Wanda be interested? If Wanda couldn't have you, would she resort to dating women like you?

Would you notice such a pattern?

Everything is getting more complicated, and Wanda is starting to think she's digging herself into a deeper and deeper hole. In some ways, it would be easier to just confess to you outright. Yet, she can't bring herself to do it.

There's a deep longing to make sure her odds are at their best when Wanda does. She badly wants you to feel the same, or at least be open to trying with her.

It's probably wrong, but Wanda needs to know if it was a possibility that you'd get jealous—jealous like Wanda's been.

Wanda really, really hopes you get jealous in the way it means you want to be the one dating her.

"So," you say, breaking the silence. "Kind of weird that Natasha has a bunch of single coworkers, right? Wonder how they haven't started dating each other."

Wanda turns to you, a giant smile on her face. "That's what I said!"

There's no way in hell Wanda is ready to let another person have you.

PART FOUR

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