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theywereafairy · 8 days ago

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party 4 u

⋆˚࿔ Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Wordcount: 7.9k Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (coming soon)

Had to keep writing this mess of a love story after part one, oops. Charli XCX continues to haunt this fic 💋 This is Part two so read Part 1 if you wanna know wth is going on here

⋆˚࿔ Summary: It’s been a week since your birthday, and since Joel Miller kissed you breathless, swore it was the last time, and then showed up anyway. Now you're texting daily, sneaking touches and looks you shouldn’t want as badly as you do. But when your dad throws a summer garden party and asks Joel to help set up, the tension becomes unbearable. Between stolen moments, nosy friends, and the fear of being found out, something has to give. And maybe… something real begins.

⋆˚࿔ Warnings: Age gap (reader mid-late 20s / Joel 50s) • established secret relationship • mutual pining • teasing • dirty talk (suggestive, soft dom) • sexual tension • kitchen counter sex (light detail) • soft!possessive!Joel • "daddy" nickname (light) • emotionally attached idiots • friends getting suspicious • fluff and filth in equal measure • kissing that ruins lives • baking innuendo • afterglow talks • making it official(?? 👀)

⋆˚࿔ Author’s Note: So I was only supposed to write two parts of this fic… but um. Yeah. There's definitely a part three in the work now because I love these two dumb idiots too much to stop. Thank you so much for the love on part one. Your reblogs, comments, and hearts truly made me emotional 🥹💘 If you’re screaming, crying, or throwing up over this one too, feel free to tell me in the tags or drop by my ask box. I’d love to hear what you think!!

It had grown warmer lately. Not quite the kind of warmth that made you reach for the thinner, silky duvet tucked at the back of your closet, but just enough to leave the window open at night, letting in the soft rustle of spring air and the faint scent of blooming grass from the yard below. The chill wasn’t gone, it still nipped at your toes when you kicked a leg free from under the covers, but it had softened, mellowed into something bearable.

From the headboard of your bed, you had a perfect view of the sky. The stars were clear tonight, scattered across the dark like spilled glitter. You used to love lying there on nights like this, staring up at them, letting the silence wrap around you like something holy. But for the past week, you hadn’t looked at the sky once.

Instead, your gaze was always tilted the other way, toward the nightstand, to the screen of your phone that rested there face-up, dimmed but never silent, like it was holding its breath, waiting for him. And god, the way you smiled when you saw his name. It was almost embarrassing. Your cheeks ached with it sometimes, muscles sore from curling upward all day long, the kind of grin you caught yourself wearing in mirrors or shop windows, like some teenager in love for the first time.

Joel had been texting you. A lot. Every morning, every night. His messages weren’t long, just a few words, usually, but they stayed with you. Hung in the air.

“Wish you were here.” “Show me what you’re wearing, baby.”“Miss you.”

You answered with the same kind of warmth and short replies. Little jokes. Blurry pictures from bed. The kind of casual intimacy that didn’t feel casual at all. And every time his name lit up your phone, something in your chest tugged tight, sweet and aching.

You knew words weren’t Joel’s strong suit. He wasn’t one for long paragraphs or flowery declarations. But he tried. You could feel it. In the way he checked in. The way he said goodnight. The way he called you baby more often than your name.

And sometimes, when you felt particularly soft, or particularly lonely, you’d sit in front of your mirror, legs bare, t-shirt hitched up just high enough to tease, your fingers trembling slightly as you angled your phone. Your body. His jacket in the background, still hanging from your door. You’d send him the photo and pretend it didn’t make your pulse race while waiting for the reply.

The first time he sent a voice message, you’d thought it was a mistake, just static, the low hum of his truck, a distant mutter. You were about to make fun at him for not knowing how to handle a phone when a second one came in.

This time with his voice. Low. Quiet. Still rough from sleep or work or, you hoped, the weight of missing you.

“Hey, darlin’. Just figured out you can talk into that thing. Hope you know you’re mine. And you’re fuckin’ perfect.”

You’d thrown your phone across the bed, face hot, heart thudding like he’d whispered it into your ear. There was something about it, about him, that felt dangerous and soft all at once. Like a secret you wanted to keep and scream at the same time. It wasn’t official. It wasn’t defined. But the word relationship still floated into your mind sometimes, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

It lingered there. In the curve of a smile. In the pause before a voice message. In the quiet between stars outside your window and the glow of your phone screen that never quite let you sleep.

On Monday evening, the sky held that soft, bruised pink color that only appeared in late spring, when the air was just beginning to forget winter. The streets were quiet, fading gold light streaking across sidewalks and car hoods, and the last stubborn patches of snow had finally melted into memory.

Riley and Nico had invited you out, insisting you owed them “a full-bodied catch-up” and “at least two rounds of drinks.” You hadn’t hesitated to say yes, but you hadn’t realized until you were halfway there where exactly they’d suggested meeting.

The bar. That bar.

The one where Joel had fucked you into the backseat of his truck like he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you in his mouth. Like he was trying to replace every thought in your brain with the sound of his name. You didn’t even have to step inside to feel it. Just walking past the parking lot made your skin prickle, heat blooming in your cheeks as if your body remembered more vividly than your mind allowed.

Inside, everything was exactly the same. Warm, low light. The clink of ice against glass. That same vaguely sticky table by the window, where Riley was already waving at you like she hadn’t just sent three “where are you bitch” texts. You slid into the booth with a practiced smile and ordered your usual, familiar words falling from your lips like you hadn’t been completely somewhere else in your mind.

Riley and Nico were mid-story, something about a coworker who wore crocs with toe rings, their laughter effortless and overlapping. You let yourself settle into it. Let their voices carry you. You needed that, something easy. To take your mind off him.

Time passed like it always did with them: quietly chaotic, a little off-key, and sweet in the way only long friendships can be. Drinks were ordered, stories got sloppier, and before long the three of you were leaning into each other across the table, tipsy and tangled in laughter.

Eventually, you slipped away to the bathroom. Your hands found the cold porcelain of the sink before your mind caught up, your reflection already waiting. It startled you how different you looked. Not in some dramatic, cinematic way, but in the quiet shift of someone who had been kissed like a promise.

Your eyes looked… soft. Your mouth, a little fuller than usual, as if it hadn’t quite recovered from being claimed. There were no smudges tonight. No mascara trails. No red-rimmed confessions buried in tissue. Just you, looking back at yourself. A little happier.

When you returned to the booth, something had changed..

Riley and Nico went still, just for a beat. One of those silence-cracks-open moments. Then they looked at each other, and whatever passed between them was immediate and loaded. You didn’t sit so much as slide into place, your pulse picking up as they turned their attention toward you with synchronized smirks.

“So,” Riley said, stretching the word like taffy. Her voice was too casual to be casual. “Anything new in the romance department, lately?”

You froze for half a breath,long enough for Nico to snort.

“She’s been glued to her phone all night,” he said, lifting his glass. “That shit-eating grin is practically trademarked by now. Someone’s been texting you. A lot.”

Your face betrayed you immediately. The heat crept up your neck, uninvited and obvious, your smile tugging at the corners of your mouth before you could stop it. You reached for your drink.

“Nothing’s going on.” You said it too quickly. Too practiced.

Liar. And they both knew it.

Riley raised an eyebrow, leaning in like a lion scenting something delicious. “Mhm. Sure. You just randomly decided to radiate that freshly in love and smitten energy ?”

You laughed, too high and too nervous. “I’ve just been in a good mood, okay?”

Nico leaned back, swirling the last of his drink. “Sure you have. Good moods don’t make people blush when they walk past a parking lot.”

That pulled your eyes up fast. He smiled sweetly. Gotcha.

Riley gasped. “Oh my god. Wait, is it someone here? Like here in town?”

You rolled your eyes. “There’s, like, fifteen people in this town, Riley.”

“Exactly!” she shot back. “That narrows it down. Give us a hint. Do we know him?”

“Her?” Nico added, raising a brow.

You shook your head, laughing, warm and cornered. “No. No one. I swear.”

“You’re glowing,” Riley said, drawing the word out with a sing-song lilt. “You don’t just wake up one day looking freshly fucked and emotionally fed.”

You nearly choked on your drink. They laughed like demons. Nice demons. And still, you didn’t tell them. Not because you didn’t trust them. But because this thing between you and Joel? It was still new. Still vulnerable. Like a candle flickering under too much wind. You didn’t want to blow it out by naming it too soon. So instead, you laughed with them. Let them tease. Let your smile curl soft and secret around the truth sitting in your chest like a precious little fire.

By midnight, the bar had filled out.

Clusters of teenagers, clearly underage, but no one really checked in towns like this, lined the walls, sloshing cheap beer into half-laughs. The air was louder now, more golden, humid with bodies and too many voices competing for space.

The door swung open again, a sharp gust of night air cutting through the warmth, and you glanced up out of habit. Your father walked in first, his presence as familiar as ever. Broad frame, easy smile, nodding to the bartender like they’d known each other for thirty years. And they probably have. But it was the man behind him who made your lungs forget how to work.

Joel.

You spotted him instantly. Those eyes—dark, slow-burning, always searching. The weight of his gaze settled on you like gravity.

And just like that, your spine straightened. Shoulders lifted. Smile pulling at your lips, blooming before you could stop it.

“Hi, daddyyy,” you drawled, dragging out the syllables in a tone far too flirtatious for the word, your drunk self tipping just past decency. It was directed towards your dad, your father. Still the irony wasn’t lost on you.

Riley snorted into her glass. Behind your father, Joel lingered in the doorway for a second longer, scanning the crowd before his eyes landed on yours again. He looked… devastating. The soft bar light slid across his salt-and-pepper hair, caught the edges of his jaw, his cheekbones. His flannel was rolled up at the sleeves, strong forearms on display, broad chest beneath layers you already knew the shape of.

Your heart thudded. Your thighs clenched. And in your slightly hazy, alcohol-warmed state, he looked like something you might’ve dreamed up if you were alone.

He lifted a hand in greeting. Just a small wave, fingers barely twitching. But the softness in it? The way his eyes didn’t leave yours? You were a fucking goner. You didn’t see your friends staring until it was too late. Didn’t notice the way their heads whipped between you and Joel like spectators at a tennis match.

“You’re fucking joking,” Nico whispered, eyes wide, mouth slack.

“Oh my god,” Riley giggled, her chin propped on her hand, gaze sharp as a blade. “You slut.”

You blinked. Slowly. Smiled into your glass. Too late to deny it now.

Your face had already betrayed you, the way your eyes sparkled, the curve of your lips. You probably looked like a lovestruck cartoon character, heart-shaped stars beaming from your sockets. They had been your friends for too long, not to notice.

Nico leaned closer, voice lowered to a hiss, eyes gleaming. “You’re not fucking Joel Miller.”

You cleared your throat. Shrugged. Stared deeply into the last inch of your drink like it could swallow the room whole.

They burst into laughter. Unhinged, tipsy, delighted laughter, like they’d just uncovered the town’s juiciest secret. Which, okay, maybe they had.

“Holy shit,” Nico said between giggles. “That guy is like, what, twice your age?”

“And your dad’s friend,” Riley added gleefully, her mouth curling into a devil’s grin. “Jesus Christ. That’s so hot.”

Your face was on fire. You could feel the blush blooming from your chest to your ears.

“Okay,” you said, cutting them off before your body spontaneously combusted. “Yes. We’ve been… seeing each other. It’s not official. Yet. I don’t know. But it’s going well. He’s…he’s a good guy.”

You glanced up, instinctively, and there he was again. Still watching you from across the room, only half-listening to whatever your father was saying.

“And before either of you give me some moral lecture,” you added, narrowing your eyes, “there’s nothing you could say that he hasn’t already said to me himself. So keep it.”

There was a pause.

“Oh, babe,” Nico said, practically beaming. “No lectures here. When I lived in New York, I slept with a dude who was, like, pushing sixty. Honestly? Phenomenal. So no judgment.”

“But holy shit,” Riley murmured, eyes now fixed on Joel like she could see through his shirt. “He’s so fucking hot. Bet he just talks you through it. Doesn’t he? Like, filthy and soft?”

You buried your face in your hands.

“Stop thirsting after my man.” You groaned, laughing despite yourself.

“Oh my god,” Nico whispered, fanning himself. “I bet he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for every year between you.”

You could feel the blood rushing to your face now. Your head might actually explode. Your brain, definitely melting.

“He…he’s very good,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. They screamed..

Your dad was now on his way over. That easy, loping step you’d known your whole life, the slight sway in his hips that always appeared after his second beer. The warm weight of his presence cut through the haze of low lights and crowd chatter as he approached, voice carrying easily above the noise.

“Evenin’, kids,” he drawled, that deep Southern tone still sticky even after all these years. “Just wanted to make sure y’all’re gettin’ home alright. I’m headin’ out, but Joel’s still here if you need a ride.”

You blinked at him. Your drink froze halfway to your mouth.

Riley bit down a grin that was far too sharp for her glossed lips.

“Oh, I bet he’d love to give her a ride.”

You didn’t even think, your elbow shot out, hard and fast, slamming into her ribs. She gasped, wheezing like someone had taken the air right out of her lungs. “Jesus!”

Your dad raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. Just pulled out his battered old wallet, creased leather and frayed stitching, slapping a fifty-dollar bill on the table.

“You kids be careful,” he said, tapping it once with two fingers. Then he tipped his chin in a lazy goodbye and turned, weaving his way toward the exit.

The second the door shut behind him, Riley sprang to her feet, drunk on power and tequila.

“Well,” she announced, eyes glinting. “Time to get your other daddy over here.”

You reached for her instantly, one hand flying to her shoulder. “No. Sit. Down.”

But it was too late.

“Mr. Miller!” she called, loud and unbothered, voice slicing across the room like a siren. “Can you come here for a sec?”

You nearly died. Like-actually. You could feel your soul begin to evaporate from your body. You were seconds away from melting through the floorboards and dissolving into the tile.

Joel looked up from across the room, his expression unreadable, though the slight pinch between his brows made it clear he knew something was up. His gaze flicked to Riley, then slid to you. Suspicious. But intrigued.He stood slowly, jaw tightening just enough to make your stomach twist. Then, eyes never leaving yours, he began to make his way toward you. Your pulse thudded in your ears. This was so not good.

The man made his way toward your table with the kind of pace that felt deliberate, unhurried, but not casual either. Controlled. Like every step was calculated. His brows were slightly furrowed, jaw tense, the kind of look he wore when something didn’t sit quite right.

You kept your gaze fixed on your drink as if it could offer protection, your fingers wrapped tight around the glass like it was the only thing anchoring you to this plane of existence. He reached the table. Stopped. Didn’t say anything. He stood there like a question mark, his height suddenly more intimidating in the dim bar light, shadow cutting across the side of his face.

“You called, ma’am?” he said dryly, his voice dipped in Southern gravel, eyes flicking toward Riley with just enough amusement to pass as polite.

Nico took control. Without saying a word, he reached toward a nearby table, grabbed an empty chair, and dragged it over with a loud scrape that made you flinch. He gestured to it with the flair of someone offering a throne.

“Please. Have a seat.”

Joel hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he sat, easing into the chair with a familiar kind of weight, his broad shoulder brushing yours as he settled in. Warm. Solid. So close you could smell the cologne he always wore.

You stared at your drink. He stared straight ahead.

And then, his hand found your thigh under the table.

Your breath hitched, heart skittering into your throat. His palm was warm, fingers wide and deliberate as they curled around the meat of your thigh, squeezing once, firm, grounding—and then rubbing slow, tight circles like he had every right to touch you like that here, now, in front of everyone.

Your back straightened instinctively. No one said anything for a beat too long.

“So, Joel,” Nico said casually, swirling the melting ice in his drink. “How’s the… furniture business?”

You blinked. Furniture business? What was this man up to? Joel’s fingers didn’t stop. He answered smoothly, voice low and even. “Busy. Still backed up on custom work.” His thumb pressed just a little harder into your skin. “Hard to keep up with demand.”

Riley nodded, her chin in her hand, elbow on the table like she was interviewing a celebrity. “Mmm. I bet you keep… busy.” Her tone was definitely not something you had ever heard before. “You always seem like a hands-on kind of guy.”

Joel didn’t so much as flinch. Your friends were drunk. Too drunk to play it cool, but not drunk enough to shut up.

“I try,” he said, deadpan. “Comes with the territory.”

His hand inched higher on your thigh. You crossed your legs to stop yourself from making a sound.

“What about… evenings?” Nico chimed in, slouched low in his seat, a grin twitching at his lips. “You more of a homebody or… do you get out much?”

Joel smirked. You wanted to throw your drink at him. And then yourself.

“Depends,” he said, not looking at you. “If there’s good company.”

Riley’s gaze snapped to yours for a millisecond, then back to him. You lifted your glass to your mouth, more for cover than thirst.

Joel’s thumb dipped beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers dragging against bare skin now, the touch maddeningly slow. You stared straight ahead, refusing to react, heat blooming in your cheeks. This was torture. This was delicious. This was going to get you both killed.

Joel leaned back in his chair a little, relaxed, easy. You could feel the amusement rolling off of him in waves, like he was watching a show only he could understand.

“Anything else you two wanted to ask?” he said, so calm, so composed. “Or was this just a pop quiz?”

“Oh,” Nico answered, voice syrup-thick with suspicion. “Plenty more questions. We’re just warming up.”

You were already on fire. Every nerve was tuned to Joel’s touch, the slow drag of his fingers along your inner thigh, the way his thumb kept tracing tight, infuriating circles just above your knee. Close. Teasing. Possessive. And yet, from the outside? He looked perfectly calm. Unbothered. What a sly little bastard.

“Mr. Miller,” Nico said again, too high pitched to be anything but suspicious. “Joel, remind me, how long have you known her dad?”

Joel tilted his head thoughtfully. “Hmm…. Since I moved here 5 years ago?”

“Wow,” Riley said. “That’s a long time. And you know her pretty well too?” She pointed at you.

His fingers pushed up further, stroking the sensitive skin at the top of your thigh, so close to where you wanted him, you nearly gasped. You forced your jaw to stay clenched, took a slow sip from your drink, hoping it masked the shiver that ran down your spine.

Joel’s voice came low and lazy: „Mhm. Sometimes I think I know her better than her dad.” He turned slightly toward you then, finally, and under the table, slow, patient, he slipped his hand between your thighs.

You nearly knocked your glass over.

“Everything alright?” he murmured, just loud enough for only you to hear, like the smirk was embedded in his voice. You nodded, didn’t trust yourself to speak.

His fingers brushed up against the damp heat between your legs, finding the thin barrier of your panties. And then, slowly, like he had all the time in the world, he began to stroke you through the fabric. Confident and Steady.

Riley was still going, her drunk curiosity only growing. “You’re not dating anyone, are you, Mr Miller? A guy like you? I feel like you’d be married or something.”

His fingers pressed a little harder. You could feel the slickness already there, the ache building. And still, he didn’t let up. Kept a rhythm, like it was nothing.

“Nope,” he said simply, eyes on Riley now. “Not married. Not seein’ anyone, officially.”

You bit your lip so hard it stung.

Nico leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Not officially, huh? So… seeing someone unofficially?” Gaze flicking towards you. Joel tilted his head, like he was actually thinking about it. Meanwhile, his fingers slipped under your panties. A soft exhale caught in your throat.

“Could say I’ve been… keepin’ company,” he drawled, rubbing slow, devastating circles over your clit with the pad of his finger. You twitched beside him, body tightening like a bowstring.

“Who?” Riley demanded, grinning. “Come on, don’t be shy. Someone local?” She knew the answer, that didn’t stop her from forcing it out of him. Daring him to say your name.

Joel finally turned his head, looked right at you. And god, those eyes. The intensity. The knowledge.

“Yeah,” he said, voice just a touch quieter. “Someone local.”

Your whole body pulsed at that. And then, he slid one finger into you. You clamped your thighs together on instinct, your hand flying to grip the edge of the table so hard your knuckles went white.

“Jesus, you alright?” Nico asked, brow furrowed.

You nodded too quickly. “I’m ugh fine. Just… warm.”

Joel didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch. He was so composed, so fucking casual while his fingers moved inside you, slow and deep, curling just right like he knew every inch of you already. Which he did.

“Y’all got the heat on too high in here,” Joel added, looking around like this was just another evening with old friends. You almost laughed. Almost. If you weren’t seconds from making a sound that would get you both in trouble for something very indecent.

“Oh, I know who it is,” Riley said suddenly, pointing a dramatic finger at Joel. “It’s the bartender. Has to be. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.” Riley glared at you, sipping from the straw.

Joel chuckled softly, thumb circling your clit again, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“She’s sweet,” he said mildly. “But not quite my type.” The man had the audacity to stare you down, let his eyes wander over your body. You squeezed your eyes shut. You were so close. You could feel it coming on fast, that telltale pressure building low and hot and unrelenting.

Joel leaned toward you, his mouth brushing your ear, voice barely a whisper.

“Be good, baby. Cum nice and quiet for me.”

And so you did. Silently. Clenching around his fingers, your breath caught so deep in your chest it felt like falling. Heat rushed to your cheeks, your whole body trembling from restraint as you held back a sound that would’ve given you away instantly.

Joel let his fingers linger a moment longer. Then pulled back, slow and sweet, like he hadn’t just fingered you in a booth beside your clueless friends.

You kept your eyes on your glass, blinking hard, jaw clenched. Your legs were still shaking.

Casually, like he had just eaten something warm and delicious he lifted his finger to his mouth. In the right angle one could see the glistening on it. Eyes steady on yours he put it in his mouth, licked it, like there was chocolate cream from a croissant left on it. You thought you could reach your height again, just from him doing so. If you were alone, not in a room full of people , your friends, you would’ve climbed him like a tree right now. God he was sexy.

Nico tilted his head, looking at you closely.

“You look kinda… flushed.”

Joel smiled. “Think the tequila’s hitting her.”

You could have killed him. And married him.

Joel sat back with the kind of ease that came from a man who’d just gotten away with something. One arm hooked lazily over the back of your chair, fingers ghosting along your shoulder like it was second nature. One still a bit damp from his spit.

Riley’s gaze drifted from his hand to your flushed cheeks and back again, a slow smirk unfurling on her lips like a blooming flower in dangerous weather.

“Well,” she said, sipping her drink with exaggerated poise. “I must say, it’s nice when a man sticks around after flirting.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That right?”

Nico leaned in over the table, eyes glinting. “Oh, absolutely. Most men disappear after five minutes of banter.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You got something to say to me, Nico?”

“I’m saying,” Nico replied, lips curling upward, “you’ve clearly made yourself comfortable.”

His gaze flicked briefly to your knee, where Joel’s hand had rested not long ago, then met Joel’s again, unflinching. Joel met it head-on, his smirk softening into something quieter. Less smug. Almost fond.

“Comfort’s important,” he said simply. “Especially with the right crowd.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, then toward Riley, whose grin had lost its bite and settled into something sweeter. Protective, even. She reached across the table, tapping her fingers gently against yours.

“Just so you know,” she said, tone softer now, “if anyone gives you shit, we’ve got a shovel and alibis.”

Joel let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled more in his chest than in his throat. “Good to know.”

Nico tilted his glass in a mock-toast. “To mutual understanding. And, uh…whatever this is.” his hand waving between the two of you like he was shewing away a fly.

You groaned, pressing your forehead to the table. “Can we not bring that up again?”

“Who said anything?” Riley teased, grinning wickedly. “We’re just impressed with his nice manners for such a…handsome guy, that’s all.”

Joel shrugged, entirely unbothered. “I like a hands-on project.”

Your head snapped up. “Joel.”

“What?” he said, feigning innocence, though the twitch in his lip betrayed him.

There was laughter again. Easier this time. More full-bodied. It rippled through the group like the tension had finally exhaled.

No one said it out loud. No one needed to. They knew. He knew they knew. And they knew he knew they knew.

Joel met Riley’s gaze. Then Nico’s. His face serious for just a beat. “Thanks for… being decent about all this.”

“Hey,” Nico said, raising his brows, “she’s one of ours. You treat her like she deserves, then so far, so good.”

“She deserves a lot more than good,” Joel said, voice quiet but firm.

That shut everyone up for a moment. Riley looked at you. Nico smiled. And maybe your heart grew three sizes in the quiet between their smirks.

The ride home was the kind of chaos that only came after too much tequila, too many whispered confessions, and the unmistakable giddiness of something unraveled but somehow still intact.

Joel had slid behind the wheel without protest, hands steady on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable except for the slight lift at the corner of his mouth.

“Your parents’d kill me, then hang me in the town square if I didn’t get y’all home safe,” he muttered as he adjusted the mirrors. His thumb hovered over the radio dial, turning up a soft hum of old rock that filled the silence without demanding anything from it.

In the backseat, Riley and Nico were a mess of limbs and laughter, swapping stories and half-hearted insults like they hadn’t just spent an hour flirting with the man now driving them home. You glanced into the rearview mirror once, catching Riley looking at you with a knowing smirk before dissolving into giggles at something Nico said.

He dropped Nico off first, who, despite being half-asleep, still gave Joel a dramatic salute and thanked him with the exaggerated. Then Riley, who took her sweet time opening the truck door, only to lean forward and whisper, just loud enough for you to hear:

“Night, Mr. Miller.”

You could practically hear the wink in her voice.

Joel watched her walk up the path, arms crossed lightly over the steering wheel, headlights catching her silhouette as she disappeared through the front door and closed it behind her.

“She’s a riot,” he said, still watching.

A beat of silence passed. Then, finally, he spoke to you again.

“They’re nice kids.”

You frowned, something about the word catching you sideways. “They’re not kids.”

A pause. “They’re my age.”

That made him smile. Small. Almost guilty. “You’re right,” he said, nodding as he pulled the truck back into gear. “Nice adults, then.”

Your dads house came into view a moment later, the headlights throwing long shadows across the front steps, illuminating the familiar shapes of your porch, your door, your little piece of the world. The truck idled at the curb, humming beneath you both.

Neither of you moved. Joel reached over. Slowly. Carefully. His hand, big and warm and rough from years of use, cupped your cheek like it was something delicate, something worth holding. He leaned in, and when his lips met yours, it wasn’t hurried or possessive. It was slow. Sweet. Full of restraint and promise, like he was saying something he didn’t know how to say out loud.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured against your mouth. “Sleep tight.”

You smiled, cheeks hot and glowing, eyes suddenly too full. It was ridiculous how giddy you felt, like a schoolgirl with a secret scribbled heart on her notebook, like a girl kissed for the very first time.

Your fingers lifted instinctively, carding through his hair once, just enough to feel the soft give of it beneath your palm.

“Night, Joel,” you whispered. Then added, a little breathless, “This… was nice. Is nice.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched you with that unreadable expression as you opened the door and stepped out into the night. From the porch, you turned back once, and he was still there. Hands resting on the wheel, eyes steady on you.

The first truly hot day of the year arrived like a dare, bold and bright, stretching itself across the sky with no intention of being polite. Sunlight poured through the kitchen windows in wide golden strokes, warming the tiled floor beneath your bare feet. The house smelled like sugar and lemon zest, like heat and childhood, like something good was about to happen even if you didn’t quite believe it yet.

Your hair was pulled up loosely, little strands clinging to the sweat gathering at your nape as you leaned over the counter, fingers dusted in flour, cheeks pink with the kind of effort that made you feel useful Grounded. Not at all like a girl who’d been letting her father’s best friend ruin her in increasingly inventive ways.

Your dad came in from the yard with a huff, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt. “That patio’s gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, moving toward the fridge like he was mid-monologue in some invisible sitcom. “Can’t keep the damn boards level with this heat warping everything.”

You glanced over your shoulder, flicking a bit of flour at him playfully. “You said the same thing last summer.”

“And I’ll say it again next summer too, unless I finally break a hip out there,” he grumbled, though the smile on his face gave him away. “I should’ve replaced it years ago. The whole damn thing’s more crooked than a politician.”

You laughed softly and returned to smoothing out the pie dough you’d been working on, peach and raspberry, thick brown sugar crumbles waiting in a bowl nearby. “Want me to help when I’m done?”

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand. “Called Joel. He owes me a favor, anyway. Figured the two of us could knock it out before the party tomorrow.”

Your hands stilled. Your heart didn’t. He said it so casually, like Joel Miller wasn’t the man you’d just sent a very explicit picture to two nights ago. Like he hadn’t once muttered your name into your shoulder while gripping your hips like you were salvation.

“Right,” you said, dusting your hands off a little too briskly. “Good idea.”

The door creaked open fifteen minutes later, heavy boots stepping onto the wooden floor, and you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

Joel’s presence always came in waves. First the scent, sawdust and soap and a hint of sun-warmed cotton. Then the weight of his gaze, always anchored, always aware. Like even when he wasn’t touching you, he was holding something.

“Where’s the patient?” he asked casually, pulling off his sunglasses and sliding them onto his collar.

“Backyard,” your dad replied, grabbing a pair of gloves from the drawer. “She’s looking worse than ever.”

Joel didn’t respond right away. You could feel his eyes on you.

“Didn’t realize you had a baker in the house,” he said, stepping closer, voice laced with easy amusement. “Smells like summer in here.”

You didn’t look up, but you felt the corners of your mouth curve. “Peach raspberry. Don’t even think about stealing any.”

“Oh, I’m not thinking about it,” Joel murmured, already reaching out.

Your dad slapped his wrist, laughing. “Get your hands off her pie, Miller. You’re not that charming.”

Joel grinned, feigned innocence, and held his hands up. “Alright, alright. I’ll earn it first.”

He moved toward the back door, but not before passing close behind you, fingers grazing the small of your back in a touch so light it could’ve been imagined. But it wasn’t. You knew his touch like you knew the sound of your name. That one little stroke sent your stomach into knots. You caught his smirk just as he stepped outside.

From the window above the sink, you watched them work, your dad kneeling by the warped boards, Joel crouched beside him in a grey t-shirt gone almost translucent with sweat. His shoulders stretched the fabric taut, veins in his forearms flexing as he braced a beam and held it in place. Every now and then, he’d wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, eyes squinting against the sun. You leaned into the counter, lips parted slightly, and let yourself stare.

When your dad went inside to grab a new drill bit, Joel glanced up at the window, straight at you. You didn’t move. Neither did he. Then he winked. By the time your dad returned to the yard, you were already pretending to rinse off mixing bowls.

“I’m gonna run into town real quick,” your dad called through the open door. “Outta beer and the grill won’t start without a goddamn lighter. You good here?”

“Yeah,” you replied, careful to keep your tone even. “We’re good.”

The front door clicked shut behind him.

Outside, Joel straightened slowly. Turned. And headed for the house. The silence that followed was thick. Heavy with heat. With possibility. With the kind of tension that only ever led to one thing.

Your heart beat faster. Your hands were still sticky with dough. And Joel Miller was coming inside. The screen door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn right away, just stirred the glaze in the small saucepan on the stove, slow and lazy, like you hadn’t been watching him like a woman possessed for the past hour.

When you did glance back, Joel was already halfway into the kitchen, shirt sticking to his chest, hair damp from sweat, forearms streaked with dirt and effort. His eyes landed on you with purpose.

“Hi,” he said, voice low, curling sweet around the word like syrup. You smiled, just a little wicked.

“Hi, sexy stranger.”

He huffed out a laugh, closing the door behind him with his boot. “Stranger, huh?”

You tilted your head, licking a smear of sugar off your thumb. “Haven’t seen you in, what, thirty minutes? Felt like a lifetime.”

“Mm,” he drawled, stepping closer, hands hooking into his back pockets like he was trying not to touch you. “Could’ve sworn I caught you starin’ at me through the window.”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe I was just admiring your carpentry skills.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean the way I hold a drill or the way my shirt stuck to my back?”

Your eyes flicked over him, slowly, deliberately. “Both. Very educational.”

Joel shook his head, smirking like he didn’t stand a chance and knew it.

“Don’t you have a cake to bake or somethin’?” he said, nodding to the half-assembled dish beside you.

“Still gotta put it in the oven,” you said, licking your lower lip unconsciously. “But I’ve got time.”

Joel stepped closer, his hand brushing against the back of your waist, warm and rough and grounding.

“That so?” he murmured. “Cause from where I’m standin’, that cake can wait.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance. He leaned in and kissed you. It started soft, tentative, like he was still pretending to behave, but it melted fast. His lips parted yours with an easy, aching hunger, fingers pressing into your waist like he couldn’t bear the distance anymore. The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

You gasped when his hands gripped your thighs, strong and purposeful, and he lifted you onto the counter in one smooth motion, like you weighed nothing. The cool marble kissed the back of your legs; the heat between you made everything else irrelevant.

“Joel” you whispered against his lips.

He pulled back just an inch, breath brushing your cheek.

“Joel” you breathed again, hands curling around the edge of the counter, “what if…what if my dad comes back?”

Your voice was shaky, not quite convincing even to yourself. He was already kissing down the side of your neck, lips dragging slow and hot against your pulse, and your thighs were trembling from how he stood between them, broad, solid, unbothered.

“He won’t,” Joel murmured, barely lifting his mouth. The words came like a hum against your skin. “And if he does…”

He kissed under your jaw. Bit there. Licked the sting away. “Let him.”

You gasped. The words hit low, coiling between your legs like they’d been custom-designed to make you ache. Joel pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, that signature half-smirk ghosting across his face, pupils dark and fixed on you like he was watching you come undone molecule by molecule. His hands, calloused and warm, slid slowly up your thighs, over the flour-dusted hem of your sundress, fingers spreading you apart like instinct.

“You think I haven’t been dreaming about this?” he muttered, voice thick, Southern and filthy. “This pretty little dress ridin’ up your thighs while you bake for me? Like you knew what it’d do to me?”

You swallowed hard. Your chest rose and fell faster now. He didn’t wait. His hands pushed the fabric higher, bunching it around your hips, the heat of his palms branding your skin as he pressed between your legs, the grind of his jeans against your panties making your back arch.

“Should’ve known you’d be soaked for me the second I walked in,” he rasped, eyes dragging down to where your thighs were parted around him. “Knew you were watchin’. Knew you wanted me.”

You whimpered, hips instinctively chasing his rhythm. The pressure, the friction, the way he was still fully clothed while you were unraveling, it was maddening.

He kissed you again, deeper now, tongue pushing past your lips like he had something to claim, and he did. His hands slid up, fingers brushing the straps of your dress off your shoulders, exposing you slowly, reverently, like unwrapping a gift he’d waited too damn long to touch.

“You still worried about your dad?” he murmured against your mouth, voice gone to gravel.

You shook your head. He grinned, one hand teasing over your chest, thumb flicking against your nipple through the lace of your bra.

“Didn’t think so.”

His fingers slid slow and deliberate beneath the hem of your dress, rough palms pressing your thighs apart with a quiet command that stole the breath right from your lungs.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low and unhurried. His lips brushed your ear, warm and wicked. “That mouth of yours usually has so much to say.”

You shivered, hands gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. He rocked forward just enough for you to feel the heavy pressure of his cock, still clothed, pressing against the soft heat between your legs. Your head tipped back with a shaky gasp.

“Joel” you breathed, needy, lost in the friction.

He chuckled. God, he sounded smug. Dark. Controlled. “That ain’t what you usually call me, baby.”

You blinked, dazed, lips parted.

“What is it you like to call me, hmm?” He grazed his nose along your cheek. “Use your words.”

Your thighs tightened around his hips.

“…Daddy.”

The word left your mouth like a confession.

Joel growled low in his throat, hands gripping your waist, grounding you to him. “That’s more like it,” he whispered, hips rolling in a slow, devastating rhythm. “My good girl.”

He undressed you like he was unwrapping something precious, like time didn’t matter, like the world outside the walls could wait. Every inch of fabric he pulled away was followed by a kiss, a touch, the scrape of stubble across soft skin. When you were bare beneath him, panting, trembling, he paused to look at you.

And that look—hungry and reverent, like you were something he’d built with his own hands and meant to worship—burned hotter than the sun outside.

“You want me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice hoarse, eyes locked on yours. “Say it.”

“I want you,” you whispered, breathless. “I want you to, Joel, please…”

He kissed you before you could finish, one hand sliding behind your back, the other guiding your hips toward him, aligning every aching part of you until you gasped his name like a prayer.

The moment he pushed forward, slow, thick, deep, you broke. Not loud. Not obscene. Just a soft, cracked moan that curled around his name like it was the only word you knew.

He moved slowly at first, savoring it. Savoring you. His hands gripped your hips like he never wanted to let go, your foreheads pressed together, breath shared, the heat between you messy and unrelenting.

“Goddamn,” he groaned against your skin. “You feel like heaven, baby. Like home.”

You wrapped your arms around him, legs tightening around his waist, meeting every thrust with desperate need. It wasn’t frantic, it was aching. Deep. Raw. Like he was trying to remind you of every second you’d been apart.

And when you finally came, shaking, clinging to him, biting back a scream into the crook of his neck, he followed with a broken groan, holding you still as he gave in, buried deep, heart racing against yours. For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, as the room settled around you, and your breath returned in small, sweet gasps, you looked down between your bodies, the evidence of him spilling out of you in slow, glistening trails.

Joel followed your gaze and smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the gentlest touch.

“You look good with glaze on you, darlin’,” he murmured. “Understand now why you’re making that for the cake too.”

You laughed, hoarse, warm, glowing.

“I’ll add it to the recipe.”

You were still on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist, Joel leaning against you, forehead pressed to your shoulder as his breath slowed. The kitchen was quiet again, save for the soft ticking of the oven timer and the birdsong bleeding through the open window. The scent of sugar and sweat hung in the air, sticky and heady..

You shifted slightly, brushing your fingers through his damp curls. “We could’ve actually been caught, you know.”

Joel huffed against your skin, mouth brushing the space just beneath your collarbone. “Would’ve been worth it.”

You snorted. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” He pulled back slightly to look at you, eyes hooded but soft. “Still worth it.”

You rolled your eyes but your smile betrayed you.

“We’re gonna have to be careful tomorrow,” you murmured, smoothing your dress back down over your thighs. “I mean… if my dad saw us like that…”

Joel leaned back enough to let your legs drop from around him, his fingers idly brushing the inside of your knee as he looked at you. “You want to keep sneakin’ around forever?”

The question hit like a pebble tossed in still water, quiet but echoing.

Your brows lifted slightly. “Joel…”

He tilted his head, searching your expression. “What if we told him? Not like right this second…but soon.”

You bit your lip. “Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Joel’s mouth twitched. “Would you say yes if it is?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I would.”

“Good.” His hand slid up to cup your jaw. “Then yeah. I guess I’m askin’. Be my girl.”

You leaned into his palm, a stupid grin tugging at your cheeks. “You’re lucky you’re hot and can build things.”

“And you’re lucky I’m bad at saying no to you,” he teased.

There was a pause then. A beat of stillness where you both just looked at each other.

“Do you think he’ll be mad?” you asked, quieter now.

Joel exhaled slowly. “Yeah. At first. Probably say some shit I’ll deserve. But he’ll come around. He loves you. Wants you happy.”

You nodded. “Still gonna be awkward.”

Joel smirked, stepping back and adjusting his jeans. “Everything with me’s a little awkward, sweetheart.”

You hopped down from the counter, legs still shaky, and turned toward the oven, brushing your fingers along the edge of the counter where things had just gone very, very sideways.

“Still think you like me better with your version of glaze on me,” you murmured over your shoulder.

Joel groaned like a man on the edge of his last nerve. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You winked. “You’d go out smiling.”

Taglist: @fallout-girl219 @glitterspark @thegirlthatsfalling @ashleyfilm

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voidofthevoidmv · 1 month ago

Text

What Journal????

(A gravity falls AU-> Name pending)

(Simple idea, what if Dipper never found the 3rd journal. Maybe when he switches that secret switch, a wire got crossed or the electrics were faulty. What would happen to canon if Mabel and Dipper never had Journal 3 as a crutch? Would it be a detriment, or possibly a good thing? What would they do instead of investigate the secret of the author, because how would they know? That is what I plan to explore in this little whatever… I just think it would be funny that everyone would be talking about these journals, or like whatever and meanwhile these two 12 year olds are sort of just winging it the whole time. Surprisingly enough, not a lot changes… That much.)

Tourist Trapped: (Prologue)

On the cusp of the wooded thicket bordering the forests of Gravity Falls, a young boy by the name of Dipper Pines could be seen hammering up signs. He didn't seem all that enthused by the idea, and his expression really said it all.

“Stupid Stan... Making me do all his dirty work...” He murmured under his breath, brown eyes narrowed while he made his way to yet another tree. He began lifting a hammer to plaster yet another terrible advertisement towards “The Mystery Shack.” The place which was supposedly going to be his home away from home for the next upcoming few months- If he even survived long enough to make it that far.

So, he continues to grumble to himself, despite his clear discomfort and presses the nail against a tall pine, truly selling the look of distaste with a very fashionable rolling of the eyes and a furrow of his brow.

“...Nobody ever believes anything I say...”

TING!

“Huh?”

How peculiar, he tests the waters once more to ensure he isn't hearing things. But after a few more taps with his mallet, it was clear by the ringing sound of metal on metal that this tree was apparently made of tougher stuff than that of your average spruce.

Very strange. The 12-year-old could sense an almost excited feeling stirring his gut.

He smooths a small hand over the seemingly slick face of the not-tree- And to his surprise his fingers found a sort of hatch-like lip, to which he was quick to attempt in prying open. He succeeds after a few good tugs, and the sound of old rusted over hinges squeal over years of neglect.

Dipper takes a moment before peering within the unknown chamber, to wipe his hands on his shorts and wave away the cloud of dust that came with the containers pressure release. He also had to bat away a few disconnected cobwebs as well, which billowed in the nonexistent breeze. Once the dust clears, the boy finally gets a decent look at the hidden compartments' contents. It’s a little mechanical box, rusted and clunky. The top part of its dusty face has two small activation switches. It’s clear that the device has not been touched in quite some time. It’s likely it doesn’t even function anymore.

Even so, of course, the 12-year-olds first instinct is to mess around with the device. He at first attempts one of the little switches, flicking it a few times but to no avail. Nothing happens. So, he tries the next one, though this next switch has a more volatile reaction than the one prior.

“Ow! What the-”

There was a sharp spark this time, and he flinches back harshly whilst clutching his once hovering hand. In the process in this motion, he drops everything he had been carrying, and it all lies in a small scatter beneath the not-tree. The tip of his pointer finger and thumb are both reddened and buzzing from the short burst of electricity, that had stuck him whilst he had been flicking the other switch. Brow furrowed, he places the stinging fingers in his mouth to soothe them as he glances around again. Almost hopeful.

But alas, other than giving him minor electrical burn that felt like they were beginning to blister, nothing had happened at all by flicking the switches. Whatever those activation doodads had been meant to do, Dipper would never know, because the box was clearly faulty. That was a shame. Maybe it could’ve had some answers as to why he’d been feeling so extra paranoid lately. There’s a beat of silence beyond the ambient forest noises, and while itching his mosquito bites from earlier Dipper suddenly feels a little self-conscious- And almost ridiculous.

“Maybe I am overthinking this stuff…” He murmurs sullenly to himself.

A short distance away, the goat named Gompers bleated quite unhelpfully. Dipper couldn’t help but sigh again, and while nursing his very slightly blistered fingers, he began towards his dropped tools and signs.

However, before he could grab the last of the signs leaning on the not-tree, a blur of fur and teeth whizzed past his nose making him let loose a very not-masculine scream- something along the lines of “MONSTER!”- and the shock causing him stumble over his own feet and collapse onto his bottom. The stuff he had been holding now scattering once more.

After a few minutes of catching his breath, Dipper glances upwards only to find some kind of squirrel family had made themselves at home in the once sealed shut secret compartment. He couldn’t help but feel silly, cheeks reddening as the embarrassment sank in and the adrenaline died down.

“Great. Just great. Maybe I really am going crazy…” Dipper stumbles to his feet in order dust himself off while glancing around yet again, and for a moment he chuckles awkwardly.

“At least nobody saw that…” Suddenly, a blur of color jumps out from behind a nearby log.

“GET EXPOSED!!!”

“AAGH!!!”

Once again, Dipper lets loose a very girlish scream, causing the colorful interloper to burst into obnoxious laughter. Though, the interloper happened to have less beast like features, and more middle school, preteen girl features. Very FAMILIAR features.

After a few moments to collect his bearings, Dipper tried to ignore his embarrassed pink cheeks and glowered harmlessly at his twin sister, who now seemed to be wiping a stray tear away and recovering from her laughing fit.

“Mabel…” He groaned irritably.

“…Oohhhh you should’ve seen your face! You were all like- AH! And I was like- BOOM! And you were like AH-” However his twin sister Mabel seemed more intent to reflect on how great of a scare she got out of him. It was humiliating really. Dipper began to pick up the dropped signs and hammers and nails AGAIN, still gazing at his giggling sister.

“Har-har-har. One of these days Mabel, you're going to give me a heart attack.”

“Yeah right, that’s if a squirrel doesn’t do it first. You heard me bro-bro. I saw the WHOLE thing!”

“Greeeaaat…” His sarcasm was practically palpable in the air, but Mabel clearly either couldn’t tell or just didn’t care and continued onward. Though if it counts for anything, she did wordlessly liberate a couple signs from his hands to lessen his load. It helped to temper his annoyance with her in the moment. He couldn’t really blame her; he was sure that it probably really was funny to spook him like that.

Still annoyed though. Still annoyed.

They began to walk together through the woods, with Dipper tacking on a sign here and there without much care or enthusiasm in the action. Unlike Mabel, who happened to hold enough energy to power the entire state of California.

Twirling around in front of him, Mabel had that look on her face that spoke volumes of what her current mood was in the moment. She was sort of an open book, and Dipper could tell that this was the kind of love-struck expression he recognized- Which was beginning to be more trouble than it’s worth nowadays.

“Ohhh Dipper, you're NEVER going to BELIEVE the MAGICAL day I’ve had!” She nearly trips on a tree root this time in her twirling but catches herself just in time. Dipper could only shake his head. Here we go…

“Let me guess. You harassed another kid to try and date you?” He inquires, to which Mabel giggles rather forcefully, chopping a home-made sweater sleeve in the air.

“Pshhh! NOPE! Well, close.” Dipper rolls his eyes this time, though the corner of his mouth tilts upwards with almost amusement as his sister continues to yammer on about her latest attraction.

“-SO BASICALLY- At the cemetery today-”

“-Wait, you were at the cemetery? When did you have time to go to the cemetery??” Mabel only waggles her long sweater sleeves in his face as an immediate response, making him splutter and stick his out his tongue. She takes before continuing without any lack of enthusiasm.

“That’s not IMPORTANT. So BASICALLY, I was walking, you know, like I DO, and then-”

“Bleat!!!” Both twins are then startled by the goat Gompers again, who had chosen that very moment to start chewing on the back of Mabel’s sweater again. After a few moments of wide-eyed staring, Mabel’s eyes softened and her rosy cheeks puffed out as she started to coo over the goat. The GOAT of all things.

“Awww… I guess this isn't the kind of thing we should be talking about with prying ears around, huh?”

“What? Why, did something happen?” A flash of alarm strikes Dipper, and he glances over at his sister uneasily- Who only guffaws at his reaction before hovering over the goat even more than before.

“Pssshh, nah nothing like that!” Covering Gompers ears, she poorly stage whispers with a faux look of sympathy. Or it could've been completely genuine, it was hard to tell sometimes. “I just don’t want Gompers to feel jealous.”

Dippers worry quickly dropped to zero, and he leveled his sister with an unamused stare.

“Of what? You breaking the world record of quickest restraining order?”

“Guh! It’s called TRUE LOVE!!! I’ll tell you later…” In that moment, a flash of cheekiness crossed the glitter obsessed 12-year olds’ face, and she dropped the signs without much care.

“Hey, last one to the shack has to be on Stan waxing duty!!!”

“What!” The boy screeched with barely restrained terror. Let it be known that Mabel has always been good at bringing out others enthusiasm. Dipper certainly was no exception to this rule, so without much of a grand flourish he too casts the signs aside and with earlier horror melting away, he grins competitively at his twin.

“Yeah right! You're on!”

With that, the race was on and as the two twins sped off along the outskirts of the forest and back towards the ramshackle cabin in the distance. Good natured laughter resonates in the air, as they hop over logs and try to trip the other up, oblivious to the futures they left behind. Perhaps in another timeline, in another world, that switch would've worked the way it should.

Perhaps in that timeline, they would've found a mysterious journal, speaking of the great wonders that reside in this fair town. A journal that would be their crutch during danger, that would save their lives on many an occasion, and risk them just the same amount.

-But that is not what happened. Maybe a few wires had been crossed wrong, or something more external, but that switch never worked and thus the old book is never revealed...

Yet somehow, this changes everything and nothing all the same.

No cheating and no hints, but the Pines always did have a knack for getting wrapped up in the paranormal. It might be a genetic thing, but whether they like it or not, they could never live a life mundane.

...It's time for the blind to lead the blind, and let it be known that a Pines has never gone down without swinging...

They'll figure it out. Probably.

***

Thus it begins… I have the next little part ready to go, but I kinda wanna see how people react to this and if folks are interested in the concept. I just think it’s kinda funny- And it gives me a chance to look over the transcripts again which is sort of like watching the show

(I can’t go on Disney cuz I’ve been logged out and don’t remember the password lol-)

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