#specs and cleavage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wutheringcaterpillar · 7 months ago

Note

Jim from TDS gets so fuzzy brained and dumb when he’s pounding into Y/N, because he wanted her for so long and he finally has her. he feels he deserves to have what he wants, and also making sure everyone knows she belongs to him.

Y/N could be either Jim’s son’s gf/ex-gf, Jim’s daughter’s best friend, or Jim’s best friend 🫣

Btw you’re doing such a great job with your fics!!!

Warnings: Age gap (Jim is in his 40s, reader between 18-25), p in v, Jim’s a bad dad, unprotected sex, creampie, stalking social media, mentions of masturbating, taking inappropriate photos without consent, hickies

Thank you for the request I had a lot of fun with this! Hope you enjoy!❤️

Jim was reclined in his bed, his hand massaging his hardened member while he scrolled through social media photos of you. He was completely fucked ever since the day his son brought you home and may or may not have developed unhealthy coping mechanisms that his son had what he couldn’t.

Even in his dreams he could see your attractive silhouette, continuously replaying fake scenarios of you straddling him, on your knees batting those innocent lashes up at him begging for his cock.

You had him wrapped around your fucking finger without even knowing, you were completely and utterly hypnotizing.

“Fuck y/n..” He kept replaying a video on the beach, only thing covering you was a skimpy little bikini. Jim could just imagine what was underneath, reminiscing how even when he lay in the sun tanning chair, he couldn’t help but snag a few photos when you weren’t paying attention.

Position of you bent over picking up pebbles from the sand, when you came up for air from the water, specs of water droplets painting your chest, running down your cleavage.

He needed to have you, wanted to be entangled in the sheets with you, hearing you moan his name lustfully, screaming as he made you cum.

Your body was so young, hardly flawed, and had curves in all the right places. He hated to see you leave the house but loved to watch you walk away.

In the midst of coming to his high, the door slammed downstairs and he could hear yelling, what sounded to be you.

Curious, and for caution he pulled up his pants, huffing in irritation that he was interrupted from his intrusive, sexual imaginations.

“You are such an ass! Just because I enjoyed an evening with my friends doesn’t give you the right to go out with some random girls to some party and kiss them! You’re ridiculous, did you even think about me for a singular moment?!” This was the moment Jim had been waiting for, as awful as it may sound, he wanted you two to break up. He wanted the opportunity to arise for him to be there when you’re upset, knowing that there was a chance for you two to be together.

Jim wasn’t stupid, there were many times where you “accidentally” brushed past him inappropriately, there were plenty of stolen glances and obscene gestures whenever his son Caleb wasn’t around. You wanted him just as much, but due to your relationship with his son, you hadn’t gone any further. He’d constantly have to excuse himself to the restroom to deal with the repurcussions, seeking out a sweet release.

“You’re over reacting, besides I’ve been meaning to put an end to this dwindling flame. We were never going to work so figured, why not just end it the easy way.” Jim was in shock that Caleb would do such a thing to a girl, especially you. He had taught him better than that, granted he did cheat on his mother but that was besides the point.

Hearing footsteps run up the stairs followed by a door slam, Jim poked his head out hearing your sniffles from downstairs. What kind of man would he be to not check in and ensure you were okay?

“Y/N?” You were seated on the cushioned sofa, mascara flowing messly down your cheeks from weeping, but that voice…that masculine, caring, attractive voice had your glancing up from your emotional turmoil.

Jim was standing there in his pajama pants and black t-shirt, his reading glasses tucked in the hem of his shirt while his peppery hair was slightly disheveled.

“Oh I’m sorry, I was just going to head out. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no. Stay please. My son’s an idiot and I can assure you I didn’t raise him to be that way.” He took a seat next to you, trying to act concerned when in reality his eyes kept glancing at your thighs, the way your skirt hardly covered anything. Keep it together Jim, jesus.

The close proximity and the smell of Jim’s cologne was raising the tension, and an idea popped into your head. If Caleb thought he had the right to hurt you, you would hurt him ten times worse.

Jim’s crystal blue, alluring eyes were locked on your in a transfixed state of mind, heart pumping with adrenaline when he settled his hand on your thigh in a way to “comfort” you.

He was radiant, smart, and overwhelmingly attractive for a man in his forties. When he touched you, goosebumps formed on your skin, breath hitching in your throat. Was this a bad idea, most likely, but temptation and profound desire had a hold of you both.

“I um- I always thought you were a nice girl Y/N, and beautiful, kind, sexy- fuck what the fuck am I saying.” He wanted to hit himself for his stammering of words, rolling off his tongue without even thinking, but you simply laughed, blushing from his clear embarassment. When he tried to pull away his hand, you moved it back further up just nearly underneath your skit.

“Jim, it doesn’t bother me. I’ve always thought you were quite sexy too, I mean fuck you’re a total dilf and I’ve always imagined what you looked like underneath those clothes. How fucked up is that? My own boyfriend- well ex’s dad.” You glanced down at the floor, eyes skimming the carpet trying to find a way to justify your feelings, that they weren’t morally wrong.

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, he slid his finger down the length of your warm neck, gaining your attention.

There was a momentous silence as you stared into one another eyes, an immense sense of crave and desire coursing through your veins.

Closing the distance, you smashed your lips against Jim’s, hands settled on his cheeks needing him desperately. At that moment the air in the room seemed to disappear, the oxygen slowly didsapating from Jim’s lungs. He was in disbelief that this was actually happening, he was kissing his son’s ex girlfriend who he’d been masturbating to all summer long.

Your lips were soft, smoothe, and you were surprisingly good at kissing for how young you were. Unable to resist, his tongue lapped inbetween your lips as he pulled you onto his lap, his hardened cock rutting against your dripping mound desperately needing you, forgetting Caleb was just upstairs.

He held you like a woman, his hands grasping at the chubby skin of your ass cheeks underneath your skirt, roaming and massaging the delicate skin roughly.

“Fuck Y/N… you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment…” Your lips roamed down to the crook of his neck, sucking and rotating your tongue, surely leaving a mark causing him to release a disgruntled groan.

Your hands fumbled with his belt, craving to be filled with his cock while your pussy throbbed in your panties, slick merely dripping from your cunt.

Shedding yourself of your shirt, Jim’s eyes widened from the sight of your well rounded, perfect tits, they were everything he had imagined them to be and more.

His hands grasped the jiggly skin, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head in satisfaction. Hold it together Jim, what would she think if you busted just from the sight of her fucking tits, pathetic man.

His brain seemed to turn to a puddle, any prior thoughts lost from your hypnotizing body. He had to have you right then and there.

“Well, are you going to fuck me or not, because I really…” You trailed off you sentence, running a singular finger down his lip, eyes focused on him with a lustful gaze as you grinded against his lap, needing more.

“Really, need you inside me, my pretty pussy aches for you Jim.” Within second he flipped you onto your back, shedding himself of his clothes and tearing down your skirt and panties down in a animalistic frenzy.

He had never seen such a perfect cunt in his life, so in tact, so beautiful, and dripping for him, god how his dick was felt like it was going to burst any minute. His size took you by surprise, Jim wasn’t small by any means, his cock a good eight maybe nine inches, this was going to be fun.

Your hand grazed the back of his neck, pulling him down just so your lips brushed against his ear.

“Hope your cock is better than your son’s, wouldn’t want to be dissapointed.” He took that as a challenge, one that he knew very well he was going to win.

“My son, doesn’t seem to know how to pleasure his woman and I’m going to make sure he and everyone else knows who fucked you right.” Your eyebrow quirked up in interest.

“Well go on then, fuck me like no other man could.” Jim had never been this nervous in his life to fuck a woman, but you- you he didn’t want to leave unsatisfied.

He didn’t even need to glance down before pushing the head of his thick shaft deep inside of you, claiming you as his.

You gasped from the sudden intrusion, nail’s scraping against the muscles on Jim’s back. He smirked satisfyingly, leaning down to kiss you once more, shoving his tongue roughly into your mouth, desperately needing to explore every inch of you, craving more and more.

He pumped quickly into you, patience being non existent, the feel of your hot, indisputably tight walls clenching to his length. Your boobs bounced with each powerful thrust. His lips trailed down to the warmth of your neck, tenderly sucking lavender marks into your smoothe skin, needing people to know who you belonged to now.

“Oh Jim, more, more, please…” Oh the velvet, captivating sound of your strained moan had his horny brain whirling, eyes merely fluttering closed from the sweet descent of your exasperated tone.

Your pussy was throbbing from pleasure, being filled to the brim like no other man had fucked you before.

Your fingers intertwined in his hair, scrunching at his gray, partially wavy hair, pressing him against your body as he fucked you relentlessly. His free hand cusped at the cushiony skin of your boob, rolling the jelly like skin.

He needed to see you in another position, he need to see himself filling your cunt.

Standing up causing you to whine from the empty feeling, he picked you up with his strong arms effortlessly as if you weighed nothing before bending you over the sofa.

“Oh!” Jim slapped your ass and pulled your head back aggresively by the strands of your hair, plumetting his cock into your heated, tight walls simultaneously.

“Fuck! Fuck Jim! Ah!” He didn’t hold back, striking deep within your aching core over and over, his balls slapping against your skin with each powerful thrust. He had never seen an ass bounce back against him so poetically and perfectly, he was nearly salivating on the mouth looking down at you bent over on display for him and only him. Watching your pussy swallow his dick with each desperate rut, god you were stunning.

Hearing you man his name and take his cock so well was sending him over the edge, his dick pulsating in you before he even had the chance to think.

As you pounded your ass back against him, your bottom lip was becoming increasingly swollen from how much your teeth had been biting at it from the immense pleasure.

“Jesus, you’re fucking amazing, fucking beautiful, taking my cock so fucking well. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You Jim. All yours, completely yours. I-I’m going to-Ah-“ He slapped your ass cheek fiercely once more, focusing on the way you moaned his name, the way your back arched as you came undone.

Your knuckes turning white from the grip they had on the cushioned surface, toes curling from your orgasm. The euphoric, alluring sensation taking over every part of your body.

That didn’t stop Jim from going to pound town. Slamming your hips down against him, rutting desperately and bottoming out deep within your dripping, aching cunt. He wad close.

“Gonna fucking cum- want me to fill you up love. Hm? Having my cum spilling out of you like a faucet for days.” You nodded desperately moaning for him to cum at the sound of his gruff voice

“Jim, Jim, please. I need your cum, need you to paint my fucking insides white, right now. Now.” At that moment you could feel his thick cock pulsate within your core, his cum shooting straight up into your cervix.

“Fuck, fuck y/n… I’m fucking cumming.” The sweat beaded at your forhead, his own dripping down from his hair onto your back.

He had never felt a high so unfathomably pleasurable, he finally felt like he had accomplished what he always wanted- needed to. You were finally his.

Pulling out he stretched your cunt, pulling the sensitive, reddened skin apart with his large digits, seeing the art he had created with his milky white cum flowing freely out of your alluring pussy that was still twitching from your orgasm.

Caleb turned and twisted in his bed, the constant strange sounds keeping him up. Deciding to investigate, he grabbed the bat from his room before making his way downstairs only to be blindsided with his own dad intertwined with his now ex-girlfriend whom was covered with hickies on her neck

“What the fuck is this?! How did this-How could-“

“That’s how you treat a woman son. Maybe take notes because let me tell you, she’s a keeper this one.” You smirked on the couch, nuzzling your nose against his chest being fully happy with your decision to sleep with your ex’s father. He was already proving to be more of a man than Caleb ever was.

“Ready for bed love?” Jim held his hand out for you, wrapping his robe around your shoulders while Caleb stood there fuming at the actions of his own father and you, disbelief that you’d go this far, making him question if you ever really gave a shit about him or just dated him for his dad.

#Jim #jim tds #jim x reader #jim x you #Jim tds x reader #Jim tds x you #the delinquent season imagine #ranaewrites #requested

214 notes · View notes

builtbybrokenbells · 10 months ago

Text

belladonna | i

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

Masterlist | Taglist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader, f!reader x OC

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: mentions of toxic/abusive parents, mentions of/toxic relationships, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, poverty, mentions of physical violence, mentions of blood, mentions of AA/NA, addictions, use of/mentions of drugs, mentions of drinking, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, mental health struggles, swearing, sorry if I miss any!!

hi everyone! I’m so so excited for this one. I will forewarn you that this series will touch on some pretty heavy topics. i’ve been using this as therapy to avoid paying actual therapy bills 🤭 i hope that you enjoy this as much as I do, and I really hope that this series does for you what it does for me 🤍 as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

March 31st, 2022

The sound of the radio hummed through the air, wrapping you in a blanket of comfort as you wiped crumbs from another dirty diner table. Your tattered converse were covered in spills and specs of food and your apron was stained so completely that the baby blue color no longer existed. The line cook in the back was whistling every time you bent over one of the booths, causing a blush and a slight smile to pull at your lips. Every so often, he’d make an obscene comment, just to see if you’d turn around to face him so he might be able to catch a glimpse of your cleavage underneath your black v-neck. Dylan knew his limits, but he loved to push them.

“Don’t you have a job to do?” You glanced back at him over your shoulder, pushing your hips out slightly to entice him even further. He would never have the chance, but it was fun to let him believe it, sometimes.

“Yeah, actually. Why don’t you come back here and keep me company?” He sent a wink your way, causing you to chuckle. He was around your age, and undeniably attractive. His neck was littered with the peek of tattoos from his chest, and a gold chain hung around them to accentuate the detail. He looked permanently stoned, but he had a killer smile and a certain charm despite his vulgarity. His arms were strong and despite his constant flirting, you knew he would never make an unwanted advance. The only reason you refused to indulge in him was because of his very extensive criminal record, but even then, the temptation grew stronger every day. He loved poking fun only because you seemed to enjoy it so much.

“You’d like that too much.” You rolled your eyes, chucking a dishcloth through the kitchen window at him. He caught it midair, giving you a cocky smirk.

“Anything else you’d like to throw my way?”

“Leave the poor girl alone, Dylan.” The second line cook gave him a shove, pushing him out of view and popping into your line of sight. “Give me a chance, would you?” Not long after the words left his mouth, a playful wrestling match ensued on the other side of the wall. Instead of engaging in their antics, you turned and cleared the dishes of the last table of the night.

“Vincent!” You scolded, watching them battle for your affection. “If you guys break anything else back there tonight, I swear to god I will not cover for your asses!” Just as you spoke, the wrestling came to an abrupt halt, and Vincent’s head peeked up from the window. He raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side slightly. His loose brown curls hung down over his forehead, and the veins in his forehead were protruding slightly, showing you how much energy he’d put into getting Dylan to the ground. His skin was flushed red, partially due to the heat of the grills, but mostly because his blood pressure was always peaked. His emotions got the best of him, no matter good or bad, and his heart was ready to give out at the ripe age of 22.

“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you sweetheart?” He flashed you a smile, his eyes softening the longer he looked at your face. Your heart gave a small flutter at the expression. Dylan was attractive, but Vincent was completely captivating. You wish you could say that you had enough strength to abstain from both of them, but it just wasn’t true. Way back in the beginning, you’d fallen victim to Vincent’s intoxicating charm and fell into bed with him. You blamed it on being new to the city and lonely, but you knew it was all because of him. You were certain that Dylan did not know of this, because if he did, it would crush him. Also, you had cut it off pretty quickly after it started once learning about all of Vincent’s baggage. Save for a few drunken nights, the two of you were nothing but friends.

It was easy to tell yourself that, but every so often, when your eyes lingered on each other for too long, you could feel the energy in the air.

Although it was clear that Dylan’s only intent was to get in your pants, sometimes you had to question if Vincent actually felt more for you than physical attraction, or if you were just making it up in your own head. Then again, you knew he looked that way at every girl who stood before him, and you wouldn’t allow yourself to feel special (again). Also, upon learning about his aggravated assault charge from a bar fight in his late teens, you found it much easier to keep your distance after the initial hookups.

Although you hadn’t seen the criminal side of either of the boys, you knew that they hadn’t learned the right lessons from their brief stays in jail; they just got better at avoiding the cops. You made it a point to stay straight when you moved to the city, and you were intent on keeping the promise to yourself. Involving yourself with those two would be nothing but trouble, and you had grown to hate trouble with a passion.

Besides the painful flirting, they were good company to pass the time, and when you all spent so much time working together, it was impossible not to form some kind of bond.

The Foxhole was a fabled place, and after decades in business (albeit, with many changes), it was still one of the most popular diners in the surrounding area. It sat just outside of city limits, drawing in attraction from travelers and all of the concrete jungle dwellers, too. New York was a large place with many different types of people, and after a year and six months of living there, you were still trying to find your place in the world. When you moved, you had little money in your pocket and lots of hope in your heart. You had a backpack full of clothes and personal items and nothing else but a dream, running as fast as you could to get away from the curse of being your mothers daughter.

Eighteen months later, it felt like you were still running.

You went to a public library and printed off a million copies of your resume (which was incredibly bleak, with only one previous job and a reference stated previous employer, but was really your best friend from high school) and you applied at every bar, restaurant and corner store within walking distance of your low income rental. The Foxhole, although not your dream job, responded within days to schedule an interview. You showed up with a smile and kindness, but quickly realized that not even friendliness was a requirement to be a server there. John, the (third) owner, asked if you had a criminal record (with a follow up question of ‘if you do, how extensive is it?’). Not ten minutes later, you had an apron in hand and you were scheduled for the upcoming week.

Not long after starting, you quickly gauged the environment of your new workplace. The Foxhole, although popular with the public, was an absolute shithole (You soon learned that this was actually the nickname your fellow employees referred to it as). In the seventies, it started as an old tavern. It was popular with middle aged men who hated their families, but not many others. It ran for just under a decade before the original owner stopped paying his mortgage and filed for bankruptcy, and the whole establishment flopped. It was then purchased by a younger couple in an estate sale from the bank in the early eighties, who decided to keep the bar theme. Instead of marketing themselves to middle aged, miserable men, they painted it bright colors and added a dance floor, trying to push the disco theme. To nobody’s surprise, they followed in the same footsteps as the original owner.

Although they did try a bit harder, and the proof remained to this day. You could see bolts in the floor of the old dancing area, signifying a stripper pole was once installed. They put in some more booths and tried to push a menu, but eventually, it went belly-up. Before the banks could foreclose a second time, John stepped in and made the purchase, which ended up changing his life. From the stories you’d heard, you could not gauge if it was for better or for worse. John gutted the whole place and painted over the abhorrent neon colors, placed an old jukebox in the corner and refinished the interior. He named it Foxhole, and seemed to strike gold despite the building causing nothing but shit for previous owners. With a small menu and cheap food, he’d been milking the success for over thirty years.

Success meant little when it equated to making only enough money to keep the doors open, though.

Employed at the Foxhole was four female waitresses who were older than the building itself, five line cooks (three who had a criminal record), two busboys, and four young women who waitressed the overnights (including you). John worked nearly 24/7, and his wife sat in the office and yelled at him all day. They capitalized off employing older women who had nowhere else to go, struggling students, and ex-convicts and addicts. That way, they could offer employment to the desperate and still pay them much less than anyone else. Plus, shared tips were a great selling point. Besides, how else would you find staff for the only 24-hour diner in the area?

You took the Thursday-Sunday overnights with a girl named Katie, while the other young waitresses took the rest of the nights. The older waitresses split the days, and the line cooks worked according to a similar schedule. Vinny and Dylan almost always worked with you, and a part of you was grateful for it. Although they had their flaws, you had grown to enjoy their company, and could honestly say that they were the only real friends you’d made since moving to the city.

“You gonna go home and write your silly little poems?” Vinny asked, his Brooklyn accent nearly grating as he hoisted himself up on the counter. As he waited for a response, he gave you a smirk. You rolled your eyes, dunking your hands into the steaming water in the industrial sinks. It was nearing 5, which meant you only had an hour left to go.

“Yeah, all about me.” Dylan cut in, leaning against the door of the walk-in freezer.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” You could only manage a half-smile as you spoke, the thought of writing nearly tearing your heart in two.

“What’s wrong, dollface?” Vincent asked, picking up on your withdrawal. “You better still be writing. That’s the whole reason you came here. That’s your ticket out of here.” His lips turned down into a frown.

“I… I am, yeah.” You nodded, drying your hands on your apron. You didn’t have the heart to look him in the eyes, nor could you admit that writing was the last thing you wanted to do. Inspiration had run dry, and now you were stuck wondering if this really was the end of the road, or if your mother was right and you would come home with your tail between your legs. For the last year and a half, you wrote about everything; the way the trees looked in the sunlight, the skyscrapers, the way the birds chirped, and even the cracks in the sidewalk. You found inspiration in your own sadness and fear, and your own happiness when it came along (even if it was rare). You wrote about failed relationships and lost friendships, and most of all, you wrote about the broken kinship between you and the woman who gave birth to you.

Writing was your safe space, but now that the motivation had passed, you were left feeling unsecure and lost. You feared that you had written every single thing that your brain could come up with, and that the desire would never return. Since the decline began, you’d been desperately searching for something to give you that spark back. You sat at the grocery store for hours, overlooking the produce, brightly coloured yet blemished. You looked between the cracks in the city stone, finding moss rooted and peeking out from the concrete. You looked at the sprouts of weeds in the sidewalk, and the crying babies and laughing children as they passed you on the street.

You searched everywhere for just a hint of an idea, but you were left with nothing. The feeling was gutting, and you feared that you did not know how to live without your pen pressed to paper.

You’d heard stories of writers block, and lately, even found yourself reading articles about it, but you had come to one, horrible realization; you had never experienced it before, and you were unsure if it was truly just a bout of writers block, or if it was a permanent, more serious issue. After twenty three years, you had never felt this way, and you were beginning to believe that it was just the way life was, now. You went home after work, sleeping for hours instead of your usual routine of writing until your eyes forced themselves shut. You couldn’t look at your laptop, and your journal was a stranger.

You came to New York to write a book, but you feared that you were now stuck in New York with nothing but a wasted dream and crushed hope.

“I’m definitely no palaeontologist, but I think you might be lying.” Vinny raised an eyebrow, pointing a finger at you.

“P-palaeontologist?” You asked, stifling a laugh. “Do you by any chance mean… a psychologist?”

“Oh, fuck off with all your fancy words.” He snipped, getting defensive. For a moment, you could see the vein in his forehead pop out again in frustration. “Clearly you know what I fuckin’ meant. You know I didn’t graduate.”

“No, no, I think you have me misunderstood. I’m actually quite impressed you know that word.” You assured him.

“Yeah, but I don’t really know what it means.” He calmed down, laughing at his own stupidity.

“That’s okay, darlin’.” You reached out, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “I guess I am lying.” You shrugged, looking towards the floor. “I haven’t really been writing much at all, lately.”

“Why not?” Dylan joined, immersed in the conversation now that the laughter died down.

“I don’t know,” you sigh “guess I just haven’t had much inspiration. Hard to write something meaningful when I know nobody is ever going to read it… or fucking care about it.” You grumbled.

“Listen, I know we can’t read very well, but I’m sure the two of us could piece it together.” Dylan gave Vinny a pat on the shoulder, smiling over at him. Vincent nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, we care, sweetheart. Don’t we count?”

“Of course you do.” You chuckle, finding your cheeks heat with a blush. “It’s just… weird, right now. I usually want to write about everything, no matter what. Emotions, memories, places I’ve visited, but now I don’t feel like anything is worth writing about. I don’t feel like it’s interesting enough.” You tried to explain it. “Feels like I’m just putting words on a paper, and nothing more. Think maybe I’ve been in my head a little too much. Sad and angry, and all of that… fuck, I don’t know.” You groan, running a hand through your hair.

“Why don’t you write about that, then?” Vincent offered. You looked up at him for a moment, contemplating his words. “If you’re feeling all of that stuff, then maybe it’ll mean something more.”

“Yeah,” Dylan agreed. “Go home tonight and write about not wanting to write. Maybe it’ll help you figure your shit out.” You looked between the two, giving a soft smile. After a few moments, you gave a slow nod.

“Yeah, maybe I will. Think you guys might finally be right for once.” You teased, trying to keep the conversation light. Vincent’s face lit up with a grin, happy that you thought it was a good idea.

“What can I say? I’m more than just a pretty face.”

April 3rd, 2022

You stood, top half leaned out the back door of the building as a cigarette smoldered in your hand. The night was darker than usual, and the city was much quieter, even for a Sunday. You took a long inhale of smoke, puffing your cheeks out and pursing your lips as you blew it outside in the direction of the dumpsters. As you did so, you felt a hand on your lower back as someone reached to open the door a little more. Vincent leaned his head out beside you, just over your shoulder as he gave you a cheeky smile and raised an eyebrow. Without any words exchanged, you rolled your eyes but brought the cigarette to his lips. His eyes fluttered closed as he took a drag, waiting a moment before he exhaled through his nose. His hand remained on the small of your back, the gentle touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“You can use your words, you know.” You tried to sound stern, but there was a smile on your face as you continued holding the cigarette to his lips.

“Why should I? You already know what I want, sweetheart.” He shot back, taking another haul.

“I do,” you chuckled. “For some reason, I don’t think it’s a cigarette, though.” His grip on you tightened for a moment as he shot you a sideways glance.

“What do you think I want then, Miss know it all?”

“An excuse to talk to me?” You raised an eyebrow, offering the idea. He stayed silent for a moment, but eventually gave a slow nod. A smile began to break out on his lips, knowing he’d been caught.

“So what? You have a problem with that, sugar?” His body was closer to you than it had been in a long time, and you wondered if he was taking his shot while Dylan was preoccupied with the freezer inventory.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Unless I should have a problem?”

“Nope,” he popped the p, shaking his head. His head was still turned to face you, his lips unbearably close to your own. He watched as your gaze flickered down towards them, but he didn’t move any further. “Goin’ to the Pony after this, if you’re interested?”

“Are you actually, or is it just an excuse for me to let you sleep at my place?” You questioned. The Pony was a bar just around the corner from your apartment complex, and it was in just as poor shape as the Foxhole. The drinks were strong and cheap, but it didn’t have much else to offer (except for smoking inside, which was a rare thing to stumble upon). There were a few old slot machines in the back, and they played blackjack in the main room on Tuesday’s.

It was mostly occupied by gangbangers who were looking for a new client to sell to, and 70 year old men who chose drinking over starting a family. Vincent went quite often, but you feared that it was for one of two reasons; he was still caught up in his old habits, or he was trying to find an excuse to wiggle his way back into your life. He lived on the other side of town, and once he had a few beers into him, the drunk calling started, and you were never one to let him drink and drive. He knew this well, and he used it to his advantage.

There had been many nights where he came knocking on your door, or when you stumbled out into the darkness to find him drunk, leaning against his car with a grin but no intent to drive. His brown eyes would sparkle in the moonlight, and his soft lips would invite you in. He wouldn’t have to speak a word to get you to open your arms, inviting him in for a hug before you inevitably invited him upstairs. He spent many nights on your couch, but a few in your bed. As much as you wanted to scold him for pushing his luck, you knew you were the only one to blame; you invited him in every time, and you woke in the morning with a sense of freedom and happiness, like you’d just broken free from the chains you had placed so tightly around your own wrists.

You wanted him, and somehow even after convincing yourself that he was bad for you, you never felt a shred of regret for what you did with him. He wasn’t all that bad, but you knew that distance was your best option; he did not seem to outgrow the bad habits you had tried so hard to keep yourself away from. That did not make him a bad person, nor did it make him any less important to you, but you knew that if you wanted to keep yourself on the right path, a relationship with him was out of the question.

“If I wanted to come over, I would ask, and you’d say yes.” The cockiness radiated from him, and you hated that it only seemed to entice you further.

“Vincent…” you warned, giving him a sad stare.

“Oh, would you cut that shit, y/n?” He snapped, the withdrawal seeming to sting him. “You make it seem like I’m a monster.”

“That’s not… that’s not what I meant, and you know that.” You felt the fire burning in your chest, but you managed to swallow it back.

That was another reason to stay away from Vincent; he always seemed to bring out the worst of your emotions at the drop of a dime.

“Then what do you mean, doll? ‘Cause I don’t seem to be understanding.”

“Fine, Vin. You want me so bad, get clean.” You snapped, just the thought of it irritating you. “I’m not going through rehab all over again ‘cause you want to fuck me.” The words seemed to hurt him, but you were unsure of the reason. Part of you wanted to believe it was because he was appalled that you would ever think that he would let you backslide, but the more logical part of you knew it was because he hated your rejection. He had a taste of the sweetness you had to offer, and he couldn’t stand the idea of never having it again, but it came between you and his lifestyle, you knew what the priority was. “The Pony’s a shithole anyway. Wouldn’t want to waste my morning there.”

He looked like he wanted to fight, but instead his lips turned into a tight frown as he gave a curt nod of his head. “Once an addict, always an addict, right?” He said, moving back from you completely.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” You rolled your eyes, turning to face him.

“It means,” he said, narrowing his gaze at you. “That’s all you’ll ever fuckin’ see me as.” You swallowed the sour taste in your mouth, scowling at him as his chest heaved with his hurt. Vincent’s biggest flaw was not the addictions, nor his history with the law, but how every emotion he felt always seemed to dissolve into anger, and his ability to turn every conversation into a fight. “At least getting high never makes me feel the same way you do.” With that, he turned on his heel, storming off to join Dylan in the freezer. You tried to hide the look of hurt on your face as you tossed the cigarette butt in the bucket, slamming the door with enough force to shake the walls. You threw your lighter down next to the pack of smokes sitting on the metal shelving unit, walking back out into the main area to keep cleaning.

When you walked out the swinging half-door, the other waitress, Katie, leaned against the counter while scrolling her phone. She looked up at you just for long enough to give you an expression of distaste, almost biting her tongue hard enough to hold back a snide comment.

“You planning on working tonight, or are you just going to make the whole place smell like cigarettes?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you sure look like you’re fucking hard at work.” You grumbled, kicking the rolling mop bucket out from behind the counter. The dirty mop water sloshed from the sides, spilling over onto the floor and inevitably pissing you off even further.

“You have another fight with your boyfriend?” She smirked, the sneer in her tone making your skin crawl.

“Do you ever take a night off from being insufferable, or is that a permanent kind of thing?” You grabbed the blue metal handle, ringing the head of the mop out before swinging it over the side. It landed on the tile floor with a squelch, and you wasted no time in cleaning up the mess you made. She didn’t respond to your jab, instead making a move to restock the jam holders at all of the tables. You worked hard scrubbing the grime from the floor while she took her time making sure the single-serve condiments were organized. Every so often, you shot a piercing glare at the back of her head, wondering what it would be like if you threw the whole mop and bucket at her.

Katie was undoubtedly the worst part of working at the Foxhole, and you considered it a victory when she called in sick for her shifts. It was a regular occurrence, and since you were hired, you’d heard that it only became more common. Your distaste for being around each other was shared, and you knew hers stemmed from your ability to get along with Vincent and Dylan. Or, perhaps, their ability to get along with you.

From the beginning, it had been clear that you were not the only one who’d fallen victim to Vincent’s charm, yet you seemed to be the only victor when it came to his heart.

When you first arrived, Katie did not seem all that miserable. She was timid, but smiled at you and taught you the ropes. You would have to be blind to miss the nervous stutters and blushing cheeks when she was around Vincent, and it made you think the two of them had something beyond what it looked on the surface. You quickly learned that was not the case, and her schoolgirl crush resulted from a lazy hookup in his car after a long night shift, and after that, his interest in her greatly declined. When you both walked in the front door of the Fox one day, standing a little too closely with matching hickeys on your neck, her smiles became scarce and her desire to get to know you fled.

You did not know the history between the two when you first hooked up with Vincent, nor did you know much of anything else. It did not take long for her to do whatever she could to make you miserable, starting with explaining Vincent’s criminal record and (required by parole guidelines) his AA/NA meeting combination. Instead of jumping the gun and shutting him out, you approached him with the new found information looking for an answer, and after some heavy avoidance, he admitted to all of it. It was a long night shift with many conflicting emotions, but you eventually came to the conclusion that you had to stay away for your own sake, despite already falling for him beyond anything you’d felt before.

Even after you ended things, Vincent and you remained close friends, and every so often, broke the boundaries you had set in place. Katie still hated you, despite your efforts to apologize and make amends, and Vincent seemed like he struggled to comprehend the fact the two of you could not be together. It was a shitshow, yet it was oddly comforting. You weren’t sure if you could handle it if something were to suddenly change. Even when your misery got the best of you, you knew that Katie would always hate you and her snide remarks would keep you on your toes, that Vincent would always trip over himself to flatter you (which would eventually lead to a fight), and Dylan would never know the true extent of the situation and serve as comedic relief.

As you finished mopping the corner tiles, relieved that most of the dirt was lifted from the floor, something light struck you in the back of the head. You furrowed your eyebrows, letting out a small huff as you turned in the direction it was thrown from, first looking at the floor to find a balled up piece of receipt paper. Then, you saw Vincent looking at you, a playful smile on his face, but regret in his eyes. You placed the mop back in the bucket, using the handle to wheel it along with you as you walked towards the back. Vincent’s eyes followed you as you moved towards him, but he didn’t speak. When you joined him in the kitchen, wheeling the bucket towards the mop closet, he followed close behind.

“You have something to say?” You grumbled, opening the closet door as you flipped the bucket upside down on top of the grate covering the drain. You were still upset, and he could see that. His words, like always, had a huge impact on you. You wished he would think before he spoke rather than speaking out of anger and trying to apologize ten minutes after the fact. For someone who claimed he cared, he wasn’t very good at showing it.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, looking down at his feet. “Shouldn’t have said that.” You held back a scoff as you let the closet door fall shut, not straining yourself to soften the slam. “Do you ever think that maybe, instead of turning straight to insults, you should bite your tongue for a second and fucking think about what you’re saying?” You brushed past him, grabbing the spray disinfect and a new rag. This time, he didn’t respond, which only seemed to piss you off more. “I’m not out to get you, Vincent. I’m protecting myself.”

“From what, y/n? You keep saying that, and I don’t get it.”

“I moved here to purse my dream of being an author, but I also came here to get away from the life I made for myself at home. I spent six months in rehab, and the minute they let me go, I packed my stuff and I ran. I thought that once I got here, I could start over.” You paused for a moment, spraying down the metal countertops. You took a long breath before speaking again. “I like you, but I don’t like that lifestyle, Vin. I’ve already fucked up too many times, and I’m scared that if I do it again, there’s no going back. Besides, I can’t pay for another detox at the hospital.” You chuckled at the thought, knowing that the seven days of torture was not worth the thousands of dollars, even with insurance coverage (which the Foxhole definitely did not provide).

“Okay,” he gave a slow nod, looking across the kitchen to gather his thoughts. “So… if I get clean, you say you’ll give me a shot?”

“Sure, yeah.” You forced out the words, the pained look on your face clear. In a perfect world, that’s how it would be, but you knew that he’d never stick to the promise. You couldn’t force him sober, and he didn’t really want to recover. Even if he did, you weren’t sure if you could trust him enough to believe he would stick with it. The conversation went the same way every time, and clearly no progress was made, hence why you were sitting in front of him explaining the same things for the millionth time. You could not allow yourself to get your hopes up, and you could not trust him while knowing that making a promise to stay sober for any person other than yourself is a terrible idea.

“I think… do you think that I don’t care?” You stopped for a moment, your whole body freezing as you wiped the lemony-smelling cleaner from the countertop.

“What?” You asked, looking back over your shoulder at him. His brown eyes looked sad beneath the tough exterior he’d built up. His cheeks were red, irritated from the cold of the freezer. He was only a couple inches taller than you, but in the moment of high emotion, It felt like he was towering over you. For once, anger did not seem present in his face.

“I know… I’m not the best at the whole emotions thing, and I say shit I don’t mean, but I care if you’re sober too, doll. I mean, your last detox was… it was hell. I don’t want you to go through that again.” You swallowed hard at the thought of the relapse, and the thought of his concern.

“You just hated working without me.” You forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. When focusing on your own addictions, you began to panic. The fact that he knew that part of you so well scared the shit out of you, but also made you feel like he should understand why you were setting the boundaries. There were many things you didn’t understand about Vincent, the biggest one being his long list of red flags, yet his huge heart that cared about everyone so deeply. You knew that it was not entirely his fault; he had no guidance growing up, nor did he have anyone to help him correct his mistakes, but that did not change the fact that he was a 22 year old man that did not know how to hold himself accountable for anything.

Vincent was many things; a son born into a family who did not care if he lived or died, a child who was never loved the way a child should be, and a hurt little kid who grew into a man that was angry, lost, and trying to bargain with his crushing disappointment over his own failures. He struggled with the law, but more than anything, he struggled with his own demons. He had an addiction he could not face up to and overcome, and monsters in the closet that all looked like his father with a belt in his hand. He had a criminal record which stopped him from pursuing the things he once dreamed of, and was destined to be stuck working at the Foxhole until he could either clean himself up, or he died.

He was vindictive, sly, arrogant, and naive. He was raised by drug dealers who taught him all of the wrong morals, and who always made it a point to show anger before any other emotion. He was taught how to evade the law, and how to use fists instead of words. He picked himself up off the ground every time he fell, and grew a nasty amount of independence. He relied on nobody but himself, and would not let anyone take that away from him. He did not know how to trust, nor did he know how to love, but god did he want to. He felt like he needed to, especially when his eyes landed on you.

Despite his struggles, he was not a bad person. He cared deeply for the people that were important to him, and he would die for them on any given day. He was funny, and he was goofy, and he was great company. He was easy to fall in love with, but that was the danger. Although all of those things were true, down to the core, what he said earlier was correct; he was an addict, and worse than that, an active addict. Nothing was more important than a fix, and it turned him into the worst version of himself. You were no stranger to the evils of substance, but now that you were sober and intent to stay that way, you could finally see the monsters it created. His irritability and his lack of control over his emotions was staggering, and his inability to understand the harm he was putting on to others was catastrophic. He was selfish, and so much so that it constantly hurt others in the crossfire.

You could not judge him too harshly, because you knew all too well that it would take little for you to become that person again, too.

Even though you saw him for all of his flaws, you saw him as a human being, too. You saw him as the charming man who only had to smile in order to make your stomach fill with butterflies. You knew him as the boy who would drive you around as needed, or would lend you his car if he needed to be elsewhere. You saw the man who showed up at your front door with a wrench and a smile when your pipes burst in the kitchen sink and your landlord did not care enough to fix it. He was your friend, and he was someone you cared deeply about. His addiction was not who he was, but rather what made him be so hard to digest sometimes. You knew that if he managed to get clean and stay that way, he could be that person all of the time.

Unfortunately, you did not have the courage nor the ability to help him get there, and the thought of that alone nearly killed you.

Helping him was all you wanted to do, but you knew better than anyone that the only person who could help Vincent was himself.

“Don’t look so sad, sweetheart.” He said, reaching out and laying a gentle hand on your arm. You looked down as his fingers connected with your skin, the touch sending jolts of electricity through your whole body. You caught his eye, your lips turned down into a frown. You wished so bad for it to be easy, but after twenty three years, you knew that this lifetime was never meant to be kind to you.

Before you could speak, you heard the familiar chime of the bell above the door. You looked between Vincent and the empty dining room. As if she knew, Katie peeked her head back into the kitchen, giving you a look and a raised eyebrow.

“They’re in your section.” You could hear the distaste in her voice. Unlike usual, you didn’t have a witty comment or a sarcastic response to shoot back at her.

“You… you can have it. Take the tip, too. Don’t care.” You muttered. “I’ll finish cleaning.” For a second, you thought you saw a shred of humanity in her eyes when she caught sight of your pained expression. Without any further words, she turned and left the two of you alone again. Before Vincent could continue your earlier conversation, Dylan pushed open the door of the freezer and stepped out, shuddering at the sudden rush of warmth on his skin. The tip of his nose was burning red and his teeth were chattering together.

“Cold enough for you, dumbass?” Vincent asked, baffled and Dylan’s refusal to wear anything other than a t-shirt while he did inventory.

“Keeps me awake.” He said, doing a couple small jumps in his spot to get the blood rushing through him again.

“No, makes you look stupid.” You corrected, wiping at the counter again. “Is that grill on? We’ve got a customer.” You nodded towards the blackstone grill that looked awfully cool. No billows of black smoke were filtering into the air, telling you they definitely turned it off in anticipation of having no more customers for the night. Dylan rolled his eyes, but flicked on the heat to the max, hoping to get it hot before Katie brought back the order.

“Who the fuck goes out to eat at,” he paused, looking at his watch “two in the morning on a Sunday?”

“Obviously them, and enough people that John decided to keep us open 24 hours.” You sighed, knowing you would have to clean the dining room all over again.

“Okay, miss know it all.” Dylan put on a mocking smile as he walked to the window to grab the order slip. Once you deemed the kitchen clean enough, you sat atop one of the counters you’d just scrubbed clean. Vincent seemed to be keeping his distance, now. You weren’t sure if it was because you had hurt his feelings, or he was too afraid to show his emotions around Dylan. Katie hung out by the window, using the soda machine just underneath to pour the customers their drinks. “You write about not wanting to write, yet?” Dylan asked, throwing a veggie burger on the grill.

“No, not really.” You chuckled, looking down at your hands. “I mean, I did, but it was terrible.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, doll.” Vincent said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Yeah, no, it definitely was.” You gave a slow nod. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Feels like I can’t write anything anymore.” You sighed. “I’m trying to find inspiration in anything, but it all just seems… bleak.”

“It’ll come, always does.” Dylan assured you, flipping the food with the thin metal spatula.

“Yeah,” you noded, trying to believe it. You ran your hands over the hem of your apron, pondering your lack of a muse, when suddenly it seemed like the universe was laughing at you.

No, it wasn’t the universe laughing; it was something far more beautiful and melodic than something that was normally so sinister.

Your head snapped up and your heart pounded against your chest. The sound was so powerful that it seemed to shake the whole building, making the rotten foundation quiver and threaten to give way. More than powerful, it was breathtaking, and you were desperate to know where it was coming from. You looked out the window, peeking into the dining room to see what the commotion was, and why it was so striking that it made your heart skip a beat. Your eyes soon landed on the corner booth, taken by the only two customers in the entire store. Sat in the very corner, shoulder pressed against the window that onlooked the road dimly lit by street lamps, was a man who was certainly the most beautiful you had ever seen.

The smile was still lingering on his lips and the ghost of his laugh hung thick in the air. His hair, long and curly, hung down over his broad shoulders to frame his beautiful crafted face. A tattered band shirt with the sleeves cut off and a worn out logo magnified his strong arms. His jawline was sharp, angling down into a soft chin, and although large, his nose was stunning. His eyes, even from far away, managed to make your stomach flutter with curiosity.

Whoever he was, he had turned your entire world upside down in an instant. The warm embrace of his presence was more profound than anything you had ever felt before, and as you sat staring at him, you were aching to know him. His beauty was blinding, and his laugh seemed to strike more inspiration in your heart than you even thought was possible.

It was in that moment that you realized a muse was not something you could search for, but rather something that finds you when the time is right.

After weeks of feeling defeated, wondering if your entire life had lead to nothing but disappointment, or spending hours in bars and coffee shops trying to find inspiration yet met with nothing, it only took a split second for your hands to beg to be wrapped around a pen. You needed your notebook, or your laptop, because the sight of his face prompted enough emotion for you to write entire novels about the feeling.

Dylan served the two plates in the window, and you watched as Katie walked it to the boy and his company. Whatever his friend said prompted another laugh that blossomed straight from his chest, echoing off the walls and making home in your heart. His friend seemed loud, definitely more talkative than the curly haired boy. He was facing away from you, his long brown hair falling down his back. You did not even truly care what he looked like, because you were certain he would pale in comparison to the boy who already managed to steal your heart. You sat, completely immersed in the sight with no shame about your staring. You hung on to every small detail and miniscule expression, hoping to sear it into your memory for the rest of time. Every time a laugh fell from his lips, butterflied erupted in your stomach.

He did not notice you, but god did you notice him, and so much so that it was hard to see anything else.

When you finally broke from the trance and looked back into the kitchen, Dylan and Vincent’s eyes were both burning into you. Dylan was smirking, like he already knew what was running through your head without you having to say a word. Vincent, on the other hand, was definitely not even close to smiling. His jaw was hard set, the vein in his forehead protruding slightly as he clenched his teeth together. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and it absolutely gutted him. Your cheeks tinged red as if it were the cherry on top of an already catastrophic disaster, and you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Instead of speaking, Vincent grabbed the pack of cigarettes the three of you shared and walked out the back door, making sure to slam it for extra salt in the wound.

You swallowed hard, looking back at Dylan with a flicker of anxiety in your eyes. He shrugged it off, clearly not understanding the extent of the situation and leaned against the counter beside you.

“So, are you gonna go talk to him?” He asked, giving you a goofy smile as he gazed out at the man in question. You looked back towards the dining room too, your eyes shining with wonder at the two unnamed men. You have a slow shake of your head, knowing that you would never, but wishing that you would.

April 4th, 2022

You woke with a start, your head pounding as the sun shined brightly through your large panel windows. You shifted in your position, immediately wincing from the aches and pains that ravished your body. You blinked a few times, trying to focus your eyes as you took in your surroundings. You were on your living room floor, head propped up against the couch with your journal still laying atop of you. You must have fallen asleep writing, as your pen was still clutched tightly in your hand.

You quickly located the source of the disturbance, seeing your phone ringing loudly and irritatingly beside you. You picked it up, focusing your eyes on the screen to see who could be calling. When you saw John’s name on the screen, you felt your stomach drop for a moment. You swiped across the screen, accepting the call as you hit the speaker button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, y/n.” He said, almost sounding pained to be calling you.

“What’s up, John?” You asked, stretching your limbs out to rid yourself of the pain lingering in your joints. Sleeping on the floor was definitely a bad call, even if it was only for a few hours.

“I hate to ask this, but could you come in and cover the lunch rush? I know you worked overnight last night, but Linda had to leave; her husband fell and she had to take him to the emergency room.” Linda was one of the older ladies who worked the mornings. You quite liked her, even if you did think she smelled like the basement of an old Catholic Church. “I’ll pay you time and a half.” He offered, hoping to bribe you with the extra pay.

“Yeah, that’s no problem.” You would have agreed anyway, but the offering was not something you were willing to refuse. “Give me about thirty minutes and I’ll be down.”

“Thank you, darlin’. You’re a lifesaver.” You could hear his relief through the phone.

“Love you too, John.” You chuckled, ending the call and making a move to stand. You quickly ran to the bathroom, jumping in the shower and washing away the night shift that was still lingering on your skin. You washed your hair and took an extra minute to condition it and sit under the warm water, then rinsed off and jumped out. You blow dried your hair and styled it slightly, dusting on some light makeup. You always made sure to look nice for a busy serving shift, because it made the older men much more generous with their tips.

You ran to your bedroom, pulling out a pair of black leggings and an old Zeppelin shirt that once belonged to your brother. One thing you liked about the Fox was that the dress code was nonexistent. You could show up in your pajamas and John would just be relieved that you showed up at all. You stuffed your purse full of the necessities and grabbed your phone from the couch as you passed by. You locked the door as you made your way into the hallway, throwing your keys in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. As you walked down the stairs of the creaky old apartment building, the sun already began to hurt your eyes before you even reached the door. You pushed open the front door and took a long breath of air, the coldness filling your lungs and making your chest ache for a moment. Spring was just around the corner, but winter still seemed like it was trying to hang on.

As you slipped your headphones in your ears and hit shuffle on your playlist, your eyes noticed something familiar across the street. You furrowed your eyebrows, your lips turning into a frown as you recognized the rusted out body of the 80’s model car. As you walked a little closer, you noticed the silhouette of Vincent, sleeping soundly in the driver's seat. You approached the vehicle, raising your fist and rapping it against the glass with force. It only took a second for him to shoot awake, looking around to try and figure out where he was. With a defensive stance, his head whipped towards the window. As always, he looked ready for a fight, but when his eyes landed on you, his expression softened. As you pulled your jacket closer to your body, he rolled the window down.

“What are you doing sleeping in your car, Vin?” You asked, clearly displeased with his actions. “You know what type of people hang out around here.”

“Drank too much last night,” he grumbled, rubbing his face in his hands as he squinted at the sunlight. “Knew it was best not to drive.”

“You could have called.”

“Thought you didn’t like it when I did that, doll?” He cleared his throat, the rasp of cigarettes still heavy in his tone.

“I…” you paused, shifting your weight between your legs. “I'd rather you be safe.”

“I’m safe, don’t worry sweetheart.” He chuckled, his cockiness peeking through. Vincent loved framing himself as unafraid of anything, but it simply was not true. He thought he was invincible, even if you knew he was just a man. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“John called me in, something about Linda’s husband falling. She had to leave.” You explained.

“That guys always fucking falling. Should get him one of those little stair elevators, you know? Like in the commercials?” You laughed at his idea, nodding in agreement.

“They probably would if they weren’t poor.” You reminded him.

“Yeah, aren’t we all?” He leaned his head against the headrest, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to keep the hangover at bay. “You want a drive over?”

“Sure, if you’re headed that way.” You agreed, walking around to jump in the passenger seat. He started the car, the old engine turning over a few times before eventually sputtering into a slow start. The interior immediately began to smell like gasoline, but you ignored it. It was one of the most charming quirks about the vehicle.

“You sleep last night? It’s awfully early to be going back in.” He noted, looking down at his watch. The radio system in his car no longer worked, including the digital clock (it read the wrong time when it did work anyway, so it did not really matter).

“A little, fell asleep on the floor of all fucking places.” You chuckled, pulling your jacket closer to your body again. He rolled the window up, noticing your small shiver. “I’m only going in for a few hours, so it doesn’t matter much anyway.” He did not respond to this, instead pulling the car around and driving out onto the highway. The rattle of the engine filled the stale air, and you looked out the window as he drove.

“You’re going to miss NA.” He stated, glancing over at you for only a second. “You didn’t go last week, either.”

“I know, I know.” You sighed. “I’ll catch the Wednesday meeting instead.”

“You promise?” He pushed, not willing to let it go. You bit your tongue, knowing he was the last person in the world who should be scolding you about missing your meetings.

“Yeah. Are you going today, or do you want to come with me on Wednesday?”

“I’ll come with you.” He said without hesitation. You were the only thing that made the meetings bearable for him. You did notice he was slightly withdrawn, and he did not even attempt to reach over and put his hand on your thigh.

When you turned your head to look at him, you finally noticed the details you managed to overlooked before. His eyes had dark circles underneath, and the whites were bloodshot. His pupils were blown, nearly engulfing his irises, and if you squinted hard enough, you could see the red ring of blood lining his nostril. He was still coming down from the high the night before, and the thought almost made you sick to the stomach. The emotion was not because he chose to do drugs, but because in the moment of seeing him like that, you could remember what it felt like so vividly that it made your head spin. Your hands went clammy and your fingers began to tremble as you bargained with yourself to just make it to the diner.

He clicked on his turn signal, cutting sharply into the parking lot and pulling up to the door so you wouldn’t have to walk through the parking lot. “Thanks, Vincent.” You choked out, still trying to distract yourself from the idea of his endeavors the night prior.

“I’ll see you Wednesday.” He said, forcing a smile. The come down had hit him hard, and you could tell his whole body felt like lead. His eyelids were heavy, and he would likely park in the empty lot next to the diner for a while to get some more sleep.

“Yeah,” you nodded, forcing him a smile, too. You jumped out of the car, pulling a half smoked cigarette from your pack to smoke before you went inside. You stood a few feet away from the door, and finished it as fast as you could. You crushed the butt beneath your old ratty converse and took two large strides to the entrance, pulling the door open and stepping inside.

The chatter in the room was immediately overwhelming, and the smell of the deep fryer hit your nose almost instantly. You rushed behind the counter and through to the kitchen, grabbing a clean apron and an order pad. You shoved the book and a pen in your front pocket, and knocked on the door of the office to grab a cash float. You heard John tell you to come in, and as you opened the door he sent you a smile. He already counted the cash and had it waiting on the desk for you, which you shoved in the second pocket.

“Thanks again, darlin’. You only have to stay for the rush.”

“Don’t mention it.” You smiled, closing the door behind you. You moved back out to the dining room after punching in a time card. John had not yet moved to an updated system, because computers were not his forte. Nobody complained, because you got paid all the same. Betty gave you a wave as she dropped off some order tickets at the window, relieved to see you there.

“Linda has the back section, and there’s a couple people who haven’t been served yet. You mind starting there?”

“No problem.” You assured her, grabbing a stack of menus to bring over with you. You stopped first at a booth with a family. They had two small kids with them who seemed to be getting impatient. The mother held the baby in her lap while the little boy sat next to his dad. You handed out the menus and took drink orders, stopping to crouch down and talk to the boy who looked to be only five.

“And how old are you, baby?” You asked, giving him a warm smile as he played with his tiny model car on the table.

“Four and three quarters!” He grinned, looking over at you.

“Three quarters?” You exclaimed, matching his excitement. “That means your birthday is coming up soon?” He gave an eager nod. “That also means,” you stopped and checked the front of the menu to make sure of the policy before saying the wrong thing. “You get to eat for free today!” You glanced up at the mom, sending her a gentle wink. Not often did you serve kids, because you usually only worked at night. According to the menus, kids under 6 ate for free. “So you can have all of the Dino nuggets you can eat.” The prospect seemed to excite him even more as he looked to his dad, hoping he would verify if you were telling the truth. “I’ll be back in a few to take your orders and bring your drinks.” You told the woman, who was smiling at you while bouncing the baby in her lap.

You moved on to the next table, an older couple who was sweet and already knew what they wanted without even having to look over the options. You wrote it down, knowing they were likely regulars. You assured them it wouldn’t be long before moving to the last table. You barely looked up as you made your way towards the corner booth, but when you did, your heart nearly jumped straight from your chest. The curly hair was unmistakable, and the outline of the big nose made your stomach twist with anxiety. You hated to admit that he noticed you and spoke long before your brain could formulate a word, ultimately leaving you looking like an idiot.

“Hey, mind if I have one of those?” As if it were some sick trick from the universe, his voice was just as heavenly as his laugh was the night before, and his eyes were just as soft and warm, inviting you in even further. His teeth were white and impossibly straight as he smiled at you, and it made your heart thud dramatically against your chest.

The boy that you’d spent all hours of the morning writing about was in front of you, sitting in the exact same seat he was when you had seen him for the first time.

“Y-yeah, f’course.” You forced a smile, your cheeks burning red as you handed him a menu from the dwindling stack in your hand. “You, uh… what brings you here?” You asked, internally facepalming at the stupid nature of your question. It was a diner; obviously he was there to eat.

“Uh… food?” He raised an eyebrow, smiling at you as he answered. He didn’t seem concerned about your nervousness, and if anything, it sparked an intrigue in him.

“Yeah, obviously, sorry.” You chuckled, shaking your head as you tried to straighten your thoughts. “I mean, you were here late last night, too. I know the food’s not that good, so it has to be something else bringing you here.” You flashed a real smile, your wit seeming to find its way back to you.

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, nodding. “I’m not from here, actually. My friend and I are traveling. We booked an Airbnb for a few months, so it gives us some time to explore New York. Our flight came in late, and this was the closest spot last night…. And this morning.” He explained.

“The truth comes out,” you chuckled, cocking your head to the side. “Where you from?”

“Michigan.” He replied, trying to read over the menu, but his attention seemed to only want to be on you. “What about you? You definitely don’t have the accent like the rest of the city does.”

“Utah,” you grinned, surprised he picked up on it.

“So how the hell did you end up here?” He smirked, seemingly very interested in the conversation and uncaring that you were working amidst a lunch rush.

“Long story, sweetheart.” You laughed, brushing it off. He didn’t really want to know, and you didn’t want to bore him.

“I’ve got all the time in the world.” He shrugged, motioning to the empty both. You pondered his words for a moment, biting the inside of your lip. He was completely enamouring, and you barely even knew him. From the twenty seconds of conversation, you felt compelled to keep talking to him, wanting to know everything you could.

“Why don’t I take your order, and if you still want to know, we can make that happen.” You offered. He thought about it for a moment, finally seeming to realize you were working. He was so enthralled in your face and your words that the whole world around him seemed to disappear.

“Yeah, that’s probably a better idea.” He nodded. “Any recommendations?” He asked, completely ignoring the menu in his hand in hopes that you would keep talking.

“Breakfast or lunch?”

“Breakfast.” He confirmed.

“Omelet is good, vegetarian or not. Can never fuck up one of those.” You explained, smiling down at him.

“Sure, one of those, however you like it.” He said, his brown eyes lingering over your face. “And a coffee, please.”

“Sure thing.” You gave a soft smile, reaching down to pick up the menu again. “I’ll be back.”

“Can’t wait.” He shot back, keeping his eyes glued to you as you walked away. As you went to drop off the order tickets and collect the drinks for your tables, your cheeks were burning and your chest was filled with curious excitement. You didn’t know him, but you wanted to, and it was almost hard to believe that he seemed to want to know you, too.

You did not want to get your hopes up, because men had always let you down, even if they had ample amounts of promise. Then again, he seemed different than anyone you’d ever spoken to before. He didn’t seem creepy, nor did his eyes travel anywhere other than your face. He was friendly, soft spoken, and kind. He didn’t think your anxiety was strange, and he didn’t even mention it in efforts to keep you comfortable. You didn’t know him at all, but he seemed better than anyone you’d ever laid eyes on, looks and personality-wise.

You never know unless you try, and try was the only thing you knew how to do. You were determined to know him, and only then you could truly judge his character. Even if he turned out to be an asshole or disappointing in some way, he would at least be nice to look at in the meantime.

You dropped off drinks at your other two tables, then doubled back to brew his coffee. You tapped your foot against the floor in anticipation, hoping it would speed up the process. When the coffee maker sputtered the last pathetic spurt of liquid, it let out a tired groan as the button and lights clicked off. You poured a mug and grabbed a milk and cream dish. You carefully walked it over to his booth, setting it down in front of him with a sigh of relief. You were known as the coffee spiller amongst the staff, and you finally seemed to deliver one successfully.

“Thank you,” he smiled up at you, the sight nearly taking your breath away. “I’m Danny, by the way.”

“Danny…” you pondered, the corners of your lips tugging onwards. “I like it. I’m y/n.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He smirked, tearing open a sugar packet and dumping it into the steaming cup. Your cheeks dusted red again, your entire body heating at the compliment. “So you said you were here last night, but you definitely weren’t the one who served me. She seemed a bit…” he trailed off, trying to find the proper words.

“Bitchy?” You offered, raising an eyebrow. He let out a laugh, so similar to the one you heard last night. It nearly made you weak in the knees.

“Sure, yeah.” He nodded. “That’s not how I would word it, but that’s probably the best way to say it.”

“I shouldn’t be so mean,” you sympathized with the girl, even if she wasn’t standing there to hear it. “She’s not the worst person in the world, but she is hard to get along with sometimes.”

“Yeah, I can see that. She was giving Sam dirty looks the whole time.” He chuckled at the memory. “I get it, though. Sam’s loud, and he’s a lot to take in. I’m sure you guys weren’t expecting that at two in the morning.”

“We’re usually a bit busier at night, but last night was super slow. Think she was just doing it because technically you were sitting in my area, and I was busy.”

“Busy, but still concerned with who was sitting out here?” He questioned. You prayed your cheeks would stop rushing with blood as you tried to think of a proper response.

“I’m nosy, what can I say?” You shrugged.

“I must have left an impact, cause you recognized me today.” He pointed out, taking another sip of coffee. You gave a slow nod, a smile pulling at your lips.

“Yeah, well, we definitely don’t get too many cute boys in here. Usually just drunkards from the old tavern and teenagers who snuck out.” You explained.

“Cute?” He pressed, liking the sound of the term. You rolled your eyes, playful but sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, get over yourself.” You gave a soft laugh.

“No, actually.” He shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll be thinking about that for a while, especially coming from someone as beautiful as you.” You smiled, biting down on the inside of your lip again. Instead of continuing the conversation, you decided to play hard to get.

“Your food shouldn’t be too much longer.” You gave a smirk, adding a little pep to your step as you turned and walked away. Again, he watched as you disappeared behind the counter, waiting for your plates to be served.

Soon enough, the meals for the family of four were served on the windowsill. You grabbed the ticket and brought them their food, letting them know to just give a holler if they needed anything else. You went back and retrieved the plates for the older couple and dropped them off to them just the same. Eventually, Danny’s meal was served and you had to stop for a moment, regaining your composure before you brought it over to him. You picked up the omelet, carting it close to your body as you walked to the corner booth, being mindful of your steps so you did not trip over anything. When you reached his table, he gave you a smile as you placed it down in front of him.

“Looks good,” he commented, happy with the recommendation.

“Definitely not a Michelin starred restaurant, but we know how to make an omelet.” You grinned.

“Seems so,” he gave a nod of approval.

“Let me know if you need anything else, sweetheart.” You said, looking over your shoulder as more customers filled up the seats in your section.

“I will for sure.” He promised. “Thank you.” You didn’t respond, but gave another smile as you walked to greet the new customers.

After a while, the buzz began to die down. People were leaving with smiles on their faces and full bellies, and the tips were flowing generously. You brought the debit machine from table to table, allowing people to pay so they could make their way home. Every time you saw a customer out, you checked to see if Danny was ready. He seemed to be taking his sweet time, but you didn’t mind at all; it saved from another person replacing him in his seat, and it gave you something pretty to look at. If you could have it your way, you’d never let him leave.

He was intriguing, and you seemed to like every exchange of words more than the last. He was someone you wanted to keep talking to, and someone you wanted to share things with. He was interested in everything you had to say, and you hung onto every word that fell from his mouth. He was the most interesting person to ever sit in the diner, in the best way possible. You wanted to ask for more, to see him again, but your fear was stopping you. Rejection terrified you, and embarrassment was not any better. Instead, you stole glances at him and hoped that he would ask first, or that he would at least come back once he decided it was time to leave.

When most of the crowd filtered out, John let you know that you could head home, and that he convinced the night waitresses to come in a little early to cover the dinner rush. You nodded, letting him know you had one more customer to see through and then you’d be on your way. He thanked you again, wasting no time returning to the office. You liked John quite a lot; he was friendly, nice, and didn’t really care much about what you did during your shift as long as the job got done. He was old, and he was tired. The diner had given him a run for his money, and he was excited to retire, but realistically he knew it would never happen. You felt bad for him, but at the same time, you were happy to know he would be running the show for the foreseeable future.

You walked over to Danny, hoping to catch another quick conversation with him. He seemed to be pleased with your decision to join him again, smiling as you advanced towards him. “Back again?” He asked once you were in earshot.

“Just couldn’t stay away,” you smirked. “You all finished?”

“Yeah, think so.” He nodded, draining the last of the coffee from his mug. “Trying to get me out of here?” He asked.

“No, but the sooner you leave, the sooner I get to go home.” You explained. He gave a slow nod, picking up on the situation, now.

“If that’s the case, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No need to rush.” You assured him, hoping you didn’t come off as rude. You’d stay all day if it meant you got to talk to him.

“I know, I know,” he chuckled. “But Sam’s probably wondering where I am, so I probably should get back.”

“Yeah, no problem. I can grab your bill?” You offered.

“Sure,” he nodded. “Mind if I borrow your pen for a second?” You grabbed it from your pocket, handing it over to him before running to the counter to print off his receipt. You brought it back over to him, placing it face down on the table.

“Shit, do you need the debit machine?” You asked, remembering that you hadn’t asked him yet. You were too caught up in the beauty of his smiling face.

“No, cash is fine.” He promised, flipping over the bill. You mindlessly watched out the window as he pulled some money out of his wallet, leaving it on the table as he made a move to stand.

“Oh, hold on.” You stopped him, eyeing the fifty dollar bill with unease. For a second, you thought you might have charged him wrong. “I’ll get your change.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled. “I’ll see you again sometime?”

“Danny, that’s way too much-“

“Ah,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “Whatever happened to the customer is always right?” He raised an eyebrow. You let out a sigh, knowing that it was best not to argue with him.

“Thank you,” you said, feeling guilty for accepting such a large gesture. The tip was nearly four times his bill total.

“No need for thanks, the service was excellent.” He assured you. “You said you work the overnights here, right?”

“Yeah, usually.” You nodded. “Thursday to Sunday.”

“I’ll have to stop by sometime.” He noted, slipping on his jacket. Your eyes lingered over the muscles of his arms shown off under the sleeves of his t-shirt. You swallowed hard, trying to push the thought away.

“Guess so,” you agreed, nodding slightly. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“You, too.” He said, his shoulder gently brushing with your own as he passed by. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and you turned to watch as he walked out the front door, wishing that you had the courage to follow after him or ask him to stay. Instead, you saw him disappear from view, and you were left with a sinking feeling in your stomach and regret looming overhead.

You turned to the table, grabbing the cash he’d left and your copy of the receipt. He’d penciled in the tip total, but what caught your eye was a napkin laying underneath that had black pen scribbled on it. You picked it up, bringing it closer so you could read the messy handwriting. As your eyes drifted over the words, your stomach filled with butterflies and your cheeks began to ache from the smile that took hold.

It was fantastic meeting you. If you ever have the time, I’d love to hear about Utah.

Below that, he left his phone number and a series of X’s and O’s. You bit down on your lip, slipping the note in your pocket to save for later, turning away to count your tips. As you went to the register, you couldn’t help but notice the excitement filling you, and how eager you were to get home and use the number he’d left, even if it was just to tell him about Utah. For the first time in eighteen months—no, for the first time in years, your happiness was genuine and you were eager to see what the next day would bring.

TAGLIST: @imleavingyoufornewyork @itsafullmoon @bladenotblaze @jessicafg03 @dont-go-home-without-me @peaceloveunitygvf

54 notes · View notes