#bacon and eggs wc

[artaintfartwarriors]

Bacon and Eggs? Just read about these little babies

Yea!!! The goobers

[exocynraku]

OH AND transneutral Bacon or Eggs! :)

[eggfeather]

eggs and bacon

[letyachan]

135-136-137.

"Spike loves cats. We live with him."

-Eggs

[sceletaflores]

HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smaller—like the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when you’re not paying attention.

The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.

You left for college thinking you’d never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.

Your room’s the same, maybe just a little smaller now that you’ve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought you’d want to see them. You don’t, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didn’t turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.

You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically don’t have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.

You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.

Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.

“You know who might be looking for help?” Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. “Joel Miller, you remember him don’t you?”

You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. “Sarah’s dad?”

“Mhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. He’s needing to pick up some extra work, and it’s just him, you know. Sarah’s starting high school in the fall but he’s still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.”

You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.

Joel Miller.

You haven’t heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s floating back into your life like cigarette smoke—all pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.

Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasn’t cutting it. 

He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.

But Joel was always…different. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldn’t stomach the thought of calling your mom. 

You can still remember the way his truck smelled—gasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust. 

He didn’t say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over. 

It’s been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.

Now, your mom’s pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like it’s no big deal, like she didn’t just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didn’t take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.

“You should go down there and talk to him sometime,” she says, casual. “It might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.”

You bite back a grimace, conflicted. “Isn’t Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?”

Your mom shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe, but like I said Joel’s always been a little…anxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. She’s at that age, you know—boys, phones, lord knows what else.”

You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl who’d beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.

You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “You really think he’d hire me again?” 

Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. “I don’t see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. He’s asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.”

You try not to laugh at that. 

Good girl. Responsible. Right.

You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though it’s still half full. “Maybe,” you mutter. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager. 

You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.

Joel’s profile is still public, but it’s sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarah’s eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hair’s longer, but still curly as ever.

There’s no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You can’t tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.

You’re about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.

A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. It’s just a grainy photo of someone’s backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you don’t recognize.

His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! It’s dated June 13, 2023.

You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So he’s still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.

You zoom in on the picture, just a little.

The angle’s weird and it’s overexposed as shit. Joel’s face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even still—there’s that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when he’d lean on the doorframe after he got home from work. 

It’s still an older picture, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed since.

You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.

Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails. 

He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarah’s dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night. 

You haven’t seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.

Like he shouldn’t.

Like he knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway. 

You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.

You were young then, but now?

Now you’re not sure who you are, not entirely—but you know you’re not that same girl. You’ve lived. You’ve done things he couldn’t even guess at.

You’ve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.

You don’t plan on going. Not really.

The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says she’s out running errands and won’t be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.

It’s barely noon.

You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.

You’re not sure what makes you do it. 

Maybe it’s the antsy feeling that’s been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe it’s the way Joel’s name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.

Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.

You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.

The place hasn’t changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. There’s a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.

You didn’t bother calling ahead. You don’t even know if he has the same number. You’re regretting that now.

You should leave. You really should. But you’re already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The air’s thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.

You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like that’ll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If she’ll even remember you.

Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.

Joel’s standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, opening the door wider. He’s in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where it’s damp with sweat. “Look at you.” 

No, not the same.

Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket that’s been well loved. His hair’s longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and there’s a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the same—dark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.

He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldn’t have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.

You shift your weight, offering a small smile. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Don’t start with that ‘Mr. Miller’ bullshit. You’re grown now.”

Your stomach tightens.

“I, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,” you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. “With Sarah, I mean.”

He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. “She did, huh?”

You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.

Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his nose—half amusement, half something else—and steps aside. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. “Ain’t polite to keep an old man waitin’, kid.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesn’t notice, you climb the stairs.

Joel hadn’t expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the day—standing at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be noticing. 

And sure as hell not in those shorts.

He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe don’t even mean to have. Or maybe you do.

Either way, it’s a goddamn sight.

Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like that’ll help wipe the look off his face. It doesn’t. The look of you—bare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this time—sticks to the inside of his skull like syrup. 

You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of it’s new, some of it’s the same. Joel’s never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarah’s old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.

He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. “I won’t stay long. I just figured I’d stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.”

Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. “Sarah’s mostly independent now. She don’t need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workin’ late. Don’t like the idea of her bein’ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffin’ around lately.”

You laugh, soft and bright. “Well, I’ve got time,” you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. “I don’t know how much help you actually need, but my schedule’s pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.”

Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants. 

If you only knew the half of what he really wants.

Joel shifts his weight against the counter. “It wouldn’t be every night,” he says, shaking his head. “Just the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.”

You nod. “I can help. You don’t have to worry about paying me a whole lot. I’ll just be happy to keep busy.”

His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. “I’ll pay you,” he says, almost gruff. “You’re doin’ me a favor.”

The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkward—just full. A little tight around the edges. 

He’s always known how to talk to you, but now there’s something different to it. You’re not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. You’re standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know he’s thinking things he shouldn’t.

Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesn’t help much with the heat climbing under his skin. You’re standing there across the way from him like nothing’s changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.

Except that it has. And it shows.

“You still in school?” he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.

You blink, head tilting to the left. “Yeah. I’m up in Chicago now, Northwestern.”

“Big shot,” Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a ways away from here.”

You shake your head, smile small and bashful. “It is. It’s expensive as hell too, my scholarship’s the only reason I’m there.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. “Smart girl.”

“I try.” You shrug, but there’s pride under it. “I’ve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. I—I just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?”

There’s something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didn’t expect, and maybe shouldn’t pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.

“You don’t seem like the type that needs figurin’ out,” Joel says, voice a little quieter now. “Always thought you had your head on straight.”

Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. “That’s because you didn’t really know me.”

He chuckles, deep and rough. “No, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.”

Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.

You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. “I, uh–sorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Go ahead, you remember where it is.”

You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.

He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.

Jesus Christ.

She’s not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And you’re not, you’re far fucking from it.

But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joel’s gut, it’s still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you. 

The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light. 

Joel can’t help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes you’d always throw on.

It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.

He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after you’d left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.

Joel should’ve known better. Should’ve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.

“Joel?” Tommy’s voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. “You home?”

Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didn’t even hear the damn truck pull up.

Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. He’s got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.

“You ever heard of callin’ before you just barge in on someone?” Joel doesn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. “You gettin’ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.”

“Yeah, well now ain’t a good time, Tommy.” Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.

Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. “Yeah right, you got a woman over or somethin’?”

Joel doesn’t answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.

Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. “You do have someone here.”

Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell up—but Tommy only laughs, knowing.

“C’mon,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were even seein’ anybody. You been holdin’ out on me?”

“It ain’t like that,” Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.

Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. “Huh. So she’s not yours then?”

Joel doesn’t get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and then—

Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.

“Jesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-oh…” You’re clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. “Tommy?”

Joel watches it click in real time—your eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like you’ve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joel’s truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.

“Well shit,” Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. “That isn’t the little babysitter, is it?”

You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. “No kiddin’.”

It makes the space behind Joel’s ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommy’s eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Tommy goes on, leaning in like he can’t help himself. “You home for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for the summer,” you say brightly. “I thought I’d see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Tommy says, and Joel’s had about enough of this.

“We were just finishing up,” Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. “She was about to head out.”

You don’t seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.

Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice something’s off. But your smile is still easy. “Yeah, I should probably get going.”

Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. “I’ll walk you out, honey.”

You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommy’s boots are hot on his heels, following.

You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.

Joel’s throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.

He doesn’t look at Tommy, he doesn’t need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isn’t the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.

Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back around—that sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.

“Okay.” Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. “Ready.”

Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright? Good seein’ you again, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. “You too, Tommy.”

Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.

The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun’s lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.

You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. “That was…fun.”

Joel nods, biting back a frown. “Yeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasn’t got much of a filter.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I missed you guys.”

Joel’s heart kicks hard in his chest. He’s not sure what to do with that. 

“You know where to find us,” he says finally.

You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the talk,” you say. “And the job, I’ll call you?”

Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. You’re so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.

“Of course,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smile. “It was nice seeing you, Joel.”

Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until he’s nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.

He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommy’s on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joel’s coffee table.

Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I told you,” Joel says, low and firm. “Now ain’t the time.”

Tommy’s grinning. “No shit it ain’t the time. Jesus, Joel. She’s what—twenty? Twenty one?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,” Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. “You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, you know that?”

Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.

Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. “She filled out real nice though, didn’t she?”

Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. “Don’t.”

Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but he’s still smirking. “All I’m sayin’ is—I remember when she was this pretty little thing runnin’ around here. Now—” He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. “—jailbait’s a whole lotta grown.”

Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brother—knows he’s testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.

Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.

He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. “You better watch yourself, man. That one? She’s trouble.”

Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the window—locked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.

“You got no idea.”

It’s almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.

A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesn’t even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows it’s you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before you’ve even stepped inside. 

You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.

It all comes back like muscle memory—like no time has passed at all. 

Sarah’s older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. She’s brimming with the kind of secrets she’s aching to spill to someone she knows won’t tell her dad.

You’re still not quite a “grown-up” in her eyes, but you’re not a kid anymore either. You’re in that sweet spot—a cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joel’s not around.

You’re not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. She’s curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm.  

"Can I ask you something?” Sarah says suddenly, grinning. 

You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. “You can, but I’m not promising I’ll answer.”

She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. “Did you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You raise your eyebrows, but she’s too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. “You know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? He’d think I’m giving you ideas or something.”

“That’s not a no,” she sings, smirking.

“No comment.” You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “I don’t need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.”

“Please,” she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’d never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks I’m eight, I don’t even think he knows that I know what “hooking up” means.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. “You’re his baby.” You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. “It makes sense that he’s treating you like one.”

“Gross,” Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. “He’s just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? I’m basically in high school now, I’m not really a baby anymore.”

You glance over at her, and she isn’t. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. She’s growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a little—already too smart for her own good.

She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. “Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.”

You blink. It’s not the words that shake you—it’s the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone. 

Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.

Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.

“Alright!” You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. “That’s curfew.”

Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall. 

You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something you’ve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.

Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently…

You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldn’t read into it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding. 

But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially here—especially in his house.

You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just won’t think about it anymore, it’s that easy.

You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.

A little while later, you’re still tidying up.

The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. It’s damn near pristine. 

Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.

You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.

That fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joel’s door. 

Joel’s room.

It’s cracked open too, just like Sarah’s, but there’s no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. It’s not like you haven’t been in Joel’s room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.

But you’d never gone in alone, and you’d never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back out—following you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.

You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.

11:53

Joel told he’d be a while tonight, before he left. He said they’d be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.

That’s not an excuse, you know that.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.

Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarah’s room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.

The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isn’t enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joel’s bed. The covers are thrown back, there’s a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.

The room smells like him. 

That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were younger—clean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash he’s been using for years. It hits you all at once.

It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. There’s a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes. 

An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that it’s a little beat up even from where you’re standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.

Then your eyes land on the dresser.

It’s old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.

Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.

Again, you know it’s wrong. That you’ve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight. 

You’re across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like something’s pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.

Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. It’s nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.

The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.

The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv. 

The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.

You take a steadying breath, but your hands don’t stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.

You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but then, you see it.

There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines. 

Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. It’s so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn. 

Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.

You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obscene—posed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together. 

Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.

She’s brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.

You glance down at the caption under her photo. 

“Turn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But instead—

Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.

Measured.

Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesn’t let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because there’s no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.

You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.

Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joel’s little secret.

It’s an old one—soft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so there’s nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldn’t.

Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.

God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.

It’s too much, it’s not enough. It’s obscene.

You can’t help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.

You don’t even try to justify it. You don’t even look back.

You don’t touch yourself right away.

You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.

Then you’re in bed and it’s just there. Laying on your mattress.

You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.

You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joel’s scent into your skin like it’s your own personal brand.

Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. You’re already wet. You’ve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.

You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go there—

To the thought of Joel finding you like this.

His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.

Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?

Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?

Or would he make you put it on—just so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?

You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finally—finally—brush them over your clit.

The gasp you let out is sharp.

It’s not just his cologne. It’s his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. It’s Joel, soaked into the fabric like he’s holding you down.

You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You can’t stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds he’d make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, so desperate you’re gettin’ off with my dirty laundry?”

You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.

“Oh fuck, Joel—” you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.

You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, need—all tangled up.

When it’s over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.

You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what he’d do if he ever found out.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

You don’t think anything of it when you see Joel’s truck parked in front of the trailer. It’s not out of the ordinary, he’s almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.

You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joel’s door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.

Only—it doesn't swing open. Not right away.

You frown, Sarah’s usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. It’s only then that you notice how quiet it is. 

No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling “Just a second!” from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.

You knock for a fourth time, less sure.

A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four. 

You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders. 

He’s not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hips—a beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

You’re hit with a violent wash of déjà vu, your traitorous mind thinking back to the first day you saw him again. 

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel doesn’t move, head tilting as he watches you. “She’s stayin’ over at a friends.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” The corner of Joel’s mouth raises slightly, it’s not quite a smirk, but it’s close. “I texted. You didn’t check your phone?”

You shake your head slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.

“I must’ve missed it.”

Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. “Huh,” he says, but it’s far away. “Guess you might as well come in anyway, wouldn’t want you to waste your time comin’ out here for nothin’.” 

He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly. 

“It’s fine, really.” You laugh, but it’s awkward. “I can just go—”

“Come inside.”

He says it low. Not a suggestion.

You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once. 

The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.

“It’s good you’re here. We oughta talk.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strange—off—but not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough, “I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. Just been waitin’ for the right time.”

You frown. “Ask me what?”

Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk. 

"You go through my shit, baby?"

Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. “I—what?”

Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. It’s all teeth now, feral and amused. “Did I stutter?”

You’re shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. “I just thought—I didn’t think you—”

Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. “Yeah that’s the problem, ain’t it? You didn’t think.” He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.

“It’s real funny,” he says offhandedly, too casual—like you’re talking about this week’s forecast. “There’s only a few people who’ve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ain’t the one riflin’ through my drawers, takin’ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ain’t dumb, baby.”

Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back they’re going numb.

Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. “You touch yourself in it?”

The question punches the air from your lungs. You don’t need to ask him what it is.

“I—Joel—”

“Don’t try lyin’ to me.”

Your face burns. You can’t bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You don’t have to. 

Joel laughs—dark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You can’t hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.

His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like he’s settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. “Go on, then. Show me what you did.”

You just stand there. Eyes wide. “What?” 

Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension. 

Joel shakes his head, sighing like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.

“See, I don’t wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?” he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. “Joel—”

He cocks a brow. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what don’t belong to you. Don’t get shy now.”

You feel it then—that impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.

You don’t know if you’re more humiliated or turned on—your body doesn’t seem to care either way. Joel hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

There’s no way out of this. And you’re not even sure if you want one.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.

Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. “No ma’am, none of that shit. Shorts off.”

You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you don’t move fast enough, not for him, and Joel’s already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himself—your shorts and panties in one brutal tug.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.

Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like he’s starving.

You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard it’s making you lightheaded.

Joel tips his chin toward the floor. “Go on.”

Your stomach flips. You’re sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joel’s eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.

Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.

“That’s it.” Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. “See how easy it was, sugar? Feel’s good, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice threadbare. You’re rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. “It feels so good, Joel.”

Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. “I bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellin’ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.”

You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.

“I should spank your ass red for that,” he growls. “Should bend you over my lap like a fuckin’ child. You need discipline, don’t you?”

Your knees nearly give. “Joel. Please—”

He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Open her up. Let me see.”

You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. “She’s fuckin’ drippin’. That for me, baby?”

You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. “That’s real pretty.”

You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just can’t help yourself. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like it’s done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.

Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. “Look at that.” He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. “Just a little rub like that, a little stretch and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. “Joel, I—”

“Give yourself another finger. Show me how you take it”

You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you don’t stop. You’re panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.

He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. “Yeah, three feels nice don’t it, honey?” He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. “Bet you could take my whole fuckin’ fist if you wanted it real bad.”

A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize you’re the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.

Joel sees. Joel knows.

And it’s all he needs to finally break.

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.

You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches. 

Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. “You think you can take all this?” he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. “You’re just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?”

You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.

He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. “How old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.”

You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Fifty–ah! Fifty three,” you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.

You can’t, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. It’s white hot, burning so bright, but it’s still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.”

Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.

You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like it’s tearing you in two, like your fingers didn’t do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.

Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something that’s only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. “Come on, darlin’.” He slaps your ass again—once, twice—and you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn’t keep those thievin’ hands to yourself, huh? Well now’s your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.”

You don’t ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.

You bounce on his lap like you’re possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he pants. “Since the day you showed back up. Actin’ all grown. Look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock.”

You’re drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, raising his head to watch you. “This pussy wasn’t made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.”

You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.

His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. “You like that, sweet thing? You like lettin’ an old man fuck you raw like this?”

“Yes,” you whine, tears burning at your water line. “I love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-”

“I know, baby.” Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. “You ain’t ever gonna want some college boy after this. You’re gonna be thinkin’ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.”

Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants. “Mine. No more sneakin’ around, no more stealin’ my shit—you want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. “Yes—yes, only you. I’m yours—”

You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim. 

He doesn’t push in—just teases, circling, pressing, tugging—enough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you weren’t so far gone already.

“You gonna let me play with this too?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your. “You lettin’ me train this hole next?”

That’s it. It’s all you can take.

You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of  “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes. 

It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until it’s forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.

It’s filthy.

It’s obscene.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.

Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where you’re spread open around him.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” he says simply.

You can’t fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.

You’d never make it to the door anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like it’s so dramatic truly, but baby we’re so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!

shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guess…two fics over 10k words in one month? that’s literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo that’s fun. i love them both really LMAO

once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫

chapter I | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ Pairing: Ellie Williams x fem reader (no use of y/n)

꩜ CW: swearing, weed, creepy guy, slightly suggestive, tension (if u squint).

꩜ WC: 4.9K

꩜ A/N: okayyy soooo, i’m starting a new series, it will be a slow burn so bear with me. Im excited for this and all the yearning to come woohooooo! just your typical loser lesbians who are best friends and there’s tension but they don’t know it yet alright…

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How can we tell something is complicated? Is it because the easy way isn’t available, or because we crave the possibility of more?

Life is full of complex things like the human brain or death or love. Especially love.

The line between love and codependency is blurry, if it even exists. Do we cling to the people we love because we need them or because we don’t know who we are without them?

Still, love is more than need. It's more than survival.

Of course the easy way is not to feel.

But then again. What’s the point of life without love?

Without being consumed by it? Without being absorbed?

Ellie always felt like love wasn’t meant for her. Yeah sure she had been in a few relationships in the past, casual summer flings, but nothing that got too serious. The moment someone wanted to put a label on her she was out the door.

Maybe she was doomed from the start, sentenced to suffer in loneliness for the rest of her life. Maybe it was karma for all the shit her ancestors had done.

Or maybe... she was just twenty-one, and spiraling.

But then she met you.

Her best friend. Her whole world.

You brought sunshine into her life like it was nothing. Like it was easy.

She smiled more. Went out more. God. She even made stupid jokes just to hear you laugh. Saying you made Ellie’s life better was an understatement.

How it started?

It was a casual Thursday. Ellie was tired, the kind of tired that settled deep in her bones. She’d been up since 5 a.m., chasing the sunrise for an early shoot, and stayed late at the studio the night before, hunched over rolls of film, watching images slowly come to life. Now, all she could think about was the couple she’d photographed that morning. Mid-twenties, freshly engaged, smiling like they had the rest of their lives mapped out. Some people had it all figured out, she thought. Settled. Steady. Meanwhile, she was here…at her usual breakfast spot, an old fashioned diner, squinting at her laptop, scrolling through photo edits with aching eyes. Her camera bag sat beside her on the booth seat, worn and stickered to hell. Savage Starlight, Sleater Kinney, a faded rainbow sticker that had started peeling at the corners.

She yawned into her tea, hood up, headphones loosely slung around her neck, when someone placed a plate down in front of her. chocolate chip pancakes, soft scrambled eggs and bacon, her usual.

Ellie blinked up, and you were standing there, wiping your hands on a dish towel tucked into your apron. Your eyes flicked toward the camera case.

“Savage Starlight,” you nodded at the sticker. “God tier taste.”

Ellie froze for a second, then smirked. “You read that?”

“Duh,” you said like it was obvious. “Issue 8 ruined me emotionally for weeks.”

That pulled a laugh out of her, the first real one she’d had all morning. “Same. Still not over that ending.”

You smiled, shifting your weight to one foot, clearly not in a rush to leave. “Cool camera, by the way.”

“Thanks, she’s my baby” she said, suddenly aware of how wrecked she must look. Messy bun barely held up, camera strap indenting her neck. “—I’m Ellie, by the way.” She stuck her hand out, immediately second guessing it.

Was that too old fashioned? Joel really was rubbing off on her.

“I know. I take your order every other Thursday.” you said, shaking her hand.

She blinked, embarrassed. “Right. Sorry. Early mornings kinda melt my brain.”

“No worries,” you grinned, and Ellie noticed the little pin on your apron. A tiny, pixelated spaceship with your name on it, stupid stupid stupid. she thought to herself for not noticing it earlier.

And since that moment, something shifted. It wasn’t anything loud or life altering, not some cheesy movie moment with music swelling in the background. But it was something. A small click, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

Ellie became obsessed with you, in a way that she needed to be around you or her day wouldn’t be complete, she needed to hear your voice, your laugh, you calling her stupid for a dad joke she made, she just needed you, her best friend.

From then on, Ellie started showing up more often, not just on Thursdays anymore. Sometimes it was Tuesdays. Sometimes Saturdays, right before the lunch rush. She claimed it was for the pancakes, and not the terrible service (she earned herself a playful smack on the head for that). She’d sit at her usual corner booth, camera bag by her side, flipping through photo previews on her laptop, waiting for your shift to end.

Ellie would usually show up with the latest issue of Savage Starlight, sliding it across the counter like some sort of sacred offering. It became an inside joke your “weekly trade deal,” she'd say. In return, you’d draw ridiculous little faces into her pancakes with extra chocolate chips, crooked grins, wonky eyes, sometimes a very unflattering interpretation of Joel. She thought it was hilarious.

You’d complain about the usual chaos, the rude customers, shit tips, kids treating the floor like their personal warzone. Ellie would listen between mouthfuls of bacon, eyes gleaming.

“Sounds like you need a cig break,” she’d propose, already halfway out of the booth.

And that’s how most of your breaks ended up. At the back of the diner, sharing a cigarette with your best friend, the smoke curling into lazy spirals between your fingers. Who would’ve thought the best thing to come out of this job would be the quiet girl who used to sit in the corner booth alone, camera gear spilling across the table and making it a logistical nightmare to serve her food?

You ducked behind the counter, catching your co-worker scribbling down an order on a pad.

“Taking five,” you whispered into her ear, already slipping off your apron and tossing it over the stool.

Ellie was waiting by the door, cigarette hanging from her lips, hands in her pockets, grinning like an idiot. Moments like these, quiet, in company of you, were the highlight of her day.

The metal door creaked behind you as you stepped out into the alley, greeted by the smell of old grease, cigarette smoke, and freedom.

“You have no idea how much I despise this uniform,” you groaned, tugging at the stiff collar of your work shirt like it personally offended you. “Why do they make us wear these stupid skirts and hats?”

Ellie chuckled, flicking the lighter and shielding the flame with her hand. “You look cute, very… militant barista chic”

You gave her a flat look. “It’s a literal open invitation for creepy dudes to stare”

“In that case I’ll beat them to death with my camera tripod” she said around the cigarette, grinning as she passed it to you. “I would like to see you try honestly.”

You took a drag, leaning your back against the brick wall, bumping your shoulder into hers lightly. “I’m just saying, Hooters uniform has more coverage than this… thing.”

Ellie nodded solemnly. “Oh yeah? Are you a Hooters expert now?”

You snorted, passing the cigarette back. “Certainly more than you. I wish I could just spend time with you in your stinky little studio instead of serving Ice lattes to Karens”

Ellie blinked, a flicker of something crossing her face, but she masked it quickly with a laugh. “Obviously. I’m way prettier.”

“Thats certainly one way to put it.”

“Rude.”

You both stood there for a while in comfortable silence, trading the cigarette and small complaints about the day, until your five minutes were definitely more like ten and your co-worker cracked open the back door to glare at you.

Ellie just winked and mouthed bitch. She checked her phone, winced, then let out a dramatic sigh like the world was ending. “Shit. I’ve got a shoot in twenty minutes.”

You blew out a stream of smoke. “Ugh, fine. Go be artsy and productive or whatever.”

“I will. Gotta make the girls look ethereal in a field of flowers or something,” she joked, already stubbing the cigarette out on the wall and stuffing it into an empty Altoids tin she kept just for that purpose.

You rolled your eyes. “Tell them to pose like they're not better looking than me or I’m gonna have a problem.”

Ellie gave you a look, smirking as she slung her camera bag over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re the muse.”

You flushed but covered it with a sarcastic bow. “Obviously. Anyway, I’m stuck in hell for two more hours, but I’ll text you after. You still down for the movies tonight?”

“Dina threatened me if I bail. Jesse’s picking the movie, though, so get ready to watch something with car chases and unnecessary explosions.”

You groaned. “He has the worst taste. I swear if it’s another Fast and Furious sequel I’m leaving.”

Ellie laughed and started backing down the alley, walking backwards. “You say that every time and yet you stay. For the family.”

You threw your apron at her. She dodged it.

“Text me when you're done,” she called out before disappearing around the corner, entering her beat up truck.

Back inside, the rest of your shift crawled by in a blur of clinking mugs, whiny toddlers, and low tip customers, but it was easier to survive knowing you had a movie night waiting, with your best friends, and Ellie sitting next to you in the dark, probably whispering dumb commentary in your ear the whole time.

You smiled to yourself as you cleared a table. Just two more hours.

The field was nice. Golden hour kind of nice, warm light slicing through the tall grass. Ellie adjusted the settings on her camera, peeking through the viewfinder at the group of girls twirling in their flowy pastel dresses, laughing like they were in a Greta Gerwig film.

“Alright, ladies, pretend you like each other!” she called out, grinning.

They laughed and did that overly exaggerated cutesy pose thing, arms slung around each other, a couple fake-kissing cheeks. Ellie snapped the shots effortlessly, stepping around them with practiced ease. Her brain clicked into auto-pilot when she was shooting. Light, angles, timing. The rest of the world faded at the click of the camera.

Except for one of them.

Cat.

Bridesmaid number three. Mid-20s, pretty, clearly knew it, and knew how to work a camera. She'd been giving Ellie a look since they started, the kind with too much eye contact and a little too much lower lip biting.

"Should I hold the bouquet like this?" Cat asked sweetly, lifting it chest-level and tilting her head just enough to make it obvious.

Ellie didn’t skip a beat, snapping the shot. “Sure…unless you’re auditioning for a rom-com in which case, maybe tilt it a little more—yeah, that’s the angle. Nailed it.”

The girls laughed and whooped like they were in a music video.

Cat winked at her. “You’re kinda funny, camera girl.”

Ellie smirked but didn’t look up from her camera. “Only kinda?”

The flirting kept bouncing like that for a bit. Harmless, surface-level, the way Ellie always played it when she wasn’t invested, just bored. She never let it get too deep, not like with you. After wrapping the shoot and handing off her card to the bride, Ellie was stuffing her camera into her bag when Cat came up to her, twirling a piece of her hair between her fingers like she practiced that in the mirror.

“Hey,” she said, kind of sing-songy. “You should give me your number. You know, in case I wanna book you for something… personal.”

Ellie bit back a grin, already zipping her bag. “Oh, totally. Here—”

She grabbed a pen from her tote and scribbled a number on the back of a coffee receipt. Not hers, obviously. Some random number she made up.

Cat took it, all flirty and hopeful, and Ellie gave her a small salute before heading toward her truck.

As soon as she was out of sight, she cracked up to herself, shaking her head.

“Yeah, good luck with that one.”

She wasn’t mean. Just... not interested. Not in Cat. Not in anyone lately.

Only person she actually wanted to hear from was probably just clocking out of that stupid diner, peeling off that stupid uniform and texting her with some dumb meme or a rant about someone leaving syrup on the counter.

She checked her phone.

No text yet.

She leaned against the side of her truck, thumb tapping lazily against the metal, waiting. Like clockwork, her phone buzzed in her back pocket. A text from you.

It was a photo. Your middle finger proudly raised beside your diner uniform, crumpled and defeated on your bed. “im out. pick me up at 6?”

Ellie chuckled, typing back: “Only if ur wearing the uniform.”

Your response came quick: middle finger emoji.

Still grinning, she climbed into her truck and headed to her studio (which, technically, was also her apartment…but calling it the studio made it feel a little more like she had her shit together). She was planning on washing off the day and changing into something comfortable for movie night at Dina’s.

Meanwhile, back at your place, you kicked off your shoes the second you walked in. Your roommate wasn’t home, probably still stuck at work, so you shot her a quick text letting her know you’d be out late. You peeled off your uniform, and threw on your robe before texting Ellie again, “home. u picking me up at 6 right?”

You stepped into the shower, determined to scrub off the smell of burnt bacon and sticky syrup, letting the steam pull the exhaustion out of your bones. Afterward, you got caught up scrolling on your phone, time slipping past unnoticed… until there was a sharp knock on your door.

“Shit,” you muttered. Then louder, “HOLD ON, I’M COMING!”

Still wrapped in your towel, you darted to the front door and flung it open. Ellie blinked, caught off guard. Her eyes flicked over your towel-wrapped frame a second too long, before she quickly covered her grin with a hand, trying (and failing) to play it cool.

“I am so, so sorry,” you said, pulling the towel tighter around yourself, suddenly feeling too exposed. too self conscious. “I got distracted and totally lost track of time.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows, but her voice stayed teasing. “You sure you’re not trying to seduce me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Ten minutes. Swear.”

You vanished down the hallway. Ellie flopped onto the couch, pulling out her phone and texting the group chat: running late but grabbing snacks first. don’t start without us.

She shifted to get more comfortable, and caught a glimpse through the crack in your bedroom door. Two inches. Practically nothing. Not on purpose… right?

You were slipping on a hoodie, back turned, still in just your bra and pants. Ellie’s face flushed instantly. She snapped her head away like the door had personally scolded her. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, burying her face in her hands. “Fuckin’ creep.”

Before her spiraling could get worse, you emerged from your room, hoodie on, tugging on your shoes.

“Okay,” you said, grabbing your keys and swinging the door open. “Let’s go.”

Ellie followed, still flustered, and absolutely not ready to unpack any of what just happened.

The sky was starting to turn soft and purple as Ellie pulled out of your complex’s parking lot, her tattooed arm flexing, hand grasping lazily on the wheel, the other fiddling with the volume knob. Some old indie playlist was shuffling through the speakers. Ellie music, as you called it. You leaned back in your seat, hair still a little damp from the shower, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over your hands.

“So?” you said, glancing at her. “How was the rest of your very glamorous day?”

Ellie let out a snort. “Oh, you know. Just got aggressively flirted with by someone named Cat.”

Your head turned so fast it nearly cracked. “Cat?”

“Bridesmaid number three. Said I looked like I’d be good with a camera and my hands.” Ellie smirked.

You groaned, but came out more like a failed laugh. “Ew. Who says that?”

“She did. With full confidence. Honestly? Kinda impressive.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Tell me you didn’t flirt back.”

“I mean, a little. For the bit.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “You’re shameless.”

“Hey—she asked for my number, I panicked and gave her Joel’s landline. So I think I redeemed myself.”

That made you burst out laughing, and gave you a weird sense of relief. “Oh my god, imagine her calling and Joel picking up.”

“‘Hello, Miller residence.’ And then just click.”

You were still giggling when you turned toward the window. “You’re evil.”

Ellie looked over at you for a second too long, a crooked smile tugging at her mouth. “You’re just jealous.”

You scoffed. “Jealous of Cat? Please. I wear a dumb visor and serve bacon to men named Dennis who tip in nickels.”

“That’s hot.”

You rolled your eyes. “My shift was hell. I had a kid throw a hashbrown at me and scream because I gave him the wrong syrup. Like. What syrup could he possibly need at age four? It’s all just sugar.”

“Future criminal behavior,” Ellie said. “I would’ve drop-kicked him.”

“Oh believe me, I considered it. But then I remembered I’m trying not to go to jail this year.”

“Personal growth,” she nodded solemnly.

There was a comfortable silence after that. The kind that didn’t feel like it needed to be filled. The kind you only got with someone who knew you well enough to not need noise. But still, Ellie spoke again, a little quieter this time.

“Hey,” she said, eyes on the road, voice soft. “We still have to get those snacks.”

You turned your head, smiling without really meaning to. “7-Eleven stop?.”

“7-Eleven it is.”

The buzz of fluorescent lights and the faint hum of the refrigerator coolers welcomed you as the door to the 7-Eleven swung open with a mechanical chime. Ellie held it open for you with a sarcastic bow. “After you.”

You rolled your eyes smiling. “Wow. So chivalrous. All for a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.”

“What can I say?” she shrugged, grabbing a plastic basket. “I’m a provider.”

You split up for a second, Ellie going straight to the drinks section while you scanned the candy aisle, already filling your arms with too many options. Gummy worms. A Kit Kat. Those sour blue raspberry straws Ellie claimed she hated but somehow always ended up buying.

You were just about to decide between a regular-sized Snickers or the obnoxiously large King Size when a voice behind you broke the silence.

“Damn,” the guy said, eyeing you up like you were on sale. “If I was your man, I’d never let you out the house looking that good.”

You didn’t even turn to look at him at first, just dropped a pack of sour candy into your basket.

“If you were my man,” you said, glancing over with a tight smile, “I’d move states and change my name.”

He scoffed. “Damn, you don’t gotta be a bitch about it—”

“—And you gotta be stupid enough to not take a hint” Ellie appeared behind you, sliding an arm around your shoulders with a lazy grin, completely playing into the moment.

The guy blinked, probably about to say something else, until Ellie looked at him, really looked at him and whatever speech he had left drained from his face. He turned and walked off without another word.

“You find the sour blue raspberry straws?” she asked casually, like nothing had happened.

You nodded, leaning into her like it was muscle memory. “Yep.”

Something always shifted in Ellie when guys like that got too close. She didn’t make a scene, didn’t have to, but her jaw would clench just a little, her voice would drop, and suddenly she wasn’t just your best friend. She was your shield, your protector. And no one got to talk to you like that when she was around.

Once he was out of earshot, you burst out laughing, nearly dropping your armful of snacks. “Babe is new”

“It felt right,” Ellie said, grinning. “And also hilarious. You should’ve seen his face.”

You were still laughing as you dumped your haul on the counter. “Thanks for the save, my prince charming.”

“Anytime,” she said, tossing a couple of sodas beside your loot. “Protecting you from weird dudes is in my contract.”

“Oh yeah?” you raised a brow. “Where’s this contract?”

“In my head,” she said.

You shook your head, still smiling. “We should make it a real thing. Ellie Williams: official candy mule and creepy guy repellant.”

“I prefer the term bodyguard,” she said, pulling out her wallet. “But yeah. Works for me.”

Dina’s apartment smelled like buttery popcorn, weed, and that vaguely sweet candle she always left burning on her windowsill, something with a name like Midnight Fig or Velvet Moon. The TV was already on when you walked in, credits of some old romcom playing, Jesse sitting cross-legged on the floor, halfway through a bag of gummy worms.

“You’re late,” Dina called from the kitchen, not even looking up as she stirred something in a pot. “Movie night rule number one: punctuality. Rule number two: bring snacks. Did you guys bring snacks?”

“We were on time,” Ellie said, kicking the door closed behind her. “But somebody forgot I was picking them up.”

You shot her a look. “I was in the shower. I told you to pick me up at six, not barge in at six.”

“Oh my god,” Jesse muttered. “Just make out already.”

“Shut up,” both you and Ellie snapped at the same time. Jesse loved to poke the bear when it came to you two, claiming it was funny how flustered you both got.

That only made him grin wider.

You dropped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, pulling a throw blanket over your legs and tossing a bag of hot cheeto chips onto the coffee table. “There. Snacks.”

Ellie flopped down beside you, her thigh barely brushing yours. Not enough to say anything, not enough to move away—but enough to notice. She leaned back, hands behind her head.

“So,” Dina said, walking over with a bowl of something that looked suspiciously like boxed mac and cheese. “Ellie, how’d your shoot go? You flirt with any bridesmaids?”

You groaned. “Don’t encourage her.”

Ellie smirked. “Told you already. Bridesmaid number three. She winked at me and called me ‘camera girl.’”

Dina wheezed. “Wait. Wait. Did she give you her number?”

“She asked for mine,” Ellie corrected, proudly. “I gave her Joel’s landline.”

“Are you trying to get disowned?” Jesse asked, taking a handful of popcorn.

“I’m trying to avoid drama with a woman named Cat,” Ellie said, dead serious.

You shook your head, “You’re impossible.”

Dina squinted between you two, then looked at Jesse. “Tell me they’re not already dating.”

“Not yet,” Jesse said, popping a gummy into his mouth. “But they will be. I give it, like, three months. Maybe two if there’s a karaoke night.”

You threw a pillow at his head. Ellie snorted and leaned closer, her arm grazing yours again.

“Anyway,” Dina said, tossing a remote into Jesse’s lap, “are we watching Jennifer’s Body or are we letting Jesse pick another sad man movie again?”

“Jennifer’s Body,” you and Ellie said at the same time.

The night rolled on. Full of bad jokes, half-eaten snacks, and shared glances neither of you really knew how to deal with yet.

Not tension, exactly. Not yet. But something.

The movie had long since faded into background noise, replaced by gossip and stolen bites of popcorn. Jesse and Ellie kept chucking snacks at each other like overgrown children, until Dina groaned from the armchair, "You idiots are cleaning all this shit up. Y’all are like toddlers when you're together."

They both laughed, Jesse flinging a pillow in her direction, which, of course, kicked off a full-on war. You were winning. Striking Ellie with a pillow like your life depended on it, until she fought back three times harder, knocking you onto the couch and sending the whole group into hysterics.

This was your group. The best friends you ever had.

You’d all met not long after you and Ellie did. Jesse and Ellie were practically siblings, bonded since childhood, while you’d known Dina since high school—trauma-bonded over shitty exes and academic burnout. She knew you like the palm of her handl You definitely were an incredibly different group of humans, but it’s what made things more genuine with y’all.

You and Ellie had a secret running bet about Jesse and Dina. After one drunken party makeout they swore never happened, they’d been in full denial mode, sneaking glances and pretending it meant nothing.

Ellie bet $20 and a month of free rides that they'd never admit it. You, being the romantic, countered with a month of free pancakes and $10 that they would.

(Not that they needed to know about it.)

A blunt or two made its way around, leaving everyone pleasantly buzzed, limbs heavy, laughter echoing off the walls. Jesse and Ellie were laid out flat on the floor. You sprawled on the couch with Dina nestled between your legs, her back to your chest. It was warm, hazy, perfect.

You glanced at your phone. 2:57 a.m. Saturday. No work tomorrow, thank god. You’d definitely get fired for showing up this stoned.

Your fingers idly played with Dina’s hair while she giggled at nothing. Jesse and Ellie were arguing about something in the background, their voices fuzzy through the weed fog. Eventually, Dina stretched and yawned, announcing she was going to bed.

“If anyone’s crashing, cool. Just don’t open the windows and don’t trip balls in my apartment,” she mumbled.

Jesse followed behind, only to get a very loud, “GET OUT OF MY ROOM, I’M NOT HIGH ENOUGH FOR THIS.” He retreated to the guest room in defeat.

Ellie dropped down on the couch next to you, head tipped back, eyes glossy.

"You don't have an early photoshoot with your kittycat tomorrow?" you teased, glancing at her sideways.

"You wish. I might as well just cave and give her my real number," she said with a lazy grin.

“And forget about me?” you said, bumping her shoulder.

"You know I would never."

"Oh, I know. Im just fucking with you" you smirked.

“Oh yeah?,” she shrugged, grin widening. “I think you would like that.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Your favorite one.”

“I think that’s why we’re best friends.”

“Yeah, you’re my best-best-best-friend-ever-in-the-world,” she said, slurring it like a spell. “But shh, don’t tell Jesse. Sensitive guy.”

She held a finger to her lips like she was sharing an FBI top-secret, you laughed, shaking your head.

Shortly after that, you dozed off on the couch, your head resting on her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. She could smell your shampoo, faintly sweet, and the ever-present scent of maple syrup that always clung to you no matter what. Like it was just… yours. Branded in her brain.

Your thigh was warm against hers, and yeah—it wasn’t weird. You were always like this. Close. Safe.

But then Ellie’s mind flicked back to your apartment. That two-inch crack in the door. The sliver of skin, the bra strap, your back. She’d looked. Not on purpose…but she’d looked. The weed was fucking with her head.

Her chest tightened. Was that weird? Creepy?

But best friends think about stuff like that sometimes… right? Like, it wasn’t a big deal to know your friend was hot, and protecting her from creepy guys knowing you’d treat her so much better In a normal, totally non-weird, completely platonic way. Right?

She tilted her head slightly, watching you breathe, peaceful and soft beside her. Her brain finally quieted.

You were her best friend.

And that would always be enough.

Right?

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

Minor Characters for Tree's Roots

I'm not gonna name the bunch of kittypets/everkits, there really isn't much point and I guarantee there are far too many. Also, The Sisters are now a bigger group because having 12 members at a time ain't great.

Moonlight's prior litters - 5 mollies, and 4 toms.

The mollies: Cinder (Gray molly who left to be a Rogue with her mate. Litter 1), Sky (Tortoiseshell molly who became a kittypet. Litter 1), Tempest (seen. Litter 2), Marigold (Golden tabby trans molly. Litter 2), and Mist (White molly who, sadly, was stillborn. Litter 3)

The toms: Beetle (Gray and black tom, still alive and wandering. Litter 1), Bee (Yellow and black tabby trans tom, he left after he transitioned to wander but is now a kittypet. Litter 2), Web (Gray and white tom who passed as a kit and can be seen by Needleclaw. Litter 2) and Thrush (Small brown tabby tom with a white belly, he left on his wander but has passed from sickness. Litter 3.)

Furze's litter, 2 mollies and a tom - Snapdragon, the oldest molly, a ginger tabby with a white belly and blue eyes. Milkweed, a white molly with green eyes and black spots. Sand, a ginger tom with pale yellow eyes who left for his wander but died soon after from a dog attack.

Thin gray tom rogue - Spindle, he and the brown tabby are mates.

Brown tabby molly rogue with sharp claws - Stripes. She and Spindle later have kits who join The Kin later on...

The tom that the Sisters allowed to stay longer only to take as a bad Omen when something bad happened - That tom is Pancakes! Eggs and Bacon's dad! He was Cloud's nephew, the only survivor of his own birth, and all Cloud had left of her beloved little sister. Moonlight demanded he be cast out after the starvation, which wasn't actually his fault.

[smileysuh]

comfort cuisine

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, breast worship/massaging, big dick Johnny, fingering, pussy stretching prep, 'it's finger licking good,' praise, dirty talk, masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, cumming together, creampie, soft sex, longing, fluff, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k

🍭 aus. aged up/widower dad!John, best friends to lovers, Chef!John, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I'm so happy that people loved Line Chef Mark in my fic Real Talk, I received so many messages about giving Head Chef John his own love story, and this is what I came up with in the past four months :) it's a little different from what I normally do, but I wanted to continue with that 'slice of life' theme and venture into a plot line I've never tried before with widower/single dad John :)

Prologue

“I’m so sorry about this,” Johnny’s voice distracts you from the breakfast you’re making, and you turn around from the bacon to look at your friend. “I really wish I didn’t have to keep calling you and asking for favours like this-”

“Johnny,” you shut his rambling up with a pointed expression, “stop, it’s okay.”

“It’s not-”

“John,” you repeat, “seriously, we’re good. Given… the circumstances, I honestly don’t mind.”

The circumstances… neither of you can bring yourselves to say it. You know that if you say it… if you say ‘I don’t mind helping out since the death of your wife’ Johnny will just about break down, and he doesn’t have time to do that, not when he’s got to be at work for seven am, prepping the kitchen and getting ready for the day.

Even by calling this situation a ‘circumstance,’ you can see a half glazed expression overtake Johnny’s face. He’s frozen for a moment, and you take the time to study him.

You think it’s safe to say neither of you expected any of this to happen. 

You’d met him in culinary school- he’d been a young guy, a new dad who’d had a daughter at nineteen, with dreams of opening his own sandwich food truck, ‘like Subway, but gourmet,’ he’d always explained. 

Now, he’s a twenty four year old wreck, doing his best to climb the ladder in the food service industry, mourning the loss of his late wife, struggling to take care of his daughter, his dreams of a food truck long since forgotten in favour of chasing a head chef status to earn him enough of a salary to pay for everything in a one income household-

“Seriously,” your words snap the single dad back from his zone out, “we’re good. I’m making breakfast for Soonbok, I’ve got her lunch packed, I’ll take her to kindergarten, pick her up after- you just have to remember I have a night shift, gotta be at my own restaurant by five at the latest.”

“Five, yeah,” Johnny nods, swallowing thickly and toying with his daughters small pink backpack. “One day, I’ll be higher up on the food chain, and I’ll have better hours- I promise this isn’t a forever thing.”

“It’s an ‘as long as it needs to happen’ thing, okay? Don’t sweat it,” you assure him. “Here,” you take some of the crispy bacon out of the pan, putting it onto a scrambled egg bagel you’d prepared, “you need breakfast too.”

Johnny just about melts looking at the food. “You’re so good to me.”

You offer him a smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

One

Johnny swears his age is catching up to him. It’s not even four oclock and he’s feeling tired, letting out a groan as he says goodbye to the nightshift guys and heads to change out of his head chef attire in the staff bathroom. He’d turned thirty this year, and as he looks at his face in the mirror, he thinks he’s starting to see it.

On his way out of the back door, Johnny bumps into one of his line cooks. Mark Lee is pressed to the wall where people usually lean to smoke, his girlfriend closing him in with her hands on either side of his head. Back when she was expo, everyone used to call her Sunshine, but in her dealings with Mark Lee, Johnny’s come to realize that he’s the angel, not her. 

“Aren’t you two on the clock?” Johnny jokes as he walks past.

Sunshine pulls away from Mark, offering the head chef a grin. “We’re on a vape break.”

“Sure you are,” Johnny laughs, shaking his head.  “See you two back in there, better only be five more minutes.”

“Aren’t you done for the day?” Mark asks, confusion written on his face, along with lipstick marks that he’s hurrying to wipe off.

“Grabbing happy hour with a friend, but be careful Mark Lee, I’m always watching. Just because I’m sitting at the bar doesn’t mean I’m not judging you.”

Johnny can hear Mark mutter something under his breath, and Sunshine is quick to try to calm him down, but as Johnny turns the corner to head to the front entrance of the restaurant, he hears the back door open and close, signaling the end of the little ‘vape break.’

When Johnny joins you at the bar, you’re chatting with Jeno, and the sight makes an unexplainable emotion tingle up his spine. Out of all the front of house staff here, Jeno might just be the biggest manwhore, and he’s had a thing for cougars for a while, although there’s only a handful of years difference between the two of you-

“What are you guys talking about?” John asks, taking a seat on the dark green leather hightop stools surrounding the bar.

“Which virgin drinks are the best,” you respond casually. “I was going to get an iced tea, but Jeno convinced me to try one of your new virgin lemon ginger fizzes.”

“That’s called upselling, honey, you should know that, seeing as you’re in the industry,” Johnny grins.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who invited me here, so I figured you’d be paying.” You take a sip of your straw, looking at Johnny with a smirk, a playful glint in your eyes. 

“Are we getting food?” Johnny asks. “I might as well take care of that for you too.”

“I’ve got time,” you respond casually. “Don’t work for an hour, lets get our ‘nosh’ on.”

Johnny can only laugh at your antics, turning to Jeno, who’s watching with an amused grin. Everyone here knows you and Johnny are close, you come here often enough to see him, the two of you catching each other for a half an hour here or there between his day shifts and your night commitments. 

Johnny orders three appetizers off the happy hour menu, two things he knows you like, and one that’s more up his alley. “Make sure Yuta isn’t back there slacking off,” Johnny warns Jeno, knowing that two of the items will be coming from the ‘bottom end’ of the expo line, which is where Yuta runs the show after Johnny’s off.

“I’m sure he’ll pull out all the stops for our MVP,” Jeno grins, typing the order into an ipad. “Do you want a beer? We’ve got new rotators.”

“Don’t bother trying to upsell me,” Johnny scoffs. “House Lager, and don’t fuck around with the foam.”

“You run a tight ship here, captain,” you tease, bumping Johnny’s elbow.

“Speaking of-”

“Don’t try to recruit me to work here again,” you’re quick to warn.

“Damn it,” Johnny shakes his head, pretending to be quite upset about your rejection. He does feel it- he does think you’d be a great member of the team, and he’d love to offer you a dual head chef position, but it’s not in his power to do so, and that fact haunts him every day. Working for a company limits what he’s able to do, and sometimes, even at age thirty, Johnny still thinks about his dream to open a food truck, with you by his side. “No, in all seriousness, I wanted to talk to you about Soonie’s birthday.”

“Right, she’s turning eleven soon, that’s quite the milestone,” you grin, playing with your straw.

“I asked Doyoung if I could open early for her birthday, it’s a Sunday, I was thinking some of her friends and their parents could come in for a brunch an hour before we’re open for the public.”

“That’s a great idea!”

“Here’s the catch, Soonie was raised on your breakfast food. As much as I try to make things for her, and I hate to admit this, by the way, she always says your cooking is better. So I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come in that day and help me out with all of this. With your skills, I wouldn’t need Hyuck and Mark, it could be just us, and I’m sure we could make a birthday breakfast Soonbok would never forget. It would be like old times, like back when we were in culinary school.”

He loves the way you’re smiling at him, giving him space to rant. 

When he’s done, you cock your head to the side, only wasting one beat before you say, “I’ll do it.”

“Really? I don’t have to bribe you with money or anything?”

“Jeeze, have I ever asked you for money, John?” You smack at his arm, clearly slightly offended. “I’m doing this for Soonie… and maybe a little for you too.”

“Don’t go soft on me, killer,” Johnny teases. “Everyone around here’s too soft these days.”

“Says the softest dad I know,” you roll your eyes. 

“Shh,” he warns, “don’t say that loud enough for Jeno to hear.”

“As if everyone doesn’t already know.”

The two of you continue to chat and joke, a short while later, the head manager, Doyoung, shows up carrying food. It’s funny for Johnny to see Doyoung balancing two items on one arm, the third in the palm of his hand, but he supposes Doyoung started somewhere too, the same way John had. 

“VIP happy hour appetizers,” Doyoung sighs, setting the food down. 

“As opposed to regular happy hour appetizers?” you grin, immediately reaching for a fry.

“These are special,” Doyoung insists, “pretty sure Yuta spit in them.”

Doyoung is a pretty regal man, he’s not one to joke around- but for some reason, when Doyoung is in your vicinity, he loosens up a little. Everyone loosens up around you, you radiate a safe space kind of energy, the kind of energy that makes Johnny’s tense shoulders relax, his smile softening.

“Then I’ll be sure to eat all of this,” you respond. “Tell Yuta more spit.”

Doyoung shakes his head at you. “I’m sure Johnny’s tried to poach you already, but if you ever want a job, you can have his.”

“Hey!” Johnny laughs.

“I’ll consider it,” you grin.

“And I expect a plate of food for this brunch thing,” Doyoung continues. “I’ve heard nothing beats your breakfasts, even though you work nights.”

“Someone has been talking about me again,” you muse, eyes shifting to John.

“What can I say?” He holds his hands up in defense. “I speak only the truth.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Doyoung insists. “Anyways, have fun you two, I’ve got food to run, our new expo girl isn’t filling Sunshine’s shoes too well.”

There’s a glint in Doyoung’s eye before he scurries away, and Johnny turns to watch the new expo girl practically short circuiting with take out orders on the line. 

“Poor girl,” you sigh. “It takes a certain kind of person to work in a restaurant.”

And an even more specific type to do what the two of you do as chefs.

Two

You’ve been on a few first dates this year, and this one is definitely a bottom three. You’ve had one drink, and you already feel like finding a way to slip out early. 

Initially, you’d been intrigued by dating a man in finance, but it’s clear now that you’re in two completely different worlds- and to make matters worse, he mostly talks about himself. He’s oozing this obnoxious confidence that makes you grimace every time you sip your drink, and not from the alcohol.

Your date is in the bathroom when Johnny calls.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you!” His voice warms your heart. “So Soonie is at a sleep over tonight, and I was thinking about making a Soonbok style menu for her birthday, all Soonie style names for food and such, planning a menu just for her- are you up to anything? Can I go through it with you?”

“Actually…” your gaze shifts to the bathrooms, “I’m on a date.”

“Oh.”

“It’s going so bad, and planning Soonie’s birthday would be such a better use of my evening. Listen, can you come pick me up? I’ll text you the address, you can come and call me when you’re outside, pretend it’s a family emergency or something-”

“You got it, I’ll be there right away.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re hopping into Johnny’s car, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

“That bad, huh?” he asks.

“I don’t even want to talk about it right now,” you groan. 

“Here, distract yourself,” Johnny hands you a piece of paper, and you realize it’s a mock up menu for Soonbok’s birthday. “This is just a prototype, I was messing around with styles on some fucking site called Canva-”

“I didn’t know you were good at this sort of thing,” you gasp, taking in the intricate fonts and colouring.

“The site did all the work, trust me,” Johnny scoffs, pulling out into traffic. “Read it over and let me know what you think.”

You begin to scan the menu. There’s Soonie Side Up Eggs, and Boken Avocado Bennies, Soonbok Style Slapjacks and Suh Family Breakfast Sammies. 

“I’m shocked you came up with this many names related to Soonie and Suh,” you say.

“I spent my entire shift thinking about them in the back of my mind while I worked,” Johnny admits. “They’re not cheesy or anything, right?”

“They’re definitely cheesy,” you confirm, “but Soonie is going to love them. You’ve always been cheesy, John, and she adores you for it.”

You notice Johnny’s skin turning a little red, and it’s not just from the reflection of the traffic light illuminating the inside of his car while you wait for it to go green. 

You continue to study the menu, thinking hard the entire way back to Johnny’s house.

He’s got a modest three bedroom townhouse, with his and Soonbok’s rooms on the top floor, and the guest bedroom on the main floor with the kitchen and living room. The kitchen is, without a doubt, the heart of the home, and the two of you make your way there as soon as you’re past the threshold.

“I have some thoughts,” you admit, setting the menu down and pointing at one of the items. “Soonbok toast,” you announce, a twist on french toast, “it says here that it comes with a berry compote. I can tell that this is one of the dishes more geared toward others, because if this was really for Soonie, you’d know that your daughter doesn't even touch berry or apple crisps. She picks at the oat brown sugar on top, but doesn’t like cooked berries or fruits.”

“Yeah…” Johnny leans next to you, scratching the back of his neck. “That was the only one I wasn’t sure on, but for brunch, you have to have a french toast option, right?”

“We can still do french toast, but I think every menu item should be something she’d actually love, don’t you agree?”

“A hundred percent.” 

“What if, instead of berry compote, we do an brown sugar glaze type sauce?”

“That could be doable,” Johnny admits. “Should we try to make one now?”

“Can we do it in the morning?” you ask. “Honestly, I had one drink at the bar, I’m tired after a long shift, and I’m ready to have a few more drinks then pass out.”

“Drinks are a good idea,” Johnny grins, already heading to the fridge. “It will give me more time to think about how to make the brown sugar glaze, and I’ll get on top of that in the morning.”

“Exactly. Chef hours are over, we can just relax,” you insist, heading to collapse on his couch.

“Chef hours are never over,” Johnny reminds you, cracking open a beer and approaching so he can hand it to you.

“It’s one of the reasons dating is so hard in our profession,” you sigh, taking a swig of your drink.

“The hours make it tough,” Johnny nods. 

“So does the mentality,” you remind him. “We just… we think a little differently than others. We’re all a little too committed to our work.”

“That’s not always a bad thing, you’ve just gotta find someone you’re compatible with, someone who will appreciate that about you.” 

“Says one single chef to the other,” you laugh.

Johnny clinks his bottle against your own before taking a large gulp. “Touche.”

Three

Johnny is doing his best to work quietly, aware that the guest bedroom is just a short distance from the kitchen as he whips up eggs for the french toast batter. 

He manages to get all the way through to the cooking before you sleepily putter into the kitchen, adorned in one of his spare shirts for when you sleep over unexpectedly. You look adorable, but Johnny can’t bring himself to focus on you as he perfects the brown sugar glaze, careful not to burn it.

“Almost done,” he calls over his shoulder, “take a seat then try this with me?”

“It smells good,” you tell him, pulling out a chair at the island kitchen counter. 

“Thanks, honey, I was up last night thinking about it- had to wake up early to try it out.” He lifts the french toast onto a plate, dipping a spoon into the glaze to coat the breakfast. “I hope I didn’t wake you up?”

“The smell did,” you muse, grinning as he brings the french toast toward you, setting it down and opening a drawer to retrieve two sets of utensils.

The two of you cut into the toast, and you lift your fork. “Cheers,” you grin, and Johnny touches his food to your own before you both go in for a bite. 

The french toast is cooked to perfection, and although the brown sugar glaze is a little sweet for his liking, Johnny knows Soonie’s sweettooth will appreciate this adjustment to the recipe.

But when Johnny lifts his gaze to you, he sees apprehension in your eyes. “Did you like it?” he enquires.

“It’s really good, don’t get me wrong,” you assure him quickly, “I just think… maybe it’s missing one or two things.”

“Like what?”

“Mmm…” you cock your head to the side, “we both know Soonbok is a fan of nuts, peanut butter is her usual go to but she likes others too- what if we finely chop some pecan or walnut and add that in somehow?”

“That could work,” Johnny nods. 

“Do you mind if I take a crack at it?” you ask. 

Johnny laughs. There are very few people he’ll allow to use his kitchen, and luckily you’re the one at the top. You’ve been cooking here for so many years that he doesn’t have to guide you to anything, you stand up and immediately go in search of details to make your french toast masterpiece come to life, and Johnny happily takes a back seat while he finishes his own creation.

You go for a bag of pecans, dumping a small amount onto a cutting board before you begin to finally chop, leaving an array of different sizes of chunks. Soonie has always been a texture specific child, and Johnny loves how you incorporate all the little quirks of his daughter into your cooking like this.

In a pan with some butter, you begin to toast the nuts, getting prepped on your bread by using the already made batter he’d created earlier. As you put the toast into the pan and check the nuts, you cock your head to the side again, an endearing trait you do when you’re thinking.

“What about oats?” you suggest. 

“Do whatever you think is best,” Johnny encourages you, heading to the fridge to grab some orange juice and a nearly empty bottle of prosecco he’d opened for a recipe two nights ago.

Johnny watches you add oats to the browning pecans while he makes mimosas, and in no time at all, you’re plating the french toast, with a spoonful of the newly toasted additions, and a few spoonfuls of brown sugar glaze.

“There,” you announce, bringing the food to the table. “I added a bit of cinnamon and brown sugar to the buttered nuts and oats while you were making drinks.”

“Cheers,” Johnny grins, lifting a forkful of your creation to gently touch it to your own.

As soon as he bites into it, Johnny knows that this is a winner. The crunch of the nuts, and the oats- the added fats of the butter- the slight taste of cinnamon on the toppings- 

“Wow,” he breathes, leaning back in his chair. “Soonie really wasn’t joking when she said you’re the best breakfast chef in town.”

“Stop it,” you laugh. “You made the glaze! We did this together!”

Johnny goes for a second bite. “This is the stuff that will stick to your ribs,” he muses, not caring that the calorie content was just inflated by the addition of butter and nuts, “Good ol’ comfort food.”

“No, John, you’re a head chef now, this is comfort cuisine,” you correct him with a grin. 

Johnny swears your eyes are sparkling as you smile at him, and it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. It’s times like these that he realizes just how smitten he is with you. You’ve been there for him, through thick and thin. There’s no way he’d be where he is now without you, and he’s not even sure if you know the full extent of it.

But at the same time, because you’re his rock, Johnny doesn’t want to overstep. He can’t lose you, not now, not ever. Soonie lost her mom to a car crash when she was three, and there’s no way in hell Johnny’s going to do something that could potentially make her lose you too.

Four

“Hey, you,” you grin, finishing pouring your glass of wine while you put your favourite chef on speaker.

“Hey, yourself,” Johnny responds, and you can practically hear the smile in his own voice. “Listen, uh, I need to ask you for a favour.”

“Shoot.”

“Two of my line chefs called in today before dinner- pretty sure they’re both hungover or something. Anyways, I’m staying, and it’s a busier night than projected- Soonie is done Girl Guides at seven, and I know it’s your night off, so if you’re busy I can find someone else, but-”

“I’ve got you,” you interrupt him. “Girls night with my favourite girl is a better plan than I had.”

“Really? You sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

“I’d say I owe you one, but at this point, I probably owe you more like a thousand.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you laugh, pouring your wine back into the bottle. “Take care of work, and I’ll take care of our girl.”

A couple hours later, you’re in Johnny’s familiar kitchen, making spiced popcorn and virgin cocktails. Soonie wants to be a chef, just like her dad, and she’s getting better every day. You love giving her soft instructions and lending a helping hand on bigger jugs of juice that her tiny fingers can’t quite hold.

Soonbok has a love for all things disney and music, and although this is probably the third time you’re watching it with her, the two of you settle in for the live action Ariel.

While Johnny is primarily a chef, back when you were in culinary school, he used to sing to himself when he was working. He was always quiet, but loud enough for you to listen to his beautiful voice. Like her father, Soonbok has a way with music, and you adore watching the eleven year old belt out Ariel songs.

She’s tuckered out from Girl Guides however, and about halfway into the movie she cuddles up next to you, her eyelids beginning to droop.

When Johnny comes home as the film is ending, Soonie is fast asleep, and you quickly motion at him to be quiet as he steps through the door.

Johnny is careful as he sets his keys and bag down, kicking off his shoes and putting away his jacket. He tiptoes toward the two of you. “How long has she been out?” he whispers.

“Half an hour or so,” you respond in a hushed tone. “How was work?”

He lets out a sigh. “Could have been better, but I’m home now. Should I get this little one to bed?”

You nod, watching the way Johnny bends down to gently lift his daughter off the couch. She stirs in his arms. “Daddy?”

“Hi, Soonie,” he beams down at her. “Did you have a good girls night?”

“Can y/n stay longer?”

Johnny’s eyes shift to you, and a smile forms on your lips. “I guess I can’t say no to Soonie, can I?”

“Here’s the deal, Soonie, y/n can stay longer, but I’ve gotta put you to bed. You had a long day, didn’t you, sweet girl?”

“Uh huh.” Soonie yawns, cuddling closer to Johnny’s chest, and the sight makes you melt.

Johnny carries her out of the living room and up to the second level. He takes some time tucking her in, and then he comes back down to join you, holding two beers in his hands. 

“So two line chefs called in, huh?” you prompt, tucking your legs up and making room for the large man on the sofa.

“I expected it from Haechan, but Mark’s generally pretty reliable. His girlfriend was on shift today, so I know he wasn’t skipping to be with her- I’m guessing they got pretty messed up last night.”

“They’re young,” you point out, accepting a beer from him. “We used to be young.”

“Used to be,” Johnny laughs, taking a swig of his drink. 

Looking at this man- this father, you realize maybe he never really got the chance to be young. At twenty five, he had a six year old, he wasn't running around blacking out and getting hung over, he was working his way up the employment ladder, dreaming about a better future for his daughter.

“You mentioned Mark has a girlfriend, I think I’ve heard about her a few times now, it’s interesting that she was in and he wasn’t.”

“I’m going to be honest, I love Mark, he’s a great kid- but, he can sometimes be peer pressured into things. Haechan has a hold on Mark unlike any I’ve seen, they bring out… interesting sides of each other.”

You laugh at the description, and it’s clear there’s more on Johnny’s mind, so you wait for him to continue. 

“It’s nice that Mark is young and in love, I can understand that- but at the same time, I just hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. Not that Soonbok is a mistake, of course- I just mean that… life is fragile. You think you’re going to be with someone forever, and then you’re reminded of how frail things can be.”

You frown at his words. Even after all of these years, Johnny still holds so much pain about his lost wife. You want to do your best to help Johnny in every aspect of his life, especially emotional, but this is a topic you never know how to approach. He’s right for grieving, his ex was his first love, his true love- how is there anything you could ever say to make him feel better about her passing?

You open your mouth, only to close it, and Johnny watches you intently. Sometimes he looks at you, the way he’s looking at you right now, and you wonder if he feels the same level of connection with you that you feel with him. You wonder if he wants you to kiss him, if a kiss would make him feel better, if it would - if even for a moment - help him forget about the pains he’s faced in his life.

But it’s because of the pains he’s faced that neither of you can close the distance, you’d like to think about it that way at least. Even after all these years, it’s still too early, so you simply reach out and gently squeeze his hand.

Johnny offers you a smile, and you���re glad that in some small way, maybe you’ve helped him.

Five

It’s a pretty slow day after the lunch rush, so Johnny is sitting in the back office with Doyoung while they pick at their food. They often eat together once things settle down, and today is no different. 

What is different, however, is the topic of conversation Doyoung brings up. “How’s y/n doing?” he asks, taking a bite of his salad.

“She’s good. She helped me lock in a french toast recipe for Soonie’s birthday, so that was pretty helpful.”

“That’s nice,” Doyoung nods, “but I’m more interested in what’s going on between the two of you.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks, looking up from his schezwan beef noodle bowl. 

“I mean, you two have been friends for a long time. There’s a lot of history there.”

Johnny’s shocked that Doyoung is bringing this up. Out of all of the chef’s coworkers, he had not pegged Doyoung as being the man to bring up relationship gossip, and the whole thing takes him off guard for a moment. 

“We’re good friends,” Johnny says finally.

“I know that,” Doyoung rolls his eyes. “What’s holding you back from being more? It’s clear how much you two care about each other.”

Johnny looks down at his food, using his chopsticks to play around with a red pepper. “We do care about each other,” he confirms. “She was there for me with Soonie when no one else was, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“So why don’t you tell her how you really feel about her?” Doyoung presses. “It’s obvious in the way you look at each other- a smart woman like y/n, I’m shocked she hasn’t figured it out for herself by now.”

“I think, because of our history, there’s this… invisible line,” Johnny tries to explain. “Things are good the way they are now, if I try to mess with that… I could lose everything. And I wouldn’t just be losing it for myself, I’d be losing it for Soonie too.”

Doyoung lets out a breath, turning to face Johnny. “I get that it’s hard, but, you’ve got two paths ahead of you. If you give it a try, it could either end well, or badly. But if you keep yourself in this weird middle friend zone place, it’s like you’ve created a house at the crossroads, and that will never lead you anywhere.”

“When did you become so wise about love?” Johnny scoffs.

“Sumi has helped me with it,” Doyoung admits. “I met her here, we started off as friends. I’m her manager, so I had my own reasons for never taking the leap. I had my own house at the crossroads.”

“What made you finally give it a try?”

“She was there for me when my dad died,” Doyoung frowns. “Anyone can be there for you when things go badly, but when a woman truly gives her all to making things easier on you- it’s not something that should be ignored. After everything you and y/n have been through, you both deserve to give it a try.”

“How are you so sure she’d want to give it a try?”

“Because she looks at you the way you look at her.”

Six

Cooking with Johnny might just be the easiest thing in the world. You’d thought that, due to it being Soonie’s birthday, maybe tensions would be high, but as the two of you collaborate in the kitchen, bumping hips and easily communicating, things feel as they always have: easy. 

Within fifteen minutes, the two of you have seamlessly cooked thirteen breakfasts for yourselves, Soonie, her four friends, and six adults… well, seven, if you include the Boken Avocado Bennies you’d whipped up for Doyoung.

While there are a number of staff puttering around doing pre-opening tasks, it’s Doyoung who takes the time to help you and Johnny bring all the food to the table. You love watching the stoic manager announce the Soonie-inspired brunch food names, and it’s clear that Soonbok is also enamoured by the shift in Doyoung’s countenance. 

Before everyone begins to eat, you take a group picture on Johnny’s phone, loving the massive smile on Soonie’s face.

As you’re about to sit down, Johnny asks one of the other moms to take a picture of just you, him and Soonie. With the two of you on either side of the birthday girl, you can’t help but think that this feels like a family picture. 

In a way, Johnny and Soonie are your family- but in the same breath, you’re cognisant of the fact that - had circumstances been different - it would be Soonbok’s mom in this picture right now, and not you. These are shoes that can simply never be filled, no matter how much you wish you could.

The thought isn’t one you like to hold on to, and it’s a thought that’s popped into your head innumerable times throughout the years. Taking your seat next to the birthday girl, you watch her try the french toast, her eyes lighting up.

On top of her own food, Soonie picks at yours and Johnny’s. Both of you are more than happy to share so she can taste more than just one of the special items Johnny had concocted for her. 

Brunch is full of laughter and girlish giggles that light up the deserted restaurant. It’s clear how important Johnny has made Soonie feel today, and that brings you more joy than you could ever express out loud. 

As things wind down, you and Johnny begin clearing plates to the dishpit. The two of you are shoulder to shoulder, and you’re overwhelmed by an odd sense of longing that you can’t quite describe.

Johnny turns to you, mouth opening as if he’s about to say something- but as servers pass behind you, it’s clear that there’s no room for him to say whatever it is that he wanted to say to you.

You clear your throat, watching a line chef pop up next to Johnny to stack the dishes for dishwasher prep. “You should go back to Soonie,” you tell him, “I’ll finish up with the cleanup.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Of course, it’s Soonie’s day, go be with her.” You offer him a smile, and Johnny reacts by reaching out to squeeze your hand.

Without another word, he leaves you to your thoughts, and the feeling of need that’s growing steadier and steadier in your chest.

Seven

Johnny doesn’t know quite what to do with himself. Soonie’s birthday was yesterday, and today's day shift had been quite slow. He’s feeling restless with Soonie over at a friend’s place tonight, and he tries to drown himself in liquor- whether it be to chase away the loneliness or to gain courage, he’s not sure, but by nine oclock, Johnny finds himself dialing up your number.

“Hey, you,” you answer.

“Hey, yourself,” he grins. “Watcha up to?”

There’s a pause, and Johnny can hear people in the background. “I’m out actually.”

“Oh?” Johnny’s spirits dampen. “Out on another hot date?”

“Not so hot actually.”

Johnny bites at his lip. “I’ll let you go anyways.”

“It’s alright, I stepped out when you called. Do you need something?”

“I guess…” Johnny takes a breath. “I got into the liquor-”

“Say no more, I’ll be right over.”

Eight

“So…” Johnny grins as the two of you head into his kitchen, “how did the date go?”

You scoff, watching him pour a glass of wine. “How do you think it went? I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“I mean… I am pretty hard to compete with,” Johnny flashes you a sexy grin… and proceeds to knock over the glass of wine. “Shit- fuck!”

“Listen, you go take a seat, and I’ll clean this up,” you laugh, watching him lumber toward the sofa. You make quick work of the mess, and when you’re done, you approach him in the living room.

“Come sit,” he prompts, patting the spot right next to him.

“Someone’s feeling awfully cuddly today,” you giggle when he grabs your hand to pull you down where he wants you, leaving no space between the two of you.

“What can I say? I’m a cuddly drunk.” 

“I can see that,” you note, assessing him.

His gaze dips to your lips, and your skin tingles. 

“Thank you for yesterday,” he says quietly.

“I told you, I was happy to help for Soonie’s special day.”

“It’s not just that,” he insists, “you’re always happy to help. I seriously-” he swallows thickly, “I seriously couldn’t have done anything I’ve done without you.”

“Don’t be so self deprecating,” you warn him, gently pushing his shoulder. “You’d have gotten anywhere you wanted, with or without me.”

“I still don’t have a food truck,” Johnny pouts.

You’d thought maybe he’d given up on that dream- although you’ve held onto hope for Johnny, more than he knows. “Now that you mention it, actually,” you say, pulling out your phone, “I’ve been looking at food trucks for sale online for a minute, and-”

Johnny’s gaze softens. “You’ve been researching for me?”

“Just a little,” you brush it off, trying to find the listing that you’d saved three days ago. “I found this decent looking one at a good price-”

“I think I love you.”

“Huh?” you freeze.

“I didn’t mean it,” Johnny says immediately, and your heart sinks. “I don’t think I love you, I know I do.”

“John, please, that’s the liquor talking.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he insists. “Look, you’ve always been there for me. We work together- and not just because we’re both chefs. Something about this,” Johnny gestures between the two of you, “it just works, and I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”

“Yeah?” You decide to play a little coy, seeing as this confession is coming from a drunk man. “And who else sees it?”

“Doyoung, for one.”

“Doyoung?” You let out a laugh. “Have you been gossiping about me with him?”

“I swear I didn’t bring it up,” Johnny defends himself. “Doyoung said I look at you with love, and that… that you look at me the same way.”

“Well… maybe Doyoung needs to get his eyes checked?”

“Don’t play with me,” Johnny begs, pulling you closer. “There’s always been a line between us, one we’ve both been too scared to cross… but, I think-”

“Now you’re crossing it,” you finish for him. “What made you want to do that?”

“Soonie’s birthday,” Johnny admits. “Our little family picture.”

“Our family picture,” you repeat, melting inside at the fact that he’d viewed the photo in the same light you had.

“Yeah.” Johnny nods. “Our family. Mine, and yours.” 

His hand finds your thigh, and you can’t help but reach out to cup his cheek, stroking your thumb across his angular bones. “I’m not sure what to say,” you admit.

“We don’t have to say anything,” Johnny assures you. “Just kiss me, and we can forget about the world for a minute.”

Your heart is racing in your chest as you hesitantly close the distance between your lips. It’s a gentle first kiss, but it soon grows hungry, and you’re not sure if that’s due to his appetite or your own.

His tongue swipes across your lip, and you open your mouth for him, letting out a soft sigh as you get lost in the feeling of the man who’s been your best friend for years.

His hand on your thigh squeezes, and before you know it, he’s pulling you onto his lap. Your knees dig into the sofa on either side of him, and you’re hesitant to fully sit down- a kiss is a kiss, but grinding on Johnny is something else entirely.

“Johnny,” you whisper, throwing your head back to look at the ceiling, wondering how you got into this situation.

“Yes, honey?” He presses kisses along your throat that have tingles shooting up your spine.

“You’re drunk,” you say finally.

“If I’d known you liked me too, I would have done this ages ago.”

“It’s not about that,” you laugh. “It’s about the fact that you’re drunk, and I want you sober when we do this.”

“Do what?” he teases, squeezing your hips, his tongue grazing over your jugular.

“You know what,” you retort with a huff. “Look, you’re right about the line neither of us wanted to cross.”

Johnny pulls away from your throat, looking up at you. “Huh?”

“The line. The unspoken line. All these years, something has been there, between us- but, we both respect your wife, we respect Soonie- I think… I think the time is right for this now, well, not right now, but, once you’re sober again.”

“You’re right,” Johnny concedes. 

“How about we watch a movie, then we can go to sleep.”

“You’ll stay over?” There’s a boyish excitement in his voice and it makes you melt.

“Uh huh.”

“Will you stay in my bed with me?”

“Just for cuddles, but only if you promise to drink a bunch of water before we sleep, I don’t want you hung over in the morning.”

Johnny grins. “You got it, honey.”

Nine

Johnny wakes up next to a warm body, and it’s the first time in years. Your presence is the only thing that proves to him that last night wasn’t a dream, some twisted fantasy- No, you’re real, and you’re here, and you’d kissed him back-

He stays cuddled with you for a while, basking in the glow of being in love, truly in love, and finally able to admit it to himself. It’s been so long since his wife, and part of him had forgotten the feeling- maybe that’s why it had taken years for him to realize how much he adores you.

After a while, Johnny decides he needs some water- and he wants to make breakfast for you. He wants to spoil you the way you spoil him.

Johnny is careful as he exits the bed, taking one last look at your peaceful face before heading down to the kitchen.

It’s easy for Johnny to get lost in the act of cooking, focusing on bacon at first before switching to eggs. As it was a few days ago, the smell of food wakes you up, and soon you’re joining him by the stove.

“Watcha making?” you ask, wrapping your body around his.

God, the feeling of you is- fuck, he can’t even describe how good it is.

“Wanted to make you breakfast,” he tells you, plating your food first. Once he has you settled and sitting, he quickly throws together a breakfast sandwich for himself.

“You and your sandwiches,” you laugh, digging into your bacon and eggs.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, coming to join you.

“So well,” you tell him, bumping your knee against his own, “even if someone snores.” 

Johnny can only laugh, he’s dealt with Soonbok complaining about his loud snoring for years. “How are the eggs?”

“Good!” 

You’re so chipper this morning, and he loves it. Johnny takes a bite of his sandwich- you’d cooked the eggs at the brunch birthday two days ago, and he realizes Soonie was right. “Your eggs are better,” he muses.  

“I’d planned on making breakfast for you, but you jumped the gun, big guy.”

“I wanted to pamper you for a change.”

“Cooking is my love language,” you tell him. “I’m excited to make you breakfast more often.”

“I like the sound of that,” he smiles.

“When’s Soonie come home?”

Johnny checks the clock on the stove. “In an hour or so.”

“As much as I’d love to see her, I think maybe it’s better if I’m not here when she gets home,” you say thoughtfully. “She’s a smart girl, I bet she’d be able to tell that something is up.”

“She definitely would,” Johnny confirms. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you that much if you stick around.”

You giggle, reaching over to squeeze his knee.

“How are you feeling about last night?” Johnny asks.

“I’m feeling good, how about you? Still remember all of it?”

“In perfect detail,” he breathes. “Although… a little reminder wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t?” you tease as he leans in, cupping your face so he can press his lips to your own. 

God, you’re such a good kisser. It just works. It’s hard for him to even pull away, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

“Take me out on a date,” you say.

“Hmm?”

“A date,” you repeat. “Just because we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean we can skip steps.”

“I respect that,” Johnny nods. “I’ve got a busy week, and it will have to be a night where Soonie is out, but… we’ll make it work.”

Johnny’s so certain it will work, because things between you have always worked, and he can’t wait to see where this takes you. 

Ten

It’s been a week, but finally Johnny found time for that date night. Soonie is out with friends again, so it’s the perfect opportunity to get some alone time with the man who’s been on your mind constantly.

He picks you up in his old Dodge truck, compliments your outfit, and refuses to tell you where you’re going or what the plan is.

When you arrive back at his place, you’re honestly not even surprised. “Let me guess, you took me to the best chef in town?”

“You know all my lines, honey,” he grins. 

“So, chef, what’s on the menu?”

“I thought maybe you’d take a seat and let me cook for you.”

“As if I’d take a back seat,” you scoff. “What are we making?”

Johnny had made hand made fettucini before he’d come to pick you up. You let him take lead in making a white wine, garlic cream sauce with button mushrooms, spinach and crispy prosciutto, but you insist on being his sous chef and taking care of the chicken.

The smell is heavenly, and as he finishes it all off with fresh herbs, you think you start to drool a little.

“For a guy who claims to specialize in sandwiches of all things, you’re pretty good with italian,” you muse as you take your first bite and nearly moan.

“I’m pretty good with a lot of things,” Johnny laughs. 

“Look at you being all cocky.”

“You love it.”

He’s so right.

The two of you chat and laugh together while eating. It’s one of the best meals you’ve had in a very long time. When dinner is over, Johnny suggests a movie. As the two of you settle on the couch, he prompts you to come closer, and soon, the two of you are cuddled together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s so warm and comforting- you find yourself dozing off a little, although, maybe it’s something of a food coma from all the pasta.

Johnny brings his lips to your ear, and you shiver when he asks, “Should I carry you to bed, honey?” 

Part of you wants to tell him you’re not Soonie and you won’t be calling him daddy any time soon- but another part of you wants to lean into this. It’s been so long since you felt like you could be babied, and if anyone is going to bring out that side of you, it’s going to be Johnny.

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask, cognizant of the stairs he’ll have to climb.

“Have you seen my arms? I won’t drop you, honey, I promise.”

You allow him to scoop you up, and you feel like a giggling school girl again as he takes you up to his room. “Do you have a shirt I could wear to sleep?” 

“Choose anything,” he tells you. “When you’re changed, you can join me in the bathroom, I went and got a toothbrush for you.”

Before you know it, you’re cuddled in Johnny’s bed, wearing panties and one of his big shirts. He’s pressed to your back, his mint tinged breath warm on the nape of your neck. There’s no pressure for sex, no pressure for anything other than the situation at hand, and you can tell you’re both very content with it. 

Soon, you’re drifting off to sleep in the arms of a man who’s been a cornerstone of your life.

It’s a deep, dreamless sleep, and it passes in the blink of an eye. You awaken to light beaming through his window, a warm body behind you, and something hard pressed against your ass.

You laugh to yourself- morning wood isn’t something men can help. Even so, you stir a little, adjusting to get more comfortable.

Johnny releases a sleepy groan.

You stay still, not wanting to wake him, but it feels like the damage is already done when he wraps you tighter in his embrace. “Morning,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Hi,” you respond lightly.

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to shift, and you feel his body tense when he does so. “Fuck,” he goes to pull away, “sorry, I uh-”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, grabbing his forearm so he can’t move away, “keep cuddling me.”

Johnny returns, flush against your back, his hard cock pressing even more firmly to your ass.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asks.

“More than okay with it.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your throat. “Are you okay with this, too?” Johnny mumbles, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

“Uh huh,” you sigh, wiggling your bum back against him and arching your neck to give him better access.

His hand finds your hip, gently squeezing you through the shirt you’re wearing. His lips are soft against you, but there’s a need in his motions too, and he begins to grind against your ass.

You let out a groan when he finds the sweet spot just below your ear, and he licks at it, making you moan louder.

“Are we going to do this?” he asks, nipping at your earlobe.

“Fuck it, yes.” You can’t hold back anymore, you turn in his embrace, quickly mounting him and smashing your lips to his own.

Johnny grins into the kiss, holding your hips while you settle on top of him, grinding down against his clothed cock while your tongues begin to clash.

His kisses have you seeing stars, your mind going blank except for him.

Soon, his hands slip under your shirt, slowly grazing up your sides. “Can I take this off of you?” he asks.

You open your eyes to look down at him, studying his pretty lips and his chocolate eyes. 

Instead of responding, you sit up, grabbing the hem of the oversized T and lifting it over your head, tossing it to the side and baring yourself to your best friend for the first time.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, gaze falling to your tits. His hands stay at a respectable location on your hips, and you grab one to lift it to your breast, adding pressure so he knows he’s allowed to give you a test squeeze.

Johnny begins to massage you, and you throw your head back, releasing a groan, swiveling your hips against him.

His thumb brushes over your hardened nipple and you mewl loudly, core throbbing from the stimulus.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, propping himself up so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

You cup the back of his head, keeping him on your chest while he worships you. His other hand finds your neglected breast, gently pinching and massaging while he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“John-” You don’t even know what to say, you’re entirely wrapped up in him. 

You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. 

Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more. 

Johnny pulls away from your breasts, cupping the back of your head and drawing your lips to his again. “We should take our clothes off,” he suggests.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all week,” you laugh. 

He helps you off of him, and you lay next to each other for a moment, both fumbling to get naked. As soon as you’re fully nude, Johnny rolls on top of you, slotting between your thighs. His lips find yours again, and his free hand trails down your body, teasing through your pussy lips.

“You’re already so wet,” he muses.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” you admit.

“Me too,” he assures you, capturing your mouth with his own while he teases a finger into your hole. You push your hips up, wanting more, and you latch onto his strong shoulders, moaning into the kiss.

Johnny’s a big man, and his finger is enough to have you wriggling below him. “Easy, honey,” he grins, looking down at you with eyes full of adoration. “Gotta stretch you open.”

“Fuck,” you groan- does this man read erotica in his spare time? How is a thirty year old, single dad, this well versed in dirty talk even though you’re pretty sure he hasn’t been laid in forever?

He adds a second finger, curling them to find your gspot. As he pumps his hand, lips pressed to yours in a mad frenzy, you can hear your wetness with each motion. 

It feels unreal- have fingers alone ever done a number like this on you?

Johnny twists his hand a little, knuckles dragging along your sensitive inner walls. It’s like he’s trying to carve out a space for his cock, although, you know now that this won’t be enough. He’s thick and throbbing on your hip, his length so large you think he might just blow your entire back out when he slips it into you.

Even though you’re eager to be - for lack of a better word - impaled on him, Johnny takes his time kissing you, his fingers continuing their motions. “Wanna rub your clit for me?” he asks, moving his mouth to your neck. “I want to watch you cum.”

Your toes curl at his words, and you bring your hand to your pussy, drawing circles on the sensitive bud while he continues to stroke your inner walls.

Your core throbs around him, whimpers of pleasure escaping you. 

“You’re being so good for me, honey,” Johnny tells you, making your insides flutter even more from the sincere words of praise.

Cumming hasn’t always been the easiest thing in the world for you. There are many partners you’ve had who never had the wherewithal to get you there- but somehow, Johnny just knows you. Or maybe, it’s because he knows you- because you feel safe with him, that you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

It also helps that it’s your own fingers on your clit, you know exactly what you like, what pressure, what motions- the digits working you open are just an added bonus that have you seeing stars as you make your way to your peak.

“John,” you gasp, tits pushing up toward his chest when your back arches. “I’m gonna-”

“Let it out for me,” he encourages you softly. “You deserve it.”

“I deserve your cock,” you whine, shocked at your own blatant neediness.

Johnny only laughs. “After,” he assures you, “I promise.”

A few more circles of your clit has the cord in your stomach snapping, your orgasm washing over your like warm summer waves. Your entire body tingles with delight, gasps leaving you as your pussy fully throbs around his fingers, your clit pulsing with desire.

“So pretty,” he whispers, bringing his lips to yours.

From the way he smiles against your mouth, you can tell he doesn’t care that you’re moaning so much he can hardly kiss you.

It’s a closeness you’ve never felt before, and he helps you through your orgasm until you’re pulling your hand away in favour of grabbing his shoulders.

Johnny takes his fingers out of your core, and you watch under hooded eyelids as he brings them to his lips, sucking them clean and releasing a groan. “Everything you do tastes better than what I bring to the table.”

You laugh. He’s such a fucking chef.

“Some might even say it’s…” you stifle a giggle, “Finger licking good.” 

Johnny lets out a laugh, eyes lighting up. God, you love this soft, laughter infused sex- you’ve never experienced anything like it.

You grab the back of his neck, drawing his mouth to your own. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and there’s something so erotic about it. He moans loudly, rubbing his cock between your wet pussy lips.

The tip of his cock is stimulating your clit and it sends jitters through you. You can feel how soaked you are, and you wouldn’t be surprised if this ended with a wet patch on his bed from how turned on you’ve been throughout this whole experience.

Johnny seems intent with grinding against you, but you’re lacking patience today, and you reach between your bodies to grab his cock.

Johnny breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours and looking down at where you’re gripping him. He doesn’t say anything, his gaze shifting back to your own. There’s a question in his eyes, and you’re both aware that this is the final line. Once you cross this, there’s no going back.

You bring his cock to your wet hole, and with very little effort, you help guide the head of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans immediately, fists bunching at the pillow on either side of your head. “You’re so tight- are you sure you’re good with this?”

“You’re just- fuck,” you whimper as another inch sinks into you, “you’re just big!”

“Maybe you’ll have to get used to it,” he grins, pushing deeper.

You moan loudly, clawing at his shoulders. “Maybe I will,” you gasp. 

He brings his mouth close to your own, until your lips are just brushing, eyes meeting when he says, “I’m looking forward to it.”

As he kisses you, he pushes fully into your warm, wet, throbbing core. His hips are flush to your own, and you swear no one’s ever been this deep inside of you.

Your legs shake on either side of his hips, body suspended in this odd purgatory-like place between extreme pleasure, and an uncomfortable feeling of being stretched more than you’ve ever been stretched before.

“Are you good?” he asks, lips moving to your cheek while you struggle to aclimatize to his cock.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly. “Just- fuck me, it will be easier.”

“If you say so, honey.”

The first thrust has your toes curling, eyes clenching shut with pleasure. A sound that’s never come from you before leaves your lips- a sound you’ve heard in porn, but always thought was an overexpression.

Your fingers dig into Johnny’s shoulders, and he holds you close, mouth finding your neck while he begins to fuck you.

Although, would this be called fucking?

The fluidity of his motions- the way you’re clinging to each other- it feels more like making love, and your skin tingles with the realization.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me you love me again, like you did when you were drunk.”

“I love you,” he says immediately, holding you even tighter. “I love you so much that sometimes it hurts.”

Your entire body both relaxes and is set on fire by his words, your core throbbing desperately around his massive cock. 

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“Tell me you love me too,” he pleads.

“I love you too,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair and bringing his face close to yours so you can look up into his eyes. “I love you too.” 

Johnny’s hand finds your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip. Somehow, he hits even deeper now, and you wriggle below him, more sounds of pleasure escaping you and filling the room.

“You sound so good, honey- I won’t last if you keep squeezing me and moaning-”

“Then don’t last,” you gasp. “Want you to cum.”

“Where should I cum?”

“Inside- I’m on birth control, just- fuck, Johnny, cum inside.”

He groans, pressing his mouth firmly to your own, his tongue dancing along yours as his motions get even faster.

You’re clinging to him for dear life at this point, and when he slips a hand between your bodies to rub your clit, you nearly begin to cry from how good it feels.

“Love the way your pussy sucks me in when we play with your clit,” he tells you. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Do you think you can cum for me again? I don’t want to be the only one cumming.”

“Yeah, yeah- fuck, yeah, I can cum again,” you whimper desperately.

“Let me know when,” he instructs, adjusting his motions ever so slightly so each thrust has his cock dragging against your gspot.

You let out a squeal of delight, your thighs shaking around his hips, stomach muscles clenching almost painfully-

“Fuck, John, I’m there- shit, fuck-”

Johnny shuts you up with his lips against your own, and for a second time, your orgasm hits you.

Your core clamps down incredibly hard on his cock, and Johnny groans deeply above you, fingers twitching on your clit. He keeps his pace, and a moment later, you feel his cum filling you up, coating your walls with warmth.

The feeling of his large length throbbing in your own oversensitive hole has your entire mind going fuzzy, and you kiss him like a woman lost, like a woman so completely in love that nothing else matters.

You ride out your orgasms together, until you’re both shaking. Only then does Johnny come to a stop on top of you, kisses turning to a more gentle nature as he holds you close. 

“I love you,” he tells you again.

You smile, blinking up at your best friend. “And I love you.”

Epilogue

The two of you are in the kitchen cooking brunch. Johnny is pressed to your back, watching intently, asking all sorts of questions about how you cook eggs to make them so delicious and superior to his own.

“The secret ingredient is love,” you tease.

Johnny can only laugh, holding you tighter.

He’s so lost in you, that he loses track of time, and as the two of you are sitting down to eat, Soonbok walks through the front door. She stops in her tracks when she sees you, letting her little overnight bag slip to the ground.

“Oh, hi, baby,” Johnny stands up immediately.

“Hi, daddy,” Soonie says, allowing her dad to pick her up for a hug while her eyes shift to you.

“Did Sabrina’s mom drop you off?” Johnny asks, looking out the door to wave at Soonie’s friend’s mom as she drives away.

“As always, daddy,” Soonie laughs. “I didn’t know y/n was coming over.”

“Surprise,” you grin, also standing so that when Johnny sets his daughter to the ground, she can run to give you a hug of your own.

Once Soonie is done squeezing you as tight as her little arms can muster, she looks between you and Johnny. For some reason, Johnny feels his heart beginning to race, there’s a knowing in his daughters eyes.

“What’s going on?” Soonie asks finally.

“Y/N and I just had a little sleep over,” Johnny tries to explain, and the concept isn’t a new one, you sleep over frequently… in the guest bedroom.

“So…” a wicked grin appears on Soonbok’s face, “Does this mean you’ll stop trying to get me to call her auntie now?”

“What?” Johnny lets out a surprised laugh.

“You heard me, daddy,” Soonbok’s smile widens. “Does this… does this mean we’ll be a real family now?”

Johnny lets out a shuddery breath. In the years you’ve been helping raise Soonbok, Johnny has broached the idea of her calling you Auntie Y/N, as a respect thing, and his daughter has always refused. Had she seen the connection this whole time? Has this been something Soonbok has wanted ever since she was a five year old with an inquisitive mind and an even more discerning eye?

Johnny’s gaze shifts to you, and you flash him a warm smile.

“Yeah, baby,” Johnny picks up his daughter. “We can be a real family now.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! This was such a fun project for me, thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me to write for Chef John, he deserved his happy ending :)

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🔮 preview. The man ordering can’t see you lying on the floor of the food truck. He has no idea what’s going on- and you feel like tempting fate a little. You bring your hand to your pussy, beginning to rub yourself through your pants, adjusting the vibrator ever so slightly as it buzzes inside you. Johnny nearly drops the tomato he’s holding, quickly tearing his gaze from yours. You’ve never seen him trying to focus this hard- and failing. What had been your torture initially, has just become his own, and you kind of love it.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a food truck), use of vibrator while helping a customer, vibrator as a makeshift gag ball, breast worship, fucking with half your clothes on, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink, etc…   I petnames. (hers) honey

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 230

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You love working with Johnny. Sure, it had been rough at first, getting his food truck on its feet, but it’s been two years, and with some insanely good marketing, you’re now running one of the top trucks in the city.

It’s a joy to watch Johnny fulfill his dreams every day- his odd obsession with sandwiches of all things has only added to your connection. Watching him smile and charm guests makes your heart swell with joy, and on the rare occasion Soonie comes to do the register and take orders, it feels like you’re just one happy family.

Today, however, is a weather disaster. The forcast had mentioned light sprinkles, but cuddled next to Johnny looking out at the torrential downpour, you both feel a little bamboozled.

“You know what would make this more fun?” Johnny asks.

“Customers?” you suggest.

“Yes, but also… I got you something.” The chef flashes you a sly smirk, and you pull away from his shoulder to asses him.

“Am I going to like where this is going?” you ask.

He was single for so long- and there’d been so many sexual things he’d missed out on during that time, but the two of you are making up for it every moment you have alone. You suppose this is a moment alone, so you’re not really shocked that his mind is in the gutter.

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[alwaysurvalentine]

marry me (if I ever get the nerve) - st fic

Based on a prompt from my @steddiebingo 12 Days of Christmas card: 'proposal'

wc: 2.4k | cw: none

enjoy! 💛

~

One.

A crowd is blocking the pathway when Eddie and Steve round the corner. Steve cranes his neck to see around the crowd and then scoffs. 

“What, what is it?” Eddie’s trying to see through the people in front of him, but every time he shifts, they do too. 

“Someone’s proposing in the middle of the park. Can’t even imagine how embarrassed she feels right now. Can you imagine?” 

Steve continues to rant, one hand waving in the air while he vents and the other one tugging Eddie along the edges of the crowd to get past. 

Marriage has been brought up between them before, an idea that seemed nice but somehow far away. Even without saying it, Eddie knew it was something that Steve wanted. It’d been an easy plan from there: save up money for a ring, pop the question, and then marry the fuck out of Steve Harrington. So far all Eddie had done was start saving for a ring. 

He stumbled upon the perfect ring just last month, a simple gold band with the option to engrave the inside. Right now he can’t decide what he wants to put there, but he figures he’s still got some time to think about it.

“Like what if she wants to say no? He’s basically put her in a situation where she has to say yes and then go back on that answer later.”

There’s genuine distress in Steve’s voice at this stranger having to deal with this. Eddie squeezes his hand and offers a placating smile. Up ahead is the cafe they’d been heading towards in the first place. For once there isn’t a line and Eddie lets go of Steve’s hand just to open the door and bow. 

“My love.”

All of the tension building up in Steve leaves him with a roll of his eyes and he smiles when he steps in before Eddie. Even though Steve wasn’t a fan of the couple they saw, Eddie sends a quick thanks because now he knows. 

Absolutely no proposing in a crowded public place.

~

Two.

Light always finds Steve. No matter the time of day, if there’s a ray of sunshine, it’s shining on his boyfriend. It’s one of the first things Eddie noticed about him when they started dating. Now is no exception, sun peeking through their blinds to shine on Steve’s face. 

Steve has barely moved from where he left him this morning, mouth slack with a line of drool leading to a small spot on his pillow. Eddie sets the tray holding their breakfast down for a moment, leaning over to swipe the drool away with his thumb. He rubs his hand on his pants and then rests a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Steve’s eyebrows furrow when he wakes, eyes blinking open just to squint shut at the light. 

“C’mon, I made breakfast.” 

Steve yawns and smiles softly, rubbing at his eyes. Eddie grabs the breakfast tray again, orange juice sloshing in the glass but not spilling with the movement. The small smile on Steve’s face turns into a full blown grin and he smooths over the blanket when he sits up. 

The plate of breakfast smiles back at him, bacon curving up towards two eyes made of eggs. A gentle hand takes his wrist and Eddie’s tugged down close enough for Steve to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“Thanks, baby.” Sleep still paints Steve’s words, a roughness there only because of their activities from the night before. An image of Steve on his knees, eyes half lidded and tongue hanging out of his mouth flashes into Eddie’s mind. He’s quick to dismiss it though, trying to stay on task. 

Afterall, this breakfast is serving a purpose. Today is going to be the day that Eddie proposes to Steve. All he’s got to do now is pull the ring out of his bedside table and ask the question. Just a small, intimate setting for his Stevie. 

He leans toward his dresser drawer right as the phone starts to ring. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, uh, hi Eddie. Is Steve there?” Max is on the other end of the line, voice tight.

“One sec.” Eddie passes the phone over easily and mouths that it’s Max on the other end. 

“Hey, what’s up?” 

Judging by the face Steve makes at something Max says, this proposal is about to be pushed to another day. When Steve shifts the tray off of his lap and scoots out of bed, Eddie knows he’s right. 

“Woah, hey, it’s okay. I’m glad you called. Give me fifteen and we’ll be there.” Another pause and Steve flashes a grimace in Eddie’s direction. 

“You know he would understand. Okay, okay, yeah, it’ll just be me. See you soon Mayfield.” 

Guilt covers Steve’s face when he turns to Eddie. He tosses the phone back onto the bed and pulls jeans over his boxers. 

“Sorry, Max needs me to help her with something real quick, but I’ll be right back after that. Rain check on breakfast in bed?” 

Disappointment curls in Eddie’s stomach but he nods anyway. “Of course, no worries. Is Red okay?” 

Just as much as the kids are Steve’s in all the ways that matter, Eddie’s adopted them too. If one of them is in trouble, he wants to know. 

“Yeah, just something going on with her mom.”

“Why don’t you bring her back here? I can make some more breakfast and we can all do brunch and watch trash TV.” 

Steve closes the distance between them with a few quick strides, pressing a kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. His hands come to rest on Steve’s hips, keeping him close so he can steal a couple close mouthed kisses before Steve leaves.

“That would be great, I love you.” Another kiss and then Eddie lets him go so Steve can brush his teeth before heading over.

Might need to recruit Robin to help make sure proposing doesn’t get interrupted.

~

Three. 

Tuesdays are date nights.

Eddie doesn’t know if it was on purpose, but the first date he and Steve went on was a Tuesday and now it’s just become tradition. It’s the one day of the week that the gremlins know to let them have their night. 

Tonight, Eddie’s even got Robin helping to run interference. Obviously he had to run this plan by her. They both figured while he’ll be popping the question, doing so over a candlelit dinner without getting on his knee was still lowkey enough for Steve to let it pass. 

(Robin also tried to argue that Steve would be fine with a massive proposal because the only answer he’d have for Eddie would be yes. Her puppy dog eyes aren’t nearly as lethal as Steve’s, so he hadn’t caved.)

Eddie had asked Steve to dress up for dinner tonight for a reservation made at The Grillhouse. They don’t always do fancier dinners, more than happy to dance around the kitchen together instead. Steve had asked what the occasion was and squinted skeptically when Eddie stuttered that he had big news he was excited to share. Despite all of his practice as a DM, he still can’t lie to save his life. Luckily, Steve had dropped it and shifted the focus to a story from work. 

Now Eddie finds his palms sweaty, empty plates sitting between them. This is his window.

“Stevie?”

His boyfriend tilts his head to the side, humming quietly to show he’s listening.

“I brought you to dinner saying I had some big news to share. But really, that news couldn’t be possible without you.” 

Steve’s face softens and he reaches across the table to take one of Eddie’s hands. They sit like that for a moment, Eddie swallowing before reaching into his coat pocket to grab the ring. 

The pocket is kind of deep and all he feels is fabric so he digs in a little further. Still, all he feels is the cotton lining against his fingers. 

And then he realizes. 

He forgot the ring.

He forgot the ring. What is he supposed to tell Steve now?

“I’ve decided to send some of me and the guys’ tapes to some producers.” 

The smile on Steve’s face is bright enough to challenge the sun and Eddie knows he’ll be sending out those tapes this week just so that he hasn’t lied to the man in front of him.

“Holy shit!” A couple of people swivel their heads at the sudden exclamation but Steve doesn’t pay them any mind, raising his glass to Eddie. Never one to leave Steve hanging, he’s quick to lift his own glass for Steve’s toast.

“Congratulations, baby, I’m so proud of you!”

Hot tip: don’t forget the ring.

~

Four.

Steve’s bopping his head as he walks through the kitchen. Everyone’s just cleared out of the apartment after spending the night. He hasn’t been able to convince Steve to play D&D, but it doesn’t mean his boyfriend doesn’t love any opportunity to host. Every couple of weeks their apartment is flooded with the full group, pizza for dinner and then Steve pulls out all of the stops for brunch the next day. 

There’s a pile of dishes waiting to be washed in the sink and a couple of pans left to cool on top of the stove, but like always - Steve’s turned on the radio first. Which works perfectly with Eddie’s plan. 

He’d called the radio station earlier in the week and asked them to play their song so he could propose to the love of his life. The girl on the other end had squealed at the request and let Eddie know she’d email with the time they’d be able to put it into the show. 

When he glances over to check the time, he’s surprised to see that there’s only a a couple of minutes to wait until their song is queued up. He’s got just enough time to run upstairs to grab the ring and then he’ll finally be able to ask. Steve’s just grabbing the pans off of the stove to move them towards the sink when Eddie steps out of the kitchen. 

It seems oddly quiet when Eddie makes it downstairs. Maybe it’s just because of how loud it was last night and this morning.Mumbled cursing welcomes him back into the kitchen and Eddie sees the reason behind the quiet. Their radio is currently cradled in Steve’s hands, eyes locked in on the different dials like it’ll suddenly start working if he looks disappointed enough. 

“Steve?” 

The look of horror on Steve’s face has Eddie chuckling as he walks over.

“I broke the radio.” Genuine heartbreak colors Steve’s words and Eddie takes the radio from his hands with a smile.

“That’s okay, looks like it got some water on it. Did something splash out of the sink?” Steve nods, eyes focused on the radio in Eddie’s hands. 

From what Eddie can tell, they might have to just replace the whole thing, somehow Steve’s managed to get the entirety of the speakers wet. His proposal might’ve been foiled again, but at least he gets a huff of a laugh when he rolls up his invisible sleeves to wash the dishes, bumping Steve out of the way. 

Alright, maybe the radio thing was a little complicated, time to regroup.

~

Plus One.

“Wayne, I feel like I’m losing my mind.” 

His uncle just laughs from his side of the table, coffee cup lifted to his mouth despite the steam rising above it. 

“No, I mean it. I’ve tried proposing to him so many times but I keep messing it up!” Eddie runs a hand through his hair and has to stop for a moment when a ring tugs on his curls. The chipped mug in Wayne’s hand gets set down and he leans back, eyes squinted in a smile while he looks Eddie over.

“Alright, let me get this straight. You wanna propose to your boy?” Eddie nods. “Why don’t you just ask him, plain and simple?” 

“Oh, yeah, just ask him plain and simple. Because that’s totally easy. Have you met him?”

Wayne raises a brow, unimpressed at Eddie’s dramatics. 

“I just want it to be perfect, Uncle Wayne. What if this is like the universe telling me not to do it? Everything keeps going wrong…”

Another sip of coffee and then Wayne leans forward, elbows on the table. “Listen here, you love him?”

“Of course I do.”

“And he loves you?”

Eddie can feel the blush when it spreads across his cheeks. 

“He tells me all the time.” 

“Then I think no matter how you ask him, the only answer he’s going to say is yes. Knowing you two, you could just slide the ring on his finger and Steve would have the wedding planned in a week. What’s really holding you back?” 

Damn Wayne for knowing him so well. 

This answer doesn’t come as easy, dread building in Eddie’s gut while he tries to figure out the best answer. If he voices this and Wayne agrees, he’ll probably never recover.

“C’mon, spit it out.” 

“Whatifhedoesn’tthinkI’mworthbeingstuckwithfortherestofourlives?”

Another unimpressed stare, lips pursed at Eddie’s quick speech.

“Just, what if he doesn’t think it’s worth it? Being stuck with me forever?”

“Eddie, listen up, and listen good. No such thing as being stuck with you. I can tell that he adores you, knew as soon as I saw the two of you together. Just because your old man,” and Wayne pauses when Eddie’s head snaps up, “chose to ignore the gift you are, doesn’t mean other people will. I’ve been lucky enough to see you grow from that scrawny kid angry at the world to the man I see now. You’ve got your own family now, one you built all on your own, and not a single one of them feels like they’re stuck with you. Y’hear me?” 

Eddie wants to feel embarrassed at the tears in his eyes, but instead all he feels is warmth all over - loved. He jumps up and scoots into Wayne’s side of the booth, throwing his arms around the older man’s neck just like he did as a kid. When he backs up, Wayne’s eyes look a little teary themselves.

“Alright, let’s go, I gotta get ready for work.”

(When they get back to the trailer, Eddie opens the door to his own makeshift family crowded around the living room. It takes a moment to take it all in, streamers hanging from the ceiling, balloons all over the floor, and then Steve on one knee with a ring held out. 

It’s an easy yes.)

[bucketgetter535]

This is not a cry for help (but it might be) PART SIX

WC: 3k CW: Drinking ish? Notes: LOL what is up everyone. Plz send live reacts cause they're always so funny for this fic. Anywayssss enjoy. progress but slow. P is me.

Paige didn’t even mean to wake up early.

Actually, she was planning to sleep in. Like, full on cocoon in the blankets, hide-from-life, pretend-last-night-wasn’t-real kind of sleep. That was the dream. That was the move.

But of course her body was like nope! You’re a fun little ball of stress so enjoy waking up at 7:12 AM on a summer morning like a psychopath.

So now she’s awake.

And Azzi’s still asleep, which is probably a sign that the universe hates her. Because Paige is lying there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about how close Azzi’s face is and how her hand is still sort of half on Paige’s waist like it lives there now.

She carefully (very carefully) gets out of bed.

Azzi shifts a little, but doesn’t wake up, which honestly feels unfair. Paige’s heart is still going dumb in her chest. Like she didn’t just wake up from the most ridiculous, intense fever dream ever. Like she didn’t fall asleep feeling… whatever that was.

Anyway.

Downstairs.

Katie is already there. Already dressed, already moving around the kitchen like a sitcom mom, flipping bacon and humming something that sounds suspiciously like one of those country songs Paife doesn’t really like.

“Morning,” she says, all bright-eyed and unbothered. Like it’s normal to have this much energy before 8 a.m.

“Morning,” Paige croaks, voice hoarse and slightly guilty sounding.

Katie smiles. “Hungry?”

Paige scratches her head. She’s still in her Azzi’s T shirt and whatever shorts she pulled on before leaving the room. Her hair’s a mess. She’s blinking like a mole seeing daylight.

“I mean… I guess,” she says. “Like… I could be?.”

Katie raises an eyebrow. “That sounds like a ‘no, but I know I should say yes so you’ll stop asking’ kind of answer.”

Paige flops into a kitchen chair. “Wow, you’re good.”

“I’m all knowing,” Katie says. “It’s a skill set.”

Paige rests her forehead against the table dramatically. “Can I get a pass for today? I had a long night.”

Katie snorts. “You’re fifteen. Your definition of ‘long night’ is probably giggling under the covers and watching TikToks.”

“Yup,” Paige says, because absolutely not. “That’s exactly what I was doing.”

Katie plates eggs and bacon like she’s feeding an army. Or a teen athlete. Which… yeah, okay.

She sets it in front of Paige and pours a glass of orange juice like the food police.

Paige stares at the plate. It smells good. It’s too good. “I usually skip breakfast,” she says, almost apologetic.

Katie’s already flipping the next round of eggs. “Not in this house.”

“That’s aggressive.”

Katie points a spatula at her without even turning. “So is hypoglycemia.”

Paige raises her hands. “Okay, okay. Geez. It’s like I’m in detention.”

“You’re in a kitchen.”

“Same thing,” Paige mutters, stabbing at an egg. “One just has better lighting.”

Katie smiles at her over her shoulder. “Eat, Paige.”

So she eats.

She eats because saying no would feel rude, and because it actually tastes kind of amazing, and because even though she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s starving.

They sit in this quiet kitchen rhythm for a while. The house is still. The sun’s barely up. There’s birds outside and whatever else people say when they’re in the woods and pretending life’s not complicated.

Paige kind of likes it.

Which is annoying.

Katie glances over at her as she refills the coffee pot. “You sleep okay?”

Paige shrugs, chewing bacon. “Define okay.”

Katie doesn’t push it. She just hums and hands her another slice of toast like Paige is a project she’s already committed to finishing.

Paige eats that too. Because whatever. She’s here now.

“You’re wild,” Paige says eventually, gesturing with her fork.

Katie gives her a look. “Because I fed you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess that’s ok.”

Paige hides her smirk behind her juice glass.

She doesn’t say thanks.

But she eats every bite.

–

Okay. Here’s the thing.

Paige Bueckers has a long-standing, private, and very justified vendetta against swimming.

It’s not that she can’t swim. She can. She learned when she was five, thank you very much, in a chlorinated YMCA pool that reeked of bleach and childhood trauma. But she just doesn’t like it. Never has.

Maybe it’s the way her hair sticks to her neck. Maybe it’s the stupid way swimsuits always feel too tight or too loose, but never actually right. Maybe it’s the water. Or the sun. Or the entire concept of recreational wetness.

Point is—Paige is not a swimmer. She’s a hooper. She belongs on the court, not floating around like a dumb leaf in a lake full of fish poop.

But here she is.

In a lake.

With Azzi.

And Azzi’s brothers, who have been cannonballing off the dock for the last twenty minutes like they’re trying to flood the whole state.

And Azzi. Let’s talk about Azzi for a second.

Because Azzi is in a bikini. A purple one.

And it should be illegal.

Like genuinely, someone should call the authorities. Because Paige is trying her best to survive this absolutely blinding amount of hotness while treading water and pretending she’s not seconds away from drowning in feelings.

Azzi’s laughing and splashing her brothers and then wiping water off her face like she’s in a slow-mo summer movie scene, and Paige has never felt more like a soggy rat in comparison.

Her sunblock is already failing. Her legs are too pale. Her hair feels gross. And she’s fairly certain there’s a piece of seaweed stuck to her ankle.

“Why are you standing like that?” Azzi calls, chest-deep in the water, grinning like a demon.

“Standing like what?” Paige shouts back.

“Like you hate this!”

“I do hate this!”

Azzi just laughs. Tosses her hair back and floats on her back like the most graceful human to ever exist.

“Come here,” she says.

“No.”

“Come here,” Azzi says again, voice playful but threatening.

Paige swims over like a loser.

They float near each other, and Azzi bumps her foot against Paige’s under the water, which is so casual and also not casual at all.

Azzi’s brothers are still yelling about something. Probably who cheated in their splash war or who’s banned from holding the pool noodle. Paige has tuned them out.

Azzi leans in a little. “I’m hungry.”

Paige squints. “We literally ate like two hours ago.”

“I know,” Azzi says, dead serious. “But I’m still hungry.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Come get snacks with me.”

“No,” Paige says immediately. “We’re wet."

Azzi tilts her head. “So?”

“So the inside is are dry and I’m not about to walk inside like a wet sandwich.”

Azzi raises her eyebrows. “Wow. You’re dramatic.”

“I’m realistic,” Paige says, treading water like she’s on trial. “Also this lake is cursed. My foot touched something and I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

Azzi is so not listening. She’s already swimming toward the ladder. She glances over her shoulder and calls out, “Paige.”

“What.”

“Come get snacks with me.”

And Paige groans because she can’t say no. She literally cannot. Even if Azzi didn’t just do the over-the-shoulder look like she was in a Disney Channel original movie, Paige would’ve followed her anyway.

“Fine,” she says, dragging herself out of the lake like a half-drowned cat.

Her swimsuit sticks in all the wrong places. Her hair drips straight down her back. Her foot crunches on the gravel and she knows her face is red from sun or blushing or both.

Azzi waits for her with a towel and that face. The one that says I know you’re annoyed and I’m enjoying every second of it.

Paige grabs the towel. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I hate swimming.”

“Fair.”

“I hate wet clothes.”

“Understandable.”

“I guess the snacks are alright though.”

Azzi grins. “Mhm. THat’s what I thought.”

They walk inside dripping water everywhere. Paige leaves footprints on the hardwood. Azzi heads straight for the kitchen, opens the fridge like she lives there (she does), and tosses Paige a juice pouch.

Paige catches it. “Are we five?”

“Yes,” Azzi says. “Now drink it.”

Paige does. Because it’s cold and fruity and actually slaps. She leans against the counter in her wet swimsuit, juice in hand, and side-eyes Azzi.

“You in that bikini is actually a hate crime.”

Azzi looks over her shoulder, deadpan. “File a report.”

Paige takes another sip. She’s not even sure if her heart rate is from swimming or Azzi anymore.

Probably Azzi.

Definitely Azzi.

–

The thing about sunburns is that they don’t hit all at once.

No, they sneak up on you. They let you float around in your false sense of “maybe I actually tan now” security. Let you feel like maybe this time will be different.

And then they burn you alive.

Paige feels it first when she’s drying off after her shower. That tight, itchy stretch across her shoulders. Her arms feel like they’ve been microwaved. Her nose is pink. Her neck’s mad at her. Her face is just straight-up betrayal.

Honestly, it’s deserved. Paige vs. The Sun has been an ugly rivalry since birth.

Azzi had already passed out the second they got back from the lake, full-on snuggled into her pillow like she didn’t just look illegal in a bikini all day. Paige wanted to say something dumb to her before crashing, but it didn’t happen. Azzi was too cozy, too asleep. So Paige just showered, changed into her comfiest oversized tee, and tiptoed her way downstairs in search of cold water and peace.

She’s halfway through grabbing a glass when Katie rounds the corner like she’s been waiting.

“Oh honey,” she says.

Paige freezes. “What?”

Katie points at her shoulder. “You’re toasted.”

“I’m fine.”

Katie gives her a look that says absolutely not, try again.

Paige sighs. “It’s not that bad.”

“Paige. You’re medium-well at least. Come sit.”

Paige shifts uncomfortably. She tugs her shirt down like that’ll help.

Katie already has the aloe out. Like she was born with it in her pocket or summoned it from the mom void. Paige considers arguing again, but honestly she hurts and standing sucks and she’s tired.

So she sighs and sits.

“I’m not taking off my whole shirt,” she says quickly.

Katie sits beside her with the aloe. “You’ve got a bra on, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then it’s fine. I saw you in a swimsuit three hours ago. I just want to put some aloe on it, okay?”

That somehow doesn’t make Paige feel better, but she pulls off her shirt anyway, wincing as the fabric tugs against her shoulder blades. She keeps her arms tight to her sides. Feels very aware of everything.

Katie is gentle. Like annoyingly so.

The aloe is cold, but it’s a relief. And Katie doesn’t say anything at first—just rubs the gel in careful, slow circles over the worst spots. It stings a little, but Paige isn’t gonna whine about it. She already feels weird enough.

She stares at the kitchen tile and pretends it’s not vulnerable or whatever.

She’s mid-thought when her phone buzzes on the counter.

It’s her dad.

Of course it is.

Paige flinches without meaning to. Her whole body goes still.

Katie pauses. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Paige says automatically, grabbing her phone. “I’ll—uh—I’m just gonna take this outside.”

Katie nods once, already back to capping the aloe. Paige pulls her shirt back on, not meeting her eyes, and practically escapes to the porch like the house is gonna explode.

The swing creaks when she sits.

“Hey,” she says into the phone.

“Paigeeeyyy,” her dad says.

And that’s… not great.

He’s slurring a little. Talking fast and slow at the same time. His words loop, like maybe he’s trying to sound casual but forgot what sentence he started three words ago.

She knows this version of him.

It’s not even the worst one. Just the one that makes her stomach twist.

“You home yet?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, looking at the trees. “Been home. Then came up here. Remember?”

“I miss you.”

That makes her blink. “Okay.”

“Tell Drew I love him,” he adds suddenly, like it popped into his brain mid-rant.

“You could tell him yourself,” Paige says. “He’s with you.”

But her dad’s already moved on. He’s rambling about the lake cabin they used to rent when she was little. About her mom, randomly. About how this whole thing with “her”, which means his wife, or ex-wife, or enemy number one, or whatever, “isn’t fair.”

Paige goes quiet.

She just sits there, half-listening, half-fading out, watching the trees move in the breeze. They’re green and soft and kind of blurry. It should be nice.

It’s not.

Eventually her dad says, “Alright. I’m gonna go, kid. Love you.”

Paige doesn’t answer right away.

“Paige?”

“Yeah. Love you too,” she says, and it sounds fake even to her.

He hangs up.

She sits still for a while. The porch swing creaks again. Her chest feels too full. Her throat feels too tight. She doesn’t cry, but it’s close.

Then the door creaks open and Katie steps out.

She’s got a glass of water and that look. The one that says I’m not gonna make you talk, but I’m here if you want to.

Paige wipes at her nose even though it didn’t run. Just to feel something.

Katie hands her the glass.

“Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Paige snaps.

Katie just sits next to her. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t lecture.

They sit in silence for a bit. Paige sips her water. The woods are still moving.

She says it before she even decides to say it.

“My dad’s not doing great.”

Katie glances over.

“And I mean like, not great. Like spiraling and weird phone calls and barely holding it together and I think maybe drinking again but I’m not sure and I don’t wanna accuse him of stuff but also I’m not a little kid.”

Katie doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t react.

“And it’s been loud at home. Like… bad loud. And I know I’m lucky to not be there but my little brother is there, and I don’t know how to help. And I feel bad being here. But also I don’t want to be there. Like, at all. So I feel double bad. And also I think I might like girls. Which is… not related but still a problem. I guess. I don’t know.”

She laughs, short and sharp and hollow.

Katie just hums. “That’s a lot, kiddo.”

Paige leans back against the swing. “Tell me about it.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

Paige shrugs. “You kinda Jedi mind-tricked me into it.”

Katie smiles. “I have secret mind control powers. It’s a thing.”

Paige looks at her. “I thought Azzi made that up.”

Katie shrugs. “She did. But I like it.”

They sit there until Paige finishes her water. The sun’s going down now.

Katie stands up eventually and ruffles Paige’s hair before she heads back inside.

Paige leans back, watching the trees some more.

And for once, everything’s kind of quiet.

–

The room is quiet when she comes back upstairs.

Azzi’s still in bed, curled toward the window, blanket all bunched up under her chin like she didn’t just spend the afternoon being hot and chaotic and bikini-evil. Paige stands there for a second in the dark, watching her breathe, trying not to think about the porch swing or the phone call or how her whole body feels like it’s made of too much.

Her sunburn still stings. Her throat’s tight again, which is fantastic. She’s tired but not tired. You know?

She climbs into bed gently. Like quietly-lower-yourself-gently, blanket-tug-silent-exhale kind of gentle.

Azzi stirs the second the mattress shifts.

Like of course she does.

Paige freezes. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

But Azzi already reaches out, eyes still half closed. “You’re back,” she murmurs, and she’s already moving closer, sliding an arm around Paige like it’s nothing. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Paige flinches. Just barely. But it’s enough.

Azzi’s hand brushes her shoulder and Paige hisses.

“Ow—sorry—”

Azzi pulls back immediately, blinking awake now. “Shit—sorry babe—”

Babe.

Babe?

And then she kisses Paige’s shoulder. The unburnt part. Soft. Just once.

And Paige’s whole brain short circuits.

Because what the hell. Who does that? Who says that? Who kisses people so gently they actually feel like crying?

It’s not like a big kiss. It’s not flirty. It’s not anything but real.

And Paige is… she doesn’t do that. She’s sarcastic and annoying and full of noise. She doesn’t just…get touched like this.

“You alright?” Azzi whispers.

And it’s a real question. Not one of the dumb ones like everyone keeps asking. It’s not like you okay? like a formality. It’s soft. It’s asking in a different way. Like Azzi can feel something on her.

Paige blinks up at the ceiling and does not cry. She doesn’t. But her eyes sting a little, and she breathes weird for a second.

“I’m fine,” she says.

Azzi doesn’t believe her. Obviously.

“Your back’s okay?”

“Yeah.”

Azzi hums. Her hands trail lightly across Paige’s back, carefully avoiding every place that might sting. She doesn’t press. Just lets her fingers move slow and steady, like she’s tracing Paige’s heartbeat through her spine.

Paige exhales into the pillow. Her whole body starts to un-tense. Not all the way. But some.

She doesn’t say thank you. She doesn’t say anything at all for a while.

Azzi just holds her.

One hand on Paige’s waist. One hand moving in lazy shapes on her back. Her forehead pressed against Paige’s shoulder like she belongs there.

And Paige? Paige stays really still. Because if she moves, she might cry. Or scream. Or say something stupid like I needed this more than oxygen tonight.

And like, she knows it’s dumb. It’s just Azzi. She’s just being nice. But it feels like something more. It feels like..

Like like? 

Being in-like?

Paige’s chest doesn’t hurt as much now. And her skin still burns, but a different kind of burn, the kind that’s actually kind of okay.

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ the little things !

pairing : dean winchester x fem!reader warnings : fluff, slight injury, established relationship au, teasing, prompt list here wc : 1.5k a/n : ignore the fact i posted a logan drabble w/ the same name yesterday😭 anyways this is just something little while i finish another dean fic :3

the first time you realized you could curl up on dean no matter the position, it felt like something out of a dream. his chest was broad and steady, his arms always finding their way around you without a second thought. on the couch, in bed, or even crammed in the backseat of the impala, he never shifted to make himself more comfortable. instead, he adjusted to you. "you gonna start charging me rent?" he teased once, his voice low and rough, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. the truth was, he loved it, even if he didn’t say it outright.  

feeding him snacks became another routine. it started when you were lounging together, a bag of chips in hand, and you absentmindedly held one over your shoulder. he leaned in, catching the chip between his teeth, and gave you a cheeky grin. "thanks, sweetheart." after that, it became a habit. popcorn during movie nights, bites of your sandwich when you were too lazy to pass it properly - he never asked for it, but he never refused either.  

your fingers found their home in his hair more times than you could count. the first time, he had leaned his head into your lap while you were watching tv, his eyes closed as he relaxed. your hand naturally drifted to his hair, carding through the soft strands. "you’re gonna mess it up," he muttered, but his voice was too soft to carry any real protest. after a while, he stopped pretending to complain, even tilting his head slightly to guide your hand to his favorite spots.  

"text me when you get home" became one of his go-to phrases whenever you were apart. it didn’t matter if you were only driving back from the store or coming home after a hunt. he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew you were safe. "just humor me," he’d say when you rolled your eyes, but the worry in his eyes told you it was more than just a habit - it was a necessity.  

you couldn’t help but smile whenever he did. sometimes it was a full, toothy grin after he nailed a joke, other times it was just the soft curve of his lips when he was focused on something small. either way, your chest tightened at the sight, and before you realized it, you’d be grinning too. "what’re you so happy about?" he’d ask, pretending not to notice, but there was a warmth in his voice that gave him away.  

he always stole bites of your food when you were cooking. you’d be chopping vegetables or stirring a sauce, and suddenly, his hand would sneak in to grab a taste. "dean," you’d scold, trying to sound annoyed, but it was impossible not to smile when he looked at you like that. sometimes, you’d hold out a spoonful for him instead, cupping your hand under his chin to catch any drips. the first time you did it, his eyebrows shot up, and he stared at you like you’d hung the moon. "you’re too good to me," he murmured, licking his lips.  

whenever dean cooked for you, you made sure he knew just how much you appreciated it. even if it was something as simple as bacon and eggs, you’d rave about how good it was, savoring every bite like it was the best meal you’d ever had. "you’re gonna give me a big head," he’d say, but you could see the pride shining in his eyes.  

breakfast in bed wasn’t a regular thing, but on the rare mornings when he surprised you with a tray of pancakes or scrambled eggs, it felt like the ultimate luxury. he’d sit beside you, watching as you took the first bite, and you’d catch him smiling to himself like he’d just won the lottery.  

"you look gorgeous. stunning. jaw-dropping. breathtaking," he said one evening, his eyes scanning over you with a playful smirk. "do you see what i’m getting at here?" you laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly, but the way he looked at you made your cheeks burn. there was no doubt in your mind that he meant every word.  

holding hands with dean felt effortless. it wasn’t something you planned or thought about - it just happened. whether you were walking down a crowded street or wandering through the woods on a hunt, his hand would find yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. it was grounding, comforting, like a silent promise that he was always there.  

people noticed the way you looked at each other. you didn’t realize it at first, but there was something unmistakable in the way your eyes softened when they met his, or the way his entire demeanor shifted when you walked into the room. "you two are disgusting," sam teased once, shaking his head, but there was no malice in his tone - just a hint of envy.  

before dean left for a hunt or even just a grocery run, you always made sure he looked put together. fixing the collar of his shirt, smoothing out his jacket - it was a small thing, but it mattered. "you don’t have to fuss over me," he’d say, but he never stopped you. if anything, he leaned into your touch, letting himself be cared for in a way he wasn’t used to.  

when you were apart, you’d send each other little pictures - nothing fancy, just quick snapshots of your day. a selfie with a cup of coffee, a picture of the impala with some smart-ass caption from dean - it was a way to stay connected, even when miles separated you.  

you could sit together in silence for hours without it ever feeling awkward. sometimes he’d be cleaning his guns while you read a book, or you’d both be on your phones, the quiet companionship as comforting as any conversation.  

napping with dean was a kind of magic all its own. his arms wrapped around you like a cocoon, his steady breaths lulling you into the deepest, most peaceful sleep. sometimes he’d wake up before you, his hand gently tracing patterns on your back as he waited for you to stir.  

one of his more protective habits was guiding you to the inside of the sidewalk whenever you were walking. he never said anything about it, just casually reached for your hand and steered you away from the road. it was such a small thing, but it spoke volumes about how much he cared.  

"have you eaten today?" was a question he asked more often than you realized. it didn’t matter if you were busy or distracted - he made sure you took care of yourself. and when you turned the question back on him, he’d grin sheepishly, knowing he couldn’t get away with skipping meals either.  

massages became your go-to whenever he seemed stressed. you didn’t have to ask - he’d sit on the edge of the bed, his shoulders tight with tension, and you’d slip behind him, your hands working out the knots until he finally relaxed. 

whenever you tripped, even slightly, dean’s hand shot out instinctively, ready to catch you. "you okay?" he’d ask, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury. it didn’t matter how small the stumble was - he treated it like a near disaster, his protective instincts kicking in without hesitation. 

hugs from behind were his weakness, even if he’d never admit it. you’d wrap your arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, and he’d melt instantly. sometimes he’d reach back to rest a hand on yours, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch. 

"i’ve got this, you go rest," he’d tell you, gently nudging you toward the couch or the bed. dean was stubborn, always taking on more than he should, but when it came to you, he made sure you were cared for first. 

he had a habit of wiping crumbs or smudges from the corners of your mouth. it wasn’t something he did consciously - it just happened. his thumb would brush over your lips, his eyes focused with a softness that made your heart ache. 

"i love you," he said one afternoon, out of nowhere. you were sitting together, doing absolutely nothing, but the words fell from his lips like they’d been waiting to escape. it wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but it felt just as powerful as the first, like he needed you to know, again and again, just how much you meant to him.

ᰔ dean winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[exocynraku]

more family trees

[the-sunflower-room]

catching fireflies ⊹ ࣪ ˖

🦾bucky barnes x fem!reader

☆ genre: domestic fluff, established relationship

☆ wc: 4.1k

☆ summary: in the heat of july, bucky makes the mistake of admitting that he never spent his childhood summers catching fireflies. determined to fix such a tragedy, his girl takes matters into her own hands.

☆ warnings: none beyond a few brief mentions of bucky’s trauma/past. otherwise lots of fluff and pet names!

It starts with a simple revelation over breakfast.

Bucky watches silently, as he often does, as she rambles on about how terribly hot New York summers are, a fond, slightly amused grin pulling at his lips as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“I mean, c’mon, when I moved to New York of all places, I didn’t expect to melt into a puddle in the summer,” she grumbles, waving her hands around emphatically as she neglects the eggs and avocado toast on her plate he’d so lovingly prepared that morning.

“I expected the blizzards, sure. The summer showers, fine. Did I mention how prepared I was for the blizzards? But this heat is starting to make me regret all my life choices,” she groans, fanning her face for dramatic effect.

He huffs a laugh, the sound a low, gravelly thing so early in the morning. “You make it sound like the world is on fire out there, sweetheart. This is a pretty normal summer by Brooklyn standards, and that’s coming from a guy who lived here over a century ago,” he teases, shaking his head affectionately.

She acts as if she’s been shot, clutching her heart and pulling a face of exaggerated pain. “Buck, you’re killing me here. You think you could have a little more sympathy for your poor, sweaty girlfriend? I swear, there’s no end to my misery,” she groans dramatically, pressing her ice-cold glass of orange juice to her forehead in her quest for any kind of reprieve from the heat.

He rolls his eyes at her antics, chalking up her mood to their air conditioner being on the fritz. There was only so far portable fans and spray bottles of water could go in the oppressive July heat, and their not-so-reliable landlord kept finding excuses to reschedule the maintenance order that had been placed weeks ago.

Their days together started much earlier now to avoid the hot, late morning sun streaming in through the tall living room windows, a feature of the unit that had been much more appealing before the arrival of the hottest months of the year.

“I know, I know. I’m heartless,” he chuckles, playfully spritzing her with one of the nearby spray bottles and earning a half-giggle, half-yelp in reply. “You’re ridiculous is what you are,” she laughs, wiping her face clean with her napkin before tossing it at him.

“I’m serious though, baby. Summer in my hometown was so much nicer than this growing up. A day at the pool, popsicles that didn’t melt in your hand the second you opened them, evenings running barefoot in the damp grass and catching fireflies,” she sighs almost whimsically, clearly lost in fond childhood memories. “None of this overbearing heat that’s almost definitely going to kill me.”

He can’t help but soften at her endearing nostalgia and theatrics.

“Well, as wonderful as that all sounds,” Bucky murmurs, taking a bite of his bacon with an affectionate grin, “I regret to inform you that Brooklyn isn’t gonna get any cooler in the middle of July. And there sure as hell aren’t any fireflies to catch in this part of town. At least, not when I was a kid.”

Her brow furrows at that, an adorably inquisitive expression taking shape on her face. “No fireflies? But you must’ve caught some at the park when you were growing up,” she presses, as if the notion of a firefly-less childhood is impossible in her mind. But he just shrugs, shakes his head.

“Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart. I don’t remember seeing them at the park back then, but I guess I wasn’t exactly looking for ‘em like you were,” he murmurs, his gaze soft as he witnesses her confusion.

“Got shipped off to the war pretty young, and you know the story from there. Not a lot of time to relax and catch glowing bugs when you’re Hydra’s prized soldier. Plus, my life hasn’t exactly slowed down since those days.” He watches the way her gaze grows more and more appalled, a flash of deep sadness in her irises at the mention of Hydra.

“Buck, this is- I can’t believe it. You’ve been deprived of a classic summer experience,” she manages to scoff after a long beat of stunned silence, shaking her head incredulously. “We’ve gotta fix this. I’m officially declaring a state of emergency until I get a firefly in your hands.”

He chuckles at her bold decree, shaking his head as he takes another sip of his coffee. “A state of emergency, huh? I thought you said we were in a state of emergency last week when we ran out of oat milk,” he recalls matter-of-factly, his brow raising. “That’s an awful lot of urgency for me to hold a firefly, sweet girl.”

She shakes her head definitively, stubbornly, as if she’s already made up her mind. “Nope, it’s just the right amount of urgency. This is now the most important thing on our agenda today,” she determines, pulling out her phone.

“I’m finding us an AirBnB upstate, a place with no light pollution and lots of open grass. That’s the best place to find a bunch of them.”

He laughs gruffly at her unending determination, setting his coffee cup down and folding his arms across his chest in amusement. “Not to put a damper on your enthusiasm, darlin’, but can’t we just go to the park and find one tonight? I’m not sure we need to drive all the way out to a house upstate just to see a couple of bugs,” he reasons with a grin, though he knows there’s no stopping her once she’s set her mind to something.

She shakes her head at him with that twinkle in her eye, and he begins to mentally pack his suitcase for their impromptu trip.

“Nope,” she says again, more stubbornly this time. “I’m showing you a proper, firefly-filled summer night. And I just can’t do that in this noisy, cramped, unbearably hot city of ours,” she explains in mock-seriousness, as if she were laying out the details of a world-saving mission.

“I’m booking this AirBnB, sarge, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Though there was definitely something he could do about it, it’s his complete and total inability to say no to her that leads him to a quaint little farm house later that evening.

The plot of land is merely a two hour drive from the city, a more than doable trip for the super soldier and his overly enthusiastic—but altogether well-meaning—girlfriend. He admits to himself that it’s cozy, scenic, the kind of place he likes to imagine the two of them settling down in one day when his thoughts grow hopeful, sentimental.

She’s already going on about how much nicer it feels away from the “sweltering dumpster fire that is the big apple” as they step out of the car and begin to unload their bags, which Bucky appropriately responds to with a raspy laugh and an eye roll.

The air was just as warm and sticky out in the hilly countryside as it was in the city, but the lowering evening sun made the temperature just slightly more bearable than when they left home.

“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that,” he grunts teasingly, reaching over to wipe a few droplets of sweat from her brow before flicking his fingers at her. “I’m pretty sure it’s still hot.”

She splutters as a laugh of shock escapes her, clearly surprised by his ridiculous method of proving his point. “Bucky, that is disgusting,” she playfully reprimands as they make their way to the porch, making a show of wiping the sweat from her face. “Forget fireflies. I’m gonna show you some manners tonight, you weirdo.”

After a few failed attempts at entering the house code into the door’s touch screen lock, followed by a series of frustrated grumbles about the validity of said code sent through the home share app, they finally enter the small but luxurious house they’d be staying in for the night.

It’s charming, comfortably sized, more than enough space for the two of them during their condensed stay. The home offered an exposed beam living room packed with plush seating, a fully stocked kitchen with marble countertops, and a cozy looking bedroom with an en-suite bathroom. But none of it compares to the wonderful, nearly foreign feeling of crisp, cold air conditioning washing over them as they step through the threshold.

They sigh in tandem, dropping their bags on the bedroom floor as the cool air surrounds them, relieving them of the constant state of hot they’d been living in for the past few weeks.

“I know we only booked for the night, but I am seriously considering illegally squatting here just to take advantage of the AC,” she murmurs, her voice just serious enough that he honestly can’t tell if she’s joking. But he’s right there with her in contemplating staying one or five more nights there.

When they’ve recovered from the utter shock and relief of having a functioning air conditioning unit, they begin to unpack their things, curiously exploring the house and flicking on some of the lights as the sun sets lower in the sky.

She’s delighted to find a fire pit just a ways off from the back porch, rejoicing in the fact that their earlier pit stop at the store for s’mores supplies hadn’t been for naught. At the time it had seemed silly, trivial, “cliché” in Bucky’s words. She’d jokingly called him a hater of whimsy, and he’d proceeded to buy all of the ingredients with a barely concealed smile hidden behind a gruff exterior.

“See? I told you we’d need this stuff,” she says triumphantly as they carry the grocery bags outside, setting up shop around the cozy looking fire pit. He just shakes his head fondly, biting his tongue.

They’d also technically purchased icees at the grocery store, another one of her required summer staples, but those had melted almost immediately after getting out of the car, and she had refused to talk about it when he gave her that smug “I told you they wouldn’t last” look.

“Yeah, yeah. Just be glad we won’t have to make ‘em in the microwave,” he chuckles, already searching for firewood to get her summer bonfire going. He sets to work when he finds a neatly stacked pile of wood nearby, hauling the logs in his arms and tossing them into the circle of stone.

She watches silently as he works, her eyes fixated on the curve of his flexing shoulder muscles through his shirt, and he knows that she’s checking him out in all of his sweaty glory.

“This is just like that great lumberjack dream I had of you last week,” she murmurs bluntly, unashamed as she ogles him. He huffs a hearty laugh at that, tossing the last bit of firewood from his shoulder before dusting off his hands. “You gonna unpack our stuff? Or are you content to just stand there and say creepy stuff like that?” He grins, his amused gaze momentarily holding hers as he searches for a lighter.

Giggling coyly and promising to stop being a pervert, she pulls out a few plates from the grocery bag, followed by the graham crackers, chocolate, and bag full of marshmallows. Soon enough, he locates a lighter and sets the pile of wood ablaze, and their summer evening is underway.

The sun is nearly set over the tree-line, the sky painted a dusty orange as she wields the sharp s’more skewers and declares they need sustenance for firefly-catching.

“Seriously, Buck, how long’s it been since you’ve had one of these bad boys?” She ponders with her hands on her hips, gesturing towards the array of s’more ingredients. He just shrugs, trying hard to think of the last time he would’ve indulged in such a simple summer treat. But he can’t recall any vague childhood memories of s’mores shared around a fire like this.

“Don’t remember,” he answers honestly, his smile growing wider as she gasps and pretends to feel faint. “What? Baby, you’re killing me. I’ve really gotta give you a summer education tonight, don’t I?” she sighs dramatically, like it’s a hugely important task to undertake.

When they’re seated side by side in the comfortable lawn chairs, waiting for the fireflies to start coming out for the evening, she shows him how to skewer his marshmallow while explaining the method for getting it perfectly toasted. “See, everyone has their preferences…but if you like a completely burned marshmallow on your s’more, you’re a psychopath,” she states in a deadly serious voice, eyeing him up as if wary he might commit the crime of all marshmallow crimes.

He just lets out an amused huff, pretending to nod and follow along like a student learning his master’s craft. “I see. No burning it,” he repeats in mock-seriousness, mimicking her as he slides the marshmallow onto the thin metal rod and moves it over the fire.

But Bucky loses his focus in the middle of the toasting process, his gaze drifting over to his girl as the soft, orange glow of the fire illuminates her face. She’s so at peace here, clearly soaking in the joy of old summer memories. And even though he can’t relate to most of her traditions, he finds his own joy in watching the way she lights up as she shares them with him, the evening together feeling like something soft, sacred, precious.

“Bucky!” She cries out, jerking him back to the present where he realizes his marshmallow has caught on fire. “So you are one of those sickos who likes a burned marshmallow!” She accuses with a dramatic point, watching as he quickly blows out the flame and finds himself staring at the burnt black confection.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I swear on Sam that I didn’t do it on purpose,” he quickly defends with a sheepish grin, watching as she raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “I’m serious, baby. I just got distracted by you looking all sweet and pretty in the firelight, that’s all.”

She’s taken slightly aback by his affectionate defense, the sweetness of his words bringing a warm blush to her cheeks. He loves that he’s flustered her, one of his favorite pastimes in the world, and he watches in amusement as she struggles for a coherent reply.

“I- you- ugh, just give it here. Unless you want your s’more to taste like death and regret, you can use my marshmallow and I’ll make another one,” she finally manages in a huff, still blushing and fighting back a shy smile as she swaps their skewers and replaces the burnt marshmallow with a new one.

He watches with warm affection as she finishes the second marshmallow, her focus shifting to their plates where the graham crackers and chocolate await. “Okay, so you take the marshmallow and set it on the chocolate…and then you slide the skewer out by holding it down with the other graham cracker on top,” she explains methodically, watching proudly as he copies her with perfect super soldier precision.

Satisfied with the almost picture-perfect s’mores, she teasingly holds hers up as if toasting a drink before digging in to the sweet, smoky treat. Bucky follows suit, and he’s instantly surprised and delighted by the tastiness of the simple snack. He can’t help but let out a low hum of approval, nodding as the gooey chocolate and marshmallow melts on his tongue.

“Mmm…you’ve won me over. These are the best,” he murmurs through a mouthful, watching fondly as she has a similar reaction. “So much better than making them in a microwave,” she affirms, her eyes fluttering shut as the nostalgic taste floods her senses.

She’s in the middle of wiping crumbs from her mouth and suggesting making another batch when she’s quickly distracted by a few glowing flashes out in the expanse of grass, her eyes widening. “Buck,” she whispers excitedly, pointing out to the darkening yard. One by one, the flashes grow in number, and the field is quickly covered in them.

His eyes soften at the magical sight, and he’s content to just sit back and watch them put on their little light show from the comfort of the lawn chairs. But she’s suddenly tugging at his hand, willing him to his feet with that look of giddy determination.

“We didn’t come all the way here just to watch,” she playfully scolds, her childlike excitement growing by the minute as she pulls at his hand. He relents with an exasperated but fond sigh, brushing off the crumbs from the s’mores as he stands with an easy smile. “Lead the way, sweet girl. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

“They’re slow flyers,” she explains as she pulls him out into the yard, her eyes already on the lookout for one to catch. “Super clumsy, too. They’ll bump you by accident if you’re in the way.” The seriousness with which she speaks about the small, flashing bugs nearly makes him laugh, but he holds it back for her sake. This is clearly important to her, and it’s adorable watching how determined she is to share the experience of catching them.

“What do we do with them once we catch one?” He questions softly, sincerely, his eyes glowing with love in the dim evening light as he watches her. She glances back at him, her own gaze softening at his gentle question.

“You just…look at them,” she murmurs, glancing around at the glowing bugs as she speaks. “Let them crawl around, watch them glow. I know it sounds silly, but I’m definitely about to heal your inner child.”

Trusting her as he always does, he watches in silent admiration as she gently scoops an airborne firefly into her palm, her gasp of excitement making his heart clench. “See? Look at this little guy,” she whispers eagerly, holding it up for Bucky to see. He watches as the small creature crawls around her hand, gentle and curious, before flashing its light and taking off into the air once more.

The way her eyes light up, years of fond summer memories returning to her, makes Bucky feel a pang of something achingly similar to devotion. The fact that she so desperately wanted to share something so sweet, something as innocent as catching fireflies with him, makes him believe that maybe there really is hope for him yet.

Surely he’d done something right in his long, miserable life to earn this absolute angel standing before him, marveling with little oohs and ahhs at a field of glowing bugs.

“Your turn, Barnes. You gotta indulge me here,” she teases, bringing him back to the present once more with her gentle lilt. She’s watching him with rapt attention now, like he’s the only thing worth noticing even as a dozen of her favorite summer insects fly by.

His fond smile widening at her words, he refocuses, trying to pick out the perfect lightening bug to catch in the sea of little golden flashes. Finally spotting one close by, he does his best to mimic her earlier movements, trying to scoop it into his cupped hand as it flies. He manages to capture it on his much larger palm, but it only stays for a moment before spreading its wings and taking flight.

“Damn. Not as seasoned at this as you are, darlin’,” he murmurs with a sheepish grin, watching it fly away with a slight edge of disappointment. She just laughs, spotting another and quickly catching it mid-flight in her hands. Cradling the bug close, she brings it to him, whispering for him to open his own palms.

Slowly, tenderly, she uncovers the firefly, letting it crawl up her finger as she forms a little bridge to Bucky’s vibranium hand. Flashing its light as it walks, the bug crawls down into his metal palm, and he can’t help but feel slightly fascinated as he watches it traverse the vibranium before moving over to his flesh hand.

“See? You’re a natural. Just needed a little help from the pro,” she winks, her eyes flicking between his own and the tiny, almost magical bug in his hands.

His breath catches in his chest as the tenderness of the moment overwhelms him. Here he is, a wall of hardened muscle with super soldier serum coursing through his veins, gently cupping a firefly in his hands like it’s the most precious thing in the world. It all feels too pure, too good to be true, and he has to swallow back the lump that suddenly sits in his throat.

After another few flashes of light, the firefly takes off from his hands, and Bucky feels as if maybe it’s carrying away some of his burdens as it goes. Watching it disappear into the night, his attention returns to his girl, who’s staring at him with that twinkle in her eye that makes him all too aware of the things he’d sacrifice to ensure her safety.

“So? Is it as amazing as I hyped it up to be?” She murmurs with that sweet, knowing smile, as if she can already tell he’s utterly enchanted with this spur-of-the-moment trip to the countryside she’d concocted that morning.

His arms work their way around her waist, pulling her close to his chest as he gazes down at her. “It’s perfect, sweetheart. Even though it’s just as hot here as it was in the city,” he teases in that low, rumbling voice that makes her heart beat just a little faster.

She rolls her eyes dramatically, as if he couldn’t be more wrong. “Sure it is, Buck. Even though we totally made it to the house without our s’more supplies melting,” she fires back with a grin, no bite to her arguing words. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead in reply, his gentle blue eyes soft with fondness. “Your sweaty forehead and the melted icees beg to differ, baby.”

They stare at one another for a long moment, the teasing air between them fading into something more reverent, more sentimental. “Thank you, by the way.” Bucky’s voice cuts through the comfortable silence, his hand gently motioning to the cozy country house behind them and the yard filled with flickering yellow lights.

“Never thought I’d have someone who cared enough to do spontaneous stuff like this for me. S’mores and fireflies and summer traditions I missed out on. Makes me feel…I don’t know, more human. And I need you to know how much it means to me,” he murmurs lowly, his fingers lifting to gently brush a strand of unruly hair away from her cheek.

She’s utterly entranced by him and his tender touch, his vulnerable, loving words nearly bringing tears to her eyes. “Of course, Buck. All I wanted was for us to have a good time together,” she whispers into the shrinking space between them, her eyes locked onto his own.

“I know I can be a little much sometimes, complaining about the heat and dragging you to a house a few hours from home for something as silly as catching fireflies. But I love you, and I really wanted to share this with you, baby. You deserve some new, happy summer memories to look back on.”

His heart aches with adoration for this woman of his as she explains the significance of the trip, her bleeding heart and unyielding kindness filling his veins with a burning kind of love he doesn’t know what to do with. So, he does the only thing he knows how to when his emotions grow too strong to name. He kisses her.

It’s a delicate, gentle thing, his lips brushing against her own with a practiced ease as his vibranium hand shifts from her waist to her jaw. Surrounded by the glow of what feels like thousands of fireflies, he greedily pulls her closer, her lips tasting like bonfire smoke and chocolate and everything good about a warm summer evening.

He only pulls away when they both run out of breath, his metal thumb still softly brushing along her jawline before moving to stroke her bottom lip. “I think we should come here every summer,” she whispers breathlessly, a tender, lovesick smile pulling at her lips. “When Brooklyn gets unbearably hot and our terrible air conditioner starts to drive me crazy again.”

He huffs a rough, throaty laugh at that, so in love with her in this moment that it physically hurts. He finds himself daring to envision a future full of endless summer memories, countryside kisses and s’mores and the girl he adores more than anything.

“Yeah?” he rasps, his breath heavy as he pulls her in for yet another kiss and earns a sweet giggle in return. His heart feels fuller than it ever has, and he’s sure, now so more than ever, that he’s a goner for this woman.

“That’s an idea I can get behind.”

────── ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ──────

note: yay for my very first bucky work that i’ve published! it’s honestly crazy that this is my first time posting a fic for him, especially since he’s my all time favorite character and i have a folder full of drafts i’ve never had the stamina to finish lol.

this idea came to me the other day when i was reminiscing about midwestern summers spent chasing down fireflies, and i found myself imagining how sweet that kind of scenario would be with bucky. i had so much fun writing this insanely fluffy and silly piece about summer shenanigans, and i truly hope everyone enjoys it! thanks for reading! ;)

[brookediamonds]

i can’t do well when i think you’re gonna leave me, but i know i try

Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Part 3 to ‘who’s the cute boy in the white (black) jacket and the thick accent?’

Summary: It’s the day before the finals, and after an amazing night with Axel you’re head over heels for your rival making things simmer between teams.

Wc: 2.7k Warnings: allusions to sex (up to reader) 18+, fluff, little angst, characters are aged up to 18

gif is not mine

The sound of a door shutting close woke you from your slumber state making you groan at the noise. The sun peaked in through the white sheer curtains, making you squint at the light.

“Sorry, ljubavi,” Axel apologizes walking over to you, holding a plate of food. You sat up in your spot adjusting the large t-shirt your lover had given you the night before.

“Brought us some breakfast,” he says plopping down next to you, the smell of eggs, bacon, strawberries, and avocado toast filling your senses.

“Thank you,” you mumble still waking up, you rub your eye noticing he was trying to hand you a fork. You take the utensil gratefully, and start picking at the eggs.

“Taste okay?” Axel asks noticing your silence. You were silent in the morning's, it took you a second to wake up.

“Delish,” you respond through a mouth full of toast making him laugh. He picks up a piece of fruit with his hand and holds it to your mouth letting you have a bite.

He finishes the strawberry off, licking the tips of his fingers making you squirm in your place. So hot.

“I can’t thank you enough,” you say taking a bite of your avocado toast.

“For what, ljubavi?” Axel asks sincerely. You set down your fork on the plate.

“This,” you motion to the gesture of him bringing you breakfast in bed. “Last night, everything.”

The tips of his ears turn red, both of you recalling the past ten hours. The Croatian man twists his head to look at you, reaching up to caress the side of your face making you lean into his warm touch.

“I’d do anything for you,” he declares, his electric green-blue eyes boring into yours. You feel your heart sputter into your chest at his confession.

“Why?” You ask self consciously. You had never had someone adore you so much, it was intoxicating and overwhelming all at once.

“I care about you, so much,” he says without hesitation. “No one’s ever paid me attention for other than my karate. To have someone as beautiful and caring as you even look at me, is a privilege.”

You leaned your forehead against his, nuzzling your noses, you wanted to be close as possible to him.

“You mean a lot to me too,” you exhale running your fingers through his messy locks. “So much.”

You move the plate of food to the nightstand, Axel meeting you half way to kiss you lovingly. Wrapping your hands around his neck, you pulled the boy on top of you as you laid back into the pillows.

His hand trailed up your naked thigh, hiking it up to rest over his hip, as you molded your mouths together.

The sound of your ring tone suddenly caught you off guard, making you pull away from Axel’s lips. You giggled as he continued to leave soft wet kisses along your jaw and down your neck as you reached for your phone.

It was a text from Sam.

Sammy 👯‍♀️🙈🐙: My dad just called me, he said there’s an emergency meeting down in the lobby for the Sekai Taikai.

ps. I WANT DETAILS 🫵🏼

You chuckled at the text before locking your phone.

“I am being summoned,” you groan making Axel look up from the crevice of your neck.

“Must you go?” He pouts pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” you frown bringing your hand up to brush away a few strays of hair from his forehead.

You and Axel share a long look of adoration, not wanting to end this moment of intimacy and fondness.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” you speak up. “Just know I…I will always be there for you and you’re in my heart forever.”

You knew you were young, and never would find anything like this again, something so rare and precious it was all so endearing and it was unfortunately coming to an end.

“I am yours, and you are mine,” he claims feeling the mutual warmth you felt. You nod pressing one final kiss to his lips before moving off the bed.

Axel watches as you slide the romper on from the night before, his green t-shirt falling mid thigh over your clothing.

Walking you to the door, you turn back to the tall young man who towered over you.

“Bye my ljubavi,” you use his nickname for you against him, a small mischievous smile playing on your lips. Reaching down for a quick peck, he looks down at you daringly.

“See you soon,” he grins sending you off with a soft pat on your ass. You yelped, laughing to yourself as you walked to the elevator.

As you stood alone in the enclosed box, you reached up gently touching your puffy lips missing the mouth that was just on yours a few minutes ago.

—————————————————————————

After a long shower and a detailed rundown of last nights events, you and Sam make your way to the lobby seeing your teammates waiting for you all.

“Helloooo,” you greet them happily sliding into the conversation.

“Good morning to you too,” Robby laughs seeing your upbeat state.

“She was with Axel wasn’t she?” Demetri inquires pointing over at you and not to mention your new black jacket that hung a little loose on you.

“Listen, if you had a tall, muscular, blue eyed, Croatian boy falling all over you too, you would be just as down bad as me,” you raise your head high gently patting the tall nerd’s head.

“But I’m not-“ Demetri begins to say something but gets cut off by Miguel.

“Just let her have this,” Miguel defends you making you smile accomplished. Demetri and Robby walk away leaving you, Sam, and her boyfriend alone.

You press a quick kiss to Miguel’s cheek, squeezing it like he were a kid making him whine.

“Love him for that,” you say looking over at Sam. She laughs at the interaction, rubbing his back soothingly.

As the three of you talked, you see Miguel glancing up from you and Sam a few times.

“Okay, um (Y/n), why does your boyfriend keep staring at me like that?” Miguel asks interrupting me mid-conversation.

You whip your head back seeing Axel stand from a distance, arms crossed, a hard look on his face. He realizes you’re suddenly looking at him, and breaks his eyes away.

“No clue, I’ll be right back,” you say taking a step forward only for Robby to approach you all.

“Hey, bro, how’d it go?” Miguel asked referring to Robby’s talk with Tory. You looked back for Axel, frowning when you realized he wasn’t in sight anymore.

“Pretty much how’d you expect it to go,” Robby shrugs, your focus now on the blonde boy.

“I’m sure once all the craziness dies down, you guys are gonna figure it out,” Sam reassures your co-captain.

“She’ll come around,” you add in for extra support.

“Maybe,” Robby agreed looking over at you. “Not much I can do until then, but give her some room so… in the mean time we got a tournament to win.”

The three of you nod all in understanding that winning was your priority at the moment.

“Yeah we do,” Miguel quips up. “And look, all things being equal, it’s pretty sweet knowing that Cobra Kai’s not a threat anymore.”

Before anyone could say anything else, there’s an announcement over the PA stating for everyone in the competition, even those who have been eliminated, to report to the lobby.

All of the teams circled around the head announcer Gunther, waiting for the news that was urgent.

“My apologies for summoning you all like this,” Gunther apologizes. “But under the circumstances, it was necessary.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, you and Sam sharing a look of confusion.

"The Sekai Taikai has a long and honorable tradition," Gunther begins to explain. "We fight hard but we fight fair. That's why I am saddened to announce that one of the dojos here has tarnished that tradition by cheating."

Oh no. Your team immediately looks over at Cobra Kai whom stood next to you guys.

"Sensei Ivanoov," the announcer fiercely looks over at the blue and red team, gasps erupting among the students around you.

"Four of your students have tested positive for performance-enhancing drugs," Gunther informs everyone. "You are hereby eliminated."

Your mouth fell open due to shock, but ultimately understood. It was far too much for just a tournament.

"What the hell are you talking about?" The sensei seethed with anger.

"You are hereby removed from our finalists," Gunther concluded.

Wait.

If they're eliminated, that means-

"Replacing Udar Tigra will be the dojo with the next highest point total...Cobra Kai."

Your eyes fell to the team celebrating next to you, a feeling of dread washing over you. When will this end?

"And on a more positive note, we'll announce the draws for our semifinals," the head of the committee spoke. His assistant hands him two envelopes.

"In our girls bracket, the first semifinalist will be Maria Àlvarez, versus Zara Malik," Gunther appoints starting to make you feel nervous.

"And in the second match, that will pit Tory Nichols against (Y/n) (L/n)," confirming your suspicion, you let out a hitched sigh.

Tory was never your enemy, there was bad blood but all of you had finally cleared the air, to be here again made you feel sick.

"In our boys bracket, our first semifinal match will be; Diego Aguilar, and versus Kwon Jae-Sung," he lists the first set of boys. "And our second semifinal match will pit..."

That only left...

"Axel Kovačević and Robby Keene."

Axel and Robby make brief eye contact, a certain look of challenge coming across his face.

"Good luck to all our semifinalists, we look forward to seeing you tomorrow at the venue."

You watch Axel as he stares at your co-captain, arms crossed, before walking away.

"Axel The Invincible and (Y/n)-Tory chapter a billion, it's less than ideal," Demetri complains.

Ignoring Demetri's words, you jog up to Axel grabbing his arm. He turns to face you, eyes narrowing down at you.

"Are you okay?" You question the stand offish boy.

"Never better," Axel says quickly, avoiding your gaze. You weren't buying it.

"What's wrong?" You ask almost desperately. Axel saw the frown on your face, a wave of guilt coming over him.

"Zara showed me this," Axel pulls his phone out and hands you his device allowing you to see what had him so distraught.

It was a picture of you and Miguel hugging in the locker room yesterday.

"I saw you kiss him," he adds in, betrayal lingering in his voice.

Handing his phone back you take a deep breath understanding how this looks to him.

"Do you remember when I told you about my dad?" You remind the angsty boy.

He nods recalling your dinner, the two of you talking about family, specifically your dad passing.

"Miguel's mom is pregnant and in the hospital," you explain softly. "She was in critical condition, having a baby at an older age is very risky, I was just trying to be there for him."

His face fell, making you reach out and tip his head to eye level with yours.

"I kissed his cheek because he defended me and you being together," you finish explaining. "Miguel's not a threat, if anything he's our biggest fan.”

Axel grabs your hand on his chin, and pulls you into a tight embrace.

"I apologize," his deep accent sends a wave comfort through you. "I did not mean to be so..."

You lean back keeping your hold around him, and shush him.

"I understand," you assure the guilty boy in from you. “It looked bad, I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

“Do not worry, it was my mistake,” he fully admits bringing his hands up to hold the sides of your face.

“Don’t forget, you are mine and I am yours,” you remind him of his words from this morning. Axel smiles at your words before attaching his lips to yours.

“See you after training?” He suspects voice lingering with hope.

“Of course,” you promise.

With one final kiss, you bid goodbyes and meet with your team at the staircase.

—————————————————————————

You lay on Axel’s naked chest, his arm wrapped around your waist as you traced lines connecting the small freckles that scattered amongst his nose.

His eyes were slumped shut, embracing the soft touch of your finger tip running tenderly over his face.

“You are going to make me fall asleep, mišiću (little mouse),” Axel says lightheartedly, rubbing his hand up and down your back softly.

“Nooo,” you whine pressing quick kisses all over his face. “Stay with me baby.”

Axel flutters his eyes looking at you amused.

“But I should probably go,” you frown. “Let us get some rest.”

“No,” Axel fought before flipping you on to lay on your back as he hovered over you. “You belong here with me, forever.”

You giggle as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms under your body to keep you from moving. Snaking your arms over his shoulders, you snuggle further into the pillows, and bring a hand up to run through his soft red brown hair.

“Who am I to object?” You sigh feeling the upmost comfortable. Your legs entangle with one another’s, Axel fully resting his body on top of yours.

The security and safety you felt made your heart ache and almost want to cry because you knew after tomorrow everything would change.

After the tournament you would find yourself being split up from the boy you were falling for, and you were not prepared for it.

“I really like you,” you voice quietly making Axel turn his face to look at you. “I don’t want tomorrow to come.”

“Do not worry, ljubavi,” Axel shushes you. “I would travel the world to be with you again.”

“You would?” You ask your lower lip starts to quiver, your heart squeezing in your chest. It sounded too good to be true, and cheesy but for one more night, you could believe it.

“Absolutely,” he confesses. “You made me see what life can look like without karate and I have never felt more at home than when I am with you.”

You can’t help the tear that escapes your eye, his words leaving a mark on your heart.

“For now, be here with me," he pulls you back into the moment making you forget about the future.

You could put off the future for tonight, right here beneath him.

—————————————————————————

You're fidgeting with the bracelet Axel gave you a few days ago, remembering the conversation you had at dinner about it.

A few days ago...

"My dad and Sam's dad were best friends growing up, so naturally me and her became best friends," you explained your backstory to the boy you were on a date with. "We all bonded over karate and their sensei, it was a whole thing..."

You smile fondly at the memories of the four of you together, before things got bad.

"Did your father come to tournament?" Axel quizzes, slightly hoping to meet a part of your family. He immediately takes notice to the way your smile fades, a sadness glazing over your (e/c) eyes.

"He passed when I was twelve," you say quietly, avoiding Axel's gaze. "Car accident."

Axel reaches for your hand that sits on top of the table, to which you lay your hand on top of his accepting his comfort.

"I am sorry, I did not know-"

"You couldn't have known, it's okay," you assure him squeezing his hand.

Axel can't help but stare at you with admiration, the way you held yourself together with strength and compassion only made his worship for you grow.

He looks down at the bracelet tied around your wrist, remembering what it represented.

"You know the Barcelona flower embodies its roots with nature," Axel flips your wrist to reveal the four petaled symbol. "It can blossom and adapt to its environment. Much like you."

You can't help the small grin that forms on your face, his dark blue irises captivating and kept you from looking anywhere else that night.

Whatever happens today, win or lose, you knew you had fallen for the opponent and you were okay with that.

Especially when he showed up on your doorstep a few months later, keeping his promise to you.

----------------------------------------------------------------

ALTERNATE ENDING RIGHT HERE

(a/n: y'all don't kill me, I couldn't write a proper ending to this bc lowkey I really want to continue when part 3 of season 6 comes out 🌚 so I made it super subtle and wrote an alternate ending which will not be released till quite literally part 3 is released. lets keep the good vibes rolling though, send in requests for our beloved axel!!)

(ps when reader goes up to group and goes "hellooooo" i want you tp picture cristina yang when she get the sparkle pager from mer and approaches everyone all happy 💀🤣)

Taglist: @karmaswitch @fallout-girl219 @babylambdietcoke

[clawsdevour]

｡. ˚oikawa husband hcs

wc: 0.6k content warning: post-time skip, fluff, goofy silly husband oikawa, not proofread

っ ᐟ˒𓂂

-Oikawa, the type of husband to love to just hold your hand. Everytime he does though, he always looks at it to admire the ring he picked out for you the moment he knew you were the one. He can't help but smile and kiss the small gem while admiring the luck.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to absolutely love laughing with you. It's not that he likes laughing but more of hearing you laugh with him. He enjoys silly little moments where you get to laugh off a small mistake or just simple tickle fights.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to plan little "slumber parties" with you. He'd go out his way to buy little pouches of face masks and cut up little cucumbers for your eyes. While you're at it, Oikawa would also enjoy baking cookies to eat while you both binge-watch your current favorite shows. He loves doing little fun activities like these because you both get a chance to unwind and relax together.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to probably gossip with you about his volleyball team and old friends like how he met Hinata in Brazil. He loves telling you about his volleyball career as well since it's a big part of who he is and he appreciates how you love every version of him.. especially when you're real invested in the short volleyball gossip sessions.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to love ruining your cute couple selfies by making the goofiest faces mid pic until you get serious. Don't get me wrong, he enjoys taking selfies. But what he enjoys most is the memory behind the photos.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to give you his all. Every small effort he puts into you for instance, making you a simple breakfast. He puts every little thought into every action. Do you like bacon? He'd sizzle a fresh batch for you. Do you like your eggs whole or scrambled with salt and pepper? If you don't he wouldn't cook it that way. He remembers every little detail without you even realizing it.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to give you the best shoulder massages when you're having one of those days. He'd immediately notice your slight shift in energy and tell you to sit down in front of him while his fingers work that setter magic, relieving all the pent up stress and freeing up your tensed muscles while he reassures you with his comforting words.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to love going out on dates with you. He enjoys planning them, calling restaurants, booking flights, and overall going above and beyond for a good time with the one he loves the most. He truly loves to spoil you. He'd enjoy taking you out to foreign countries where you both can bask in the ambiance of new land where it's just you two.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to be a complete fatass for the food you cook. Doesn't matter if you're a bad or a good chef, he genuinely likes that you enjoy cooking for him. Every meal he eats, he can feel the love that you cooked it with every bite that just gets better. He's stuffing his cheeks full like a hamster to the point where he'd accidentally end up choking for water.

-Oikawa, the type of husband to definitely send you reels while he's out for work. He'd for sure be watching them and laugh when reading the comment section to the point where he has to send you the reels and sends screenshots of the comments he found the funniest. Oikawa would quite literally laugh in your dms saying stuff like "LOL HINATA DID THIS ONCE"

masterlist here

[thisgirlisgaythankyouverymuch]

Chapter 1: The Lights Flickering

Neglected! Sung Jinwoo Reader x Yandere Batfamily

TW: Impending Danger (Implied), Foreshadowing of Loss, Mild Child Endangerment (Implied), Emotional Tension, Dark Themes (Its Gotham so of course its dark)

WC: 1.3k

"Flash News: 

A strange phenomenon has been reported near Robinson Park. Witnesses have all described a blue portal that has suddenly appeared today, giving off an unknown energy. The area that had been said to have spawned this portal is currently off limits and is under investigation by members of the Justice League.

However, sources confirm that even with great effort, none of the members have been able to enter the portal, keeping its origin and purpose for appearing unknown.

Authorities urge civilians to stay clear and far away from the area as the Justice League continues their analysis.

In a shocking turn of events, the sudden emergence of different individuals showing supernatural abilities is said to be coincidental to the emergence of the dungeon. Early reports have been filed around the world, with citizens awakening abilities that defy the laws of Science. Although this would have been a shock, only a few hundred have been reported to have been granted this ability. The researchers of STAR labs have been analyzing these individuals and have been testing their abilities near the said portal in Robinson Park.

Although research and reports have been scarce, resources say that the labs will further investigate the situation at hand."

.

.

.

"A new portal crisis, huh? Well, isn't that interesting?" (M/N) says as they pick up their child, who is watching TV, giggling as the little one, no older than four, tries to wriggle out of their grasp, eager to keep watching the news. Holding the child close, (M/N) carries them into the kitchen. Footsteps echo from a nearby room as they begin preparing breakfast.

As the mother begins to serve breakfast, a low grumble from a male could be heard, laced with annoyance and irritation, but also the heavy drag of someone who didn't get enough sleep. The said male then went to give two of the most precious people in his life good morning kisses. One accepted the affection with a hum, eyes still half-lidded but a smile present, while the smaller one gave out an irritated grumble, clearly more interested in the bear pancakes their mom had made.

"Rough night, dear?" (M/N) said, placing down the plate of bacon and eggs as she poured a cup of coffee for her husband. (F/N) nodded and sat down at the table, taking a sip from his mug. "The lab called me last night," he said quietly, the steam from his coffee swirling around his tired eyes. "They said I need to help with the investigation about the portal in the park. Looks like they’re bringing in more researchers for this one." He took a bite of bacon, chewing thoughtfully as he glanced at his wife. "What about you? Did they reach out to you about it?" His brow furrowed a bit. "I hope not, because you’re already busy with this little gremlin." He pointed lightly at the child, smiling at the kid, who was completely focused on their pancakes.

"They did." (M/N) replied, wiping off the syrup smeared on the child's cheek. "But I rejected the offer. I can't carry on more tasks when I've got my hands full, especially with (reader)." She then looked at her husband before looking back at the little gremlin devouring the pancakes, syrup sticking onto the sleeves of the shirt she was wearing. "I tried to find a nanny... didn't work out." The woman then stood up and took the plates from the table before cleaning the dishes near the kitchen sink. "Although Mrs. Wetherby said she’d be more than happy to watch over (Reader)." (M/N) says as she dried her hands with a towel. The man then hummed before he stood up, scooping the child up and going to the bathroom to start the bath for the gremlin.

As the man adjusted the water temperature, waiting for the tub to fill, a quiet thought surfaced.

“Five years old next week, huh?” he murmured to himself, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He reached for the bubble bath and poured a generous amount into the stream, watching the foamy suds rise.

Behind him, the child’s eyes lit up as they realized what was happening.

“Bubbles!” they squealed before darting out of the room at full speed.

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess that means toy reinforcements.”

He knelt by the tub, swirling the water gently as the bubbles grew, the air filling with the scent of lavender and plastic. Despite the early morning stress and the heavy topic lingering just outside the door, for this moment, just this one, everything felt simple. Whole.

.

.

.

"Alright, I'm heading to work now, my love" (F/N) says as he takes his coat and bag near the front door, not before pressing a kiss on the side of his wife's cheek and their child's forehead. "I'll see you at work, alright?" The woman then nodded her head before calling after him, "(F/N)! Can you stop by the cafe for my coffee, please?" (M/N) shouted to him. He then rolled down the window of the driver's side before shooting her a thumbs up and a wink. The mother giggled at his antics before looking over towards her child, waving to their Father, chuckling softly as the child ran towards the car, knocking on the door of the car before hugging (F/N). "Take care, Papa! Please come back safely." the child said as their hair was ruffled by the said father, getting a bit irritated but also laughing gleefully.

As the woman looked at the scene, she couldn't help but feel a little worried. The thing that appeared gave her the feeling of fear and anxiety, fearing for something that she didn't know yet could already feel through her bones. She then looked over again before taking the child and looking towards the car, driving off, watching as she scooped the kid up, walking away when the car was out of sight. She then changed her clothes for work before taking the papers from her desk, stuffing the papers in her bag, and picking up the child and the things they needed before getting dropped off at the sweet old woman's home.

The sweet old woman had insisted on helping, having spotted the dark circles under her eyes days ago. “Even though I’m old, I can still take care of children, you know?” Mrs. Wetherby had said with a wink. “Besides, it’s quite lonely eating apple pie all by myself. I thought I might share some with (Reader), they do have a sweet tooth, don’t they?” laughing softly as she gestured to the mother to enter her home. On the table looked to be a freshly baked pie, the smell of cinnamon, sugar, and apples filling the room, embracing the mother with a comforting feeling as she looked over the table. The pie had looked like it had only been pulled out of the oven, the crust perfectly golden brown and flaky, the apples inside gleaming beneath the soft sunlight that entered the room, sticky-sweet glaze covering the apples as she took a big slice of the pie, wrapping it up before giving it the the mother. "You know you could ask me for help, right, dear?" Mrs. Wetherby told the mother. Although they were in Gotham, a terrifying place, the fear seemed to disappear as the mother looked over to the old woman, who was smiling at her, her hazel brown eyes looking so warm, wrinkles forming at the side of her eyes, and her black hair turning gray, silence enveloped the mother, but not the akward type, It was like a warm blanket hugging her after a long day at work, where you can finally relax after working rigurous hours. With that, the mother agreed, thanking the old woman with a smile as big as hers.

So, with everything they needed, the mother soon took off with her child walking beside her on the sidewalk, heading straight to the woman's home, feeling content with her small family and Mrs. Wetherby, who was also now becoming a part of it as well.

But this contentment would soon disappear, as the Shadows of Gotham would soon sink its bare fangs on her beloved family, a cruel punishment they didn't deserve but was placed on them.

Oh, My Dear Gotham, why must you be so cruel.....

A/N: Heyyo, Everyone! decided to post the first part early as it is rotting in my drafts for weeks now, I had the motivation to finish this today, and felt like I should post it so I could start on other chapters. As usual, this fanfic is for fun and for entertainment only. I do not own any of the characters unless said otherwise. English is NOT my first language.

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