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st4rc4t · 3 days ago

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you sleepover at single(?)dad!lip’s place and spend sunday with him and his kids.

around lunch time, you arrive at lip’s house, slinging your grocery bag from your shoulder onto his table. his kids readily surround it, eager on their buzzing feet, curious as to what you’ve brought. however, the bouquet of flowers sitting atop the table is not lost on you. it has blushing roses, creamy tulips, and complimentary greenery in between.

“daddy got them when he picked us up this morning,” brandi explains. she seems to have caught your eye on the assortment, and lip seems to have too, his fingers nervously drumming on the top of the chair he’s standing in front of.

“they’re beautiful,” you reply, unable to fully remove your gaze from the beckoning sight.

lip visibly relaxes. his fingers stop mindlessly tapping on the wood of the chair, his shoulders lowering an inch from the air he subconsciously held them towards.

“yeah? you like ‘em?” he asks.

“i really do.”

the corner of his lips turns upwards and something silent and pleasantly warm passes unspoken between you. you have a hunch as to why lip decided to buy these flowers on the day you’re supposed to spend the night at his place, and as if reading your mind, freddie speaks up.

“we helped pick them! my dad said it was to make the kitchen look nicer, but i think they’re for you.”

“fred.”

you switch your gaze back and forth between lip’s unamused expression and freddie’s smile as he laughs behind his raised hand. brandi joins him in the giggles they both have at their father’s expense. while lip still has his dad face, he relents the more they chirp with laughter. his mouth gives way to a softer grin.

“‘nough of that. what’d you bring?” he gestures to the bag and utters your name.

“oh… right.”

you open your bag and grab a bag of cheese cheetos and then hot ones. the kids light up at the sight of the chips in front of them.

“for bambi and freddie,” you say and hand off the cheese flavor to brandi and the hot flavor to freddie.

“thank you!” they both exclaim together. as they gear up to open the snacks, you pull out a chocolate bar and a bag of sour patch kids.

“okay, now you can thank me,” you murmur after delivering the snickers to freddie and the sour candy to brandi.

they’re both bouncing as they crash their way to your side of the table. you lower yourself to hug them into you like you did earlier at the door as a greeting. lip looks on fondly, his eyes reverent.

“thank you,” they repeat, quieter, but not any less excited than their previous show of gratitude.

“you’re both so welcome.” you can’t help but squish them both closer to you.

lip isn’t sure what it is, but something feels right to him the more he watches you with his kids. the short period, which felt like fucking years as it happened, away from you made him reflect on how this feeling presented itself much earlier than him figuring its weight. he doesn’t know what it means, the mushy and branching feeling stirring within him, but something in him believes this is the kind of person they deserve to have in their lives.

and maybe he does, too.

“alright, don’t crowd the pretty lady. back up and save those chips for lunch—don’t groan at me,” he sternly mutters as they both make overdrawn sounds, detaching from you with pouts.

“we’re gonna get started on those sandwiches soon. go wash up f’me. fred, make sure your sister doesn’t splash water all over the bathroom.”

“okay. come on, bam!” freddie takes brandi’s hand. they both begrudgingly leave their newly acquired snacks on the table and scamper off together.

and not without brandi scrunching her nose at lip in protest as they disappear past the kitchen wall.

“you’re spoilin’ them. chips and candy?”

his words don’t hold ill intentions. you’re hardly concerned with spoiling lip’s kids a little, having debated at the store whether you should’ve bought each a toy on top of the food. but that’s not what your focus is on.

“pretty lady?” you question with a growing smile. you even flutter your lashes at him, as if feigning innocence.

his mouth shuts, perhaps sheepish that you caught that. you don’t think he noticed what he said and since it was sandwiched among his words, the kids didn’t notice it either.

but you did. is it stupid to feel butterflies in your stomach when this man has been inside you? well, the peachy blush coloring his cheeks makes you feel less stupid.

“… uh… i would’ve asked you to get me some cigarettes if i had known you were goin’ to the store,” he not-so-seamlessly changes the subject, gesturing to your bag. although you want to pry and interrogate him as to what he finds pretty about you, you instead reach into the bag again.

he blinks in astonishment as you reveal a pack of cigarettes. you shake them in front of him, but his eyes are on your face, his smile reappearing.

“you’re almost the fuckin’ best,” he mutters as he grasps the pack from your hand.

“almost?”

“i usually buy two at a time.”

and you know that. so you wait a few more seconds before pulling out another pack. his smile instantly widens.

this time when he extends his arm and takes the second pack, he steps closer into your private space. you and lip hold the cigarettes between your hands as he kisses your temple.

spending the day at lip’s has been a success so far. after eating sandwiches for lunch with him and his kids, you colored with them, helped them pick out clothes for school tomorrow, and watched cartoons with them up until lip asked you to help him with dinner.

you enjoy spending time with all of them immensely. it definitely beats being alone at your apartment.

you’re washing your hands clean of the seasonings you coated the steak bites in as lip attends to placing them into the pan with some tongs. you realize the music once gently humming in the background that he put on with his speaker is gradually getting louder. you turn in time to see him pressing the volume button, the kitchen echoing with an old school voice doing a beautiful run.

“a little loud,” you say above the music.

but lip looks determined as he meanders his way over to where you are. he offers his hand, letting it sit between you two.

“dance with me,” he states, not a question, not even a full command. it’s a gentle declaration with room to reject, but he’s self-assured, waiting, extending himself without previous, finicky doubt.

the principle of it floors you. the more you two sink into this connection, the more you realize how deep your feelings run. one of your favorite people wants to do one of your favorite things with you unprompted, without you having to ask.

“i know s’not the club. i can pour juice on the floor to make it sticky for y’if you want.”

his hand stays in the air, not wavering despite how you’re taking longer than necessary to take it. his words paint a sheepish smile onto your face, the last time you two danced precedented and fresh in your mind like most of your interactions with lip. your hands dry off the extra water onto your jeans and then you step cautiously towards him, adhering your palm to his. his body heat radiates, cologne you don’t think he’s worn before wafting off him, and it intensifies as he encourages you closer with a soft and guiding pull into him.

his hands rest on your hips, fingers splayed out to grasp as much of you as he can, handfuls of denim and your flesh. you step closer at the same time that he uses his hold to bring you in, body to body, because the song is slow, the rhythm is harmonic and gradual, and you both need to be meshed as closely as possible. there’s a sway to you and lip already as you adjust yourselves and your positions together.

but it’s not enough.

you create eye contact with lip, something glinting in his irises that you wonder if it’s glinting in yours, his pupils dilated. you take his wrists, causing him to stiffen for a split second, but he relaxes as you maneuver one arm around your waist. he acts fast on the hint, not needing your direction to slide the other arm in place, embracing you against him. one hand unfurls, his digits caressing your back, tracing patterns as he mimics a clawing motion without the scratching. it’s more like petting, stroking, the initiation of skittish tingles crawling up your spine like tiny spiders up a wall. you’re hyper-aware of your body and the way it responds to lip, one touch rippling waves.

i’ll be coming home, wait for me.

something in you moves on its own, your arms encircling his neck, faces coming inches apart. you drift fingertips up his neck and then decisively into the short hair you find there. you notice the broadness of his shoulders flex and then relax, easing into you, pliant, flowing.

he seems to tilt more of his body forward and yet again, something in you is possessed and controlled, your head tipping back, trusting his secure hold on you. instead of hesitating, he follows you, nosing up your chest, right underneath your collarbone. you shudder as his hot breath skims your skin, tracing the tip of his nose up, turning his head to press his cheek there. for a moment, you cradle his hair, slip your fingers through the growing strands that you won’t comment on in fear of him getting a premature haircut.

you like him a little messy. a little rough around the edges. completely and utterly lip.

you both straighten out, foreheads meeting, and this time, you share enlightened inhales and exhales. the music starts to swell and then fade, eyes locked on one another. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his lips twitching, glancing for a second down at your mouth. it parts, thinking and anticipating what he wants, but he doesn’t go for it like he usually does. he remains where he is, observing you in thought.

you swear you feel his heart beating faster from how your chests are pressed together.

“…i, uh… i…”

“daddy, we’re hungry!” freddie breaks you from the intimate spell and atmosphere. you can hear him and brandi approaching with the pause in the music.

lip sighs deeply as he releases you and your arms fall from his neck. you step back despite everything advising you to stay on him and a peculiar expression you haven’t seen before is on his face.

it’s… conflicted. reluctant. longing. yeah, that’s a good word for it.

“we’re cookin’ dinner, bud,” lip murmurs, gentling his countenance into a smile as his kids enter the kitchen.

“why is it so loud in here?!” brandi exclaims over the next playing song.

“your dad wanted to have a dance party with me,” you explain with a smug grin. by how lip looks at you in amusement, you assume he caught the underlying teasing note.

brandi gasps. she looks at lip with a scrunched little face.

“without me?!” she whines, betrayal laced in her proclamation.

“and me?!” freddie adds, not wanting to be left out as he steps to stand slightly in front of brandi. you see her glare up at him.

still appearing a bit flustered for some reason, lip doesn’t readily answer them. as much of a good dad that he is, he may not always know what to say when his kids corner him. it doesn’t lessen your admiration for him at all.

he clears his throat and glances at you. you get the memo from that alone.

“we weren’t having it without you two—we just started and were waiting for you. we were just about to call you over.”

relief replaces the mildly stumped features of lip’s face. his kids look to him after your excuse.

“s’true. we were waitin’ to call you guys in. the stove’s still hot so we have to be careful.”

your combined white lie with lip saves you the subtle hurt and panic of the kids, their faces easing as they realize you two didn’t leave them out on purpose. they convey a look together, something that is silent, but you think it means something along the lines of, oh, they didn’t forget about us, like you could ever.

he grabs his phone and changes the music to an upbeat pop genre. then he sets it aside to hold his hands out to brandi.

brandi instantly waddles her way over. it’s like routine, coming to stand on his boots as she takes his hands. but lip goes the extra mile and hoists her up. her giggles resound as he spins with her in his arms.

before freddie can think about it, you reach your own hands out to him. he grins, and those all too familiar dimples flash at you. he slides his hands into yours.

“do you wanna be picked up, too?” you ask first.

“no. i’m big enough to dance standing,” he says with a short and determined nod.

you give your own nod in agreement. but even as you and freddie dance back and forth, you see him taking his looks at brandi and her joyous laughs over the music.

“you sure? you’re big, but big boys can be carried, too.”

he seems to look back and forth between you and lip before ultimately lifting his arms up for you. you beam and pick him up. he’s bigger than brandi, but not by much, so he’s still a light kid. his arms go to your neck as you give him a spin of your own.

although you and lip could’ve danced together longer, you love the way freddie and brandi laugh, so loud and mirthful that it resounds above the music.

you slightly stir as lip stands from the couch, but as your awareness develops through the haze of sleep, you lie back with more caution. you glance at brandi tucked into your side, her head against part of your stomach. on the other is freddie, not necessarily leaning on you, but he has an arm around yours, his head against the couch cushion.

“they stole you from me,” lip whispers as he yawns. he had been on the other side of freddie.

he picks up the remote and turns off the tv stuck on the streaming service’s previews since the movie was long done playing.

“help me put ‘em to bed?”

you nod your confirmation with sleepy eyes and an equally sleepy smile. he carefully slips freddie’s arms from you and then lifts the sleeping boy up. freddie nestles his cheek against lip’s shoulder, peaceful as can be. lip kisses freddie’s temple, rubbing his back as he adjusts his grip and begins to walk with him down the hall.

with freddie and his warmth gone, you gently start to get up, pulling brandi with you until you stand with her to your bare feet. she makes little noises, but she ultimately sinks against you much like freddie did with lip. it’s natural for them.

they’re so trusting because of the love their parents give them. you want to preserve that for as long as possible.

you make your way to brandi’s room and maneuver with the help of the hallway light flooding in. you flick her lamp on before administering the toddler into bed. then you fix her blankets and tuck her in so she’s nice and toasty for the night.

“goo’night, mommy.”

the admission stuns you in the middle of fluffing her pillow. you stare at brandi, unsure if you heard the mumble right or not, because she’s asleep, evenly breathing deep breaths.

she’s a peaceful thing, completely unaware of what she just said, and who she just said it to. something in her unconscious mind must’ve known that she was being carried to bed and that it wasn’t lip. so of course it went to the most logical option—tami.

thoughts run rampant as your mind comes to, as you do your last adjustments with brandi in bed, and then head out of the room. you leave the door open a crack, your eyebrows furrowed.

being with lip means a lot of things. it means being around his family, his kids and his siblings included. but it also means being around tami and the extension she has with her family. you two haven’t labeled what you are and have treaded carefully around his kids as you figure it out.

but you can’t dictate how his kids view you. no matter what you decide, they’re important to you. and as you and lip grow closer and closer, the implication of what you need to be for his kids rears its head. something scary to consider is if you’ll ever be important to them as tami is, because you’re aware filling her spot as she’s actively in the picture would be inappropriate, but you can’t mask how much it stings to not be important to his kids like they are to you.

“hey, i was waitin’ for you in the room.”

lip comes up behind you where you linger in front of brandi’s room. he winds an arm around you, pressing a kiss onto your shoulder.

“you okay?” he asks, perhaps sensing how you’re overthinking.

taking a deep breath, you manage a nod and turn to look at him. at least the sight and smell of lip helps calm your nerves, your hands sliding up to hold his forearm.

“yeah, i’m good. bam stayed asleep… freddie go down well?” you say, deflecting to distract yourself from the pit in your stomach.

“yep. s’just you and me now.”

you and me. you and lip.

“i’m beat,” you mutter softly.

“let’s go to bed.”

you and lip walk to his bedroom. he locks the door in case his kids get up before either of you do in the morning and then soon, you’re both under his sheets, scooting into one another’s embrace.

your mind is still clouded with insecurities you didn’t think you’d have. it’s annoying how they’ve come to attack you like they seem to do with lip. you don’t know if it comes from a place of needing to be enough and included, if you and lip are as serious and ready for that as you feel, or if you simply need to sleep more, a sign your mind’s tired and conjuring negative issues according to your physical needs.

“i wish it was like this every night.”

lip’s voice, gentle despite being alone and right next to each other, pushes through the darkness. it’s emphasized due to being near, from the stillness of the night, and it manages to disrupt the muck forming in your head. you tilt your chin up, his eyes already on yours.

what does that mean? every night? sleeping together? tucking his kids in? and… and brandi and fred confusing you for someone else?

he doesn’t know that part. he doesn’t know what’s going on in your head and you don’t know what’s going on in his as he stares at you in… that way of his. that look he’s had before, the one he had earlier in the kitchen.

when he kisses you, you kiss him back. your contemplation is convoluted, but he muffles the thoughts with the touch of his lips, with his hands pulling you flush against him. you don’t have all the answers, but something feels so good about being wrapped up in lip like this. like solutions aren’t clear and murky, but his mouth on yours makes sense. his arms around you make sense. being in his bed right now makes sense. that much you know.

“i’ll call in,” he breathes against you.

you smile at that.

“i’ll postpone my classes,” you whisper.

en avant masterlist

if you would like to be tagged in future installments, please let me know; ageless blogs will not be tagged so be sure to add it to your bio

tags: @purplerainx1

#this is my favourite lip series #extremely good characterisation #natural dialogue #conflict that is both fun to read and also gut wrenching #fic rec #reblog

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st4rc4t · 2 months ago

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“There’s a Girl Across the Road and It’s a Problem”

Description: Julian’s seen a lot of bullshit in Sunnyvale, but nothing like her. The new girl across the road is clean-cut, polite, and soft in all the ways this place isn’t. And Julian doesn’t trust it. She doesn’t belong here

-Slow-burn, and pretty long-

Content Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use, sexual content, (fem!reader), mentions of drug use, and themes of emotional manipulation sorta, power dynamics, and eventual NSFW/explicit scenes coming in pt.2.

18+ only. Minors, scram

a/n: guys I’m sorry for being gone a bit, I’ve been doing school and it’s brutal. Anyways enjoy. Smut coming soon hopefully. But I’m in the mood for some tension. Hope y'all like! Reblogs welcomed!!

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Chapter I

There was a clean-cut way about her. Julian could spot it from a mile away. The tucked-in blouses, the curve-hugging bootcut jeans, the soft-spoken “good mornings” she offered while walking past his trailer. They all screamed polished, contained, and uncomfortably out of place.

No one like that moved into Sunnyvale by accident.

She’d shown up about two weeks ago, settling into the trailer just across the road. Two weeks of sunshine smiles, routine trips to work, and the newfound appearance of a potted flowers in her front yard. Julian hadn’t introduced himself. He didn’t see the point.

People like her didn’t last long here.

Worse, they sometimes did.

She was some daycare teacher. Steady job, perfect credit score, and no criminal record. Jim Lahey practically salivated to get her into the park, calling her a “breath of fresh air” to anyone who’d listen.

But Julian didn’t buy it. Any woman with such an outward appearance of innocence spurred skepticism in Julian. He had his reasons. Tanya had taught him well. She’d worn a similar smile. Played up her helplessness just enough to sink her claws in. He had made the mistake of taking a woman at face value once. And once was enough for him to learn his lesson.

But still, He watched silently from across the street. Not in an obvious way. He wasn’t Ricky. But over the last couple weeks, Julian caught himself noticing more than he should: her arms full of groceries, how she danced to her headphones while vacuuming, the way her laugh drifted faintly across the road when she chatted with Bubbles.

She was too sweet.

Too damn soft.

He didn’t trust softness.

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Chapter II

The afternoon sun was beating down. Saturday’s reprieve from her busy daycare job was being wasted, as Y/N had been struggling to unpack her belongings. She looked around the trailer’s living room, exasperated with her own lack of progress. Currently, her living situation was weaving between opened, but not unpacked, brown boxes. Her queen-sized mattress was still on the floor, the desk untouched in the corner, and her body ached from the awkward sleeping situation. Despite her outward put-together image, the inside of her trailer was still very much a work in progress. She really didn’t want to struggle through putting together her bedframe. So, in the spirit of procrastination, she began to unpack the boxes she had been putting off for the last two weeks. Slowly she made progress, having her kitchen stuff put away, and all her pale blue matching appliances placed neatly on the countertop. Even y/n’s living room was beginning to look livable. Her grey couch, wooden coffee table, and flowery area rug were no longer obscured by the mess of moving boxes. The trailer looked more like a home. Y/N’s bedroom was also quite nice now. Her clothes were put away in her closet, and her nightstands were set up on either side of the bed. However, her new bedframe and desk were still in their boxes, propped up against the wall in the short hallway.

She sighed.

“Eh… I’ll get to that tomorrow,” she muttered aloud, even though she knew damn well tomorrow wasn’t coming anytime soon.

Still, the space was starting to look like a home. Her matching pale blue kitchen appliances lined the counters perfectly, and the grey couch and flowery rug gave the living room some warmth.

It was all so her, soft, bright, hopeful.

She didn’t realize how much it clashed with the world just outside her door.

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Tuesday had rolled around. Julian had been holed up in his trailer with Ricky, pouring over fudged receipts he’d have to redo.

“Ricky, what the fuck were you doing with these?” Julian snapped, waving the crumpled pages in the air.

Ricky shrugged, joint dangling from his lips. “Fucking nothing, man. The computer was being all fucked and shit so maybe there’s a few typos and shit. That’s not on me.” Ricky replied, defensively.

Julian rubbed his temples, already done with this day, with Ricky, with everything. As per usual, if he wanted something done, Julian would just have to do it himself. He pushed himself off the couch and headed to the kitchen, topping off his rum and coke with a bit more rum than coke.

Turning to head back to the couch, through the front window, Julian caught site of his neighbour. Julian wasn’t the nosey type, but the sight he saw had him pausing to make sense of what he was seeing.

Y/N, in her living room, crouched awkwardly on the floor in nothing but a bra and a pair of sleep shorts. She was struggling to assemble her desk; clearly unaware the world could see her through the window.

Julian didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

She was flushed, muttering something to herself as she tried to jam one piece into another. Her hair was a mess, sticking to her forehead in strands. There was nothing deliberate about it. No performance. No seduction. Just her. Real, soft, frustrated.

Julian was almost in awe of how unkempt his seemingly modest neighbour was. Seeing her in this state began to paint a different picture of her in his head. A picture of just a regular person. “Fuck she’s hot.” Ricky spoke; head turned towards the window now. “Shut up, Ricky.” He replied. He crossed the room and yanked the curtains shut, jaw clenched tight.

He had enough shit on his plate. He didn’t need this.

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Chapter III

A while later, in Y/N’s Trailer

Somewhere between the missing instruction manual and stripped screws, Y/N admitted defeat. She padded into the kitchen and pulled the corded phone off the wall, dialing the one number she hoped would bring wine and sympathy. After a few moments, Y/N heard someone pick up. “Hey babes, what’s up?” Sarah said on the other side of the line. Loud shouting echoing in the background. “Hey girl, I was wondering if you wanted to crack into a bottle of white with me, and put this dumbass desk together? I’ve been struggling for hours.” Y/N spoke. There was a pause on Sarah’s end, the silence being filled with a loud crash and more yelling. “Sorry, girl. Can’t. Ricky showed up drunk and high, and now he and Lucy are screaming at each other. I gotta stay here and make sure no one throws a chair through a window.” Sarah finally spoke, followed by a strained laugh. Y/N slumped against the counter. “Great. There goes my plan to bribe you with chardonnay.”

“Julian lives across from you, doesn’t he?” Sarah said, and Y/N could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “Go askhim. I’m sure he’s got time.”

There was another loud bang, and a man’s voice cursing about hitting his head on a cupboard door. “I can’t just—” Y/N paused. “He barely talks to me.” Sarah scoffed. “So? Just bat those Disney princess eyes and ask. He’s always helping people out around the park.” Y/N laughed softly, said her goodbyes and hung up, not wanting any part of this lover’s quarrel. Maybe this was a chance for her to get to know her evasive neighbour.

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Chapter IV

Julian was still on the couch, fixing Ricky’s mistakes. Bubbles had stopped by earlier, but had since left to take some shopping carts to the mall, and sell them back. Julian was trying hard to concentrate, but kept mauling over something Bubbles had said during his brief visit earlier that day. “I don’t know Julian, she seems like a nice lady, Y/N. She brought by this kitty she found at work. Said he’d be better off here in the trailer park than wandering around town.” Bubbles pulled back one of the curtains as he spoke. “Nothing fishy about her. You just don’t like her because you’ve got the hots for her.” Julian had denied his accusations. Now it was later in the evening. The sun had already set, and aside from the occasional barking of dogs, the park was quiet.

The knock was soft.

Julian barely looked up from the receipts, already knowing who it was. Ricky had wandered off somewhere, and the trailer was quiet again. When he opened the door, Y/N stood there, hands folded in front of her, a hesitant smile on her lips. “Hi. I, uh… I’m sorry to bother you,” she began. “But I’m struggling with this desk. And Sarah’s busy, and, would you maybe mind helping me?”

Julian stared at her for a moment too long. Her tank top clung to her curves, bra strap slightly visible beneath the thin fabric. He hated how quickly his brain betrayed him, flashing images of her bent over, her mouth open, her voice breathy.

He cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll help.”

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The desk wasn’t complicated. Julian had it assembled in under ten minutes. She hovered nearby, glass of wine in one hand, a refill of rum and coke in the other, watching with wide, curious eyes.

“Thank you so much, Julian,” she said, offering him a refill of his drink. “I didn’t think it’d be that heavy, or hard. But I guess that’s what I get for buying it online.”

He shrugged, taking the glass from her. “No problem.” Her voice lowered, almost teasing. “Thank God I have such a strapping neighbor.” Julian’s jaw tightened. Suddenly he remembered, he shouldn’t be there.

Julian subconsciously licked his lips, inhaling sharply through his nose, before breaking their eye contact. He was unsettled by the disturbing thoughts racing through his brain. A fistful of her h/c hair, her soft lips wrapped around his cock, and those innocent doe eyes looking up at him while he was fucking her throat. Julian took a sip of his drink, blinking away the image in his mind. Y/N laughed, smiling sweetly up at him. He wanted nothing more than to see her mascara running down that sweet little face. Would her moans be just as sweet as her laugh? How long could he have her bent over that new desk before she was a babbling mess on his cock? God, he needed to snap out of this. He shot a tight-lipped smile back at her, followed by a quick nod. “Ricky and I have some work to do soon,” he said quickly, deflecting. “I should head back.”

Julian crossed the kitchen towards the door, before he paused in front of the hallway. But before he could leave, he caught sight of the unopened bedframe in the hallway.

“You still need to put that together?”

Y/N followed his gaze, hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah… still haven’t gotten around to it.”

He didn’t even wait for her to ask. “I’ll do it.” Y/N turned to face him, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Inwardly she was battling whether to shoo him out or not, the sticky feeling between her legs needing desperate attention. But shouldn’t she take advantage of the free labour?

Julian picked up the box like it was nothing, drink still in one hand, sparking a familiar throbbing in Y/N’s cunt. She awkwardly followed him to her bedroom.

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The mattress was pushed up against the wall. Julian worked fast, steady, efficient. Y/N watched from the doorway, her pulse beating fast for reasons that had little to do with gratitude. The way his arms flexed, the calm command in his tone, it stirred something in her. Something desperate.

As he lowered the mattress onto the newly built frame, she stepped around him to smooth the sheets. Her body brushed his. His breath caught. She was so close. And when she bent to fix the covers, the hem of her shorts rode up just enough to make him clench his fists. He took a long sip from his drink, trying not to trace the curve of her ass and thighs.

She didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe she did.

The phone rang in the kitchen, and she slipped out to answer it. Julian stood in the bedroom; eyes fixed on the spot where she’d just been. From the kitchen he heard her say “Yeah, he’s here. I’ll tell him.” He already knew it was Lucy or Sarah, calling him about Ricky’s bullshit. He stepped out into the hallway, giving her a quiet nod as he passed.

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Chapter V

Julian didn’t sleep that night. He lay in bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling while the shadows shifted above him. Outside, the trailer park settled into its usual late-night chaos, Ricky yelling at a barking dog from the car, Bubbles humming to his cats, and the faint rumble of Lahey’s cruiser circling like a buzzard. But inside Julian’s trailer, it was still.

Still and far too quiet for a man with a mind racing the way his was. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Bending over the bed, adjusting the covers, her voice light and cheerful as if she had no idea the effect she had on him. Or maybe she did. Maybe that was the worst part.

She was soft.

Warm.

Curious.

And Julian wanted to ruin that in ways he hadn’t wanted in years.

______________________________________________________________________________

It’d been a few days since Julian had helped Y/N put together her desk and bed. Julian tried to focus on the shitstorm Ricky had stirred up, more fake invoices, another busted car door, something about a missing stash, but his mind kept wandering. More accurately, his mind kept drifting back across the street, to her.

Y/N. With her perfect posture and well-worn copy of Little Women tucked under her arm. Y/N, who wore cutesy little sundresses and leaned too close when she handed him a glass. Y/N, who bent over her bed like she didn’t know what she was doing to him. Or worse, like she did.

He couldn’t decide which would worst.

He’d been careful since Tanya. Never again, he told himself. No more falling for a pretty face hiding a sharp edge. And yet… every time he thought of Y/N’s flushed cheeks, her soft voice saying “sweetheart,” he felt himself slipping.

She hadn’t knocked on his door since he built her bed. No casual wave through the window. Just quiet. Distance. Which should’ve made it easier, but it didn’t.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter VI

The weekend – Late Morning

Y/N slept in.

The sun filtered through her curtains in soft gold; the kind of light that made everything feel hopeful. Her body was buzzing from her unresolved issues a few days prior. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Julian looked under the dim bedroom light, stoic, quiet, muscles flexing as he worked without a word. He hadn’t made a move, hadn’t lingered, hadn’t even looked at her too long. But she felt something in the air.

And it made her stomach flutter in a way she hadn’t felt since she was sixteen.

After a quick shower, she threw on a little sundress, soft blue, fluttery hem, one that made her feel feminine without trying too hard. She didn’t plan to see him. But part of her hoped she might.

She stepped outside with a bag of garbage, pretending to fuss with the bins longer than necessary. Across the street, his door creaked open.

Julian emerged shirtless, cigarette hanging from his mouth, rum and coke in one hand, and a clipboard under his arm. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and the morning sun carved every line across his chest.

He caught her staring.

Y/N blushed and quickly looked away. But not fast enough.

______________________________________________________________________________

A week later – The Grocery Store

She was standing in front of the dairy cooler, trying to decide between almond and oat milk when his voice slid in beside her.

“You’ll just end up throwing that almond shit out.”

She turned, startled, then smiled.

“Julian.”

He stood there in his all-black uniform: tight t-shirt, jeans, sunglasses. Casual, but imposing. He nodded toward the pink capped 2%.

“Go with that one. The real shit.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Your grocery shopping too?”

“Only ‘cause Ricky forgets everything on the list.”

He held up a basket filled with cereal, and three packs of hot dogs.

“Very nutritious,” she said with a smirk.

“Balanced diet,” he replied. “Protein, carbs, regret.”

They walked down the aisle together, neither saying much, but neither moving away. It was comfortable in a way that made her heart race.

She stopped in front of the peanut butter. He stopped just behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, smell the faint trace of his cologne under the tobacco.

“Smooth or crunchy?” she asked.

His voice dropped slightly. “Smooth.”

She swallowed. “Figures.”

“Why?”

“You seem like the kind of guy who likes things easy.”

Julian was unreadable. “You have no idea what kind of guy I am.” Their eyes met. A moment passed too long. He gave her a nod and continued down the aisle. Heart racing, she turned back to the shelves, pulse thundering in her ears.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter VII

That Evening – Her Trailer

It started with a knock again. Julian stood at her door with a small tool kit in one hand.

“You said the cabinet in your kitchen was loose.”

She blinked, surprised. “I… yeah. I did. two weeks ago.”

“I remembered.”

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, and she stepped aside, heart fluttering.

She watched him work again, quiet, focused, grounded in a way that made her ache. There was something deeply masculine about how he existed in a space. Like it bent itself around him without permission.

“Thank you,” she said, offering him a drink. “You don’t have to keep fixing all my stuff.”

“I know.”

He took the drink anyway.

They sat on the couch. Close. Too close. The room felt charged.

“I feel like you don’t like me,” she said suddenly. Julian raised an eyebrow. “I just fixed your cabinet.”

“You avoid me. You barely talk.”

“I don’t do small talk.” She nodded. “What do you do?”

His eyes held hers, sharp and unreadable.

“I do real talk. Or none at all.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Okay. Then what do you want to say?” He leaned back on the couch, stretching an arm along the top behind her. She felt the heat of his body, the quiet weight of that gaze.

“You don’t belong here,” he said finally.

Her lips parted. “Excuse me?”

“You’re too… soft. Too good. This place’ll chew that up.”

“I can’t tell if you’re insulting me or not.”

“You’re too soft.”

That landed deeper than she expected.

She looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt. “I’m not as soft as you think.”

“I’ve seen you dancing in your kitchen.” She smiled. “Spying?”

“You keep your blinds open,” he admitted. “Hard not to notice things.”

Their eyes met again.

Silence stretched, slow and heavy.

She tilted her head, voice low. “What else do you notice?”

Julian didn’t answer.

Instead, his hand moved, just slightly, just enough to brush her shoulder. It stayed there, fingers lightly grazing her skin, barely a touch. But it burned.

Y/N’s breath hitched. “Julian…” His eyes dropped to her lips. And for a moment, he leaned in.

So fucking close.

But he stopped. A breath away. His voice was a rasp. “Don’t let me do this.” Her hand trembled slightly as she reached up and touched his wrist.

“I won’t stop you.”

He swore under his breath, low and sharp, before pulling away completely. “I need to go.” Y/N stayed frozen on the couch, skin still tingling where he’d touched her. The screen door clicked shut behind him. Y/N exhaled, heart pounding, knowing this was only the beginning of something dangerous.

Something she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter VIII

Thursday Evening had rolled around. Y/N stood in her bathroom, toweling her hair dry. She still hadn’t shaken the heat from Sunday night, not just from how Julian’s arms looked, screwdriver in hand, but from the electricity of having him in her space. Close enough to touch. Close enough to smell the sharp tang of his cologne and the softness of his aftershave.

He’d almost kissed her. And if it weren’t for how standoffish he’d been all week, she would have thought she imagined it.

He’d stared down at her like he was fighting himself—and losing.

She liked that.

God help her, she liked the idea of someone like him losing control for someone like her.

She slipped into her usual bedtime getup: matching cropped sweater and fuzzy sleep shorts that barely counted. No bra. She wasn’t expecting company. But when she wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water and saw his lights still on… an idea sparked. She hesitated at the door, hand resting on the knob. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped outside.

Julian wasn’t expecting a knock. Certainly not this knock- soft, hesitant, uncertain. When he opened the door and saw her, his gut tightened. She stood barefoot on his porch, clutching a bowl awkwardly in both hands.

“Hey,” she said, quiet and sweet. “I made banana bread.”

Julian stared. “You… baked?”

She smiled. “I do that sometimes. Helps me relax.”

His eyes flicked down—bare legs, warm skin, tiny shorts. Fuck. He stepped aside, silently inviting her in. “I thought maybe you’d like some,” she added, slipping inside. “For helping with the desk, and the bed, and the cabinet.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.” That stopped him cold. She met his eyes, and for once, there wasn’t a single trace of girlish teasing in her gaze. Just honesty. And heat. Julian clenched his jaw. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

He stepped closer. “Because I’m not the kind of guy you bake banana bread for.” But Y/N didn’t flinch. “Maybe I’m not as sweet as you think.” Julian laughed, low and dark. “You want me to believe that?” He was eyeing her fuzzy blue lounge set, something straight off a mannequin at La Senza. She just shrugged, pretending to be casual. “You haven’t really tried to get to know me.” She replied. Her words hit like a slap. They were true. Despite how much he was trying not to get close, he kept choosing to put himself in her space. And now Julian was suddenly inches away from her, the tension thick enough to choke on. “Thanks,” he said, voice rough. “For the banana bread.”

“Well, thank you for being a good neighbour.” She stepped back out the door. He cursed under his breath and turned away, pacing. This was insanity. She was twenty-one. He was pushing forty. He’d seen shit she couldn’t imagine, done things she shouldn’t ever have to understand. He shouldn’t touch her. But the moment she reached out and touched his arm, light, hesitant, he was lost.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter IX

It was just past noon, and Julian had already gone through half a bottle of rum. Not that Ricky noticed. He was too busy munching on pepperoni sticks, and already drunk himself.

“You’re tellin’ me you went over there, put her bed together, and then just walked the fuck out?” Ricky’s eyes were wide with disbelief, a lit joint hanging dangerously off his bottom lip. “What the fuck, Julian?” Bubbles peered through his glasses, clearly trying to stay neutral, but not succeeding. “That girl’s real sweet, Julian. Real sweet. You sure you’re not just scared to admit you like her?”

Julian took a long pull from his drink and said nothing. Not because he didn’t have a response, but because he had too many. She’d been in his head every hour of every day since that night. That goddamn sundress. The way she looked at him like she didn’t know what she was doing, but still dared him to do something about it. “I’m not scared,” Julian muttered finally.

Ricky scoffed. “Bullshit. You’re fucking chicken.”

Julian’s jaw tightened. “Fuck off, Ricky.” He wasn’t looking for another hook up. Yet he also wasn’t sure if he was looking to settle down. Because the version of himself he tried to keep under control, the one built on instinct, need, and power, was banging on the fucking door. Every time she looked at him with those wide eyes, spoke to him with that soft voice…

He wanted to ruin her.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cute, though?” Bubbles said, gently patting a kitten off his lap. “She made you tea the other day, didn’t she?” Julian grimaced. “She steeped it. Put honey in it. Fuckin’ stirred it and everything.” Bubbles laughed, delighted. “Well that fucking domestic.”

“Exactly,” Julian snapped. “I’m not built to be domestic. She’s the kind of girl who knits and has cute mugs with flowers and shit. What the hell am I gonna do with that, man?” Ricky barked out a laugh. “You know exactly what you’re gonna do with that.”

Julian stood abruptly, jaw clenched, heading for the door. He needed air. He needed distance. He needed to stop thinking about what her thighs would feel like around his waist.

______________________________________________________________________________

Across the Street – Y/N’s Trailer

She had the window open again.

Julian leaned against the hood of his car, sunglasses on, drink in hand, trying to act like he wasn’t watching her fold laundry while mouthing the words to some old country song. She was wearing shorts again.

Of course she was. He couldn’t fucking breathe.

She danced a little as she folded, hips swaying, unbothered and content in her own world. No idea how close he was to losing his goddamn mind.

Or maybe she did know.

He didn’t trust it.

He didn’t trust her innocence, or his reaction to it. Because when she looked up and caught him watching, she didn’t blush this time. She smiled. And that smile? It wasn’t shy anymore.

It was curious.

It was mischievous.

Julian turned, heading toward his trailer, muttering, “Fuck this.”

That Evening – Her Front Porch

He wasn’t sure why he walked over. Just that he did. One minute he was pacing around his living room like a caged dog. The next, he was knocking on her door like he wasn’t seconds from doing something stupid. Y/N opened the door barefoot, in another damn tank top that did nothing to hide the swell of her chest.

“Julian,” she said, surprised. “Everything okay?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing his voice low. “You still need that dresser built?” She blinked. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, I haven’t even taken it out of the box yet.”

He nodded once. “Then let’s get it done.”

______________________________________________________________________________

The box was heavier than it looked.

Julian dropped it beside the wall and started pulling out pieces without waiting for instruction. He needed something to do with his hands. Needed to keep his focus off the way her scent filled the room. She sat on the bed behind him, sipping from a mug. “You don’t have to keep helping me, you know.”

“I know.”

A beat passed. Quiet.

“Then why do you?”

He didn’t look up. “Because it’s easier to fix your furniture than think about all the shit I want to do to you.” The silence after that was deafening. Y/N swallowed, setting her mug on the nightstand. “You’ve been thinking about it?” Julian set down the screwdriver, hands braced on his knees. Still not facing her.

“Every goddamn day.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t joke to lighten it. She just said, softly, “You haven’t done anything.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“Why?”

Julian turned then, slowly, eyes locking onto hers, darker than she’d ever seen them.

“Because once I do, there’s no going back. And I don’t think you understand what that means.” Y/N’s throat went dry. “Then explain it to me.” He stood, crossing the room in two steps. She backed up instinctively until the backs of her knees hit the bed. His hand reached out, curling loosely around her wrist, not tight, just there. His voice dropped to a warning growl. “It means the second I let myself touch you the way I want to, you’re mine. No games. No pretending. No getting to walk away when you decide it’s too much.” Her breath hitched.

“And is that what you want?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Julian stared at her for a long moment. Then slowly, carefully, he let her go.

“You should think about that,” he said. “Before I stop giving you the choice.”

And then he walked out, leaving her standing there, skin buzzing, knees weak, wanting nothing more than to stop thinking.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter X

It was nearing noon when Y/N stepped out into the crisp spring air, a small plastic grocery bag tucked under her arm. She’d been feeling cooped up, stir-crazy. The Julian situation, whatever it was, had her walking mental circles all morning.

The tension from that night at the club hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse. He’d acted like nothing happened. So, naturally, she did too. But every time she caught him outside, shirt tight over those ridiculous arms and sunglasses hiding half his expression, she wanted to scream. Or kiss him. Possibly both.

She crossed the trailer park and made her way to the shed, the familiar sound of tools clinking and soft mews echoing out into the sun.

“Hey, Bubs,” she called, peeking her head in. Bubbles looked up from where he was reattaching a wheel to a cat stroller. “Y/N! Hey there. What’s up?” She stepped inside, the smell of sawdust and warm fur wrapping around her like a blanket. “Brought a little something for your crew.”

She held out the bag of cat food. Bubbles took it like it was gold, eyes widening. “Frig, this is the good stuff! Real meat, no by-products… You’re spoilin’ ‘em more than I do.”

“Just returning the favour,” she said with a grin. “You helped me with my cat situation, remember?” He gave a modest shrug. They chatted for a bit while Bubbles worked, Y/N kneeling to peek at the new kitten in the crate. Then, after a brief pause, Bubbles glanced sideways at her.

“You seen Julian lately?”

Y/N’s spine stiffened just slightly. “A bit.”

He hummed. “He mentioned you the other day. Said you were ‘settling in okay.’ Which is Julian-speak for ‘I’ve been thinkin’ about her and don’t know what to do with my hands.’”

Y/N barked out a laugh, caught off guard. “Oh really?”

“I’m readin’ between the lines. He’s not great with feelings—unless it’s for rum or stress.”

“Or Ricky,” Y/N added.

“Exactly,” Bubbles grinned. “But you… you’re new. You’re clean-cut, steady job, all that. You make him nervous.”

Y/N’s brows lifted, feigning offense. “I’m not that boring.”

“No,” Bubbles said, more serious now. “You’re just… good. He’s used to people who want somethin’ from him. You don’t. And I think that messes with his head.” She bit her lip, glancing down at her hands. “I don’t think he’s really looking for something right now, or with me.”

“Oh, he is,” Bubbles said. “He just pretends he isn’t. It’s Julian’s way of not screwing things up.” He moved toward a nearby crate, pulling out a toy mouse and tossing it gently into a pen. “If I were you… I’d keep being yourself. Don’t play it cool just ‘cause he is.”

Y/N looked up at him, eyes searching. “You think it’s worth it?” Bubbles gave her a rare, firm nod. “I do. Julian’s got his shit, yeah, but he’s a good guy. And if you’re the person who makes him actually believe in something better… well, I’d call that a damn miracle.”

Y/N smiled; a bit dazed. “Thanks, Bubs.”

He waved her off, blushing slightly. “Don’t thank me. I’ve got a good tux for when the time comes.” She was still laughing when she stepped out of the shed. The conversation left her heart a little lighter, stomach a little flutterier.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter XI

The party at Sarah and Lucy’s was already in full swing by the time Julian showed up. He wasn’t much for parties unless he had a reason—and tonight, he wasn’t sure if he did or didn’t. Ricky had been bugging him to come by, and he figured it was better to keep an eye on the idiot than to hear about a blown-out trailer later. Bass thumped through the thin walls of the double-wide. Julian stepped inside, greeted by the familiar haze of cheap weed and perfume. Ricky was already blitzed, hunched over the kitchen sink arguing with the toaster like it had personally wronged him.

Julian rolled his eyes and scanned the crowd for trouble—mostly the usual faces. Then his gaze caught on her.

Y/N was out back.

Through the sliding glass door, he spotted her standing on the deck, laughing at something Sarah said, holding a red Solo cup in one hand… and a cigarette in the other.

He blinked, once.

Then twice.

Nope. Not a fruity flavoured vape.

Y/N was smoking.

He wasn’t sure what surprised him more. The sight of the cigarette between her fingers or the fact that she was doing it like she’d done it before. His first reaction was disbelief. His second was irritation. And his third, which came too fast for his own comfort, was… arousal.

‘What the fuck.’

Julian slid the door open and stepped out. The night air was cool, but not enough to keep the backyard from being packed with people. Y/N noticed him immediately, her expression didn’t falter, didn’t shift like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“Julian,” she said with a smile, lifting her cup. “Didn’t think you were coming.” He ignored the pleasantries, eyes locked on the cigarette. “Didn’t think you smoked.”

She took a drag, held it, and exhaled slowly. “Don’t usually. Just felt like one tonight.”

Julian stared at her, arms folded across his chest, drink still in hand. The smoke curled up into her hair, catching in the soft light of the patio lanterns.

“You got a problem with it?” she asked, tone casual but curious.

“Didn’t say that,” he muttered. “Just surprised.”

She offered him the cigarette. “Want a drag?”

He shook his head, jaw clenched. “No, I’m quitting.”

“Well, so am I. Guess we’re both liars tonight.”

That grin she gave him, it was knowing. Teasing. Almost dangerous in the way it danced on her lips like she knew exactly what kind of chaos she was stirring in him. He took a long sip of his drink, trying to cool down the heat rising in his chest. “You trying to prove something?”

“Not everything I do is about you, Julian.” Her voice was smooth, amused. But when she stepped a little closer, her smile dimmed, softened into something smaller. “But it’s nice to know you’re watching.”

Goddamn it.

He wanted to drag her into the shadows and show her that he wasn’t a guy you teased. He wanted to press her against the trailer wall, hand on her throat, that cigarette still warm on her breath. Instead, he reached down, plucked the cigarette from her fingers, and flicked it over the deck railing.

“Hey—!”

“You don’t need that,” he muttered.

She blinked. “You mad?”

He met her eyes. “Yeah.”

“It’s not like we’re together, Julian.”

“You don’t get to walk around here being perfect, then do shit like that and make it look hot.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly. The silence stretched.

Then she laughed, quietly, breathily, like it surprised her too. “You think I’m perfect?” Julian didn’t answer. He just turned away and stepped back into the house, heart pounding, glass nearly empty. He didn’t see her eyes linger on him as he left, or the small smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

______________________________________________________________________________

Julian had watched her from a distance the whole night, his drink going untouched in his hand. The twitch in his jaw was back, tighter now, harder. He watched as Y/N danced around in a short, tight party dress. A major shift from her usual daytime attire.

That’s when Ricky wandered over, absolutely fucked. He slapped a hand on Julian’s shoulder like they were sharing a joke. “Man, you’re a dumbass, you know that?” Julian’s eyebrow lifted, dangerously slow. “What?” Ricky leaned in, slurring. “You got that across the street from you? She’s got the hots for you, and you’re just sittin’ there actin’ like you don’t got a dick.” Julian shoved him off, taking a sip from his glass, and wandered out onto the porch.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter XII

The party had started to taper off. A few die-hards were still on the porch, yelling about hash coins and drinking warm beer, but most of the crowd had either passed out inside or stumbled back to their own trailers. Julian hadn’t moved from his spot in the corner of the living room. He was nursing what might’ve been his eighth rum and coke, pretending he gave a shit about whatever Corey and Trevor were rambling about. But his eyes kept drifting to the sliding glass door.

Waiting.

Eventually, he saw her. Y/N stepped out from the house, denim jacket over her shoulders, Solo cup gone. Her hair was a little messier than before, like she’d been laying down or running her fingers through it too much. The cigarette was gone too. Good. She glanced over her shoulder once, then started walking across the lawn toward her trailer.

Alone. Julian didn’t think about it. He just moved.

By the time she was halfway to the gravel path, he’d caught up.

“You gonna walk home by yourself?” he asked. She jumped slightly, then turned, eyes softening when she saw it was him. “Didn’t realize I had a bodyguard.”

“You don’t,” he said, matching her pace. “It’s dark. You’re tipsy. Lotta raccoons around.”

She laughed under her breath. “Raccoons?”

“They’re fuckin’ ruthless this time of year.”

The path between Lucy’s place and her trailer wasn’t far, but it was just long enough to let the quiet settle between them. Gravel crunched under their shoes. The party noise faded behind them, leaving only the hum of distant power lines and the chirp of insects in the trees. Y/N shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. “You always this dramatic about a cigarette?”

Julian glanced sideways. “I’m not mad about the cigarette.” She tilted her head. “Could’ve fooled me.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I just—” He stopped himself, shook his head. “You’re not like the other people around here.” She smirked. “You keep saying that. Starting to think it’s an insult.”

“It’s not.”

“Then what is it?” Julian didn’t answer right away. They reached her trailer steps. She paused at the bottom, and he stood one step below, close enough that her perfume mixed with the damp scent of night air. He looked at her, really looked at her—bare legs, tight dress, arms not pulled through the sleeves of her jacket, eyes catching the light like warm glass. “You’re good,” he said finally. “Too good for this place.”

Y/N blinked. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

She searched his face, trying to read him. “You act like that’s a compliment, but I’m starting to get irritated by it.” Julian’s jaw flexed. He didn’t respond. Didn’t trust himself to. “I’m not made of glass, Julian,” she said softly. “You don’t have to keep looking at me like I’m gonna break if you touch me.” He stepped forward before he could stop himself. One hand on the trailer’s railing, the other barely grazing her thigh. His voice dropped low, quiet.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Her breath caught. “Then what are you worried about?” The silence between them turned heavier, charged. She didn’t move away. Didn’t speak. Then the porch light above them flickered to life, motion sensor. It was enough to snap them both out of it.

Julian cleared his throat, stepped back. “Get some sleep.”

She lingered a second longer, watching him.

Then she nodded. “Goodnight, Julian.”

He turned and walked away, not looking back. And she stood there on the steps, lips parted, heart beating a little too fast, wondering just how much longer either of them could keep pretending.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter XIII

Julian’s phone buzzed around four in the afternoon.

He glanced at the screen.

Y/N: Any chance you could pick me up from work? My ride bailed.

Y/N: I’ll buy you dinner.

Julian didn’t even hesitate before texting back.

Julian: Be there in ten.

______________________________________________________________________________

The daycare was on the edge of Dartmouth, wedged between a curling rink and an empty strip mall. Julian pulled up to the curb and spotted her right away—standing outside with her bag slung over one shoulder, waving at a coworker who was heading in the opposite direction.

She looked… Fuck. She looked cute.

Her hair was in a half-up ponytail, a little messy from the long day, and she wore a white cardigan over a light sundress dotted with little flowers. Pastel sneakers. A heart-shaped lanyard around her neck. Julian blinked once, slowly, trying not to look too hard. But there was no helping it, his chest tightened in a way he didn’t like. Y/N opened the door and slid into the passenger seat with a smile, cheeks a little flushed from the heat. “Thanks for coming.”

“You bribe me with food. Smart move.” She laughed and buckled in. “You hungry?”

“Always.”

“Good,” she grinned. “There’s a drive-thru just a few blocks away. You like burgers?”

He gave her a side glance. “What kind of question is that?” She just smiled, content, as they pulled away from the curb.

______________________________________________________________________________

They rolled through the drive-thru, windows down, the smell of grease and summer air thick in the cab. Y/N placed their order with the kind of practiced sweetness that made Julian glance at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You flirt with the speaker box like that with everyone?” he muttered.

“It’s called manners. You should try it sometime.”

When they pulled up to the pay window, she reached for her purse in her lap—but instead of passing him the cash, she leaned across him to hand it directly to the cashier. Julian froze. She was practically in his lap, soft cardigan brushing against his chest, gourmand perfume in his nose. One of her hands landed lightly on his thigh for balance, and he swore under his breath. The cashier handed back the change, but Julian barely registered it. His whole body had gone still, like something hot and sharp had lodged under his skin. Y/N sat back in her seat, casually organizing the receipt. “You okay?”

He gripped the steering wheel. “What was that?”

“What?”

“You leaned all the way over me.”

“I was paying,” she said, blinking innocently. “You want me to give you my purse next time or something?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She tilted her head, smile twitching at the edges. “You sure? You’re looking kind of tense.”

Julian exhaled through his nose. “Don’t play fucking dumb with me.”

“Fuck, hangry much”

Their food arrived at the next window. Y/N took the bags, thanking the worker again with that syrupy voice, and settled back into her seat like nothing had happened. Julian didn’t speak until they were halfway down the street, the smell of fries thick between them, the heat from her still lingering on his skin. “You do this on purpose,” he muttered. She popped a fry in her mouth, legs crossed, voice light. “Do what?”

“Push me.”

Y/N glanced at him with a slow, deliberate smile.

“Maybe I just like the view from the passenger seat.”

Goddamn it.

He gripped the wheel tighter, shifting in his seat. This girl, this soft, good, sunshine-wrapped girl, had him wrapped around her finger.

And the worst part?

He liked it.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter XIV

Julian pulled the car off the main road, tires crunching on gravel as he turned down the old access lane behind the elementary school. The path opened into a clearing near the forgotten soccer field, long grass swallowing the posts, the swing set rusting quietly in one corner. No cars. No people. Just them and the sharp tang of summer dust. He cut the engine. Silence wrapped around them, thick and humming. Secluded. Quiet. Y/N peeled open her burger wrapper, legs curled up in the seat like she owned it. “Didn’t peg you for a scenic-eating kind of guy.”

“I’m not,” Julian said. “Just don’t like eating with a lineup of cars behind me.”

“Right,” she smirked. “You’re so mysterious.” He didn’t answer—just reached for a fry, eyes flicking to her knee, where her sundress had slipped just enough to show a little more of her thigh. He looked away just as fast.

But she noticed.

She always did.

“So,” she said casually, picking at her food, “was I imagining things, or were you actually flustered earlier?”

Julian turned toward her, brows raised. “At the drive-thru?”

She nodded, chewing slowly, eyes innocent.

“You leaned over me like you were trying to climb in my lap.”

“I was paying for dinner.”

“You were in my space.”

Her voice dropped just a hair. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

That was it. That was the spark.

Julian leaned across the console before he could talk himself out of it, fingers curling around her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. Her breath hitched—but she didn’t pull away. She tilted into him.

And then he kissed her.

God, her lips were soft. Sweet from soda and still warm from the sun. She made this quiet sound, almost a sigh, and that was nearly enough to break him. He deepened it without thinking, tasting her, pulling her closer like he needed her to breathe. She climbed halfway over the console to meet him, one hand on his chest, the other gripping his shirt. Her body molded against his, small and warm and eager, like she’d been waiting for this just as long.

It was firm at first, urgent, frustrated, but softened when she made a small, almost startled sound in her throat. Her hand slid to his chest, anchoring herself, and he pulled her closer. The kiss deepened. Hungry. Months of stolen looks and smartass remarks and tension wrapped up in that one moment.

And Julian wanted her.

He wanted to have her so bad.

But just when her fingers started to drift lower, to the hem of his shirt, he stopped.

He pulled back, panting, hand still cradling her jaw.

She blinked, dazed. “What—?”

“We’re not doing this here.”

Y/N swallowed, voice small. “Why not?”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Because I’m not fucking you in the backseat like some drunk hookup behind the Legion.”

Her breath caught.

“This—” he said, voice hoarse, “—this thing between us? It’s not fucking happening, not in the back of my car.”

Silence.

Then, “Julian…”

He kissed her again, gentler, like he couldn’t help himself, but then pushed her carefully back into her seat. He grabbed his drink, took a long pull like it could cool him down.

Eat your fries,” he said, voice flat. “Before they go cold.” Y/N sat there, flushed, lips kissed pink, heart jackhammering in her chest.

“…You’re such a bullshitter, you know that?” she said after a beat.

Julian didn’t look at her. She rolled her eyes and reached to take his drink from the cupholder, only for his hand to stop her, firm over her wrist. “You’re the one full of shit, with your whole innocent act.”

“What do you mean ‘act’?” she demanded. “You think I’m just some little girl? Like I don’t know what I want?” He didn’t respond fast enough. “What do you mean ‘act’? It’s like you think I’m some little girl and not a woman with actual feelings.” He pushed her wrist back towards her. She leaned back in, closer, stubborn.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into with me.”

“Well, I know I’m getting sexually frustrated here.” She snapped

That got him. Julian choked on air, coughing once, hard. The bluntness of her confession had his blood pressure up. Then he slammed the car into drive and peeled off down the road, gravel kicking behind the tires. “Maybe stop beating ‘round the bush and just tell me why this can’t happen? You come over to my place, unannounced, to fix my stuff. You get all controlling on me at Lucy and Sarah’s last week, now you kiss me. And now I’m the one who doesn’t know what I’m doing?” Julian just pressed down on the gas, white knuckling the steering wheel.

“You gonna keep dodging me forever?” she challenged, arms crossed tight. “Or maybe grow a pair and admit you feel something?”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

“Seriously, Julian. You act like you don’t want me and then nearly rip my clothes off every time I smile at you.”

“That’s not—” he cut himself off, trying to keep the steering wheel straight.

Y/N turned toward the window, lips tight, trying not to say something she couldn’t take back.

But in the silence that followed, Julian's voice came low, rough.

“…It’s not that I don’t want you,” he said finally, his voice low and sharp like gravel underfoot. “It’s that I don’t trust myself not to wreck your life.” Y/N froze. The weight of his words hit harder than she expected. Not just “wreck you.” He hadn’t said hurt, or mess up, or complicate. He’d said wreck your life. Like she was something fragile. Like he was something toxic. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Julian didn’t look at her. Didn’t soften. He stared straight ahead, hands clenched on the wheel, jaw locked.

“You think you want me now, but you don’t know what that actually means,” he added, bitter now. “I’m not the kind of man who makes your life better, Y/N. I’m the guy people barely survive knowing.”

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Because whatever he was trying to do, to protect her, to push her away, to pretend he wasn’t already in too deep, it landed like a slap. And the way her chest ached told her: maybe he hadn’t just hurt her. Maybe he’d already started proving himself right.

#we are so fucking back #really needed this rn #tpb #reblog #fic rec

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