These Pictures Make Me Feel Some Type Of Way

Book of Bill spoilers!! Moments that caused me severe emotional damage edition!!!!

IM GENUINELY SICKENED OVER THIS SHIT IM SO COOKED

THE FIRST AND LAST ONES HIT ME LIKE A TON OF BRICKS LET ME TELL YOU

01. HEAT — joel miller.

flat broke with a busted engine, our girl finds herself in the middle of the sweltering austin street outside of miller’s garage. generosity might need a bit of a push to get moving, and joel miller’s not one to offer help without something in return. lucky for her, nothing gets her going quite like driving too damn fast.

18+!!! minors do not interact

no outbreak au joel miller x f!oc // first person pov, no names, can be read as self-insert

f!oc is mentioned as having curly hair and the last name “denver”, no other descriptors used

tags: no outbreak au, full-time mechanic and part-time criminal joel miller, slight violence, reckless and dangerous driving, age gap (joel is early 40s, f!oc is implied to be mid 20s), mention and use of guns, mention of family troubles, mention of drug use, mention of drinking, no smut in part one sorry folks, slow burn that i promise will be worth multiple parts, flirty tommy miller, cranky joel miller turned “yes ma’am” boyfriend

word count: 5.3k

based on: heist inspired by the final heist in baby driver, the rest inspired by my family being a bunch of street racing mechanics who know nothing in the way of self-preservation!!

————————————————————————————

It is a sweltering 101 degrees out here in Austin today, folks, and it’s only noon. If you’re not inside, you oughta be, and if you are, you’d better stay there. Gotta be smarter than the heat.

I didn’t think my car would make it to the mechanic shop. I could see it from the red light I sat at, that big rusty sign reading Miller’s Garage. I rested my elbow on the open window frame and wiped the sweat from my brow, praying for a cool breeze and for these mechanics to find me pretty enough to get a good deal.

The light sat red for a thirty seconds, a minute, minute and a half, as I listened to the sputtering engine just barely cling to life. The radio host droned on about the heat wave, and I released my foot from the pedal just slightly, rolling past that thick white line and up to the intersection. Empty. No cars coming from any direction, no cars behind me, just me and the heat radiating from the black top.

Good a time as any to run a red light.

I pressed the gas and my car lurched forward, making it directly to the center of that intersection before a loud crack came from the engine, my car jolting to an aggressive halt and slamming me into my seat. I swore, slamming the palm of my hand against the dashboard and jumping out of the driver’s seat.

By the time I was out of the car with the door slammed shut behind me, thin plumes of smoke had started to wisp from the edges of the hood. If my car hadn’t been completely fucked already, it was now. I turned, thankful to at least not see any other cars around, and kicked the front tire.

Wincing against the sun, I looked to see if anyone had by some miracle come running from the mechanic shop that was now just a few hundred feet away. Not a soul in sight. I pushed my hair out of my face and assessed my options.

Keys outta the ignition, I remembered, my dad’s voice nagging in the back of my mind, ‘less you wanna deal with an engine exploding, too.

I leaned through the open window, the scorching black paint of the exterior burning into the skin of my thighs exposed by these damned Daisy Duke shorts as I reached for the keys, tugging them out of the ignition before fumbling around for the latch to pop the hood.

“Seems we got ourselves a bit of an engine problem here,” a gruff voice suddenly said from behind me.

Startled, I tried too fast to get my upper half out of the car, hitting my head off of the car roof. A hand rubbing the top of my mop of curls, I turned to face the source of the voice.

Goddamn.

All tan skin and scruff and dark hair, not to mention him being every bit of six foot tall, the mysterious stranger was so easy on the eyes I wondered how hard I’d hit my head. He was definitely older than me, that sort of off-limits hot that friends’ dads tend to be. He wiped his hands with a black bandana, and I tried not to swoon when there was no wedding ring to account for. Jeans covered in oiled fingerprints, heavy black boots, and a dirty blue work shirt with sleeves rolled up tight around his thick arms, he was precisely the kind of guy I needed right now.

“Yeah,” I spit out, hoping he hadn’t noticed my ogling, “Been giving me trouble for a while now, but she died on me before I could pull into the shop.”

I nodded my head towards the sign ahead of us and he huffed approvingly, tapping two fingers on the still steaming hood of the car.

“Thought I heard something out here. S’my garage, you’re lucky I was bringing a car out to the lot, else you might’ve been rolling her down there by yourself,” he replied, his accent thick and smooth.

“Very lucky,” I replied, hoping his generosity would stick around to when it was time to pay.

“Hop in and put it in neutral, I’ll push the thing while you steer it into the lot,” he ordered, “You a half decent driver? I’ve got a lotta nice vehicles in that lot, don’t need ‘em getting dinged up.”

“Better than half-decent,” I said, the urge to prove him wrong swelling suddenly in my chest.

“Show me, then,” he said simply, brushing past me as I hopped into the driver’s seat and put the car into neutral.

“Ready when you are,” I shouted out the window, watching him in the rearview mirror.

He leaned over the trunk, his jaw set and eyes dark as the muscles in his arms flexed, straining to get the car rolling. His hands were massive as they gripped the blazing hot metal, pushing me and the car towards the garage.

“Right in here,” he shouted, his voice gravelly with the effort, and if I had been paying attention, I wouldn’t have hit that damn curb.

Unfortunately I hadn’t been paying attention at all.

“Thought you said you were better than half-decent,” he grunted, and I felt my whole body go pink.

“Sorry,” I squeaked, adjusting the wheel so he could push the car the rest of the way into the shop, carefully avoiding the shiny, luxury vehicles in the lot. For an old, seemingly run-down mechanic shop, he had exceptional clientele. I pictured the fancy, impossibly clean mechanics shop my dad had taken me into once upon a time, where cars less expensive than the ones here were serviced by men in clean, white jumpsuits. And to think I’d chosen this shop because it seemed cheap when I’d driven past months earlier.

Parking my car in the empty bay of the garage, he patted a hand against the trunk, a hollow thud drawing my attention.

“Leave the keys in the ignition, I’m gonna go grab Tommy. There’s some chairs around, go on and have a seat and I’ll be right back for ya, ma’am,” he said with a nod, heading around the front of the building.

I realized I hadn’t even asked for his name.

I sighed and took my moment alone to pull myself together. It’d worked before, the whole damsel in despair act. I was off to a pretty good start. Brushing the remnants of a near-empty bottle of lipgloss onto my lips and adjusting the loose white tanktop that was now sticking to my body from the heat, I figured I had a fifty-fifty shot of flirting my way to some free repairs. They must’ve made enough from those fancy cars that sat in the lot, I figured they could spare a few hours to help out a pretty girl.

Getting out of the car, I figured I’d better really commit to this. I leaned against the back end of the car, copying a pose I’d no doubt seen on the cover of some douchey mechanic’s magazine. After a minute, two pairs of footsteps headed my way, and I adjusted myself best I could. I ran a hand through my hair as a new face rounded the corner, who I assumed was this Tommy the handsome stranger had spoken of.

He stopped in his tracks for a moment as the stranger came up behind him, shoving him forward with a small push.

“Well, Joel here tells me we’ve got some engine problems goin’ on, is that right?” Tommy asked.

“Joel,” I repeated, the sound sweet on my tongue, “Forgot to ask his name in all that chaos, forgive me for being so impolite. And yes, seems to be the case.”

“My brother’s an ass, he should be apologizing for not introducin’ himself. Mind if we take a look under that hood? Get an idea of what we’re workin’ with,” he continued, eyeing me carefully.

“Not at all. Keys in the ignition,” I replied with a smile, leaning back on my elbows and deciding to test the waters, “You wanna see the registration, insurance, any of that?”

“We’re gonna get this fixed right up for you, ma’am, don’t worry about fussin’ with all that,” he said with a slick grin. He was more charming than his brother, and nearly as fine.

Joel had already gotten the hood open and was checking the engine, digging through wires and tubes and not flinching as he touched the smoking components. I took a few lazy steps, watching the two of them talk quietly about parts I half-recognized the names of.

It had been a while since I’d been in a garage, and the smell of metal and oil had my mind running a mile a minute with memories from before I’d moved away from home, of being a child watching her daddy work under a truck, of being a reckless teenager behind the wheel of one of his buddy’s drag racing cars. I felt the same pang of regret I did every time I had to set foot in one of these shops and let some stranger fix the problem for me, that I couldn’t do it myself.

“Blew out the head gasket,” Joel said, straightening himself and closing the hood of the car, the veins in his forearm popped at the motion, “Gonna be a while ‘til we can fix that.”

“Might need to see that insurance card,” Tommy admitted sheepishly.

I swore under my breath, kicking myself for waiting until the car had completely died to get it looked at. I grabbed my insurance information from the glove compartment and handed it over to Tommy, who scanned it quickly before looking back up at me.

“Your last name is Denver?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“It is,” I replied, a bit worried about the implication it carried.

“Any relation to a Howard?” he pressed.

I’d moved from one side of Texas to the other with the hopes my dad’s reputation wouldn’t follow me, but here I stood. Joel laughed, a loud bark of a laugh that make my stomach turn, and Tommy shook his head in disbelief.

“Makes sense why you said you could drive,” Joel said, “Most infamous fuckin’ racer in Texas is your old man. Why the hell are we lookin’ at your car instead of him?”

“Your garage is a hell of a lot closer than his,” I said, which wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t the answer I knew he was poking for.

“But it’s gonna be a hell of a lot more expensive for us to do the job, he’s probably got fifty cars you could take your pick of and just junk this one,” Tommy said, his voice curious.

“Not an option,” I replied, the I’m fucked feeling starting to settle in at him mentioning expensive, “How expensive are we talking? I don’t think I can spare more than a couple hundred bucks.”

“Three grand, easy,” Joel said with a shrug, “More if it damaged anything else when it blew. Engine’s been overheating for God knows how long, bound to be somethin’ else wrong with it by now.”

I groaned and turned on my heel, pulling my hair up into a pile on top of my head as I walked outside of the garage into the blazing sun and squatted down, my boots digging into the skin of my calves. Three grand was more money than I could imagine right now, even if I worked doubles at the bar every day for the next month. And I wasn’t working doubles if I couldn’t drive to work. Fucked was not a good enough term to describe the situation I’d gotten in.

“Just how good of a driver are ya?” Tommy called from inside the garage after a long silence, his boots heavily thudding against the concrete floor as he took a few steps towards me.

“Depends on the car,” I replied, “Doesn’t matter if mine’s not running.”

“Tell you what,” Tommy started, “I know your old man, might be willing to do a favor for you if you can do a favor for me.”

“Tommy,” Joel warned. I stood up and turned to face him, my face stern as I waited for whatever he was about to ask me to do. My mind circled through the list of favors older men had asked of me, none of them good, all of them being worthy of smacking him as hard as I could manage.

“Ever drive a 1970 Challenger?” Tommy asked.

“Learned how to drive in that car,” I replied.

“Then you’ve got yourself a deal.”

————————————————————————————

Sitting in the driver’s seat of an impeccable 1970 Dodge Challenger felt better than drugs.

Well, almost.

Painted a shiny, deep black with a lush black leather interior, the thing was fitted with so many modifications it couldn’t have been legal. It was spotless inside, as if it’d come straight from the factory and I was the first person to ever sit in the driver’s seat, smelling only of warm leather and the cologne Joel wore beside me. I could have drooled.

It’d been years since I’d driven one, but it was second nature to me after so many years of taking cars exactly like this on test drives through abandoned neighborhoods and around tracks. I’d been an adrenaline junkie back then, a miniature version of my dad who spent every waking hour around cars. I fiddled with the radio, the windshield wipers, the shift stick, tapping into a part of my brain I’d forgotten was there. My lips pursed around a cherry lollipop I’d found in the bottom of my bag as I mindlessly reacquainted myself with this beauty of a vehicle.

“Stop messin’ with my radio,” Joel muttered from the passenger seat, reaching over to switch it off, “And get that fuckin’ lollipop outta your mouth. Don’t need you makin’ my seats sticky.”

He reached over and pulled it from between my lips, a small pop filling the air before he tossed it out into the garage. I turned, hoping he didn’t notice my cheeks turn a deep shade of crimson.

“Where am I going?” I asked, clearing my throat as I yelled out through the open window while Tommy rummaged through an old toolbox. I hadn’t even noticed the second set of garage doors at the back of the main garage, which had opened to reveal this beauty of a car, along with a random assortment of parts that I recognized as modification pieces, as well as two metal tabletops full of machines and tools I didn’t recognize.

“Just need you to give Joel a ride to the post office across town,” Tommy said.

“You got a suspended license or something?” I asked Joel, only half-joking.

“Something like that,” he replied, sinking deeper into his seat and pressing his hands into his strong thighs, which strained against his jeans. I forced my eyes to face forward, taking a deep breath and trying to get the image out of my head.

“Joel’s gotta run a job your old man used to do, s’all,” Tommy said. His explanation didn’t do anything in the way of clearing up what was actually going on. I wasn’t going to argue, but if I was going to be getting myself into trouble, a little warning might’ve been nice - and my dad’s jobs had been nothing but trouble my whole life.

“How do you know him?” I asked.

“Howard? Used to race with our dad out in Arlington before we moved down here,” Tommy answered, nodding towards Joel, “Long time ago. Haven’t seen him in probably, dunno, fifteen years. Can’t have been more than twenty back then.”

I hummed, putting together the pieces. Joel drummed his fingers against his knees as Tommy shoved some items into a duffel bag, tossing it into the window and onto Joel’s lap. Leaning into the passenger side window, he held out a dangling, single silver key to the car, though he snatched it back when I went to grab it.

“Listen, kid, we gotta establish some things here,” Tommy said sternly, a tone I hadn’t yet heard from him, “I knew your dad real well. Know where to find him if there’s any sort of trouble here. Seein’ as you’re a far way from home, I can imagine that’s not an ideal outcome here for either of us. So you’re gonna drive Joel where he needs to go, then straight back here, and when you’re done, you’re gonna forget the whole thing ever happened. We’ll get you a brand new engine, hell, I’ll throw in some other repairs for that busted thing. But you’ve gotta fulfill your end of the deal here.”

“Got it. Chauffeur Joel around, come back, and shut the hell up. Not a problem,” I said with a shrug. By the looks of them, I couldn’t imagine it was anything worse than I’d gotten into before - a drug deal, maybe, or buying illegal parts.

“Gonna be a problem if you can’t drive like your old man,” Joel muttered, pulling out the black bandana that had been stuffed into his pocket and tying it loosely around his neck.

I put the key in the ignition and started the engine, the familiar purr vibrating the seat and sending a shiver down my spine. I tried to conceal my smile, to brush away the feeling that I should be driving something like this instead of my busted tin can of a car.

“Just bring the car back in one piece and I’ll be happy,” Tommy said, running a hand through his floppy, graying hair.

I flung the car into reverse and swung into the parking lot, dodging around one of those shiny silver cars they had parked out front. Joel shot me a glare as I put the car in drive, smiling like a fool knowing I still had it in me.

“Told ya I was a good driver,” I happily hummed, looking both ways before flying down the street.

————————————————————————————

The problem wasn’t going to be getting Joel and the car back in one piece, it was going to be avoiding a speeding ticket.

I’d gotten onto the highway easily, the early evening traffic just beginning to show itself as I weaved between minivans and school busses, Joel’s hand firmly gripping the overhead handle as I turned up the radio. I was ecstatic, some biological switch flipped in me that reminded me just how badly I missed racing, forgetting everything I had ran from.

“You mind slowin’ down there?” Joel grunted.

“Not even goin’ that fast,” I complained, glancing at the speedometer as it creeped above ninety.

“Goin’ fast enough to kill us both,” he barked.

I ignored him, mentally counting down the exits as we passed them, impatiently speeding as I watched for that big, sun-faded DOWNTOWN sign. I almost wanted to drag the drive out, to slow down and spend longer in a car that had functioning air conditioning and an engine that worked perfectly, but my curiosity was getting the better of me.

“Are you gonna tell me what we’re going to a post office for, anyways?” I pried.

“Not happenin’,” he replied.

“No fun,” I complained.

“Might be a little more fun once we’re back at the garage alive,” he muttered.

“Oh yeah? What’s Joel Miller like to do for fun?” I asked, checking my mirrors before swerving across three lanes to make the exit.

“I’m usually the one drivin’ like this,” he admitted.

“You’ve got it in you, too,” I said.

“Got what in me?” he asked.

“My dad always called it heat. Get your adrenaline goin’ one time, and you’ll keep goin’ back for more. Like a car engine, you’ll keep at it until you burn up, or until you crash. Always gonna be one or the other.”

I could feel his eyes on me and I became very aware of the way the black strap of my bra was too loose, fallen over my shoulder, the way my hair had gone wild with the windows down, the adrenaline that had flushed my skin. The air was heavy between us as I waited for him to speak, but the words never came.

It didn’t take long to reach the post office from the highway, and I rolled up slowly, around back as Joel instructed. It was past five o’clock, and the neon open sign out front had been switched off. Around back, there was only one other car and an empty mail truck, parked for the night after the driver’s day had ended.

“Leave the car on,” Joel instructed, popping open the door and tossing the duffel bag over his shoulder, “The second you see me comin’ out that back door, you put this thing in drive and be ready to fuckin’ move.”

“We running from somebody?” I asked, choking out a small laugh. This had started to seem less like a small-time drug deal I’d gotten myself into.

“Just be ready,” he replied simply, his dark eyes lingering on mine for a moment before he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. “If I’m in there longer than two minutes, you get the hell out of here.”

I watched intently as Joel looked around carefully as he approached the docking area at the back of the building and disappeared through a thick metal door clearly intended for employees. Turning up the radio just slightly, I sunk into my seat and watched the main road, counting the seconds as the same radio host from earlier reported the score from that night’s Rangers game.

Fifteen seconds.

Thirty seconds.

Forty-five.

My heart thrummed in my chest, wondering what the hell he could possibly be doing inside of a post office.

One minute.

One minute fifteen seconds.

One minute thirty.

An alarm began to blare from the building.

It was somewhat muffled from the brick exterior, but it was loud enough to make me jump. Muttering curses under my breath, I switched the car out of park and into drive, one foot slammed into the brake and the other hovering over the gas.

That metal door slammed open so hard it cracked against the brick outside of the building and dented the door, a bright red light illuminating Joel’s figure as he booked it towards the car. The engine hummed under me as my heartbeat thundered in my chest, my palms slick as he was trailed by two other figures in uniforms, just a few yards behind. I realized as he got closer that Joel had at some point pulled up that black bandana to cover the lower half of his face.

I reached over and unlatched the door, swinging it wide open just in the nick of time for him to jump in.

“Fucking drive!” he shouted, throwing the now over-stuffed duffel bag into the backseat as I slammed the gas pedal into the floor, the tires squealing as the car accelerated too quickly, whipping from left to right before I could finally get control of the thing.

The uniformed men chased after the car as I raced through the empty parking lot towards a back alley that would lead me to the highway again, and a loud pop followed by the sound of cracking glass made me turn my head. Joel’s hand pushed my head down until I faced the street again, though not soon enough for me to not have noticed the bullet lodged in the cracked back windshield.

“What the fuck do you steal from a post office that makes us get shot at?!” I screeched, whipping the car into the alley and watching the speedometer tick past 60 miles per hour in a 15 mile zone.

“Girl called the damn cops the second I opened that door,” he muttered, ducking low as he peered behind us to see if we were being tailed yet.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel!” I replied, my voice sounding hysteric.

Before the words left my mouth, the sound of sirens could be heard in every direction.

Without looking, I booked it across the four-lane main street, darting for the highway as cars around me slammed on their brakes and horns, the sound deafening over the roaring engine. Up the on-ramp, I swerved into traffic, looking desperately for other black cars that we could attempt to blend in with. The rearview mirror gleamed red and blue as cops half a mile back began to trail after us and I pushed the car to go faster, past 90 and well on the way to 100 miles an hour.

“We’ve gotta get off this highway and lose ‘em,” Joel said sternly.

“Tommy said to go straight back to-,” I started.

“I know what he fuckin’ said. Three exits down leads out through a tunnel and wraps around the back of the city. Get out fast enough and we might be able to lose ‘em,” Joel ordered.

“That’s gonna take us out towards an industrial plant, nothing to hide us out there,” I argued.

“Just fuckin’ do it. There’s a Mustang and a Charger up ahead, both black, both fast, get near them and take the exit, pray they trail one of ‘em instead of us,” Joel snapped.

I darted between cars until I reached the two that were nearly identical to the car we drove, one of them switching lanes just in front of a tractor trailer. If we were lucky, the cops wouldn’t have been able to notice that we’d swapped places, and the exit was just a few hundred feet away. Painfully, against all better judgment, I slowed down, letting the cops get closer to avoid looking like the car that was absolutely fucking booking it. I could’ve breathed a sigh of relief when the Mustang sped up to pass us as we made the exit, and the sirens and flashing lights veered off to the left to follow the highway as we went right down the ramp.

The sun had sunk below the horizon at this point, the sky a hazy orange as I pulled off of the road into an empty industrial parking lot, shoving the car into park and jumping out.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Joel asked, getting out of the car behind me.

“Need a second,” I said, taking a few steps and running my fingers through my hair, resting my hands on my head as I turned to face him.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna be sick or somethin’,” he said, leaning against the open frame of the passenger door.

I shook my head, surprised at how I felt. I should have felt nauseous, scared absolutely shitless, but I didn’t. My whole body was vibrating, like I could have ran a marathon, like I’d just taken the best cocaine known to man. A knot in my stomach felt so hot it could’ve been glowing, and I started to laugh.

“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on it that head of yours?” Joel asked, tilting his head as he watched me.

“You gonna tell me what’s in that duffel bag?” I asked.

He nodded towards the car and I followed him as he opened the back door, ripping open the zipper and showing me hundreds of blank sheets of some kind of forms, looking almost like blank checks.

“Blank checks?” I asked, my face twisting into a disappointed frown.

“Blank money orders,” Joel corrected.

“We got shot at over some blank money orders? What the fuck did you drag me into, Joel?” I asked, my hands burning as I held myself back from slapping him.

“Got a buddy, think he’s a friend of your old man’s, actually,” Joel explained, “Got this machine. Turns blank money orders into cash. Makes ‘em valid somehow, real techy sort of guy.”

“How much?” I asked, tugging on the lip of the bag to try to guess how many were inside.

“Thousand bucks a piece.”

There must’ve been five hundred blank money orders in the bag, and that was on the low end of the estimate. My eyes widened, and he quickly zipped the bag back up. I looked up at him, noticing how close he stood to me, how much taller he was than me, the way his body entirely shielded mine. He looked down at me, one hand leaning against the roof of the car, his muscled arm just inches from my face.

“Tip of the iceberg, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

“And y’all need a driver,” I replied.

“That we do.”

The cool breeze I’d been wishing for earlier finally came with the last streaks of golden sunlight, wisping a few loose strands of hair over my face. Before I could reach up myself, Joel’s hand, strong and calloused and stained from work, gently brushed them out of my eyes. His skin grazed mine and I couldn’t say if it was the adrenaline or the closeness that did it, but I leaned in just a millimeter closer to him, eyes wide as a doe and desperate for the smell of his cologne.

“Oughta get back to the garage ‘fore Tommy thinks we got caught,” he breathed.

“Guess so,” I replied, not moving a muscle.

He stepped away, closing the back door between us, eyes lingering for a moment before he rounded the car and got back into his seat. Breathless and stirring with jittery, pent-up adrenaline, I got back into the driver’s seat and flipped the key in the ignition, the engine thrumming to life again.

————————————————————————————

It was dark by the time we rolled into the garage again, Tommy pacing by the front door of the main office with a cigarette illuminating his face. He followed us as we parked, and Joel hopped out before the car was at a full stop, reaching up and pulling down the main garage door. Tommy flipped on a light as I reached into the backseat, tugging the heavy duffel onto my lap and over my shoulder before getting out of the car.

The pair of brothers followed behind me as I dropped the bag onto the metal table, unzipping it in the dim fluorescent lighting and breathing in the smell of that off-the-printer paper. Tommy’s jaw was gaping as I slowly started to count the stacks, each wrapped in a rubber band, each containing fifty money orders. It took a while, with Joel neatly piling them up on the table as I counted.

He’d gotten over a thousand.

“Fuck,” I breathed, my voice shaking with excitement as I handed over the last stack, our final count being 1,100 money orders.

“Grab a fuckin’ calculator,” Tommy barked, and Joel started towards the office before I grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

“One-point-one-million,” I answered. Joel let out a low whistle and Tommy choked back a laugh.

“Jesus,” Tommy said, the cigarette still dangling from his lips, ashes falling onto his shirt as he spoke.

“Tip of the iceberg,” Joel muttered.

“You still gonna fix my car?” I asked, still staring down at the piles of paper below me.

“More than that,” Tommy replied, “You go out there and pick whatever car you want outta that lot. And then some.”

I took a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself when the ground below me felt like it was spinning. My palms pressed flat against the cold metal and I ran through the thousand different options I had before me now.

All I could think of was driving that damn car with Joel in the passenger seat.

“The red one,” I finally said, “1970 Chevy Chevelle. Candy apple red.”

“You keep gettin’ us away from cops like that, and you’ve got a deal,” Tommy replied.

I nodded once, real slow, before turning to look at Joel. His eyes were already on me as he grabbed a set of keys from the rack on the wall, nodding towards the garage door. Behind me, I heard Tommy reach over to grab the money orders and load them back into the bag.

“You go alone to meet with Buddy, Tommy,” Joel said, eyes not leaving me, “I’m takin’ miss candy-apple-red Chevy out to celebrate.”

————————————————————————————

a/n: thank you for reading!!

part two coming within a few days.

please reblog, comment, follow, etc etc etc if you enjoyed, it would truly mean the world to me ❤️‍🔥

it’s so cute when men are extra goofy n dumb but when they wanna fuck you they get mean and serious

when the vyvanse hits so you cook up some more text posts (but still won't do your assignments)

didn’t expect these to be so popular. y’all have been so nice to me 😭😭. thanks everyone

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 6

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favourites: like kasama (marriage of convenience au), the constant (six things carmy loves about his girlfriend), the support (six things sydney loves about her boyfriend, our thing (sydney and carmy celebrate christmas together)

avenues all lined with trees by oysterknife (@purposechef)

“you're a lifesaver,” the mother-of-the-bride gushes. “I didn't want to go with just anyone. The groom is a bit of a foodie, so I wanted a caterer who could impress.” Syd is about to call it quits for good on Sheridan Road. But then she gets a last-minute request to cater a wedding.

yes, chef by shareece (@bootlegramdomneess)

favourites: food is a universal language (Carmy and Sydney are two peas in a pod.) you are what you eat (Some time after the grand opening. Life is lifing. Carmy is in therapy. Sydney is being a supportive partner. Richie is going to Italy and really it's all about making connections.)

rules for fake dating an italian by poorlittlegreenie (@poorlittlegreenie13)

wanted: Female, aged 20-30, to be my date for Christmas eve dinner with my Italian family. Must be willing to eat my mom’s cooking. No physical intimacy required. No strings attached—I will drive you home after. 4pm-10pm, 12/24. Salary negotiable. Call Carmen: (773) 555-0901.

a new take on faith by linascribbles (@laviejaguardia)

the fridge guy’s name was Terry. They got the lock replaced a few weeks ago. There are no more torn tapes on the containers. The pans are on the right side. They hired a new line cook that doesn’t do meth. Nat’s belly is getting bigger by the second. Carmy hasn’t mentioned Claire since friends and family. Syd and Carmy haven’t really talked to each other in weeks.

if i didn’t love you, it would be fine (I know that’s a lie) by melodicchaos (@pacinglikeghosts)

when placed in a series of events based in misunderstanding, carmy and sydney decide to start fake dating. however, when real feelings get mixed with a relationship formed on carefully crafted lies, they realize they may have bit off more than they can chew.

copenhagen (let me go home) by turbulenthandholding (@turbulenthandholding)

6 months after The Bear opens, Carmy goes to Copenhagen for a short guest stint at Noma before it closes and realizes some things about his life back in Chicago.

scraping together by mila_milax (@milamilamilax)

is it fucked up to ask out the caterer at your brother’s funeral? Probably. But today is already pretty fucked up, and he’s done it now.

a need to amuse and enjoy by sashafiercer (@sashafiercest)

Sydney and Carmy learn how to offer each other amusement and enjoyment that will last the rest of their lives.

there we two, content by puzzlepuppy (@sydneys-adamu)

carmy, sydney and the adventures of cat parenting.

do me a favor? by onlytheredumbrella

sometimes we bypass the red flags and say, "Why shouldn't I make a baby with my best friend slash business partner?"

small plates by novelsandnoodles

favourites: as you wish (Richie and Natalie notice that Carmy loves saying no. Except when it comes to Sydney.), you put me on (Carmy lends Sydney his sweater. It’s far more distracting than either planned.), I don’t wanna look at anything else (a soft morning with Sydney and Carmy leads to a life altering question.), forgotten lunches and forgotten kisses (Sydney left home this morning without her lunch or her goodbye kiss. Carmy has come to give her both.)

soul meets body by turbulenthandholding (@turbulentandholding)

Emmanuel is unable to make himself say the words to his daughter: you, somewhere, have a soulmate, and the permanent marks of their life will be written across your skin for all of yours, just as your life is being written on theirs. No, I don't know who or how to find them. No, I don't know why. It's like magic, baby, in this sad and awful world of ours where magic does not exist and bad things happen all of the time.

the mark of a lover is patience through time by 924inlegend

five times Carmy and Sydney are mistaken for a couple and the one time it isn't a mistake anymore.

in another world it’s still you by puzzlepuppy (@sydneys-adamu)

favourites: the singing of a body (soulmate au), this heart with all its changing hues (rewind in time, sydney and carmen meet at CIA. it's not an instant friendship.), wind and water; cloud and fire (soulmate au)

my stomach's all in knots by sunflowerayo

Claire isn’t dumb. She wouldn’t have gotten anywhere in life if she was. Surviving in East Chicago, becoming a trauma nurse, all of it. So Claire knows she isn’t imagining the tension between her boyfriend and his business partner.

forever by noangeleitherr (@noangeleither)

a story of Sydney and Carmy's relationship and building love and life around grief.

take care by oysterknife (@purposechef)

Ingredients: - 1 culinary school dropout - 1 recently fired CDC - 48 hours in New York City

Steps: 1. Have a panic attack; drop out of culinary school. 2. Accidentally become the head food critic of the New York Times. 3. Write a review that gets the CDC of Eleven Madison Park fired. 4. Let sit until you have an emotionally unwieldy mess.

commute by somberiety

“i love a matcha. I always try to make one at home with the-” she makes a whisking movement with her fingers, sweeping in her imaginary mug. He mirrors the motion softly at the back of her neck, curtains of black and blonde sway by his fingers. He feels Sydney trailing into his touch and seeks more. He’s so fucking needy in the middle of this packed running metal tube.

inspired by that video from the baseball game

housed by your warmth by amiera (@amieraisposting)

favourites: it's all for you, everything i do (Syd and Carmy's journey navigating pregnancy.), bubbles (Carmy and his daughter stumble upon a kitten during a rainy day.)

don't be alarmed if i fall head over feet by romancier

love is blind au

pot & kettle, hand in glove by shroooms

five times claire has a hunch, and one time her hunches are confirmed

stay with me wherever you go by puzzlepuppy (@sydneys-adamu)

carmen (emotionally balanced) and sydney (also emotionally balanced) are well equipped for long distance and handle it very very well and very very normally. not.

taking the long way home by ogigia

sydney trying to be a normal adjusted adult who doesn't have feelings for her business partner technically boss coworker maybe best friend definitely the best kisser she has ever encountered.

child with a child pretending by emilybrontay (@emilybrontay)

Before she meets Carmy, Sydney has a baby.

writings & such!!

* - contains explicit sexual content minors dni

✽ - suggestive content

aaron hotchner <3

series

fragile love

dbf!hotch * ✽

fics

kept promises ✽

something good

irresistible *

missed you

aftershocks

close calls

for you

like father, like daughters

sugarcoated ✽

under the weather

symptoms

just aaron

take cover

the small things

ready and waiting ✽

something off

(un)happy ending

sweet additions

a bad day

comfort of home

doubt

not so subtle

a case of forgetfulness

take a break

bau’s own celebrity

heavy hearts

unwanted goodbyes

sleepless

details

identity theft

arms ✽

peace of mind

satisfied

guilty pleasure ✽

peace offerings

touch starved

delicate

bewitched

special delivery

history left unfinished

matters of convenience ✽

subtleties

nothing more romantic than a crime scene

frown lines

let me help you

period pains - cont.

office naps

board games

insecurities

aaron takes care of you when you’re sick

baby fever *

baby fever (cont.)

aaron visits teacher!reader at work

aaron surprises you at work -> minor competition

aaron blurbs -> here!

headcannons

physical touch *

kiss the chef

how aaron falls in love *

falling in love non bau!reader

sharing rights

dad!aaron

practical

shopping together

love bites *

spoiled

greg montgomery <3

fics

night routine

workplace competition

headcannons

early mornings

accidents

surprise kisses

pet names w greg

shopping together

love bites *

spoiled

Joel Miller

Waiting Game (dbf!Joel)

Joel has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

One shots for the Waiting Game ‘verse

Homemade: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Diehard: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Ruined!: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Cabin Fever (Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader) [DEAD DOVE]

Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Confines: Joel locks you up in a subterranean bunker.

Finders Keepers (bfd!Joel)

When you find an old shirt of Mr. Miller’s lying around, you can’t resist. When he finds you humping a pillow and moaning his name, neither can he.

Cry, Baby

Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Just Peachy [anal]

Joel’s got a jealous streak and a bold idea.

Wingman (himbo!Joel crackfic)

Your bestie braves the tampon aisle for you.

Watch Your Mouth

Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.

Love Tap (dad!Joel)

Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

If You Like Piña Coladas (neighbor!Joel)

You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

My Body, His Choice [freeuse]

After a long day, Joel just needs some relief.

Who’s Your Daddy? (stepdad!Joel)

You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Make It Stick

Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Stiff: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Cowboy Killers

On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Seeing Pink [DD/LG]

Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take.

Easy to Please (sleazy landlord!Joel)

Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Wants and Needs (sugar daddy!Joel)

Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Bigger in Texas

Joel won’t fit.

Marcus Acacius

Bloodline

The General needs an heir.

Bucky Barnes

Wedded Bliss (Mob!Bucky)

The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Daryl Dixon

Dead Ringer

Weeks of separation and sexual frustration come to a head when Daryl pays you a visit in the middle of the night. Whether it's the product of your own sex-deprived subconscious or reality, you can't be sure—and couldn't care less. Daryl wants to fulfill the fantasy any way he can.

Easy Street

You steal a cop car and almost run Daryl over en route to the Sanctuary. You can’t decide if you want to fight him, fuck him, or bring him back to Negan. Lucky for you, Daryl is game for all three.

Nighthawk

You decide to bring Spencer to the neighborhood Halloween bash to take your mind off your breakup with Daryl. Your ex isn't so easily convinced of your intentions and decides there's no better place than his motorcycle to show you just how much he misses you.

Cherry Pie

You know virtually nothing about sex, and Daryl’s done it all. Together, you take on an impromptu anatomy lesson, and you learn that Daryl has a lot more to teach you than what’s covered in the textbooks.

Walker Bait

An unforeseen foray into a sex shop leaves you and Daryl trapped between a plastic cock and a hard place as a herd of walkers closes in. Angry sex ensues.

Grow a Uterus and We’ll Talk

Daryl has a bad case of baby fever, to put it lightly. You’re practically terrified of children. Rick lends you his kid for the night, and together, you come to learn that parenthood might not be the worst thing in the world. Even easier than baking muffins, one might say.

Honey Trap

You’ve been tasked with two simple jobs: infiltrate Alexandria’s community and bring intel back to your boss by any means necessary. When your entry point into the group takes the form of a familiar blue-eyed archer, you expect this to be your easiest gig yet—that is, until your prey decides to hunt you back.

Pregnant Pause

Babymaking is a bit trickier than anticipated, and months have passed with no sign of pregnancy. When your period finally doesn’t show up on time, you and Daryl act fast and head straight for the pharmacy—and get a little caught up along the way.

Mr. Dixon

Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Playing Dangerous

Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Fake It Til You Make It (Or Drown)

Daryl finds out you faked an orgasm. Instead of getting mad, he decides to get even.

Best Served Cold

Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Coming Soon:

Bite the Bullet

Back at the prison, new recruits have been showering you with gifts. One of these presents doesn’t sit quite right with Daryl, and he decides it’s time to let the men know just how he feels—and who you belong to.

Atlantic City

A very drunk Daryl meets a stripper in Jersey and wastes no time putting a ring on her finger. With the late, great Elvis Presley presiding, the two get hitched in a slipshod ceremony a couple weeks before the world descends into chaos. This marriage may be short-lived, but damn if the honeymoon won’t be one to remember.

Requests are open!

The Times They Are A-Changin': A Post-Apocalyptic Office AU

Rating: Mature Pairings: Jim/Pam, Erin/Pete, Dwight/Angela Warnings: non-graphic violence, mentions of death, injury, and assault, general post-apocalyptic misery. Warnings are subject to change- please check the tags and the author's note on each chapter for up-to-date TWs! Summary: Two years after the world fell to pieces, the former employees of Dunder Mifflin and their families now reside in the Schrute Farms Community. Dwight's careful planning and agricultural know-how keeps their stomachs full and the house warm, but other dangers lurk both inside and out of the ancient stone walls that guard them. Between two recent arrivals, brewing unrest, and the struggles of post-apocalyptic existence, life is a far cry from what it once was. The tides of change come for everyone, and their fledgling clan is no exception.

read the prologue and chapter one now on ao3!

fuck we gotta hear a song before the match?????

i am old and tired just give me my wrassle please

what do you mean this is not how their dynamic works in the movies? [insp.]