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sceletaflores · 9 days ago

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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!

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em1989ts · 6 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 - 𝐩𝐭 2

five hargreeves x fem! reader smut

part one. main masterlist

word count: 2.6k

summary: after meeting five in the apocalypse, the two of you have a hard time living together. can the two of you control your tempers for one particularly cold winter night to save your lives?

contains: smut so 18+! (reader and five are both 5 years into the apocalypse so they are both eighteen) grinding, dry humping, fingering

author's note: yikes, my first smut. my inbox is open and i'm taking requests!! id love to hear some ideas :) I really wanted to upload this quickly so it's not proofread but eventually i'll edit it . . . but hopefully you guys like this, enjoy!

Living with this stranger definitely changed your life. Whether it was for better or for worse, you had no idea.

The two of you walked for about an hour to his base, with very little verbal interaction reflecting the very little trust between each other.

After a little bit of prying on your part, you managed to extract a bit more background information about this guy who you would now be surviving alongside.

His name was Five Hargreeves.

He had six siblings.

They had super powers.

They were a team of superheroes formed by their father.

When he first told you, you chuckled through the bandana over your mouth and nose, but he didn’t display the same humor.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Why would I not be?”

“Well maybe you just went cuckoo here and made up some super stupid backstory!” You replied, pretty certain that he was just nuts.

Then all of a sudden, he disappeared.

You jumped at a flash of blue light that suddenly appeared next to you. When you looked back to the area where he was standing, he was gone.

Looking around frantically, your eyes searched the dusty highway for any signs of him. But there was nothing.

Was he even there to begin with? Was he just a figment of your overactive imagination?

Your breathing grew heavy once again as you panicked, then suddenly that blue light and he was right back in his spot next to you, looking amused at your eyes that were wide with shock.

“Maybe you’re the one who’s cuckoo,” he said with a smug voice. You punched him in the shoulder before the two of you continued walking.

~~~~

His base was interesting, to say the least.

He had found a building that had only remnants of its walls intact, no roof, and used tarps to makeshift a roof and to cover the enormous gaps in the concrete.

It didn’t look trustworthy by any means, you’d probably be better off sleeping in cars like you’ve been doing for the past five years.

He lifted one of the tarps covering a significantly large hole in the wall and crawled in, letting it fall on you as you follow in behind him. You scoffed as you followed his lead.

He surprisingly had a good stash of resources. Several canned foods, boxes of pasta, and cases of water were stacked in a corner. A makeshift fireplace was in the middle, with a pot leaning next to the circle of rocks.

There was a small space in the corner. It consisted of what looked like a bundle of tarps and ashy blankets and pillows. You knew whatever happened to the world pretty much converted everything to dust, but he must’ve found those in cars, which somehow withstood some of the fire.

Since you had been sleeping in cars, you collect a couple of sleeping supplies you had found over the years. Thank fuck people decided to road trip before they perished or else you would have frozen to death ages ago.

You began unpacking your bag and wagon, but you could feel his eyes watching you intently.

Once you got settled, you didn’t really know what to do to break the unnerving awkward silence, he just sat there staring. You would tell him to take a picture since that would last longer but you're pretty sure there were no surviving cameras in the apocalypse.

The sun had set about twenty minutes ago, leaving the base to get darker as night grew closer.

He made his way over to the fire pit, and took out a lighter from one of his pockets. When he went to light the wood aflame, the lighter wouldn’t spark. He tried for a while until you couldn’t bear watching the pathetic scene anymore. You took one of the new lighters you had just grabbed today and handed it over to him. He scoffed and snatched it out of your hand, then lit the fire in one try before tossing it on the ground and quickly walking away.

You were taken aback by his childish actions. Sure, he was alone for years and only had himself to rely on, but now you were here so he shouldn’t be this upset to ask for help with a simple task.

“You know,” you started with an annoyed tone, “the only reason I’m here is so we can work together.”

“I don’t need you or your help,” he snapped.

You cocked your head, not offended but amused. You found his self-reliance ridiculous.

Sure, it would’ve done him wonders if he truly was the only person on Earth, having no one but himself to rely on.

But he wasn’t.

And you sure as hell couldn’t go back to the way things were before.

If the two of you had decided that you could continue to survive on your own once again, you would drive yourselves mad knowing that there was another human to talk to, that someone else was out there alive and that you weren’t alone.

You had to stay together to keep yourselves sane.

“Fine.”

You had too long of a day to even bother arguing with him. He’d either get used to you or die trying.

You got up from the dusty ground and tossed yourself on his soft makeshift bed, comfortably taking over. He groaned frustratingly loud, and he tossed his head back and walked outside to get away from the bothersome girl he now had to deal with.

~~~

A few months had passed since Five had encountered the girl at the gas station. That was the last thing he expected when he went out for more supplies that day.

He definitely never thought he would have to share his hard earned food supply, water supply, and base with her, but that’s exactly what happened.

She was impossible. She was incredibly sarcastic. She was such a pain.

And of course, she was a nobody. This meant whenever she got bored of staring into her gross canned beans during those nights by the fire, she would ask about his past.

He had already told her everything she needed to know, but she kept prying about how he got here, what life was like as a superhero, how his family was. At first, he would ignore her, or at least change the topic to distract her empty mind, but eventually he decided he could tell her little by little. He didn’t trust her, but he knew she wouldn’t try to kill him again.

Initially, he wasn’t thrilled about being stuck with a girl. He was focused on survival, and his alone. But he quickly realized she was incredibly capable of surviving in this long gone world. Hell, she could’ve shot him dead that first day, yet she didn’t.

He had been faced with the barrel of a gun several times in his life, yet he’d never felt the way he had when his life rested in the twitch of your finger.

Your anger did something to him. He blamed it on his teenage hormones, but he couldn’t get enough of when you would pounce at him with a clenched fist. He enjoyed bumping into you purposefully, tripping you, picking you up just to toss you away from him. His constant scowl only hid his raging smirk every time you would get up close, letting him see every detail of your face, how your pupils dilated with intense anger, just to yell about how selfish he was, knowing you were just as guilty.

If surviving on your own in the end of the world wasn’t hard enough, providing for two was nearly impossible. You had to be extremely cautious about your rations, conserving your intake only to what was deemed necessary. Oftentimes, the two of you would steal from each other when no one was watching, which would piss them off horribly, leading to even more fights. If starvation didn’t kill you, your deadly attitudes would.

Your tempers had gone through the roof once you started living together.

Walking away from a fight would call for a knife to be thrown at you behind your back. A snarky comment would result in a hand coming in and punching over your meal.

While neither of you were going out of your way to deliberately kill the other, you sure wouldn’t mind if it accidentally happened.

When the nights got colder, and autumn turned to winter, the wind would pick up, making it extremely difficult for the tarps to trap any heat into the base. No matter what the two of you did, the constant flapping drove you insane, and you had already been ticked off when he ignored every single idea you had. His bright idea of just stretching the tarp tight enough over the biggest gap in the whole base led to it ripping right in half, letting the winds fly in with no other tarp big enough to replace it.

“Great job, you dumb fuck,” you muttered as you turned to the fire, which was too small for its warmth to be felt from the beds.

Your nose felt like it was about to fall off, your fingers felt like nothing, and your lips were blue. You had put on every layer you could find and it still wasn’t enough. Surely, this was the harshest winter you’d experienced in the apocalypse.

You had usually been fine sleeping in cars, but every single one within a mile radius had been completely destroyed. The two of you would let out your violent rage on the vehicles rather than each other.

Five had stared at you from his spot by the hole in the wall, snowflakes freckling his face, holding the remains of the tarp. He did his best to cover as much as he could with the pieces then made his way over to you. He noticed how red your cheeks were, and how pale the rest of you was. You had sat down by the fire and dropped your chin between your knees.

“We’re not surviving this winter,” you said solemnly. You weren’t necessarily giving up, you would still do what you could, but you had little hope in yourself. Morale was hard to build these days, especially when all you wished was to throw yourself into the fire for even a moment of warmth.

For Five, giving in to the cold wasn’t an option. Not in the slightest.

He had an idea, maybe a bold one, but if it meant living to see another spring then he would do it. He walked over to the bed and grabbed as much as he could grab. The tarps, blankets, and pillows stuffed under his arms until he couldn’t fit anymore, and he dropped them right next to you by the fire and started laying them out.

You lifted your head up slightly and displayed a curious arch in your brow as you watched him remake his bed on the ground. The idea was so obvious you cursed yourself for not thinking of it first.

As you were getting up to grab your bed supplies, a freezing hand pulled you back down and into him. You caught your balance with your hand on his jacketed shoulder, “What the hell?-”

“Just listen to me,” he cut you off, “The only way either of us is gonna last the night is if we use our body heat. The fire’s going to help but it won’t be enough.”

You scowled, was that seriously the only option?

Instead of letting you take your sweet time to contemplate whether or not it was worth it to cuddle with him for your life, he tugged you into him and laid down with you.

His arms wrapped around your front as he held you against his chest, and holy fuck, it felt as if you had been leaning against a furnace. His heat warmed you up quickly, and you brought a blanket up to your chin to keep that heat locked in.

The proximity of the two of you was what kept you from falling asleep immediately. His chin resting in your neck made you feel something you didn’t want to admit you felt about Five. His arms around your waist made you want him to move his hands just a little bit lower.

You had an idea that could get you killed.

While pretending to adjust and get comfortable, you gently grinded your ass against him, trying to get a reaction.

Immediately, you could feel his arms tighten around you, and a bulge was already pressing into you.

He leaned closer to your ear and growled quietly, “What do you think you’re doing?”

You turned your neck to look at him, performing with the sweetest eyes you could display, “Just getting comfortable.”

Your lips were inches away from his, yet neither of you made a move to close the gap. Five still looked at you with skeptical eyes even though he knew exactly what you had planned.

Once you moved your hips again, a little harder, he pressed his face into your shoulder as he sighed and repeated the action.

You let out a quiet groan, enjoying the pressure, yet you brought the blanket up over your mouth to muffle it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

He picked up his pace, lowering his hands to hold your hips firm, rolling them against his. The blush on your face grew even more red, and you could feel beads of sweat forming on your forehead.

His grip was tight, his groans were getting louder, and it felt like you really had frozen to death because this felt like heaven.

His hand crawled through your layered sweatpants as he reached between your legs. As his cold fingers reached the spot you needed him most, you almost cried out, desperately needing the pressure.

His other hand moved from your waist, traveled under your sweatshirts, and found its place on your breast. The freezing touch had such a strong sensation, and the pressure felt so good.

“Please,” you let out, knowing you’d be kicking yourself later for sounding so painfully desperate, “I need more.”

He moaned in your ear as his bulge pushed harder against you, “We can’t.”

“Please,” you pleaded, as his fingers circled your clit.

God, you felt pathetic but it felt so good.

He groaned as he gathered your wetness.

“It isn’t safe,” he said, disappointed at the fact that you just couldn’t risk that in the apocalypse.

Before you could beg, he plunged his long fingers into you, soft moans spilling from your throat at the motions.

His actions grew faster and so did his panting, you knew he was getting close and you were too.

You turned your neck to face him, looking up at his flush face. He met your dazed eyes, admiring how your face glowed with pleasure. His eyes locked onto your lips as he moved closer and captured them with his.

Moaning into each other's mouths was just too much for you both, as he came in his sweatpants as you came around his fingers. He let you both ride out your highs before he gently pulled out his fingers.

He looked at you unusually sweetly, and as you turned to ask what that face was about he shoved his fingers into your mouth, sliding your juices onto your tongue, letting you taste yourself.

You were surprised initially and groaned at the action, then bit his fingers which caused him to scowl and quickly pull them out.

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“Of course not.”

~~~

tags: @groovydazephantom

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carbonfiction · 1 month ago

Text

Super fixated on frank and reader who bakes as a hobby tonight sooo, here some thoughts before I go to bed and dream about it <3

Masterlist. Warnings?: pretty fluffy, some in-descriptive smut at the end, mention of f!receiving oral and creampies- that’s basically it! Ps to those who left asks in my inbox, I’ll be getting back to you guys soon I promise <33

Frank who watches with a fond light to his eyes when you ramble on in bed about some recipe you’ve been wanting to try.

Frank who nicknames you sweetheart or sugar most often, but will pull out cupcake, buttercup or god forbid sweet cheeks if he’s feeling extra playful.

Frank who builds a shelf by hand for the kitchen solely for your ever growing collection of cookbooks.

Frank who always insists on doing the washing up, no matter how many bowls or utensils there are, so long as you dry.

Frank who always wants the first bite of whatever you’ve made right out of the oven- so much so you joke he has an asbestos mouth.

Frank who loves to gives you reviews on your bakes except it doesnt quite help because he’s always praising them like “ya know, that’s the best damn (insert bake here) I’ve ever had in my life sweetheart- hand on heart”

Frank who is always prepared to run out to the store when you run out of any ingredients.

Frank who moved in super lean and cut but gets a soft pouch over his abs by month four.

Frank who watches you potter around the kitchen from the couch, beer in hand and half hard at the sight of you in an apron.

Frank who gets fully hard after watching you lick a batter or chocolate coated spoon clean.

Frank who can’t be trusted around flour or icing sugar, lest he leave powdery handprints in inappropriate places. Again.

Frank who loves to eat you out, usually on his knees beneath your skirt, as you work at the counter. Cooing up at you to “jus’ focus on your treat while he gets his”

Frank who then insists on getting you bare and bending you over said counter when your done, fucking into you from behind because, and he quotes, “they gotta be cleaned later anyway so what’s a little extra mess”

Frank who then makes you cum so hard that your legs tremble as he pumps you full; cheekily nipping your neck as he claims cream is his favourite kind of pie.

Frank who later can be found cleaning the kitchen (and especially the counter) twice over while you lay in bed thoroughly spent.

#basically I made a cake today and got feral in the process #the dream is to be his little housewife #I can bake and offer sarcastic quips #just one chance frankie #frank castle #frank castle smut #frank castle x reader fluff #carbonrambles #frank castle x reader smut #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle punisher #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle fluff #the punisher fluff #the punisher x reader #the punisher x reader smut #frankiethoughts

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soap-ify · 1 year ago

Note

can you do a smut to fluff comfort where simon is overstimulating them and being super degrading and they safeword? Then Simon takes care of them and is basically just super sweet.

this has been sitting in my inbox for so long :( so sorry anon i hope you like it!!

cw — smut at first, degradation, use of safeword, gentle aftercare and lots of comfort.

simon had been frustrated that day, very frustrated after coming back from work. and you felt like trying something new for him.

“fucking slag… look at you takin’ this cock so well.” he spat bitterly, his girthy cock mercilessly ploughing into your tight cunt, his hands gripping your hips in a hard and bruising manner. “too dumb to even speak now, eh? only good for takin’ some cock.”

he had asked you so sweetly at first, if he could take his frustrations out on you, and you had agreed because you wanted to please your boyfriend so badly. plus some crappy porno made you think that rough sex can be amazing. silly reason, yeah.

but right now, all those insults spewing out of his mouth seemed genuine and scary, messing up with your head while your body was all sensitive from already orgasming a few times before. it was overwhelming, too overwhelming — and you knew that if you don’t speak up now, you’ll break down horribly anytime soon.

but god, you felt so guilty. you were supposed to be relaxing him, not turning it onto yourself.

“r-red…!” you managed to choke out, tears sliding down your cheeks as your fingers digged into his shoulder blades, causing simon to halt almost immediately.

“what?” his voice was gruff, eyes still a bit glossy from fucking you, though his grip had loosened significantly and worry was soon blooming onto his face.

“red…” you repeated weekly, lips wobbling as you quickly looked away, not wanting him to look at you crying over something like this.

simon gently eased himself out of you and rolled by your side, his calloused hands cradling your face. “oh, love… did i hurt you? was it too much?” he may have been sounding concerned and still reserved though he was internally panicking inside, wanting to rip and beat some sense into himself.

“yes,” you sniffled and nodded, your hands trembling as you leaned into his embrace, soft pants leaving your lips. “too rough..”

“fuck, m’sorry. so sorry, love. got carried away for a second, i-” he paused, his heart aching terribly with guilt and concern as he saw your face all soaked with tears. it soon dawned on him how mean he was being, even if you had agreed to it. he should’ve known that you were probably not used to this, maybe not even into it.

he slowly got up from the bed and helped you off the bed, his burly arms supporting you. he took you over to the bathroom and soon ran a warm bath for you, helping you sit in the bathtub, your little winces making his heart sink.

“i didn’t mean any of those words, y’know…” he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, his fingers gently caressing your head.

“i know…” you sniffled and smiled up at him sheepishly. “maybe i’m too soft for all that.”

simon sighed softly and sat by the edge of the bathtub, not caring about himself at all right now. all of his focus was solely on you, helping you clean yourself and dry up once you were done, dressing you in some comfortable pajamas.

once he came back after cleaning himself up, he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked over at you, his once stern brown eyes now soft with love and pain. “i’m so sorry, i mean it…”

“don’t apologise, si…” you gently wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands supporting your hips as he carefully propped you on top of him once he laid down, caressing your lower back.

“i love you… never wanna hurt you, y’know. m’so proud of you for speakin’ the safeword. so proud of you.” he smothered your head with chaste kisses, his breath caressing your skin.

“i love you too…” you mumbled softly, exhaustion soon taking over you. you let his heartbeat lull you into sleep alongside his soft murmurs, feeling safe once again.

#slowly getting back to answering reqs :3 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #call of duty #rurufic #ruru mail

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archangeldyke-all · 1 day ago

Note

this with sev and roach!reader omgomgomg

HI!??!!? THIS ASK IS FROM JANUARY!?????? IT JUST APPEARED IN MY INBOX??????? it's the weirdest fucking thing i'm literally crying a;lskdfjlaskdj it's a great suggestion too lmaoo i love it lets do it 6 months later???

men and minors dni

you need a joint. you need more than just a joint, after the day you had. but when you reached into your super secret shoe-box weed-stash-- you found it empty. bone dry.

sevika. your own wife smoked the last of your weed-- keef and all-- and she didn't bother to replace it. this is betrayal.

you pout and whine at your empty shoebox. you're broke. you just spent the last of your paycheck on new towels for you and sevika's bathroom, you can't even scrape together enough to buy a single gram, right now.

okay, roach, enough pouting. you snap your shoe box closed and shove it back under the bed. you just need a plan.

you sit on the bed, considering your options. the bass downstairs gently hums through your room, and you think of sevika. sevika, your ultimate betrayer. sevika, habitual gambler. sevika, who's on a winning streak tonight, cockily awaiting an opponent who can beat her in arm wrestling.

you start to giggle as an evil plan forms in your head. sure, you could just ask sevika for the money... but it's way more fun this way.

you're going to get you're weed, and you're going to get revenge too...

it's simple.

you strip your torso, then zip one of your tightest jackets over your bare tits. with a bit of adjusting and a little smack to your own ass in the mirror, you march back down to the bar, scanning the crowd for the nearest gullible asshole.

deckard's sitting in the center of the bar, a pile of gold on his table as he tries to attract women, a few of his drinking buddies swarming around him. you scoff at the sight. easy money.

"evening, boys." you greet. some of them wave, some of them nod. "any of you in a betting mood?" you ask. a few heads turn to your direction. you grin. of course they are. you place one of your last two silver pieces on the table. "betcha i'll win this next round against sevika." you say, gesturing to your wife.

the sharks grin-- they smell blood in the water. you watch in glee as the men size you up, compare you to sevika, then toss handfuls of gold onto the table betting against you.

"none of you got any faith in your good friend roach?" you ask with a teasing pout. the men laugh.

"no hard feelings, kid, it's just--"

"there's no way in hell--"

"not even lock can--"

you can't hear the rest of their doubtful statements, because you're already making a beeline toward sevika's booth.

janna. she's got her legs all spread and open, her arms draped across the booth-- a cocky little shit just daring someone to challenge her for the pile of gold on her table. she looks hot as hell.

"hey, baby." sevika says. you frown at her.

"lemme try." you demand. she blinks.

"try what?"

"lemme challenge you." you say, rolling your eyes. sevika blinks again, then she laughs. you scoff, letting her get her giggles out, before raising a stern eyebrow at her.

"you're serious?" you slide your last coin across the table, the single silver looking pathetic compared to her pile of gold. sevika blinks again. "i'll go easy on you baby, but i can't let you win." she says.

you chuckle and sit down across from her, placing your elbow on the table and offering her your hand. "c'mon." you say, impatient.

sevika eyes you suspiciously as she lines her elbow up, perfecting her placement or whatever. then, the moment your hands meet--

you pull your zipper down.

sevika's jaw drops. you slam her arm down easily and the bar erupts it cheers and groans.

sevika's still shocked, her eyes wide as you zip back up and scoop up the giant pile of coin off her table and into your pockets.

you can feel her eyes on you as you make your rounds to all of deckard's friends, collecting their coins too. they all laugh and slam you on the back, praising you for your cleverness.

you catch sevika's eye as climb the stairs-- headed to your room to count your earnings. she looks ready to devour you.

you just laugh and shake your head-- she'll have to wait. with this much coin, you can afford to make edibles. and then you'll be able to sell the leftovers to the gang too and make the money back--janna, your aunt bonnie would be so proud.

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @runawaybaby3 @vikasfemme @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@ferxanda @helaenabugmom @spookymomfriendtm @mzkaylalol @fruitsnpebbless

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette @ellieslob

@xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp @iamastar

@sevikitty @butchchase @nhaaauyen @notlores @mirconreadzztuff22

@veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @strawberrykidneystone @vkumi

@fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25 @sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown

@ruiwonderz @flowersandsuch111 @teethinamber @blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion

@dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth @leeidk87 @cinnamowor1d

#hwhere did this ask come from?!?!!:AF SD:OFJ:DS #roach lovers here's something soft as an apology for todays chapter lasjdf;laskjd #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 years ago

Text

Honey Girl. Chapter Four.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Chapter Ten. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky deal with the fallout of Cora's reveal. What's that saying? If you love something, let it go...

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. angst. alcohol consumption.

Word Count - 5k

Author's Note - i can only apologise that this chapter took a little while!! my life is at a super weird place rn, so i'm just trying to find the time when i can. words cannot describe how incredible all of your support is for Honey Girl. the fact you all reblog and comment and send me asks means the world to me. love you all so much.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You can't breathe.

It's like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the air, leaving it dry, brittle, sterile. Your lungs are burning, scratched like sandpaper. The backyard is spinning, like teenagers at a roller rink - all flashing lights and endless rotations.

You haven't taken your eyes off of Bucky, and he hasn't taken his eyes off of you. If you were thinking more logically, you'd probably realise that you've been staring at each other for too long, and it's starting to look a little suspicious. You don't care.

Your ears are ringing. It's like there's been an explosion, and you're scattered amongst the debris. Smoke, flames, rubble. A catastrophic detonation in your parents backyard.

A gentle hand on your shoulder snaps you back to reality. The music is still playing, everyone around the table is still conversing, the house still stands. No explosion here.

"Sweetheart?"

It's your Mom, clearly sensing your distress. She probably thinks you're upset with her, for telling Cora. You are, but that's not what's causing the pain in your chest.

"Come inside with me, baby girl. Let's get away from the noise for a second."

She grabs your hand and pulls you out of your chair, still none the wiser to the magnetism preventing you from breaking your gaze that's locked on Bucky's. She practically drags you inside, the cool air of the kitchen waking you up.

"Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry. Cora overheard the conversation we had earlier. I thought it was good news, so I didn't think to ask her to keep it private."

She looks like she's being eaten alive by guilt. Your bottom lip quivers, your eyes well up, and before you know it, there are warm, salty tears dripping down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey. What's the matter?"

You sit down on the tiled floor, back pressed against the cabinets. Curling your knees to your chest, you try to stifle your sobs.

"Everything's such a mess, Mama."

She drops to the ground, gathering you in her arms. She holds you as tight as she can, rubbing soothing circles into your back and whispering comforting words in your ear. Eventually, she pulls back to look at you.

"What's the matter, baby? I thought Stella's call was a good thing - that you'd be excited to go back to California."

You take a shaky breath before replying.

"It's just... I think - I don't, it's... it's so complicated."

She traces her fingers over your cheeks, your eyebrows, your nose. She dances her fingertips over your face, as if she's committing it to her mind forever. It brings back warm and cosy childhood memories of her doing the same thing to help you sleep. The two of you would snuggle up against all of your pillows in bed, tucked up and safe. She'd lie with you until she was sure you were dreaming, before kissing you on the forehead and sneaking out.

"Talk to me. We can figure it out. We always do."

"It's not that simple. I just... there's a lot going on, I guess. I thought it'd be an easy decision, but it isn't, and it's all I can think about, and it's eating me up because I'm so scared I'm gonna do the wrong thing -"

You cut yourself off with a sob, resting your head on your knees.

"I knew there was something bothering you, sweetheart. Why didn't you come and talk to us? Even if we can't fix it, we can listen."

"I thought I could handle it. I thought I could figure it out on my own."

"You don't ever have to carry stress like this on your own, baby girl. Ever. You hear me?"

You nod and lean into her, letting her rock you in her arms on the kitchen floor.

"I'm sorry again, about Cora. She means well, you know she does."

"I know. Doesn't feel like it sometimes, but I know."

A pause.

"Okay, sweetheart. What are we going to do now? Whatever you decide, we'll support you."

"Your Mom's right," your Dad says from the doorway. "Whatever you choose, we'll be right alongside you. No matter what."

He strides over to join the two of you on the floor, sandwiching you between him and your Mom.

"If you need help packing up and moving, we're here. If you need us to create an elaborate lie to tell Stella, we're here. Either way, you've got us."

You smile at him gently, leaning to rest your head on his shoulder. Regardless of what happens, you have two parents that love you more than anything in the world. That has to count for something.

"You wanna rejoin us outside, or are you too tired? No one will blame you if you go home."

"I think I'll go home," you murmur. "I don't wanna face any more questions for today."

"Bucky's just gone too. Said something about an early morning tomorrow."

You inhale shakily at the mention of his name. You know you'll have to face him sooner or later.

Your Dad stands and grabs your hands to help you to your feet, before doing the same to your Mom. They both hug you tightly before walking you out to the front door.

"Promise me you'll call if you need anything. Anything."

"I promise, Mama. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

"Do you want one of us to walk you home?"

"No, it's okay. I think I need the air."

"Love you, baby girl."

"Love you too. Both of you."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're halfway home when you decide to turn around. You need to talk to Bucky.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where he is. You can feel in your chest that he's close by, that he hasn't strayed far. He hasn't gone home, though. The Universe is pulling you in the opposite direction.

The beach.

You spin on your heel and start walking down the road, picking up pace as you go. You can feel rain in the air, threatening to spill from the clouds at any given moment. Before you know it, you're running, sprinting along the sidewalk in the direction of your soulmate.

You get to the small boardwalk and look out over the sand. The sky is grey as concrete, cold and unforgiving. You spot a figure in a worn brown leather jacket by the shore, and you know instantly. It's him.

You march onto the beach with your shoes still on, wrapping your arms around yourself to act as a shield from the wind. You left your jacket at your parent's house, too eager to get out of there in a hurry. The rain is suspended in the air, never quite reaching the ground. You know it's only a matter of time before the heavens open.

"Bucky!" you yell, practically bounding across the sand. "Buck!"

He doesn't turn because he hears your voice. He turns because he suddenly feels like he can breathe, which he hasn't been able to do for the last hour. He knew you were there before you shouted his name.

"Bucky, please!"

He spins on his heel and stops walking, waiting for you to catch up with him. You're sprinting, panting as you reach him. The ocean waves crash against the shore, dangerously close to his boots.

"Buck, just let me explain," you choke out, trying to catch your breath.

You finally stop running and look at him. He looks broken. His hair looks like he's pulled his fingers through it repeatedly, tear tracks staining his cheeks, lips bitten red. You've never seen him upset like this. It's the worst thing you've ever witnessed.

"There's nothing to explain," he begins calmly, trying to keep a lid on his feelings.

"There is, Buck. There is. I... Cora overheard me confiding in my Mom, telling her about a call I'd gotten, from a classmate at culinary school. It was just an offer - I haven't accepted anything! I never meant for you to find out like this, I swear. It's all just... it's all so fucked up."

He looks at you in disbelief.

"No, you know what's fucked up?" he asks, raising his voice. "Finding out that my soulmate is moving across the country from some alcoholic suburban mom at a dinner party!"

You've never heard him yell before. You don't like it at all. You gather yourself before replying calmly, determined to keep you emotions under wraps.

"I've been trying to find a way to talk to you about it, but I didn't know where to start. How do I even begin to explain any of this?"

"Maybe, I don't know - 'hey, Buck, I got a call and I'm thinking of moving thousands of miles away for my dream job,' would be a good place to start?"

"It's more complicated than that. I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

"From blowing your life up for me!"

You stare at each other for a minute, both of you unblinking.

"What are you talking about?" he croaks out.

"You'd drop everything for me, Bucky, and I can't let you do that. You've worked too damn hard to let it all go."

He's dumbfounded, for a moment. Not because he doesn't understand. No. He's realising that you're right.

"I knew that if I told you straight away, you'd have persuaded me to let you come with, and I would have said yes. And then you'd regret it, and you'd resent me, and we'd be over before we've even begun."

When he doesn't say anything, you continue.

"The thing is, Buck, the selfish part of me would have happily invited you along. Me and you, in California, running a bakery? That sounds like a fucking dream. But I have to listen to the other side of me, the selfless part. And that part is telling me that you have worked too damn hard for too damn long just for me to take that all away."

You feel droplets of water on your face, and for a moment, you wonder when you started to cry again. Then, in the deep distance, you hear a crack of thunder. The rain begins to pour, both of you caught in a storm in more ways than one.

"You don't get to make a decision like that for me!" he finally responds, yelling to be heard over the downpour. "We're supposed to talk about these things! To figure them out together! That's what soulmates are - we're a team!"

"I can't think rationally around you, Bucky! It's like all logic goes out the window. I'm just so overwhelmed with-"

You stop yourself before the word comes out, but you both know what you were about to say. He feels it in his ribcage, the surge of emotion from you.

"-with how I feel about you. You're my forever, Buck, and I feel like -" a sob wracks through you, shaking your frame. "-like I've fucked it all up already."

Your tears mix with the rainwater, trailing down your cheeks. You watch as Bucky fights with himself, internally battling his feelings.

"You're not the only one fucking it up," he chokes. "You repeatedly told me we had to take it slow, but I just... couldn't help myself. I've never felt for anyone what I feel for you, and being away from you for even a minute is fucking torture. I moved us too fast, and now look where we are. We've become the equivalent of a married couple in a couple of weeks. No one can handle change that sudden."

"It's not.. none of this is your fault, Buck. I kept something from you, something big. I know it doesn't matter now, but I want you to know how hard it's been to not tell you. It was killing me."

"I felt it," he murmurs shakily, willing himself not to cry. "In my chest. You were so torn up about something, and I just couldn't figure out what it was. I should have pushed you more, but I was worried I'd push you away."

Your lip trembles as you watch him bite his own anxiously.

"I'm so scared, Buck," you whisper. "I feel so lost and so confused and like nothing makes sense."

"Me too," he whispers back, eyes never leaving yours. "I'm fucking terrified. Our worlds have been turned upside down."

"Is it... is it supposed to be this hard? Everyone makes it sound so easy."

"I don't know. Maybe the Universe heard that we were anti-soulmate and decided to be super tough on us. Cosmic karma, or something."

You choke out a laugh through your tears. The rain has plastered your clothes to your body, the salty wind chilling you to the bone. Without thinking, Bucky takes off his jacket and wraps it around you, unable to watch you shiver any longer.

"What now?" you ask quietly. If he wasn't standing so close, he wouldn't have heard it.

"Let's get out of the storm," he suggests, nodding his head towards the path home. "We can talk some more somewhere warmer."

You sniffle and take a deep breath, willing yourself to get it together. Bucky surprises you by linking your hand with his, warm fingers intertwining around yours.

He doesn't let go the whole way home.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Bucky takes you to his house.

You haven't been here since before your Tethering. You walk in the door, and your knees threaten to give way.

It's overwhelming.

Everywhere - everything - smells like Bucky. His scent clings to every fabric, every upholstery, every room. There's pictures scattered across the mantelpiece, his handsome face staring at you wherever you go. The house is warm, cosy, and just so Bucky it makes your heart ache.

You walk over to the fireplace, taking a closer look at the array of frames adorning it. There's one of your parents and Bucky smiling, sat out on his lawn last summer; another of Bucky and his team of mechanics, stood proudly outside his garage. A small black frame catches your eye. You pick it up, and your breath hitches in your chest.

It's a picture of the two of you on the deck of his boat, the day after you found out you were soulmates. The wind is blowing your hair, billowing your shirts, sun beating down on your skin. You're both beaming at the camera, bright and blinding, completely content.

You're holding back tears as you put it back in it's original place.

"My favourite picture," he murmurs from somewhere behind you. "We look happy."

"We were happy," you whisper. Then, quieter, "We will be again."

A pause.

"You want something to drink? Coffee, cocoa? Oh, I have that tea you like, the apple one?"

"You do?"

"Yeah. I, uh, bought some last time I went grocery shopping. In case you stopped by."

"Tea sounds good. Please."

You stay stood in the middle of the living room while Bucky puts the kettle on the stove, worried that your wet clothes will ruin his couch. As if he's read your mind, he pops his head around the door.

"There's a load of fresh clothes folded on top of the dryer. Grab whatever you want, dry off a little."

You wander into the laundry room, sorting through the pile. You find a t shirt with his garage logo on the back in big, white letters.

J.B.B. Motorcycles and Automotives.

The blocky, bold font swirls across the black material. You run your fingers over it, tracing the curves and spikes of the typeface. It's something you've seen him in a million times. You inhale deeply as you slip it over your head, revelling in the way it smells like him. You grab some boxer shorts and slip those on too, glad to finally be warm and dry.

Bucky loses his breath when you walk into the room. He's never seen you in his clothes before, and for good reason. He's about to have a goddamn heart attack.

"Tea is on the coffee table," he chokes out. "I'm gonna change, and then we'll talk, yeah?"

You nod gently, settling into the cushions of his couch and tucking your legs underneath you, mug warming your hands.

When Bucky returns, he's in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that you want to burrow yourself into. He takes his place, careful to put a little distance between you. Far enough that you're not touching, but close enough that you almost are.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I'm not good at this."

"Neither am I," he smiles gently. "It's my first time having a soulmate."

"Mine too," you laugh softly.

It floors you, his ability to always be able to comfort you. It's like a superpower, the way he always knows what to say or do to put you at ease.

"I think we got a little ahead of ourselves," he begins, careful to keep his voice low and deliberate. "I keep forgetting that we have forever. Literally. I was so eager to rush into this with you because I got excited. Don't get me wrong, I'm still ridiculously excited, but I'm realising now that our version of 'slow' wasn't slow at all."

"This whole Tethering thing makes everything so intense. There have been times where I honestly thought I was going to drop dead if you didn't kiss me."

"The feelings mutual," he chuckles.

You lace your fingers with his, never breaking eye contact, before addressing the elephant in the room.

"What am I gonna do about California, Buck?"

Your voice cracks just saying the word.

"Stella needs an answer, and I've upset you, and my parents are clueless, and I just - I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do. Please."

"I can't tell you what to do, honey," he soothes, running his thumb over the back of your hand. "And I'm not upset. I was, in the backyard... but I was mainly just blindsided. I kinda get it, you not telling me. I'm not sure what I'd do in your situation either."

"I just feel like both decisions are wrong. I can't win."

"Hey, hey. Look at me, pretty baby."

Bucky cradles your face in his warm hands, forcing your eyes to meet his ocean blue ones. You have to focus on his words, so you don't get lost in the waves of his irises.

"At the end of the day, it's completely your decision, and no one in the world can change that. But-"

He takes a deep breath, and continues.

"I think that you'll regret it every day for the rest of your life if you don't take the incredible opportunity that's been offered to you."

You take a second to process what he's telling you, your mind running at a thousand miles an hour.

"Are you... you're... are you saying I should take the job?"

"Like I said, it's your decision, but... yes. I'm saying you should take the job."

Your eyes well with tears, and you bite your lip to stop them from escaping. Inhaling carefully, you put your hands on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under your palms. He's calm. He's sure. He's collected enough for the both of you.

"What about us?" you ask, barely above a whisper.

"Like you said, baby. I'm your forever." Buck leans in, resting his forehead to yours. "We have time."

"All the time in the world."

You connect your lips to Bucky's softly, testing the waters. He kisses you back with so much feeling, tears slip from your lashes without warning. He's crying too, emotion mixing with yours, dousing you both.

You pull away and wrap your arms around him, curling yourself into his chest. He holds you as tightly as he can, knowing this will be the last time for a long time.

"So you'll go."

"I'll go."

"And I'll stay."

"You'll stay."

"And we'll be okay. No matter what, we'll be okay."

You and Bucky fall asleep in each others arms, cherishing the feeling of home one last time.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The happiness is starting to seep through.

You're devastated to be leaving Bucky behind, but you're trying to look on the bright side. Sunny beaches, new people, your dream job. If you think about the positives for long enough, the Bucky sized hole in your chest hurts a little less.

You're packing up your bookshelf when your phone rings, scaring the life out of you.

"Bitch!"

You know who it is instantly.

"Hi, Lacie."

"Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my text from last night?"

"Shit, sorry. I've been packing. What's up?"

"We're going out tonight. Not just us - all the girls. We're throwing you a goodbye party!"

You groan inwardly, massaging your temples with your fingers.

"A party? Lace, I don't need a party."

"Babe, you do. You really do. It'll be fun! I thought you'd be excited!"

You take a deep breath, and remember what you've been telling yourself. Focus on the positives.

"Okay, fine. Where? What time? What should I wear?"

"I knew you'd say yes! Come to my place at like... six? We can get ready together, like old times! And wear something sexy."

She doesn't wait for you to argue, just hangs up the phone. She knows you too well.

You know it'll be good for you, to see your girlfriends - but the thought of all the goodbyes you're about to say breaks your heart a little more.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Okay, what the fuck is going on with you?"

You're sat cross legged on Lacie's living room floor, sharing makeup that's scattered across the coffee table. You sip your wine for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. It's no use.

"I don't know."

"Bullshit."

You turn to look at her.

"What?"

"It's bullshit, babe. Something's going on. You've been given your dream job, and you're moping around like you just got broken up with or something. Why aren't you happy?"

There's no malice in her voice, just pure love. She adores you. You adore her. She's the one person with an outsiders perspective on all of this. So, you cut the act.

"I had my Tethering."

Silence.

She's processing.

"What?!"

"Yeah."

"When? Who? Where? How? Oh my God what is happening? Why didn't you say anything? Fuck, I'm gonna cry. I'm so overwhelmed right now, I'm so happy for you! Wait... are we not happy?"

"It's... complicated."

There's a lump in your throat, but a levity in your heart. A weight has been taken off you. Telling someone the truth has made you feel a little lighter.

"Who is it, babe?"

You take a deep breath, and look her in the eyes.

"Bucky."

Her jaw drops.

"Your... your Dad's best friend Bucky?"

"That's the one."

"Oh. My. Fucking. God."

"Yeah."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"This is complicated."

"Yeah."

"Aw, babe."

She pulls you in for a hug, not caring about the makeup you're smearing across her shirt. You cling to her as tightly as you can, savouring your best friends comfort.

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. We decided not to tell my parents for a while."

"Shit. No wonder you've been so sad lately. You're moving across the country, away from the one person you're supposed to be near."

"It's really hard," you whisper, tears threatening to spill.

"I can't even begin to imagine," she murmurs, holding you close. "I wish you'd told me sooner. We could have talked about it."

"I know," you sniffle. "I thought I could handle it on my own, but I really can't."

"You're not on your own, okay? You have Bucky, and you have me. You can always talk to me about this stuff. God knows I talked your ear off about Cameron."

You laugh softly, thinking back to that day that feels both like yesterday and a million years ago.

"Where is he tonight?"

"Out with his boys. It's good for us to spend a few hours apart."

You smile at the happiness that's radiating off her. She's glowing, beaming in all directions.

"Thanks, Lace. I love you. You know that right?"

"Of course I do. I love you too. So much," she leans forward to kiss your cheek. "Now let's have one hell of a last girls night, shall we?"

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You've lost track of exactly where you are.

You know you're downtown somewhere, in one of the bars. This one smells like wood and whiskey, lowlit and smoky. You hit the cocktail bar first, then the one covered in leopard print, then the monochrome pink one. Now, you're here.

The six of you are sat at a booth, high heels tangled and legs intertwined under the table. The wood is sticky with lemon wedges from tequila shots, salt scattered across the surface.

"If you find any hot west coast men, will you send them my way?" Reese asks, nudging you with her shoulder.

"And if you find any hot west coast women, will you send them mine?"

Everyone laughs, the scent of perfume filling the air.

"Rosa, what happened to Aubrey? We liked her!"

"Caught her kissing my ex girlfriend. So now they're both my ex girlfriends."

"Jesus Christ."

"Man, that's rough," Lacie giggles next to you.

The other girls continue to talk about Aubrey's infidelity as Lacie leans to whisper in your ear.

"Have you said goodbye to Bucky yet?"

You nod.

"Yesterday. I stayed the night, we fell asleep together. Said our goodbyes in the morning. It was awful."

"Love you," she whispers, squeezing your hand under the table.

"Love you too," you reply, squeezing back.

"There's a table of super hot guys over there," Maggie observes, tilting her head in their direction. "Maybe we should conveniently dance that way in a little while."

You don't bother to look over, knowing that none of them will compare to your soulmate. The other girls seem interested, though, so you smile along with them.

"Babe," Sam hisses, kicking you under the table. "There's a hot guy at that table, three o'clock, that keeps staring at you."

You glance over, and your heart stutters in your chest.

Bucky.

His blue eyes pierce your soul, even from across the room. For a moment, it's only the two of you, all the noise forgotten.

You're snapped back to reality by Sam.

"Fuck, he's hot. If you don't want him, I do."

"You should talk to him," Lacie suggests quickly. "Why not, right?"

She's practically pushing you out of the booth, high school wrestler style. In another life, you think, she would have made a good football player. All five foot four of her.

You walk past his table, eyes still locked on him, and towards the bathrooms. You know he'll follow you. You walk to the end of the hallway and out of the door, into the fresh night air.

You feel him appear before you see him. You lean your body against the wall, head resting on the cold brick. Bucky stands in front of you, shirt stretched across his shoulders gorgeously.

"Hi."

"Hi, honey baby."

You smile softly at the nickname.

"What are you doing here?"

"I got dragged to a boys night. What are you doing here?"

"I got dragged to a girls night."

He laughs, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

"Thought we said our goodbyes. I didn't think I'd see you again before I left."

"Me too. But you know the Universe. It hates us."

"Cosmic karma," you whisper.

The two of you stand down the alleyway, looking at each other carefully. Neither of you wants to spook the other person. You'd processed your leaving, said your emotional goodbyes. And now he's here, standing in front of you. You don't want to have to do it all again.

"I should probably get back inside, before the girls get the wrong idea."

"Baby, I followed you to the bathroom. They've already got the wrong idea."

You chuckle, kicking at a rock on the ground.

"Yeah. I don't know how I'm gonna explain this."

A smile. A pause.

"I'll let you get back to your friends, then."

You lean up to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

"Bye, Buck."

"Bye, pretty girl."

You push off the wall and walk away towards the door. Suddenly, a warm hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you into a solid chest.

Bucky kisses you like a man possessed. There's nothing gentle about it - just pure, unadulterated passion. It's all teeth and tongue and nipping and biting, neither of you willing to be the first to pull away.

He walks you back into the wall, pushing you against the rough brick. You hike a leg up onto his hip as he grabs your thigh to pull you closer, desperate to feel all of you. Your hands are in his hair, around his neck, tangled in his collar, his shirt, his belt loops. Anything you can get your hands on, you grab.

A distant chorus of cheers break you out of your lust fuelled haze. A bachelorette party walks by, one of the women winking at you as they go. You and Bucky take a step away from each other, straightening out your clothes and fixing your hair.

"Promise me you'll call me if you need anything," Bucky murmurs, leaning to rest his forehead on yours.

"I promise," you whisper, almost against his lips. "Goodbye, Bucky."

"Goodbye, honey girl."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The salty ocean wind whips through your hair, sun beating down onto your skin, some upbeat pop song humming from the radio. You keep your eyes glued to the road in front of you, begging yourself not to look back. You know if you do, you'll turn the car around and run straight back into Bucky's arms.

Let the happiness seep through, you remind yourself, gripping the steering wheel.

Let the happiness seep through.

tag list part one -

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

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lemotmo · 1 month ago

Note

Love

Q. I have such whiplash from the last few days. Free them please.

A. It's been a lot, lol. I'm going to kind of PR nerd brain out for a minute because these last two days specifically have been super interesting. Oliver and Ryan have clearly both been told to stick to their canned answers for the most part, but have also clearly been instructed to drop a tease or so as well. Ryan obviously gave his standard brother reply, which honestly should not have surprised anyone. Oliver dropped his standard Eddie is straight reply. They're the exact same answer just said with different nouns (or noun phrase but you know what I mean). Oliver dropped most of his teases in the podcast. It's difficult to get more teasing than 'super gay'. But Ryan also dropped a teaser/clue in his interview. I will take a moment to say that neither Oliver or Ryan benefit from print interviews because their respective approaches/personalities don't translate well in print. Oliver is super British, which means he's very dry. Super quick witted, but very dry, and that does not translate well in print at all. So he often comes across as a dick. Ryan, when he's trying not to spoil something, kind of word vomits and hopes for the best, until it comes to Buddie questions or anything approaching sexuality questions, which is what he's trying not to spoil. In those areas he gives the same canned responses. So his print interviews end up sounding dismissive because those responses don't match his other rambles. But that's not how either man really is so when videos drop of those exact same interviews the tone of the entire interview completely changes. Because the videos show their faces. Which means people get to see their smiles, and their awkwardness, or in Ryan's case his face turning bright red. They're terrible liars. Abysmal liars. It's actually hilarious how bad they are. But they're also ridiculously charming and it works completely in video form. What was amazing about the Ryan interview video in particular was you could see in real time the moment he realized he messed up. Yes he said the word brother, but almost immediately one of two things happened. He either wasn't supposed to say the word brother anymore, but is so hardwired to that answer that he slipped back into factory setting mode, and then tried to correct it; or he missed the segway where he was supposed to drop his future relationship tease and had to course correct. Because he dropped that line about his next relationship (which was clearly ummm yeah) completely out of context and not at all at the right point in the interview. His ears even got red. It was amazing to watch. They're both very conscious of not being the one to spoil it ahead of time, and in video interviews that mostly comes across as awkward and charming, but in print interviews they just sound irritated. It's wild.

Another interesting thing was Oliver's very coached answer to the Tommy question. His reaction to the Tommy stuff during the podcast was clearly spur of the moment and off the cuff, (loved it. no notes) which works on a podcast. Today he was much more diplomatic in his answer. That was not a coincidence. I think he was instructed to make sure he reiterated that that particular storyline is over for Buck, but I also think they worked with him a bit on the best way to say that. Which doesn't surprise me at all. We all love Oliver's hater game but the upfronts is not the place for that. And truth be told Oliver probably didn't require much coaching on that answer but he had clearly practiced it a few times (Aisha not so much, lol). And honestly it was long overdue to be said. There was no reason to give the impression that it's open ended when episode 15 really brought that storyline to a natural conclusion. As for all the tommies in my inbox spiraling over Tommy being reintroduced as Buck's love interest again in episode 11 only for it to go nowhere, all I can say is that's not what he was brought back for. He was brought back to be the catalyst for the GA to question Eddie's sexuality. That was it. And the episode made that clear. You pretending that's not what was happening doesn't magically make it go away. He was always going to serve that purpose. Tim just should have never dragged it out this long. So ABC officially drawing a line through him and that plot point made sense. Moving on.

Probably means nothing, I want to stress that from go, but the fact that Tim doesn't appear to have been at the upfronts is interesting. He runs the number one show on the network, and was given a 2nd show as a result, dear god every new thing that comes out about the Nashville spinoff just sounds worse and worse, but I digress, so him not being at the event was noticeable. Shandoa Rimes was always there. ABC doesn't discourage show runners from attending. Again it most likely means nothing, but it is noticeable. I don't believe for one minute he willingly passed up the opportunity to talk about himself. Tim has been pretty concerning this season, especially the back half of the season. A couple of his interviews were giant red flags, in my opinion. For example the interview he gave after episode 15 was a disgrace from start to finish. Wanting to build an episode around a helicopter chase because you want to do your take on Apocalypse Now is astoundingly stupid (no he didn't want it for Tommy. The man flat out said he wanted to play Apocalypse Now). Deciding to kill your main character off, even though it will prove to be a fake out, apparently on a last minute whim, is a fireable offense. Having zero plan amongst the cast on how to proceed with the bit until the reveal is just unprofessional. Not being willing to stick to any kind of storyboarding or plan all season long is nonsensical, exhausting and highly disrespectful to your cast, crew and audience. I'm not going to touch the Ryan thing because it's very concerning on multiple levels and needs immediate reviewing on ABC's part. There are clearly issues with Tim and I don't know if this means ABC realizes that at minimum a conversation needs to take place, but they have to do something about him. They have to address some of these things. Again I want to stress that it's probably nothing but it was weird to me that he of all people doesn't appear to have been there. My boss never misses a chance to brag about his accomplishments. And Tim's never been shy about praising himself in the past. So yeah.

All in all a most enjoyable few days. I'm having a blast, as are most of us by the looks of things. Can't do anything about people who just refuse to read between the lines on things or follow obvious clues. I'm not responding to those asks either. Oliver and Ryan are not allowed to say anything definitive yet and I will never understand why some people don't get that. Anyway, carry on.

Thank you so much Nonny! My inbox desperately needed this post.

I won't touch upon everything mentioned in this post. The Tim Minear & Ryan Murphy topic speak for itself I think. But I do want to talk about the Oliver and Ryan part.

Okay, first of all...

For all the people dooming right now:

Step away from the interviews. Don't read them, don't listen to them and just ignore them. It's obvious that they stress you out to an unhealthy degree.

Ryan and Oliver CANNOT say ANYTHING about the upcoming finale and season 9. THEY ARE NOT ALLOWED! So yes, they spin around in circles, repeating the same thing, over and over again.

Oliver refers to Eddie as 'straight' in one interview and Ryan calls them 'brothers' in another. It isn't anything we haven't heard before. 🤷‍♀️

So just focus on the show for a minute. We have had soooo many clues and hints in the show that they are going forward with Buck being in love with Eddie and Eddie discovering his 'joy' (= Buck). We have also seen that Eddie is willing to do anything for Buck. That last episode was very telling. So yes... somewhere along the line Eddie will also realise that he feels more than friendship for Buck.

It is the obvious next step at this point. There is no way back and the show and network know it.

But of course, neither of these men can talk about this yet. Because yes, Eddie is still canonically straight right now. He is immensely queer-coded, but in the text he is still straight. So what else is Ryan supposed to say? He cannot yet truthfully answer the Buddie question.

So please stop blaming Ryan for not willing to do Buddie or whatever it is you are dooming over. The man is an actor who acts out what is in the script. He has often showed support for Buddie. He is fine with it. 🤷‍♀️

But he cannot possibly hint at anything to do with Eddie's sexuality, because then the cat would be out of the bag, and it's obvious that this is supposed to be a big surprise to the GA.

I will say this though...

That one line where Ryan talks about Eddie's next relationship being a life-changing one that will throw him for a loop??? Come on you guys. We got a quote like that and you're still dooming.🙄 Puh-lease.

As I said before, Buddie is a sure thing... the timeline however? I'm not sure about. I do expect something in the finale episode. But I truly don't know what that will be.

We'll have to wait and see. I for one cannot wait to watch that finale!🤗

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

#anonymous blog I love #ryan guzman interview #oliver stark interview #buddie #buddie speculation #911 8b #911 s9 #911 spoilers #nonnies galore

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mostly-marvel-musings · 29 days ago

Note

Can I request a tony stark fanfic based on Super Bowl by stray kids ? 🙇‍♀️

Main Event

A/N: This had been marinating in my inbox for the longest time. Leave a heart or comment if you’ve enjoyed.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warning: none!

Tony Stark Masterlist

You weren’t supposed to be impressed.

Not by him, anyway.

But here he was shirt slightly unbuttoned, arc reactor glowing like he’d swallowed a star, swagger turned up to eleven commanding the stage at a Stark Expo press event like it was the damn Super Bowl halftime show.

Tony Stark was the show.

And he knew it.

“I don’t build things to fit in,” he’d said earlier that day, brushing soot off his sleeve from a freshly tested micro drone.

“I build things so the rest of the world tries to catch up.”

He looked at you when he said it. Not the press. Not the board. You.

Because lately, Tony had been doing something dangerous. He was showing off.

You watched him from the wings, arms crossed, expression neutral.

He winked mid-speech, of course he did.

And when the presentation ended, music thumping, lights flashing, drones spelling “STARK” across the sky—he strutted off stage like a man who just won a championship and still had enough energy to flirt with danger.

You didn’t clap. You just quirked an eyebrow as he approached.

“Subtle,” you said.

“Wasn’t aiming for subtle,” he replied. “Was aiming for jaw-drop. How’d I do?”

“You look like a man who made a bet with himself about how many camera angles could catch his ‘good side.’”

“Joke’s on them,” Tony said, leaning in, eyes glinting. “All my sides are good.”

He was close now—so close you could smell the faint trace of cologne and adrenaline. There was a smug curve to his lips, the kind that said I win. Always do.

You tipped your head. “You hungry for something, Stark? ‘Cause you’re prowling like a man looking for dessert.”

“Only if you’re on the menu, sweetheart.”

There it was, the full Tony Stark treatment swagger, smirk, sex-on-a-stick confidence.

“All flash. No follow-through,” you said, cool as ice.

That stopped him. Just for a second.

Then the smirk curved wider. Slower. Lazier.

“Challenge accepted.”

Later That Night…

The afterparty was in full swing, but Tony wasn’t on the floor with the guests. He was in the private lounge, drink in hand, tie loosened, watching the security footage of you absolutely wrecking a lab tech in a playful debate about AI ethics.

“God, she’s hot when she argues,” he murmured to himself.

“Sir,” came JARVIS’s voice, dry as ever. “You say that daily.”

“Because it’s true daily.”

And when you walked in cool, collected, knowing damn well he was waiting, he stood up like the game was on again.

“Back for round two?” he asked, voice low, smug.

“I don’t play games,” you replied. “But I do win.”

He stepped in, close enough to feel your breath. “What exactly are you trying to win, sweetheart?”

You just smirked. “The main event.”

And when your lips met his, it wasn’t a kiss. It was a score. A touchdown in the fourth quarter. A scream-inducing, camera-flashing, highlight reel kind of kiss.

Tony Stark might’ve been the MVP. But you?

You were the one who made him sweat.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #tony stark fluff #tony stark smut #the stark squad #anon asks #marvel fanfiction #tony stark #mostly marvel musings #iron man fanfiction #iron man x reader #iron man fic

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l8wliet · 2 months ago

Text

Strange Love ꨄ︎

word count: 950 (more to come)

p.i | p.ii coming soon

warnings: none, just a bit of story building (however, there will be eventual nsfw in later chapters!!!) also not proofread oops

Class went well, finally finishing up your last class of the day, you felt relief. It was an insanely long week and you couldn’t wait to go—

“One more thing! Final projects are coming up and I have assigned pairs together. I’ll be announcing the names here and if your partner isn’t here, you’ll all be receiving an email about the details.”

You heard some murmuring and frustrations come from fellow classmates and you pursed your lips. It’s been thing after thing the last few weeks and you’re about to go up the wall.

“y/n l/n and Ryuzaki… err I can’t pronounce that, sorry.” You look around and find this ‘Ryuzaki.’ You hear footsteps approaching and you turn to your right, seeing a guy in a plain white long sleeve, some jeans and white sneakers.

“You’re y/n, correct?” You nod. “Good. I’ll send you an email later to get set up with our project.” And he’s gone. He didn’t even give you a chance to answer him. You roll your eyes and begin packing your things. You then realize he didn’t have your email.

You rush out of the lecture hall and look around for him. You see him walking toward a fancy Mercedes Benz. Your eyes widen and then mouth agape to see someone was opening the door for him.

“Wait! Ryuzaki!” The man who was holding the door open for him looks in your direction, then down to Ryuzaki. He looks up to see you rushing toward the car. “Hey, you didn’t have my email so I wrote it down super quick.” You hand it to him and smile, panting a bit.

“Oh, thank you. I guess I do need that.” He didn’t. He already had your email pulled up on his laptop the second the professor said your name. “I’ll be hearing from you! I’ll start on an outline once we get all the information.” You say goodbye to Ryuzaki and then to the man holding the door.

Ryuzaki watched you walk away, admiring your gentle nature.

- - - - - >

You’re laid on the couch, watching whatever the cable had on for the evening as you waited for the professor to send out the email about the assignment.

The news was just constant death. Heart attacks? Random car accidents? It felt unreal. ‘Kira’ was the cause of this. A name you’ve come to know these last few months.

The bright light from the tv illuminated the dark walls of your apartment. You look toward the balcony, the view outside was alright, a simple neighborhood. You had dreamed of a high-rise with a cityscape view. However, this will do. You let out a weak yawn and open your laptop.

You log in and check your inbox and see some new notifications. One from your personal email and one on your school email. You open the school email and see it’s your professors list of students and the rundown of the assignment.

Then, you checked your personal, seeing an email from Ryuzaki. His tone very, very formal and a bit dry;

Greetings y/n,

I’ve just reviewed the email our professor has sent out and wanted to recommend a few things for the outline…

The email was very thorough, he basically just gave you the entire outline idea in the email. You shrug, you didn’t mind it at all. In fact it saved you time to work on other assignments. Your fingers begin clicking on the keyboard.

Hey Ryuzaki!

Thanks for the help on the outline. You didn’t need to provide all that information, but I appreciate it any way. Now once I get this made, when would you like to meet next? I’m relatively free the next couple of days.

Thanks ◡̈

y/n l/n

Though the email was a bit informal compared to his, you didn’t really care. He’s a peer, no need to put in the work when you don’t need to. You’re about to close your laptop until you hear a ding!

It was Ryuzaki.

Good evening,

I’m happy you received my email and liked the outline recommendations. As for meeting, we can either tomorrow for lunch or the following day. If there’s anything else you need, please feel free to call.

(Insert phone number here)

Have a good night :-)

Ryuzaki

You chuckle at the little smiley he left. You search for your white flip-phone and add his number to your contacts. You send him a smiley with your name and he does the same.

Then he calls.

Woah.

You panic. You normally don’t call people and especially someone you don’t know really at all. You suck in air and answer.

“Hello?” It’s quiet for a beat. “Good evening y/n. I apologize for the late call.” You chuckle.

“No, i-it’s okay. I normally don’t get calls nor do I call people.” You hear a hum on the other end and a bit of shuffling.

“What time did you want to meet? Tomorrow or Thursday?” Your eyes widen. Oh yeah, you didn’t answer that. “Oh, uhm. I guess I can tomorrow for lunch.” You stand and walk to your bedroom, looking through your clothes.

“Good. I’ll be getting off the phone now.” His voice is so monotone, though there’s something about it you like. “Okay, have a good night Ryuzaki.” He replies, “You too.” And the line ends.

You smile and then realize you’ve never had a boy call you on the phone before. Jeez, is your life really that boring that a classmate you’re assigned with excites you that much?

“I gotta go to bed.” You scoff and shake your head as you finish getting the rest of your things ready for tomorrow.

- - - - - .

I haven’t wrote a fic (that I’ve posted) in almost 5 years… so if I’m a little washed PLEASE brace. I’ll get better as I go. Also, not completely sure how the app works majority of the time so I’ll eventually add this to a master list. Anyway, enough yapping, I hope you enjoyed and continue to enjoy!!!

#l lawliet x y/n #l lawliet x you #l lawliet x reader #l death note #lawliet x reader #death note lawliet #l lawliet #ryuzaki x reader #ryuzaki death note #ryuzaki #death note #death note x reader

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earl-grey-teacake · 6 months ago

Note

I can so see George trying so so hard to be the Cool Dad but by trying to be cool he fails epically. Instead he turns into The PTA Parent. He is going to run that meeting like it's the military. He has powerpoints about bake sale allocations and why Mrs. So and so cannot take charge when he's off racing because she runs the meetings wrong and her cookies are basic and dry.

Alex by virtue of George failing to be the Cool Dad becomes the Coolest Dad. He's chill, he's funny, and he's a professional athlete that adores his kid. He shows up wearing his team cap backwards holding Logan who has on big sunglasses he stole from George and instantly becomes the Coolest Dad in the entire area. George would be affronted if he wasn't so besotted with his husband and kid.

Carlos is of course the Hot Dad. Moms swoon when they see him with Oscar, and all of them love to gossip about him. Oscar tries to ruin this by being a menace, but it fails because everyone swoons seeing Carlos try to gentle parent Oscar and make him laugh.

Lando is 100% the Dork Dad. He is such a dork who is always down to be the funny guy. He tries to teach Oscar video games (fails), and he is somehow an even pickier eater than the actual baby. He falls asleep in the weirdest places with Oscar literally sprawled on him also dead asleep. Carlos despairs at it solely because the pair of them have fallen off of whatever impromptu thing they've made their bed more times than he can count.

This has been in my inbox for so long!!! I'm sorry!!!!

George 100% thinks he is the cool dad but everyone around him disagrees. He is extra committed to the PTA mainly because he feels he needs to make up for being away so much due to racing. He's bringing snacks to the meeting, comes in with agendas and demos because he wants to be super involved in Logan's life. He is definitely coming to meetings with strong opinions and even stronger judgements.

Alex is absolutely the Cool dad out of the 4 in the eyes of the elementary school kids. He has pets, he's funny, has bright colored hair, and plays soccer/football with the kids after school.

Carlos would be the Hot dad, the PTA moms and some of the teachers dress up on days he usually picks Oscar up. However, I don't really see Oscar interfering with their attempts because 1. Carlos brings up Lando constantly and 2. Oscar more than anything is eager to go home and have his mid-day nap and if he doesn't get it he will be incredibly cranky at dinner.

I agree with Lando being the fun dad. He's down to let Oscar sit with him on the sim or play with whatever new toy Oscar received before slipping on the floor of the play room. I don't think he would sleep just anywhere with the baby solely for safety issues since he's afraid of Oscar falling or him falling on Oscar. He's also a little more lax on the "no sweets before dinner or bedtime" rule and justifies it as "well, I'm having one right now. It would be unfair if I didn't share."

#f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #galex #carlando #loscar #baby!oscar #baby!logan #Baby!Loscar AU

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ptolemaeacles · 2 years ago

Text

♡ being hazel callahan’s cheerleader gf hcs

pairing: hazel callahan x cheerleader!reader

synopsis: what it’s like dating hazel (post huntington fight)

notes: unofficial part two to this !! if you guys have anything to add, feel free to hop into my inbox or comment, i love interacting with you guys !!

word count: 1k

after the huntington fight, she finally took you out on a date. she completely wracked her brain for days trying to find the best place to take you.

most likely, asked josie where she would take isabel since the four of you seemed to be parallels of each other (nerdy, loser lesbian and her super hot, preppy gf)

going back to the first date though, i would imagine she took you to an arcade or maybe a diner (like josie and isabel were at). and of course she shyly asked you if that’s what you wanted.

hazel and you were sat in your english, making usual conversation since the both of you had finished your work. hazel realized it was probably a good time to ask you about that date.

“so i wanted to ask you, um, about the date. i know it’s been a few days and i’ve been planning it but what do you think about the diner? you know, after school, you can pick the day if you’d like, or if you changed your mind, we can just not go at all, it depends on you-”

“haze,” you stopped her with a soft smile and putting your hand on top of hers, “i’d love to go to a diner. that’s perfect. and tomorrow is good with me if it’s good with you!”

hazel sheepishly smiled back at you.

“yeah, it’s good with me.” she murmured.

after the third or fourth date, she wanted to pop the “will you be my girlfriend” speech badly. she wanted it to be romantic but not cheesy, heartfelt but not corny, cute but not cliche. god she was over thinking this like a motherfucker.

and to her surprise, you popped the question before her.

hazel was lounging on the loveseat in the corner of your room while you were sitting cross legged on your bed. the both of you had decided to study at your house after school. (not much studying was done so far. often getting distracted by making out with each other. so much so, the two of you had realized that nearly an hour had passed which resulted in hazel moving to the loveseat so the two of you could get some actual studying done.)

“so did you divide both sides by 6 or by 4? i don’t get that part.” hazel lifted her gaze from her notebook to you, who was already looking at her.

you decided to just blurt it out.

“haze,” she hummed in response, “do you want to be my girlfriend?”

hazel felt her mouth go dry. she really did want to be the one to ask you but it was so much hotter that you asked her.

“yeah, uh, yes, fuck, i’d love to.” she exclaimed.

now onto the actual BEING hazel’s gf (i love to over explain things, sorry)

hazel’s love language is definitely physical touch or gifting-giving. not super into pda but will put her arm around your shoulders or a hand on your lower back when you’re walking. if she’s feeling risqué, then an arm around your waist.

no matter how long you guys have been dating, she still gets nervous around you. doesn’t matter if you woke up with horrid morning breath, messy bed head, and/or a puffy face, she’d still look at you starstruck, as if you held the entire world in your palms. she’s a hopeless woman in love.

she does have a lot of money (probably one of those kids who refuses to say she’s rich, she calls herself “comfortable” …..) but she loves to make gifts for you. i can see her being into welding or wood workshop. (not sure if all schools have these types of classes, i’m american soooo)

100% makes wooden sculptures or welding a ring with the both of your initials on the inside. she made a wooden sculpture of the two of you holding hands (you nearly cried when she gave it to you)

very big music lover. listens to divorced dad rock. pearl jam, metallica, nirvana, etc. probably a minor swiftie (really obsessed with folklore and evermore but not a big fan of her other albums) definitely listens to boygenius (she listens to ‘leonard cohen’ and thinks of you). likes r&b/rap from time to time. (frank ocean, mac miller, a bit of tyler the creator.) oh and some 80s r&b like sade. her playlist is very diverse to say the least.

not really a gf headcanon but she’s definitely got some irregular allergies. strawberries, i would say. walnuts too.

PLAYS GUITAR. both acoustic and electric, she's interested in drums too and she tried learning how to play but it was too loud for her so she quit. writes songs for you but you would never get her to perform them or even show you in a million years.

LOVESSSSSS to nap and cuddle with you. a lot of the time, she invites you to her house under the guise of “studying”. you’ll be grabbing your backpack ready to pull out your english homework and she’s grabbing her blanket and asking you to just lay in her bed with her for “5 minutes”. you guys end up falling asleep (exactly like she planned) and wasted 2 hours. it was worth it.

“okay so i think we should start with our english homework because we need to brainstorm for the ess-“ you opened your bag, ready to study with your girlfriend.

“we can do that later, babe,” hazel grabbed your bag and set it on the ground, “aren’t you tired? i mean you walked all around campus, which is huge, might i add-“

“not really-“

“doesn’t matter. we should lay down and rest a bit so we can have clear minds, and we’ll be ready to study.” hazel had already kicked off her shoes and crawled into her bed, lifting her blanket and silently asking you to lay down with her.

“only a few minutes, okay, and then we have to get to work.” you breathily chuckeld, not impressed with your girlfriend’s antics.

hazel giggled and ushered you under her blanket, wrapping her arm tightly around your waist and tucking your head in the crook of her neck.

you knew what her plan was but she was too cute to say no to.

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan imagine #hazel bottoms #hazel callahan fanfiction

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yuyusuyu · 7 months ago

Text

bloody hell — the emos

synopsis. oh, if only, if only she hadn't crossed paths with him. then maybe, just maybe, all of this could've been avoided... except, it was bound to happen by fate. there was no escaping the fate that was given to you at birth.

pairing. ot8! vampire! ateez x fem! reader (not poly! everyone will have their own ending!)

genres/aus. vampire au, suspense, romance, angst, slow burn

warnings. mentions of being watched, cursing, a kms joke oops. if there's anything i should add, please lmk !

rating. pg-13

wc. 3.2k lol...

a/n. this was nawt proofread... super duperrr sorry for uploading late !! was very busy and am very busy right now but things should calm down during december !! this is also a long chapter bc i deadass forgot to include the first part last chapter LOLLLL

send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are appreciated! helps with not getting shadowbanned!

TODAY IS CLOUDY AND SOMEWHAT CHILLY, though you don't mind it. you see people who are bundled up with scarves hanging around their necks, some of them even wearing mittens to protect their skin from the biting chill in the air. september has its own few days of cold before october settles in, today being one of them.

you rip your eyes from passing students down to the bag in your hand, the plastic wrinkling as you shift on your feet to lean against the familiar black car beside you. jongho’s borrowed clothes lay folded neatly inside, smelling of the expensive kind of detergent you bought to wash it. you sigh and close your eyes, your head hurting just thinking about how much the detergent cost. jongho doesn’t care about these things, you know that, yet you can’t help but care when it comes to him.

it’s no question that he’s well off, maybe even rich but you can’t gauge just how much he is. you’ve been aware of such things ever since you first met him three years ago, how your classmates from then used to whisper about the things he wore, his belongings, everything. and so you’re so painfully aware of it all now, the expensive things he owns, how you’re extra careful around him at times.

though he may not be like her, flaunting around the wealth he has and making snide remarks about how you should be careful or how poor you are, you don’t want to risk it.

she’s made you have these bad habits, the ones where you care too much over things like this that shouldn’t matter.

“i hope i didn’t keep you waiting long.”

jongho wears a beanie, hiding the purple streaks in his hair from your eyes. he rounds the car and opens one of the back doors, dumping his practice bag and his backpack in the backseat. you hop inside his car quietly and buckle your seatbelt just as he sits in the driver’s seat.

“you didn’t take long,” you say, glancing at him.

he hums and sits quietly, shoulders slumping just the slightest bit.

“are you… okay?”

jongho tilts his head to look at you, a tired smile on his lips. “yeah,” he breathes out, “it’s just been,” he pauses, “a long day.”

by the way he sits up to start the car, by how his shoulders relax and tense all at the same time, you decide to not ask him about it and keep quiet, watching as jongho drives away from the campus.

“do you want me to pick him up?”

you turn away from the window and blink at the male. “what?”

jongho’s lips quirk upwards, clearly amused. “we’re here already. you know,” he points at the middle school building on the other side of the street from where he’s parked the car, “kou’s school.” he leans over the control board, and presses his index finger to your forehead, pushing your head back. “what’s got you distracted, hm?”

you open your mouth to reply, finding that it’s dry but you’re interrupted by the swinging door from behind jongho’s seat. jongho leans away from you as your brother gets inside the car, sporting a bright and infectious smile.

“sis!” kou drops his backpack by his feet after closing the door, hurling himself at you and attempting to hug you. you laugh when he pulls away, rubbing his head after hitting it against the roof of the car.

“woah there, little guy,” jongho says, his dark eyes gleaming with mirth, “careful.”

kou apologizes, smiling sheepishly at him. “hyung,” he says, settling in the backseat, “are you staying tonight?”

“sure am, champ.” the older male watches kou through the rearview mirror, only putting the car in drive once he’s buckled up.

the eleven year old gushes about his day: what he learned in math and science, how literature class was boring, how he and his friends played a lot during their break. you don’t register jongho’s taken you to the mall until kou starts pouting and wishes you wouldn’t have to work today so you can spend time with him and his hyung. you have to promise to dedicate saturday to only him and jongho, and that’s when kou beams and lets you leave.

“no way you just got here.”

“oh shut up, mingi.” you roll your eyes at the male that twists around to walk right in front of you. “you’re going to trip if you keep walking backwards like that.”

mingi shrugs. “i’ll be fine,” he says, “but how come you’re just arriving?” he raises an eyebrow at you. “you’re an early bird.”

“nosey much?” you mumble, walking past him in a hurry, “hurry the fuck up, mingi. we have less than ten minutes to get to the store.”

the tall male loudly laughs, clearly entertained by your behavior, and follows closely behind you, pestering you with questions.

mingi leans down, wearing a look of disgust as he glances between you and the incoming flock of people. “the emos just keep coming and coming,” he whispers, standing up straight and walking out towards the cashier to tend to the person waiting to buy their items. mingi grins at them, leaving you alone to roll your eyes as you focus back on the task at hand: unboxing and sorting the new merchandise onto the shelves.

which should be mingi’s job right now.

true to mingi’s words, the emos do keep filing into the store to keep buying the edgy jewelry in stock, just like every tuesday evening and the ones before that. you huff through your nose, wiggling your fingers and stretching your arms just as mingi walks into the back, your closing shift manager praising him for getting through the emo rush in one piece while they go to flip the open sign to the closed side.

“kill me now,” mingi groans, dramatically flopping onto the makeshift chair you two had made earlier before the emo rush started (something mingi prides himself for coming up with) and falls through it because you had emptied it long ago. “the emos need to find a new store for their stupid shit!” his hands fly up and attempt to tug at his long, black hair, trying to play it cool as he quickly stands up and dusts his baggy jeans.

you snort and bite your tongue to hold back a laugh when your coworker glares at you. leaning down to grab the last couple of shirts in a box before walking back into the store, mingi follows after you with an unopened box in his hand. “you also like that stupid shit they wear… you know, the jewelry. so doesn’t that make you an emo, too?”

mingi gasps, slapping your arm as you two stand next to each other. you chortle as he tears the box open with a cutter, grumbling about how foul it was of you to say that about him. “you’re evil,” he says, lazily throwing shirts and shirts onto the shelves. “how could you call me an emo? do you know how derogatory that term is to me? and this jewelry is mine, so the emos can go suck a nut and find a different store!”

laughing, you place the last shirt in your hand onto the shelf, giving mingi’s back a singular pat. “right, sorry,” you cough. “you’re definitely… not an emo… my bad.”

puffing his chest out, the pink haired male points at the box at his feet, crossing his arms afterwards. “apology accepted… only if you help me with the last box.”

“oh no,” you take a step back, arms raised in the air as you shake your head. “i’m not helping you. you basically left me alone to go through twenty damn boxes while you handled the emos. that’s my job. you’re not very slick when it comes to trying to get out of the things you have to do, mingi.”

mingi scoffs and narrows his eyes. “actually, you were supposed to do that today and i was supposed to be out at the cashier.” when you deadpan and point at something behind him, mingi raises his eyebrow before turning around. he gulps and looks back at you, smiling sheepishly.

you, as always, are right: you were going to be at the cashier and mingi was going to unload the boxes.

“well…”

“well…” you repeat his words, smiling in amusement as mingi scratches the back of his neck.

“well… the manager actually said that they forgot to change the board for today!”

“mingi, i literally saw the manager change the board today when you clocked in late.” you grimace at him, “by the way, how the hell did that even happen? we got here at the same time.”

the male gapes at you. “what? no, he didn’t! don’t lie to me, yn! and… actually, i have no excuse for clocking in late.”

you shrug, walking into the employee room. “i’ll ask the manager and send proof later!”

“what? yn, wait! don’t—”

you grin, twirling around and taking a step back at how mingi is quite literally right behind. you’re surprised at how quick he was able to get to you. clearing your throat, you turn back and head towards the locker you put your things in. “i’m just messing with you, mingi.”

“oh thank goodness,” he says, sighing and heading over to where he put his things.

the first thing you grab upon opening your locker is your phone, turn it on and read the messages jongho sent you.

jjongs: hey, i won’t be able to pick you up tonight

jjongs: i just finished helping him with his homework and he wants me to read him a story

jjongs: i won’t be able to get there in time when you get out

you sigh.

you: don’t worry about it, jjongs

jjongs: i’m so sorry

you: i said it’s ok

jjongs: text me when you’re on your way so i can come out and get you

you: seeing me outside my own apartment building is sooo romantic and chivalrous of you

jjongs: can’t have a fair lady like yourself be out in the dark for long

you: LOL?

jjongs: oooo you want me so bad

you: in your dreams wtf

you: i’m leaving the store right now so i’ll text you once i’m out

jjongs: ok

you and mingi shut your lockers at the same time, a loud thud resonating in the room. then, the two of you walk out, making sure to say goodbye to the closing shift manager before heading out of the store, walking down the almost empty halls of the mall. once outside, you quickly bid mingi goodbye and take a step forward when mingi speaks.

“it’s really late,” he says, looking down at his phone with furrowed eyebrows. he puts it back into the pocket of his jacket, stuffing his hands into them and looks up at you. “i’ll walk you home.”

you sigh and smile, shaking your head. “i live far away, and i have to take two buses to get back. i wouldn’t want to bother you anyways.”

mingi looks at you through squinted eyes. “it’s late and it’s dangerous for women to be out at this time. i don’t want to be lonely without having my favorite coworker around to bug all because you decided to walk alone at night,” he huffs.

“damn,” you say, eyes slightly wide as you raise your arms up in mock surrender. “okay, fine. you win. you can come along, but don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

“puh-lease,” mingi snorts, joining you as you walk towards the bus stop. “how far could you possibly live from this place?

“holy shit, you really weren’t lying when you said that you lived far away.” mingi gasps as you two exit the last bus you had to take to get to your apartment.

you glance at mingi from the corner of your eye. “there’s still some walking to do if you’re still so adamant on seeing me off. honestly,” you sigh, stopping. “you really didn’t have to come all the way here, mingi. i’ve been doing this for a while, so i’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“i don’t care,” mingi says, crossing his arms over his chest. “i’m being a good friend right now.”

“a good friend?” you tilt your head, surprised. “since when did we become good friends?”

“since we started working together,” he replies, his tone so serious that it takes you aback.

you didn’t know he considered you as such.

“how are we supposed to be good friends when we barely know each other and only work together a couple days every week ?” you grumble, clutching onto your bag as you resume your trek to your apartment. it’s already late, and you feel bad for not being there to tuck your brother away to sleep

“we can start getting to know each other right now,” mingi says, catching up to you quickly. he bumps shoulders with you, grinning. “i’ll start. i really like girls.”

“no shit,” you laugh.

mingi looks at you in surprise.

you’ve never really… laughed like this before. you usually laugh quietly but never this loudly to the point that your eyes are closed and your head is thrown back in amusement, your hands covering your mouth in… embarrassment, maybe? or is it out of habit? he’d like to know.

“you’re always flirting with the female customers.” your laughter subsides into giggles, and you playfully elbow his side.

mingi scoffs. “i do not!”

you stare at him.

“...well, maybe you’re right—”

“nope,” you cut him off. “i am right.”

“well, what about you?” mingi quickly says. “what do you like?”

you hum in thought. “well, i like school.”

“really?” he laughs. “you like school?”

you shrug as you both pass the pharmacy, and you make a mental note that you have to pick up kou’s medicine tomorrow morning. “yeah,” you reply. “i like school. gives me something to do and look forward to…”

mingi frowns at the tone in your voice. something to do and look forward to, she says…

it’s then that you stop. mingi blinks a couple times and looks up, coming face to face with a run-down apartment complex. he looks between you and the building, surprised.

she… lives here?

“well,” you look at him, smiling. “thank you for walking me all the way here, mingi. you really didn’t have to, but i appreciate it nonetheless.”

“oh,” he says, “it’s no big deal… listen, is it alright if i head in with you?”

you cock an eyebrow at this. “why?”

“just to make sure no weirdo tries following you back to your place.”

again, you laugh. “no one’s going to follow me, mingi.”

“but—”

you walk towards the entrance and push the doors open, saying, “goodnight, mingi,” before the doors close and you disappear up the stairs, leaving mingi staring after you.

“ah shit,” you groan, pinching your nose. you forgot to text jongho. well, you shrug, it’s not like i’ll get in trouble. jjongs is just a friend.

the walk to your faded apartment door with the very ugly numbers of ‘117’ plastered on right beneath the peephole stare right back at you. as you rummage through your bag to find your keys, the door suddenly swings open and a boy that reaches your shoulders grins widely at you.

“sis!”

“kou,” you say, baffled. “why are you still awake?” jongho leans over the kitchen counter from behind kou. “what’s he doing up, jjongs?”

kou pouts, opening the door wider as you slip inside, kicking your shoes off and turning around, waiting for your brother’s answer. the boy looks up at you. “i wanted us to read together before i went to sleep… i’m sorry—”

“mhm,” jongho hums out in agreement, turning his back towards you two. “what he said. kou is quite the convincer, you know?” the sound of water running fills the air, and you can only assume that he’s washing dishes.

you sigh, leaning down slightly to ruffle his hair. kou perks up, smiling as he tries leaning into your touch. “there’s nothing to be sorry about, kou.” you stand up, holding out your hand. kou grabs it, and you lead him over to his room. “did you brush your teeth already?”

he nods. “yes. um, sis?”

you hum as you flick the light switch on in kou’s room, ushering him over to his bed. he goes under the covers, and you tuck the duvet right under his nose, pinching it afterwards. kou giggles, “sis, stop!”

“okay, okay.” with one last pinch, you sit back comfortably at the edge of his bed. “what was it that you wanted to ask?”

“oh. um…” kou’s cheeks flush as he looks away. “can you um, put the butterfly clips in my hair again for when i go to school tomorrow? i really like how it looks in my hair.”

“of course!” you coo, kissing both his cheeks. “anything for my little brother.”

“thank you, sis,” he giggles. “can you read to me now?”

“of course—”

kou begins to cough uncontrollably. you’re quick to get on your feet, leaving temporarily and coming back with a cup of water and two pills in your hand. you pat his back as kou carefully takes the glass and pills into his hand, popping them into his mouth before washing them down with the water. once he calms down, he awkwardly lays back down in his bed, screwing his eyes shut.

you know he doesn’t want to talk about it.

so you grab the book you two have been reading together for the past month, finding the page you two last left on and begin reading out loud to him. a couple minutes pass before kou tells you that he’s feeling sleepy. you place the bookmark on the page you just read and place the book back on the nightstand.

“goodnight, kou,” you whisper, giving his forehead a quick kiss, ready to head out when you notice that the window in his room is open. you head over to it, leaning out for a second to feel the night air. a shiver goes down your spine, goosebumps appearing on your arms and the back of your neck. you immediately lean back inside the room, shutting the window and locking it.

it felt like you were being watched… but who the hell would want to watch you?

you're nobody.

you scrunch your nose, deciding to ignore whatever just happened and opting to go freshen up before heading to sleep.

you’ll just have to worry about it if it ever becomes a problem, but for now it isn’t.

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