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THIS IS WHAT THE DRUGS ARE FOR | spencer reid

good riddance x spencer reid one shot series masterlist

summary; when no one else helps spencer’s addiction after being kidnapped — you do, and you offer him help as a recovering addict yourself

warnings; mentions of kidnapping, early seasons reid, around the time of his addiction to dilauded, mentions of suicide, mentions of being shot (pass tense during a case) mentions relapsing, addiction to opioids mentions of being addicted to oxycodone, drug use, overdoses, hurt x comfort, angst, not a lot of romance but its sweet, fem reader, normal criminal minds stuff. mentions of the team completely ignoring spencers addiction bc that was messed up.

an; honestly this was difficult to write as a recovering oxycodone addict, a little bit self indulgent.. whoopsies!! but in honour of 5 years sober 🤗🤗 (i am too open with my issues on social media) this is probably horrible

‘This is what the drugs are for. Turn the lights off on the comedown I still get emotional, when I think about your old house. Hopefully, the high, works to change my mind’

You noticed quicker than you wanted to admit. It wasn’t like you could pinpoint a certain point, maybe it was when he turned back at you after standing up from the dead body of his kidnapper and you saw the way his pupils blew, something guilty behind them — maybe thats when your concern started.

You knew for certain when his focus was in and out daily. You knew everyone on the team had their suspicions, had the gut feeling that there was something more to the tiredness in Spencer’s eyes. You knew more than you wanted to admit.

Your hands twirled the pen on your fingers as your eyes stayed fixated on the male sitting in front of you, you watched as his hands came up to scratch the inside of his elbow. You knew the motion all too well, like muscle memory.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you heard Hotch ask a question to which only Spencer reid would know the answer to. You shifted your gaze slightly as you leant back in your chair, at his lack of response and focus.

It took Hotch saying his name a second time for his gaze to pull and a small apology to leave his lips. Hotch repeated the question and you watched as it took a minute too long for Spencer Reid’s all to long ramble to start about the detail.

Normally, someone would make a teasing comment about how Spencer had to think about it, but the tension stayed among the group as they all noticed the same thing — yet no one did anything about it.

You knew the feeling well, and it made your skin itch in anger.

Rossi handed out jobs, inviting you to stay back with Spencer to help with case work. You looked at Spencer noticed his eyes dropping, it made your chest ache.

Everyone else had left leaving you and Spencer in the conference room. Your gaze stayed fixated on him as his mind fell in and out of focus. You had to admit if you didn’t know Spencer Reid as well as you did, he hid it well.

“How long?” You muttered out, as your eyes pulled away from his to skim the case. You could feel his gaze on yours and you could practically feel the heavy breath that left his mouth.

His words came out snappy, but you knew he didn’t mean it. “What?”

You looked up at him again, seeing his gaze on yours, his pupils constricted and you could practically see the way his hand was twitching not to claw at the inside of his elbow.

You knew he knew what you meant, you knew he was playing dumb. You pulled the same thing for years. If he wanted to play the game you’d play, and you would outplay him every time. “How long have you been using?”

His face twisted up, he could’ve been an actor.

“Im not.” He pushed out. His voice betrayed his face, as it went an octave higher. For someone so smart you’d think he would know how to lie — but he didn’t, not well. Not to you. He could tell you didn’t believe him from the way your eyebrow quipped. “I don’t know why you’d think that.” He added, trying to sound convincing.

You hummed, “Your pupils are constricted for one. You aren’t focusing, you are all depressed. Oh and you’re slurring.. By the way” You pointed out with your pen in your hand directed towards him. You watched as his face fell for a split second. If you weren’t paying as much attention as you were you might’ve missed it.

But you were paying attention.

“Im just tired— and I have allergies ” He lied. It made you want to laugh at the familiarity of all his lies, the same ones you remember thinking you were so smart for thinking of in the moment so many years ago.

You let out an unconvinced ‘mhm’ as you nodded your head. You watched as it dawned in his eyes that he had been called out. You wondered if maybe he enjoyed the fact that no one pointed it out, until now, until you.

“I had allergies too, for a long time” You stated out simply, playing his game, outplaying him. Your goal here wasn’t to make him feel ashamed, in any way. It was purely to let him know that he wasn’t alone.

You remembered feeling so alone.

He spluttered slightly, his eyes widened the slightest bit. “What?” He breathed out, confused because he never would’ve guessed. You knew that. You knew the person you were now was nothing like the person you were a few years prior. You hid your addiction well but you were changed as a person, and you weren’t nearly the same person you were before the addiction.

You offered him a small smile, “I know an addict when I see one Reid, I know the addiction. I know your skin feels like it’s crawling right now and your head is probably spinning because you are going through withdrawals. I know all the lies, I used them all before” You said softly as you lean your forearms against the table; your eyes softened as your gaze stayed fixated on his.

You watched the words slowly process through his head. Slowly but surely he seemed to understand. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “How- How long have you known?” He asked, his voice small, evident how confronting this conversation was for him — but he needed it. He needed to know he had someone in his corner.

“I had my suspicions for a while. I wanted to be sure before I said anything..” You muttered out as you reached across the table to take his hand in yours comfortingly, “I was waiting— hoping someone else said something, I know I’m not your first choice of a person to help you through this — but I am here” You said softly.

You weren’t not close to Spencer. You were, close in age, had similar interests and you two got along well. The childish crush you had on him remained buried in between your ribcage — that was the thing about being an addict, it made you a good actor. You could act your way through any feeling.

He almost coughed at your words, his hand tightening around yours as you gave him a supportive squeeze. “Im- Thank you. I-“ His words seemed heavy on his tongue as his head shook. “I’m glad it’s you.” He said honestly.

You offered him a soft smile. You could almost see a question weighing on his mind, “What is it spence? What do you want to ask?” You prompted him, knowing his mind was properly almost complete fog at this point, overtaken by cravings.

“What- What were you addicted to? When?” He asked, eyebrows pushed upwards as if he was trying to figure out the timeline of your addiction, it caused an uncomfortable bubble in your chest.

“I was an oxy’s girl” You said, you knew it wasn’t funny but it seemed as joking was the only way to get through talking about this no matter the unsettling feeling it left in your stomach.

You exhaled heavily, “I started taking them in college after a surgery.. and well- I got addicted, obviously.” You ran your free hand through your hair as the memory dwindled in the back of your mind. Spencer’s hand squeezed your hand softly, making a half hearted tight lipped smile line your lips.

“I was clean when I first started here.” You said, fingers fidgeting. He listened with as much focus as he could with your words — you didn’t take offence to his half out of it mind. You couldn’t. “I relapsed after I got shot and they put me on them — no one knew about my addiction and I was too embarrassed to admit it to the doctors in front of the team, I relapsed once I got out of hospital.” You stated honestly.

You remembered it clear as day, after four years sober, the day you relapsed still stayed engraved into the walls of your mind freshly. You had been shot in the shoulder on a case, you were rushed to hospital and put on oxycodone and other pain medications immediately while unconscious. When you woke up and asked what they had given you, the team was standing around your bed so all you could do was nod, the relapse happened after that.

Spencer’s hand tightened on yours as his face pulled with guilt when he realised he didn’t notice. He opened his mouth to apologise but you cut him off, already knowing what he was going to say. “It’s okay.” You said, tightening your grasp on his hand mirroring his grasp on yours. “I mastered my lies by then, after years and years of lying to everyone around me.. I knew what worked and what did it.. I did it to myself” You spoke honestly.

He chewed on his lip as his gaze adverted to the table. You held his hand tightly as you felt it twitch slightly. You knew he wanted to scratch his elbow and you knew why. Your face softened all over again.

“It’s not worth it Spence. Trust me.” You said, voice heavy with honesty and you meant it more than words could explain. “You get mean, really mean, you lose yourself more and more everyday. Its not worth losing everyone around you, its not worth losing yourself” You gaze stayed on his face even when his eyes avoided yours.

You heard the shaky breath leave his lips, and then his hand left yours as his pinched his eyelids, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes as he squeezed them shut. It made your stomach ache.

“It- Its so hard” He said quietly. You didn’t think you had ever experienced heartbreak like hearing his voice break. Any sort of pain you felt in your life didn’t quite compare to seeing him fall apart from your words.

“I know- I know” You instantly stood up from your seat as you walked around the table towards him, he stood up as well and before you could do anything his hands were around your waist, pressing his body against yours and his head into the crevice of your neck. You arms wrapped around him without a second thought.

You could feel his tears against the skin of your neck, they were hot and thick. Your hand ran across his back gently. You always thought you’d know exactly what to do if this moment ever came to be — but you didn’t.

Words died in the back of your throat as all you could do was hold the boy in your arms as he let out the quietest soft sobs that made a gut wrenching feeling settle in your bones as goosebumps ran over your skin.

“I- I want to stop — I want to- How did you stop?” He said, wiping his face as he stood up straight, arms pulled back by his side. Your heart ached and your skin burned.

You shook your head, “Do you remember when I had to take emergency leave for family emergency?” You asked, eyes looking up into his that gleamed wet and dreary. It pulled on your heart strings and uncomfortable amount,

He nodded briefly, after he took a long moment to try to recall. You nodded back, a sigh leaving your lips. “I- Um.. I overdosed.” You stated, trying to speak stronger than your voice allowed you to. “I was in hospital for two weeks, connected to machines and wires — forced to speak to someone everyday until they deemed me healthy. I didn’t tell anyone- no one knows” You continued to shake your head.

“Do not let it get to that point Spencer — Shaking on the floor and literally frothing at the mouth, feeling so cold but not even functioning enough to know what being cold is, is not want you want. I know it feels good now — but you are going to kill yourself whether you want to or not if you keep taking it.” You spoke clearly, wanting your point to be perfectly clear. It was not worth it.

He held guilt behind fogged eyes, guilt that he didn’t notice, guilt that he almost lost you — literally and he had no idea. That you were alone during the lowest point of your life and he had no idea. He allowed your words to cloud his mind for a moment as they worked to overpower the cravings that were working to controlling his system.

“i- I don’t- Im sorry.” He stuttered over his words as he failed to think of anything better to say. Your face fell briefly as you wrapped your arms around him again.

“Im here? Okay. We will do this together day by day. I am here and I’m always going to be here Spence.” You comforted non the less.

He needed it and you needed him

Dinner in America | Crush by Ethel Cain

[ NETFLIXNATURAL ] chuck is gone, but the carver edlund series lives forever….welcome to the SPNCU (supernatural cinematic universe).       

    ⋙ for @hellodean​‘s and @dadstiel​‘s #spnficwriterscelebration, congrats guys! ❤️

click on the first gif and scroll through the panels to load gifs properly. fics used listed under the cut, definitely go check them out and don’t forget to leave a kudos/comment!

Keep reading

the way jey ran so fast and immediately went to pick him up 😭😭😭 we should all just die

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 ❤️‍🔥

(tssss i love long hair padaobi)

kissing the wedding ring after you take it off it's now the standard, take notes future husband 🫠

Any Sydcarmy headcanons? Or fics?

Ooh, top three I'm obsessed with:

child with a child pretending by emilybrontay (@sennenrose) - I'm obsessed with sydney and carmy with sydneys baby!! i need followups, drabbles, info!!

give me the sign by novelsandnoodles - sydney finds out who carmy got the sign from and i love it so much!!

intimates conquering intimacy by sashafiercer (@sashafiercest) - intimacy on intimacy on intimacy and it's so beautiful and funny.